Ordinary Page 19

  Huge difference. Is that why she is killing people?

  “Please.” She waves a hand at the vacant red chair across the desk. The last time I sat here, she told me the truth about my father. “Ugene, do you understand why we take your blood and plasma, and why we take spinal fluid?”

  I nod, trying not to wince at the memory of the horrific lumbar punctures. But they have to analyze these parts of my system to get accurate readings and to compare against other subjects.

  “Good. I suspected as much. We’ve checked the samples against each other based on what abilities you are testing. While we haven’t seen the results we were hoping for, Dr. Pond has identified something quite interesting. Your blood is different on a cellular level each time.”

  The news perks me up a little. “How?”

  “We are wondering the same thing.” Dr. Cass taps her fingers a few times on the desk and swipes her hand up, showing a partial record. “Dr. Pond mentioned that you have expressed an interest in your files. Knowing that you have a curious mind for this sort of science, I thought I could oblige. This is the record from your Survival test.”

  My breaths come with short, conscious effort. She knows about the test. Of course, she knows, but how much? She had to know what happened in that Survival test. Was she just okay with it? I work at taking careful, even breaths as Dr. Cass flips her fingers across the file and it changes to EKG readings from the nanomonitors.

  “You see this?” She points to the first section. “This is what most of the test looks like for your muscles and your heart rate. The readings are slightly spiked but regular. But this,” She swipes her hand over the file, and a new reading pops up. “This is your synaptic reading. The spike is much different, dramatic and irregular. The first part of the testing is regular. But something triggers this irregularity.”

  “What?” I stare at the reading, fascinated. For the moment, I’m more interested in my test results than the fear that she might know something.

  “We don’t know yet.” Dr. Cass taps the desk a couple of times and pulls up another file, then swipes it into the air and pulls it over until the two tests overlap. “These are the same results from an average Survival test.”

  I stand and lean into the charts to get a closer look, still holding the journal in one firm hand.

  The difference is dramatic. While the normal subject has elevated synaptic levels, they are ordinary for the ability. Steady. Mine are off the charts by comparison. It’s impossible to know at what point during the test this spike happened. Maybe during the search and rescue of Enid, or the battle on the bridge. It could be anything.

  “You said you compared my blood against the different tests,” I say. “What does that look like?”

  Dr. Cass shakes her head. “Aside from spikes in endorphins, it looks about how we expected.”

  “And what does all of this mean?”

  The corner of Dr. Cass’s mouth curls. “It means we need to replicate the results. When it happens again, we’ll understand more.”

  Again? The very idea of another Survival test—that everyone will be forced into because of me—both twists my stomach in knots and fuels my anger. The room lurches. Remembered screams, flashes of blue light, death… Anger rises in my chest, chasing away nausea. I sink deeper into the chair to keep from lunging at Dr. Cass and screaming about how wrong all of this is.

  “Ugene,” Dr. Cass says. “Why were you really in the elevator?”

  There’s no right answer to this question. Especially if she can tell which floor I was trying to get to, which I have to assume is correct. I swallow hard and shift in the chair, clutching the journal. The sense that someone is watching me presses down on my shoulders and I glance back, only to find Hilde looming nearby, gaze fixed on me.

  “I—I just… wanted to see the records. I told Bianca that Forrest told me to ask her to take me to the floor. It was a hard sell—don’t be angry with her, she really tried to resist. But I needed to know more about what’s wrong with me. I have this thing for scientific research, so I thought that maybe if I got to it myself, I could just, you know, review the files.” I bow my head over my chest to try and sell this fake shame.

  “I’m sorry we haven’t been terribly forthcoming,” Dr. Cass says. Her gaze flicks past me.

  Hilde.

  What is her ability? Joyce is a Naturalist, but I never considered Hilde. And the way she watches me makes everything inside me wrinkle up into a ball. I remember what Mom said, about how she couldn’t read Joyce. About how her mind was behind a wall, something only a Telepath could do.

  I try to block out everything from my mind and quell my anxiety. If Hilde is a Telepath, Bianca and I are both screwed. All of us are.

  “We wanted to know more about your testing before we shared anything,” Dr. Cass continues. “We didn’t want to raise your hopes until the tests were replicated.” She cocks her head and watches me like a predator stalking its prey. “Next time, please be patient with us. I understand that this has all been very challenging, but the rules exist for a reason. I must insist that you follow them. We’ll share our results with you when the time is right. But you can’t take matters into your own hands. We’re trying to protect you, Ugene. You’re our most valuable asset now. I hope you understand that is why we have you under contract to stay here. It’s for your protection.”

  I fidget with the edges of the journal, remembering why I started this in the first place. “How is my dad?” I ask. If I am about to do something that will make him lose these treatments, I would like to know if he’s shown any progress.

  Dr. Cass offers a reassuring smile. “He is undergoing the treatments regularly, but his condition is advanced. He’s better, but I can’t guarantee anything at the moment.”

  Better. Not really what I expected, but knowing he’s doing at least a little better makes me feel worse about what I’m going to do. “Can I see them? My parents?”

  Dr. Cass clicks her tongue, then shakes her head. “It’s too soon, Ugene. There’s a lot for you to do and finding the time for a family visit will be hard to fit into your schedule. I’ll keep the request in mind, though.”

  Dr. Cass and Paragon Diagnostics have no intention of letting me out. I just have to remember why I’m here and stick to the plan. Get information. Get out. Make sure Dad is still covered.

  I nod, struggling to keep my mind clear and not glance back at Hilde.

  Dr. Cass leans back into her chair and says, “Good. Before you go, there’s one more thing. I understand you’ve been meeting with another test subject. A girl named Celeste. I would caution you against visiting her. She has been known to be unpredictable. It isn’t safe to be around her.”

  Celeste dangerous? No. I don’t believe that.

  “You don’t seem convinced,” she says. “Celeste seems innocent, but her Powers and temperament are unstable. And as I said, your safety is critical.” Before I can speak, she says, “Now, Ugene, it’s time to return to your room. You have work to do tomorrow.”

  Dr. Cass closes all the open files and turns her attention away from me. I am apparently dismissed, despite lingering questions. She will say nothing more.

  With a muttered thank you, I take my leave, escorted to the glass door by Hilde.

  None of that put my mind at ease. What I did learn is that Dr. Cass acts like someone who knows more than she lets on. And when I leave, Celeste will come with me.

  31

  The meeting with Dr. Cass left me unsettled and, more than ever, wondering how long it would take to get everyone out of here. Bianca’s plan requires patience, a chance for her to gather as much intel about security protocols and the best escape route without raising suspicion. But since the meeting with Dr. Cass, I have yet to see Bianca. Another Survival test is coming if what Dr. Cass said is any indication. We need to be ready for that—or preferably gone before it begins.

  But without Bianca, we are blind.

  No one else liked hearing that there w
ould be another Survival test soon. Particularly because Paragon wants more data from me. But at least we have some warning. I told them to prepare, to gather as many snacks and water pouches as we could each day and stash them in bags in our rooms. That way, when test day came, no one would have to leave their room to get food or water, thus avoiding the chaos we all witnessed before.

  Mo raised the question of whether there would be time to save up enough resources, and his concerns were supported by Dave and Sho. To alleviate the fears, Trina and I agreed we would go in the second the doors opened to gather resources—since our rooms are closest to the cafeteria. She would scoop up as many water packs as she could. I would do the same for protein snacks. Then we would both quickly retreat to our rooms.

  Boyd suggested we buddy up in rooms, but Miller shot that idea down, and I had to agree. It would raise too much suspicion if we did, and it could delay the start of the test and call up security.

  Three days later, no signs of Bianca reveal themselves. Her absence brings all of us together again to reassess our strategy.

  “Look, I know you two are like childhood whatevers, but Bianca works for Paragon,” Enid says as we again gather in the bathroom for a strategy session. “We can’t trust her. For all we know, Bianca set us up to just sit around and wait patiently while she does nothing—or worse, brings all security down on our heads.”

  “She wouldn’t,” I say. I can’t believe it. Bianca wouldn’t do that to me. I’m actually more worried about what has happened to her. Disappearing after meeting Dr. Cass isn’t a coincidence. What if she was fired?

  Or worse.

  “Either way, we can’t sit around and wait for her any longer,” Miller says. “It’s time for a Plan B.”

  Together, the group comes up with a new plan to get a hold of the tablet again, and this time we intend to copy information from it to take with us.

  Tomorrow is the day. If Bianca doesn’t show up with some answers by then, we will try to get our hands on Forrest’s tablet when he comes for my weekly samples.

  ~~~

  The smell of garlic and spices overwhelms my senses as I approach the cafeteria, and it raises hunger so intense it actually makes me feel sick. The problem with Bianca is still on my mind—always on my mind—but starving won’t solve anything.

  As I enter the cafeteria for dinner, everything overwhelms me. Conversation. Clinking silverware. Slurping drinks. Everything.

  All these test subjects are trapped here just like us. Every one of us is subject to Paragon’s injections. I need to get everyone out, not just our group. I can’t leave these people here to torture or worse.

  Two girls lean in toward each other and whisper softly. A young man is sitting alone, lips slightly parted and eyes wide with each slow, deliberate bite of food.

  I approach the HotServe machine.

  My gaze never entirely leaves the room at large as I make my chicken curry selection from the machine. So many people. There must be nearly fifty in here right now. Some I recognize. Some I don’t.

  All of this needs to end.

  The smell of cumin, garlic, and curry rises from my meal and fills my nose. My stomach grumbles. Exhaustion from today’s Hematology test overwhelms me. I want to collapse into the chair.

  Miller sits at his usual table in the corner. Our gazes lock. Miller is just stone-faced. I join him.

  “Everyone heard about your meeting with Joyce Cass,” Miller says under his breath, focused on his food.

  I glance around and see that several other test subjects are staring at me. Is meeting Dr. Cass so unusual?

  My gaze falls on another test subject.

  Terry stares at me. Grinning. I hate when he grins at me. Derrek watches with a hunger that makes me wonder if I’m to be his dinner. Still no Troy. Somehow, I doubt we will ever see Troy again. Was he in another of those video files I didn’t have time to watch or did he actually die when he fell off that bridge?

  Trying to keep my shaking hands steady, I focus on the chicken curry.

  It’s crazy. No matter how feeble the other test subjects look, they’re more terrifying with their sunken cheeks and black-circled eyes than any of the bullies in high school ever were. In high school, it was all about showing off. Here, it’s different. These people seem to bear resentment toward the world. I don’t want attention drawn to me like this.

  Despite my hunger and the delicious smell of the food, it hits my stomach like sour milk. My anxiety is momentarily broken when Celeste walks in.

  Seeing Celeste is like a bit of sunlight on my darkening mood. I grin, wave at her, getting a few odd looks, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

  Celeste approaches the HotServe line, and everyone in it almost casually steps toward the drink machine or snack machine instead. Not a single person looks at her, or goes within ten feet of where she stands the entire time she’s in the room. It’s like she’s plagued with a dangerous contagion. They are all doing everything in their Power to avoid acknowledging she even exists. I never took the time to really pay attention to how everyone else treats Celeste, but I realize it isn’t the first time people have given her plenty of personal space.

  Celeste is unstable. Dr. Cass’s warning seemed insane at the time, but everyone else is treating her like Dr. Cass spoke the truth. But it can’t be true. I may not understand her past, but I know Celeste. She has a child-like innocence. She isn’t dangerous.

  Unlike everyone else, Celeste doesn’t sit down. When her food is prepared, she gets herself a drink then walks out of the room, her bare feet pattering on the tiles as she goes.

  And as soon as she’s gone, all the tension in the room melts away. Conversations resume without whispers. Gaps in lines close. People mill around the room again.

  What is wrong with everyone today?

  As soon as I’m satisfied that I ate enough, I get up, dispose of my plate, then leave. Shoes scuff the floor behind me, following.

  I refuse to move faster. My breathing is more focused as my door looms in front of me, and I enter my room with haste.

  Once behind the safety of my door, I step back and watch the shadows moving in the light from the gap underneath. The tightness in my chest won’t relent. The shadows pass without pause. I breathe out a sigh of relief, not even sure why I was so spooked in the first place. I slip off my loafers and climb into bed, lying with my head facing the door.

  I fall asleep watching shadows dance beneath it.

  Nightmares again. Flashes of Jade’s agony, strapped to the table. Screams. Rays of blue light and the muffled thump of the shots. Smoke and burning lungs. Derrek’s laughter. Celeste curled up on her bed, rocking and repeating the same riddle over and over. The chains have broken. He has risen. He comes. Hilde’s penetrating, knowing gaze. Bianca clawing her way out of a pit, covered in blood and dirt, cursing me for getting her into this mess. The hidden truth behind Dr. Cass’s mocking smile. Miller on his knees, holding Forrest’s tablet, pure anguish on his face. Dad on his death bed, blaming me for it all.

  I wake, drenched in cold sweat, shaking despite the blankets pulled tight up to my chin. I curl up in a fetal position and stare at the shadows still milling about through the gap under the door until Overwatch rings the morning chimes and the door swings open.

  Still, I huddle, unable to move.

  “Ugene?” Miller peeks his head in.

  I expect to see the anguish from my nightmare still there, but he looks happy. Smiling. A look I’ve never seen on his face before. A stark contrast to my nightmare. And somehow, I can’t bear to see it.

  “Rise and shine,” Miller says.

  I swallow down a wave of fear. It’s time to steal information from Paragon and attempt our escape.

  Miller winks in a way that reminds me. Today is the day.

  32

  Leo and Boyd are already deep into breakfast by the time I reach the cafeteria. They sit at a table in the corner, whispering to each other. I join them, but they don’t look up at
me.

  Miller pauses by the table, glances around the cafeteria, then looks down at them. “Done?”

  He isn’t talking about breakfast, not that anyone else would know. Leo and Boyd spent most of last night working together to create a copying device for the data we glean off the tablet. Miller managed to get a hold of some really basic materials he could manipulate into a makeshift CopyDrive—copper, crystal, metal, plastic. But he didn’t have the knowledge or skills to finish mutating everything into the right kind of energy to make it work. All he could do was manipulate the materials into the right shape.

  So, with Leo’s atomic sight to assist him, Boyd worked on the finishing touches. Apparently, one of the few things he is good at is manipulating the energy necessary to build simple electronic devices. Nothing big enough to be useful in the escape, but the drive is a great place to start.

  Hopefully, the device works. I want to trust that Boyd and Leo know what they’re doing, but how often have they really created something like this? If the drive doesn’t work, our plan for the day could blow up in our faces. The device is so small, I almost didn’t see it on the table between them.

  No one talks about the plan this morning. Everything is normal conversation. Overwatch is still there, after all.

  At the end of the meal, Boyd slips the drive to me with quick, cryptic instructions on how to use it. Where to attach it. How long it should be connected. How to copy information over. I nod, gripping it casually in one hand.

  Back at my room, I take the extra food and water I collected and stuff it in my bag, then make sure everything I need is still in the messenger bag. Journals. About a week’s worth of food and water—if appropriately rationed. My street clothes—jeans and a hooded flannel shirt. It’s a regular morning ritual I’ve grown accustomed to since we decided preparedness was vital. Everything is as it should be.

  That just leaves the drive. I contemplate sticking it in the top drawer of the desk, but if Forrest takes me from the room, I won’t have time to retrieve it. My scrubs have a pocket on the chest, but I don’t trust it to hold anything securely and won’t risk the drive falling out. Instead, I settle for sliding it into my shoe, careful to put it at the top of my foot instead of the bottom, so it’s not so likely to break. The lump from it isn’t comfortable, like having a small rock lodged in my shoe, but it isn’t anything I can’t deal with.