by Ellery Kane
“Watch your head,” Augustus cautions, pointing to a set of wires dangling from a disconnected intercom. “We set up shop here just after the evacuation, and we’re still under construction.” I’m wide-eyed, gaping. The blood-red mark of the Resistance is everywhere. It’s the color of the bandana Ryker tied around my arm on my first mission and all the missions after. Augustus smiles to himself, amused, and I remind myself he can’t tell what I’m thinking. “So, you really didn’t suspect the location of our headquarters?” he asks.
Relieved—that’s all he wants to know—I shake my head. “I don’t think Ryker has a clue.”
Augustus chuckles. He’s making fun of me. Reliable as a clock, my chest winds tight. He laughs harder. I ball my fists as Artos watches me side-eyed like I’m about to blow. “Mr. McAllister, you are far more naïve than I thought. Of course, General Ryker knows. He has cameras all over the city. Cameras we’ve tapped into, I might add. He simply hasn’t informed his soldiers.” Augustus turns to me and raises his eyebrows. “I can’t imagine why.”
It takes all my mental focus to hold it together. I zero in on the thin whiskers, the tiny black follicles on either side of Artos’ muzzle. It’s pretty impossible to be mad watching that wet nose twitch. But really, I want to pummel something—the wall, Augustus’ face, Ryker—so bad it’s an ache in my gut. As real, as undeniable, as hunger. Of course, General Ryker knows. I repeat it to myself until the razor edge of those words dulls. Augustus is right. Ryker didn’t want anybody—especially not the dismissed recruits—to find this place. He would rather put a bullet in their heads. Correction. He would rather I put a bullet in their heads.
“Did you tell them about me? Did you tell them I’m a Guardian?” The words come out loud and forceful like a gust of wind. I expect Augustus to disapprove.
“Of course.” He keeps walking toward a small group gathered up ahead. Cool as a cucumber. “As their elected leader, I’ve promised them complete candor. And Augustus Porter does not lie. Now, let me introduce you to the members of the Council.” I stand there, feeling like a specimen, a beetle pinned to a board, as he names them one by one. “Cason Caruso, our strategist; Dr. Shana Bell, psychiatrist; Hiro Chen, computer and technology specialist; and Vera Bullock, pharmaceutical consultant. They’ll be the ones to answer your question, Mr. McAllister.”
My confusion only lasts a moment before Augustus reminds me. “You wanted to know if you could stay.” And suddenly, I’m eight years old, third foster home, watching Mrs. Schultz stuff everything I own—not much—into a garbage bag. It’s time to leave again. I’m not wanted.
“Nice to meet you all,” I hear myself say. It sounds reasonable. Normal. Good job, Iceman.
Vera pats my arm. “Your reputation precedes you, Quin. Augustus told us all about how you rescued him from that Guardian Force soldier. If it wasn’t for you, he’d be pushing up daisies right about now.”
“Uh—I—” What? I wait for Augustus to set her straight, but he’s looking at me with fondness. With gratitude. Like it really happened that way.
“That sounds like Q, alright!” A familiar voice cuts through the muddle in my brain. And I feel a shot of warmth right to the heart of me.
“Max.” I say it before I turn around. Before I bear-hug him. Before I think the word I haven’t let myself think. The word I haven’t forgotten. Friend.
I’m staring at a map of the city beneath the city. There’s a red X on the Embarcadero Station. “You are here,” I mutter under my breath. Artos looks up at me, probably wondering if I’ve finally gone off the deep end. I turn my eyes back to the X. It’s dumb luck I found this place. Even dumber luck I found Max and Elana. I wish my life was more like a map. Everything designed, charted in order, precisely where it’s supposed to be. Maybe it could be that way, if I was a different person. Not a McAllister. Not an iceman. Certainly not Legacy 243. His life is a complete free-for-all.
“Quin? Mr. Caruso asked you a question.” Augustus’ voice slaps me back to reality. “Twice.” Then, slaps me again. You are here. In a room with these people. The Council. They’re deciding your fate. Pull yourself together. “Cason, you’ll have to forgive him. He’s had a rough … ” Life. “ … few days.” Augustus grins at me like we’re sharing a secret. “Right, Quin?”
“I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen a room with so many maps.” Cason guffaws. It’s obvious he doesn’t like me. Even his laughter is disapproving. I’m relieved when Dr. Bell cuts him off.
“The tunnel system is complex,” she says. “We like to be prepared. As a former soldier, I’m sure you can—”
“Back to my question.” Cason looks at me like I’m wrong just for existing. “Could you explain to us why it is that a high-ranking member of the Guardian Force would save the leader of the Resistance?”
“High ranking? I’m not—”
Augustus doesn’t let me finish. “Now is not the time to be humble, Mr. McAllister. Your friends, Mr. Powers and Ms. Hamilton, informed me long ago of your close personal relationship with General Ryker.”
“Okay.” It’s all I can think to say. If it’s possible to die of shock, I’m about to flat line. A regular D.O.A. “I—General Ryker and I—” I’m blowing this. Even Vera seems skeptical.
“Quin has already shared all the details of his desertion with me.” Saved by Augustus again. “I don’t think it’s necessary to force him to relive such a trauma. Suffice it to say, he began to have serious concerns about General Ryker’s behavior and decided being a member of the Guardian Force was no longer consistent with his values.”
I finally pull some words out of the quicksand in my head. “I didn’t know Mr. Porter—uh, Augustus—was with the Resistance. But I’d been looking for you all for a long time. I thought maybe you could help me.”
“Help you?” Cason’s scowl gives way to disbelief. His face actually moves. I was beginning to think it was carved in stone. “Augustus said you would be the one providing assistance, giving us inside information.”
“Of course,” Augustus says. “Quin has already provided me with extensive details about the day-to-day operations of the Guardian Force.
“Is that so?”
“How dare you question my integrity!” Augustus smacks the table with his hand, and I feel Artos duck under my chair.
“Cason is not questioning your integrity.” Dr. Bell says firmly, before turning to me. “We’re all just a little nervous about you, Quin. No one’s ever left Alcatraz voluntarily. You know that, right?”
I nod at her, but stay quiet. She’s a shrink like Dr. Knightley. She can probably tell how messed up I am.
“I’m sure you’ve been through a lot. Recovering from long-term Emovere use is a lengthy process.” I knew it. She can see I’m still an iceman. “And a grueling one, as we’ve learned from your friends and all the others.”
“Others?” I ask.
“Many of the rejected Guardians have sought refuge here. We’ve been studying them in the lab for quite some time. We may be able to assist you with any symptoms you might be experiencing.”
“If he stays,” Cason adds. “That’s a big if from my perspective.”
Hiro clears his throat. It’s the first sound I’ve heard him make. “Well, it’s not just up to you. There are rules. We vote.”
Augustus points at the door. “Mr. McAllister, give us a moment.” I stand and head for the door just like I did at Mrs. Schultz’s house. Garbage bag slung over my shoulder, like I didn’t give a damn.
It’s just me and him now. The Council was dismissed. I have to ask, even though I know I should just leave well enough alone. After all, they’re letting me stay. “Why did you tell them all those lies about me? I wasn’t a high-ranking officer. I didn’t save your life.”
Augustus brings his face closer to mine. There’s a long scar below his ear I never noticed before. I have an impulse to run. A crazy thought that he’s going to kill me. It’s silly, but I’m glad Artos is between us. “The Cou
ncil needed to believe those things about you. The Resistance needs to believe them. At least for now.” He pats my shoulder again. “To bend the truth in the service of another is not a lie, Quin. It’s the sincerest form of kindness. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I think it’s about time someone started showing you a little kindness.”
Suddenly, I feel silly. I really am a jerk. He’s seen the Book of Quin —he knows it all—and he’s still looking out for me. That’s why he lied. I swallow hard. “Thank you,” I tell him.
“You’re quite welcome.” He gestures to the wall, to the red X. “So I think we’ll call this the Map Room. Catchy, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER SIX
May 9, 2040
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
—Robert Frost, Fire and Ice
“Your turn.” Max hands me the computer tablet we’ve been passing between us.
I shake my head at him. “Muzzcheeks? You’ve gotta be kidding me. That’s definitely not a word.”
“Muzjiks are Russian peasants. Ask the judge.”
Elana rolls her eyes, then laughs at us both. It’s all become so familiar I almost forget the soulless life I had without them. Almost. “It’s a word.”
“Sorry, Q,” Max says, “The judge has spoken. That’s a thirty-nine pointer. And I win. Again.”
I sigh. Max never beat me at anything. Until now. Seven days. Fifty games. Fifty losses. Not even one chance victory. “When did you get to be such a Scrabble master?”
Max puffs his chest. “I prefer wordsmith. And since Augustus won’t let us near a TV, what else have I got to do?” He leans back and pops a potato chip in his mouth.
“Uh … your job?” Elana points at the screens in front of us, which are streaming their hijacked feeds from Ryker’s cameras all around the city. “Surveillance, remember?”
“Puh-lease. We’ve stared at those things for days now. There’s nobody out there. Just a few mangy dogs. No offense, Artos.” At the sound of his name, Artos trots over to Max, wags his tail a few times, and presents his head for petting. Max obliges, of course, then slips him a potato chip when he thinks I’m not looking.
“Don’t spoil him.”
“Too late for that, isn’t it, boy?” Elana teases, rubbing his ears until his eyelids get droopy. She glances from the screen to me and back again. I’m hoping—praying—she doesn’t ask. I’ve already lied to them about Ollie. “But remember that soldier I saw last month, the one who chased me?” She’s talking to Max, then to me. “Somebody shot him.” I nod, so I don’t have to speak. “What do you think, Quin? Did you see anybody out there?”
I want to tell Elana I saw her, how she appeared like a mirage in my desert. I want to tell them about the day Artos gobbled my sandwich, how he fought for me. About everything I had to do to make it here. “No. Not until the last day.” It comes out before I can stop it, and I don’t even know why. Yes, you do, Iceman. They’ll see you for what you really are. A cold-blooded killer. Your father’s son. “What’s Augustus’ deal with the TV anyway?” I ask to silence my own thoughts.
Elana shrugs. “He says it’s all propaganda, SFTV’s skewed version of the truth. He thinks it would distract from our mission.”
“Which is?”
Max assumes I’m joking, but I’ve been swallowing that question ever since the Council voted for me to stay. He smirks as he slices the air with a pretend sword. “To vanquish evil. To slay the dragon. To triumph over—”
I frown, and Max deflates like an old birthday balloon. “Seriously. I thought it would be different. That the Resistance would be … I don’t know … resisting.”
Max and Elana share a look that makes me feel like an outsider with my face pressed to the glass. I hope it doesn’t show. “Augustus hasn’t told you?” Elana asks, surprised.
“No.”
“We figured you already knew,” Max says. “You being the prodigal son and all.”
I roll my eyes at Max, laughing with him, but anger pricks at me until I bleed red. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you jealous?” Before I can blink, I’m standing chest to chest with Max, breathing fire. He backs away from me.
“Whoa, dude. I was just kidding.”
Elana’s fingers are on my arm. They feel cool like blades of grass against my heat. Don’t do this. Not now. Not here. Not to them.
There’s a rumor we’re waiting for someone,” Elana offers. She sounds afraid. She’s afraid of me. “Someone important.”
I breathe in and out until the urge to smash something fades a little. “Who?”
“This famous doctor … the one who invented Emovere. She’s working on something that might help us. What’s her name again, Max?”
The ice inside me cracks, and I’m falling through it. Sheer panic. “Knightley, right?” He says the name I already know, the one written in the book of me. “Victoria Knightley.”
I bust through the door to the control booth and beeline straight down the tunnel until I can’t see anything anymore. Until I can’t hear them yelling for me. Until the only sound is the mutinous demon in my own head. I am my father. I am my father. I am my father. And Victoria Knightley knows it. There’s nothing left to do but explode. I raise my fist and drive it straight into the wall.
“Just close your eyes and relax, Quin. This will only take about ten minutes.” I comply with Dr. Bell’s instructions. Well, part of them anyway. I shut my eyes, but the relaxing thing doesn’t come so easy. My fist is throbbing. No one to blame but my own damn self. Dr. Bell said I’m lucky I didn’t break any bones. It doesn’t help that I feel like I’m stuck in a coffin. “Try to stay still.” A whirring, rotating coffin that’s about to look inside my skull. I imagine my brain sloshing around in there, probably still frosted, coated in ice. I’ve already made it clear. I don’t want to see the results. I know what I am. “Just a little longer, Quin.”
When they slide me out of the tube, I see Elana’s face. She’s half-hidden behind Dr. Bell and Carrie Donovan, the one who found me exhausted in the tunnel. Elana’s eyes tell me everything I need to know. She pities me. It’s worse than being feared. Worse than being hated. She sees me for what I am. A loser.
I sit up—instant head rush—and I’m swaying like a drunk. I grab the examination table and ride the wave until it passes. “Easy, easy. Take it slow.” Dr. Bell steps toward me with a computer tablet in her hand, and for a split second, I lose it again. It’s the Book of Quin, and she’s read it. Then I remember. I snuck out three nights ago. That file is nowhere near here, and she’ll never lay a hand on it.
“I’m okay,” I say. No one’s remotely convinced. Not even me.
“Quin, I want to ask you some questions about your mental state. You don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable.”
I want no part of this. I want to run away again. But I nod. Dr. Bell opens the tablet. “How would you describe your mood lately?”
Erratic. Impulsive. Fire and ice. “Fine … good, I guess.”
“Hmmm … “ She thinks you’re full of it, Iceman. “Most of the former Guardians reported difficulty experiencing a normal range of emotions during the first few weeks, or even months, without Emovere. Does that sound familiar?”
“Maybe. A little.”
“Any cravings?”
I shake my head. I have dreams, sometimes. Vivid ones with Ryker needle-spearing my vein like a snake. But I can’t say that out loud.
“And have you always had problems controlling your anger?”
Only since my dad stabbed my mom ten times. “Sort of. It’s been worse lately.”
“These kinds of symptoms are completely normal. Mood swings, irritability, flatness, apathy. Your brain needs time to readjust. Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”
I nod again. “Can I go now?”
“Of course. Perhaps Ms. Hamilton can walk y
ou back to your room. Your dog is waiting for you there.”
There’s no time to protest. Elana’s already helping me off the table, guiding me out the door. I try to shrug her off, but I’m beat. Bone-tired. She’s sneaking glances at my hand. Probably wondering what she ever saw in me. “Why did you do that?” she whispers.
“I don’t know. I’m a blockhead.”
She giggles. “Did you really just call yourself a blockhead?” I force a smile only to make her happy. If she thinks I’m alright, she won’t pry too much. “You are not a blockhead.” She checks behind us, before she adds, “But I don’t believe anything you told Dr. Bell. Fine? Really? C’mon, Quin. You can tell me. You can tell me and Max.”
I keep walking. Keep everything moving but my mouth, even when I feel her arm around my shoulders. “Quin, please. Just start somewhere. Tell me something.”
It’s rising in my throat like vomit, demanding release. I can’t stop it now. “Ollie’s dead,” I say. “And it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
June 6, 2040
A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.
—Robert Frost, A Question
What am I doing here? I’ve given up on answering that question. Generally and specifically. But I ask myself anyway during every Council meeting. And I’m not the only one wondering. Cason thinks I’m a wannabe, a poser. He was the only one who voted last week against my appointment as the sixth member. Guardian Force expert. That’s what Augustus called me. Humph. Hardly. Still, it felt good to hear him say it. No one’s ever called me an expert.
I disregard Cason’s condescending glare—he sits across from me on purpose—as Augustus starts the meeting. “Today I want to update you all on the Knightley situation.” I freeze in my chair. Squeeze my fists. It’s the first time I’ve heard him say that name. The others seem business as usual. “There’s been progress.”
