Forgotten

by Kristin Smith

  I don’t catch up to him until I reach the driveway. He’s already sliding into his silver Aria. He probably wants to be left alone, but I don’t care. Hopping into the passenger seat, I say, “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere,” he growls, throwing the car in reverse.

  He drives fast, almost reckless, as if the anger and adrenaline are flooding his system—and his brain. He drove fast yesterday on the Gateway but that was different. It was controlled and fun, whereas this feels like he’s taunting death.

  After what seems like an eternity, I dare to speak. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he snaps.

  I wait a few more seconds. “Um… you don’t sound fine.”

  “My entire life has been a lie!” He slams his fist on the steering wheel.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice small. “I know this must be really hard for you—”

  “You have no idea how I feel right now,” he seethes. The car swerves a little.

  “Zane, pull over. Let’s talk about it. You’re hurting. And I want to help.”

  “Like you let me help you? All this time you’ve been hurting. Mourning Trey like he’s dead or something. Why can’t you just be glad he’s alive?”

  His words are like a smack to the face. Stunned, I say, “How dare you bring him into this?”

  “Why shouldn’t I? He’s my brother. Which is more than he is to you right now.”

  I want to punch him so bad—want to make his nose bleed and his jaw ache. I clench my fists, but then the calm, more rational part of me decides it might not be a good idea to attack the man who’s driving one hundred miles per hour on this winding road to the dam.

  The dam. I didn’t realize that’s where we are headed.

  Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and turn to face the window. When we reach the top of a large hill, I can see the turquoise waters of the lake below. The sun glints off the crystal water, creating an almost blinding effect.

  Zane breathes deeply beside me. “Listen, Sienna, I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me—”

  “It’s called anger, Zane,” I say sarcastically. “Not even you can be perfect all the time.”

  His voice comes out quiet. “I’m sorry. I should have thanked you for caring, but instead—” He stops himself. “I’m an idiot.”

  I soften at his words. “It’s okay. I understand you’re just lashing out. But don’t shut me out.”

  Zane’s mouth tweaks at the corner. “Same goes for you.”

  “Deal.”

  Zane parks his Aria on the lake side of the dam, and we both climb out.

  “Bring back memories?” Zane asks with a wry grin.

  “How you thought I was trying to kill myself? Again?” I laugh. “I don’t know why you thought I was so suicidal.”

  Zane shrugs. “Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to rescue you.”

  My heart trips over itself. “Zane,” I say softly, “you can’t keep saying things like that.”

  He moves around the side of the car. “Why not?” When he takes my hand in his, the warmth of his fingers heats up my whole body.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” I mutter, but I make no move to extract my hand from his.

  He looks down at me, then at our entwined fingers. “But what if it is? What if it’s the best idea in the whole damn world?”

  “Because—because you’re engaged. To someone else.”

  “But I don’t want to be,” he says, his voice low. He takes a step closer until he’s so close that I could wrap my arm around his back if I wanted to.

  “Zane,” I warn, but the warning gets caught in my throat. He’s giving me that look. The same one he gave me before he kissed me that first time on the couch in his house.

  “What?” he whispers.

  “Please, don’t—” But he’s already leaning down, his eyes focused on my mouth. My breath comes out shaky as his fingers slip from mine and his hands touch my waist, gently bringing me closer. Before I can stop myself, our lips meet, and a thousand nerve endings converge to a single spot. His lips are fire and warmth and need. And that single spark ignites an already-smoldering flame.

  An image of Trey flashes in my mind, his broad shoulders, his wide grin. I push Zane away. “Zane, please—”

  Zane takes a step back and scrubs a hand over his face. “He doesn’t even remember you.”

  “That’s not the point. What about Arian?”

  “I don’t care about Arian! Trey’s been living my life.” He throws his hands up. “Who knows? Maybe you and I would have ended up together if Trey and I weren’t switched at birth.”

  “And then you would be the one laying in that hospital bed with no recollection of who I am. Is that what you want?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just that—” He runs a hand through his hair. “My whole life has been a lie. But this—” he motions to the two of us “—this feels real.”

  “It’s not, Zane. It’s not. You’re—you’re hurt. Confused. That’s all.”

  His face softens. “I’m not confused, Sienna. I’m in love. With you.”

  I rub my temples, as if I can scrub all the confusion away. “I can’t think about that right now.”

  “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  Zane turns away and walks toward the water. When he’s at the edge, he stands there, hands in his pockets, staring across to the other side of the lake.

  After what seems like an eternity, I hesitantly step beside him. I gaze across the lake at the rocky slope and the way the waterline divides the light rock from the darker, redder rock. “Why did you want to come here?”

  “I would have gone to the Megasphere, but someone blew that up,” he says tersely.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Look, Sienna, you can stop apologizing. I know you’re sorry for all that happened the past few weeks, but compared to the lies my father’s told me the past twenty-one years, yours is a minor blip.” He heaves a deep sigh, and I’m not sure what I can say or do to make him feel better.

  I take a seat at the water’s edge, remove my shoes and socks, and dip my toes in. It’s at least one hundred and fifteen degrees outside, and yet, the water still feels cool.

  The water level is lower than the last time I was here. It would be really stupid to cliff jump now, even though I suddenly have an insane desire to do it anyway.

  Zane settles next to me and leans back on his hands. “I think I’m gonna tell Arian it’s over between us.”

  “What? Zane, you can’t do that. What about your future?”

  “Technically,” he says, “it’s Trey’s future.”

  I turn and face him. “You listen to me, Zane Ryder. You were the one raised by Harlow; you were the one bred for this. You know the lab; you even created your own miracle healing serum. You are Harlow’s son. Who cares what your genes say?”

  “Yes, but Trey is the poster child my father created.” He makes a face. “I’m just—a product of my mother’s affair.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t talk like that. You sound ridiculous.”

  That comment provokes a smile from Zane. “I really want to kiss you again.”

  Internally, I’m struggling. A part of me wants to kiss Zane. Maybe it would help to forget about the hurt I feel at Trey not remembering me, claiming he has a fiancée. But I still love Trey. Wouldn’t it be wrong to kiss one guy while I’m still in love with another?

  “But we can’t,” I say firmly, not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself.

  “You’re right,” he agrees. “Not while I’m still engaged to Arian.” He hops to his feet and strides to his car.

  It takes me a little longer to join him as I have to put my shoes and socks on wet feet. When I slide onto the leather seat next to him, I say, “Can you take me someplace?”

  I need to see it. I need to see for myself what it looks like now that the dust has settled and the guilt has thickened. Will there be
anything left?

  “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

  “The Compound.”

  6

  ZANE

  I drive along the abandoned railroad tracks until we reach a tunnel that Sienna claims is the entrance to the Compound. However, the entrance is caved in, with a few spots that might allow a person to squeeze through. According to Sienna, half of the Fringe members who survived are camped out at someone’s farm, staying in the barn or something.

  I’m still trying to come to grips with all that was revealed today. I’m not the first genetically modified human as I was led to believe my entire life. There are others in hiding, being protected by the Fringe. When I think of my father experimenting on innocent children… the very thought leaves me queasy. How could anyone do that, let alone the man I’ve admired and looked up to since I was a small boy? And now that I know Trey is my father’s son, making him the poster child of Chromo 120 and the rightful heir to Harlow Ryder’s company, where does that leave me?

  We park and get out. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask her.

  She hesitates, but then nods. “It’s because of me that this happened. All of these people—dead—because of me. I led Radcliffe right to Trey and the Fringe Compound, and I can never forgive myself for that.”

  “Sienna—” My voice is a warning because there’s no need for her to carry the blame.

  “No, Zane, it’s true.”

  Before I can protest, she slides through one of the narrow openings, her leg scraping against a pointy rock.

  “Careful,” I call after her. “We don’t know how safe this is.”

  Sienna switches on her Lynk light, illuminating the cavernous space. Piles of rocks block the way a few feet ahead of us, but once again, there are spaces like someone already came through here, digging a way in—or out.

  We squeeze through the next space, and the tunnel opens up.

  “This was the supply entrance,” Sienna explains. When her light shines on the mangled metal of a couple of semi-trucks, she gasps. There’s a black vehicle—a truck maybe?—that’s now flattened like sheetrock, several large boulders sitting atop.

  “That was Trey’s truck,” she whispers. Her eyes are wild as she moves closer to the wreckage. I’m about to tell her to be careful when I catch sight of her Harley at the exact moment that she does. Her bike is sandwiched between the two semi-trucks. It’s beaten and a little bruised, but miraculously enough, the semis have somehow managed to take the blow, sheltering her motorcycle from the falling rocks and debris.

  Sienna lets out a cry and moves toward her bike, climbing over the boulders that separate us from the wreckage. When she reaches it, she runs a hand over its handlebars and leather seat, assessing the damage.

  “Need help?” I call out.

  “It’s my Harley! She’s okay, I think. But she’s wedged in good.”

  I climb over the boulders and jump down, my feet kicking up a cloud of dust and dirt. “Let me take a look.” I lift the back end, testing the weight of the bike. “I think I can lift it out.”

  She stares at me incredulously. “Are you crazy? She weighs five hundred pounds at least.”

  I shrug. “So it’s a little more than I normally bench press. I’ve got this.”

  “You have nice muscles and all, but five hundred pounds, seriously?”

  My ego takes a bit of a hit with that comment, and now I’m more determined than ever to prove myself to her. So instead of responding, I brace myself and lift, the muscles in my neck straining. Sienna stands still, watching in awe.

  “Go clear a way through,” I say through clenched teeth.

  She moves quickly, scrambling over the piles of concrete to the wall of rocks. As she chucks hand-sized rocks out of the way, I take a deep breath and move up the mountain of rocks, carrying the bike in my arms. Every muscle quivers from exertion, and my heart beats against my chest, pumping adrenaline through my veins. I focus on the bike-sized hole Sienna is creating and her own muscles that strain from the effort. A groan escapes as the bike starts to slip from my fingers. Sienna stops and turns, staring at me with her mouth slightly parted.

  “Hurry!” I hiss.

  “Right. Sorry,” she says.

  I find my footing on the ground past the rock mountain, and the bike comes down with a crash.

  “I think we can push it the rest of the way,” I say, leaning over to catch my breath, one hand still holding her Harley upright.

  “I almost have this cleared,” Sienna says, puffing from the exertion.

  Once my heart rate has slowed, I grab the handlebars and begin to push. It moves slowly, like it’s resisting my efforts, but at least I don’t have to carry it.

  I push her Harley through the first opening, and then we’re met with the next wall of fallen concrete. Sienna holds the bike while I work to pull out the rocks, tossing them to the side. But I guess I’m not careful enough. When I seize a large boulder with both hands, there’s a low rumble, and an avalanche of rocks almost topples me.

  “Watch out!” Sienna screams, grabbing my arm and pulling me backward. I lose my footing and stumble, falling back on my rear. My hands are coated with dirt and grease from touching one of the bike’s sensitive areas, and my clothes are smeared with brown clay. A cloud of dust kicks up, settling in my chest. I cough, trying to find some clean air to breathe.

  “We need to get out of here,” Sienna says.

  I jump to my feet, waving my hands in front of me as if I can clear the air around us by doing so. “Everything’s hazy now, isn’t it?”

  “Imagine,” she says, “that you’re trapped underneath this mountain while bombs rain down and fire and smoke consumes everything.”

  This is the most she’s said about that night. Other than the nightmares that wake her, she doesn’t talk about it.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Sienna.”

  She laughs, her tone bitter. “Tell that to the hundred dead people on the other side of these walls.” Tears fill her eyes, but she looks away, always trying to be the strong one. I wish she didn't feel like she has to be strong for me. I wish she could let me in, show me her weaknesses. I'd still love her for them.

  “I’m sorry, Sienna,” I say. “I’m sorry you had to experience that. And even more so that I left you at the Satellite Government Facility that day. Everything that man said—”

  “It’s over now,” she cuts me off. “And we’ve moved on, right? We’re good.”

  I wish she understood how much I regret leaving her at the SGF, how if maybe I’d stayed, things might have turned out differently. What if I hadn’t left? She might have come home with me, stayed at my house, and spent time with her sister. She wouldn’t have been in the Compound at all. She wouldn’t have led Radcliffe back to their hideout, and therefore wouldn’t be plagued with these endless nightmares of guilt and blame.

  “Yes, we’re good,” I confirm. I push the bike through the opening my little avalanche created. Sienna walks alongside me as we follow the railroad track out of the tunnel. The sun is bright when we exit, and I blink a few times to allow my eyes to adjust.

  Once we reach my car, I prop the bike on its kickstand. “Now what?” I ask.

  Sienna fiddles with the key in the ignition, and I already know what she’s thinking. “You want to go for a ride, don’t you?”

  “I just want to make sure she still works okay.” She bends down, checking the bike over. “T-CLOCS,” she mutters.

  “T-what?”

  “Sorry.” She gives me a sheepish look. “I was talking to myself. T-CLOCS. It’s a little checklist to make sure my motorcycle is safe to ride. It stands for Tires, Controls, Lights, Oil, Chassis, and Sidestand.”

  My eyebrows rise. “Impressive. How do you know so much about motorcycles? Did your dad ride?”

  She laughs outright at my question. “My dad on a motorcycle? No way. Dad was a mixture of leather, coffee, and books. Not oil, sweat, and grease.”

  After lying do
wn on her back, she scoots up next to the bike, checking the rims and spokes to make sure there’s no damage. “It kind of became a hobby of mine after my dad died. Do you know the junkyard off Chantilly? Never mind, of course you don’t. Anyway, I found Harley there when I was looking for some old furniture to decorate our trailer with.” She looks up at me. “We didn’t always live in a trailer, you know.”

  I try to hide my surprise. I assumed the opposite. “What happened?”

  “After Dad died, Mom became sick. We couldn’t afford to live in our house in the suburbs anymore, so we sold it and everything in it, and found the trailer on the outskirts of town. That’s when I dropped out of school and started taking on odd jobs.”

  She says it all with such a matter-of-fact tone, but I sense the truth. It was hard for her. It was more than any teenage girl should have to deal with. But she’s too strong to admit it.

  “I don’t know how you did it,” I say.

  She sits up, wiping her hands on her shorts. Unconsciously, I find my eyes shifting to her bare legs.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” she says. She rises to her feet, straddles the bike, and bounces up and down a little. I can only assume she’s checking the chassis to make sure everything is working properly.

  “Anyway,” she says. “When I found Harley, I took her home, researched antique motorcycles, and fixed her up. There’s a shop near the Hollow that sells parts, so that’s where I headed after I got my first paycheck.” She pats her bike fondly. “Never regretted it.”

  When she turns the key, the engine roars to life, bringing a brilliant smile to her face. I want to tell her all the ways I think she’s amazing, how she’s unlike any girl I’ve ever met, how I find her beautiful, resourceful, intelligent, and intriguing, but she doesn’t want to hear those things. Not from me anyway.

  So instead, I take a step toward her and the bike. “Can I ride too?”

  She gives me a coy smile, and my normally strong heart falters a bit. “As long as you don’t mind a girl being in control.”