MILA 2.0

by Debra Driza

  If so, it was working, because his sour expression melted into a return smile. “Big dog?”

  She nodded. “Rhodesian ridgeback, a ninety-five pound baby.”

  I didn’t even know what a Rhodesian ridgeback looked like, but it didn’t matter. Her charm was working wonders.

  He handed the passports back to her. “Well, when you get back, take that dog to obedience class. Have a nice visit.” He said the magic words and waved us on, and just like that, we were in Canada.

  Being on foreign soil must have soothed Mom, because she fell asleep twenty minutes after we passed through the checkpoint and switched roles, her light snores discernible over the persistent hum of the tires. Her cheek was curled into her hand. Sleep softened the worry lines around her eyes and mouth and made her appear younger, more relaxed than usual. I’d always attributed her tension back at the ranch, her overprotectiveness, to losing Dad. In retrospect, I realized she’d probably been on edge almost every second. Anticipating the day when we’d have to toss our belongings into the car and do exactly this: flee.

  Why, though? Why had she taken such chances, put her life in this type of danger? Despite the doubts the man at the motel had raised, I had to believe what Mom had told me was true. That she realized they’d created something beyond their expectations and that I deserved a chance at a real life. People didn’t subject themselves to these types of risks on a whim.

  Uneasiness stirred in my gut. At least, I hoped they didn’t.

  We reached the Toronto airport without any further drama. I followed the signs and headed for long-term parking, taking the ticket and tucking the SUV into an open space in the middle of a huge cluster of cars. Hiding in plain sight, so to speak.

  “You ready, Stephanie Prescott?” Mom rechecked the interior pocket of her purse for our passports before turning to give me a once-over. Time ticked on, and her once-over turned into a twice-over, and a thrice-over, until a chill feathered over me.

  “What?”

  Without warning, her hands whipped out to cup my cheeks, and the unexpected intimacy of her touch floored me. “If anything happens, you need to forget about me and go to Germany alone.”

  Despite her warmth, the cold spread, like someone was rubbing my skin with pure ice. I closed my eyes and pushed the anxiety away. “Okay.”

  One quick squeeze before she sagged against the headrest. “Thank you, Mila.”

  At her heartfelt thanks, guilt pinched my chest. I’d only agreed to reassure her.

  We grabbed our suitcase, locked the car, and followed the signs toward the stairwell, going downstairs until we got to street level.

  The airport’s exterior resembled a giant roller coaster, with its elegantly curving rooftop and white metal strips crisscrossing the endless stream of windows.

  A roller coaster, or a sleek, giant prison.

  Six other travelers surrounded us as we crossed the street: a middle-aged mom and dad with two young daughters, and a pair of businessmen in suits and ties, rolling leather briefcases behind them. I searched the sidewalk ahead of us and spotted three more single passengers, two older women and one lone man in a Windbreaker, lounging against the wall as he smoked a cigarette, his eyes taking in all of us.

  His scrutiny made me want to speed up, but I forced my feet to maintain a leisurely pace. In the back of my mind, though, I wondered if he could be connected to the men from the motel, or the military. If he had a Taser or, worse, a gun.

  Electricity stirred in my head. My hands fisted when the glowing words appeared. When my smooth, mechanical voice spoke.

  No weapons detected.

  As we walked toward the glass doors that opened up into Terminal 3, I found my gaze kept sliding over the other travelers. Wondering how we would even know in time if someone was following us.

  Our suitcase clanked over the sill of the sliding glass doors that led inside the airport. The wide-open interior enveloped us, its soaring, curved ceilings making me feel overexposed. The starkness of it all—the white floors and gleaming metal—while aesthetically pleasing, reminded me once more of the girl in the room.

  I shuddered at the memory, realizing I’d never asked Mom about it. Now certainly wasn’t the time, though. Instead, I focused on Hunter. On the husky rasp of his laugh, his clean, sandalwoody smell. His unconditional support after I’d been thrown from Kaylee’s truck. The flutters he ignited when his skin touched mine. And again when his eyelashes swept down before our almost-kiss.

  Once we got on the plane, Hunter would be out of reach for good.

  I followed Mom to the second level, up to ropes that marked the entrance of the Finnair ticket counter. Only three passengers stood in line ahead of us—two women and one little boy—so we waited quietly. As a group, they strode up to an available agent at the ticket counter, leaving us at the front of the line. Praying that our passports would hold up one more time.

  “Next in line, please.”

  A harried-looking woman, middle-aged with tight brown curls, greeted us. Mom asked her about the next available flight to Berlin—there’d been no way to book it safely in advance without potentially alerting the military—and the woman’s fingers clicked over the keyboard.

  “You’re in luck. We have seats available on the next flight, leaving in three hours. But since this is last-minute, the tickets are $3,339 each.”

  “We’ll take them.”

  “Passports and credit card, please.”

  Mom dug in her purse and produced the phony passports and the credit card issued to the fake name. She handed them over with a steady hand, even though I was sure she was as tense as I was. If the credit card and passports were rejected, we could kiss our escape plan good-bye.

  The woman barely glanced at the photos, simply typing in our names. Mom relaxed next to me. So close. Then the woman swiped the credit card.

  A harsh beep sounded, one that radiated straight into my chest, freezing it. The woman frowned down at the screen. When she looked up, her features were arranged into a polite mask. “I’m sorry, your credit card has been declined. Do you have another form of payment?”

  Mom’s fingers tightened reflexively on her purse. I could sense the swelling panic inside her. Or maybe that was just me, projecting my own fear.

  Mom’s laugh rang high-pitched and false. “There must be some mistake. Can you please try it again?”

  With a weary sigh that spoke of annoyance, the woman managed to cling to her fake smile as she went to swipe the card again.

  I curled my hand around Mom’s rigid arm. Trying to will her into a confidence I didn’t possess. The card had to work. It had to. If only there were a way to force the machine to work. . . .

  This time, when the red shimmered behind my eyes, I didn’t fight it.

  Locating signal . . .

  The ticket agent shook her head. “You know, if they don’t work the first time, they almost never—” She broke off with an arch of penciled-in brows. “Never mind. It went through.”

  With my hand on her sleeve, Mom’s tiny shudder was unmistakable.

  “There aren’t any window seats left, but we do have an aisle seat toward the back of the plane with an empty seat next to it, if you like.”

  “Perfect, thank you.”

  Under the counter, Mom’s hand, clammy with sweat, found mine. We were almost there. We checked our suitcase and headed toward the hall the agent had pointed out, toward airport security.

  Only one hurdle to freedom left.

  Nineteen

  We didn’t get very far before Mom stopped outside a newsstand.

  “We have a long flight ahead of us, so I’m going to grab a few books. Do you want anything?” she asked as she bent over to tie her blue shoelace.

  I looked inside the newsstand-slash-bookstore while other passengers veered around us to continue down the hallway. Despite its cramped size, every available surface was covered with magazines and books. A tall, twenty-something girl thumbed through an InStyle next t
o her parked suitcase, while her boyfriend draped his arms casually around her neck and peered over her shoulder.

  There was something I wanted. But I couldn’t buy it in that store.

  “Sure, grab me something. I have this inexplicable craving for an espionage story.” Mom frowned and I held up my hands. “Okay, okay, just joking. Remember, joking is good?”

  That produced a slight smile.

  “I’ll take anything. Oh, and maybe some teen magazines,” I said, eyeing the woman as she toted her InStyle to the cashier. “You know, just to blend.”

  Mom snorted delicately, reaching out to rumple my hair. “Right. Just to blend.”

  “I’ll wait right here,” I said.

  As soon as I saw her head bent over a paperback she’d picked up—The Help—I ducked down and dug the disposable cell phone out of my bag. Mom had ditched our old cells before we’d left Clearwater, worrying that SMART Ops or the men from the motel could use them to track us. Even so, I knew she wouldn’t want me calling anyone, and logically I realized that was the safest course of action.

  If I wanted to hear Hunter even one more time, it had to be now. Before we arrived at our real destination.

  With fingers that felt like they should be shaking but were surprisingly steady, I punched in his number. He answered on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  His voice unleashed a river of warmth. I reached out to grab the wall for support. “It’s Mila.”

  “Mila?” A shocked pause. And then, “Are you okay? I’ve been trying to call you! I even stopped by this morning—”

  “I’m fine.” I cut him off, even though I could bathe in the concern spilling from the phone forever. The mere sound of his voice soothed me, made everything feel a little less surreal.

  “I’m glad. After last night ended kind of weird, I worried. I even went by the Dairy Queen to see if you were there.”

  The sudden rush of pleasure I felt over the fact that he’d obviously been trying hard to find me waned just as quickly as it flared. Dairy Queen. Studying with Kaylee and eating Blizzards. Kaylee might not have turned out to be a true friend, but those memories were real. For those brief few weeks, everything had been much simpler.

  “So what are you doing now?” I asked, determined not to wallow. Hunter was the only person in the entire world who made me feel normal. No squandering these final moments with him on self-pity.

  “Nothing much. When can I see you again? I missed you today.”

  I missed you.

  I let my head fall back against the wall and stared blankly as other travelers rushed by. So many of them were on their way to visit family or loved ones . . . or returning home to be reunited again.

  The emptiness inside me opened up, threatening to hollow me out until there was nothing left. At that precise moment, I hated the scientists—even Mom—for subjecting me to this. For making me feel.

  I shouldn’t have called him. This was only making things worse. “Listen, I’m just calling to say . . . good-bye. Mom and I, we have to leave.”

  “Wait—you’re leaving Clearwater? You mean, moving?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow,” he said, drawing the word out. Probably trying to make sense of what had to sound like insanity. “Somewhere close?”

  “No, not close. We’re leaving the country.”

  Stunned silence ticked away the next few seconds. “That’s . . . sudden. Is everything okay?”

  I almost laughed. No, everything was not okay, not by a long shot. Of course, any discussion about our current predicament would involve me informing Hunter of my true origins.

  Oh, by the way, I’m not exactly human. You know that night you took me on a date? You almost kissed an android.

  “Mila?”

  I shoved away from the wall to check up on Mom’s progress. She was now in line to pay behind just one other person, clutching two books and several magazines in her hands. Not much time left. “I’m really going to miss you.” I dug my fingers into the phone when I realized how inadequate that sounded. There was more, so much more . . . but how did you tell someone he, and he alone, made you feel human? I tried again before he could interrupt. “Thank you . . . for everything,” I said, my voice faltering. “You have no idea how much I owe you.”

  I pressed my palms to my eyes. Just to alleviate the pressure for an instant. The customer in front of Mom slipped away, and Mom handed the cashier her books. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait! At least—promise you’ll call when you get to wherever you’re going.”

  The cashier handed Mom her change. Out of time. What harm could it do to lie, to agree? “Deal. See ya.”

  I ended the call and slipped the phone out of sight just as Mom turned my way, plastic bag in hand.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  I pretended to fumble with my bag so she couldn’t see my face. “Ready,” I mumbled. Willing myself not to cry.

  Another person gone from my life. Only one left now.

  “So I got you InStyle, Seventeen, and People. Oh, and I looked at some books, but I had such a hard time choosing. I wasn’t sure which would be better—one of those fantasy novels everyone’s always talking about, or something more down-to-earth. So I got you a couple.”

  Throughout the small talk, Mom’s attention remained focused on the security official ahead, who waited to wave us through to the widened area that housed scanners. A ruse, I determined. The chatter was a ruse to make us look like a normal Mom-and-daughter duo, when nothing could be further from the truth.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Hopefully the weather will be nice in Germany. Typical temperatures this time of year are lower than ours, but I heard they’re having an unseasonably warm spell right now.”

  “Great. I can wear my new minidress. The one that barely covers my butt.”

  Her gaze shifted sharply to me, and I shrugged. Question answered: she could study security and listen to me at the same time.

  I glanced around, and I knew, I just somehow knew, that my android features would choose this special moment to kick in.

  Environmental scan: 22 potential human threats within 20-ft. radius.

  Weapons detected: 9 within 20-ft. radius.

  That made sense. One security agent was checking IDs before the line broke into the three lines next to conveyor belts, leading to the scans. Three security agents worked the left line—two women, one man—two guards at the middle one, both men, and three more guards on the far right line.

  And there were even more guards beyond them, loitering just past the scanners. If something went wrong, well . . . let’s just hope that didn’t happen.

  The line inched forward under the bright lights, a few passengers at a time. Mom had assured me that once we were past the ID checker, we’d be fine. Apparently, any metal inside me was untraceable via scanners—the military had made sure of that. Even if I walked through a full body scan, the computer in my brain would falsify the information, resulting in a normal, nonmetal body being displayed on the screen.

  As I watched Mom calmly take in the surroundings, I realized this wasn’t new for her, like it was for me. She’d been on guard for a long time now, knowing that she and she alone would be the one to keep us safe. That kind of pressure would have broken a lesser woman, but not her. Not even when the reason she was on the run had been acting like a giant, ungrateful brat.

  I could only imagine how lonely this past month had been for her, what a mental and emotional toll this whole ordeal had taken.

  While I still wasn’t happy about being lied to, my anger from the past two days faded, leaving behind only a fierce determination that we would get through this, together. I stared at the familiar graceful lines of her profile, and it hit me. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather have on my side.

  I should tell her.

  “Mom,” I started, but then we were moving forward again. Only two families between us and the security guard now. Then o
ne. Before I realized what I was doing, my hand was on her arm, squeezing.

  Then it was our turn.

  The bored-looking guard lowered his head to glance at our IDs. His gaze jerked back up to our faces. I tensed. Forced a smile while I reached for Mom’s hand, preparing to run.

  Then he shrugged and waved us through.

  Mom steered us for the middle line—one less security agent meant they had less time to be attentive—and we took off our shoes and placed them in one of the gray plastic bins. Mom’s purse went on the conveyor belt next.

  “Make sure to empty out your pockets, please—no change, keys, even paper. The new scanners will find everything,” the security guard called out from the next line over.

  I fumbled through my pockets—empty—while staring at the carefully crafted scanner. With technology changing all the time, how could Mom be sure I’d fool it?

  As we shuffled forward, waiting for the burly man in front of us to empty his pockets of change, that scanner consumed my attention. The entire area smelled of a mixture of antiseptic and faint human sweat.

  Just as the man stepped through, the alarm blared. I froze.

  “Sir, step back through and make sure you completely empty your pockets.”

  The man backtracked under the frame, his face flushed. He blocked our path while he dug through his pockets and produced a wadded-up gum wrapper. “Oops, didn’t know this was in there.”

  When he walked through the next time, I could see the tension in the way he carried himself so stiffly, like he was convinced he’d set the alarm off again.

  It stayed silent this time.

  And then it was our turn.

  I stepped in front of Mom. That way, if anything happened to me, she might still have a chance to turn around and run.

  As I walked up to the rectangle that resembled an empty doorframe, I forced myself to smile and make eye contact with the young, broad-chested security agent waiting on the opposite side.