I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the same way. We tried it on our own, and we’ve lived for a couple of weeks under the suffocating thumb of the Olders. There has to be a better option.
“There is a threat to world security being perpetrated in Russia. They’ve developed a computer virus that falls under the umbrella of biological warfare—we don’t know how it works, not exactly, but something in the code liquefies parts of the brain of anyone who stares at it for more than twenty seconds.”
“Stares at what?” Mole asks.
“The virus is transferred through a hyperlink, though none of us have seen it, for obvious reasons. When you click on it, some kind of file is opened, like a moving screensaver or one of those paintings that look like a smear of dots until a picture appears inside them.” Dane frowns. “I realize you all might not understand the reference, but basically it’s sophisticated neuropsychology. They display an image that attracts your brain and it scrambles the frontal lobe—the part that allows us to reason and feel emotion, mostly.”
“Wait.” Athena pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re saying it turns them into, what, zombies?”
That makes Dane smile, even if it’s more patient than amused. “Not the kind of zombie you’re thinking. They don’t eat brains or turn violent or anything like that. The ones that don’t die immediately just kind of…sit. A number of the affected people are Russians—it seems they tested it on some unsuspecting folks in Siberia first—and the survivors have been committed to psych wards.”
“What do you expect us to do about it?” Haint poses the question, her fingers disappearing one at a time. It makes me feel better that she seems to be doing it herself, subconsciously but deliberately, the way she always does when she’s thinking. We’re going to need control over our mutations for whatever comes next.
“We don’t know anything about computers,” she adds. “None of us ever touched one until a few weeks ago.”
“We’re not going to be asking any of you to try to crack the computer code. We need your help uncovering who is behind it, where they’re headquartered, and how involved the Russian government is in the whole thing.”
Goose frowns, focus wrinkling the skin between his eyebrows. “How?”
I’m keeping my mouth shut because they don’t need me. What could I possibly do? Touch random people and inform the government if they’re going to die soon? I don’t even know why I’m here.
Then I think about what I saw today—how the virus looks, how fast it’s going to spread, the message that displays at the end—and reconsider. It could be my way to contribute.
“I’m not authorized to give you details as far as your assignments. I’m here as a courtesy to Gypsy, and to tell you that this is the reason you were created—to assist the good guys in the war against evil. Against killers. If you decide to come to the safe house tomorrow, we’ll discuss your roles going forward.”
“Don’t use this as an excuse to pitch us your patriotism,” Pollyanna spits. “I want to do the right thing, and maybe I’ll do it more than once if you’re willing to help us with things here and there, but don’t ever expect me to blindly trust the government that created me without a single thought as to the consequences.”
And killed our mothers in the process, I think. It’s no coincidence that they all died of mysterious, degenerative diseases shortly after giving birth to us. The government made us with no regard for our well-being, or our mothers’ health, or really the kind of havoc we could wreak if they lost control of us.
Which they knew darn good and well had already happened, since we’re the fourth generation of Cavies.
“How do we even know we’re doing the right thing?” Mole lobs the question softly but it lands with all the subtlety of a grenade with the pin pulled out.
Dane’s features harden. It’s a new picture of him, someone who’s not coaxing or understanding, but is a man who doesn’t like his honor being questioned. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the CIA doesn’t exactly have a history of being forthcoming with details. You could tell us anything and we only have your word for it.” He stares Dane’s direction, his focus unnerving. “We’re not saying we won’t help, but we need you to be honest with us.”
“I know you don’t like me, Mole. You never have. And you don’t have to, but you are going to have to trust me as a representative of the United States government.” Dane scans our circle with a thin smile. “Unless one of you is hiding a secret talent for reading minds and could ease his worries.”
None of us laughs. It’s not a joke, especially not since one of the Olders displayed a frightening ability to control minds during the confrontation at the warehouse. It’s not a talent I would enjoy, and Pollyanna’s ability to change a person’s mood is as close as we come. That’s invasive enough.
“Okay, then, bad joke. I’ll give you all the night to consider and anyone who wants to know more can meet me at the warehouse down by the aquarium at nine a.m.” He pauses, his indecipherable gaze finding mine in the darkness. “I’ll check in with Norah, and I know where to find you in case of an emergency.”
The way he says it, like he’s apologizing or we have some kind of secret understanding, makes my stomach hurt. He knows more than he’s saying about my father, and the reminder that he’s got access to the last piece of my past—my real past—makes the ground spin under my feet. Terror morphs into some kind of protective rage in my blood.
“Where is he?” My voice doesn’t sound like I’m about to scratch his eyes out. Huh.
“His team has a big case coming up, and they needed to do some research. They’re at a hotel down near St. Petersburg, Florida.” His eyes never leave mine. “He doesn’t know anything.”
“For now,” I snap.
Dane doesn’t deny it. I’m glad he doesn’t shrug or I might totally lose it.
“We’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Desperation to get out of here, back to somewhere familiar, creeps up into my chest. I need armor, a way to protect myself and guard the heart that I had been so close to opening up to my father, to Jude. To Maya.
Even to Dane.
The agents don’t move, but the Cavies and I leave the graveyard the way we came in. I lead them back toward my father’s house, my feet on autopilot while my mind tries to protest taking them there. It doesn’t seem right.
It feels like doing the very thing I swore not to do, the reason why I left Charleston weeks ago: involving my father in this mess we call life.
Chapter Fourteen
We’re a couple of blocks from my father’s house on Water Street, one of the older areas of town that used to be right on the river, and my mind won’t stop tripping, spinning over the events of the past couple of days—mostly the ones that have taken place inside my own head.
The others haven’t said anything about not helping to track down the people behind this virus. They haven’t said much of anything at all, though, since we left the graveyard. And even if it influences them one way or the other, I can’t stay silent about what I’ve seen any longer. I might not have been Savannah’s biggest fan but the idea that this thing is going to kill her—and all those other people I passed on the street today—brought this mission much closer to home, and my friends need all the facts.
“We’ve got to help them if we can,” I say, not breaking stride. No one else does, either, and I know we’re all wiped from the long day. “I touched a bunch of people on the street today to see…what I could see. Half of them die from this computer virus.”
I stop walking when I realize I’m half a block ahead of everyone else, turning around to find almost comical surprise on their slack faces. I’ve been so worried about what I’ve seen, about my dad, about my involvement in Jude’s death and what we’re going to do about the Olders and Flicker, that the fact that I made the decision to see people’s deaths today didn’t even register as an event.
My Cavies’ faces say that it definitely is one
.
Haint crosses her arms, a strange expression of excitement on her dark features. “You were able to see how they died just by brushing up against them on the street? That’s amazing!”
“I mean, it’s not disappearing or melting locks, but it’s a definite increase in ability.”
“It’s great, Gypsy.” Mole’s look of pride warms me from top to toes. “It’s brave of you, to take that on knowing you can’t fix them.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re all super pumped for you,” Pollyanna interrupts. “But you’re saying this virus is not only going to get into the United States but become so big that half the people you touched on a random afternoon are going to be affected? That’s crazy.”
Athena shakes his head. “Not so crazy. The chatter gets louder every day. It’s bad, which is why I agree about helping. It’s going to happen to people we know—maybe our parents, maybe us. None of us have abilities that could save us from this kind of neurological attack.”
“Can we talk about this inside?” Goose asks, teeth chattering. “It’s interesting and all, but I think we were pretty much in agreement to hear out the CIA before we even came to town. Even if we didn’t think we’d be signing up for a covert operation quite so soon.”
My stomach settles as we start toward the house again, and my heart rate slows to a normal rhythm. We’ve made a decision—at least about this—and I know it’s the right one. I think about how I touched those people and how it got a little bit easier every time. And that Mole might be wrong about not being able to save them.
If we catch the people behind this before the virus spreads further, then maybe I can change how they die.
It’s the biggest revelation I’ve had in seventeen years, but before I can find the words to make it a real thing in the world, we trudge through my father’s back door and tumble into the kitchen to find that we’re not alone.
Madeline and Geoff are sitting at the kitchen table.
I stop so quickly that Pollyanna stumbles into my back, then Goose into hers, until we all trip forward in a tangled mass. The sight quirks a smile at the edge of Geoff’s mouth but Madeline watches us, stoic.
“What are you guys doing here?” I ask once we’re upright and sorted. “Is Flicker okay? Did something happen?”
“Flicker’s doing much better,” Madeline offers. “Her vitals are strong and she’s no longer comatose, though I am keeping her sedated while we start administering the GRH-18, just in case.”
“She’s asleep upstairs,” Geoff adds.
“How did you get inside?” Haint wonders, glancing around. I follow her gaze, sweeping the place for broken windows or smashed doors or anything else that’s going to cause my dad more trouble.
“I used the spare key under the stone tortoise on the porch.” Madeline doesn’t meet my gaze. We all wait, and I, for one, don’t think we should have to ask the obvious question. I didn’t even know there was a spare key there. She sighs when it becomes clear we’re not going to disperse and let it go. “My Cavy name is Crystal. As in crystal ball.”
It sinks in, and dread pools in my stomach. “You can see the future?”
“Yes and no. I can see the current trajectory of the present. It’s always subject to change.” Her almost-purple eyes meet mine. “You’re not the first one of us to feel helpless among the more obviously powerful, Gypsy. But we have our uses.”
The word uses falls off her lips like poison. I wonder if the reason has anything to do with why she’s so keen on leaving Saint Stephen’s and the Olders behind for good. What they used her for there.
It’s late and every bone in my body feels like it’s got a million holes in it. The day has been exhausting, from talking to Dane to running into Savannah to using my gift on purpose, and nothing sounds better than collapsing in bed. We’ll go again tomorrow. Meet with the CIA and get our assignments so that we can prepare as best as we can, and then do what we can to keep my visions from coming true. And while I might not be able to have a life with my dad and Maya and Jude, I can help make sure they’re safe in front of their computers every day. And that’s something.
“I’m going to check on Flicker,” Pollyanna says softly, heading for the stairs.
I break eye contact with Madeline, not ready to confront someone so much like me. “I’ll come, too.”
Flicker’s asleep under the thick covers in one of the guest rooms down the hall from the one that used to be mine. She doesn’t open her eyes when we gather around her bed. It’s clear from the peach tinge to her cheeks and the flutter of her almost invisible lashes that something is different, though. Better.
Just seeing her outside the tank and free of wires and electrodes uncurls some of the anxiety wound in my chest. If we can get her to a place where she’s awake and not spontaneously teleporting, it will be magical.
“I don’t mean to be the whiner, but I’m bushed.” Goose yawns and Athena catches it. “How do you want to do sleeping arrangements, Gypsy?”
“There’s room for one other person with me.” I point a finger at Mole before he can open his mouth. “Another girl person.”
“You’re so sexist.” His response comes with a smile, but it’s as exhausted as the rest of us look.
“There’s another guest room, so two can fit in there. The couch in the family room pulls out, and I guess someone could sleep in my dad’s bed. We’ll just make sure to put everything back together before we leave.”
We shuffle out of Flicker’s room to the bathrooms and around the second floor. Haint ends up in my room with me, and her breathing evens out within seconds of hitting the pillow. After the cold, uncomfortable cots at Saint Stephen’s and the equally awkward arrangements at the shelter last night, the fresh sheets and mattress feel like heaven.
My eyelids are heavy, but before I let them flop closed I pick up the burner phone my father left and key in a text to Dane’s official CIA phone number.
We’re not friends. I don’t need him. The reminder, issued to myself, wipes away my guilt at not using the secret number on the back.
The text is simple and to the point. Two words that could change our lives forever.
We’re in.
Flicker was still asleep when we left this morning. Geoff’s along for the trip to meet the CIA and Madeline insisted on coming, too, even though that means leaving Flicker alone. The still-mysterious Older promises everything will be fine, and since she can apparently see the future, there’s no point in arguing.
The sun blinds me as the building down by the docks comes into view. The rays glint off cargo ships and smother dilapidated warehouses and steel outbuildings in an egg-yolk glow.
“Well, it’s nice to know some things never change,” Geoff mutters as we wander into the parking lot of the CIA warehouse. “They didn’t even bother cleaning up.”
The cluttered space is a garish reminder of what happened the last time we were here, right down to the overturned Dumpster. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten a notice from the city, but then again, they are the CIA.
“I don’t know. I think it looks better this way.” Mole squints. “It’s like a sign that says The Cavies Were Here.”
We all smile, and Goose snorts, sending some of the tension whipping through the air floating off over the bay. The door that we used to enter the building unseen a few weeks ago opens voluntarily this time, and the female agent from last night attempts a smile. It looks more genuine than any expression Dane put on in the graveyard.
“Hi. I’m Agent Bishop.” She reaches out for my hand, which is odd because I’m not in front, and her shiny, dark ponytail falls over her forearm. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Norah.”
“Oh, um. Hi.” I avoid her hand, and her face twists a little, confusion in her green eyes, maybe at my lack of enthusiasm. It can’t be the fact that I didn’t touch her or she must not have heard anything about me.
“Do you prefer Gypsy?” she tries.
I shake my head, find a smile of my own. “
Whichever.”
She nods, then introduces herself to the rest of the Cavies, as though we’ve all been invited for breakfast instead of business. Her eyebrows rise as she waits for someone to introduce Madeline, who finally does it herself. It’s not as though the CIA can’t figure out who she is on their own. They have known about every single Cavy for fifty-plus years.
Madeline doesn’t elaborate on what she can do or what Cavy generation she’s from, why she’s here with us or anything else. I’m still unsure why she’s here, but if she’s hoping to take part in the Russian-computer-virus operation she’s going to have to disclose her ability, at the very least. Right now she kind of comes off as our chaperone, and I think again that Chameleon might have planted her for just that reason.
Once the oddball introductions are done, Agent Bishop opens the door wider and gestures us inside.
The ground floor is still just a series of empty rooms with a few desks jumbled with papers and rows and rows of filing cabinets. If memory serves, there’s a series of laboratories upstairs filled with medical equipment and enough drugs to wipe out a houseful of Ebola monkeys.
She doesn’t take us up there, though, instead leading us into the large room where they held us hostage for a brief time back in December. It’s been rearranged into a circle of chairs, a dry-erase board, and a television screen. Dane and the other agents sit in metal folding chairs on either side of the board, and Agent Marlow paces beside the television. I wonder why he didn’t come to the graveyard if he’s still involved?
Agent Bishop nods to him and then takes a seat with the other junior agents.
“Children, it’s good to see you again.”
A twitch finds my eye at the word children, along with the dripping superiority in his voice. I bet he doesn’t know that we’re all taking drugs that allow our abilities to work on him now. He wouldn’t be talking to us like we’re stupid or harmless if he had the proper fear of Mole lighting him on fire.
Alliance Page 15
