The Rising
Page 16
There’d been six subjects in each of the six groups. Thirty-six altogether, excluding the preliminary subjects like Annie. Of the eight in Salmon Creek showing powers—me and Rafe, Daniel and Sam, Serena, Nicole and Hayley, and Corey—seven had been on that helicopter. The eighth—Serena—was already dead. Was that a coincidence? No. We were the only ones for whom the modifications seemed to work.
While it was still possible there would be late bloomers, we were the guarantees. That’s why we’d been on the same helicopter. That’s why the mayor went with us. We were the most precious cargo. The Nasts knew that, which is why they’d targeted our helicopter. Hell, it’s probably why they started the fire to force the evacuation.
That was really all Ash knew. I’m not sure how much it helped our situation, but at least we understood it a little better.
TWELVE
OUR MEMORIAL SERVICE WAS set for three thirty the next afternoon. That seemed like an odd hour, but maybe it was the only time they could get the park. Or maybe it was like holding it in Vancouver—a way to minimize the turnout. I’m sure they would have liked to skip the memorial altogether, but that was impossible, as long as they were pretending they gave a damn.
As soon as we realized the St. Clouds had declared us dead, we’d understood that they’d washed their hands of us. Traded us to the Nasts. Ash had a little more insight into the deal from his contacts, who knew supernaturals in both Cabals.
Cabals were, as we’d figured out, corporations run and staffed by supernaturals. Huge corporations. For regular supernaturals—like witches and half-demons—it gave them a job and a community where they didn’t need to hide their powers. Kind of like what they apparently had in mind for us. You work for us; we’ll look after you. Wage slaves provided with a decent job and good benefits.
The St. Clouds were the second smallest Cabal, more heavily invested in science than industry. The Nasts were the biggest. They’d let the St. Clouds do all the hard labor of creating and raising us, then they’d swooped in to steal the finished product. After the fire and crash, the two Cabals had negotiated a deal. The Nasts got all the kids on the helicopter . . . if they could catch them. The St. Clouds got paid for us and kept the “rejects” in hopes that some would be late bloomers.
So we’d been sold. Did that mean Rafe and Sam were with the Nasts now? What about Annie? We had no idea.
Not surprisingly, Ash hated the idea of showing up at the memorial. Also not surprisingly, he didn’t keep his objections to himself.
“This is the stupidest idea ever,” he grumbled as we lay on adjacent tree limbs a hundred meters from the memorial site.
“Is it any more stupid than it was the last fifty times you said that?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
I sighed, shook my head, and looked around. Our ceremony was being held in a park. Outdoors, at the request of the parents. I knew whose parents had initiated that. Mine. An outdoor ceremony for the daughter who loved the wilderness. If I had any doubt who’d selected the location, it vanished when we’d arrived and I realized we’d been there before, my parents and me, for “breaks” when we’d come to Vancouver and the city got to be too much for me.
“I still don’t get what you hope to accomplish here,” Ash said.
I twisted to look at him. “We’re going to try to make contact with one of our parents. Hopefully mine.”
“Yeah, I get that part. What I don’t get is how in hell they’re supposed to help you.” He put up a hand against my protest. “Your dad’s a forest ranger. Your mom’s an architect. You’re sure they don’t know about Project Phoenix, but hell, we’d be better off if they did, so at least they’d have some idea what’s going on.”
“Which is why they’ll talk to Corey’s mom. She’s the police chief. Corey doesn’t think she knows about the project, but she might. If she doesn’t, they’ll talk to Daniel’s dad, who does know.”
“So why not target him?”
I couldn’t tell Ash about Daniel’s father. Not without breaking a trust. So all I said was, “He isn’t a good choice.”
“Great. So we have a guy you don’t trust, a small-town cop, and your parents, who know zip about the experiment, zip about fighting bad guys, and probably zip about supernaturals in general. Can I ask again what exactly it is you hope they can do?”
He already knew the answer. We’d told him the first time he asked. He was just making a point now. We really didn’t know what our parents could do. We held on to the hope that someone would know about the experiment and the Cabals, and if they didn’t, then they’d know someone who did, someone from Salmon Creek who could help us.
Help us do what? Free the others. But we couldn’t take Annie on the run if the Cabals knew how to fix her. We couldn’t take Corey on the run either if they could fix his headaches. And what if I started regressing?
The trouble was that the source of care was also the source of the threat. How were we supposed to reconcile that? I had no idea. All we could do was focus on making contact. On getting help and answers, and as nebulous as that plan was, it was all we had. Even Ash himself had admitted he didn’t have another.
Ash wasn’t the only one who didn’t think I should be here. Daniel and I had a bit of a dustup about it this morning, when I’d declared my intention to watch the proceedings.
“I don’t think you should do that, Maya,” he’d said.
“Um, that’s the plan, isn’t it?”
He’d gone quiet then, shoving his hands in his pockets before saying, “The plan is for us to go and try to talk to someone. Not for you to watch the service. I think it’s going to be too much for you.”
I’d stared at him, unable to believe what he’d just said. Daniel might have a mile-wide protective streak, but he’s never treated me like “a girl.” If he had, our friendship would have ended years ago.
“What? I’m going to start sobbing and run to Mommy and Daddy? Seriously? You think—”
“I worded that wrong. I think it’ll be too much for you and Corey. Watching your families grieving . . . It’s going to be tough.”
“I know that.”
“Good. That’s why I’m asking you both to hang back. Ash and I will watch. If my dad is mourning, the most I’m going to feel is shock.”
While it was still possible there would be late bloomers, we were the guarantees. That’s why we’d been on the same helicopter. That’s why the mayor went with us. We were the most precious cargo. The Nasts knew that, which is why they’d targeted our helicopter. Hell, it’s probably why they started the fire to force the evacuation.
That was really all Ash knew. I’m not sure how much it helped our situation, but at least we understood it a little better.
TWELVE
OUR MEMORIAL SERVICE WAS set for three thirty the next afternoon. That seemed like an odd hour, but maybe it was the only time they could get the park. Or maybe it was like holding it in Vancouver—a way to minimize the turnout. I’m sure they would have liked to skip the memorial altogether, but that was impossible, as long as they were pretending they gave a damn.
As soon as we realized the St. Clouds had declared us dead, we’d understood that they’d washed their hands of us. Traded us to the Nasts. Ash had a little more insight into the deal from his contacts, who knew supernaturals in both Cabals.
Cabals were, as we’d figured out, corporations run and staffed by supernaturals. Huge corporations. For regular supernaturals—like witches and half-demons—it gave them a job and a community where they didn’t need to hide their powers. Kind of like what they apparently had in mind for us. You work for us; we’ll look after you. Wage slaves provided with a decent job and good benefits.
The St. Clouds were the second smallest Cabal, more heavily invested in science than industry. The Nasts were the biggest. They’d let the St. Clouds do all the hard labor of creating and raising us, then they’d swooped in to steal the finished product. After the fire and crash, the two Cabals had negotiated a deal. The Nasts got all the kids on the helicopter . . . if they could catch them. The St. Clouds got paid for us and kept the “rejects” in hopes that some would be late bloomers.
So we’d been sold. Did that mean Rafe and Sam were with the Nasts now? What about Annie? We had no idea.
Not surprisingly, Ash hated the idea of showing up at the memorial. Also not surprisingly, he didn’t keep his objections to himself.
“This is the stupidest idea ever,” he grumbled as we lay on adjacent tree limbs a hundred meters from the memorial site.
“Is it any more stupid than it was the last fifty times you said that?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
I sighed, shook my head, and looked around. Our ceremony was being held in a park. Outdoors, at the request of the parents. I knew whose parents had initiated that. Mine. An outdoor ceremony for the daughter who loved the wilderness. If I had any doubt who’d selected the location, it vanished when we’d arrived and I realized we’d been there before, my parents and me, for “breaks” when we’d come to Vancouver and the city got to be too much for me.
“I still don’t get what you hope to accomplish here,” Ash said.
I twisted to look at him. “We’re going to try to make contact with one of our parents. Hopefully mine.”
“Yeah, I get that part. What I don’t get is how in hell they’re supposed to help you.” He put up a hand against my protest. “Your dad’s a forest ranger. Your mom’s an architect. You’re sure they don’t know about Project Phoenix, but hell, we’d be better off if they did, so at least they’d have some idea what’s going on.”
“Which is why they’ll talk to Corey’s mom. She’s the police chief. Corey doesn’t think she knows about the project, but she might. If she doesn’t, they’ll talk to Daniel’s dad, who does know.”
“So why not target him?”
I couldn’t tell Ash about Daniel’s father. Not without breaking a trust. So all I said was, “He isn’t a good choice.”
“Great. So we have a guy you don’t trust, a small-town cop, and your parents, who know zip about the experiment, zip about fighting bad guys, and probably zip about supernaturals in general. Can I ask again what exactly it is you hope they can do?”
He already knew the answer. We’d told him the first time he asked. He was just making a point now. We really didn’t know what our parents could do. We held on to the hope that someone would know about the experiment and the Cabals, and if they didn’t, then they’d know someone who did, someone from Salmon Creek who could help us.
Help us do what? Free the others. But we couldn’t take Annie on the run if the Cabals knew how to fix her. We couldn’t take Corey on the run either if they could fix his headaches. And what if I started regressing?
The trouble was that the source of care was also the source of the threat. How were we supposed to reconcile that? I had no idea. All we could do was focus on making contact. On getting help and answers, and as nebulous as that plan was, it was all we had. Even Ash himself had admitted he didn’t have another.
Ash wasn’t the only one who didn’t think I should be here. Daniel and I had a bit of a dustup about it this morning, when I’d declared my intention to watch the proceedings.
“I don’t think you should do that, Maya,” he’d said.
“Um, that’s the plan, isn’t it?”
He’d gone quiet then, shoving his hands in his pockets before saying, “The plan is for us to go and try to talk to someone. Not for you to watch the service. I think it’s going to be too much for you.”
I’d stared at him, unable to believe what he’d just said. Daniel might have a mile-wide protective streak, but he’s never treated me like “a girl.” If he had, our friendship would have ended years ago.
“What? I’m going to start sobbing and run to Mommy and Daddy? Seriously? You think—”
“I worded that wrong. I think it’ll be too much for you and Corey. Watching your families grieving . . . It’s going to be tough.”
“I know that.”
“Good. That’s why I’m asking you both to hang back. Ash and I will watch. If my dad is mourning, the most I’m going to feel is shock.”
