“Looks like you hit a fallen branch,” Dr. Inglis said. “Just back over it.”
The van continued down the lane. Then it turned left, heading back to town. Another turn, onto a dirt road so narrow that evergreen branches steepled over it and I had to flatten out again to avoid getting poked in the eye.
I waited until we’d left the other road behind. Then I lifted my big front paw and brought it down on the roof with a thump. When the van didn’t slow, I did it again, twice in succession, pounding hard.
The driver eased off the gas. Dr. Inglis’s window was still cracked open, and her voice came through it.
“It’s the boys waking up,” she said. “Hit the gas, not the brakes.”
The driver did, the van sailing over the rutted road, me clinging to the top.
I thought of another way to get their attention. But could I do it? I wasn’t even sure I knew how.
I closed my eyes, focused all my energy deep in my gut and then—
I let out a scream. A true cougar scream, the nails-down-a-chalkboard wail that sends campers fleeing their tents in the middle of the night.
The driver hit the brakes. And I went sailing along the roof, my claws scraping uselessly across the metal, the clothing I’d retrieved fluttering around me, blocking my vision as I tumbled over the front of the van and hit the hard-packed dirt.
I lifted my head, dazed, and found myself staring into the grille. The driver slammed the van into reverse and the vehicle jumped back, ready to make a fast getaway.
“No!” Dr. Inglis shouted. “It could be Maya.”
The van stopped. It idled there as they argued inside. I heard the word gun but that was all I caught because as they talked, I was creeping past the van.
When I reached the back, I started to run. Dr. Inglis shouted. The doors opened as they leaped out.
I didn’t go far before I swerved, then ran full tilt at the van, back legs propelling me so fast the road sped by in a blur. Then I launched myself.
I didn’t think I could make it. Leaping hurdles was one thing. But jumping high enough to land on a van roof?
I actually went too high and landed so hard the whole van quaked under me. I planted my paws, lowered my head, looked at the driver, and let out a snarl that sent him stumbling backward. Silver flashed in his hand, but as he raised it, I saw it was just the keys. His other hand was empty.
“Don’t startle her,” Dr. Inglis said.
“Don’t startle—?” he squeaked. “That—that’s a mountain lion.”
“She has the birthmark. It’s Maya.”
“I don’t care. It’s a goddamned mountain lion.”
“I know. Isn’t she beautiful? A young cougar in perfect physical condition. Did you see that leap? She must have been riding on the roof earlier. She climbed the tree to get on it. Do you know what that means?”
“Do I care what that—?”
“She planned this. There’s no loss of cognitive function. She’s an intelligent young woman in the body of one of the world’s finest predators. This is what we’ve been working toward. This is everything we’ve dreamed—”
I pounced. I hit the driver in the chest and he went down, keys sailing from his hand and landing in the weeds alongside the road. He punched me in the nose. As a human, that would sting. As a cat, it was like a pile-drive straight to the brain.
I fell back. He started to scramble away. I managed to recover in time to grab his leg and pulled him up short. His hands dug into the dirt as he struggled to get free. Then he lifted a handful of that dirt and tried to throw it in my eyes. I chomped down on his foot. He let out a scream as loud as a cougar’s. Blood filled my mouth, rich and coppery and hot.
A gun fired. I let go and wheeled to see Dr. Inglis holding a rifle.
“Please, Maya,” she said. “These aren’t tranquilizer darts. We don’t have any with us. I don’t want to shoot you. Can you understand me?”
I snarled at her.
“Everything’s gone wrong,” she said. “I told them we needed to tell you all the truth sooner. I said the early symptoms had begun and you’d figure it out, but the St. Clouds wanted to fly in themselves to be there when we broke the news. They hesitated and others took advantage. Others who don’t care about you the way we do.”
I glanced back at the man on the ground, clutching his bleeding foot. I snarled again.
“He’s not one of us,” she said. “He’s St. Cloud security. A nobody. The people who count are the people from the lab, from Salmon Creek. We care about you and we are going to make sure your lives change as little as possible, and only for the better.”
I looked at her. She seemed sincere, which meant she didn’t know about the deal the St. Clouds made with the Nasts—giving us away. Or maybe she thought it was a ploy, one they wouldn’t go through with. I knew better. These were businessmen. She was a scientist, which made her as much of a nobody as the man I’d bitten.
“We’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” she continued. “Make sure you get back to a normal life. All of you. Just like Salmon Creek, only someplace else. They’ve already found a new location. But you have to show them that you won’t fight them. That they don’t need men like him.” She waved at the security guy. “You need to come with me, Maya. Stop fighting and trust us. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She didn’t. I could see that in her eyes. And I could see it in the way the gun now dangled at her side. I tilted my head and studied her. Then I started lowering myself to the ground.
“Good. Thank you, Maya. We’ll—”
I pounced.
THIRTY-FOUR
DR. INGLIS STAGGERED BACK, gun still clutched in her hand. It fired. The shot went wild. I hit her and we went down. Her head struck a half-buried rock. Hit it hard. Her eyes widened, and she collapsed, unconscious.
I nudged her. Even opened my mouth and wrapped my jaws around her throat and dented her skin with my fangs. When she didn’t move, I let go. I picked up the gun in my mouth and moved it into the long grass, out of her reach.
I turned to see the man inching back toward the other side of the road. Looking for something else tossed into the weeds. The keys.
He was on his stomach. I walked over, caught him by the collar and dragged him off the road. As I did, I could smell the blood, could see it stretching in a trail behind us. He struggled feebly at first, then stopped, and when I dropped him and looked into his face—his skin pale, pupils dilated, breathing shallow—I knew he was going into shock.
I looked at his foot. It was covered in blood. How hard had I bitten him? Harder than I meant to.
And what would he have done to me? Worse. That’s how I had to think of it.
As I was wondering how I’d get the van open without hands, my paws started to throb, as if telling me hands were coming soon.
The shift back was easier. Probably because I passed out faster. When I came to, Dr. Inglis was still unconscious on the road. I scooped up the keys. As for my clothing, all I could see right away was my T-shirt and panties. Good enough for now.
I was still tugging my shirt down as I opened the back doors of the van. A thump sounded from within. Then, before I could even see inside, Corey said, “Don’t! It’s Maya.”
I flung open the door to see Corey holding Daniel by the back of the shirt. In one hand, Daniel held what looked like a shard of metal. He let out a relieved sigh and dropped it.
“How’d you know it was me?” I said.
Corey shrugged. “Good guess.” His gaze shunted to the side, and I knew it wasn’t a guess at all.
No time to ask.
I looked in the van. I couldn’t see anyone else, but I looked anyway.
“Rafe’s not here,” Daniel murmured. “They must have taken him with Sam and Kenjii.”
“So you rescued us on your own?” Corey said.
“Yes,” I said. “You were saved by a girl. Horrible, isn’t it?”
He slid out and looked down at my bare legs. �
��Not just a girl, but a half-naked one. Now that’s hot. If I’m still unconscious, don’t wake me, okay?”
I rolled my eyes and waved them out, then went to find the rest of my clothing.
The guys had been bound, but only loosely, Dr. Inglis apparently not wanting them to get injured on the ride. While I’d been fighting, they’d gotten free.
We used the ropes to tie up Dr. Inglis and the security guy, who had also passed out. We made their bindings light—we wanted to delay their return to town, not leave them in the woods to die.
I wrapped the man’s foot, but that was the best I could do. We took their radios and left.
As we climbed into the van, all three of us in the front, I told Daniel they’d taken the others to the helipad. I expected him to say we couldn’t go there, couldn’t try to save them, but he just nodded and said, “Then that’s where we’re going,” and started the van.
We parked at the ruins of a cottage that had been abandoned years ago, then we slipped through the forest to the far end of town, to the helipad on top of the laboratory.
I knew we were too late when I heard the whoop-whoop of the helicopter preparing for liftoff. We ran behind the town hall.
There was a fire escape around back. As kids we used to dare each other to climb it and spy on Corey’s mom, always hoping to see some big arrest in progress. There wasn’t even a jail cell in the tiny police station. But we’d always hoped anyway.
Now I swung onto that ladder and climbed. Hiding behind the roof peak, I peered out to see the helicopter lift from the pad. I could make out figures inside. At least three heads, plus the pilot.
Someone with dark hair was sitting beside the rear window.
The figure turned. It was Rafe. He shielded his eyes and he seemed to be looking straight at me. I raised my hand. He raised his.
His lips moved, but there was no way I could tell what he was saying. Then another figure leaped across his lap, long black hair swinging.
Annie. She waved frantically, grinning, then disappeared, pulled away by Rafe, quieting her.
I pushed to my feet as the helicopter rose. Rafe reappeared. He flashed four fingers, then a thumbs-up, and I knew that meant everything was all right, or as all right as it could be, that he was okay and Annie was okay, and so were Sam and Kenjii.
Then, with one last lurch, the helicopter lifted off.
We took Mrs. Tillson’s car. We didn’t dare use the van, in case it had a GPS. Maybe the car did, too. Not much we could do about it.
We still had our money, but our bags were lost. Again, nothing we could do.
Daniel headed for Nanaimo. I stared out the window, lost in thought.
“What did he give you?” Daniel asked.
I glanced over at him. “Hmmm?”
“Rafe. He put a paper in your pocket before he left. Was it anything important?”
I’d forgotten all about it. I jammed my hand into both my pockets, certain the note had fallen out. It hadn’t—the paper was just folded into a small square and shoved deep.
It was actually printouts. Two pages. Watermarked CONFIDENTIAL.
“Rafe must have grabbed them when he was taken captive the first time,” I said. Daniel had told Corey about this earlier on the drive. “They’re memos about an escape.”
Corey leaned over to read them. “Not our escape, though. Does that say Buffalo?”
Daniel looked over sharply. “Buffalo?”
I nodded. “It’s about the experiment that went wrong. Project Genesis. Details of what happened.”
“And what happened?” Corey said.
I had to finish reading the first page before I could answer. Then I explained. As we’d guessed, Project Genesis was another experiment with genetically modified supernaturals. Only these ones seemed to be normal types. Well, “normal” in the sense that we’d heard about them before. Witches, sorcerers, half-demons, werewolves, and something called necromancers.
“I’ve seen them in video games,” Corey said. “They control the dead.”
“Zombies?” I said.
“Right.”
As supernatural types went, that seemed weird, and I suspected there was more to it. According to the notes, some of the kids had problems. So they locked them up in a group home. The kids figured out why they were there and escaped. And apparently came back and destroyed the laboratory, killing Dr. Davidoff and several others.
“Why can’t we do that?” Corey said.
“Because we don’t know where to find anyone,” I said. “Even if we did, we aren’t ready for that. They had help. A father and an aunt who’d been in on the experiments.”
“So what happened?” Corey asked. “And what does this have to do with us?”
I read the second page. Then I told him.
We ditched the car in one of the big shopping plazas in Nanaimo’s north end. From there, we’d hop a city bus to the ferry. Before that, though, I found a pay phone. I put in my money and dialed my grandmother’s number in Skidegate.
It rang four times. I knew the machine was going to pick up, and as I waited, I considered what I’d say. I had to make sure she knew it was me, not some ghoul pretending to be her dead granddaughter. I couldn’t give any information about where I was. I just wanted to get a message to my parents that I was okay. I imagined what would happen then. I imagined them confronting the St. Clouds, demanding to know where I was, accusing them of lying and threatening to call the authorities.
I imagined how the St. Clouds would react to that.
My grandmother’s voice invited me to leave a message. I closed my eyes and listened to her. As I hung up, I whispered “I love you.” Then I went back to the guys.
We splurged in the gift shop, buying hoodies. Then we split up to buy the ferry tickets, and didn’t reunite until the boat left the harbor.
We stood on the back deck, watching our island fade into the mist. When it disappeared, I took out the notes from Rafe again and reread the second page—details on the subjects who’d escaped. Rafe had added notes at the bottom, about a real contact his mother had given him.
He might know more, he’d written. Find him. Then find them.
“Find them,” I whispered, shaking my head. “How do we find them if the St. Clouds can’t?”
Daniel put his arm around my shoulders as we leaned over the railing, cold mist spattering our faces, our island long vanished. “We try.”
I leaned against him and nodded. Try. That was all we could do. And we would.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KELLEY ARMSTRONG is the bestselling author of the Otherworld series; the first book in the Darkness Rising trilogy, THE GATHERING; and the New York Times bestselling Darkest Powers trilogy, which includes THE SUMMONING, THE AWAKENING, and THE RECKONING.
Kelley’s earliest written efforts were disastrous. If asked for a story about girls and dolls, hers would invariably feature undead girls and evil dolls, much to her teachers’ dismay. Today, she continues to spin tales of ghosts and demons and werewolves while safely locked away in her basement writing-dungeon. You can visit her online at www.darkestpowers.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
OTHER WORKS
ALSO BY KELLEY ARMSTRONG
THE DARKEST POWERS TRILOGY
The Summoning
The Awakening
The Reckoning
THE DARKNESS RISING TRILOGY
The Gathering
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