Search (SEEK Book 1)

by Candie Leigh Campbell

  “Watch your step,” Paul whispers.

  And just in time, too, right under my foot is what looks like a red broom glued to someone’s head. I scoot around it as an anonymous snorer grunts the word, “Hawthorne.” I wander, attentively following Jonathan between mummy-bags. Then some girl, hanging off the side of a sagging sofa, flings an arm and catches me in the elbow with her knuckle.

  I hop over the last body, rubbing my funny-bone. “Ouch,” I whisper.

  “Shhh, street kids from Tucson. They just got in and haven’t had a descent place to sleep in weeks.” Paul ducks through a swinging door.

  Street kids? I take one last look at the snoozing pile of inhabitants and step into the glaring light of a generous dining room. Jonathan and I slide into a long bench across the table from Paul. This room is a whole different experience from the first one. Aside from smelling of pine solvent instead of human sweat, it’s immaculate and homey.

  Along the wall, there’s a pass-through window leading into an equally spotless kitchen.

  “Paul Crosby,” Jonathan announces, throwing me a wink.

  Behind Paul, the week’s dinner menu is neatly scrolled on a blackboard. I can’t remember if today is Tuesday or Wednesday, but I decide I don’t care. Lasagna and tacos both sound good.

  “Hi, Lindy—er—Keira,” I stammer, looking away.

  I sense the trouble long before it manifests, trying to remember if the door had a key in the deadbolt or not.

  “Which is it?” Paul demands, his brow glistening with sweat.

  Jonathan laughs, ignoring the threat of danger I sense. “Her real name is Keira, but she’s been hunting for SEEK under the alias Lindy.”

  I cringe at the word “hunting.” Something tells me Paul doesn’t like murderers any more than he likes liars. And now the poor guy’s face looks like a purple raisin wearing a strawberry blonde beard.

  “Do you know what you’ve done?” Paul sputters at Jonathan, as if I’m no longer in the room.

  I don’t know which is worse, Paul’s blatant animosity or being invisible.

  Jonathan lays a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Before you blow-up, how about you hear what’s going on first.” He leans in whispers something only Paul can hear. “Look for yourself. Keira’s one of us now.”

  I raise my gaze letting Paul look inside my Khayal induced green eyes. I nod in answer to the question written on his scrunched up forehead.

  I feel the invasive scrutiny as Paul’s gaze combs over face, lingering on my eyes.

  Paul huffs. And everything changes.

  “Keira was sent to kill me. Of course, SEEK really sent her away from her Khayal, hoping she’d die before she ever had the chance to return.” Jonathan stretches his legs under the table, crossing them at the ankles.

  Paul whips his attention back to me in disbelief.

  “It’s true.” I hang my head, picking the last bit of Sunset Shimmer polish off of my thumbnail.

  “It took some convincing of course, but once she believed me, we went to the Daniel Boone Forest together. Mayet helped us find Keira’s Ka just in time. Her name’s Irkalla, in case you hear whispers.”

  I don’t have time to wonder what Jonathan means by that, Paul’s rubbing his chin hair and staring me down—hard. I swallow, trying to pretend I can’t feel his gaze burning into me.

  “You went onto Kistall land voluntarily?” Paul asks.

  “We both did,” Jonathan says.

  “Why were you hunting for SEEK?”

  I look up to find Paul’s gaze raking over every line in my face, judging my character before I can even respond.

  “I’m responsible for my sister being in a wheelchair. They promised to give her a new spinal cord,” I admit blatantly. The absolute truth is the only way to go in this situation.

  “You’re not responsible for that, it was an accident,” Jonathan says, squeezing my arm. He turns to Paul in a pay-no-attention-to-her fashion. “Regardless of Keira’s motivations, she is the only person to ever infiltrate SEEK at sixteen. Not to mention she’s extraordinarily gifted and she knows how SEEK thinks. She’s the only reason I’m still alive.”

  “Really?” Paul squints his eyes.

  I frown at Jonathan. “That’s not true. You saved me, first at Laurel Gorge, then in the Boone, and then again by getting me out of the country.” There’s no way I’m letting Jonathan paint me as the hero in this scenario, though I am thankful he’s left out the gory details of my actions in the Boone.

  “You could’ve, and rightly should’ve, killed me in Kentucky. Those were your orders, but you didn’t. You chose what was right, not what was easy.” Jonathan won’t even look at me. He just continues to stare at Paul as though willing him to see me as someone that I am not.

  I didn’t save Jonathan out of the kindness of my heart, though I knew from the get-go that I wasn’t a murderer of that nature. I saved him out of fear.

  “Ah, so, now you’re here.” Paul leans back in his chair, visibly relieved.

  “I’m hoping we can all find a way to work together,” Jonathan says, propping an elbow on the table and resting his chin.

  “You’re kidding. You want to join the Fifth Column?” Paul coughs on a chuckle.

  “Yes, we…”

  “I’m not sure. I want to know what the Fifth Column is, exactly.” I nudge Jonathan.

  Paul scowls, rolling the end of his mustache between thumb and forefinger. “Jonathan, what’s going on?”

  “What I was trying to say, is we came to check it out. Can you give us the spiel?” Jonathan asks.

  “I’m honored you find my little group worthy. Of course the Fifth Column can use you,” Paul says, smiling crookedly with dingy teeth. He stretches for the pot of thick coffee off the buffet.

  Climbing wearily to his feet, Paul raises his cup like a sword and stifles a yawn. “Come on then. It’s easier to show you.”

  Down a hallway, past a musty laundry room, the air grows colder. Paul fumbles with jingling keys. Soon he slides an entire section of paneling open, exposing a stairway leading deep underground. We descend three flights of dark stairs and step into the light. A secret room filled with computers and ominous looking pieces of high-tech equipment spreads out before me. It’s like a bad spy novel.

  I don’t recognize most of what’s in here. On one wall are flat-screen televisions. Another has a green curtain hanging behind a video camera set up on a tripod. It’s all very odd. The computers are hooked up to bionic looking binoculars and video cameras. The lenses are big enough to shoot lunar landscape images. I can’t reconcile the scene with the name “Fifth Column.” I was picturing something more along the lines of SEEK.

  “Very nice, Paul. It’s amazing what you’ve done on a limited budget.” Jonathan praises, impressed by whatever this stuff is supposed to do.

  I lower an eyebrow, wishing I could make sense of my surroundings.

  “Our members are generous,” Paul says, scratching his raggedy beard as he turns on all ten TVs. “Here’s where we’re at. The red dots are Fifth Column members. That’s us. The good-guys—the green are Kistall and SEEK. Tan is Episteme Brotherhood. All the bad guys.” He winks at me.

  I’m stunned at the overwhelming number of red blinking lights littering the world map. Paul’s so-called “little group” is huge. “Wait. The Fifth Column is that big? What are they doing spread out like that, spying?”

  “You bet! I’m sure you already know this.” Paul socks Jonathan’s arm. “But the same way Episteme gathers handlers and manipulates them into using their Khayal to gather Intel, now we can too, only without mistreating our Kas. We track and find endangered youth, who find themselves alone and scared and get them Bonded. Kistall is wise to us, though. Now they’ve pumped up SEEK’s recruitment policy and they’re killing off the “extra’ Khayal faster than ever before.”

  “That’s when I knew I had to get out, this thing was too big for me to stop from the inside,” Jonathan says, gazing at the dotted
maps despairingly.

  “You were trying to stop Episteme while you were still working for them?” I whisper, the back of my neck feeling clammy. “But that’s so dangerous.”

  “Yeah. It’ll earn you a price on your head,” Jonathan jokes.

  I clap a hand over my mouth, the puzzle finally making sense. “Ahh! That’s why I was sent to kill you.”

  Jonathan pats my hand absently. “You weren’t the only one.”

  “Then there’s this.” Paul jumps in, sliding his chair to another computer and typing in commands.

  All at once, the screens come alive. Some showing interviews of foreign leaders answering questions about their government’s policies. Others are clips of Congressmen or House Representatives. And one is the favor poll of the current President of the United States.

  “You want to take over the world’s governments?” I ask.

  “The easy answer to that is, yes. We are taking back the government of the compromised parties.” Paul’s scruffy face beams at my shock. “Not for power though. Look.” He turns me toward a monitor, and mutes each of the others. A graph of world militaries, global resources, industries and a chart of monies produced from each country are clearly labeled. “You see that absurdity? That is what all the fight is over; who can end up with the most of that number—the money. That’s not what the Fifth Column is about. Here is the only thing that stands in the way of Kistall, Episteme and all that money.” The next monitor shows another map with black dots scattered everywhere. The pictured atlas is reduced to three colors; blue for the seas, and the tiniest bit of green visible in specs between black dots.

  “Unfortunately, this is not today’s demographic of the Khayal. These ancient beings have been on earth longer than any human and sadly, they’ve been slaughtered for the past two thousand years.” Paul’s mouse clicks and eighty percent of the black dots on the atlas vanish.

  I squeeze my eyes in protest, knowing I’m partly to blame for the Khayal’s demise.

  Jonathan whispers, “Don’t worry. We’re going to stop this.”

  “Why?” I squeak, gulping down the lump in my throat.

  “There are only two types of people that can’t be controlled through the government. One: the people who have money and require no financial assistance. And two: the people who have a Khayal and need no medical.” Paul sends his chair rolling across the indoor-outdoor carpeting, jumping in front of one of the televisions. “Look at them!”

  “The Cardins.” Jonathan strolls trancelike to Paul, gawking up at the screen.

  I hear the tension in his voice. I can see the anxiety drawing his shoulders back, whoever the Cardins are, Jonathan is not a fan.

  Paul throws his head back. “Exactly! The effing Cardins! They’ve been at this game for years, but most people don’t see it, or they ignore it.”

  “Who are the Cardins and what have they been doing?” I breathe, studying the screens for some missed clue.

  A look passes between Paul and Jonathan. Something I’m not supposed to see, maybe, because Paul spins around in a hurry. He crosses his arms over his unbuttoned flannel, considering me. “The Cardins are an elite group of men, hiding behind a fraternity-type club. For decades they’ve been manipulating their way into government positions all around the world in order to enact one global government.”

  That’s what Jonathan was talking about in the car. How Kistall and Episteme were able to work together and why.

  “But they have one serious obstacle,” Paul adds.

  “The Khayal?” I guess, grasping for a connection.

  “Who are the Khayal most likely to bond with?” Paul asks, his devilish grin barely visible through his disheveled beard.

  “Teenagers,” Jonathan breathes.

  Awakening

  Teenagers? I think back to my time at SEEK. Most of the hunters were in their mid-twenties or older. They’d had some younger ones before. But they were all sent to Ops. A shiver runs over my spine as I recall Harnel specifically mentioning my age. Right before he sent me off to die. Maybe Captain Roselle wasn’t the father figure I thought he was. Maybe I’m not the only underage person he’s recruited. Maybe—I’m not special.

  “Paul, you’re brilliant.” Jonathan throws his arm in the air. Paul misses the high-five entirely, but neither of them notices as they stand toe-to-toe, murmuring to one another like old friends.

  Watching the two of them excitedly discussing the future potential of the Fifth Column, the slumber party in the front room finally makes more sense. I’m surprised that Jonathan, of all people, isn’t turned off by the fact that this so-called army is made up of a bunch of oily-haired, smelly-feet teenagers—who are right now drooling on their pillows. He made such a stink about my age. “The Khayal want teenagers? What can they do?”

  “You’re a teenager.”

  Jonathan’s words cut at me like a rusty razor. They’re both painful and leave a bad taste in my mouth. “Yes, I know, and you’ve had no trouble reminding me of that fact for the last four days. Besides, I’m…” exceptional, I don’t say, remembering Captain Roselle’s praises. Lies most likely.

  “Hold up? You’re not Agent Donavan?” Paul asks excitedly, tousling his hair. “The Agent Donavan, SEEKs renowned bow hunter?”

  Paul’s recognition sends my heart hammering against my ribs and blood rushing to my face. Something about the way he’s laughing, high pitched and verging on hysterical, only in an uber creepy way, makes me regret venturing into this secret basement. But I hold my ground as he paces a circle around me with his hands waving wildly in the air.

  “You’ve turned everything around for us. You were legendary when we thought you were nineteen. I can’t believe the infamous Agent Donavan is here, in my house! I didn’t even recognize you. You changed your hair.”

  Sharp needles of hesitation prick at my skin. How does he know that I’ve changed my hair?

  “What is it?” Jonathan whips his head to me.

  “How do you know me?” I ask Paul, hoping I at least appear calm.

  “Jonathan, you know the virtual training system they taught us with at the Brotherhood, the one you perfected for them?” Paul rushes, changing the subject.

  “The one used for herding Khayal? Yeah.” Jonathan nods.

  “Herding Khayal?” I mutter, confused.

  Paul’s head bobs nervously as he spins back to a keyboard and types. “Yeah, well I took that idea, made a few minor adjustments, and made a Fifth Column training program using SEEK and Episteme footage, of course.”

  “You did?” Jonathan gasps, sounding sincerely interested.

  “I did. Thanks for the technology by the way, it works like a charm.”

  “Training video? What’s that got to do with me?” I frown, shoving my fists in my pockets.

  “Everything, I’m afraid.” Paul opens a large metal cabinet wedged into the corner between desks. He reaches into the deep drawer and out comes out with what appears to be two halves of my mother’s robot vacuum cleaner. “Stand in front of the green screen. And prepare to have your minds blown.”

  “What is that?” I choke, staying put as Jonathan saunters happily after Paul.

  “Trust me you need to see this. The rest of the Fifth Column will be awake soon and you don’t want to meet them unprepared.”

  “I’m not sure I want to meet them at all,” I grumble crankily.

  “Come on, it’s virtual, what can it hurt?” Jonathan pleads, throwing me a half-crooked smile.

  With a sigh, and all of my better judgment pushed aside, I shuffle to the green corner. Paul takes the half-moon case and expertly unfolds ear pieces and a headband, fastening it to my head. The he hands me earbuds and a microphone clip.

  “Okay, you’ve both done virtual training before? This isn’t that much different. It’s just a little more…advanced. Hang on and enjoy the ride!”

  That’s the last thing I hear before the earpiece crackles. Then it happens all at once, the goggles disappear and I
’m suddenly submerged in a familiar forest. I whirl in a three-hundred and sixty degree circle. Everywhere around me is the Boone; red clay under my feet, wind moving through the trees. It’s so real I swear I smell Spanish moss—the power of suggestion I suppose. Then two SEEK hunters go running up the trail in the distance.

  Before I can run after them a glowing yellow arrow points me to the trail in the opposite direction. I ignore it and follow the dark figures toward the gulch instead.

  “Keira! Watch the arrows in the corner,” Jonathan warns, his voice in my ears sending shivers up my spine.

  The two agents disappear into the woods. Now Jonathan’s beside me in the video, wearing the same gray tee he has on in real life. “How are you here?”

  “Green screen, remember?” He smiles, grabbing my hand, both in real life and in the game.

  “This is really weird,” I whisper.

  “Thanks. I invented it,” Jonathan chuckles, leading me through the woods.

  Only in this alternate reality would Jonathan be this adept at jumping and dodging obstacles. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that even a misstep doesn’t make him fall. That’s really the only thing ruining this illusion. The basement floor beneath me feels flat, not sandy and inconsistent, like the real Boone. But if it weren’t for that small fact I’d swear I’d been teleported into the Boone itself, the visual sensation is that convincing.

  “Over here!” Jonathan shouts, his voice snapping with a slight computerized twang.

  The moment I step after him, it must engage the trainer video, because layers of graphics and codes pop-up in the left corner of my vision. In the first box a graph reads, “Colonists” followed by a number that’s counting down in uneven increments and “Hunters” with a number four afterward.

  I’m following Jonathan. The yellow arrow seems to work like a compass, telling us where to go. It leads us down the Indian Stairway. The graph vanishes and in its place is a map. Similar to the maps Paul showed us, but this map is more specific. The black dots—who are the Khayal—are visibly vanishing. The four red dots just ahead are SEEK agents.

  “Stay behind me,” Jonathan commands.