by Ellery Kane
“I don’t think you know what you’re doing—what the consequences could be. Do you even care?” My father’s face was red with anger, but he looked defeated. Their arguments had grown more frequent, yet each was the same as the last. My father wanted my mother to resign from her position at Zenigenic.
“Of course, I care.” My mother lowered her voice. “You know I care.”
“I don’t know anything about you anymore.”
My father turned from my mother. When his eyes briefly met mine, I saw that he felt satisfied and then, ashamed. When I returned from school the next day, he was gone. In the years that followed, I came to understand why he left my mother. She could be distant and selfish at times. But I never forgave him for leaving me.
It was almost dark by now, and the remaining light cast shadows around me. They danced eerily at the edges of my vision. I walked faster. I had hoped that by leaving the library, I would discover something to direct me to the Resistance. I saw now that there was nothing here.
What if my mother had been wrong about everything? How could she let me come here alone? For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to feel angry with her. I turned back toward the library. The rain had subsided, but I was wet and cold. I started to run.
As I ran, I caught broken glimpses of myself in what remained of the store windows. I looked wild, careless. Fear began to tug at me, whispering at first, then speaking urgently. I could hear the soft, methodical thud of what sounded like footsteps behind me. I ran faster, not daring to look. By the time I reached the library, I was certain that at any moment someone, something, was just a fingertip’s length behind me. As I approached the door, I took one quick look back to ready myself. The street was empty and blanketed in darkness.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE FIRST TIME
WHOOSH! I SLAMMED THE LIBRARY door shut, sending leaves and papers swirling about the room. I pressed my back into the wall, breathing heavily. In the library, it was as dark as a cave. I reached for the light switch, flicking it on and off and on again. Nothing.
It’s just a blackout, I told myself, squinting into the blackness. The government reported that California’s frequent power outages were caused by the country’s crumbling infrastructure. My mother, on the other hand, was convinced that the blackouts were manufactured to keep us in a constant state of uncertainty. I wasn’t sure what to believe.
From above my head, a familiar brown bird swooped past me. I squealed with surprise and began laughing. How was I ever going to be worthy of the Resistance if I couldn’t manage a bird?
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” I said aloud, my words echoing in the empty room.
I removed my jacket and left it in a wet heap near the door. I turned on my flashlight, sending a thin yellow beam of light through the room. Though my brief adventure had been unsuccessful, I felt a small sense of accomplishment. I had stepped out into the world and returned intact.
Just as my body began to relax, I felt a sudden, sharp impact to my side. I doubled over. The flashlight slid across the floor, striking the wall with a thud. Run. Run! RUN! My brain screamed at me, but, for an instant, I couldn’t move. Finally, instinct took over. I scrambled to my feet, trying to reach the gun concealed in the back of my pants. I heard a man’s heavy breathing and felt him reaching for me through the darkness. He struck me again, this time in the chest. I felt dizzy. He grabbed at my shirt, and there it was—the black-inked badge on his inner left forearm. A Guardian! He pulled me closer toward him. I landed a solid kick to his knee, then ran toward the back of the library, hiding in a small alcove.
He followed.
I waited.
The man moved clumsily in the dark. As he neared the alcove, I could see he wasn’t who I thought he was. He had long blond hair and was heavily muscled. He wore a dark uniform and carried handcuffs and a weapon at his side. Unlike the other tattooed man, he moved without concern as if he couldn’t be harmed. Though I couldn’t be certain, I suspected he was under the influence of Emovere. His lack of fear was a weakness. He wouldn’t anticipate danger.
Time seemed to slow, my senses heightened by my terror. I saw only the man, plodding toward me, his boots causing thunderous echoes in my ears. Tunnel vision, I thought to myself, remembering my mother’s description of the body’s response to fear. I steadied my breathing and considered the gun in my hand. What choice did I have? I squeezed the trigger, and the man fell back.
CHAPTER SIX
FOUND
TEN LONG MINUTES LATER, I found the Resistance. Or rather, they found me. I hadn’t moved from the alcove. I felt heavy inside, my stomach a churning pit of rocks. I had never killed anything larger than a spider—until now. My eyes were drawn to the dead man. He lay face down with his head turned unnaturally to the side. A river of blood snaked its way from underneath him. It was painful to look at him, yet I found it hard to look away.
When my mother told me about her early research with criminals, most of them murderers, I hung on every word, waiting for the why. The why fascinated me so much more than the how. Each case was a riddle I needed to solve, to understand how such things were possible. But I was always disappointed—the why never completely satisfying me. Now I understood. I was a murderer … no different from the men my mother had studied.
In the distance, I heard the rumble of an engine. It steadily grew louder and then stopped. I knew I should be afraid, but I felt numb. The library door creaked as it swung open, and I heard the click-click-click that had awakened me nights before—along with the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Where are you?” The man’s voice was gruff and demanding, almost a growl.
I said nothing. I tried to be as still and silent as a stone. I could hear Artos sniffing the ground feverishly.
“We don’t have much time. In case you didn’t notice, you killed a Guardian.”
His words surprised me. Wasn’t he a Guardian?
“Okay,” he said. “It’s your choice. They’ll be here to arrest you any minute now, but I guess you can handle it.” Strange, but his sarcasm made me smile.
“Who are you?” my voice croaked.
“I’m here to help you. Right now, that’s all you need to know.”
I thought of my mother. She had sent me here. She had trusted me. I had to trust myself. I stood slowly, steadying myself against the wall. My legs felt like rubber.
“I’m here,” I said, taking a step from behind the alcove. “I’m here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
“WE GOTTA GO,” HE SAID, looking around nervously.
Now that I could see his face, I saw that he was young, about my age. But there was a seriousness about him that made him seem older, as if life had already written “sadness” on his slate. He had strong features with a faint beard shadowing his jawline.
“Get your stuff,” he directed harshly.
As he spoke, he walked purposefully to the dead man. He kneeled beside him and removed a needle and vial from his jacket pocket. Taking the man’s arm in his hand, he inserted the needle and withdrew a sample of blood. He moved efficiently, as if he’d done this many times before. He probably had. The thought unnerved me.
Then he searched the dead man’s clothing. He removed his cellular telephone, quickly snapping out and pocketing its tiny memory card. He discarded the telephone’s shell in the corner. Last, he produced something from the man’s pocket. It was the flash drive my mother had given me. I instantly felt foolish for leaving it behind, unprotected.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked.
“No.” It was the truth. My mother had not told me. I could only wonder. I walked toward the door, retrieving my still-wet jacket and backpack. My mother had always been good at keeping secrets. I recalled a conversation we had years earlier. In school, we were studying the human brain. I asked my mother why so many people wanted to alter their emotions. What I really wanted to ask was, “Why are you he
lping them do it?” But I knew she would be hurt.
“Not everyone is like us, Lex,” she told me. “Their emotions get the best of them. Feelings are a bit like a wild animal—unpredictable—and they can be dangerous if you can’t control them.”
I never told my mother that, for months after my father left, I cried every night as I fell asleep, letting my tears dead-end into my pillowcase. I guess I had my secrets too.
“My mother gave it to me. I should keep it.” My voice sounded more forceful than I had intended.
“Yes, you should keep it.” He raised his eyebrows at me, scolding me. Even worse, I deserved it.
He stood by the door, Artos looking up at him anxiously. “Are you ready?” he asked me, begrudgingly handing me the flash drive.
“Can you at least tell me your name?” I tried to sneak a glance at his left forearm, but it was covered by his jacket sleeve.
He rolled his eyes. “Quin McAllister,” he said, exasperated. Though his expression was cold, there was a glimpse of warmth underneath.
“And this is Artos.” At the sound of his name, Artos’ tail pendulummed back and forth.
“Alexandra,” I offered without being asked, “but everyone calls me Lex.”
It wasn’t the whole truth. Most people called me Lexi, a nickname I hated. Hearing it, I couldn’t help but picture myself as a small, fluffy dog. My whole fifth grade year, an awful boy named Jeffrey had called me Sexy Lexi—a name made even more humiliating by its obvious contrast to my then-awkward appearance. The truth was that only my parents called me Lex.
“Lex,” he repeated. I felt warmth, an instant rush of precious memories. I saw my mother’s face.
“So you’re Lex.” He smirked. “Daughter of the great Dr. Knightley. I was expecting someone a bit more …” His voice trailed off as he studied me.
My face felt hot. I wasn’t used to being examined so intently by the opposite sex. The last time I had been this close to a boy my own age, he had kissed me. My first kiss. My only kiss. It seemed a lifetime ago.
My mother referred to me as a “late bloomer,” an expression I despised. I imagined myself as a cold, hard seed in the ground, waiting impatiently while life sprung up around me.
“Don’t worry,” she had said. “It will happen.” It being my blooming, of course. Though she always reassured me, when I told her about the kiss, I sensed that she was relieved.
I met Quin’s stare. The warmth I had felt disappeared. I felt exposed.
“A bit more what?” Inwardly, I groaned. I sounded like a child seeking approval.
“Let’s go,” Quin said, ignoring my question. He opened the door and waited. Artos trotted out obediently.
“Where are we going?” My voice seemed small.
Quin said nothing, but his silence felt like a reprimand. I didn’t like him, but I trusted him without knowing why.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHAT LIES BENEATH
WE RODE IN SILENCE, ARTOS between us. I shivered. My clothing was still wet, and the night air was cold. I petted Artos’ head gently, and he licked my hand. At least Artos liked me. The truck— apparently abandoned by someone fleeing the city—smelled of stale beer and cigarettes. Adhered to the dashboard was a small paper calendar: March 2040, over one year ago, when a mandatory evacuation order forced most people from the city.
When my mother and I first received word of the evacuation, we weren’t surprised. SFTV had been documenting the increasing unrest in San Francisco for years. Though small Resistance factions had developed across the country, the political climate in California made San Francisco a fitting home for its headquarters. For several years, the Resistance held regular protest rallies in front of several of the major pharmaceutical companies.
When the rallies became volatile, the federal government established the Guardian Force to maintain order in the city. Still, the Resistance marched and bedlam followed—looting and graffiti became commonplace, as did violent clashes between protestors and the Guardian Force. Citizens were urged, and eventually mandated, to leave the city for their own protection.
“How did you know where to find me?” I asked. The question had been gnawing at the back of my brain all night.
“How do you think? We were watching you.” He glanced sideways at me, waiting for my reaction.
I paused, carefully considering his use of the word we.
“I saw you,” I said. “But …” I stopped myself. It was still too soon to tell him that I had seen his tattoo.
Quin appeared unfazed. He gestured with his head. “We’re here.”
Here was nowhere really—the middle of The Embarcadero, a main thoroughfare that ran right next to the ocean. Quin left the truck parked in an alleyway between two buildings. We walked a circuitous route toward the Financial District with Quin silently alerting me to several overhead surveillance cameras. Artos stayed close to Quin’s side, his ears perked and alert. At the corner of Market and Embarcadero, Quin turned to me and pointed ahead, smirking again.
“Welcome to the Resistance headquarters.”
His words were intended to shock me, and they did. The Resistance had been right underneath me all along. Literally.
CHAPTER NINE
WATCHED
QUIN WAS POINTING TO THE boarded entrance of the underground BART railway station. He easily removed one of the boards, which had been left loosened. The eerie quiet of the city made sense now. As is often the case, life was happening underground. For a moment, I felt the ache of melancholy. I wished my mother could be here with me. Things felt less real to me without her.
“After you,” he said, gesturing toward the staircase.
Artos and I began walking down the stairs. Behind us, Quin carefully placed the board back in its position and followed. Just at the foot of the staircase was a large steel door with a keypad. Quin placed his thumb into the device and typed in a code. The door opened.
The sprawling BART station had been given a second life. In the middle of the wall up ahead, the mark of the Resistance was painted in bold red. At the center, there was a control station of sorts with at least twenty monitors capturing various portions of the city from above. Several armed men were stationed nearby. They acknowledged Quin with a nod.
Quin pointed to the monitors. “The government has its eyes all over the city. Our computer engineer, Hiro, was able to tap into their surveillance system. We see what they see, when they see it.”
I wondered how long the Resistance had been watching me. Had they witnessed my first night in the library? Had they seen me hiding from Quin? Or my wild run through the rain? Had they known I was in danger?
I followed Quin. He effortlessly scaled the turnstiles that blocked our entrance, then offered his hand.
“I can do it myself,” I said, glad that my mother had insisted on our daily workouts—pushups, sit-ups, and a five-mile run in a park near our home.
“Suit yourself,” he replied, not glancing back.
He continued walking through a long, sterile corridor and down an unmoving escalator onto the pedestrian platform. I remembered standing here when the trains were still running, hearing the roar and feeling the cold rush of air sliding past me as they approached. Now, there was only stillness and silence.
The trains were shut down more than one year prior to the evacuation. It was one of the government’s first attempts to quell the Resistance. SFTV reported that members of the Resistance were targeting stations near the pharmaceutical companies, vandalizing trains and accosting passengers. My mother and I had watched from the West Oakland station as the last train returned from San Francisco.
Quin’s voice interrupted my memory. “You’ll meet everyone tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight.”
Artos was already running excitedly down the tracks. In his wake, birds scattered frantically. Quin hopped down from the platform and started walking into the black tunnel ahead.
“Down there? You’ve got to
be kidding me.” I laughed, but inside I was wondering if I had made a fatal error in coming here, putting my faith in Quin, with his Guardian tattoo.
Reading my thoughts, Quin replied, “Trust me.”
If I didn’t go with him, I would be spending the night on the platform alone. Or worse, back in the bleakness of the city. I hesitated, then began walking. Quin produced a small flashlight from his jacket before we headed straight into the darkness.
CHAPTER TEN
PERKS
ABOUT ONE HUNDRED YARDS AHEAD, Quin opened another door with his fingerprint. Inside was a tunnel that widened into a series of rooms. Each door was branded with the mark of the Resistance.
“How is this possible?” I wondered aloud.
Not surprisingly, Quin didn’t answer. It seemed that he carefully chose when to speak and when to be silent. I was almost starting to like that about him.
He led me into a small, sparse room with a twin-sized bed and its own bathroom.
“Our visitors stay here,” he explained. Though I didn’t dare say it, I doubted the Resistance typically entertained visitors.
“I’ll give you a moment to settle in,” he said. “But first, I’ll need your weapon. Visitors aren’t authorized to carry guns.”
Though I knew it was probably foolhardy, handing the gun to Quin felt like releasing the heaviest of burdens. After he left, I sat down on the bed, letting the day sink into my mind. It seemed impossible so much had happened in one day. But even at eighteen, I already knew life was like that. Sometimes a day can contain a lifetime.
My brain was buzzing with questions, annoying little flies that I tried to swat unsuccessfully. I managed to silence my thoughts long enough to enjoy a hot shower. I changed into the dry clothing in my backpack, slipping my mother’s flash drive into my pocket. I would not let it out of my sight again.
