Chapter 13: Captured
I felt my eyes widen as shock set in. Chills shot up my spine, and I couldn't stop myself from kissing back. His hand pressed down on my hand, so warm. The part of my brain that controlled the logic screamed and thrashed, trying to get my body to listen. But I knew as soon as I pulled away all the anxiety and sadness would come back, and his arms felt so good around me. As soon as I forced myself to do what had to be done, everything would get complicated.
It felt like a beautiful lifetime, but I knew it had only been a moment, when I pulled away. He looked at me, so much question and fear in his eyes. What was he afraid of? He was perfect, and good, and kind. I was the one who had killed that homeless man, and Jason was the one who hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. I didn't deserve him.
Swallowing, the right words came to me as if on their own. “I'm not sure what just happened, but whatever it was or wasn't, I'm still volunteering for that mission. If I come back alive, we'll figure it out, okay?”
He nodded. “When. When you come back alive.”
Even as Dustin and I stood in front of Alec, awaiting our fate, my mind was somewhere else. My hand subconsciously moved up, toughing my lower lip. I liked him. I really did. It felt different than the way in which I'd liked my last boyfriend, but the strange clenching in the pit of my stomach could have just been fear.
“I can't believe I'm actually considering this.” Alec ran his hand back through his hair. “It's so ridiculous. I never would but... but you're the only ones who have volunteered. We're an organization of freedom fighters, not martyrs.”
He said it as if he'd asked them before. I suddenly had a horrible image of Dustin and I running into a building with bombs strapped to our chests, but I quickly shook it off. That was, thankfully, not the plan.
Alec did agree, and I had to accept that there had been a part of me that had wished he wouldn't. But he was just crazy enough, and just uncaring enough about life; I was truly beginning to see that. As plans for the operation began to take shape, I did not get to see Jason half as much as I would have wanted to. He was sent back to his sister, much to my surprise, to gather some materials Grey would need. I was surprised by this, and I knew that there were many in Alec's organization who believed he was playing us. But I trusted him. I had to. I couldn't imagine what he must be going through, lying to his sister, working for the people who had blown so many of her friends—his friends—to bits. I tried to imagine what I would do in his position, but I couldn't.
“Lay still Nance,” grunted Sarah.
It was two days after Alec had agreed to allow us on the mission. We were testing whether or not the tech Grey had salvaged from their brief partnership with the ECI would work for the purposes they intended. Currently it felt like Sarah and Grey were giving me a massage on my lower back, but true they were applying a skin graft. Between the fake skin and my own, we would conceal what we needed inside the prison. It was really quite clever, if not really strange feeling.
“Done.” They moved away from me.
I peered in the mirror, trying to determine where the artificial skin ended and mine began. I couldn't, not until I started touching it. It felt like my skin, but I could tell when my fingers were touching it in comparison to not.
“You can't be feeling yourself like that in front of the agents.” Dustin walked into the room.
I rolled my eyes. “It's just so strange.”
I didn't like it, it made me look like I had a muffin top. Dustin was standing strangely, puffing out his chest like he was waiting for something.
“What?” I asked.
He pulled his shirt up to stomach level, spinning. “Really, nothing? Nothing at all?”
I gasped. “No!”
“Yup.” He was grinning. “All day, since before you got up.”
“Are you used to it?”
I had to know. Who knew how long we would be stuck wearing these things before we got a chance to take them off. Jason had told us a story that Miya had told him, so it was all third hand, but according to him there were no separate male and female prisons. Apparently they just didn't have the facilities. Plus, it wasn't criminals they were holding. Most of the inmates were respected soldiers and spies. However, there was probably some separation. That was why it was imperative that the two of us were of different genders.
Dustin shook his head. “Not really, but I've gotten really good at not touching it.”
Jason returned briefly to give Grey the last few supplies, but it was as if Alec didn't want me to see him. We'd just embraced, and he was running off a list of worries about them not sending me to prison because of my mark, when Alec rudely intervened. He made some dumb excuse about needing Jason for a secret meeting.
Jason had a good point, I thought, as Alec pulled him away. Who ever heard of a marked going to prison? Suddenly there was a whole new category of things to worry about. Would they just kill me? At this point the best I could do was hope that the secret prison was more linked to customs outside the city than in it.
Dustin and I ran over our story again and again. Aria was not happy that both of her friends were going on, what she called, a suicide mission, but she helped all the same. When the day finally arrived, she wanted to come with us in the van, but Alec forbid it. The team was Sarah, and two of his other right hand men.
The plan was simple, make a big enough racket with the same explosive design used in the government building, and the agents would feel like they'd figured it out themselves. Sarah was going over, for what felt like the thousandth time, the plan, but I wasn't really listening. I was thinking about the stats that had been brought down the the complex the day before. With all the talk of war and terrorism, it was easy to forget about the marking. But it was still happening, and there were less than half of us left. Out of the one hundred, only forty-one remained. I'd killed two of them, my pass card confirmed it. I hadn't used it since I'd started working with Jason, but I would need to again for the plan to work. It was tracked, and that was how the agent's were going to find us.
It felt strange, even though I knew it was only a ruse, me and Dustin were going on the offensive. We were going hunting. Out on the street it felt like every pair of eyes was glued to me. Dustin's presence beside me was a comfort, but not a large one. We came to a stop in the back corner of an empty parking lot.
“Are you sure this is the right car?” I asked.
If we were going to potentially blow someone up, it would be nice to known if it was the right someone.
“Positive.” Dustin let the large bag he carried slide to the ground.
I removed my sub-machine gun from its holster. If the boy who's car we were rigging came back ahead of schedule, I would not hesitate. There was no question there. He would not hesitate before filling mine and Dustin's flesh with bullets. This particular marked, from what I'd heard, was a particularly nasty piece of work. Every year, without fail, there were a few in the bunch who truly enjoyed this month of hell. Some kids relished the free pass on killing and destruction.
Our target was a boy named Todd, who used to lead the marked gang around the area of Jason's old apartment. His gang were all dead now. Apparently he'd just snapped one day and killed them all. I shivered and my hand tightened around the gun. I'd gotten some lessons in target practice while hanging out down in the complex. Not to say I was an expert marksman, but it was a step up form before.
Now that I thought about it, when had Dustin learned to build bombs? The kind of knowledge he had couldn't have been amassed in the less-than-two-weeks he'd been with Alec. How much hadn't I really known about my best friend, before all this? He finished relatively quickly and I was more than relieved to go. The two of us vaulted over the back fence of the lot, and cut the padlock on the abandoned building beside it. From the second floor, we had a good view of the car, and were still well out of the blast radius.
Would our plan work? It was half-assed, flawed in so many ways, and thrown together in the spur of the moment. I didn't blame Alec though. I was in as much of a hurry to find Lela as he was. Purposely get ourselves tracked down by agents and thrown in a secret government prison; what had happened to just surviving the month and getting the hell out of the city?
“Look.” Dustin pointed down at the street.
I followed his eyes. The boy who walked towards the car was familiar, and I suddenly felt a very calming sense of closure. It was the boy from the government building, and from the alley that night; the one with the terrifying, cold eyes. I really should have put two and two together earlier. As he got closer and closer, I found I couldn't watch after all. What was even the point of killing him? We could blow the bomb now, it would still probably injure him. Actually ending this boy's life was going to have no effect on the agent's ability to trace the bomb's stile.
“Just hit the button.”
Without really meaning to, I slid to the ground, back against the wall below the window, my hands clamped over my ears in anticipation. Dustin looked down at me, and an emotion I didn't recognize clouded his face for a split second. Then he hit the trigger. It was louder than I'd though it would be, up here. The building shook, and I closed my eyes tight involuntarily, hands still pressed firmly against my ears. Once I was sure the flash of light had subsided, I opened my eyes a crack. Dustin was right down on the floor beside me, on his stomach like he'd dove for cover. Grabbing the edge of the windowsill, I pulled myself to my feet.
The car was in smoking ruins. I didn't see the boy. Sure I didn't really want him dead, but to have him walk away without a scratch wasn't fair either. It might even look suspicious to the agents.
I felt Dustin's presence beside me. “Where is he?” I voiced my fears. “If he got away I-”
Dustin cut me off. “Nance, look down.”
I did as he asked. There, plastered against the building like some red and flesh coloured mural, was our target. He was dead. There was no question.
My eyes were downcast as I bought the groceries later than day, not really having the energy to look up and meet the stares of those around me. They knew where we were now, hopefully. Maybe the agents were stupider than we thought. Maybe they wouldn't even trace the bomb.
“Want one?” Dustin offered me a cracker.
I shook my head. I wasn't hungry, not in the slightest. Suddenly I had one of the little flashes that steered my emotions. One of the people walking down the sidewalk—faceless, nameless—pulled a gun from somewhere I was unable to see, and fired one round into my skull without giving me time to react. They were looking at me like they wanted to. It was late enough in the month that they must figure I'd killed my share of innocent children, that I was already a criminal if I had survived this long. It was a kind of like a which trial in that way.
Right now, on my pass card, I had more money than I'd ever had in my life, than I'd ever imagined having. I felt no excitement.
I was still in the gloomy mood that night, when Dustin and I checked into a motel; with two beds. He seemed to be in fairly high spirits, considering We flipped through some channels. There was a lot of discussion of the bombing. A lot of the general public blamed the marked. Who else was that stupid, after all? Who else had so little to loose? When we ordered pizza that night, the delivery boy didn't even seem that shocked or scared to see me. Maybe I wasn't the first marked he'd seen today. As he turned to leave, before shutting the door, we made eye contact, something I'd been doing my best to avoid all day. Then he gave a little nod, and a half smile.
When the door clicked shut behind him, I was lost in a stunned silence. Dustin hadn't even noticed our little exchange, it had been that insignificant. But it had meant the world to me.
I woke late that night, sitting bolt upright in bed like I had a sixth sense. The digital clock on the bedside table read 2:04. Looking over at the twin bed, I saw Dustin fast asleep. Charged with invisible adrenaline, I found myself frozen in the sitting position. For a moment I just watched him breath. Streetlight beams filtered in through a gap in the curtains. He lay on his back, arms and legs splayed in all directions. His chest rose and fell so obviously, so regularly. I took a moment to truly appreciate it.
That was when I heard the noise. Jumping quickly out of bed, I was glad that I hadn't bothered to put on pyjamas. Imagine being arrested in those. Walking, ever so quietly, to the window, I peeked through the gap. Just as I'd expected, a line of black-clad bodies flattened themselves to the wall. My eyes widened, as one of the visor covered faces turned to face me. I couldn't help it, my stomach dropped and my heartbeat quickened. Without really thinking about it, I pulled the curtains closed the rest of the way.
I might have been imagining it, but a little bit of static, or movement of some kind, reached me through the wall. Then, the door banged backwards off of its hinges. I was blinded by a million flashlight beams, and commands to stay on the ground.
“Nance?” I heard Dustin's confused yell.
I couldn't imagine waking up to this. Half by my own will, and half by the pushing hands, I got on my stomach. My arms were wrenched roughly behind my back, and a knee dug into my back. I gasped.
“Got her.” The soldier's voice was flat, nondescript. It could have been male or female.
“Get them in the van.” A distinctly female, familiar voice sent a chill down my spine.
As I was wrenched to my feet, I found myself staring directly at Miya. Did she know that Jason and I had been friends? Did she remember me and Dustin from the first day? The answer appeared to be yes to both of those questions, judging by the temperature of Miya's glare.
The back of the big, black van was pitch black. I couldn't even find Dustin in the gloom. The only thing I could see was light glinting off the barrel of an assault riffle. What the hell had I signed up for? It was impossible to tell how fast we were going, but it definitely didn't feel safe. At one point we swerved around a corner a little too sharply, and I slid off of the bench. Whoever was holding my handcuffs caught me, but my arms felt like they'd just been yanked out of their sockets. I couldn't help the cry of pain that escaped my lips.
“Quiet.”
I was wrenched back up onto the seat, my arms twisting even farther in the wrong direction. Suddenly grateful for the darkness, I tried to wish away the moisture that had began to accumulate at the bottom of my eyes. The van eventually stopped, and I could just barely make out the sound of an opening door, over the engine. We drove up a small incline then stopped again. Then, we dropped straight down. The van itself wasn't moving, but we were going down, on some sort of elevator.
The back doors flew open and I was blinded again, by a floodlight. I was half carried half dragged out into the empty, stone room. My eyes searched desperately for Dustin, landing him being held tightly by a massive man. My eyes widened as I realized who he was. Arch. He'd been so nice. Maybe Dustin would have it better than me. A black clad guard on either side, I was lead down a hall, following Miya. I might not be so lucky.
Miya kept walking as the guards opened a door marked Interrogation room 3. There, my twenty-first century cuffs were removed, and a thick, white, plastic bracelet were closed individually my right wrist. This was like the cuffs I'd seen in the underground hallway, the ones I'd speculated were held together by magnetism. As if to confirm my theory, one of the guards touched their thumb to a tiny touchscreen on the band, and suddenly my arms was pulled directly against the metal table. I was left sitting there, facing the massive mirror, as the two figures left.
The chair was hard and uncomfortable, and no one came. Miya was sure on one long coffee break. In my boredom, I began to experiment with the cuff. If I used all of my physical power, I could pull it about a centimetre off of the metal, but my arms screamed from the effort. I could also move it around, as long as I kept it on top of the table. Interesting.
My eyelids began to droop and I was just so, so uncomfortable. Wondering what the watchers—if there were any at this hour—would think, I slid my arm all the way across the table, then I climbed up onto it. Sure the metal was hard, but at least I was lying down. Plus I was so tired I probably could have fallen asleep in the chair.
Soon I was enveloped in the warm escape of dreams: nice ones I could not remember.
When I opened my eyes I was looking, sideways, at Miya.