The Legacy Series Boxed Set (Legacy, Prophecy, Revelation, and AWOL)

by Ellery Kane

  As for me, my own private upheaval continued. Mostly, I thought of my mother and the flash drive that I had surrendered to Augustus. Though its contents were a mystery to me, it was obviously of great importance to him. In the months following the evacuation of the city, my mother began spending more time alone in our garage, which my father had long ago converted to her office and laboratory. Sometimes she wouldn’t emerge until late in the evening, her eyes red and underscored with dark circles. Once, only once, had I asked my mother what she was working on.

  “It’s better that you don’t know, Lex,” she said. “I want to protect you as long as I can. So many people have already been hurt.”

  At the time, I assumed she was thinking of my father and how her ambition had driven him away, pushing him to the periphery of her life until he had no choice but to disappear. But now, I was no longer certain.

  Of course, I also thought of Quin. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel the warmth of his hand under mine. The touch had lasted only a few seconds—one thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three— before he had taken his hand away and stood to say goodnight. It was probably just a friendly gesture, his touching my knee. I told myself it meant nothing to him. Of course, to me, it meant the complete opposite of nothing, and I knew I was in trouble.

  Seeking an escape from my nagging thoughts, I decided to explore the compound, as Augustus had referred to it. I meandered past the dining hall and the armory. I knew where I was headed. The laboratory was locked, but I caught the eye of a middle-aged woman with wire-rimmed glasses, sitting in front of a computer screen. Hearing my knock, she rushed eagerly to the door.

  “Ms. Knightley, it’s an honor to meet you,” she said. “I admire your mother’s work.”

  I saw that she wore a badge with a familiar logo. Underneath, it read, Carrie Donovan. I pointed to it. “Are you Carrie?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry. Carrie Donovan. This is my old work badge from Zenigenic. I wear it to remind me of the destruction science can cause if left unchecked by common sense.” Tongue in cheek, she parroted the slogan, “How do you want to feel today?”

  I chuckled. “I thought the logo looked familiar. How long did you work there?”

  “Just one year. It was after your mother had … left.” She politely omitted the word resigned. “My supervisor asked me to misrepresent some of our findings related to Emovere’s side effects. When I refused, I was fired.”

  “What are you working on?” I asked.

  “Let me show you,” she said excitedly, gesturing me toward the computer. I could tell Carrie was a pure scientist at heart, eager to share her discoveries.

  On the screen was a spreadsheet with copious amounts of data. In one of the columns, I instantly recognized a name, Elliot Barnes—the dead man.

  “This is a compilation of the blood analyses for all deceased Guardian Force.” She said the word deceased matter-of-factly as if she was reading it from a book.

  She pointed to several columns of the spreadsheet. “As you can see, over time, we have detected increasingly larger amounts of Emovere. In Elliot and the casualties discovered yesterday, the concentration was twenty times the prescribed dose.”

  I attempted to disguise my horror, but inside, I was aghast. Twenty times?

  “But what’s really interesting,” she continued, “is this.” She pointed to two additional columns marked Agitor and Substance X.

  As I studied the data curiously, the laboratory door opened and Vera Bullock bounced inside enthusiastically. She had the look of a first-grade teacher, small and plump, her cheeks like apples. Immediately, she walked over to us, nosily glancing over my shoulder at the spreadsheet.

  “What are you up to, Alexandra?” she asked. Her tone implied that we knew each other well.

  I considered her with uncertainty. She seemed harmless.

  “Carrie was explaining some of the Guardian Force data that you’ve all been compiling.” I glanced at Carrie nervously, fearing I had shared too much.

  “My goodness,” Vera replied, shaking her head. “I certainly hope she hasn’t overwhelmed you. This information can be quite confusing, even distressing, for someone so young.” She patted my shoulder gingerly as if I might break at any moment.

  Carrie interrupted. “Luckily for her, Alexandra has had an exceptional teacher in her mother. I’m sure she can handle it. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Vera …” Carrie turned the computer screen toward her, away from Vera’s prying eyes.

  Looking scolded, Vera slinked away from the computer and left the room without a word.

  “Sorry about that. Vera can be a bit overbearing at times, but she means well.”

  Carrie turned her attention back to the columns of data. “As you know, we’ve also detected trace amounts of other emotion-altering drugs in the Guardian Force blood samples, including Agitor. We believe that, in combination with Emovere, Agitor may increase aggression.”

  I placed my finger on the screen. “What’s Substance X?”

  Carrie smiled. “That’s the million-dollar question, Ms. Knightley. We don’t know. Our working hypothesis is that it acts to impair the supramarginal gyrus.”

  I looked at her quizzically. “The supra-what?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, flustered. “I keep forgetting you’re not your mother.” Carrie laughed, a nervous twitter.

  She pointed to a diagram of the brain on the wall behind us. “The supramarginal gyrus is here,” she said, putting her finger at the junction of the parietal, temporal, and frontal lobes of the brain.

  “What does it do?” I asked.

  Carrie paused for a long time. Unsmiling, she replied, “Empathy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AMBUSHED

  AS I LEFT THE LAB with the word empathy drumming in my brain, I saw a group congregating near the outer door that led back to the platform. At the periphery were Max, Quin, and Elana.

  I pulled Elana aside. “What’s going on?”

  She gestured toward a tall and wiry young man with dark-framed glasses. I glanced at his forearm. No tattoo. He was speaking to the group in a hushed tone.

  “Markus is leading a small group to investigate the murders at Pier 33. He thinks there may be more … bodies. We’re going with him,” she said.

  Markus admonished Elana with his stern brow. “It’s supposed to be a secret, remember?” Looking to me, he added, “Augustus doesn’t know.”

  Elana shrugged. “It’s Lex,” she said, as if that explained everything. “Besides, I thought she might want to come with us.”

  Though the idea of disobeying Augustus was appealing, the thought of encountering the Guardians was not. “Um … I don’t know, Elana … I—”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Quin interrupted.

  “Why not?” I asked. Now that Quin had challenged me, I suddenly felt brave.

  Quin seemed momentarily dumbfounded.

  “He’s worried about you, Alexandra.” Max teased.

  I looked away from Quin, my cheeks reddening.

  “Whatever.” Quin replied dismissively, turning back toward the group.

  Max winked at me. “Get this girl a weapon,” he said, chuckling.

  Markus handed me a gun. It was heavier than the one my mother had given me. I slipped the gun into my waistband carefully. The idea of firing a gun again unnerved me. But I wasn’t about to let Quin see my uncertainty, and I could feel his eyes watching me.

  “I think it’s safe to leave now,” Markus said, consulting his watch. “Augustus is scheduled to be at a meeting in the lab with Dr. Bell for the next hour.”

  Within a few minutes, we were outside, heading toward The Embarcadero. The fog had set in again, muting the sun with a cold, gray veil. As we neared the water, I could see rows of palm trees, their tall green stalks breaking through the cloud cover. Quin stayed noticeably close to me.

  “I think we should split up to cover more ground,” Markus said to the g
roup. He pointed to Max, Quin, Elana, and me. “You four come with me. We’ll check out Pier 33, while the rest of you head down toward Pier 39. Meet back at headquarters in twenty minutes.”

  When we arrived at the Pier 33 building, Quin touched my arm and whispered. “Be careful, okay?”

  I nodded, feeling a surge of warmth. He was worried about me.

  From just behind me, Max muttered, “I told you.”

  “Shhh,” Markus hissed. “I hear something.”

  From just inside the building, there was a rhythmic creaking, an eerie to and fro. The methodical squeak sliced the silence like a razor. Ambush. The thought—a hunch, really—came from nowhere, but it resonated through my body.

  “Markus,” I called, but he was already walking inside. Max and Elana followed him.

  I turned to Quin. “What if the Guardians are expecting us?” I asked. He slid his gun from his belt, motioning for me to do the same.

  Inside, it was so dark that, for a moment, I could barely see Quin in front of me. I squinted my eyes tight, waiting for them to adjust to the blackness.

  Reaching behind him for my arm, Quin pulled me along. “Stay close,” he cautioned. From up ahead, I heard the click of a flashlight and a gasp.

  Markus was standing at the back of the building, holding the light to one of the metal rafters. Swaying back and forth, a rope around her neck, was a woman’s body. On her Guardian Force uniform, the mark of the Resistance was painted in red, an obvious message. Her head hung down lifelessly so I couldn’t see her face, but I imagined it was permanently frozen in terror.

  Before I could react, a gunshot pierced the air. Markus fell to the ground, clutching his leg. His flashlight rolled into the center of the room before a big, black boot kicked it out of sight.

  Quin and I ducked behind a row of shipping containers just in time to dodge a volley of gunfire that pinged against the metal crates. Our eyes connected in a moment of panic.

  “We have to get out of here,” I said.

  Nearby, Max and Elana were concealed by a forklift. Markus was stumbling toward them, firing haphazardly over his shoulder. With relief, he slumped down next to Elana.

  Quin fired several shots into the darkness. I kneeled next to him, aiming my gun at nothingness. With each successive squeeze of my trigger—one, two, three—I saw Elliot in my mind as he fell. After firing a few times, I sat back on the ground, frustrated with myself. Behind me, my hand touched something hard and rubbery—a tire.

  “Any ideas?” Quin asked me, as he leaned from behind the containers to shoot again. Bullets whizzed by like attack bees, viciously stinging the air.

  “One … but it might not work.” I pointed downward, lifting the thick tarp to show Quin my discovery—a car.

  Quin nodded. “If it works, it’s brilliant. If it doesn’t, we’ll die.” He beckoned Max over to us, mouthing the word run.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, hoisting myself to a crouch and peering under the tarp.

  As Quin fired, Max and the others ran toward us.

  From the dark corner opposite our hiding place, a Guardian emerged. She stalked toward us, blank-faced, glass-eyed, launching bullet after bullet. When she drew closer, I could see a trail of blood circling her neck, her flesh splayed. Ignoring her wounds, she advanced her fearless onslaught with no apparent concern for herself. Quin took cover, his gun empty, just as Max fired a shot. Her body struck the ground with a sickening thump.

  I looked at Quin with relief.

  “That was a little too close for comfort,” Max said, exhaling. “I hope you two have a plan. I’m almost out of ammo, and I can’t even see who I’m shooting at.”

  “Are you okay?” Quin asked Markus, considering his wounded leg with concern.

  Markus shrugged, but his face was contorted in pain. “It’s just a graze, but I’ve been better.”

  Another round of bullets struck the forklift—their rat-tat-tatting was deafening.

  “This is the plan,” Quin announced, pointing to the car, still concealed beneath its cover.

  “A tarp?” Max asked with disbelief. “A tarp is the plan?” He lifted his head and returned fire.

  “It’s a car,” I told Max.

  Deftly, Quin scooted beneath the tarp and out of sight. I heard the click of the door handle opening. Then Quin’s voice. “No keys.”

  “Check under the mat,” Max offered.

  A few seconds later, Quin’s hand appeared from under the tarp. In it was a single key.

  One by one, we climbed inside the dark tomb of the car. Max was last. He continued firing until he was out of ammunition. I wedged myself next to Elana in the passenger seat, listening to her rapid breathing.

  “Here goes,” Quin said. “Get down and hold on tight.”

  Lowering my head beneath the dashboard, I held my breath until I heard the engine roar to life. Overshadowing its melodious sound was gunfire. I braced myself as Quin floored the accelerator—tires screeching—torpedoing us blindly from the building, casting the tarp high up into the air.

  I didn’t look up or open my eyes until the car stopped a block from Resistance headquarters. Even so, I knew we were going fast. Each breakneck turn pressed against my body forcefully as if I was being pushed.

  We bailed out quickly and ran the rest of the way, Markus leaning on Max and Quin. The other group who had accompanied us was already waiting just outside the door, their faces quizzical and alarmed.

  “What are you going to tell Augustus?” I asked Markus, once we were safely inside.

  Glancing sidelong at Quin, Max suggested, “I think you should tell him you got hit by a reckless driver.”

  Quin volleyed back at him. “You have to admit, if we hadn’t almost died, that would’ve been kind of fun.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Quin skeptically. Fun?

  “How’d you learn to drive like that?” I asked.

  Quin grinned back at me slyly, but didn’t answer.

  Max chuckled. “What is that old saying? Drive it like you stole it. You know something about that, right, Quin?”

  Quin shook his head, laughing. Apparently, in another life—the one I could only guess about—he had been a car thief. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Like a lot of things about Quin, it was double-edged, both exciting and unnerving.

  Turning his eyes to me, Quin’s smile softened. “That was a really good idea, Lex. I’m glad you came.”

  “Looks like she didn’t need protecting after all,” Max said, punching Quin in the arm playfully.

  I waited for Quin to agree. He said nothing, but even better—so much better—he slipped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a tight squeeze.

  My contentment evaporated like smoke when I saw Augustus and Cason standing by the platform, glowering. They were already lecturing Markus as we approached.

  Augustus addressed Quin, “Were you involved in this unauthorized mission as well, Mr. McAllister?”

  Quin gave a solemn nod.

  Shaking his head disapprovingly, Augustus said, “You continue to disappoint me, Quin.” Augustus seemed to have masterful command of all of Quin’s buttons, pushing them at will.

  “And Ms. Knightley, Ms. Hamilton, were you involved as well?”

  Cason laughed, appraising Elana and me with a patronizing once-over. “Doubtful,” he concluded.

  I looked down at my feet. Before either of us could answer, Quin spoke for us. “No, they weren’t there.”

  I started to protest, but Augustus turned back to Markus and Quin, apparently satisfied. “Well then, let’s discuss your transgressions in my office … in private.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  BLACKOUT

  I WAS RETURNING TO MY room the following evening when the Resistance went dark. The blackouts had been more frequent in the last few days, usually lasting two or more hours. During an outage, we were instructed to return to our sleeping quarters since each room was equipped with a battery-powered lantern.
As I fumbled with my flashlight, I heard a familiar voice in my ear.

  “Meet me at the entrance in five minutes.” It was Quin.

  Five and a half minutes later, I stood with Quin, outside headquarters for the third time since my arrival. We had exited through a side door, marked EMERGENCY ONLY, the alarm dead, along with the lights. The frigid evening air was a shock to my body, but it felt invigorating. Quin shivered and zipped the leather jacket he had been wearing the night we met.

  “I want to show you something,” he said, “but we have to be fast.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Quin? Augustus is already furious with you.”

  He shrugged. “He’ll get over it. Besides, as long as we’re back before the power comes on, we have nothing to worry about.”

  We speed-walked for more than a mile into the heart of the city. I followed closely behind Quin. We cautiously dodged the cameras’ all-seeing eyes, even though it was likely the blackout had cut the Guardians’ surveillance feed. As we neared Telegraph Hill, the path grew increasingly steeper. My legs burned, and the frigid air stung my lungs.

  Quin shined his flashlight upward, spotlighting Coit Tower, which shot up into the evening sky like the tail of a comet. Not even this once-majestic landmark had escaped destruction. At the base of the tower, I could see graffiti and crumbling rock. Quin pushed his shoulder into the tower’s door several times before it opened with a thud. Inside, the air was stale and bitterly cold.

  “This way.” Quin pointed up a spiraling staircase. When we reached the observation deck, Quin extinguished his flashlight. The soft glow from the setting sun barely illuminated the city. From up here, I could almost forget the desolation below. But as I looked toward the Bay Bridge, I gasped. The reports that my mother and I had heard were correct. The highway was split into two distinct pieces with only sky in between them. A portion of the bridge had fallen away and was frozen in a sharp descent toward the water.

  I looked over my shoulder expecting to see Quin, eager to ask him about the bridge. But he was kneeling on the opposite end of the deck in a spot where the concrete was broken away.