Don't Turn Around (33 page)

“I think you should get more rest,” his mother said, abruptly standing and cutting him off. She glanced at the door, her voice climbing a few decibels as she firmly added, “They were just a bunch of squatters who died in a fire, Peter. Mr. Mason had nothing to do with it. Now, I’d stay with you if I could, but I really need to get going.”

“Going where?” he asked, noticing for the first time that she was all dressed up in a black dress and pearls.

A strain shone at the corners of her eyes as she tugged at her necklace. “I really hate to have to tell you, after everything you’ve been through, but … I don’t suppose you remember Cody Ellis? Your brother’s friend?”

Peter bolted upright, ignoring the pain. “What happened to Cody?”

“Another fire, I’m afraid.” His mother made a rueful face. “Apparently a space heater shorted out in some slum he was renting. Your father and I thought we should make an appearance at the service, since he and Jeremy were so close.”

Peter sank back down, stunned. “Cody’s dead?” Disbelief filled his voice.

“Try not to think about it right now,” his mother said, patting his leg. “Just focus on getting better.” She pecked his forehead again with dry lips. “I love you, sweetheart. And you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

“We should be safe here for now,” Zeke said.

Noa nodded. She was feeling dazed by the events of the past few days. Her messenger bag was slung across her shoulder even though she was sitting down. She was having a hard time taking it off; it still felt like at any moment they’d have to start running again and she’d be left with nothing.

They were in an abandoned house in Warren, Rhode Island. Apparently Zeke had a whole system for finding places like this, foreclosures set deep in the woods. It was a sad little house, tucked into a dense thicket of trees at the end of a long gravel driveway. Its white exterior paint was peeling away in strips to reveal an earlier shade of brown. They’d walked all night to reach it. There was no furniture, just a few abandoned odds and ends left in cupboards: an old can of pumpkin-pie mix, a jar of white rice, a rusty can opener, an empty tampons box. The power was shut off, but Zeke had found an emergency generator in the garage. Not that she needed power anyway, without her laptop. Her bag felt light without it. Even though she’d only had it for a few days, Noa missed it.

Zeke had picked the lock to let them in—quickly enough that she was impressed. Peter would have been, too, she thought with a pang. Noa felt awful about leaving him back there. She couldn’t stop picturing the way he’d lunged at Cole. Peter had saved them. Hopefully the FBI had intervened before Cole had seriously injured or killed him. She desperately wanted to get online and see what the fallout had been, if they’d actually succeeded in shining a light on Pike & Dolan’s illegal experiments. And, she admitted, to see if Peter was okay. It was killing her not knowing.

When they’d finally reached the house, they were both too tired and drained to talk. Using her bag as a pillow, Noa had fallen asleep minutes after they got inside. Thanks to the cold, she slept fitfully. She’d pulled more clothes out of her bag and layered them, but still constantly woke up shivering. Her feet were still icy from wading through the salt marsh to shore, even though she’d put on both dry pairs of socks.

Without asking, Zeke had curled up behind her, back-to-back. Noa fought the urge to move away. Despite the fact that he’d been her guardian angel, she still barely knew him. But the warmth felt too good to pass up.

He was hunkered down across from her now, arms wrapped around his knees as he watched her from under hooded eyes. Zeke wasn’t quite what she’d expected. Dirty, like it had been weeks since he’d showered. Longish dark hair, dark eyes. Strikingly good-looking, to the point where it made her self-conscious. Noa ran a hand through her hair. It felt greasy, snarled.

“If you want to shower, I can get the generator up and running,” he said, noticing. “The neighbors are too far away to hear. No towels, though.”

Noa had so many questions, but felt oddly shy, as if speaking would break some sort of spell and bring the weight of reality crashing back down upon them. Not that this wasn’t real enough, she thought with a shudder as a gust of cold air brushed her neck.

Noa cleared her throat. “So you said you’d answer my questions.”

“Yeah, right.” He smiled slightly. “Those.”

She fished around, debating how to start. For whatever reason, the phrase
Tanto Barf
popped up, reminding her of why she’d first trusted him. “You were at The Center, too?”

He nodded once. “Yes.”

“For how long?” she pressed when he didn’t continue.

He shrugged. “On and off for years. You know how it is.”

Yes, she knew. Noa recognized the haunted eyes and tensed shoulders, combined with the constant expectation of impending abuse. She couldn’t help thinking that Peter would never understand the level of desolation instilled by growing up like that.

“I don’t recognize you, though,” Noa noted.

“No?” Zeke cocked his head to the side. “I remember you. You were about thirteen, I think. You came in right before I took off for good.”

“Yeah?” Noa searched her memory banks. When she was thirteen, she’d spent about three months at The Center in between families. But he still didn’t look familiar.

“Guess I’m not as memorable,” he said with a wry grin.

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so asked, “When did you leave?”

“Around three years ago, when I was fifteen.” He drew a finger across a floorboard. “Just got sick of it, you know?”

Noa nodded. “I kind of ran away, too.”

“You did it the smart way, though,” he said ruefully. “Wish I’d thought of it. Setting up a fake family was genius.”

Noa flushed slightly at the compliment. “So what did you do?” she asked, curious.

“Same as everyone. I lived on the streets for a while, with a couple other kids who’d run away.” His brow darkened. “Then they took me.”

“Who?” she asked, although she already suspected the answer.

Zeke met her eyes. His own were almost black. “You know who. The assholes from the Project.”

“But, you’re … I mean, how did you …”

He looked away again, concentrating intently on the floor as he said, “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Did they … were you cut?” Noa ventured after a few minutes of weighted silence.

“No.” To prove it, he raised his shirt. Zeke wasn’t as gaunt as he appeared; his stomach was a solid washboard. Noa forced her eyes up—no scar.

“And they didn’t give me PEMA, either,” he continued, letting the shirt fall back into place. “I thought they might’ve, but it’s been almost two years. It would have showed up by now, so I must’ve gotten away before they could. Well, I guess I was rescued, really.”

“Rescued by who?”

“There’s a whole network of us.” He dropped the shirt and settled into a squat facing her. “Kind of an underground railroad. We’ve managed to get a few kids out—you were at one of the really tight facilities. There are others that used to be easier. They’ve all stepped up security, though,” he said ruefully. “It’s gotten a lot harder than it used to be. How’d you get the FBI there yesterday?”

“Hacked into the NSA through their server,” Noa said.

Zeke didn’t seem impressed. “Risky move. You should have steered clear like I told you.”

“I thought there might be more kids there,” she retorted. “How’d you get the lights to blow out?”

“Juiced the generator,” he said. “Since they were the only lights on, they couldn’t handle the overload.”

“That was smart,” Noa said begrudgingly. Everything he’d said was sinking in, though. She frowned. “If there’s this whole network, why didn’t you just tell me about it in the first place? Why’d you leave me all alone out there?”

A look of regret crossed his face. “I wanted to. But the thing is—you’re a big risk. No one else wanted to touch it.”

“Why not?” Noa demanded. “You just said you’ve been rescuing others. Why not me? Especially after I got away?”

“Because you’re the one they really want,” he explained, looking at her intensely. “Don’t you get it? You’re the cure.”

“The cure for what?”

“PEMA, definitely. Maybe everything. We just don’t know.” He shrugged.

Noa took a minute to absorb that. “So the others didn’t survive the surgery?”

Zeke shook his head. “And some of the ones we saved had already been infected. They didn’t …” He looked away, toward where a narrow window provided a glimpse of the surrounding forest. “Anyway, it’s been tough. There aren’t many of us, and the company was after you in a big way. The others thought it would attract too much attention if we helped.”

Noa digested that for a minute. It was reassuring to discover that she and Peter weren’t the only ones who knew about the experiments, that in fact there was a whole network of people trying to stop them. But they hadn’t done anything to save her, or the kids at the base, she thought with a rush of fury. Well, at least most of them hadn’t. “You helped me,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t supposed to.” Zeke managed a small grin. “They’re not happy with me right now.” Seeing her expression, he hurriedly continued, “They’ll get over it, though. They know we need to help you now. And I’ve helped them plenty,” he finished, sounding more sure of himself.

“Helped them do what?”

“With the rescue raids. And I’ve been warning runaways, telling them what to watch out for.”

“In Boston?”

“Everywhere,” he said proudly. “Plus I’m good with computers. Not as good as you,” he amended, “but decent. So I’ve helped with that side of it. You could do more than I can, though,” he said thoughtfully. “They’ve already realized that, based on how you took down the AMRF site.”

“That wasn’t me,” Noa said. “Peter did that.” She had a sudden flash of how proud he’d looked when he told her about it. Tears flooded her eyes and she ducked her head.

“He’s okay,” Zeke said gently, as Noa wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “They won’t hurt him.”

Noa wanted to ask how he could be so sure, but she wanted to believe it so badly she let it go. “What next?” Noa finally asked. “I mean, we can’t exactly stay here, right?” She gestured with one hand at the empty house.

“Well, like I said, they’re going to get us IDs. We’ve got a guy who mocks up licenses so good they’d get you on a plane.”

“We’re not going on a plane, though, right?” Noa asked.

“Hell no. But they’ll be good to have. There’s a cash-flow problem right now, though,” he said thoughtfully, scratching the shaggy growth of beard on his chin.

“I’ve got cash.” She still had the money Peter had given her.

“Yeah? How much?”

“A few hundred dollars.”

“That won’t get us far.”

“I might be able to get more,” Noa said slowly, thinking of her PO Box. It would be risky, but if someone could access it, her new bank cards should still be in there. She had over ten grand in her account. Zeke could pose as Ted Latham, and they could potentially get all of it. Draining the account would send up warning flags, but Pike & Dolan already knew she’d gotten away. They probably wouldn’t expect her to do something as stupid as going after the box now, not after everything that had happened. “Do you have someone who’s good at breaking into things?”

“Yeah,” Zeke said with a slow grin. “Me.”

“It’s dangerous,” she warned.

“I figured.” He laughed. “Trust me, Noa. There’s no way for us to be completely safe anymore.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
here was a light knock on his door, but Peter ignored it.

He was lying on his side in bed. Technically he was supposed to be “up and about.” At least that’s what his mother kept saying. Priscilla had let him lounge around for a few days, ostensibly to “aid the healing process.” But a week had passed, and apparently enough was enough. She’d enter his room briskly every morning, whisk open the curtains, clap her hands together, and announce that it was time for breakfast. When that didn’t get a response, she sent in Bob. His father shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, directing a rambling discourse on the importance of a good education at the rug as he avoided Peter’s eyes.

After that failed, there were a lot of urgent whispered conversations just outside his door. Next came the threats, but his parents were quickly forced to acknowledge that those were ineffective since Peter showed no interest in any of the things they could take away. He didn’t want to go out, so grounding wouldn’t work. He hadn’t even switched on the TV, or the computer. He barely ate. They couldn’t exactly punish him for refusing to get out of bed.

Most of the time, he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, thinking about what a royally screwed-up place the world was. And how he no longer had the energy to try and fix it. What was the point? In retrospect, everything he’d accomplished with /ALLIANCE/ seemed pathetic and laughable, like a gnat buzzing around a water buffalo. The gnat might occasionally succeed at being an annoyance, but the buffalo would still go ahead and do whatever the hell it wanted.

Peter didn’t care anymore. He didn’t plan on going back to school. Hell, he didn’t plan on doing anything. He just wanted to lie there and think about how he’d not only destroyed his life, but got the one person left in the world he could trust absolutely killed.

And it had all been for nothing. Pike & Dolan might have established a dozen more labs by now. He’d logged into his email once, but there had been nothing from Rain, so maybe Noa had been recaptured. She was probably strapped to a table somewhere right now. And there was nothing he could do about it.

His bedroom door creaked open.

“Go away,” he said, unable to summon the energy to sound angry at the intrusion. Peter closed his eyes.

“The maid let me in.”

Peter flipped over in bed, a quick motion that still induced a wince. Amanda was standing there. She was wearing her usual patchwork outfit: a colorful bulky sweater over a dark gray skirt and striped tights, fingerless gloves, a scarf that shouldn’t really have matched, but somehow did. She looked tired, though. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the hair tumbling out from her knit cap was stringy.