Surrender Read online

  I walked past four, three, two, to door number one. A smear of dark red marred the latch. Blood.

  I blinked, hoping it would disappear when I opened my eyes again. Instead, the crimson-black splash superimposed over everything I looked at. The door was locked, of course.

  Like that stopped me. I clutched the steel latch in my hand, felt the tech warm at my touch. It zoomed around inside, bolting into my palm, my fingers.

  Then it clicked open.

  I entered the room, expecting (a) a fight, (b) a shout, or (c) an acknowledgment.

  I got (d) none of the above.

  The great leader of the Resistance, Jag Barque, lay secured to the bed, three silencers attached along each side of his neck, blood dried across his face, fast asleep.

  So I got him cleaned up.

  Which sounded easy, but so wasn’t. For one thing, silencers hurt real bad when removed without the right tech. And I couldn’t seem to get a feel for this tech, because these silencers weren’t Freedom made. I did the best I could and pried them off.

  The first time, Jag screamed, the absence of sound filling the tiny cell and making me slink into the corner. He looked at me with wild eyes, fresh blood trickling down his neck into the bedclothes.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I repeated it over and over as I removed the six silencers. By then the guy was a huge mess. Crying and bleeding and trying to get up so he could punch me out, probably.

  I took off my shirt and ran it under the dripping faucet in the corner. He pressed it to his neck while I unhinged the tech-tethers from his ankles, removed the restraints across his thighs, waist, and chest.

  “Who are you?” he croaked as I worked on the cuffs on his hands.

  I looked up. “I’m Gunner. I think we have a friend in common. Zenn Bower?”

  I beep-beeped the cuffs off Jag’s hands and helped him stand. He rewet the shirt and mopped up his face. I rummaged in my pack and handed him a tube of med-gel for his wounds.

  While he rubbed it in, I wadded up the soiled sheets and flung them into the corner.

  “Tight security here,” I quipped.

  “I only get fed once a day,” he said. “And that happened this morning. I get ten minutes to eat, and then I’m strapped down for the rest of the day. Guards come at dark so I can go to the bathroom. That’s it.”

  I swallowed hard, trying to imagine what life would be like to be that caged. Physically controlled, not just mentally.

  “How do you know Zenn?” Jag asked.

  “He’s my flatmate.” My eyes had adjusted to the dimness pretty well. Even having been confined, I could see why Jag was the leader of the Resistance. The guy had some strong will, some blazing fire in his eyes.

  “He’s been working with another friend of ours,” I continued. “I think you know her too.”

  “Oh?” Jag tossed my wet and bloody shirt on top of the sheets and turned toward the bed.

  “Yeah. Raine Hightower. Oh, and Violet Schoenfeld. They’re flatmates.”

  He spun around, his face taut with what felt like panic and fear and anger and at least five other emotions I couldn’t separate fast enough. “Vi’s here?”

  “In the flesh.” I leaned against the wall near the doorway, trying to get a lungful of air that wasn’t full of the scent of Jag’s blood and sweat.

  “But … how?”

  “She’s been here for eight months, man. Same as Zenn.”

  He shook his head, tears falling. Maybe he wasn’t so tough-Resistance-leader after all. He sank onto the bare mattress. “She didn’t mention that.”

  “She? She who?”

  “Indy.” Jag sounded more angry than sad. Zenn had mentioned an Indy. “She’s the one running things for you, yeah?” I asked Jag.

  “She should be. So is Vi running the Insiders?”

  “What? Vi? No,” I said. “Zenn’s doing all that.”

  Jag didn’t say anything, but I felt his disbelief. Just like Zenn, Jag felt a multitude of warring emotions when discussing Zenn. Weird stuff there, and I didn’t want to be involved in it.

  “Well?” Jag asked. “Why are you here?”

  “Okay, well, I’m just sort of making things up as I go,” I said, an uncomfortable feeling oscillating in my stomach. “Thane will probably be here soon. I bought us some time to talk, but let’s face it. He can brainwash anyone. We need to work out a way for us to escape.”

  “Us? You mean me and you?”

  “That’s what I mean, genius.” I pulled on my coat since I couldn’t put on my wet and bloody shirt. “Raine and Zenn have an intricate network of spies here in the city. We need to get your rebels and regroup. Then we’ll come back and help with the overthrow here.”

  “Overthrow? You mean—”

  “Yeah, that’s what I mean,” I interrupted. “I need to find a journal. You’re going to help me with that.”

  “A journal?”

  Apparently being a great leader meant repeating everything someone said in the form of a question. “A journal. My father wrote it.”

  Jag opened his mouth, but I cut in. “Don’t say it. Yes, my father. I’ve never met him, and he died a long time ago. But his name is Lyle Schoenfeld. Not the Alias version—not Thane. The real Lyle Schoenfeld.”

  Jag paled, if that were possible. Wracking coughs shook his body. I didn’t think he’d make it five steps down the hall, let alone out of the building and into the wild.

  When he finished, he said, “I know who he is. I’ve read that journal.”

  I pushed into a standing position as the ascender ring filled the hall with golden light. “You have? Where is it?”

  “Yeah, Lyle wrote a lot of things before he died. I’ve got a couple of his published books. His journal is invaluable.”

  “And? Where is it now?”

  Jag shrugged, casually lifting one shoulder. “Indy should have it. The Resistance has had it for years.”

  “Where’s Indy?” I asked.

  “What month is it?”

  “February.”

  “Winter.” He shuddered, as if he could feel cold tendrils of wind. “If things have gone according to plan, she’ll be in the Badlands.”

  My desire to go there tripled. I needed that journal.

  One minute, Gunn. A tremor of fear ran through me. This voice was decidedly not Trek. It pitched too high, almost feminine. But it couldn’t be—the voice had always been masculine before. And I’d just asked Trek for assistance.

  “I—”

  “I recently found out who Lyle really is too,” Jag said.

  Well, I couldn’t leave now. “Who?”

  “The reason my parents were killed.” He didn’t look away from me as a loud pair of footsteps sprinted closer.

  A girl appeared in the doorway. “Come on, Gunn. We’ve gotta fly.” She glanced at Jag. “Now. Thane’s on his way.”

  Jag and I stared at her. “Starr?” we asked at the same time.

  Raine

  20.

  As soon as Gunn finished with the dispenser and left, I started an e-comm to Cannon. He’d been gone for a whole week, same as me. We’d missed our ritual of sneaking through the nocturnal lounge of the Medical Rise after my drain.

  Of course, I hadn’t completed the drain. Part of my mouth smiled; the other half shook with fear.

  Cannon, where are you? I really need you to respond. Please. I’m worried about you.

  One minute became ten, and he still hadn’t answered. So I roused Vi. Or at least I tried to. Zenn had put her down deep, and it took a few minutes to get her to even open her eyes.

  When she did, a milky film smothered the fire I’d seen in them just a few hours earlier. I wondered if she could remember anything that had happened.

  “Hey,” I said gently. “How do you feel?”

  She groaned. “Where’s Zenn?”

  “He went to meet with Thane.”

  Vi’s body stiffened. “Without me?” A moment later relief painted her featu
res. “Oh, I’m …” She met my expectant gaze, wearing confusion in hers. “Excused?”

  She said it like a question, and I nodded. Trek was doing a bang-up job of keeping us in the clear. “I’m free all day too,” I said.

  Thank you, Mr. Assistant, I thought. Trek deserved major props for rearranging my day. I’d need to get his board tuned up to thank him properly.

  “Free,” Vi repeated, running her fingers through her hair in a rough attempt to be presentable.

  “Free,” I said. “We’re free, Vi. So, you wanna talk?”

  My brief-sheet said not to talk about anything specific. So I went right for something specific. “What’s your favorite color?”

  Vi gazed at me as if she didn’t understand English. “I don’t get it.”

  “You know, red, blue, purple. Which one do you like best?”

  “I don’t know. They’re all fine.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, they’re all fine, but which one do you like?”

  “I like them all.”

  I suppressed the desire to roll my eyes. She’d been brainwashed into a complete clone, devoid of even so much as a favorite color. “Okay, let’s try foods. What do you like to eat?”

  She blinked. “My meal plan says I can have toast and hot chocolate for breakfast.”

  “Forget about the meal plan. What else do you want?”

  “I don’t understand. Why would I want something else?”

  This was going to be harder than I thought. As I searched my brain for something to talk about with Vi, I realized how little I knew about her. I could pick her out of a crowd and describe her physically. That’s it. I didn’t know what she liked to eat, her favorite color, how she’d like to wear her hair—

  “Want me to show you something?” I asked.

  “I guess.”

  I stood up and waved for her to follow me into the bathroom. “Okay, so some of us have the option of hair enhancements. I can make mine whatever color I want. Maybe my favorite shade”—I found the discarded wand under the sink and smoothed it down over my snow-colored hair—“of pink.”

  I watched my hair turn a shocking shade of pink, but I really saw Vi’s astonishment at the change.

  I smiled at her in the mirror. “Or blue.” I ran the wand over the pink streak. It melted away into a brilliant navy that matched my weekend fingernail polish. “You wanna try?”

  She took the wand, but then just stood there staring at it.

  “You have to say what you want, and then start at the scalp and pull out or down or whatever,” I offered.

  She thrust the enhancer toward me, but I pushed it back. “No, try it. Maybe, hey, maybe you’d like to have darker hair.” I thought of her old dye job, hoping to use it to reawaken part of her.

  She swallowed hard and gripped the wand harder. “Isn’t this against protocol?” Her question reminded me of the scared girl she was, but the force of it told me she didn’t care.

  “No. I have enough points.” I felt a slight pang at losing the points. In another week, I could’ve skipped a class, no questions asked. “Besides, you used to break the rules all the time.”

  A wicked grin graced her mouth, pulling her skin tight across her high cheekbones. “I did, didn’t I?” Then she set the enhancer against her scalp. “Black, with a hint of blue.” She ran the wand over her head, deftly changing the color of her hair in a few minutes.

  “Do we have scissors?” she asked, turning back to me. With her snow-white skin and ultra-black hair, she looked dangerous.

  Pieces clicked around in my head. No wonder my dad wanted her. No wonder she’d been kept in a brainwashed haze for months.

  No wonder I was her roommate. Dad knew I’d follow protocol, keep him informed about his little pet, anything so he’d keep looking the other way.

  Suddenly I wondered what my dad wanted most. And how Vi played into that.

  How I played into that.

  With my mind churning, I retrieved the scissors for her and sat on the closed toilet seat while she cut off the six inches of growth she’d accumulated since she’d arrived.

  “That’s better,” she said, shaking her head. She wet her hair by running her dripping hands through it. “I just need something to make it spike.”

  Leaning down, I pulled a bottle of freeze spray from the cabinet. Vi wrinkled her nose. “No, not that. Something else. Do we have something else?”

  I moved bottles of shampoo out of the way. “Like this?” I tossed her a tube of clear gel.

  She opened it and took a whiff. “I guess this’ll do.” As she pulled the sticky stuff through her hair, I watched her eyes. The foggy layer lifted off, leaving behind brilliant aqua eyes that sharpened with every passing second.

  I hid my satisfaction and thought about asking her another question. But I needed more information first. I needed her file. Suddenly, I wanted to touch Vi, really press my hand against her bare arm and find out what I’d see this time.

  Before I could muster up the nerve, she turned toward me. “Raine, is Gunner your match?”

  I wasn’t expecting that. I turned my embarrassment into a cough.

  “Ah, okay. He’s not. But you like him.”

  “How can you tell?” Horror snaked through me at the obvious transparency.

  “Let’s just say I know what it’s like to be in love with someone other than your match.” She went back into our bedroom, her back straight, her movements sure. I’d never seen her like this before. I liked it.

  “I’m not in love with Gunn,” I said, following her.

  “Yeah, okay. And I’m not in love with Jag.”

  Before I could respond, an alarm sounded. Three things happened at once.

  1. A voice that slightly mimicked Trek’s came over my cache. It said, Stop saying that name.

  2. Starr Messenger barged into my bedroom.

  3. Vi took a step back and slid her hand into mine. Palm to palm. Skin to skin.

  Five seconds passed. Then ten.

  I saw nothing.

  * * *

  Starr was talking, but I couldn’t hear her. I clung to the nothing, to seeing nothing, feeling nothing, smelling nothing.

  This nothing had never happened before. Is this how normal people live all the time? Able to touch without consequences? Without seeing what they’d rather not see?

  It was beyond amazing. I never wanted the nothing to end.

  But it only took Starr about four seconds to realize I wasn’t paying attention to her. Her freaky eyes zeroed in on my hands.

  “Raine,” she said, stepping forward and gently breaking the contact between me and Vi. “Snap out of it.”

  “I can’t see …”

  “I know,” Starr said. “Come on, sit. We have to talk. You have to listen.”

  I sat. I listened.

  Man, Starr can talk fast. It’s like the words were already strung together and all she had to do was exhale. They streamed out of her in rivers, and I only caught some of what she said.

  I got the gist. Gunn had busted into prison (what the hell?), found Jag (Vi inhaled sharply; Starr didn’t even pause), and was now in session with Thane (who was pretty freakin’ mad).

  The conversation lasted about three minutes, her sharp gaze shredding me the whole time. She stood and walked toward the door. “And I’d appreciate it if you stayed away from my match.”

  I wanted to defend myself, say that there wasn’t anything going on between me and Gunn.

  “Don’t even try it,” she said, her voice barely above a hiss. “Surely you haven’t forgotten how much time you and I spent together in primary school.”

  I hadn’t. I swallowed the lies I’d been about to say. “Right,” I said instead. “I’ll stay away from your match.”

  Starr narrowed her eyes as if to say, I doubt it, but didn’t vocalize anything else as she swept her palm across the reader.

  “And you should stay away from my father,” I shot back. Her Thinker-ness was so obvious.

&n
bsp; Fear flashed across her face, only present for a single blink. “I can’t. My name appeared on his list at the end of last term.” She paused. “It’s good to have an inside connection.”

  I stared at her, unblinking. An inside connection? I couldn’t believe I didn’t know, on both counts. Her name hadn’t come up on my list, but there were several Insider groups in Freedom. I didn’t know everyone.

  The fear belonged to me now. The air circulators whirred to life. “Then be careful,” I said.

  Starr nodded. Then she turned and left my flat.

  * * *

  Just after midnight, Gunn and I flew side by side (so I lied to Starr, cite me). I had so much to ask him, yet at the same time it felt good to say absolutely nothing. The silence felt clean and comfortable. I didn’t want to ruin it by opening my cache. So I pulled my hat lower over my ears to keep the chill out, and just flew.

  After a few laps, Gunn moved in close and brushed his hand against my gloved one. “What’s up?”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, what I’m going to tell you will sound stupid.”

  “As stupid as breaking into prison?”

  Laughter burst out of my mouth, free and loud. Gunn ended up joining me, and I liked the way the tension seeped from his shoulders when he let it. All too soon, they bunched back up, holding the weight of the world.

  “Thane was pretty pissed.” Gunn said. “But it was weird … almost like he wasn’t mad about me breaking in, but about something else.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.” Gunn bumped me again. “And we met in a sterile office, not Thane’s regular digs. He kept running his hands through his hair and glaring at me. I didn’t get cited, but I have to research a bunch of crap about the Confinement Rise and the Association’s imprisonment guidelines. I spent the rest of the afternoon doing that, and I have to complete extra sessions after dinner for the rest of the week.”

  “Wow, sorry. But hey, at least you didn’t get cited.”

  “Yeah. But enough about that. What’s eating you?”

  I cast him a glance out of the corner of my eye. “I think I might have partial voice power.”

  Gunn chuckled again. “Be serious, Hightower.”