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

by Ellery Kane

  After the meeting, I head straight for the lab. Something’s been nagging me since this morning, when Max came to tell me Markus found a body at the pier. I open the door, and I’m bowled over by the smell. Dumpster diving has nothing on this potpourri of death. I gag a little. Carrie is hunched over the counter, half her face hidden behind a surgical mask. She barely looks up at me. “The lab is off limits right now.”

  “I just need a few minutes of your time. Please?” She gestures to a box on the table, and I slip on a mask like hers. “What’re you doing?” I ask.

  “Getting some measurements of the brain.” I take her at her word. I don’t want to look.

  I turn toward the examination table. White plastic follows the shape of a body. “Do you know how long he’s been dead?”

  Carrie doesn’t answer right away, and I’m starting to feel sick. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I think I might know him.” She gets really still before turning to look at me. “I was hoping I could take a closer look. I couldn’t see much through the window this morning.”

  She touches the plastic, and I prepare myself for the unveiling. “It’s very strange,” she begins, leaving him covered. “He’s been dead a long time. Months. Maybe longer.”

  “How is that possible?”

  Carrie lowers her voice. “Quin, it goes without saying that this is confidential. Only for the Council. No exceptions.”

  I know she means Max and Elana. “Got it.”

  “The body was preserved … possibly in a freezer of some type. Any damage to the corpse occurred in the water probably in the last eight to twelve hours.”

  I can’t stop watching Carrie’s hands, toying with the plastic. The anticipation, the dread—I’m on the verge of combustion. “And he was shot in the head?”

  “There were multiple gunshot wounds, but the head wound was fatal.” It happens before I’m ready. No warning. She lifts the sheet, and there he is. Almost unrecognizable, his face bloated and gray. I’m glad his eyes are closed. I’m afraid they’d judge me. My fault.

  I don’t mean to say it out loud, but it comes out anyway. Involuntary, like a breath. Or a scream. “Ollie.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  March 29, 2041

  They cannot scare me with their empty spaces

  Between stars—on stars where no human race is.

  I have it in me so much nearer home

  To scare myself with my own desert places.

  —Robert Frost, Desert Places

  I’m half-asleep, when Elana and Max knock on the control booth door. It’s been a slow night. It’s always a slow night. Since Ollie washed up on the shore, there have been three others—all new recruits—found outside the range of the surveillance feeds. Augustus refuses to install our own cameras. He says it would be giving in to the enemy, playing into their hands. And no one argues with Augustus.

  “We need to talk to you,” Elana says. Her forehead crinkles like it does when she’s worried.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Max actually double-checks the closed door behind them. He thinks before he speaks. This is serious. “Has Augustus said anything more about our ally, that doctor who evaluated your—”

  I must be glaring at him because his mouth stops moving. His words fall right off the cliff and meet their end.

  “Victoria Knightley,” Elana clarifies, as if there was any doubt.

  “That was just between the three of us. I told you not to talk about it,” I hear myself skirting the edge again. “Ever.” That wasn’t entirely true. I didn’t say ever, but I didn’t think I had to. It was implied.

  “Quin.” Elana levels me with her eyes. “We heard some things we thought you should know.”

  “Fine. What is it?”

  Max gestures beyond the door toward the kitchen. “A few of us snuck in a TV last night … “

  “And?”

  “Just don’t bite my head off, okay?”

  I nod—but I don’t make any promises. Even Artos is looking at me like I may require a muzzle.

  “SFTV did an exposé about her,” he begins. “Sort of a tell-all about the queen of the Resistance. They mentioned the Crim-X program.” He pauses to be sure I haven’t imploded. “And your dad.” Another pause. “A few times. But I don’t think anybody else caught on. McAllister’s a common name, you know.”

  I’m holding back the river. It’s wide and deep with shame. “Is that it?”

  “Markus-overheard-Cason-say-Dr.-Knightley-might-be-coming-here.” Elana spits it out at me without pausing to breathe. “Soon.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She has a daughter,” Elana says. “A daughter our age.”

  “Probably a spoiled brat,” I mutter, before I flee. As usual. I’m not an iceman anymore. Now, I’m just a runner.

  I’m up on my private rooftop again with Artos. The city is a black cloak beneath us. Augustus had installed alarmed doors, but with the blackouts coming regularly, it’s been a lot easier to sneak out. I know Augustus wouldn’t admit it, but those alarms are as much for me as for any enemy.

  I open the Book of Quin. Flip through it again. It’s becoming a ritual. Lately, I’ve been having this urge to show it to someone. But not just any someone. A someone who doesn’t know me. I want to know how bad it is. How bad I am. And Max and Elana wouldn’t—no, couldn’t—tell me the truth. With all I’ve told them, they’re still blind to who I really am. Augustus knows. And he’s never said anything. Not one word. Somehow that makes me feel better and worse at the same time. I can’t ask him though. He’s like Mrs. Lawson that way, the kind of person who asks the questions, not answers them. Maybe Victoria Knightley could tell me. Heck, she’d probably enjoy it. Shrinks get off on that kind of thing, right?

  Artos stands up, ears at attention. “What is it, boy?” Then, I hear it too. The low drone of helicopter blades beating the air. I find the moving light among the stars, follow it with my eyes. It’s heading toward the Bay Bridge. In a flash of time—faster than my thoughts can go, before I can make sense of it—it happens. Artos yelps. The sky explodes again and again. Metal scrapes metal, and the ocean swallows.

  I’m transfixed. Artos is pacing. The Bay Bridge is on fire. I watch it burn until the power comes back on. It’s risky to stay. Augustus will know I’m gone. But I’ve got to see what’s left. When the city lights start to flicker, I gasp. The highway is split, a chunk of the bridge nose-diving into the water. This is what it looks like when Ryker throws down the gauntlet.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  April 6, 2041

  Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all,

  Behind low boughs the trees let down outside;

  And the sweet pang it cost me not to call

  And tell you that I saw does still abide.

  —Robert Frost, A Dream Pang

  For the first time on my watch, there’s something to see. Actually, I’m fairly certain it’s Elana’s watch by now, but neither of us has left the control booth in hours. The screens have been dark—another blackout—for at least forty-five minutes. I’ve been planted in this chair, waiting for Max to radio, ever since Victoria Knightley let her daughter walk across the Golden Gate Bridge. Augustus warned her not to do it. But she did it anyway. Like I said, reckless.

  “Do you think she made it?” Elana asks for at least the tenth time.

  I shrug without looking up. Personally, I think she’s a goner. Ryker’s stepped up the patrols since the bombing made the Bay Bridge impassable. She’s probably handcuffed on a boat to Alcatraz right now. Or worse.

  “If we can’t see Alexandra, I’ll bet the Guardian Force can’t either.” Elana’s been saying her name all morning, like we know her.

  “Maybe, but we shouldn’t get our hopes up. This girl—”

  “Alexandra.”

  “Fine. Alexandra has no combat experience, no weapons training, no idea where to find us, and I’m guessing virtually no clue what she’s doing. Even if she
survived the crossing, she may not make it through the night.”

  Elana groans. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”

  “Sort of.” Augustus issued our orders after he got the final text from Dr. Knightley: Alexandra is coming with the package. Follow her. Surveil her. Do not make contact.

  Elana fidgets with her radio again. “I just wish we’d hear from Max already.” There’s a knock on the door, and we both jump. Augustus stares impatiently as Elana opens it for him.

  He looks past her to me. “Update, please.”

  “Nothing yet from Max. We’re still waiting to see if she made it into the city.”

  Augustus nods. His face doesn’t change. “For her mother’s sake, I certainly hope so.”

  After he shuts the door and vanishes down the hallway, Elana whispers, “What was that supposed to mean?”

  “Typical Augustus.” I shift my focus back to the blank screens, waiting for them to come alive again. “Who knows?” Elana’s always asking me to explain Augustus. Like he’s a calculus proof or a riddle. Like I can make sense of him.

  Beep. Beep. Finally. Signs of life. “Q, Elana, come in. It’s Max.”

  “It’s about time,” Elana says back to him. “Did you find her?”

  “I’m following her now. She’s headed down Market. Are the screens still dark?”

  “Still dark here, but be careful.” She smiles wide, clipping the radio to her waist, then she pumps her fist. “Yes! I knew it! I told you she’d make it.”

  “She made it.” I repeat, surprised, mostly by how relieved I am. “Alexandra made it.”

  I choke back on Artos’ leash. He always gets a little jumpy in here, so I like to keep him close.

  Augustus’ back is to me. He’s facing the wall where I hung his diploma. “So you’re saying that poor girl is sleeping in the library, of all places?”

  “That’s what it looks like. Max said she went in over three hours ago and hasn’t come out yet. It’s actually a pretty smart move. The Guardian Force won’t—”

  “I want you to go there. Tonight. I need to be certain we didn’t lose her. She’s carrying some very precious cargo.”

  I’m glad he’s not looking at me. It makes him possible to challenge. “Why don’t I just bring her here?”

  When Augustus turns around, he’s grinning wide, and I want to take back what I said. “Bring her here? Is that what you’d like? Does this have anything to do with your fixation on Victoria Knightley?”

  “Uh … fixation?”

  “I assure you, we need to proceed with caution. As you well know, the Resistance is already under scrutiny since General Ryker implicated us in the Bay Bridge bombing. We have to be sure Alexandra and her mother can be trusted. After all, Dr. Knightley’s known to play both sides.”

  “We’re just going to leave her there? Alone?” I don’t even know why I care, but it seems cruel after she’s risked so much. Besides, I don’t need anyone else’s blood on my hands.

  Augustus takes two long steps toward my chair and stands over me. Artos starts pulling at his leash. “Mr. McAllister, there is a reason I was elected to this position. I am not easily swayed by emotion, sympathy, or pity for the ignorance of others. Her mother was a fool to send her here, but I can’t be blamed for that. You will surveil her. You will not intervene unless I say so. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” I parrot my two favorite words just as Artos nabs a mouthful of Augustus’ pant leg.

  Certain places, when they’re deserted, are just plain creepy, even for a thawed iceman like me. And this library is one of them. Of course, Augustus made me wait until the dead of night to be sure she was asleep—if sleep is possible in a joint like this.

  Victoria Knightley is watching me from the cracked, Zenigenic vending machine out front. At least fifty pairs of her eyes—flat and faded on white paper—follow my every move. Emovere Kills. That’s what the fliers say. I start to wish that machine wasn’t empty. I’ll take a double dose of anything.

  Of course, the door creaks when I open it. I hold my breath just waiting for the spooky organ music. And Artos isn’t helping. The hair on his back has been raised since we got here. His nails make this sound, click-click-click, that somehow seems like it’s coming from behind me. She probably hears it too. What if Augustus is right? What if she can’t be trusted? Maybe this is how it ends. Shot from behind by Dr. Knightley’s daughter. Now that would be ironic.

  I stay close to the stacks, so close I breathe in the smell of old pages. My mom’s book has it too—grassy, a bit musty, but sweet, like vanilla. I pass row after row. Lots of books. No girl. There’s a bird though, a little brown one. I shoo it away before Artos spots it.

  I’ve all but given up, when I find her. She’s lying halfway on her side under a table, her head propped on her backpack. I can’t see her eyes, but there’s a rise and fall to her chest that makes me think she’s asleep. So this is her. Alexandra Knightley.

  I don’t stay long. Less than a minute. I follow orders—that’s what I always do. That’s what I’m good at. Well, most of the time. But I already know she’s not cut out for this mission her mom sent her on. Her gun is on the floor behind her. If I wanted to kill her, she’d be dead already.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  April 27, 2041

  Never have I been sad or glad

  That there was such a thing as bad.

  There had to be, I understood,

  For there to have been any good.

  —Robert Frost, Quandary

  “She saw me last night,” I tell Max. Because I wanted her to. That’s what I don’t say. I’ve been watching her for twenty days. And she hasn’t left the library. She’s more determined than I thought she was. Clueless, but determined.

  Max’s jaw drops. “Uh, what do you mean she saw you? If Augustus finds out, his head is going to blow. We’re talking full-on, nuclear level explosion.”

  I laugh. “Relax. She didn’t see me, see me. I didn’t make contact. But she knew I was there.” I don’t tell him how scared she was, how I could hear her shallow breathing in the dark. And I definitely don’t tell him how much I wanted to step out of the shadows and say it would be okay.

  “I can’t believe Augustus is holding out this long. What is he waiting for?”

  I smirk at him. “Exactly.”

  “Wait. Did you do this on purpose?” He shakes his head at me. “You sneaky devil.”

  I shrug. “Something’s gotta give. Either she comes out or … well, it doesn’t seem like she’s ever coming out. So I thought this might speed things along.”

  “Good thinking, Q. Let’s scare the girl out of her hiding place. What could go wrong?”

  “Unless you want to be surveilling her for the rest of our youth, go with me on this one. We’re doing her a favor. She’s a sitting duck in that library. And don’t tell Elana.”

  He chuckles. “Alright, alright. So what’s the plan?”

  “Well, I’m going to do it again.” I pause to let his shock settle. “You said every morning, she washes her face upstairs, right?” Max grits his teeth, but nods. “I’ll position myself outside, where she can get a glimpse of me—of this.” I show him my forearm, the tattoo we share.

  “Scoot over.” Artos is occupying more than half of my already miniscule twin-size bed. I push him to the foot of it and get in before he has time to sprawl out again. “I have to rest,” I tell him. Like he cares. Surveillance is way more exhausting than I thought it would be. Even when your target doesn’t move. Even when your target is inexperienced. Even when your target is—I curse myself for thinking it—pretty. Not drop-dead gorgeous like Elana, but the kind of pretty that grows on you.

  “I’m hopeless, Artos. Hopeless.” I chuckle at the ridiculousness of it. Alexandra Knightley is so far out of my league. She’s probably a stuck-up, goody-goody anyway. A goody-goody with a perfect life. The complete opposite of me. At my feet, Artos snuffles. I think he’s laughing at me. I don’t blame him.<
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  Red. Everything is red. Here I am again. His voice is a screaming train. I cover my ears, put my head down. But I know it won’t go away. It never goes away.

  It’s just a dream, not real. It’s a memory, so long ago. It’s over. No one knows it was your fault. No one, but you.

  I don’t yell. I don’t run. I don’t cry. I spin the wheels on the little yellow truck, and my brother watches them. I’m a good boy. A big boy. I stand up and walk to the doorway like I always do. The telephone is broken. That damn beeping is all I can hear.

  I stop before I get there, but I want to go further. I want to look. I want to see. Scaredycat. Baby. Sissy. I want to, but I can’t. Whatever is beyond that door will end me. So I turn around—and there she is. Alexandra Knightley. Judging me. Evaluating me. She knows. And the thought comes like it always does. It’s all my fault.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  April 28, 2041

  The mind—is not the heart.

  I may yet live, as I know others live,

  To wish in vain to let go with the mind—

  Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells me

  That I need learn to let go with the heart.

  —Robert Frost, Wild Grapes

  I’m running faster than I ever have. Artos can barely keep up. But it’s not his fault. With the size of the rats in this tunnel, he’s easily distracted. Sometimes I think if I can just go fast enough, I’ll outrun it all. Ryker. My father. My mother too. Everything that haunts me. I have to admit, Dr. Bell was right. Running is the best kind of therapy. I don’t have to talk. I don’t have to listen. I just breathe and barrel ahead like a bat out of hell. “That was a good one,” I tell Artos as I slow to a jog. His tongue is hanging out, but he keeps pace. He knows we’re almost back.