Catalyst

by Kristin Smith

  With that, he dismisses everyone. Taking my elbow, he steers me down the hall away from the crowd of people. Once we’re alone, he stops and stares at me with narrowed eyes. He fingers my hoodie. In one swift movement, he pulls my hood down and groans, muttering only one word.

  “Nash.”

  I nod and self-consciously run a hand through my short hair.

  Trey shakes his head in frustration. “We don’t make females cut their hair, not unless they want to. I don’t know what he was thinking—” He scowls and his blue eyes grow dark. “No, actually, I do. He was probably trying to get back at me for allowing you to join without discussing it with him first. I’m really sorry.”

  I got caught in the middle of a pissing contest? That’s why I had to cut my hair? Seriously?

  Trey nods at my left arm and the tattoo he can’t see through my hoodie. “Does it hurt?”

  I shake my head. Truthfully, it still stings like hell, but for some reason, I don’t want to admit it. Like I’m tough enough to handle the pain.

  He takes a deep breath and forces a smile. “Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Nash can be a bit… abrasive at times.”

  Abrasive? I was thinking more along the lines of psycho… but whatever.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’ll have a talk with him.”

  I pull the hoodie back over my head. “Can you tell me what just happened? What is an extraction? Who is that girl?”

  Trey studies me. “How much do you know about Harlow Ryder’s company?”

  “Not much. Just what everybody else knows, I guess.”

  I can tell he carefully chooses his next words. “Kaylee is an inmate being held in Confinement for some stupid crime,” he says. “I think she shoplifted a candy bar or something equally dumb, just like every other juvenile in there. What most people don’t know is that juvenile delinquents are being transferred to Harlow’s lab for experimentation.”

  I stare at him, shocked. “What kind of experiments?”

  “Harlow believes in epigenetics, but he’s taken that belief to a completely different level. Whereas epigenetics focuses on changing your environment and your reaction to your environment in order to reshape your DNA, Harlow believes he can change the actual DNA of a person by creating the right complex formula. He’s trying to create GMs using already existing genes.”

  “Why would he want to change the DNA of a person?”

  Trey’s lips purse. “They’re delinquents. A bane to society. If Harlow can alter a person’s DNA to make them better members of society, why shouldn’t he?” Sarcasm drips from his words.

  “So you rescued her?”

  He nods. “Listen,” he says. “I know you must have a million questions, but it’s almost time for dinner and I need to get Kaylee set up with an IV. But I was thinking after dinner, we should pay Chaz a visit. Figure out where this bunker is located. What do you think?”

  My chest feels lighter all of a sudden. “Sounds like a great idea.”

  He smiles then. “It’ll all be okay. I promise. We’re going to find your mom.”

  And as he walks away, for some strange reason, I believe him.

  ***

  The cafeteria is buzzing with people. Similar to a grade-school cafeteria, long rows of rectangular tables occupy the center space, and a line of people curve along the outside wall, waiting their turn to be served.

  Earlier, Trina stopped by my room to bring me to the cafeteria, so once we have our trays of food, I follow her to a table where several other Fringe members are seated. Trey is already there and flashes a smile when he sees us. He motions for me to sit next to him while Trina takes the seat across from me. I recognize Jeff, who held me down during the tattoo branding, and Curly, the guard who parked my bike.

  After a few bites of potatoes where I have to suppress my desire to go “Mmm” after every spoonful, I notice many curious eyes looking in my direction. As I glance around the room, I’m surprised to see a common theme among the members of the Fringe. Confused, I turn to Trey, who has a death grip on his fork and is shoveling in his food like he hasn’t eaten in a year.

  “Everyone looks so…”

  “Young?” he says, his mouth full of food.

  I nod.

  He swallows and takes a sip from his water bottle. “What most people don’t know is that before Harlow Ryder created his perfect son, he created trial batches of genetically modified until he got the formula right. Zane might be his first perfect specimen, but he’s nowhere near the first genetically modified person.” Trey nods to a guy with blond, shoulder-length hair who looks like he’s about thirty. He’s sitting at a table with a beautiful woman, and from the matching wedding rings on their left hands, I’d guess it’s his wife. “He is. Paxton Reece.”

  My mouth drops open. “Harlow Ryder’s been lying to everyone?” Not that it should surprise me. He did, after all, murder my father and get away with it.

  “Not only that,” Trey continues, “but he treated many of those in that first wave like lab rats, using them to perfect his formula, experimenting on them against their will.”

  “But where are their parents?”

  “Many don’t have any. They were test-tube babies, created in Harlow’s lab and implanted in a homeless woman or some girl who desperately needed the money.”

  “What happened to the genetically modified babies once Harlow realized he’d failed?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

  Trey pauses, his eyes shifting away from mine. “Some… were euthanized. Others were used for experiments.” When I gasp, he quickly adds, “When my father learned of this, he started rescuing them. That’s why he built the Compound—to create a safe haven.”

  I don’t want to picture small, innocent babies laid out on a metal table, kicking and squealing, a scalpel raised above them. My stomach churns, and I set down my fork. I’m suddenly not hungry anymore.

  Trey continues. “But there was one extraction that didn’t go right. My father received intel that some of the GMs from the first wave were still alive and being experimented on at the government’s AIG facility in Rubex. Somehow, the government managed to get their hands on these GMs—don’t know if Harlow worked out a deal or what. Our parents knew it was a dangerous mission, not only because they were rescuing the first wave of GMs, but also because they’d have to go to the Capital.” His smile is wry when he says, “It was.”

  My breath catches, and I whisper, “What happened?”

  “During the extraction, they were ambushed by government agents. They were able to get most of the GMs to safety, but many of our parents were killed.”

  Stunned, I shake my head. “I can’t believe this happened and no one knew it.” I look around at all the young people in the room. Beautiful people. Strong people. Motherless and fatherless people. My heart goes out to them. “How many people here are genetically modified?” I ask.

  “Only about twenty percent. Most of the GMs from that first wave either live here, escaped on their own, or died during experimentation. Those of us in the Compound do all we can to extract those in bad situations and provide shelter and protection for them.”

  “Like today. With Kaylee.”

  Trey’s lips press together. “Exactly.”

  I pick up my fork again and take a small bite of chicken, my eyes scanning the room.

  Trey nods toward a red-haired boy who can’t be more than fifteen. “Garrett Johnson is one of those who lost his mother that day. He carries a picture of her in his back pocket to remind him of her sacrifice—that she was willing to give her life to save someone else.” He glances around the room, and his face hardens. “All these people have a story. And many of them are tragic.”

  “But if the Fringe is all about helping people,” I say, “why do you guys have such a bad rap? Why did you try to kill Zane Ryder at the Extravaganza? And why do you go around blowing things up?”

  “First of all,” Trey says. “We didn’t try to kill Zane. That was
some other crazy person not affiliated with us.” He smiles. “As for blowing things up… it’s a cover. If we can distract the media and Enforcers with our innocent bombings—notice that no one is ever killed—then we’re able to focus on what really matters. Rescuing someone.”

  “Are you telling me that every time I hear on the news about another bombing by the Fringe, you’re performing an extraction in some other part of the city?”

  Trey grins. “Yep.”

  “Incredible.”

  I stare at the red-haired boy across the room. Garrett. What would it be like to lose everything you love in an instant? Pains fill my stomach when I realize how close that hits to home. Aren’t I experiencing that very thing? The feeling of tremendous loss?

  “Is that how your parents died?” I gently ask Trey.

  He nods. “My mother and Nash’s parents were killed. My father survived, but he was shot two years ago during a routine supply run.” He glances at Trina. “Trina, on the other hand, has a little bit of a different story, but it’s hers to tell.”

  My eyes shift to Trina’s face, her beautiful, heart-shaped face with the long lashes and high cheekbones. I feel like a butch compared to her.

  She glances down at the table as if she’s embarrassed. Before I have a chance to respond, I feel a body slide onto the seat next to mine, leaning in dangerously close.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” Nash’s breath brushes my ear. “Sienna.” He says my name like it’s dirty, like there’s more meaning implied than there should be. “You seem to be adjusting to life in the Fringe.”

  His face is only inches from mine, clearly invading my personal space. I lean back a little and bump into Trey beside me.

  Nash’s gray eyes shift to the bandage on my arm. “So what happened anyway?” he asks, sounding almost too casual.

  I shrug like it’s no big deal. “I was in a bike accident and sliced my arm on a rock. Trey stitched me up.”

  Nash’s mouth turns up in a crooked sneer. “You better be more careful, Preston. You wouldn’t want something bad to happen to you here.”

  As he turns his attention to Trey, I can’t help but wonder—was that a threat?

  ***

  After dinner, Trey and I leave the Compound to visit Chaz, just as he promised.

  All the hallways look the same—brown, stamped concrete flooring and peeling plaster walls. There are no windows, and each hallway is lined with doors I assume lead to other cubicle bedrooms. The corridors are endless in this expansive building. How will I ever learn my way around?

  “We’re underground, right?” I ask Trey as I follow him through the Compound.

  “Close.” He glances back at me. “We’re under a mountain.”

  As we walk through a wider corridor, Trey shows me an oversized kitchen with endless block counters and explains that we all have assignments. Some days, I will be required to help cook; on others, I will be part of the cleanup crew. For now, I should shadow Trina until I learn the ropes and receive assignments of my own.

  “We want to conserve energy since we’re underground,” he says after showing me the laundry room where I will occasionally have laundry duty. “Showers should be short, five minutes or less, and only turn on lights when absolutely necessary. When possible, use the flashlight provided in your room. It contains a small generator, so all it needs is a good crank when the juice is low.” He grins. “Think you can remember all that?”

  I nod.

  At the end of the hall is a metal door with a digital scanner entry. Trey lifts his shirtsleeve and flashes his internal Fringe tattoo at the scanner. The door slides open. I follow him into a stairwell where a young man is guarding the door with an AK-47 slung across his chest.

  “Hey, John,” Trey greets him. “How’s it going?”

  The boy nods. “Going good. Been pretty quiet today.”

  Trey clasps him on the back and smiles. “That’s what I like to hear. Holler if you need anything.”

  We continue down the stairs, go through another door, and then we’re in a large, cavernous tunnel. I squint to adjust my eyes to the thick darkness. A train track runs down the center of the wide expanse.

  “Is this an abandoned train tunnel?” I ask as we walk along the tracks.

  “Yep. This is the entrance we use for all vehicles and supply trucks.” He nods to the line of cars, pick-up trucks, and semi-trucks parked on the side of the tunnel.

  “I’m surprised no one has discovered your hideout yet.”

  “The cars might tip them off, but it would be hard to get inside.” He glances behind him, and I follow his gaze. The door we just came out of is gone. Only the rocky side of a mountain remains.

  “What the—?”

  Trey grins. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  “Where did it go?”

  “The door has an artificial rock face, so it blends in with the tunnel’s interior.”

  “Impressive.”

  “My own creation,” he says lightly.

  “Now I’m really impressed,” I admit.

  Trey winks. “Thought you would be.” He walks toward a black pickup truck, the same one we hid under after he busted me out of the government facility. “We can take my truck.”

  “How about my motorcycle instead?” I look around the dark tunnel, but I don’t see it. My throat closes as I think of Curly joy riding on my Harley.

  “Where is it?” Trey asks, glancing around as well.

  My fists clench. “I don’t know. Nash told Curly to park it—”

  “Who?” I see the confusion on his face. Of course, he doesn’t know who Curly is.

  “One of your guards with the dark, curly hair. He looks like he’s about nineteen or twenty.”

  Realization dawns on Trey’s face, and he smiles. “Ahh, you’re talking about Jeb.” He grabs his radio and speaks into it. I hear the static of Curly’s voice—well, Jeb now—through the radio.

  “I parked it between the two supply trucks to keep it hidden from other curious folks.”

  That was thoughtful. He better hope it’s there.

  Trey moves toward the semi-trucks, and I follow him, passing the bulky shape of two jet bikes as we go. There she sits, just as pretty as the last time I saw her. The keys are still in the ignition.

  I figure Trey’s awesome tracker-removal skills have earned him an opportunity to straddle my Harley and touch her throttle. When I motion for him to take the front, his eyes widen in surprise.

  “You sure?”

  Smiling, I pat my bandaged arm. “You earned it.”

  He climbs on, and I situate myself behind him. I’m not used to riding behind someone so I have no idea where to put my hands. It seems awkward to wrap them around his waist, so I settle for grabbing the bar behind me. I wince in pain as the skin pulls and stretches around the stitches.

  Trey glances back and sees me struggling. “No. Like it or not, your hands go here.” He reaches for my hands and pulls them around his waist.

  My face flames in embarrassment, and I’m glad he can’t see me. He revs the engine. Before he pulls away, I speak into his ear, my lips accidentally brushing against his skin.

  “If you wreck my Harley, I’ll kill you.”

  He laughs over his shoulder. “Trust me, if I wreck this thing, I’ll kill myself.”

  Trey rides along the track until we exit the tunnel. The sun sits low in the sky, but it’s still powerful enough to warm my face. I close my eyes and tilt my head back as Trey picks up speed. The hoodie falls, revealing my butchered hair, and I don’t bother to pull it back over my head. It’s the first time I’ve ridden my bike without long hair, and it feels wrong. The wind has nowhere to go except to my exposed face. It doesn’t whip through my hair anymore, but makes it stand on end. Tears sting my eyes, and I’m not sure if it’s from the wind or from emotion.

  I bury my face into the back of Trey’s gray T-shirt and tighten my grip around his waist. There’s something comforting in knowing I’m not al
one. Not right now, anyway.

  When we are far enough from the Compound, Trey calls over his shoulder, “Where does Chaz live?”

  “I thought you were friends,” I yell back.

  “Yeah, but we’ve only interacted in cyber space. We’ve never actually met,” he hollers, his voice getting lost in the roar of the wind. I lean into him and give him directions.

  We ride past boarded-up businesses, rat-infested homes, and condemned buildings to a cluster of apartments where Chaz now lives. After he graduated from GIGA a couple of months ago, he moved out of his parents’ house to be closer to the university.

  Chaz’s apartment building is rundown, but nothing compared to the others around it. He answers on the third knock, just when I’m beginning to worry he’s not home. His dark face breaks out into a large grin, which falls quickly when he sees my short hair. His mouth drops open in shock.

  “Sienna, what happened?” His thick hands touch a lock of hair as he grimaces. “No offense, girl, but that is the worst haircut I’ve ever seen. I always told you white girls don’t know how to cut hair.”

  I laugh as he encircles me in a bear hug. He then notices Trey behind me.

  “Trey Winchester, good to see you, man.” Chaz smiles.

  “Hey, Chaz. It’s great to finally meet you in person.” Trey grins, clasping Chaz’s hand in his own.

  “Come in, come in,” Chaz says, ushering us inside. Once we’re in the tiny foyer, Chaz wags his forefinger, pointing to me and then Trey. “I knew it would work.”

  My eyes narrow. “So, you did give me the wrong location of the bunker on purpose.”

  “Of course.” Chaz grins. “I couldn’t have you storming a government facility with nothing more than the clothes on your back. I knew Trey would have the weapons you need to rescue your mother.”

  “So, I should thank you?” I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

  Chaz shrugs. “Sure. Although monetary donations are always appreciated.”

  I roll my eyes and glance at Trey. “You take over. I think I might strangle him.”

  “Chaz, do you think you can locate the government’s underground bunker?” Trey asks, stepping in.