“I might be willing to do that,” I reason, “if you would be willing to stop doing research on juvenile inmates.” I’m referring to what I discovered when I joined the Fringe. That juvenile inmates are being transported to the Chromo 120 labs for experimentation and DNA alteration.
Harlow tilts his head and stares at me, confusion lining his eyes and making them crinkle. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, Mr. Ryder. Don’t play dumb. The inmates you’ve been experimenting on? Trying to change their DNA so they won’t be a scourge to society anymore?” I lean forward. “Zane found your little hideout in the basement of the Match 360 Legas facility. I imagine pretty soon he’ll start asking you questions about it.” I frown and pretend to be concerned. “Too bad he’ll discover more of your lies.”
Harlow slowly shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Preston. After the traumatic incident with Zane’s mother, I washed my hands of genetic experimentation and moved my son away from Rubex.” His mouth forms a hard line. “Perhaps you should reconsider before accusing a man, in his own home, mind you, of doing something so heinous.” He strides away down the hall.
Surprised by his blatant denial, I stare after him until he enters his office. When the door clicks closed, I hurry outside and down the steps to where Zane waits in his car. I slide onto the seat beside him.
“Did my father say something to you?” Zane demands.
“Well, yes—no.” I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “He wants me to talk to you, reason with you, I guess.”
Fists clenched, Zane bangs the steering wheel so hard that the horn begins to blow, stuck on the annoying sound. I laugh when I see the look on Zane’s face. A mixture of surprise, anger, and annoyance.
“How do I turn this thing off?” he asks over the blaring noise.
“Hit it again!”
He does, and it somehow manages to dislodge the horn. It goes quiet. When he looks at me, I struggle to hold in the laughter, pinching my lips together to keep it from spilling out.
“Go ahead,” he grumbles.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“Go ahead and laugh.”
That’s all it takes. I laugh so hard that my belly hurts. “I’m sorry,” I gasp, tears filling my eyes. I wipe them away and try to compose myself, but another fit of giggles invades me. Before I know it, Zane is chuckling too.
“It’s nice to see that even though you have perfect genes, you’re still human,” I say as the giggles subside.
“You like that, don’t you?” He starts the car and backs out of the driveway.
As we’re driving, I tell him about his father’s denial of experimenting on juvenile inmates. “I don’t understand why no one has heard of it when I saw, with my own eyes, Trey bring in a girl who was being experimented on.”
Zane gives me a sidelong glance. “Are you sure Trey was telling the truth?”
“Of course,” I say in indignation. “Why would he lie about something like that? Besides, there were dozens of people he and the other Fringe had rescued throughout the years. It’s not like Kaylee was the only one.” Saying her name brings a stab of pain to my chest. I might not have known Kaylee well, but the girl with the blonde ponytail will always stick in my mind.
I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save anyone.
At Zane’s confused look, I clarify. “Kaylee was one of the inmates brought to the Compound.”
He nods. “I’ll have a talk with my father—I mean, Harlow.”
“Zane,” I say. “He’s still your father.”
His hands clench the steering wheel. “Yeah, I know. I just need time to process everything.”
Harlow’s words ring in my ears. “I think you should give him a chance to explain himself. What he did was awful, but it was years ago. I’m sure he’s been punishing himself ever since.”
Zane glances at me with narrowed eyes. “Since when did you become an advocate of my father?”
“I think,” I say slowly, “that sometimes our parents do what they think is best for us, without ever really thinking of the consequences of what might happen when we find out the truth.”
“You’re thinking about your father?”
Biting my lip, I nod.
“I’m sure your father was only trying to protect you,” he says.
“So was yours.”
Zane is quiet for a few minutes, the purr of the engine the only sound in the dark car.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out,” he finally says.
Satisfied with his response, I send a message to Trina on my Lynk to let her know we’re coming. Shortly after the bombing, the Fringe survivors split up. Half are hiding out at Jones’ farm, trying to stay off the grid. Trina sends me the coordinates for the farm, and then I share them with Zane.
When we arrive at Jones’ farm, there is no sign that anyone else is here. No sign of anything out of the ordinary. The only light comes from the front room of Jones’ farmhouse, but the giant red barn and the yard are dark.
“If they’re here, they’re doing a good job of hiding,” I whisper as we walk to the front door.
“These people are nice, you say?”
That’s right. Up until a few days ago, Zane believed that the Fringe were the ones trying to kill him and his family. He, along with the rest of Pacifica, believed the Fringe to be unfeeling monsters. No wonder he looks nervous.
“You’ll be fine. Just don’t tell them who you really are. Around here, the name Harlow Ryder is akin to a very bad curse word.”
“Good thing he’s not my real father,” Zane mutters.
It takes Jones a minute to shuffle to the door when I knock. His weathered face from years in the sun registers his surprise at seeing me. He takes a step back and invites us in.
The inside of his home is decorated with country decor—handmade patchwork quilts draped over the worn couch, pictures of chickens and old red barns decorating the walls, and thick-planked wooden floorboards underneath hand-tied rugs. It has a woman’s touch—especially the milk-glass chickens lining the shelf on the opposite wall—which makes me fairly certain that, at one time, there was a Mrs. Jones.
“What brings you out to the farm?” Jones asks as he settles into a navy-blue recliner. He’s traded his overalls from the last time I saw him for some flannel pajama pants and a button-down sleep shirt. Zane and I settle on the edge of the couch, facing him.
“I guess you heard about Trey,” I say. “That he’s still alive?”
Jones nods, rocking back and forth in the oversized chair. “Surely did. Best news ever. I got to tell ya, I did a happy dance when I heard.”
I hesitate, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. “Unfortunately, his memory’s been altered. Doesn’t remember who he is or any of us.”
Jones’ mouth drops open. “Nah. Surely they can give him a shot of something—and I don’t mean the liquor kind.”
If only it were that easy. I decide not to tell him about Trey’s little escapade to the Capital. News like that would hurt this poor man, even more than knowledge of Trey’s death.
“I heard from Trina that Fringe members are hiding out here. Is that true? They’re doing a great job of being discreet.”
Jones grins. That’s when I notice for the first time the top tooth he’s missing, third from the front. “They’re in the barn. But I told ‘em lights out at dark. I can’t ‘ford to have Enforcers sniffin’ ‘round here.”
“Do you mind if we go out there?” I ask. “I really need to speak with Trina.”
“Sure thang. Just watch yer step on the way. There’s a snake that’s been lurking ‘round here lately. Though he’s prolly asleep now.”
My skin crawls. I hate snakes.
Zane clears his throat. “A snake?” he asks.
Jones waves his hand. “Oh, it’s just a little rattler.” Jones pushes himself out of the recliner. “I’m sure you’d much rather visit your friend than talk to
this old man.”
Zane and I follow Jones’ to the back door. When he opens it, I see the barn a short distance away, only about twenty yards or so.
“Don’t be a stranger, ya hear?”
“Of course,” I say.
Jones closes the door, and Zane and I both hesitate on the top step. He looks at me, and I look at him.
“A rattler?” he says.
Something about Zane being equally afraid gives me a surge of confidence to cross the long grass that leads to the barn. I make my way down the stairs and start across the yard with Zane right behind me.
“Maybe with your super strength, you can kill it with your bare hands,” I tease.
Zane gives me a look. “I’m not superman, you know.”
“Such a shame. I think you’d look good in tights.”
“Are you—? Are you flirting with me?” Zane asks.
I raise a finger to my lips. “Shh, you hear that?”
Zane stops moving. “What?”
“That—that rattling sound.” There isn’t a rattling sound, but I sure am enjoying finding Zane’s weakness. Even if it might be the only one he has.
“That’s not funny,” he says.
I laugh and keep moving toward the barn.
Zane picks up the pace, bringing his knees high as he walks, like that will somehow keep him from getting bit. He passes me. When he reaches the barn, he grasps the handle and pulls hard.
“Zane, wait—”
My words are cut short by the sound of at least a dozen guns cocking bullets into place.
“Trina,” I call out. “It’s me. Sienna.” It’s too dark to see inside the barn, but the colorful scenery tattoos of the Fringe members glow around the room. Yellow flowers, green vines, orange birds. Of course, Trey’s tree tattoo isn’t here. And for some reason, that hits me harder than it should.
When I glance to my right, Zane is standing statue-still, his hands raised in surrender.
“Guys, it’s okay,” Trina calls out. “They’re friends.”
An audible whoosh of air can be heard through the thick darkness as several people breathe out at the same time, and safeties are clicked back into place. Looks like they’re as glad to avoid a blood bath as I am.
Thin arms encircle me, and I’m pulled into a cushiony pillow of a chest. After a moment, Trina releases me and says, “It’s so good to see you, Sienna.” In the next beat, she asks, “How’s Trey?”
A few propane lanterns click on, and now I can see everyone. Huddled around hay bales, lying on the ground in sleeping bags, standing off to the side, all eyeing us. The air is thick with the musty smell of dirt, dust, and unwashed bodies.
Trina, despite her circumstances and lack of ability to shower, looks as beautiful as ever. Who knew the grunge look would become her? Truthfully, I think any look would.
“Not good,” I say.
Her eyes widen.
“No, I mean, physically he’s fine, but mentally…” I trail off as Nash comes to stand beside Trina.
“Mentally, he’s what?” Nash demands.
I watch as Curly walks over and stands on the edge of the circle like he wants to hear, but isn’t sure if he’s invited. I give him a nod, remembering all he did to help me escape the Compound that night. If it wasn’t for him, neither Trey nor I would be alive.
Zane steps in. “Trey doesn’t remember anything. He thinks he works in the Capital—”
“And that he’s engaged to this girl I know from GIGA named Rayne,” I add.
Trina’s hand flies to her mouth as Nash’s gaze narrows. “What did your doctors do to him?” he accuses Zane.
“They didn’t do anything,” I say, anger flaring inside me. “You can thank Radcliffe. He’s the one who brainwashed him, I’m sure.”
“Radcliffe’s dead,” Nash says coldly.
“No,” I say. “He’s still alive.”
“Unbelievable,” Nash mutters, staring down at the ground. His eyes lift to mine. “Maybe I should talk to Trey—”
“You can’t,” I say.
“Why?”
I bite my lip and glance at Trina before responding. “He’s gone. He left tonight with Rayne. Said he needed to get back to the Capital.”
“So, they’re controlling him?” Curly asks, his face incredulous.
I nod. “Probably something similar to what they did to my mom. But I have a feeling that whatever they did to Trey is an advanced version of my mother’s brainwashing. They wouldn’t have had time to do the same thing. He was only in their grasp for a few hours.”
“So, what do we do?” Trina asks, her voice shaking. “How do we get Trey back?”
Before I can answer, Nash scowls at me. “You don’t waste any time,” he sneers, giving Zane a contemptuous look.
Hands on my hips, I turn to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nash stares me down, and I feel like we’re right back where we were the very first day I showed up at the Compound and asked to join the Fringe.
Instead of responding, he turns on his heel and stalks away.
Trina throws me an apologetic look. “You know how he is when it comes to Trey. He’s like the protective older brother.”
“Yeah,” Zane mutters. “I have one of those too.” A pause. “Or had.”
Frustration builds in the back of my throat, making it difficult to swallow. “Yeah, but by now, he should know how much Trey means to me.” I shake my head and rest my backside against the nearest hay bale.
“He does,” Trina assures me. “He just has a hard time controlling his emotions.”
“And anger just happens to be at the forefront most of the time,” I mutter.
Trina laughs. “Pretty much.” She glances over at Zane and sticks out her hand. “I’m Trina, by the way. Sienna has told me a lot about you.”
Zane raises an eyebrow at me before taking Trina’s hand in his. “Nice to meet you, Trina.”
I motion to Curly, who is still standing to the left of Trina. “And that’s Jeb, but I like to call him Curly.” Looking at Curly, I say, “You don’t mind, though, right?”
Curly chuckles. “Nah. You can call me whatever you want. After all, you did let me ride your motorcycle once.”
“I don’t really think I had a choice,” I say. “But since you saved my life, you can ride my Harley whenever you want.”
Curly was in the midst of holding out his hand to Zane, but when I say this, he stops, frozen. “She’s okay?” he whispers.
I nod, a smile breaking out on my face. “Zane helped me get her out of the rubble. A few dents and scratches, but she still drives.”
Curly grins. “Good to hear.” With his hand held out to Zane, he says, “Thanks for helping get my buddy Trey out of that building. If you hadn’t been there—” He stops. “Thank you.”
With a nod, Zane firmly grasps Curly’s hand.
Trina turns her attention back to me. “So, what’s your plan? I know you must have one, ‘cause there’s no way you’d let Trey leave with that slut without one. Right?”
“Yeah, I have a plan.”
Trina’s eyebrows rise as Curly and Zane look at me, all three waiting expectantly. “Well?”
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I’m going to the Capital.”
9
SIENNA
“When were you planning to tell me?” Zane asks under his breath. His brown eyes stare at me, concerned.
“You’re going to the Capital by yourself?” Trina says, her face doubtful.
“No,” Zane says, firmly, like he just made up his mind. “She’ll be with me.”
I turn to look at him. “What are you talking about? You have to stay here. What about Arian?”
Zane’s gaze cuts into me. “I’ll figure that out. Besides, Trey is my brother. If anyone should help, it should be me.”
Both Trina and Curly look like they’ve been slapped. “Did you just say you’re Trey’s brother?” Trina sputters, looking at me for confirmat
ion.
Even though we’ve talked a few times over the Lynk since this whole ordeal happened, I never told Trina the truth, mostly because I felt like Trey should know before it was broadcast to everyone else. Now, I’m regretting that decision.
Biting my lip, I say, “Yeah, but we just found out when the doctors did blood work at Zane’s house.” I don’t attempt to explain the Harlow and Bryant baby switcheroo. No one else needs to know about that right now. Besides, that’s Zane’s story to tell.
“How is that possible? You look nothing alike,” Curly says, taking a few steps closer to form an intimate huddle of the four of us.
“My dad,” I say. “He implanted two different embryos into Penelope Ryder’s womb. Two genetically modified embryos,” I clarify.
“Trey’s a GM?” Trina whispers, but then glances behind her to make sure no one else heard.
“Yes, but please keep this between the two of you,” I say to Curly and Trina. “Trey doesn’t know any of this yet. The doctors thought it would be too much for him to handle, especially with this false reality already in his head.”
Trina nods. “Of course. We won’t breathe a word.”
“Not even to Nash?”
“Not even to Nash,” Curly confirms.
My eyes sweep the room. Nash is now standing off to the side where the behemoth aerodyne used to be. “What happened to the aerodyne?” I’m asking Curly because he’s the one who was with me when we came to get the guns and ammo after the Compound was blown up.
“Jones had us move it behind the barn for now.” Curly shrugs. “There wasn’t much space for us to hide out with it in here.”
“Jones has an aerodyne?” Zane asks.
“An antique crop duster,” I tell him.
His eyes light up. “Cool.”
“It is pretty sweet,” Curly chimes in.
While the two of them debate whether or not flying the aerodyne would be similar to a virtual flight simulator, I lean toward Trina, keeping my voice low. “Do you think it would be possible to get some… guns?”
Trina looks over her shoulder at Nash before giving me a quick nod. “How many do you need?”
“Probably two. One to use and one for backup.”
Forgotten Page 6
