Leah opened her eyes.
She was sitting at a table. It was the table from their kitchen. The surface was marked where she’d built model aircraft with her father and had ended up scoring the varnished oak. But the kitchen itself, and the rest of her father’s house in the City, was gone.
23
Light shone down on the table and formed a ring of brightness around it. The rest of the room was shrouded in darkness. Leah had a sudden sense that she was back in the library where the creatures had attacked her. A wave of vertigo swept over her, and she had to clutch the table to stop herself falling off the chair.
As the vertigo passed, a woman seemed to materialize out of the darkness on the other side of the table. She wasn’t much taller than Leah, but she was older, and there were flecks of gray in her hair. Her eyes were gray, too, slatelike. Something about the woman seemed familiar, but Leah couldn’t work out what. The woman was wearing the blue uniform of a Transport officer, but there were no badges or insignia.
Leah wasn’t restrained in any way. She could run if she wanted to. But she didn’t know where they were or what was beyond the circle of light.
Except she did know where they were. This was a simulation, a virtual reality. None of it was real.
The woman pulled in a long breath. “It really would have been easier if you’d just gone along with my little deception.”
Even though Leah knew she hadn’t really been talking to her mother and father, the woman’s confirmation of the lie hit her hard. The bitter anguish of loss wrapped itself around her heart and squeezed. Fresh tears formed in her eyes.
The woman didn’t seem to notice Leah’s pain. “I know you’ve been to TRACE’s little nest. I know you can tell me where it is.” The woman locked eyes with Leah. “And I know you’re going to.”
Leah’s throat went dry, as though she’d just tried to swallow a mouthful of ash. “No, I’m not.” The words came out broken.
The woman pressed her lips together into a tight line. Then she turned away. “I suppose we got off to a bad start, Leah. My name is Captain Westler. I work for the Transport Authority.”
The woman’s voice was familiar. So was the way she moved—and her arrogance.
“What you won’t know is that I’m the person Transport uses for a very special type of work.” She turned back to Leah. “The sort of work that requires a scalpel rather than the fist.”
“And you’re the scalpel,” said Leah.
Westler seemed to consider that, then nodded. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
Leah tried to hold Westler’s gaze, but she felt the vertigo returning and had to look away.
“There’s no point trying to lie to me. I will get the information I want from you one way or another.”
Leah made an attempt to look nonchalant, but despite knowing this was all a simulation, she was scared. “Where’s Alice?”
“Ah yes, Alice.”
Westler’s smile returned, and this time there was a vindictive edge to it that made Leah’s stomach churn.
“I spent some time with her before I came here for this little discussion. You remind me of her, actually. The same misguided attempts to resist.”
“What did you do to her?”
Captain Westler snapped her fingers. A rectangular, slightly curved panel appeared. It floated in the space between Leah and Westler. The panel was dark blue, almost black, but it was semitransparent, and Leah could see Westler through it.
A video appeared on the panel. The image was shot from one corner of a hospital room, looking down at a figure lying in a bed—Alice. Her eyes were closed, but dark trails ran from the corners of them, like black, oily tears. Two livid bruises stained either side of her temple. The sheet behind her was stained with red, a crimson flower emanating from behind her neck.
The mousy nurse moved around the room, straightening the sheets, turning off the tower of electronic equipment beside the bed. She reached over and pulled up the sheet, covering Alice’s face.
Leah let out an anguished choke.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Leah shook her head. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Surely she’d only been in the simulation for a few minutes.
The video flickered off, and the rectangular panel faded away.
“Sergeant Alice Williams paid the price for her stubbornness. I’d hate for you to suffer the same fate.” The woman leaned in even closer, and Leah could see flecks of metallic purple flickering in the gray of her irises. Westler straightened up as though she’d suddenly grown disinterested in Leah.
She placed a hand on her chin and tapped her lips as though she was trying to think of a question. Leah tried not to think of Alice lying in the bed, tortured to death.
Eventually, Westler spoke. “I’ve been authorized to do whatever I think is necessary to get you to talk, Leah. And believe me, there are no lengths that I won’t go to. Some have even called me cruel. I prefer to think of myself as effective.”
Westler smiled briefly at her own joke, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “So, let me ask you the only question I want answered. The question that will get you out of the deeply unpleasant predicament you find yourself in. Where is TRACE’s headquarters?”
Leah fought to hold Westler’s gaze. “I don’t know.”
Westler let out a slow breath. Her hand lashed out, and she backhanded Leah across the face.
Leah’s head snapped sideways. Pain shot through her jaw. Leah blinked away tears. She could see the anger in those strange gray eyes.
Westler grabbed Leah’s chin. Her fingers dug into the flesh. “Where is TRACE’s little burrow?”
Leah pulled her jaw free of the captain’s grip and stared into her eyes. “I don’t know.”
Westler whirled away, and in that moment Leah recognized her.
This was the woman she’d seen talking to her father in their home. She’d accused him of being part of TRACE. When he didn’t confess, she’d taken him away and had him tortured. Or tortured him herself. But she looked younger than she had in Columbia. There she’d looked like someone’s grandmother. She must have chosen to make her avatar look younger. Leah wondered if her own avatar’s face matched the face of the teenager back in the real world.
When Westler turned back, there was a thin-lipped smile on her face. Leah was struck by the idea that the VR interface might be translating her thoughts for Westler.
“I’ve been looking into you, Leah. Your background, your family. What does your mother think about you running around the countryside murdering people?”
Confused, Leah said, “She—She’s dead.”
Westler frowned, but her eyes were filled with amusement. “Dead? Whatever gave you that impression?”
“My father told me.”
Westler gave a surprised hmm sound. “Why would he lie to you about that, do you think?”
Leah frowned and shook her head. “He—He wasn’t lying.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Leah struggled with the question. Surely Westler was just trying to unsettle her, wasn’t she?
Westler took a deep breath. “This is your last chance, Leah. Where is the TRACE headquarters?”
Leah swallowed. Fear welled up inside her, and for a moment, the urge to give Westler what she wanted was almost overwhelming. She sniffed. “I don’t know.”
Westler clenched her jaw. Silence stretched out between them, and Leah prepared herself for another blow.
“So be it,” said Westler, her purple-flecked eyes filled with rage.
There was movement behind Leah. A shape appeared beside her, but before she could look to see who it was, a plastic bag was slipped over her head, plunging her into darkness. Leah tensed. She dragged in two hurried breaths. The plastic pulled tight over her mouth. Raw, primal panic welled up from deep within her. Leah reached toward her head to pull off the bag, but hands grabbed her wrists and forced them back down.
The bag rustled and pulled tight a
round her throat. She took another breath, and again the plastic clung to her mouth and nose. It smelled of cigarette smoke.
Leah tried to still her thundering heart. This wasn’t real. She was in the VR. It was just a simulation. That might be true, but Alice’s words came back to her—“In many ways, it is real.”
The memory of Alice caught Leah unawares, and for a few seconds she forgot about the suffocating bag. Then her head was pulled back as the plastic was stretched tight against her face.
Instinctively, Leah tried to take a breath. The plastic clogged her mouth. It was trying to crawl down her throat. She began taking short, rapid breaths—in, out, in, out. The plastic crackled and shifted with each one, but she could feel the bag tightening, cutting her life short. Red stars burst across her vision.
And then the bag was gone.
Leah dragged in a deep, cleansing breath. The air that filled her lungs was oddly tasteless. Bright light shone in Leah’s eyes, and she squeezed them closed. Whoever had been holding her wrists had let go. She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the light. Red blotches burst across her vision. She breathed again, trying to shake off the feeling of light-headedness that was threatening to overwhelm her.
Eventually, she lowered her hand. She was sitting in the circle of light again, but now the kitchen table was gone. Captain Westler sat opposite her in a huge leather chair. She was drumming the fingers of her right hand on the arm of the chair.
Leah took another breath, savoring the air in her lungs even though her logical mind knew there was no air, not really.
Westler’s fingers stopped moving, and Leah waited for her to repeat the question. Instead, the plastic bag descended over her head again. She fought against the panic clawing its way up her throat. The bag tightened around her neck.
It’s not real! It’s not real!
Her body knew the words were a lie and struggled against the restraints as the oxygen in her lungs began to run out. She tasted the tears streaming down her face. By reflex, she tried to suck in another breath. The bag tightened. It was slick with sweat and tears and saliva. The smell of smoke was even stronger.
Leah’s vision wavered. The bag shifted and started to lift. Cool air caressed her neck. Then the bag was pulled tight again. Blackness threatened to overwhelm her. She forced it back, clinging desperately to consciousness as fresh panic engulfed her.
24
The bag was pulled from Leah’s head again. The bright light blinded her. She turned her face toward the floor and squeezed her eyes shut. She was breathing heavily. Her head swam as fresh oxygen flooded her body.
When she looked up, she was still in the black room, but things had changed again. She was sitting in an operating chair, like the ones back in the Transport facility. Leather straps secured her wrists to the arms. Her jacket, shirt, and khakis had been replaced by a medical gown. The leather chair stuck to her partly naked back. She was still inside a circle of light, but now it came from a cluster of bright white bulbs mounted into a silver disk suspended in the darkness above her.
There was no sign of Westler or whoever had removed the bag, but she had no idea how much time she’d get alone. Thoughts of Alice filled her mind, crowding out everything else. Was she really dead? If Westler was as good as she claimed, wouldn’t she be able to make Alice talk without killing her?
The thought that Alice might have taken her own life occurred to her. Weren’t secret agents given capsules of poison to take if they were captured? Maybe poison was a stupid idea, but Alice could have killed herself somehow.
No. She wouldn’t leave me.
From somewhere off in the distance came the dull, heavy thump of a door. Footsteps echoed out of the darkness, steadily growing louder.
Westler.
As though summoned by Leah’s thoughts, Captain Westler stepped out of the darkness. A rat-faced man in surgeon’s scrubs followed behind her. He peered at Leah with eager eyes.
“Hello again,” said the captain. “This is Doctor Summers. He’s going to be assisting me.”
Summers stepped around Westler. His latex-gloved hands were clutched together in front of his chest. He moved about Leah, checking her restraints first then adjusting the chair’s height and angle. He muttered to himself as he went. The words were barely audible but sounded like random gibberish.
Leah shuddered. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine the man taking great delight in taking a scalpel and slicing her open.
Then the doctor surprised her by rejoining Westler. A metallic whir started up from behind her. She tried to turn to look but couldn’t. Her head was locked in place. All of her was. It was as though the muscles in her entire body had been frozen.
The whirring grew louder, and a robot rolled into view. Its body was a white cylinder, about three feet high, with a sphere mounted on top. The sphere reminded her of Transport’s drones, although a series of flat silver panels ringed the sphere’s surface instead of the usual array of cameras and flashing lights. There were more of the silver panels in the robot’s body.
“Where is the TRACE HQ?” said Captain Westler.
Leah’s breath was coming in short, tight gasps, but at least there was no plastic bag over her head. Yet. “I don’t know.”
The whine of a servo came from the robot, and one of the panels in its body slid open. An arm appeared, sprouting out of the hole like the branch of some metallic tree. The ends were folded over, but as they cleared the opening, the arm extended, clicking and clacking as they moved. Another panel opened in the robot’s head. A cluster of black spheres rose into view on the end of a stalk. They watched Leah like the eyes of an insect.
The robot juddered forward, and the arm swung up and out over her. Light glinted off silver. The arm ended in a metal disk. Leah was reminded of the pizza cutter they’d had at home. Then the disk began to spin, its motor whirring.
The cutter lowered toward her arm. She tried to pull away, but her muscles were still locked tight. The spinning blade flashed past her face and then dropped out of sight toward her arm. Nothing happened for several long, agonizing seconds. Then she felt the blade press against the meat of her arm, and she began to scream.
The blade whined as it worked, rising and falling, adjusting its position after each cut to find a fresh piece of unharmed flesh. Leah tried to focus on the brief respite of those gaps, but they were short. The pain of the previous cut barely had time to ease before the next one began.
She felt unconsciousness closing in. She reached toward it with her mind, welcoming it. Blackness pooled around the edges of her vision as the blade dipped down again, this time tearing through her gown and into her leg. She smiled as the world faded. This was a way out.
The doctor appeared at her side. He pressed his fingers against her neck. She felt the sharp pinch of a needle piercing her skin. Warmth spread through her neck and down her body.
Leah screamed as the darkness receded, replaced by a terrifying clarity. “No!”
The doctor stepped back. Westler took his place.
Leah found she could move. Her limbs were heavy, and the pain was too much for her to try to get out of the chair, but she could turn her head to look at Westler.
“Where is TRACE?”
Tears trickled down Leah’s face. Her resolve was fading. The pain of the dozens of individual cuts had merged into one solid mass of agony that lit up her left side. But relief was within reach. All she had to do was tell Westler what she wanted to know. The image of the power station formed in Leah’s mind. She couldn’t give Westler an address, but she could describe it. Surely that would be enough, and then one way or another it would be over.
Leah couldn’t be sure, but she thought the pain in her side had eased slightly. It was becoming easier to think. The idea of giving Westler what she wanted took root, and the pain lessened even more.
Westler might even let Leah go. Then she could warn TRACE before Transport got to them. Even if she didn’t, TRACE could look after themselve
s. They’d escaped when Transport raided the farmhouse. Billingham would know she’d been captured by now. He’d probably have ordered an evacuation.
Pain flared in Leah’s leg. She thought the robot had begun its work again, but it was standing motionless beside the chair.
Leah blinked away fresh tears and looked into Westler’s eyes.
“Just tell me, Leah. And I’ll end the pain.”
The image of the power station came again, unbidden this time. The corners of Westler’s mouth curved into a smile.
No!
Leah forced the image back down. Westler was a liar. She wouldn’t let her go. She’d have another question, and then another. Each one would be the key to Leah’s release—as long as Leah kept betraying her friends.
No.
The pain in her leg doubled. Her muscles clenched, and Leah let out a low-pitched groan through gritted teeth. She could feel something pulling at her mind, unraveling her thoughts. Westler leaned in closer, her smile eager now.
Leah pictured her mind as a maze of steel passages. She ran along them, heavy doors slamming shut behind her as she went, locking off her memories.
Tendrils of pain dug their way into the cuts in her arm and leg. They crawled through her, setting her nerves on fire, until her entire body was a mass of raw, unadulterated agony.
Still Leah imagined the doors slamming shut on the knowledge in her head. There were dozens of them now, hundreds. Each time one of the doors clanged shut, Leah felt a tiny pulse of satisfaction. Then her head began to pound as something, some force, threw itself against the doors in her mind.
Westler leaned in close beside Leah’s ear. “Tell me where they are.”
Leah’s muscles were locked tight again, but she felt something cold and hard against the side of her head. The pressure increased. A high-pitched whine filled her head. Fresh pain radiated through her skull, sharp and distinct even amid the cacophony of agony battering her senses. Warm liquid ran down the side of her head.
The Girl in the Machine (Leah King Book 3) Page 11
