Authors: Suzanne Young
Dallas parks behind the Escalade and cuts the engine. She turns in her seat, looking us over. “Will you promise to be good boys and girls if we cut the restraints?” she asks. “Because we’ve made it this far, and I’d like to trust that you won’t cause trouble.”
Please don’t say anything stupid, James.
“All I do is cause trouble,” James responds in monotone.
I turn to glare at him, but Dallas only laughs and climbs out. James looks sideways at me and shrugs, not all that apologetic for antagonizing the rebels who are basically holding us hostage.
The van door slides open with a loud metallic scrape and we’re drowned in afternoon sunlight. We blink against it, and then Dallas takes my arm, pulling me from the van. I’m still adjusting to the brightness when Cas appears in front of me with a pocketknife. I suck in a frightened breath, but he quickly holds up his other hand.
“No, no,” he says with a shake of his head, sounding offended that I’d think he would hurt me. “This is to cut the zip ties.” He darts a look at James, who’s moved to just inside the door, ready to pounce. “Here, seriously,” Cas says, motioning him forward. “You’re not prisoners, man.”
James waits a beat, and then hops down onto the pavement. He turns his back to Cas, but keeps his gaze steady on me as Cas saws through the plastic binding. Dallas watches on, her high-arched dark eyebrows raised in amusement. It doesn’t last long. The minute James is free, he spins and grabs Dallas’s T-shirt in his fist, backing her against the van.
“If you mess with Sloane again,” he growls, “I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Dallas asks coldly. “What will you do?” Dallas is nearly as tall as James, but she looks weak as her thin hand reaches to wrap around his wrist. She’s calling his bluff. I watch as James’s expression falters, and he lets her go. But before he steps away, Dallas’s elbow shoots out, catching James in the
chin with a sudden thud before her long leg hooks around his and she takes him to the ground. I yell his name, but James is still, lying there and staring at the sky. Dallas kneels next to him, smiling as she readjusts her crumpled shirt, the stretched-out material slipping off her shoulder.
“Such a temper,” she says. “Too bad you didn’t fight harder when they were dragging you into The Program.” Her words shock me, hurt me, because it’s such a cruel thing to say—as if it’s our fault we were taken. James rubs his jaw, then pushes Dallas aside to climb up. He doesn’t argue. How can we argue against something we can’t remember?
“Now,” Dallas says, making a loud clap, “we need to get inside.” She walks toward the entrance of the loading dock. James mumbles that he’s going to get our bag from the van.
The sun beats down on my cheeks. Without the shade of the trees, it’s hotter than I’m used to. The lot next to this one is empty, and I think Dallas was right about the seclusion. It’s quiet here.
Cas exhales and runs his hand through his long brown hair. On closer inspection, his nose doesn’t look
that
broken. There’s a small cut over the bridge, swelling in the nostrils, and of course the black bruising under his eyes. Lacey could have done worse.
“Dallas wasn’t always like this,” Cas says quietly. “She had a very different life before The Program.”
“She was in The Program?” I ask, surprised. “She made it sound like she hated returners.”
Cas shakes his head. “She hates what The Program does. Now she spends most of her time training.”
“Training for what?” I ask, watching as James spits a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. Dallas hit him harder than I thought.
“Self-defense,” Cas answers. “How to kill someone if she has to. Or wants to.” He pauses. “Look, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we’re on the same side.”
“You sure?” I turn my shoulder so he can see the restraints still binding my hands. Cas apologizes, and gently holds my forearm so he can start cutting through the plastic.
“Who knows,” Cas says from behind me. “Maybe in the end we’ll all become friends.” My wrists pull apart as the bond is cut, and I rub the spot where the restraints have left my skin raw.
“I wouldn’t plan on that,” James responds to Cas, and walks between us. He drops the duffel bag at our feet and then takes my hands to look over the red marks. He runs his thumb gently over the creased skin, then lifts my wrist to his lips to kiss it. “Better?” he asks, looking sorry even though this wasn’t his fault.
I hug him, pressing my cheek against his neck. I’m not sure if our situation has gotten better or worse. “I’m freaking out,” I murmur.
James turns his face into my hair, whispering so Cas won’t hear. “Me too.”
And somehow those words remind me of something, a
phantom memory I can’t quite place. The pill in my pocket could change that—I’d remember everything. I pull back from James and see the look in his eyes, an uncertainty, as if he senses a familiar memory too. He opens his mouth to talk, but then Dallas calls to us from the front door.
“Unless you’re advertising for handler intervention,” she says, “you’d better get out of sight.”
The mention of handlers is enough to make me move. James takes my hand, and we walk toward the empty-looking building, toward what’s left of the rebels, and hope we’re safe from The Program. Even if for only a moment.
THE INSIDE OF THE BUILDING
is cluttered with construction materials: large sealed buckets, piles of dusty bags, and flattened boxes of cardboard. I swallow hard, wondering how we’ll live in an empty warehouse, when Dallas goes to the other side of the room and yanks open a door.
She gestures to the space around us. “This is just the front,” she says. “We live downstairs. It’s safer that way.”
“Are there exits?” I ask, peering behind her to see a dark staircase.
She rolls her eyes. “Are you the safety inspector, Sloane? Of course there are exits, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go out during the day. They’ve been running your story on CNN and I can’t risk you being seen.”
“Did they mention me?” James asks. His anger at Dallas
has tempered down, which I guess is positive, since it looks like we’ll be stuck together for a while. My dislike for her hasn’t eased up even a bit.
“You were mentioned,” Dallas tells James. “But they haven’t gotten ahold of your photo yet. Wait until they do; then we won’t be able to hide you well enough.”
James smiles at me and I slap his shoulder. “What?” he asks. “This is good. It means people must be questioning The Program. Why else would we be running from them?”
Cas chuckles and walks past us to make his way downstairs. Dallas stays, her hand on the doorknob, leveling her gaze on James. “Doesn’t work like that,” she says, and I hear the regret in her voice. “They’re going to spin it. They always do. The Program controls the media, James. They control everything.” Dallas seems unsettled about her comment, but she tries to cover it quickly, turning to hurry down the steps.
James watches after her like he’s trying to figure her out, but if what Cas says is true and Dallas has been through The Program, she probably doesn’t even know herself. So James is out of luck.
We descend the narrow staircase to the lower level, which I realize is barely below the street, to enter the first room. It has high windows, though they’re covered with yellowed newspapers. The vents pump a steady flow of air as we pass, sending a chill over my arms. I’m not sure how they have electricity, but I guess the rebels aren’t as ragtag as they look.
In the center of the room is a cracked leather couch and a
few folding chairs, but otherwise the space is lonely. Ominous. “Where is everyone?” I ask, worry starting to build. “I thought you said there were others. You said Lacey was here.”
Dallas holds up her hands, telling me to calm down. “It’s okay,” she assures me. “They’re all here.” She heads back into the hallway, and it’s long—impossibly long—until I realize it’s the length of the entire building. Styrofoam peanuts have been swept into the corners. The fluorescent lights above flicker and hum.
“They’re probably in the back,” Dallas says. “This place isn’t so bad, you know. It was the first safe house I came to after getting out of The Program.”
“You went through The Program?” James asks. Knowing this about her seems to draw his sympathy, but Dallas turns on him fiercely.
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she says. “I don’t want your pity. The Program took everything from me—and not just from here.” She taps her temple. Next to us Cas looks down, uncomfortable with whatever Dallas is referring to. “Let’s just say,” she starts again, “they owe me a whole hell of a lot.” Vulnerability passes over her features and she wraps her arms around herself before turning to walk down the hall alone.
“What was that about?” I ask Cas, feeling like I might know more about Dallas’s state of mind than I want to. It seems like a jump, but I think about the creepy handler Roger—how he bartered with the patients. And what they had to give him in return for a moment of their own memories.
“It’s not my story to tell,” Cas says seriously. “But I’m
sure you’ll hear about it eventually. Secrets are hard to keep in this camp.”
“Sloane?” The voice is soft as it calls my name. I look up to see Lacey at the end of the hallway. She’s standing there, her blond hair dyed a deep red, wearing a black tank top and a pair of camouflage pants. There’s an explosion of relief and we both start forward, meeting somewhere in the middle with a hug. “I didn’t think you’d make it,” she says into my shoulder. “Your picture is everywhere.” She pulls back, holding my upper arms as she examines my face. “Are you okay?”
I’m not sure how long I’ve known Lacey—can’t remember my past—but since returning, she’s been my constant friend. “I’m fine,” I tell her. “Scared, but fine. James and I went to meet you at the border, but you weren’t there.” Dread slips in. “Dallas said Kevin was gone.”
Lacey gives a quick nod, unable to hold my eyes. “He never made it to the rendezvous point,” she says. “He was taken into custody, I guess. I . . . don’t know where he is now.” Her grip on my arms tightens, and I know there’s more to her and Kevin’s relationship than she ever let on. Whatever it is, she’s not going to tell me right now. She pulls me forward into the room where Dallas and a few others are standing around.
In the middle of the dim space is an oval table with at least a dozen chairs. The wood is warped and some of the seats look like they might collapse, but Dallas grabs one, spinning it to sit on it backward. Her gaze is immediately drawn to the door when James walks in.
James scans the room, pausing when he notices Lacey. “I’m digging the red,” he tells her, even though I think he really means to say he’s glad she’s safe.
Lacey smiles, her expression softening. “Why am I not surprised to see you here, James? Oh, that’s right. Because you’re a pain in the ass who constantly defies authority.”
He reaches to pull out a chair for her. “Looks like we have a lot in common.” After she sits, James pulls out another chair for me and then takes the next spot over. “So, Dallas,” he calls, leaning his elbows on the table. “What’s the plan here? What exactly do the rebels do?”
The three people around Dallas sit down, waiting for her to explain. They look normal—and not “returner” normal either; there are no collared polos or khaki skirts. Regular normal.
“Not all of us have been through The Program,” Dallas starts. “Some, like Cas”—she points to him—“are here because someone they cared about disappeared, committed suicide. Or forgot them completely.” The girl next to Dallas lowers her head. “The Program is everywhere, and it’s becoming harder and harder to find people to fight with us. Especially adults. The rebels are trying to grow, to expand so we’ll have the numbers to inflict real damage. But The Program is always one step ahead of us.”
“What happened to the other rebels?” James asks. “The ones who were in your safe house?”
Dallas wilts slightly. “The place was raided,” she begins, “and the ones who didn’t get away were dragged back into
The Program. The official report said they were in recall—a side effect where memories crash back and drive a person insane—but that was a lie. The Program took them into custody to squash any rebellion. But they couldn’t risk another incident.” Her face grows pale. Suddenly she’s not a rebel. She’s just a girl. “The Program makes them disappear.”
“What?” James asks, wide-eyed. “Are they killing them?”
“We don’t know what they’re doing to them. All we know is, certain patients disappear. They never contact us again; they never pop up on our radar. Basically, if The Program catches us . . . they’ll end us.”
“We have to save them,” James says. “We can’t let—”
“It’s too late.” Dallas waves her hand. “There’s no way to break anyone out of The Program. We’ve tried.”
“Maybe you’re doing it wrong.”
“Shut up, James,” she says dismissively. “Like you know. We’ve tried, we’ve failed. It never ends well, so we’ve had to write them off. It’s not like it was an easy decision.”
“What are you going to do, then?” he demands. I can’t believe Dallas would just give up. She seemed tougher than this.
Dallas takes a second to compose her thoughts, and it’s like I can see her hardening herself against them. “They’re the accepted loss,” she says coldly. “For now, we’re what’s left. But I’m trying to find someone, something, to help us. When we gather everyone together again, we’ll fight. I promise you we’ll fight.”
Dallas stands, pulling her long dreads into a high knot. She looks rattled by James’s comments, and she can’t hold his eyes. “I suggest you get some sleep,” Dallas says in our direction. “We have plans later, so I’ll need you back here at four.” Before we can ask any more questions, she leaves the room, taking the conversation with her. It’s quiet for a moment, and then James leans over to whisper to me.
“If I ever get sent away, Sloane, I expect you to save my ass. Is that clear?”
“And vice versa,” I say. He gives a definitive nod and then turns to study the others in the room. Lacey is sitting quietly, her arms folded over her chest. This may be the most subdued I’ve ever seen her. It worries me. My stomach growls loudly, and James glances at me before calling to Cas.