by Sara Preucil
“So that’s what they’re saying downstairs, is it?” Her mom interrupted, taking the bait as Tara had hoped.
Tara nodded, her eyes wide in mock concern.
Dina huffed angrily. “Come with me. I’ll show you.” She led Tara down the hall to the right, past the labs. Through tiny windows on the doors, Tara caught sight of people in white lab coats working at desks and staring into microscopes. Then they reached the end of the hall, and through a set of double doors, took a left turn.
“Of course we had a breakout.” Dina was fuming. “I argued against the handler program from the beginning. But no. They believed that small, suppressive measures would balance them, keep them from gaining strength.”
They walked past a couple of unmarked, windowless, closed doors. Tara wondered what was behind them.
“Here we are.”
They came to a sudden stop outside a door marked “Freezer.”
“See?” Dina pointed a shiny red fingernail at the window in the door. “The unnatural is completely contained. He was already fully realized, so we’ve taken full precautions and have already begun treatment.”
Following her mom’s invitation, Tara stepped up to the door. She had to stand on the balls of her feet, her heels slipping out of the backs of the ballet flats that she was wearing.
Through a sheer layer of frost built up on the glass, Tara could make out a hunched figure. His broad shoulders and dark clothing looked oddly familiar. He sat on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his shins, his hooded head resting on the tops of his knees.
As if sensing her presence, he looked up. The breath that escaped his blue lips formed a small mist in front of him. His piercing, dark eyes found hers, rooting her to the spot. She remembered what his hand felt like over hers, so warm then. She couldn’t imagine how cold they were now.
Tara gasped, and took a step back, away from the door.
“Really.” Dina sounded exasperated. “There is no reason to be afraid. Look.” She tapped the thermostat next to the tick, steel door. “It’s well below freezing in there. There is no way he can produce a single flame.”
Tara looked at the digital display on the thermostat. The green numbers read fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. She peeled her eyes away, feeling suddenly sick.
Dina scribbled a couple of notes on to the clipboard that she was still holding, and then hung it up on a small hook under the thermostat. Tara glanced at it. The only thing she read was “Subject 2414” written across the top in her mom’s handwriting, before she was being ushered away.
Tara was escorted back to the elevator by her mom, who stayed there until the doors closed between them, securing Tara in the metal box. She swayed as the elevator moved, and had to hold the handrail to steady herself. She thought of last night. How, even though he had recognized the Order’s symbol on her, he hadn’t harmed her. It was counterintuitive to everything she had been taught; chaos and malady were supposed to rule an unbalanced system. He had seemed angry, sure, but also scared and determined. He seemed human.
Back at her laptop in the tiny conference room, Tara typed the numbers 2-4-1-4 into the company’s database. A picture of a young, dark-haired boy appeared next to the name Aidan Marshall. No doubt that outdated picture would soon be replaced with a new one for a more accurate record. The information under his name was sparse: his place of birth—Grand Coulee, Washington—and the date—which put him just a couple of months past his nineteenth birthday.
Tara tapped the faux wood table top with her fingernail as she stared at the screen. Obviously he
had done a good job of hiding from the Order up until this point. So why surface now?
Chapter 36
Briana rose early the next morning. Careful not to wake Liam—who was softly snoring, curled up in his small bed in the room they shared—she put on her long brown coat over her cotton nightdress and headed out of her and Liam’s bedroom, closing the door noiselessly behind her. From the kitchen, she snagged a hunk of slightly stale bread from last night’s dinner, an apple, and a canister of water, and headed to the door. She slipped on her old worn boots before opening the front door as quietly as possible.
The spring morning was cold and misty. Briana breathed in the damp air, shivering slightly as she headed around the back of their cottage to the storage shed.
Once in sight, she realized that the shed door was open slightly, and Briana slowed down, feeling a stab of worry that Eagan had left.
It would probably be for the better if he did move on, she had to remind herself.
But when she pushed the door open with a slight creek, her heart leapt in her chest to see that he was still there. He had removed his boots, propping them neatly together against the wall, and was curled up on his uninjured side, sleeping. His breathing, Briana noticed, was somewhat labored, which was concerning. She set the modest breakfast she had brought on the table next to the lantern and knelt down next to Eagan. Gently, she pressed the back of her hand against his forehead.
His fever had gotten worse over the night.
Briana jumped to her feet and hurried back to the house. In her room, she grabbed a spare quilt from the handmade wooden chest at the foot of her bed.
“What are you doing?” Liam’s sleepy voice mumbled from under his own blankets.
“Nothing,” Briana said. “Go back to sleep.” She waited a moment to see that Liam had obliged. Once his breathing deepened, she slipped out of their bedroom again. Once more, she sneaked out of the house and hurried to the shed, trying to not let the blanket touch the damp, muddy ground.
She swept into the shed and laid the blanket down, covering the shivering soldier. She was pulling the fabric up to his chin, when he gave a start and opened his eyes.
His hand shot up, and he caught Briana’s wrist. Eagan stared at her with blurry, fevered eyes. It took a moment, but eventually he recognized her and released his grip on her wrist.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Here.” Briana stood up, gathered the bread, water, and apple, and knelt back down, offering them to the soldier.
He accepted the water canister and drank deeply, but showed little interest in eating, so Briana set the food on the edge of the blanket.
“Eat when you have the strength,” she said as Eagan, clearly exhausted, slumped back to the ground. “I’ll check on you when I can.”
Briana stood up, and quietly left the shed, shutting the door silently behind her. She headed over to the small chicken coop, lifted a section of its roof, and extracted the morning’s supply of eggs. If anyone asked, she would use this small chore as a reason for having ventured outside so early. She then returned back to the house, and set to work building up a small fire at the stone hearth. She was too wound up with the secret of her stowaway soldier to sleep and figured she might as well do something her parents would approve of. So she busied herself by making breakfast, wondering distractedly, how soon she would be able to check on Eagan.
Chapter 37
Tara’s eyes opened. Her room was still dark, rain pounded against her window. She reached for her phone at her nightstand and glanced at the screen. 3:16. She set her phone back down, catching sight of the black cloak that was hanging in her closet, which she would be wearing in about a week for her indoctrination into the Order. She rolled on to her back, staring up at the angles of the ceiling.
She had dreamt about a man in a soldier’s uniform; she tried to recall the details, but the dream was fading fast. All she was left with was an almost overwhelming desire to help him.
The unnatural’s face—Aidan’s face—surprised her by pushing its way to the surface of her thoughts. Even stranger, was that the urge to help did not abate but only seemed to strengthen.
Tara flopped on to her stomach, burying her face into her pillow. What was going on with her? She still hadn’t told her parents about her less-than-civil confrontation with Aidan. Although, that hardly seemed to matter now, given where he c
urrently was.
Shame washed over her as she fought against another sick moment in which the urge to help him was almost so strong it was painful. It was like she was suddenly of two minds.
Unable to sleep, Tara got out of bed and went to sit at her desk. She opened her laptop, logged into MA’s database and typed four numbers.
Aidan’s profile popped up, and the first thing Tara realized was that it had been updated. There was now a schedule of round-the-clock treatments, probably posted by her mom in an effort to prove that the situation was already contained. Tara scanned the list.
Right now, he was back in the room dubbed “Freezer.”
Somehow that did it.
Tara found herself on her feet, heading to her closet, and frantically pulling out clothes. She slipped on a pair of distressed skinny jeans and a gray school hoodie, the words Sehome High School printed on it in forest green and yellow writing. From her desk, she grabbed her car keys and the lanyard with her volunteer badge for Modern Alchemy.
Silently, she cracked open her bedroom door, feeling grateful that her room was closest to the stairs, because it meant she wouldn’t be attempting to sneak past her parent’s bedroom. Tara had always been well behaved and respectful of curfew, so her parents were not the suspicious type when it came to their teenager. Down the hall, their door was shut tight. No doubt they were sound asleep, definitely not imagining what their perfect daughter was about to attempt.
Tara crept down the wood staircase, fist clenched painfully tight around her keys to keep them from jangling. At the front door, she pulled on a pair of white sneakers, slipped on her black raincoat, and opened the door as soundlessly as possible. When the deadbolt clicked, she paused, waiting to see if one of her parents was about to appear on the landing above. The house remained silent.
Squeezing out of the small crack in the door, Tara carefully closed it behind her, and then bolted for her car. Thank goodness her parents, although apparently okay with human torture, were environmentally friendly. Her Prius came to life silently, and she waited until after she had backed out of the driveway to flip on its headlights.
A frenzy of warring thoughts circled around her mind as she drove downtown. But she ignored them. There was force at work here, a development that her head didn’t quite yet understand, but something else in her did. And that something was telling her to go against everything she had ever known to be right.
Tara parked around the back of MA’s large brick building, near an employee entrance that she rarely had need to use; she only ever came in during office hours and used the front entrance. Before she could take this last moment to talk herself out of this, she pulled up her hood and hopped out of her car.
The rain pelted against her hood as she splashed over the sidewalk to the back door. She pulled the lanyard out of her pocket, and held her badge—which doubled as a keycard—up to a small gray box near the door handle. A little green light blinked, and Tara turned the handle and stepped inside.
She entered into a dark, narrow stairwell. To her left was the staircase, and across from her was a door which led to the lobby. She walked through it, and headed quickly across the marble floor to the elevators. She punched the up arrow and the doors in front of her opened immediately. Tara slid inside, and hit the button for the fourth floor, praying that if there was a security guard on duty, that they weren’t headed for the lobby. Mercifully, the doors closed on her without detection, and she rode the elevator up, thinking that she should come up with some excuse if, indeed, she were caught.
When the elevator door slid open; Tara headed out, keeping her head ducked down, trying to avoid detection in case there were hidden cameras. Hurrying, she followed the path her mother had taken her on just last night. She found the correct hallway without, luckily, running into any guards.
She recognized the heavy metal door about halfway down the hall, and rushed over to it. Rising up on tiptoe, she looked into the frosted window. Aidan was hunched over, rubbing his hands together for the little heat that friction could bring.
Tara grabbed the handle and jerked her hand back. Even on the outside, the metal was painfully cold to touch. Pulling her sleeve over her hand, she grabbed the handle again, and tried to turn it. The door was locked.
Tara’s heartrate spiked. What now?
She looked into the room again. Aidan must have heard her jiggling the handle, because his face was turned up toward her now. His dark brows knitted together when he saw her.
She stepped back, trying to think of what she could possibly do now. She hadn’t expected the door to be locked on her end.
Then, she spotted the thermostat. Frantically, not knowing how much time she had until someone was bound to show up, she peeled back the plastic covering, discarding it on the floor with a clatter. She jammed her finger against the button with the up arrow and watched the number on the digital screen rise. Twenty degrees…thirty…forty…
Stretching her arm, she leaned over to gaze into the window.
Aidan was on his feet. He was staring back at her, his expression incredulous, but there was a light to his eyes that read as hope.
Tara looked back at the thermostat. Sixty-five degrees…seventy…seventy-five…eighty.
Figuring that was good enough, Tara let the keypad go and stepped over to the window again. The ice crystals were melting, smearing the glass in slow-moving streams of water. Beyond, she could see Aidan’s blurred form. He was holding his hands out in front of him. A weak, orange flicker was coming off them.
Appearing frustrated, he stalked toward the door, trying the handle from his side. It was locked, as Tara knew it would be. He swore; the curse muffled by the thick steel door.
At the end of the hall, another door opened.
“Shit!” Tara banged her fist against the window to get Aidan’s attention. His dark eyes snapped up. “The guard is coming!” She shouted, just as she heard approaching footsteps and an annoyingly familiar voice bellow—
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
“Stand back!” Aidan warned from the other side of the door.
Tara moved back. There was a loud bang against the door. Aidan had probably tried to knock it down.
“Hurry!” Tara yelled, just as Austin arrived at her side, wearing a security guard’s uniform. He glanced at the door, looking panicked, and pulled out his two-way radio. Before Tara realized what she was doing, she pounced, grabbing Austin’s arms, sending the radio flying to the floor. It broke apart on impact.
Austin snarled, swinging his free arm at Tara, catching her in the stomach. She doubled over, coughing, trying to catch her breath. When she stood up, Austin was at the thermostat.
“No!” Tara rushed him. He swung around, drawing something from his right hip. He pointed the small handgun at Tara.
She froze.
“Back up!” Austin commanded.
Arms raised, Tara took two steps backward. “What’s with the getup, Austin? Being punished with night shift for your screw-up?”
Austin’s lip curled into a sneer. “Get on the floor.”
Tara sunk down to her knees. Austin stood over her, a triumphant look on his ken-doll face.
“You’re going to be in so much trouble.” He gloated, not looking the least bit concerned by her betrayal. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying the situation in which he could hold a gun to her. “What will your parents say? You’re going to be the Order’s greatest disappointment.”
There was an excruciatingly loud bang, and the floor under Tara’s knees shook. Instinctively, Tara covered her head.
Austin hollered, “Freeze!” Then his gun fired off a single shot, and Tara heard a thud. A strong hand gripped her upper arm, pulling her to her feet.
“Let’s go.”
Stunned, Tara glanced up to see Aidan looking down at her. She turned her head. Behind her, the steel door was lying on the ground, the metal blackened like it had been hit by a great explosive blast. Dust wa
s sprinkling out of a bullet-sized hole in the ceiling, and Austin was slumped, unconscious, against the wall opposite the now empty doorframe.
Aidan tugged on her arm.
“We need to go.”
She spun on her heel and allowed Aidan to pull her down the hall.
“This way!” Tara directed him to the right when they reached the end of the hall. They ran past the lab rooms toward the elevators. She hit the down button. The elevator, having last been used by her, opened immediately. They darted inside, and Tara frantically pushed the button to close the door.
Just as the steel door slid shut, an alarm began to sound. Aidan pushed the button for the lobby.
“Get behind me,” he said.
Tara obeyed. Once more, she could feel heat radiating from him.
The door slid open with a ping.
Aidan threw his hands out in front of him. From behind him, Tara saw the blinding light, felt the sweltering heat, and heard the terrified shouts.
Aidan ran forward and Tara followed, passing men dressed in guard uniforms where they lay sprawled, groaning on the floor. One of them was rolling, attempting to smother his ignited shirt.
They ran across the lobby, through the front doors, which only locked to the outside, and spilled out on to the sidewalk. Tara started to head off to the right, but Aidan stopped her.
“My car is around back!” She insisted, glancing past the glass doors into the lobby. The security alarm wailed while the guards regained their senses. A couple of them were already on their feet.
“This way.” Aidan grabbed her by the wrist, and pulled her after him.
“But my car is just—”
“Your car or your parent’s car?” He shouted over his shoulder over the sounds of the pouring rain and receding alarm as their shoes slapping against the wet pavement. “You know how quickly the cops will be on us once it is reported stolen?”
Tara hadn’t thought of that. She hadn’t let herself do a lot of thinking in the last hour. And now, thanks to that lack of thought, she found herself being led by a fire-wielding boy in the middle of the night, around the dark streets of downtown. He pulled her by the wrist across the street, through a dark alley, and into the next street.
