Survived (Revived, #2)

by Jodie Kobe

  Slowly, I raise my finger to point at Fox. “What if you only take one of us? Rian or me?”

  Fox blinks. “Why?”

  “It'd be safer to leave most of us out here. You know, in case we won't come back. We'll lose less people.”

  Fox squints his eyes. “You're still pessimistic, aren't you? Same old, same old Vivian?”

  I snort. “Well, what do you expect?”

  Fox changes the topic. “Leaving you guys our here by yourself is just as dangerous as sending two of us inside the enemy's quarters. You witnessed what happened to us. As soon as we fell asleep, Kent grabbed us. It was easy for him then, so don't think it's not easy for him now.”

  Addison laughs lightly, but she sounds shaky. “I can't say we'll be careful, because you're right, that can happen.”

  Fox looks around at us. “So, we're only sending two, then? Hard choice.” His gaze lands on me, then on Rian. “Don't be offended by this, Callum, but I'm taking Vivian with me.”

  He doesn't explain why, but I think I know. Rian's much stronger than I am. If something comes up, he might be able to take care of it better than I can.

  I slap a hand to my chest. “Flattered.” But really, I am not.

  Fox laughs and slaps me on the back. “We need to meet somewhere after we're out. Anyone have a destination in mind?”

  Rian lifts a shoulder. “To tell you the truth, I don't know this place very well.”

  Fox points a finger behind Addison, and everyone focuses their attention there. It's another dark alley, but narrower than the ones I've seen. “I don't know how long we'll be gone, but for now, wait there. If it starts turning dark and we're still not back...then something's happened. Or we just lost our way. Find out what happened to us, then get help.”

  Addison points out what I just happen to realize. “Vague plan.”

  Fox's head goes up and down. “Last-minute. But the sooner we find out what's up with Denham and this place, the faster we can get out—” Without warning, Fox spins around to face the girl behind him. Laurey. She's been so silent this entire time that she has turned invisible. “I completely—” Fox takes a breath—“forgot about you. If you weren't so damn quiet...” He shakes his head. “Nevermind that. You're staying outside with the three, got that?”

  Laurey pats her head gently and looks away with a small smile on her face. “Yes.”

  “I swear,” Fox mutters. “You get quieter and quieter every day. You weren't this silent when I first met you, you know.”

  Maybe everything she's experienced is slowly silencing her. We have been discovering new life, and new things.

  Fox grabs my arm and starts pulling me toward the police station, calling out to the others, “Don't starve and take care of yourself. Remember our last-minute plan.”

  This can be talked over if we only spend more time on the plan. But how much time is left, and how much danger is the hideout in is unknown. Maybe we have no time left to waste.

  “Stay close,” Fox says, voice low as we step onto the police station's campus. I hear our shoes pounding on the cement, and when I look down, I notice Fox's boots have been replaced with worn-out sneakers.

  “We need our uniforms back, seriously,” Fox says, noticing me looking at his shoes. “Did you ever have to wear this?”

  “Yes.”

  The door is close now, and as we get even closer, my hands start to shake. I take a deep breath and swallow.

  Guards patrol the building, their steps robotic and timed. I don't want to think about how much they've rehearsed this.

  Not one of them approach us as our distance between the building decreases. We must not look like threats, or we've already been scanned without knowing it. Or maybe Denham or Kent is expecting us, so they're letting us through.

  Two guards stand in front of the white entrance door. They hold rifles by their sides, but do not raise them when they see us. One guard only drops his head and asks, “What business are you here for?”

  Fox gives him a casual wave and says, “We need something filed.”

  I slow down, expecting the two guards to block our path; they only let us pass through.

  When both of our feet hit the floor of the building, the door falls shut behind us. What catches my eye is how shiny the inside is. The tiles are reflective, and as I look down at the ground, I can see my reflection staring back at me.

  I’m expecting some sort of signal to go off, telling everybody in this room Fox and I have arrived. But of all the crowds in this room, only one person notices us. And he’s probably supposed to notice us, because he stands right by the door, his hand stretched out.

  “Welcome. What is your business here?”

  I look him up and down, quickly taking in his jeans and tucked-in blue shirt. He’s carrying a clipboard, and once Fox shakes the guy’s hand, the paper on the clipboard gets a couple words written down on it.

  “Uh,” Fox starts, looking around. “Could you not shout this to everyone else, but...we’re looking for a man named Denham Carnez.”

  The employee guy’s smile falters, but he answers with “Oh, of course. He should be right in here. But if it’s an interview with the commander, he would expect you to set up an appointment. Your names?” He slaps his finger down on the clipboard and starts scrolling through lists of words before our names ever leave our mouths. He’s getting ahead of himself is what I think.

  Fox points to the clipboard. “Don’t bother looking even if you know our names. We haven’t set up any appointments.”

  The guy looks up at us and blinks. “All right. Would you like to set up an appointment?”

  Fox shakes his head. “Of course not. It’ll take too long to get to it. We need to talk to him now. It’s sort of an emergency.”

  The guy laughs. “I’m not sure who you think you are, but our policy states that every interview needs to be set up, and the interviewee has to be patient, as well as punctual. Arrange an appointment, then come back.”

  No one has looked up at us yet, but if this guy, or even Fox, raises his voice, there might be a chance we’ll get kicked out.

  “Yeah, but the Denham guy knows us,” Fox tries. “He’ll be more than happy to talk to us.”

  “Well, I think…” The employee looks behind him, where there is a reflective staircase. He stays where he is for several seconds, leaving us hanging. Then he finally finishes his sentence. “...he might be available.”

  Fox and I share glances. They can’t possibly let us go through. Two possible criminals wanting to talk to the commander? Even I would not let them talk to Denham if was an employee.

  But the man does not have anymore words to offer. Instead his eyes tell me something when they dart just above my head. At the same time, a shadow passes over me, and right away, I know someone way taller is behind me. It’s not Fox, because I can see him clearly.

  I turn my head, bracing myself. A man, dressed in a dark uniform with two badges attached to his chest, stands there. One badge reads: CDR. The other: CARNEZ.

  Denham, of course.

  The employee guy has already backed away to the door, leaving us alone with Denham. The commander smiles, but his eyes do not look amused. “You are here...for some reason.”

  Fox mouth gapes open. “Uh…”

  I don’t think he’s seen Denham before in person. Maybe a picture, yes, but he hasn’t talked to him directly.

  And now he gets to.

  “So,” Fox starts, scratching his head. “Denham, right?”

  Denham arches his eyebrows. “That's right.”

  Fox nods and keeps scratching his head. “Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat. “Look, man...uh...you're sort of important. I don't know how else to put it.” He looks at me, expecting me to help.

  I surprise myself by taking over. My finger points at Denham. “You're a failed project, you know that right? We know you used to live back in the underground complex I came from. That's how you knew what I was talking
about.”

  Denham rubs his chin. “I do not recall anything even remotely close to that. My entire life was spent dwelling here.”

  Fox snorts. “Oh, sure. You're the same guy.”

  “The same guy? For what exactly?”

  “Jack Welds' project. And you know who that is,” I say, searching his face for anything. But I'm not good at reading expressions. “You even mentioned his name.”

  “Not sure what you mean.” Denham crosses his arms, and I immediately remember the tattoo on his hand. But there are black gloves over his fingers, and I know I can't invade his space to try and pull them off.

  Denham smirks. I'm almost sure he's thinking the same thing I'm thinking. Touch my gloves and you're dead.

  I take a step back and respect his silent order. “All right, then. If that's how you want to do this.” But I'm all out of ideas.

  Fox steps up this time, but he does something that I don't want him to do.

  He swings his fist at Denham's face.

  The guy realizes it, but it's too late. He's already on the ground.

  Sirens pierce my ears, but the location they are coming from is a mystery.

  In a second, the crowd of relaxed guards in the room stream toward us until we are surrounded. My arms are pulled back and I'm pushed to my knees.

  Fox is grabbed, but he doesn't kick. Neither do I.

  “How stupid are you?” I yell at him. He turns his head to me, but does not get to reply. A device is stabbed into Fox's stomach.

  I hear a sharp zzzt, and Fox crumples to the floor.

  A shriek escapes me. He's not dead, I try telling myself. Only unconscious.

  Stupid, stupid Fox! That isn't part of the plan, at least not the one I had. Is this his plan?

  Another guard appears in front of me. I clench my teeth together, knowing what will happen next as I watch the same device that was used on Fox appear in front of me. I swear I can hear it purring. The idea of touching me is comforting to it.

  Denham is already on his feet, and before the object makes contact with my stomach, his hand clamps around the guard's wrist.

  “Do not harm her. I'd rather have her conscious,” he says calmly, his expression placid. Almost immediately, the guard blends in with the crowd of his buddies without a word.

  I look down at Fox on the ground, then at Denham. “Is he all right?” Please, tell me he's all right.

  Denham's nod is so small it's almost unnoticeable. “I need to have a conversation with you, Vivian.” He waves a hand at a guard and points to Fox. “Take him to the room adjacent to my quarters. Let him wake up himself. Notify me when he does.”

  “But—” I start to say.

  Denham reacts quickly. His gloved hand clamps over my mouth. “No talking,” he says, gesturing toward the staircase with his other hand. “Please, let us through.”

  My arms are released and I instantly feel lighter. I keep my arms close to my sides and watch as the crowd splits to let us through.

  My gaze is planted ahead of me. Not at Denham and not at Fox. The crowd of guards has already flooded around his body, so I cannot see him.

  Denham places a hand on my shoulder. I shudder internally, getting a sudden thought of him digging a knife into my back. I swallow and force my legs to keep walking. If only I could stop and turn toward the exit.

  But I cannot leave. Fox and I are in trouble.

  CHAPTER 20

  V I V I A N

  Denham points to the red chair against the wall.

  “Sit,” he says.

  I do, but I cannot stop thinking about Fox. Where are they taking him? How can I get him out?

  Sitting on my hands underneath me and clearing my throat, I say the only words that pop into my head. “What are you going to do with me?”

  The pounding in my heart gets faster, and it's almost hard to breathe as I sit here. My fate is unknown, but Denham might have it planned out already.

  Denham sits down behind the desk in the room and slides his hands through the handle of a cup. He takes a sip.

  During the five seconds it takes for him to get a drink, I get a brief look at my surroundings. It's a small room with white walls. Nothing decorates the walls except a bulletin board covered in photos and papers. There is one window, but blinds cover what the outside holds. There is another table against the counter. On its surface rests a coffee machine. But that's it. Denham's room, like his personality, gives me no information about his life or his interests.

  “Oh nothing, really” is his answer to my question. He takes another sip from his mug, and attaches more words to our conversation. “While we wait for your friend to get back into the world, why not talk about this project that this Jack Welds has cooked up?”

  He makes it sound like he doesn't know who Jack Welds is, when earlier, he made it absolutely clear that the name and the person is familiar to him. He's in another mood today, and I don't like it.

  “What project?” Maybe I can be clueless today too.

  Denham takes his time to answer. After one more sip, he slides the mug across the table toward me. I stare at it and feel my mouth turn down into a frown.

  “I'm not drinking that,” I tell him, leaning back in my chair.

  “It's wine.”

  I want to laugh at his choice for putting wine in a mug, but I don't. “I don't drink wine.”

  Denham chuckles and pulls the mug toward himself. “Suit yourself.” He takes a sip. “So...want to explain this project?”

  I glance back at the door and my stomach clenches. Fox should wake up soon. To relax, all I need is for a guard to run in here with the news.

  “You're a project of Jack Welds, just like I mentioned before. You were dead, and his team revived you. You're not normal, but more of a cyborg.” If I call him a cyborg, I might as well call myself the same thing. We are both projects, him and me. And Denham knows about the project, I know he does. There is no point keeping it hidden from him.

  “Cyborg?” Denham laughs. “Really?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Don't act like you don't know this. You know very well what you're part of.”

  Denham's grin is replaced with a frown. “And what if I don't?”

  There is a moment of silence.

  Until he says, “I am surprised how far Jack has gotten in his search for a solution. How is it going for him now?”

  I freeze for a second before composing myself. Scratching my ear, I answer, “So you do know him.” Well, of course he does. He confirmed it himself. And here was I, starting to doubt that he's actually the same Denham. “How are you here? You're supposed to be dead.”

  “Same thing happened with you. They threw you away because they thought you were dead, didn't they? But here you are, alive. Jack realized his mistake so he sent a team after you. But they failed.”

  I do not know what he means by the last three words. “They didn't fail,” I say, trying to keep myself as calm as Denham looks. My nails are digging into my palms.

  “Of course they did.” Denham pauses to take a drink from his mug again. “My plan has already been launched, and it is great enough to disrupt Jack's useless project.”

  “It's not useless.” The air has been cleared, hasn't it? That empty field that I had walked across should have held my dead body, yet here I am.

  “Oh, it's not useless? Why are you so sure? You've been great enough to assist me in two of my missions. First the hideout, and now...this one.”

  So my information about Caleb did help him.

  Am I supposed to consider myself a traitor now? The hideout's location might have been found, all because of me. All those families, all innocent.

  Something tugs at my stomach, and I close my eyes for a second or two as everything around me spins.

  “Why do you want to track them down so bad?” I ask, voice cracking. “They did nothing to you.”

  “I'm sure Kent has justified his reasons, Vivian. They are criminals and we've been trying to hunt them down fo
r a while now. Then you showed up. The special girl thinking she'll be able to save everyone. Now look where that got you.”

  I want to growl, but it only sounds like I’m clearing my throat. “And where did that get me?” I snarl, trying to make up for my pathetic sound. “If you want to kill me now, then do it.” But I know it’s stupid of me to say this. I’m not ready for death yet (although I’ve been revived twice). My mouth needs to be shut, not encourage Denham to kill me.

  But Denham only laughs and shakes his head. “No, I do not want you dead, as typical as that sounds. If I did want you dead, you’d be dead the second I saw your face. There is something you need to realize.” He straightens out in his chair and folds his arms on the desk. “Look at me and tell me if I look familiar to you.”

  I squint my eyes and study his face, but also make sure I don’t do it for too long. Dark skin, small nose. But nothing familiar. “The first time I've ever heard of you was when I arrived at this town. Before that, you were completely nonexistent to me.”

  “But that’s what your brain wants you to think.”

  I scoff. “Oh, please. I’ve never seen you before,” I repeat. “So don’t go giving me that garbage.”

  Denham rubs his chin and bends down to search through a drawer behind his desk. He starts whistling, and after several seconds of waiting, I hear the drawer slide shut. Denham fixes his posture and slams something down on the desk. Something silver and reflective.

  I lean away. He really wants to kill me. What the heck is he doing with that?

  It’s a knife, a long one, glinting in the artificial light of the room. The point is sharp. I focus on Denham’s face instead, trying to forget about what that blade can be used for. A memory—not a very good one—slips into my head. A pointed knife, stabbing me three times before I collapsed, breath lost.

  What does Denham see in the knife on his desk?

  “Seen something like this before?” he asks, running a finger over the leather handle of the blade. “You should have.”

  Hesitantly, I lean forward, trying to get a better look at the object Denham’s expecting me to know. A clean, brand-new dagger is what I see.

  I shrug, acting casual even though the sight of the blade makes my stomach spin countless times.