Resist

by Tracey Martin

  “I wish I could take credit for it.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt you can take credit for much of it.”

  I try to shrug, but the CY holds me firm. “If you’re so impressed, does that mean you’re not going to kill me?”

  The Four exchange glances, and it’s Malone who answers. “That is the question of the hour. We’ve had some disagreements. I believe it would be a waste of your abilities and the many resources we’ve put into your training. On the other hand, some people have suggested that your training has failed, given that our best attempts to keep you in line are continuously being thwarted.” He cocks his head to the side, still with false good nature. “What do you think? Do you think taking more drastic measures would reduce your rebellious impulses? Same question for you, HY1-Nine.”

  “No,” Jordan says before I can respond. “The only way you’ll ever get me to stop fighting you is if you put a bullet in my brain.”

  Cole groans through his gag.

  “That one is too honest to be a good spy,” Catherine Goulard says with a tinkling laugh.

  “Seven?” Malone raises an eyebrow at me, but I simply glare at him.

  Charles Smith waves a ring-bedecked hand in dismissal. “Enough with this farce, Malone. Too many of your first hybrid unit have shown themselves to be failures. You claim you can fix them, but this girl does not make your case for you. I say it’s time to cut our losses on them. We can never trust them in the field.”

  Malone sighs. “Patience is a virtue.”

  “It has been nineteen years, my friend.”

  “Which is a lot of R&D time to let go to waste.” Malone’s getting testy.

  Dissension in the ranks is good if I can figure out how to use it, but I can’t even figure out how to free myself from the CY. I cast a glance toward the front-facing windows and see only the snow-dusted, manicured evergreens and the stonework path from the driveway. Cut off from Summer, Gabe and Octavia, I feel my chances slipping away.

  “Searching for your friends?” Malone asks, and my stomach sinks. “They’re being pursued currently. Don’t expect them to come crashing through the windows and save you. The three CYs on their tail have orders not to kill them, but it’s hardly a fair fight. They could get quite damaged.”

  Jordan curses, which makes one of the men in the back laugh.

  Malone stands, an effort to regain control of the conversation. “I’m going to let you decide what we do, Seven. I know Six is somewhere nearby feeding you information, and we’ll find her. But if the five of you choose to surrender, we’ll go ahead with the demonstration I had planned right here and now. And you’ll live.”

  I want to spit on him, but Malone’s too far away, so I ask the obvious question, which is what he’s waiting for. “And if we don’t surrender?”

  “That would be unfortunate. If you choose not to, well, we’re going to go ahead with the plan using you and Nine. The others will suffer the same fate when we track them down, which we will do. And your punishment for not cooperating is going to be Mr. Chen here. See, we’ve gotten everything we need from him at this point. He’s only alive for demonstration purposes. But even he, I don’t believe, can withstand a direct blast to the torso.”

  Malone gestures at his number two, and the man forces Kyle out of his seat. My heart freezes. Malone has strapped a small explosive to Kyle’s chest.

  “Don’t cooperate,” Malone says, “and the first test of whether the emotion-blunting procedure works will be whether you’re willing to be the person who pushes the detonator on Chen.”

  I’m going to be ill. Kyle is shaking his head at me, but I can’t think straight. I have no clue what he’s trying to tell me, and even if I did, does it matter? Malone’s toying with me in the most twisted way I could imagine. Red-hot but helpless rage once more floods my veins.

  “Of course, even if you do decide to cooperate,” Malone continues, “it’s obvious to me that we need to make an example out of one of you. And who better to serve that purpose than the person I mistakenly trusted to set the example for you all these years?”

  Now Cole is dragged from his chair, wired with the same type of device as Kyle is.

  “Your choice, Seven. Which one of them gets to live?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tuesday Afternoon: Present

  “You fucking evil piece of…” Jordan lets loose in a tirade, but I remain quietly numb.

  My anguish and revulsion—these stupid human emotions—have overwhelmed me. When I need cold, unfeeling logic the most, when I need my allegedly superior brain to kick in and hand me a miracle idea, I’ve become a mere shell. Not human enough to lash out like Jordan. Not robot enough to put aside my feelings and work properly.

  Both Kyle and Cole yell unintelligibly through their gags, and the only thing I can process is that neither one is begging me to spare them. If I know them both, they’re each pleading with me to fight until the very end.

  Malone frames the situation like he’s giving me a choice, but I’m as aware as everyone else that the choice is yet another lie. This is a game, a laugh on Malone’s part to see what I’ll do. Kyle and Cole are both already dead, just as my memories and emotions are wiped regardless of what I choose. Yet I remain frozen, as if stalling for time will help.

  It can’t. The world around me moves on, but I’m stuck.

  Eventually, the CY holding Jordan clamps a hand over her mouth. The amused conversation among Malone’s colleagues descends into silence. Even Kyle and Cole fall into resigned slumps. Somewhere in the falsely rustic house, an old-fashioned grandfather-style clock ticks, and the seconds are like a time bomb counting down.

  “Well, Seven?” Malone sounds as though he’s merely asking if I’d prefer coffee or tea. “We do have a bit of work to do this afternoon, regardless of your decision.”

  “It hardly matters what I say, so why should I care?”

  Malone sets his teacup down with a sigh. “Your psychology is of great interest to science, that’s why. You will make a choice, or these two boys will suffer for your indecision. Did you know Chen can grow back whole fingers? HY1-One can’t.”

  On cue, Malone’s number two retrieves a switchblade from the pocket of his sports coat. Just when I think the situation can’t possibly get worse or that Malone can’t be more despicable, he has to prove me wrong.

  The blade snaps me out of my stupor. I kick the CY holding me, which does precisely nothing, yet the motion is an outlet for some of my emotions. My brain begins to come back online, but before I can reason a way out of this or find a way to continue stalling, something explodes outside.

  Hope surges through me. It’s one of Gabe’s IEDs. It has to be. And if either Gabe or Octavia are in position to start setting them off…

  “Don’t get too excited,” Malone warns me.

  Smith and Zang speak to their assistants, and the men leave the room to investigate. The noise outside increases in volume as they hurry out the door. I can hear voices. My unit isn’t even trying to be silent about their presence.

  “Sir?” Malone’s number two bends down and whispers something to Malone.

  Although Malone is careful to give nothing away in his expression, I can nonetheless see the skin around his eyes constrict. Finally, he’s worried. Perhaps they discovered that most of their security has been taken out. The other members of The Four are sensing something is wrong too. If I can hold out a little longer, maybe I’ll get my opening.

  “Choose, Seven,” Malone says sharply. “Or each of them loses a finger while I wait. I assure you from our observations, it’s no less painful on Chen than it is on One. Pick who dies.”

  I open my mouth with no idea what I expect to say, and the dining room window blows in.

  Glass and chunks of wood go flying. I hit the floor, and it takes me a split second to realize that for me to have done
that, the CY must have let me go. I’m free, crouched next to Jordan and wedged between a table leg and an empty chair. Cold air rushes in, and chaos reigns above my head. My world has been reduced to the sounds and smell of gunfire. More glass breaks and wood splinters.

  Jordan pops up into the melee before I do, whooping and calling out Sky’s name. So that’s what happened. The rest of my unit has arrived.

  Renewed determination surges through me. But what about Kyle and Cole? They were tied up, standing near the window when it exploded. Shit.

  Zang lies on the rug beneath the table with me, and blood runs down his face. It appears he got a full blast to the head from the window, but he’s alive. His gun though—it’s fallen from his hand.

  I grab it and cautiously stand. One of the CYs has run off after the new, seemingly superior threat. The other has taken a defensive position in front of Smith and Goulard. As I find my feet, the CY flips the enormous table on its side, creating a defensive wall.

  Nice of it to help me out, I think, scanning the room. I have a clear shot of it from here, but no cover. If I miss, I might draw its attention toward myself.

  A muted scream from behind makes me realize Malone, Kyle and Cole are gone. I spin in place and throw myself against the wall so my back isn’t to the CY. Malone has them both, and he’s dragging them from the room, but it’s a struggle. Their arms are tied, but they’re both larger than him.

  But Malone has something still to his advantage—a detonator. The sliver of metal gleams in his hand where the winter sunshine lands on it. It could detonate either bomb. Hell, it could detonate both.

  Malone’s eyes widen as I scramble to my feet and follow him into the foyer. Shards of glass crunch beneath my boots. “Stay back, Seven.” He makes a point of giving me a better look at the detonator.

  “Liar. You’d never use it while you’re standing next to them.” My fingers twitch on the gun, though I don’t raise it. Yet I know what I have to do. I’m still stalling, and a war is raging around me. The noise is deafening, and any minute the CY in the next room could hit whoever it’s currently shooting at and turn my way instead.

  Malone’s chuckle is mirthless. “You’re assuming these bombs are rigged in a way that they could hurt me. Such a small, targeted explosion is nothing for me to fear.”

  A flicker of doubt crosses my mind. The devices on the boys’ chests do appear small enough that a properly directed blast might leave Malone unharmed. I’ve been taught how to make a bomb like that, along with countless other types. Without a closer inspection, it’s impossible to tell what I’m dealing with.

  And it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is who’s faster, and you know the answer to that question.

  Blood pulses in my ears. I let Malone live a couple weeks ago because I thought that meant I could rise above my training. I could be more than he created me to be. Not just a soldier, a spy or an assassin. Not just his tool.

  For someone who is supposed to be able to out-logic and maneuver the average human, who can recall every conversation she’s ever had and who can do advanced mathematics in her head, that was an incredibly simplistic way of thinking. No wonder philosophy was my least favorite class at RTC.

  “Seven, be careful,” Malone says. “You don’t want them to die, do you?”

  I am calm. Neither emotionless, nor overpowered by anger, as I respond. “No, I don’t want anyone else to die. But sometimes, some people need to in order to save others, and being the person to make it happen doesn’t detract from who I’ve become.”

  There’s no contest. Malone designed me to be faster.

  The next several minutes are a blur, though they stretch on like hours. I untie Kyle and Cole and remove the explosives, and in silent agreement, the three of us rush outside to join the fight. Then, before I’m prepared for it, it’s over.

  The house is in shambles, and Malone, Smith, Goulard and Zang are dead. We make sure of it. Most of their henchmen are dead too, casualties of the fighting. A few guards are wounded but alive, and the techs and minor staff we locked up earlier are terrified but mostly unharmed. We let them live because after this, with their bosses gone, they’ll talk. The spread of information becomes our next best weapon against those people in The Four’s organization who escaped today’s carnage.

  RedZone reinforcements and a clean-up crew are undoubtedly on their way, unaware of what they’ll find when they arrive. I just know that we don’t want to be here when they do. So we call 9-1-1, the FBI and the CIA tip line. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve done all we can. It’s time for the authorities to sort out the rest. Whoever The Four’s mole was in the CIA, fat lot of good it’s going to do anyone now. Maybe they’ll be outed when the investigation occurs, or maybe hunting them down will be a project for another day.

  We climb into the van Summer drove to the house and get the hell away before we’re drawn deeper into the nightmare from which we finally have a chance to escape. Octavia has Malone’s laptop, and as we pull away, she gains access to his files. One by one, our faces and histories are deleted from The Four’s records. Unit HY1 never existed, at least in theory. Of course, Fitzpatrick lives to tell the tale, and so do others at the camp. But as long as we can’t be identified, we have a chance of vanishing.

  I like to think it’s fitting that we can disappear. Malone wouldn’t have wanted to take credit for our bad behavior, after all.

  “That’s it. I’m changing my name too,” Mike announces.

  I hiss as I dig another sliver of glass out of my palm. “What’s wrong with Mike? It’s totally normal—that’s good.”

  Mike wipes blood from his cheek. “Yeah, but from now on, I want to be known as Cal, short for cavalry. Because we saved your asses.”

  “I’m sorry, you did what?” Gabe laughs. “We had it completely under control.”

  The van erupts in debate until Octavia points out that Cav should be the shortened version of cavalry, not Cal, thereby derailing the fake argument with an even sillier one.

  Covered in blood and sweat, I sink into my seat, too tired to laugh at how ridiculous we’re being. It’s going to be a long day yet, but at least I have my crazy family back.

  We check into a different motel than the one where we dumped Fitzpatrick, and we watch the fallout on the news later while we make plans and take care of preparations. Only the haziest of details are being reported. Officials aren’t publicly commenting, but not all of the speculation being tossed about is wrong, so someone is leaking actual facts.

  “Do they really not know any of these things?” Eva asks.

  I tuck my legs under me and lower the TV’s volume. “They know a lot, but they don’t want the public to know all of it.”

  My unit members have much to learn about life outside the camp if they want to blend in. First though, I’m filling in those who we had to leave behind originally on the sordid details that were kept from us our whole lives.

  Kyle, meanwhile, has been in near-constant contact with his mother and stepfather. He’s hopeful that this could change everything for them. I hope so too, but after nearly two decades of living in hiding, they remain understandably cautious.

  It’s dark out by the time I can slip away from the stressful excitement, and I step outside. In the distance, smoke from Malone’s cabin continues to rise into the star-filled sky. A lone helicopter circles the area, shining a spotlight into the mountains. Several were out earlier, and this is the only straggler. I’m not sure what the crew is searching for, although I fear it’s us.

  “So.” The motel room door closes behind me, and I turn to face Cole. “It’s not over yet.”

  “It is if we disappear and let it be.”

  He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You really believe you can do that?”

  I’m not sure. It might depend on how good a job the CIA does of bringing down the rest of The Four�
�s organization. A large part of me is convinced I’ve done enough. I deserve a vacation, but my conscience could have other ideas.

  “For the moment,” I say. “I have other things to do before my next mission, fearless leader.”

  “Going with Kyle to meet his mother.” Cole winces. His eye is turning a nasty purple, and I pretend it’s only physical pain causing his expression.

  With a sigh, I lean against the building. “It might not be safe for him to go alone, and—”

  “And you want to be with him. I get it.”

  I’m done with lying to the people I care about. “I’m sorry.”

  Cole waves a hand. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s better this way. We carry too much RedZone baggage around with us, and there’s a whole world we can explore.”

  “There is.” I hope with all my heart that Cole finds what he needs elsewhere in it. “But you will always be my fearless leader, and I will always love you for it.” I gently kiss his bruised cheek.

  Cole rests his forehead against mine, his warm breath a shield against the chilly night. “And I’ll always have your back, Sev.” His smile is sad, but he gives my ponytail a playful tug. “Even if your mutant boyfriend decides to deck me again.”

  “Kyle punched you?”

  Cole coughs into his hand. “While you were giving your presentation on The Four to the others, we had some—what do you call it? Words. We’ve reached an understanding.”

  “I see.” I’m not sure I want to ask, and Cole’s tone is light enough to make me decide everything is under control. Another weight lifts from my shoulders, and I follow him back inside to where all the people I love have gathered.