The Rising
Page 30
“A contingency plan in case we decided we didn’t want to stay in Salmon Creek after we found out about the experiments. The Nasts must have bought it along with us. The lab rats and their habitat.”
“Yeah. So for now I’m just taking stock and—”
A rap at the door. I waited for someone to enter, but Rafe had to call a “Come in” before it opened. He rolled his eyes at me.
In walked a woman I’d known for almost my entire life. Dr. Inglis. Head of the lab in Salmon Creek. She’d been in charge of our medical care since I moved there. She hadn’t always been our personal doctor, but she’d been a fixture in town and in our lives. Last time she’d seen me, I’d been in cat form—pinning her to the ground.
When she stepped in, her gaze went straight to me, and she started to smile. She caught herself and turned to Rafe instead.
“Is it time?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“It went well?”
She nodded. Again she looked at me. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something. Whatever it was, she just murmured it under her breath, gaze dropping, and withdrew.
“What’s she doing here?” I asked.
“The Nasts hired her,” Rafe said. “Seems she wanted to stay and ‘help’ us. Which I’ve suggested she could do a lot better by opening a door and letting us out. But apparently, that’s not the plan.” He shook his head. “Enough of that. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
He walked to the door and turned the knob. I expected a security escort on the other side. The hall was empty.
I peered out.
“Yeah, we pretty much have the run of the place. Not much damage we can do. Shatterproof glass. Cameras everywhere. Only two exits—both with alarms and guarded by multiple guys with tranq guns. Patrolling guards, too, both on foot and in cars.”
He really had done his research. Not that I expected any less.
I started to step out, Kenjii at my heels, but Rafe waved her back.
“Better leave her here,” he said. “She doesn’t like some of our jailers, not surprisingly. They’ve threatened to kennel her.”
I nodded and urged her back inside. She obeyed with a sigh, as if she was expecting it.
As he closed my bedroom door, I said, “So that wasn’t locked?”
He shook his head. “They never are. This isn’t a jail, kiddies. Any security is for your own good. We all care about you. We all want you to be comfortable. We know you won’t be happy—yet—but that is our goal, someday.”
I made gagging noises.
He grinned. “Exactly. Prepare to be treated like a rebellious twelve-year-old.”
There were stairs right outside my door. Behind us, the hall stretched for at least twenty meters, flanked by a half-dozen doors.
“My room’s the third down from yours. Just in case you were interested. Did I mention they don’t lock the doors?”
“I believe you did.”
He grinned. “Good. And we don’t have roommates.”
“Duly noted.”
I looked at those bedroom doors. Who else was here? I wanted to ask, but part of me was afraid of the answer. Was anyone still with the St. Clouds? Had anyone . . . not made it? At any other time, those questions would have been the first words out of my mouth, but I was feeling . . . not myself. Still off from the drugs, I guess. Dazed and bruised, physically and emotionally.
As we walked down the steps, voices downstairs broke the hush. I strained to hear familiar ones, but they all sounded like adults and no one I knew.
We passed at least a half-dozen people, a few obviously security, a couple who looked like medical personnel, and some who might have been house staff. Some stopped what they were doing, as if expecting Rafe to introduce us.
“Kitchen’s through there,” he said, gesturing down a hall. “We’ve got free run of it. There’s a list on the fridge where you can add anything you want. Meals are cooked and we eat”—he motioned right past someone—“in the dining room there.”
He continued on, giving me the tour as if no one else was there. Treating them like furniture. It worked for me.
Finally, he led me down another flight of stairs. “All the rec stuff is down here. An indoor gym for bad weather. Home theater. Game room.” He glanced over as we reached the bottom step. “Yeah, it’s like they consulted a stack of teen life magazines, trying to build the ultimate hangout.”
“Ignoring the fact that our idea of playtime involves kayaks, rock-climbing, dirt bikes . . .”
“Exactly.” He opened the first door. “Here’s the game room, complete with every console known to man, plus a prototype of a new kinetic one, just for us, ’cause we’re so special.”
“Special enough to get internet access on those consoles?”
“Not a chance.”
TWENTY
WE WALKED INSIDE. AS we did, I stopped short. There was a girl sitting at a table across the room. She was bent over a piece of paper and seemed to be writing.
Rafe tugged me forward. “Maya, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
The girl at the table turned. When she did, I smiled.
“Annie.” I started forward, then shot a glance back at Rafe. “I believe we’ve met.”
“Not exactly,” Annie said, and her voice was different, lower. Her smile was different, too. Not the exuberant grin I remembered, but something more tentative, almost shy.
She stood and came toward me. Not flying at me, arms wide, the way she usually did, but just walking, her steps as tentative as her smile. I looked at the table and saw what she’d been doing. Drawing.
I glanced at Rafe. He grinned and nodded, his face glowing again.
“They’ve . . .” I began, struggling for the words.
“Fixed me,” Annie said. “For very brief periods so far. But it’s a start.” She walked over and hugged me, and even if it wasn’t her usual rib-crushing embrace, it was still a real hug, tight and sincere.
“So you . . . remember everything?” I said.
She waved us to the sofa and patted the spot beside her. I took it, and Rafe perched on the arm, still grinning.
“There are bits and pieces I don’t remember, probably when I shifted. The rest is . . . odd. Like I was watching myself.” She shook her head. “No, watching someone that looked like me and felt a bit like me, but wasn’t, not really. It was like being . . .” She blushed. “Like being high unexpectedly. Which wouldn’t be a new experience for me. When you’re trying to break in as an artist, you can’t always be sure that the wine is just wine. I felt high and happy and carefree, but inside, part of me was banging at the walls to get out. To come down. To be myself.”
“Yeah. So for now I’m just taking stock and—”
A rap at the door. I waited for someone to enter, but Rafe had to call a “Come in” before it opened. He rolled his eyes at me.
In walked a woman I’d known for almost my entire life. Dr. Inglis. Head of the lab in Salmon Creek. She’d been in charge of our medical care since I moved there. She hadn’t always been our personal doctor, but she’d been a fixture in town and in our lives. Last time she’d seen me, I’d been in cat form—pinning her to the ground.
When she stepped in, her gaze went straight to me, and she started to smile. She caught herself and turned to Rafe instead.
“Is it time?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“It went well?”
She nodded. Again she looked at me. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something. Whatever it was, she just murmured it under her breath, gaze dropping, and withdrew.
“What’s she doing here?” I asked.
“The Nasts hired her,” Rafe said. “Seems she wanted to stay and ‘help’ us. Which I’ve suggested she could do a lot better by opening a door and letting us out. But apparently, that’s not the plan.” He shook his head. “Enough of that. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
He walked to the door and turned the knob. I expected a security escort on the other side. The hall was empty.
I peered out.
“Yeah, we pretty much have the run of the place. Not much damage we can do. Shatterproof glass. Cameras everywhere. Only two exits—both with alarms and guarded by multiple guys with tranq guns. Patrolling guards, too, both on foot and in cars.”
He really had done his research. Not that I expected any less.
I started to step out, Kenjii at my heels, but Rafe waved her back.
“Better leave her here,” he said. “She doesn’t like some of our jailers, not surprisingly. They’ve threatened to kennel her.”
I nodded and urged her back inside. She obeyed with a sigh, as if she was expecting it.
As he closed my bedroom door, I said, “So that wasn’t locked?”
He shook his head. “They never are. This isn’t a jail, kiddies. Any security is for your own good. We all care about you. We all want you to be comfortable. We know you won’t be happy—yet—but that is our goal, someday.”
I made gagging noises.
He grinned. “Exactly. Prepare to be treated like a rebellious twelve-year-old.”
There were stairs right outside my door. Behind us, the hall stretched for at least twenty meters, flanked by a half-dozen doors.
“My room’s the third down from yours. Just in case you were interested. Did I mention they don’t lock the doors?”
“I believe you did.”
He grinned. “Good. And we don’t have roommates.”
“Duly noted.”
I looked at those bedroom doors. Who else was here? I wanted to ask, but part of me was afraid of the answer. Was anyone still with the St. Clouds? Had anyone . . . not made it? At any other time, those questions would have been the first words out of my mouth, but I was feeling . . . not myself. Still off from the drugs, I guess. Dazed and bruised, physically and emotionally.
As we walked down the steps, voices downstairs broke the hush. I strained to hear familiar ones, but they all sounded like adults and no one I knew.
We passed at least a half-dozen people, a few obviously security, a couple who looked like medical personnel, and some who might have been house staff. Some stopped what they were doing, as if expecting Rafe to introduce us.
“Kitchen’s through there,” he said, gesturing down a hall. “We’ve got free run of it. There’s a list on the fridge where you can add anything you want. Meals are cooked and we eat”—he motioned right past someone—“in the dining room there.”
He continued on, giving me the tour as if no one else was there. Treating them like furniture. It worked for me.
Finally, he led me down another flight of stairs. “All the rec stuff is down here. An indoor gym for bad weather. Home theater. Game room.” He glanced over as we reached the bottom step. “Yeah, it’s like they consulted a stack of teen life magazines, trying to build the ultimate hangout.”
“Ignoring the fact that our idea of playtime involves kayaks, rock-climbing, dirt bikes . . .”
“Exactly.” He opened the first door. “Here’s the game room, complete with every console known to man, plus a prototype of a new kinetic one, just for us, ’cause we’re so special.”
“Special enough to get internet access on those consoles?”
“Not a chance.”
TWENTY
WE WALKED INSIDE. AS we did, I stopped short. There was a girl sitting at a table across the room. She was bent over a piece of paper and seemed to be writing.
Rafe tugged me forward. “Maya, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
The girl at the table turned. When she did, I smiled.
“Annie.” I started forward, then shot a glance back at Rafe. “I believe we’ve met.”
“Not exactly,” Annie said, and her voice was different, lower. Her smile was different, too. Not the exuberant grin I remembered, but something more tentative, almost shy.
She stood and came toward me. Not flying at me, arms wide, the way she usually did, but just walking, her steps as tentative as her smile. I looked at the table and saw what she’d been doing. Drawing.
I glanced at Rafe. He grinned and nodded, his face glowing again.
“They’ve . . .” I began, struggling for the words.
“Fixed me,” Annie said. “For very brief periods so far. But it’s a start.” She walked over and hugged me, and even if it wasn’t her usual rib-crushing embrace, it was still a real hug, tight and sincere.
“So you . . . remember everything?” I said.
She waved us to the sofa and patted the spot beside her. I took it, and Rafe perched on the arm, still grinning.
“There are bits and pieces I don’t remember, probably when I shifted. The rest is . . . odd. Like I was watching myself.” She shook her head. “No, watching someone that looked like me and felt a bit like me, but wasn’t, not really. It was like being . . .” She blushed. “Like being high unexpectedly. Which wouldn’t be a new experience for me. When you’re trying to break in as an artist, you can’t always be sure that the wine is just wine. I felt high and happy and carefree, but inside, part of me was banging at the walls to get out. To come down. To be myself.”
