Rush
Page 83
“They’re transfers. From another team,” I say.
Tyrone’s brows arch high.
“Seriously?” Luka asks. “We’ve only ever had new recruits.” He glances at Lien. “How long have you been in the game?”
“A year,” she says.
“Three months,” Kendra says.
“Do you know why you were transferred?” Luka asks.
The two girls exchange a look, and Kendra’s eyes well with tears. I know what her answer will be even before she says it. “Everyone died. We’re all that’s left.”
The silence is deafening. None of us knows what to say to that. Then I find words, pulling them out from somewhere deep inside. “You’re part of our team now. We’re in this together.”
Lien swallows. Kendra nods, a single tear leaking out to trace down her cheek. On impulse, I grab her hand and then Lien’s and squeeze. Human contact. Silent reassurance. The same kind Richelle offered to me that first night in Vegas. The same kind Jackson offered when he brushed his fingers along the back of my hand.
My throat feels thick.
Gear up.
Not the Committee this time. That’s Jackson’s voice in my head. I close my eyes for a second, not sure how I feel. Glad to hear his voice. Sad that his plan didn’t work. I think the words Where are you? But there’s no answer.
I take a deep breath and face the group.
“So where’s Jackson?” Tyrone asks.
“Guess he’s sitting this one out.”
Tyrone’s eyes widen. No one gets to sit one out. We all know that.
“Looks like we’re the team now.” I look at each of them in turn, meeting their eyes. “Gear up.” They all stare at me. “Now,” I say, in a near-perfect imitation of Jackson. Then I lead by example and grab my harness, loop it, buckle it down. When I stride to the weapons box, I find something unexpected. There, on the ground, is a kendo sword.
I pick it up and slide it from the sheath. The blade is black, like the blade of Jackson’s knife. I push the sword back in and strap the sheath to my back at exactly the right height so I can easily reach back and grab the handle.
When I lift my head, I find that no one has moved. They’re all watching me.
“Miki?” Luka asks, and I see the wariness in his eyes.
“Jackson’s not coming.” Just saying the words makes me feel sick. I’ve been on exactly two missions and now I’ve been dropped in as leader. The Committee doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing. If Jackson hadn’t been watching out for me on the other missions, would I have even made it through? I’m no leader. I’m barely a fighter.
What makes you think you get a choice?
He’s there, in my head again. Or is it only my memories? Doesn’t matter. We’re going to be pulled whether I’m ready or not.
Furious, terrified, aware of the futility of fighting any of this, I grab a harness and toss it to Tyrone. He’s my responsibility. They all are. “Gear up, or we’re going in without.”
Maybe that threat gets their attention, or maybe it’s my tone, but they do as I say and get their harnesses and weapons on. I glance at my con. Green, with a little map in the corner that has five green triangles.
“Scores,” I say, knowing the screen’s going to appear before it does. They finish getting their harnesses on and move to the center of the clearing. I couldn’t care less about my score because zero points or a thousand, I’m not getting out of this. Maybe none of us are. Maybe the whole thousand points thing is a lie. The Committee was kind of hedgy about that. They never answered me when I asked directly if anyone had ever made it out. But I’m not about to share that info with my team right before we go in.
I follow them to the screen in the center of the clearing for one reason only. I want to see if Jackson’s score shows up.
I wait, heart in my throat. There’s 3-D Tyrone and Luka. Then 3-D Kendra and Lien. Finally, my picture in its black border.
But 3-D Jackson doesn’t come. Disappointment sits like lead in my chest. I bury it and focus on the moment. Kendra and Lien have fairly high scores, better than mine. Good fighters, then. That’s a bonus.
Or is it? I remember what Tyrone said about the boy I replaced, about the way he stole points. I hope I don’t have to deal with that. Right now, I can barely face dealing with going on a mission at all.
I’d feel intimidated about having the lowest scores if I hadn’t already seen that Jackson’s sucked, too. Jackson. I close my eyes and take a breath, wishing—
Jump in thirty.
Now I know how Jackson always knew things the rest of us didn’t. Direct line to the Committee.
“We jump in thirty,” I say.
Luka shoots me a glance. “How do you know that?”
“Does it matter?”
He tips his head, looking at me like he doesn’t recognize me. In this moment, I’m not sure I recognize myself.
We respawn in a tight group. Respawn—come back to life in the game. So what’s the game now? This, or the life I used to know?
The air is dusty and stale. Information feeds to my brain in a stream, some from my own senses—sights, sounds, smells—and some from the voice of the Committee in my head. We’re in Detroit in an abandoned office building that was once beautifully crafted and full of life. The Committee tells me there’s a small nest of Drau here, hiding in the vandalized, decaying ruins. It’s night. The place is wreathed in shadows.
Tyrone’s brows arch high.
“Seriously?” Luka asks. “We’ve only ever had new recruits.” He glances at Lien. “How long have you been in the game?”
“A year,” she says.
“Three months,” Kendra says.
“Do you know why you were transferred?” Luka asks.
The two girls exchange a look, and Kendra’s eyes well with tears. I know what her answer will be even before she says it. “Everyone died. We’re all that’s left.”
The silence is deafening. None of us knows what to say to that. Then I find words, pulling them out from somewhere deep inside. “You’re part of our team now. We’re in this together.”
Lien swallows. Kendra nods, a single tear leaking out to trace down her cheek. On impulse, I grab her hand and then Lien’s and squeeze. Human contact. Silent reassurance. The same kind Richelle offered to me that first night in Vegas. The same kind Jackson offered when he brushed his fingers along the back of my hand.
My throat feels thick.
Gear up.
Not the Committee this time. That’s Jackson’s voice in my head. I close my eyes for a second, not sure how I feel. Glad to hear his voice. Sad that his plan didn’t work. I think the words Where are you? But there’s no answer.
I take a deep breath and face the group.
“So where’s Jackson?” Tyrone asks.
“Guess he’s sitting this one out.”
Tyrone’s eyes widen. No one gets to sit one out. We all know that.
“Looks like we’re the team now.” I look at each of them in turn, meeting their eyes. “Gear up.” They all stare at me. “Now,” I say, in a near-perfect imitation of Jackson. Then I lead by example and grab my harness, loop it, buckle it down. When I stride to the weapons box, I find something unexpected. There, on the ground, is a kendo sword.
I pick it up and slide it from the sheath. The blade is black, like the blade of Jackson’s knife. I push the sword back in and strap the sheath to my back at exactly the right height so I can easily reach back and grab the handle.
When I lift my head, I find that no one has moved. They’re all watching me.
“Miki?” Luka asks, and I see the wariness in his eyes.
“Jackson’s not coming.” Just saying the words makes me feel sick. I’ve been on exactly two missions and now I’ve been dropped in as leader. The Committee doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing. If Jackson hadn’t been watching out for me on the other missions, would I have even made it through? I’m no leader. I’m barely a fighter.
What makes you think you get a choice?
He’s there, in my head again. Or is it only my memories? Doesn’t matter. We’re going to be pulled whether I’m ready or not.
Furious, terrified, aware of the futility of fighting any of this, I grab a harness and toss it to Tyrone. He’s my responsibility. They all are. “Gear up, or we’re going in without.”
Maybe that threat gets their attention, or maybe it’s my tone, but they do as I say and get their harnesses and weapons on. I glance at my con. Green, with a little map in the corner that has five green triangles.
“Scores,” I say, knowing the screen’s going to appear before it does. They finish getting their harnesses on and move to the center of the clearing. I couldn’t care less about my score because zero points or a thousand, I’m not getting out of this. Maybe none of us are. Maybe the whole thousand points thing is a lie. The Committee was kind of hedgy about that. They never answered me when I asked directly if anyone had ever made it out. But I’m not about to share that info with my team right before we go in.
I follow them to the screen in the center of the clearing for one reason only. I want to see if Jackson’s score shows up.
I wait, heart in my throat. There’s 3-D Tyrone and Luka. Then 3-D Kendra and Lien. Finally, my picture in its black border.
But 3-D Jackson doesn’t come. Disappointment sits like lead in my chest. I bury it and focus on the moment. Kendra and Lien have fairly high scores, better than mine. Good fighters, then. That’s a bonus.
Or is it? I remember what Tyrone said about the boy I replaced, about the way he stole points. I hope I don’t have to deal with that. Right now, I can barely face dealing with going on a mission at all.
I’d feel intimidated about having the lowest scores if I hadn’t already seen that Jackson’s sucked, too. Jackson. I close my eyes and take a breath, wishing—
Jump in thirty.
Now I know how Jackson always knew things the rest of us didn’t. Direct line to the Committee.
“We jump in thirty,” I say.
Luka shoots me a glance. “How do you know that?”
“Does it matter?”
He tips his head, looking at me like he doesn’t recognize me. In this moment, I’m not sure I recognize myself.
We respawn in a tight group. Respawn—come back to life in the game. So what’s the game now? This, or the life I used to know?
The air is dusty and stale. Information feeds to my brain in a stream, some from my own senses—sights, sounds, smells—and some from the voice of the Committee in my head. We’re in Detroit in an abandoned office building that was once beautifully crafted and full of life. The Committee tells me there’s a small nest of Drau here, hiding in the vandalized, decaying ruins. It’s night. The place is wreathed in shadows.
