I’d seen the inside of almost every building in Wingate that had any form of security. My father had called these little adventures “training missions,” taking me out on the few nights a month he had off from work.
“It’ll do you no good, even with your abilities, if you don’t know the basics,” he’d said to me, over and over again. “If you can’t beat the alarm or sneak past the cameras, how will you escape if they capture you?”
Just the idea of being caught, helpless and stuck behind a door that I couldn’t open, had been more than enough motivation for me. I’d had lessons in the lab, of course, but no real-world experience. That had to change.
We’d started off small. Model homes in an unfinished subdivision on the north side of town. The houses were alarmed to the local police, but no live cams, no security guards. Easy peasy, as the saying goes. Except, of course, I hadn’t counted on a dog, belonging to one of the families in one of the finished homes nearby, barking his head off.
I’d almost gotten caught my first time out by a nosy neighbor stepping out to see what might be sending the dog into fits. But I’d learned from it, applied it to future training sessions. One more question to ask each time: is there a dog in the vicinity?
After that, we’d gradually moved on to more difficult targets. The department stores after hours. (I’d bounced on the fake beds in the linen section; they were way harder than they looked.) The houses of the wealthy in town when the occupants weren’t home. (I’d snooped in their pantries and refrigerators.) The same houses when they were home. (I’d hit the medicine cabinets that time; you can learn a great deal from those. Lots of acid reflux on that side of town.)
The only place we hadn’t ventured anywhere near was, for obvious reasons, GTX.
But it occurred to me now, for the first time, that they’d probably been very well aware of what my father was doing, what he was teaching me. He may have even been acting on orders, continuing my training outside the lab at their request.
I shifted uneasily on the van floor, my heart aching at the idea. It was just one more way in which my father had lied to me.
Then again, he’d also done everything he could to help me escape GTX last night and get out of town cleanly.
I bit my lip. So, wasn’t it possible that he’d trained me because he’d wanted to, because he’d truly had my best interests at heart?
Given the choice, that’s what I wanted to believe. And since it was unlikely I’d ever see him again to ask, that was all I had.
Either way, though, my father had taught me well. And from his very thorough lessons, I knew what questions to ask; how to break down the larger objective into smaller, more manageable pieces; and how to create an action plan to complete each of those steps with the best chance of success for the overall mission.
I could break, enter, spy, steal, kill…any number of relatively complicated things, including figuring out creative ways around problems.
But never in all of my years of training—in the lab or with my father—had there ever been a moment when I set my own objective. Even as recently as last week, it had been Zane who’d approached me with the idea of defeating Rachel at her own game and a rough plan of what needed to happen.
The idea of taking on the responsibility—without the experience of having done it before or any guarantee of success—made me queasy. It wasn’t just my life at stake anymore.
I looked up at Zane, his arm slung over me loosely and his handsome face peaceful in repose. The police chief’s son. The lacrosse player. The guy that girls, including my former friend Jenna, giggled about. Human.
How had he ended up here? With me?
It felt as if this was some kind of moment clipped from a normal existence and spliced into mine. Like maybe he’d fallen asleep after I’d come over to watch a movie at his house or something, and I’d have to wake him up to take me home in a little while. But not yet.
The thought of such a normal moment—the idea of having it, the fact that we couldn’t, not now, maybe ever—made my chest tight with longing and fear. I wanted that for him, for us, and I was terrified to the point of being paralyzed that thinking about it, being foolish enough to hope for it, was asking for more than I deserved. And that would only make fate or God or karma or whatever come down that much harder to make sure the point was clear.
I reached up and touched his chin lightly, feeling a day’s worth of stubble against my fingertips, and even in his sleep, he turned in to my touch.
I’d thought he was a coward before I knew him, someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t think for himself, but now…I was beginning to suspect he might be the bravest person I’d ever met to throw his chips in with me. I wasn’t sure I even trusted me to figure this out.
Blinking back hot tears, I let my hand drop. Zane trusted me, regardless of whether I thought that was the smart choice. He was counting on me.
I couldn’t mess this up.
Taking a deep breath, I refocused my efforts on the trouble at hand. I knew what I wanted. I wanted us to be free, to live our lives—whatever they looked like—without the threat of interference from the government or evil megacorporations.
But that was too abstract. There was no step-by-step plan for that. I wasn’t even sure if I was looking at it the right way. Maybe freedom wasn’t even the right objective; after all, destruction of your enemy would bring freedom as a by-product of success, right? But the steps to accomplish that—as if it was even possible—would be completely different.
I blew out a loud breath in frustration, and Zane stirred next to me.
I froze until his even breathing resumed.
Start with what you know, my logical side spoke up. Take stock of your strengths, weaknesses, and resources, and then potential courses of action. Evaluate each against your current position and factor in likelihood of success.
We were alive and free…for the moment. Strength.
We were away from Wingate and GTX. That was good.
Zane’s mother, a potential vulnerability for us, wasn’t hurt, at least not physically, nor did she appear to be in any immediate danger. Not any more than she had been before our arrival, anyway. Also, good.
Zane’s mother happened to be Mara, the former GTX lab tech. I put that in the neutral column. I wasn’t sure whether that would work to our advantage or not. Mara did not like me, nor did she care for her son’s involvement in all of this. But she did seem to have his best interests at heart. Of course, that might mean she’d sacrifice me to accomplish that goal. I just didn’t know.
Weaknesses…oh God, too many to count. We had multiple enemies—the equivalent of a war on several fronts, never a good idea because it divided your attention and your resources—with near unlimited funds and a burning desire to see me dead or recaptured, with Zane as collateral damage or potential bait.
As for courses of action…fleeing the country—our primary plan until an hour or so ago—was probably no longer an option, if Mara was to be trusted. And I didn’t. Trust her, that is. But she’d made a good point.
Zane had suggested going to the media, which was, at least, a possibility. Albeit a difficult one. I had no doubt that I could convince someone—a single individual—I was telling the truth, but getting a legitimate news source to run the story without proof beyond the tattoo on my back and my word might be a little tricky. I could use my abilities to read thoughts and float things across the room, which might convince those physically present. But Internet trickery and special effects were too prevalent for anyone to take such a demonstration seriously on TV or the Web. And we didn’t exactly have time for a cross-country road show.
The trouble was, I needed to create a stir, but people were kind of immune to “alien” claims.