Emery Rae Parker.
The same girl he’d been swooning over for months. The same girl who had stood there, frozen in time, when he’d told her he loved her. She had said that her feelings had grown. Their chemistry was undeniable. She had to feel the same way he did . . .
Right?
Torin pushed the thought from his mind and focused on the task at hand. He located her participant number, 082, as well as her eleven-digit microchip ID, 00000005694. He looked at the number more closely. Did that number mean she was the 5,694th person to have a microchip implanted into her body? How many others had Novak gotten to?
Perplexed by this discovery, he diverted from his current mission to research the global population at the close of the last calendar year, 2054: 10.6 billion.
Interesting.
He reopened Novak’s database and began searching for the number of people with implanted microchips. After doing some digging, he finally found what he was looking for: 10,599,999,997. He sat back from his chair, baffled by this number. There were 10,600,000,000 people in the world and 10,599,999,997 people had microchips. Which meant that, currently, there were only three people in the entire world that didn’t have one. His eyes widened as he realized who those people were.
Warren. Novak. And me.
That meant Novak had already deployed all of the microchips and that they should be fully activated. It also meant that the chief could allegedly control whomever he pleased. But in taking a closer look, he realized that only half of the microchips were in use.
Why haven’t the rest been activated?
As long as Novak had the disintegration machine, there wasn’t even a slight chance he could be stopped. He would rule without consequence. And eventually, Torin would be forced to get his microchip and finally succumb to the chief’s control. He shook his head. Sadly for the chief, the plan he’d worked so tirelessly for was about to blow up right in his face.
Torin had a new plan. And boy, was it a good one.
He opened the programming module for the disintegration machine and keyed in Emery’s candidate number and microchip identification number. He saved the programming, then rebooted the machine (which he’d so aptly named the Porter 8000). He placed another sample on the platform of the machine, crossing his fingers that the programming would work. He brought his finger to the button and pressed it, watching as the scanner tried to identify his fingerprints.
Invalid ID.
His grin stretched from ear to ear. “It worked,” he whispered, breathing a sigh of relief. He rolled his chair away, feeling proud of what he’d just created. Novak could destroy the keys . . .
But he’d need Emery’s fingerprint to do so.
34
A nightmare visited Emery during her nap. It was one that would haunt her for years to come.
She was at home with her mother and sister in Arizona, enjoying a hot, dry evening splashing around in the pool. As her mother got out of the water to check on the barbecue, Emery noticed she was moving much slower than usual. Her body looked frail, almost skeleton-like, as she slinked toward the grill.
Emery got out after her, realizing that her own body was moving just as slow. She looked down at her feet. Her anklebones were protruding and her toes were starting to shrivel up underneath her, making it difficult to maintain her balance. She stood in place, afraid that if she took another step, she’d crumble to the ground in pieces.
“Mom,” she called out, “are you okay?”
Her mother turned to face her, tongs in hand. There were patches on her skull where her hair had fallen out, her hairline receding further and further back from her forehead. Her deep grey eyes were sunken in along with her cheekbones, accentuating her jawline in an unhealthy way.
Emery staggered back at the unexpected change in her mother’s appearance, feeling both terrified and concerned for her well-being.
“We all have to die at some point,” her mother said, her voice empty as it echoed through the desert. “It’s unnatural to live forever.”
“What are you talking about?” Emery whirled around to face her sister, who was still floating in the pool. “What is she talking about?”
But her sister wasn’t her sister anymore. She was now a pile of bones, laid out perfectly on a pool raft, as if someone had excavated her grave and pulled her out piece by piece only to be scorched by the unforgiving Arizona sun. The bones began to disintegrate. A gust of wind swept them away.
Emery reeled back toward her mother, her eyes wide with fear as a single drop of crimson bled from her mother’s nose. “We all have to die at some point,” she said again.
Emery tried to take a step toward her, but her feet wouldn’t move. They were stuck to the ground in a blue gel-like substance. She began to cry, reaching her arms out to her mother, wanting more than anything to help her. Her sobbing grew louder as she watched her mother’s skin melt away from her face, her arms, her legs—until there was nothing left but a pile of bones on the ground. Another gust of wind ruffled Emery’s hair as it picked up her mother’s remains and scurried them away into the desert heat.
She fell to her knees, chest heaving, unable to control her sobbing. As she lifted a hand to wipe her face, she screamed. The skin around her hands had turned a sickly grey, and was rapidly disappearing. She watched in horror as the wind began to sweep away her greyed flesh, working its way down her legs and up her arms. She continued to scream until the wind reached her throat, the noise ceasing, until it took all that was left of her and scattered her around the earth.
Emery shot up from her makeshift bed of pine needles and leaves, her heart pounding, sweat trickling from her forehead. She brought her hands to her face and turned them over, scrutinizing them in the dim cave light, then patted her arms and legs. Her skin was still intact. The wind hadn’t taken her away.
She was still here.
Feeling shaken, Emery stood up and walked over to SmartMeal to get some water, gulping down two glasses with ease before walking back to bed. She swiped the screen on the tablet to check the time. Seven o’clock in the morning. She covered herself with a blanket of leaves and tried to fall back asleep, but every time she closed her eyes, images of her mother and sister’s skeletons appeared. She lay awake for a full hour, her mother’s voice haunting her.
We all have to die at some point.
35
Mason searched through Emery’s bedroom in Dormance, looking for any clues that might indicate she’d been there recently. Warren was downstairs in the kitchen doing what he assumed was the exact same thing. An eruption of glass echoed throughout the house as dishes and silverware collided with the floor. The search for Emery seemed to really be testing Warren’s patience.
“Mason!” he called from downstairs.
What now? Mason willed his body to stay where it was, but his feet did otherwise. Being able to think his own thoughts without being able to act on them was growing really old really fast. He sighed as his feet marched down the stairs toward the kitchen, until he stood in front of a pile of broken dishes.
“What did you find?” Warren asked.
“Nothing,” he responded. The voice was his own, but he had no idea how he was forming the words without thinking them. “We should move to the next site.”
Warren looked around the house one last time. “I agree, but we’ve already checked the entire Darden campus or, at least, the places Emery used to frequent.” He came around the kitchen island, stomping through the broken glass as if it didn’t exist. “We can’t show up empty-handed. Disappointing President Novak isn’t exactly an option.”
But betraying one of your closest friends is?
In that moment, all Mason wanted to do was punch Warren square in the face. He was still reeling with animosity toward him. How was he okay with turning on them like this? In what world was joining the enemy’s side the answer? He tried to gain control of his actions for the umpteenth time, ordering his fi
st to curl, his arm to lift and then to strike like a king cobra. But his arm remained at his side. Lifeless and unresponsive.
A phone rang, snapping Mason out of the imaginary fight scene he’d fabricated in his head. He watched as Warren answered, then turned his back, as if that would muffle the conversation.
“No, sir. We haven’t had any luck. I don’t think she’s in Dormance.”
There was silence as the other end of the line prattled away.
“We’ve run out of places to search. I’m telling you, sir, she’s not here.”
More prattling.
“Understood. We’re on our way.”
Warren clicked the phone off and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. “Come on. We’re needed back at Novak’s chambers.”
Mason couldn’t help but feel relieved that they hadn’t found Emery. Wherever she was, he hoped she’d stay there. It was a damn good hiding spot when the most technologically-capable “chief” couldn’t find you.
He followed Warren out the door, one foot in front of the other, until they reached the car. He glared at the back of his head, wishing more than anything that he could stop his now-enemy and talk some sense into him. This wasn’t the Warren he knew. Why had he switched sides? Why had he betrayed them?
Warren drove them the full three hours back to Alpha Drive on the Darden campus, dodging through hundreds of statues of people who once were. Just the thought, let alone the sight of everything, was enough to give Mason chills, but it didn’t seem to faze Warren. In fact, nothing seemed to faze him.
He parked the car in front of the Sychem building and burst through the front doors.
Mason unwillingly followed close behind him.
“Ladies first,” Warren mocked, gesturing toward the portal.
He was lucky Mason didn’t have ownership over his actions. Because if he did, Warren would be facedown on the ground with his skull bashed in.
36
Today’s the day.
Victor stretched his arms overhead, yawning as he brought himself to a sitting position. Falling asleep had been difficult, seeing as Torin had made very little progress on the disintegration machine. But once he’d succumbed to the night, he’d been out like a light, and he’d stayed out. Contrary to yesterday, he felt refreshed, rejuvenated, and ready to take on the day. It was time to see what the boy-genius had come up with. He better have something and it better be good.
Victor changed into his usual attire—black combat boots, black dress pants, and a black oxford button-down—and grabbed a starched white lab coat from its hanger. He buttoned the coat from top to bottom so that it covered his clothing. Depending on Torin’s progress, things could get messy and he didn’t want to ruin his clothes.
The hallways were unusually quiet as he walked from his bed chambers to the laboratory. Warren and Mason were due back last night, but he hadn’t waited up to hear their reports. If they’d found something, he would have known. Their silence had spoken volumes.
Failures.
He nodded to Von as he entered through the laboratory doors, fixing his eyes on the back of Torin’s head. “What do you have for me?” he asked as he walked over to the desk. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a demand.
Torin swiveled in his desk chair, looking startled by the sudden entrance. In his hands was a small black and silver machine, no more than one foot high and six inches wide.
Victor snatched the machine from his hands, lifting it up to the light so he could examine it more closely. “Spectacular,” he breathed. “I assume you’ve tested it?”
Torin nodded, his eyes flitting from Victor to the door. “It works.”
“How?”
Torin swallowed, and Victor noticed faint beads of sweat forming across his hairline.
“Just press the button.”
It was obvious something was bothering him. Victor tilted his head, eyeing him dubiously. “Come to think of it, I’d rather you show me instead.”
With trembling fingers, Torin reached for a sample of carbon steel and handed it to him. He licked his lips, then wiped his hands on his pants. “Put it on the platform, then press the black button.”
Victor did as he was told, his heart racing in his chest. This was it. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. The moment he’d finally have the means to destroy the alpha and omega keys.
He lifted his finger and brought it closer to the button, feeling empowered as he pressed it. A little screen above the button blinked red. Invalid ID.
He shot a look at Torin, who was trying to hide his smile and failing miserably. Victor’s eyes blazed with fury. “What is this?” he spat.
“Your disintegration machine,” Torin answered with an intentional smirk on his face.
Victor stepped forward and, without the slightest hesitation, backhanded him. Hard. “This isn’t what I asked for. Fix it!” he boomed.
The impact was enough to make Torin fly from his seat. Blood pooled at the corner of his mouth as his back collided with the leg of the desk. “I . . . c-can’t,” Torin sputtered as he held his cheek. “Emery’s fingerprint is hard-coded into the machine. She’s the only one who can unlock it.”
Victor stared at him with wild eyes, furious. His anger only grew as the corners of the boy’s crimson lips turned upward. “You little bastard. You created it to be this way, and now you’re going to fix it.”
Torin shook his head and grabbed the edge of the desk. Wobbling, his knuckles turning a ghostly white, he pulled himself up. The difficulty of maintaining his balance was written all over his face. He met the President’s harsh gaze. “It’s unfixable. In order to destroy the keys, you need Emery. Plain and simple.”
That was it. He’d had it with this little shit. Victor didn’t give second chances, let alone third or fourth chances. He threw the machine onto the desk, the dials and springs clanging against the metal surface.
“I said I would build it for you,” Torin reminded him. “I never said I’d make it easy to use.”
Victor glared at him, then motioned to Von to enter the laboratory. “Take him out of my sight,” he hissed.
Von grabbed Torin by the arm and lugged him out of the laboratory. Victor followed the trail of blood droplets to the common room, watching as Von hoisted the boy-genius into his pod. With the press of a button, a dome emerged and clicked into place. Von marched out the door as Victor walked over to the pod, remote in hand. “You know what’s interesting about these encapsulated pods?”
Torin turned his head and coughed. A spray of blood flew from his mouth, covering the opposite side of the pod in misshapen polka dots. He gazed down as holocuffs formed around his wrists and ankles.
Victor’s question was met with hostile silence. He cocked his head. “I’ll tell you,” he continued, circling the pod like a spider entangling its prey. “These pods can either save you or severely harm you, depending on the circumstance.” His eyes narrowed. “Unfortunately, you’ve disappointed me, so there’s no point in saving you.”
He pointed the remote at Torin’s pod and prepared to unleash hell.
37
At first there was nothing. But then there was a pinch. And another. And another.
Torin looked down at his legs, realizing that the pinching was coming from tiny holographic insects.
Holoants.
Although only holograms, the pinching felt like it was coming from real insects. He watched in horror as the holoants seeped through the fibers in his pants, one by one, to feast on his skin. He could feel their tiny little movements as they crawled up his shins, over his knees, onto his thighs. He cringed as they continued to crawl up to his stomach, multiplying by the hundreds. It only took seconds for them to reach his chest and neck.
Pinch, pinch, pinch.
His entire body felt like it was on fire, like it had been thrown into hell’s pit of fury.
His eyes met Victor’s. He opened his mouth to scream, bu
t no sound came out. The holoants crawled into his throat, latching onto his uvula, his esophagus burning like he’d just swallowed bleach. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep them from creeping in, but they did anyway. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think.
There was only pain.
Torin tried to imagine a happier time, like the first time he’d met Emery and the late nights they’d spent together preparing to take down the Federal Commonwealth. If he was going to die, he wanted her face be the last one he saw.
A burning sensation lit up his entire body, growing more intense by the minute. He clenched his teeth in order to stifle a scream, but the pain was unbearable. With every inch of his body throbbing, he let out a low guttural sound that eventually turned into a full-fledged wail. It felt like an eternity, like it was never going to end.
Finally, just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, the pain began to subside. The holoants started to dissipate. The weight lifted from his eyes, the pressure from his throat and neck. He fell to his knees and took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes to clear his vision. He looked down at his arms, expecting there to be dozens of swollen ant bites, but there were none. It was like they’d never existed. Like nothing had even happened.
With clenched teeth, Torin took another deep inhale,
then lifted his gaze to the sinister man standing before
him.
“Are you ready to fix the machine?” Victor shouted from the other side.
Torin knew this wasn’t the time to be snarky, but he couldn’t help it. He crossed his arms. “It’s called the Porter 8000. And, like I already said, it’s unfixable.”
Victor clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He shook his head. “So be it,” he growled as he pressed another button on his remote.
The Order of Omega (The Alpha Drive Book 2) Page 17
