Mindwalker

by AJ Steiger

“I’m sorry, I can’t process that request. Please rephrase.”

  “Just drive!”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t process that request. Please—”

  Steven places the ND’s muzzle against the dashboard and fires. Bzzzzt. The weapon jumps in his hand. I give a start.

  “Please staaaa—” the voice warbles, then dies out. A light blinks once on the dashboard and goes dark. Steven presses a foot to the gas pedal and pulls out of the clearing, tires screeching.

  The car sails down a narrow gravel road that leads us straight back to the highway. Steven floors the pedal. His eyes are glazed, the pupils pinpoints. The speedometer hovers around eighty-five as we shoot down the road between thick walls of pine trees.

  I slump in the seat. My palms are slippery with sweat. “How did you get out of that closet, anyway?”

  “She was careless. She didn’t even check me for weapons. She just tied me up. Once I got the switchblade out of my pocket, I cut the ropes.”

  “She said she gave you enough sedatives to knock out an elk.”

  “I’ve built up a tolerance over the years. These days, almost nothing can knock me out for long.”

  I think about the little white pills he keeps in his pocket. “Oh.” Considering everything in his system, I wonder if he should really be driving. But it’s a bit late to worry about that.

  If he hadn’t woken up in time… If we hadn’t escaped…

  I clutch my arms, remembering the terrible sense of helplessness, the knowledge that something precious was about to be ripped away and there was nothing I could do. The idea of losing Steven is bad enough, but the idea of just forgetting, as if he’d never existed …

  I shudder. “She wanted to erase my memories of you.”

  “Would that be so bad?” Steven asks, his tone unreadable.

  “Of course it would!” The strength of my own reaction surprises me. How did he become so important to me in such a short time?

  In my mind, I see him standing in the parking lot outside the school, his tall, slim form silhouetted against the fading daylight. I remember the feeling of him in my arms, his warmth and scent. I’d rather die than forget those things.

  I start to feel light-headed.

  Steven points. “There.”

  I blink a few times. Focus. Sure enough, my little blue car is parked by the roadside. It seems our captor didn’t take us very far. Judging by the sun’s position, it’s only been a few hours since she stopped us. “Pull over.”

  “We should leave it,” Steven says. “Take this one instead. They’ll be looking for a blue car, not a gray one.”

  “Who?”

  “Them,” he says, as if it’s self-explanatory. Maybe it is.

  “My Gate is in that car. I’m not leaving it.”

  He exhales a tense breath and pulls over. “Fine. Bring it.”

  I fetch my Gate, along with the suitcase, and pile them into the backseat of the policewoman’s car. Not a real policewoman, I remind myself. Isn’t it illegal to impersonate an officer? What sort of people is Dr. Swan working with?

  I climb into the passenger’s seat, and Steven keeps driving. “We need to get off the highway,” he mutters. His breathing is heavy and labored. “Take some side roads.”

  “We need to tell someone about this. About her and what she tried to do to us.”

  “Tell who? The cops?”

  “Yes! What she did can’t possibly be legal.”

  His fists are clenched tight on the wheel, knuckles white. “If we go to them, they’ll just hand us over to Dr. Swan.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  He shoots me a glare. “I heard what she said. Your boss arranged this whole thing. Who do you think the cops will take more seriously? A couple of runaway teenagers, or the director of IFEN?”

  “But …” I want to say that this is all a misunderstanding, that if we just go to the authorities and tell them everything, somehow they’ll sort it out. I cradle my head in my hands and whisper, “I can’t be a Type Five. She has to be lying. There’s no way—”

  He makes an exasperated sound in his throat. “Don’t you get it? Those numbers don’t mean anything. They’re only a way of controlling us.”

  “Even so, they can’t reclassify someone whenever they feel like it,” I snap. “Yes, the system’s unfair, but they still have to follow procedure. They need data, data reviewed by experts, and that takes time. They’re not allowed to just wave a magic wand over any random person and declare that she’s a Type Five!”

  “Well, it looks like they just did.”

  “Illegally. That’s why I said we should go to the police! Everything about this is shady!”

  He shakes his head wearily. “Wake up, Lain. The world’s run by rich guys in white coats. They make all the rules. They can change them whenever they feel like it. Who the hell is going to stop them?”

  My body feels numb, oddly weightless. Even if I never agreed with the system completely, I always trusted it to follow its own laws. A part of me still wants to protest that this is all wrong, that it can’t really be happening. But it is. Within the span of a few days, I’ve gone from good citizen to public enemy.

  I clutch my chest, struggling to breathe against the crushing pressure. My thoughts are closing in on me. I can’t escape. And it occurs to me that thoughts are the most dangerous thing in the world. You can run away from physical danger, or try to fight it, but there’s no way to escape or fight your own mind.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “I want to go home.” It’s a stupid, childish thing to say. Home isn’t safe anymore. Dr. Swan’s undoubtedly monitoring the premises. There’s probably an armed guard stationed in my house, just in case I decide to come back. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting my room, my bed, my stuffed squirrel.

  For a few minutes, Steven doesn’t say anything. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and scratchy with fatigue. “Tell you what, Doc. We’ll stop at the next town. I’ll get out of this car. Then you can go home.”

  I stare at him, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s me they’re after. They just want you out of the way. If you’re not involved with me, you won’t be in danger anymore.” His tone is strangely calm. “You should go home. Go back to your life and forget about me.”

  “I’ll do no such thing!”

  He pulls over. We’re still in the forest, surrounded by pine trees.

  “Steven, I was just babbling. I’m not going to leave you.”

  He takes the ND from his coat pocket and holds it against his chest. “Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe you can still wipe the slate clean. Pretend you never met me.” His thin shoulders are shaking. He shoves the ND back into his coat pocket. “You know what? You don’t even have to take me to the next town. I’ll just walk away.” He gets out of the car.

  I try to grab his arm, but I’m a half second too late. My fingers close on thin air.

  I follow him. He walks quickly along the roadside, pinecones and dead leaves crunching under his feet.

  “Steven!”

  I catch his coat sleeve. He tenses, and his head whips around, eyes wide.

  In that moment, looking into those eyes, I’m struck by just how feral he is, like a stray cat living on the edge of human civilization, a cat who might bite you if you tried to pet it. But letting him go now is not an option. Even if he’s right—even if I’d be safer with him gone—I don’t care. My grip tightens on his sleeve. “You think this is all about you? You think after everything we’ve been through, I can just go back to my life as if nothing happened?” Tears of frustration prick the corners of my eyes. I blink them away. “I’m not leaving.”

  His hard expression softens and crumbles. He looks exhausted. Scared. “If you stay with me any longer, they might do worse than erase your memories.”

  I want to say that he’s wrong, that they wouldn’t—but at this point, I don’t know what to believe anymore. I think about Ian, about my caree
r as a Mindwalker, all the people I could help. I could make a difference. It’s what I’ve always wanted, isn’t it? To save people. To become someone my father would be proud of.

  Is that all? a voice inside whispers.

  Of course. That’s the goal I’ve been pursuing for the past four years. No, my whole life. I’m so close to achieving my dream. Am I really willing to jeopardize everything for Steven?

  Not just for him. For yourself. For the truth.

  I take a deep breath, trying to put my thoughts in order. “If you think I’m going to give up that easily, you’re mistaken.”

  He yanks his arm from my grip and pulls the ND from his pocket again. My smile falls away. With shaking hands, he raises the weapon and aims it at my head. His finger is on the trigger. “Get in the car.” His chest heaves. His eyes are wide and unfocused. The ND quivers in his hand. “Get in and drive away.”

  I stare into the ND’s dark muzzle. Neural disrupters are built to stun, not kill, but even so …

  I remember the woman’s body shaking in convulsions. Stories flash through my mind—rumors of NDs causing brain damage or permanent paralysis, reducing people to vegetables. The collar should stop him from actually pulling the trigger. But then, it didn’t stop him from attacking the fake policewoman, not for a minute or two. An instant of dizzying terror lights up my mind like fireworks. Then a strange tranquillity descends over me. The rest of the world falls away, and there’s only me and Steven.

  “Get out of here!” Steven screams. He backs away, still pointing the ND. Tears spill from his eyes and down his cheeks. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m telling you to leave or I’ll shoot you!”

  I look into those blue eyes. The blank, unfocused look is gone. Now they’re twin maelstroms of terror and desperation. “I told you. I’m not leaving.” I take a step forward.

  Steven’s hands tighten on the hilt of the ND. His chest jerks in little hitching, panicked breaths. “I swear to God, Lain … if you come any closer …”

  I reach out and gently close my hands over Steven’s, steadying the weapon. I take another step forward, so the barrel is pressed against my chest, over my heart. “I made a promise,” I say quietly.

  His chest hitches again. He squeezes his eyes shut. “You don’t get it.” His voice is choked. “You can’t fix me. I’m too broken. If you stay, I’ll only drag you into my hell. You’ll lose everything. I’ll destroy you. Please … please, just …”

  “You think you’re the only one who’s broken?” I ask, hands still covering Steven’s. I can feel them shaking violently. His sweat-slick finger quivers against the trigger. The ND’s muzzle is a cold circle against my heart.

  It’s strange. I was terrified a moment ago; I was losing my mind. Now everything is clear. I don’t feel that I’m in the slightest danger. I wonder if I’ve gone mad. “I can’t go back. It’s too late. If I return now, they’ll erase you from my head, and I’ll keep living a lie.” I hold his gaze with mine. “I won’t live that way. I refuse.”

  “Do you think I’m bluffing?”

  “I’ve been inside your mind, Steven. I know what sort of person you are. You won’t hurt me.”

  “You’re wrong,” he rasps. “I’m dangerous. I’m a monster. I—”

  I don’t think. I lean forward and press my lips to his, silencing him.

  The kiss is clumsy and too hard. Our teeth clank, and the tip of my nose mashes against his. He freezes. There’s a sharp intake of breath. Our lips are still sealed together, and I can taste the salty copper of blood where he bit the inside of his mouth. The ND slips from his fingers and lands on the ground with a muffled thump.

  When I pull back, the world is spinning slowly around me. My legs feel like water. He stares at me, eyes wide and dazed. “I don’t understand—” His voice cracks over the last word. He swallows, balling his hands into fists. “I—I pointed an ND at you. Why—”

  “You’re not going to shake me off that easily. Besides …” I kneel and pick up the ND. “If you wanted me to believe you were really planning to shoot, you shouldn’t have turned the safety switch on.”

  He drops his gaze. “Didn’t think you’d notice,” he mutters.

  “You aren’t very good at bluffing.”

  He utters a hoarse, thick sound that might be a chuckle. “Guess not.”

  I just kissed him. The thought noses its way into my mind, drawing my attention to the sensations in my lips. They’re tingling lightly. It feels … electric, like a live wire. I lick them, tasting a hint of blood and salt and something else, something I can’t put a name to. Something that’s purely Steven. “We’re in this together,” I say. “That’s just how it is.”

  I can’t read his expression. There’s too much going on there.

  To be honest, it’s not how I imagined my first kiss. My few vague daydreams always involved some moonlit stroll through the park or a beautiful room filled with candlelight, not being sweaty and exhausted and running for our lives and having a weapon pressed against my chest. Yet I feel a swirl of giddiness rising from my stomach to my brain, like bubbles in a champagne glass. The blood whooshes through my veins. My heart is beating, singing its rhythmic song. I’m alive, I’m alive.

  For a minute or two, the only sound is the twitter of birdsong in the branches. A crow caws in the distance, a harsh, rusty note. Then Steven nods. “Okay,” he says quietly, as if to himself. “We’re in this together.”

  “That’s right.” I pause. Awkwardly, I offer the ND to him, hilt-first.

  He glances at it, then pushes it toward me. “You hold on to that.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know how to use it. I’d probably point it the wrong way and shoot myself in the face.”

  “I dunno. You did pretty well when you were aiming it at that cop. Fake cop. Whatever. But that’s not why. I need you to shoot me.”

  My jaw drops. It takes me a moment to find my voice, and when I do, it comes out as a squeak. “Shoot you?”

  He turns and points at the back of his neck. At the collar. “I mean, shoot this. I don’t know exactly how far they can track me with this thing, but I’m not taking any chances. If you tried to remove it, I’d probably bleed to death, so you’ll have to short it out.”

  “Steven, I can’t do that.”

  “Well, I can’t do it myself. The angle’s wrong.”

  “It’ll hurt you! How do you know it’ll even work?”

  “It shorted out the car’s computer, didn’t it? Put it on a low setting. That way, it’ll just stun me, and I’ll recover in a few minutes.”

  He has a point. Neural disrupters work by sending pulses of energy through the brain, temporarily scrambling the flow of information. They can do the same thing to machines, and machines don’t recover the way people do. Still … “This seems risky.”

  “We haven’t got much choice. Set it to three. That should be enough to short out the collar without messing me up too bad.”

  I wonder how he knows that. But then, Steven and the authorities don’t get along. This probably isn’t the first time he’s been shot with an ND.

  I gulp and place the barrel against the back of his collar. With my thumb, I turn off the safety, then slide the switch to setting 3. My hands won’t stop shaking. “I—I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Sure you can. Just pull the trigger.”

  This is the only way, I remind myself. And I hate that collar. I hate what it does to him. I want to destroy it. But …

  I stare at the back of Steven’s neck. The skin looks soft. Vulnerable. In my head, I see people on the floor, jerking in convulsions, bloody foam running down their chins. I close my eyes and breathe in and out, in and out. Finally, my hand steady, I press the muzzle firmly against the collar and pull the trigger.

  There’s an earsplitting bzzzzt, a vibration that shakes every nerve in my arm and leaves it numb.

  Steven grunts. His limbs jerk, and his knees buckle.

  I drop the ND just in time to cat
ch him, looping my arms around his waist. He shivers and twitches as I half carry, half drag him over to a tree. I prop him against the trunk and crouch beside him. “Steven? Steven?” Frantic, I pat his cheek. He groans, his head lolling to one side. His eyes roll beneath his fluttering lids.

  I frame his face between my hands. “Can you hear me?” When he doesn’t respond, I carefully lift his eyelid with a thumb. At first, I see only bloodshot white. Then his eye rolls into view and slowly focuses on me. He smiles blearily. “Hi.”

  I exhale a quiet breath of relief. “Hi.” I give him a smile, then hold up three fingers. “How many?”

  He squints. “Purple.”

  Well, it does take a while for the ND’s effects to wear off completely. “You’ll be fine.” I slip an arm around him, help him to his feet, and make my way toward the car, Steven stumbling along beside me.

  “Can’t feel my legs,” he mutters.

  I glance down. He’s standing, albeit wobbly. He’s not paralyzed. “The feeling will return in a few minutes.” I ease him into the passenger’s seat. “Just rest.”

  “No time,” he murmurs. He tries to push himself up, to straighten his spine, then goes limp, groaning. “Okay, now I can feel my legs.” He rubs them.

  “Pins and needles?”

  “More like swords and daggers. Ugh.” He curses, squirming in his seat. “Almost forgot how much I hate getting shot by those things.”

  “I can drive us for a while.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’ve driven manual before. With a simulator, not a real car, but still.” I learned the basics when I got my license. Everyone learns them, for those rare emergency situations when the car’s computer fails. “Anyway, the autodrive isn’t working now that the car’s computer is fried, and you won’t be able to take the wheel for an hour, at least. We can’t afford to wait that long.”

  Reluctantly, he nods.

  I take a deep breath and grip the wheel. There’s no telling how long that woman will stay unconscious, and once she’s awake, she’ll alert Dr. Swan. Even if they can’t track us directly, IFEN has ways of locating people. If we’re going to get to Canada before they find us, we have to move fast.