Resist (RedZone) Page 5

  Cole’s heartbeat quickens. Pressed against him, I can hear it. He lowers his face to my ear. “Go inside, alert the others. It doesn’t look like a big team. They’ll want this to be discreet.”

  I grit my teeth in frustration. “How many?”

  “I count four.”

  “Human or…?”

  “Can’t tell yet.”

  Probably not human. Not if there’s only four.

  A shiver trickles down my spine, and I casually back away from Cole. Six of us, seven including Kyle, should be able to overtake any normal threat. Which tells me this threat isn’t normal. Malone is many things, but never stupid.

  That also raises a question—how did he find us?

  “Go warn the others,” Cole whispers. “I’ll keep an eye on things out here.”

  I slip inside, and the temperature change shocks me. I must have been colder than I realized. Kyle has stopped playing with his phone, and the room is pitch-black. Since RedZone already knows we’re here, there’s no point in hiding in the dark. I flip on the light switch.

  Nothing happens.

  Surprised into stupidity, I try again, but the room stays dark. Shit. I’m positive this isn’t bad luck or a burnt-out bulb. RedZone has cut the power. That means there are more people here than just the four Cole counted in the parking lot. Someone must have pulled around the back of the building.

  My unit members are stirring from the noise, and I whip out my phone for light. “Get up. They’re here. They found us.”

  “What?” Kyle bounds to his feet, as do the others. “How?”

  The question travels around the room as I stuff a few unpacked supplies in my backpack. We were all fully dressed in bed, and we’re all ready to go in seconds. Even Kyle is, and now that I know his history, I understand why he’s always ready to run.

  “We’ll figure out how later,” I tell him, slinging my pack on my shoulders.

  I kick an empty shopping bag aside, wondering how the next few minutes are going to go down. If I can figure out RedZone’s plans, I can figure out how to counter them. So why kill the electricity? How do they intend to keep this attack on us contained? Are the people in the parking lot going to start shooting when we leave? The problem with this motel room is that there’s no secondary exit.

  Malone wants us back. Not dead. I’m missing something, surely.

  Wading through my thoughts is like trekking through sludge. My head feels thick and my eyes heavy. How long has my hand hovered by the doorknob?

  Gas—the answer is obvious. I can’t smell it. Can’t see it. And it’s not a bad plan. They’ll knock us out so we can’t fight, and knock everyone else out so they don’t see what’s going on. It wouldn’t be the first time some of Malone’s goons have drugged me, nor the first time RedZone’s gassed innocents to get at their targets.

  All I have to do is reach a little higher, open the door and let in the outside air. But my hand is a lead weight and my eyes are closing. Behind me, no one else moves or speaks either. Whatever this stuff is, Kyle’s no more immune to it than we are.

  Once, I thought RedZone wanted us to be invincible. Indestructible. How stupid I was then. You don’t create a weapon without a way to disarm it, and lately, I’ve been discovering Malone has a lot more ways to disarm us than I’d ever realized.

  Thinking about Malone and what he’s done to us provides me with just enough energy to press down on the door handle. The door opens a crack, pauses, then swings open a few more inches.

  Cole stands there, looking confused. “Why are you taking so long?”

  I stumble out without explanation. The fresh air flows over me, and I breathe deeply, trying to clear my lungs. Bullets be damned. No one’s started shooting at Cole yet, so I don’t think we’re in danger that way.

  He catches me as I gasp for air. “What’s going on?”

  “Gas. Get them out.” I grasp the closest support column and seek out the cars while my head recovers.

  What I find isn’t good. The cars are empty.

  Before I can ask Cole where their occupants went, footsteps pound up to the second story. My hand tightens around the gun, and I take what cover I can find by the post.

  Behind me, my unit members are coughing, gulping down the air. Cole’s soothing voice is a whisper on the breeze. I want to make sure Kyle is okay, but all my attention is on the person—or thing—approaching. And if one is approaching from this stairwell, there must be more coming from other stairwells. But I can’t do anything about it except hope my unit recovers quickly.

  Then our attacker is here, climbing the last few steps so fast it appears in front of me all at once. Even ignoring its super speed, something in its movements are too perfect to be fully human. Something about its face is too blank.

  It’s a CY—one of RedZone’s earlier creations. If it’s fair to call me an augmented human, the CYs should be called humanized machines. There’s less human in them than tech, and I don’t simply mean in their heads, though that’s part of it.

  My stomach drops, but I raise the gun with steady hands. “Get back.”

  I don’t want to cause a scene any more than Malone does. Getting the cops involved, having my face possibly flashed all over the news and online, won’t help the situation.

  Something crashes behind me. Another CY has landed on the second floor. Vaguely, I’m aware we’re being boxed in, but I stare down the first CY, searching for humanity that no longer exists in its eyes. He was a normal person once, possibly a criminal who volunteered for this so-called upgrade, not realizing his freedom was being bought at the price of a technological lobotomy. Whoever he was, he’s gone.

  A CY feels no fear. Has no compassion. Some are better at faking it than others, but they’re not really designed for missions that require much pretending to be human. Still, it assesses me, or rather the unexpected situation. We were supposed to be unconscious, after all.

  “That’s not going to work,” Gabe says, crouching next to me. He’s referring to my attempt to threaten the CY. They can’t be threatened. They follow orders.

  Gabe also has a gun pointed at the CY, though neither of our guns are ideal for this. Only RedZone’s specially designed rifles can penetrate the armor under its clothes. A regular handgun with a typical caliber range is only useful if you manage to shoot a CY in the head. Even for us, that’s more difficult than it sounds.

  Ignoring Gabe’s comment, I rest my finger on the trigger and address the CY again. “You don’t want me to shoot. Your orders are to take us quietly, right?”

  The CY cocks its head to the side. “If possible.” It shrugs, a surprisingly human gesture that I’m not prepared for.

  It’s what it’s anticipating and what it planned for. In the split second of my confusion, it lunges forward. Its enhanced muscles move with such speed that its body is a blur. The gun is snatched from my hands, and I go flying with the force of the impact.

  My head smacks the wall hard enough that my vision blackens, but the moment passes and so does the pain. Fear grips me around the chest. Although the CYs may be under orders to bring us in alive, bringing us in unbroken is unlikely to be considered important.

  I scramble to my feet as chaos descends on the hallway. So much for stealth. Between the gunfire and the yelling, we’ll wake up the whole town soon enough.

  “Sophia!” Kyle calls my name, and I dodge as the nearest CY grabs for me. His hand smashes into the support post, and the wood cracks.

  I swear, imagining that post as my head. “Kyle!”

  A projectile whizzes by and lodges in the motel door. Not bullets, but tranquillizers.

  I snag Kyle’s arm and pull him down the hallway toward the steps. The only chance we have of escape is to split up. The hallway is too narrow to fight, and there’s no way we can take down a CY in hand-to-hand. I need distance and a rifle, or barrin
g that, the ability to get in a clear, up-close headshot without the CY being aware of it.

  I slip on the half-heartedly shoveled steps, and Kyle steadies me. His eyes are wide with fear, but at least he’s managed to hold on to his gun.

  Something crashes to my left in the parking lot, and someone—Jordan, I think—lets out a whoop. There’s no time to check it out. More operatives are racing around the side of the building. These are human, judging from their movements, and while their weapons are drawn, that means they don’t worry me half as much as the CYs. They’re obviously under orders not to fire on us unless absolutely necessary.

  “Stay with me,” I yell to Kyle, then I take his weapon and charge the men.

  I fire once, twice, and they scatter for cover around the cars. I’m not interested in killing anyone, so I take off after the farthest car. The parking lot is every bit as slippery as the steps, and I slide toward the car and launch myself over it, coming at the operative from above. The gun flies from his hand as he hits the ground. Bounding off him, I grab it.

  Kyle has stayed low, tracking me from around the lot’s darkened perimeter. I pause to catch my breath and push loose hair out of my face. Everyone’s spread out. I can’t find Summer or Lev, but someone is behind the Dumpster, shooting at one of the CYs.

  Kyle reaches me, and I return his gun. “What the hell are those things?” he asks. “They’re not human.”

  “Not anymore, no. Get to—”

  I never get to finish my thought because Summer screams. Poking my head above the car, I find her at last. She and Jordan are trapped on the second floor. A CY approaches from their left and two humans from their right. With her bad shoulder, Summer’s not in much position to fight.

  “Shit.” I spring to my feet and fire in the direction of the men. While they duck from me, Jordan and Summer make a run for it.

  My relief is short-lived as Kyle tugs on my arm. “Sophia!”

  I turn my attention away from the motel as Kyle shoots at someone. It’s too little too late. One of the CYs is racing toward us, feet flying over the snow as if they barely touch it. Kyle’s shots hit it dead in the abdomen, but that’s not enough to slow it down.

  “Save your ammo and run,” I yell.

  Kyle clearly sees the wisdom in that because he doesn’t argue. My backpack pounds against me as I take off after him down the street. At three in the morning, the town is devoid of life, but the night is surprisingly bright. The lights from a diner’s sign and the twinkling holiday decorations reflect off the snow. Kyle’s a good runner, and so am I, but even I’ll tire before the CY. We have to get off the street, have to find some way to outmaneuver it because there’s no way to outrun it.

  “This way.” More lights, these from a hardware store, beckon ahead. A large area of the parking lot has been given over to selling live Christmas trees and other holiday supplies, and it’s blocked off with cheap, metal fencing. Easy to climb.

  I pull myself over the top, Kyle right behind. It’s darker in here with lots of shadows cast by the shelves of holiday decorations, and the trees create an artificial forest. The sickly heavy odor of their needles settles in my lungs. Normally I like the scent, but there’s too damn much of it as we shove our way through narrow aisles. No one’s shoveled yet, and the snow reaches my shins.

  “Listen.” Kyle grabs my wrist, and I pause. I hear nothing. No sound of feet moving through the lot or legs plowing through the snow. “Is it gone?”

  “It’s tracking us, trying to get the jump on us.”

  Which is exactly what I need to do to take it out. CYs are fast. My handgun, like most handguns, is inaccurate at long range. And I have a small target to aim for. I need to get up close and personal without it sensing me.

  “What are you thinking?” Kyle asks.

  I quickly explain my thoughts, and Kyle doesn’t hesitate. “All right then. I’ll distract it.”

  I cringe. That’s what I was afraid he’d say. “I don’t know what’s in the drugs they’re using. If it catches you—”

  “Hey, I can take a bullet, remember? I can handle drugs.”

  “We don’t know about that.”

  “Then I won’t let it hit me.”

  “Kyle—” But he’s sprinting away before I can even tell him which direction I’ve heard the CY moving in, goading it at the top of his lungs.

  That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for a plan, but it’ll do. Through the trees, a single beam of light flashes, casting weird shadows. The CY has taken Kyle’s bait. I wait a couple seconds, then step lightly after it. My feet sound so loud on the snow, but Kyle is louder.

  I track it tracking him to the edge of the last row. Kyle stands near a display of wreaths. A giant white sign with Merry Christmas written on it hangs from two poles by the main entrance. He’s an easy target against the backdrop.

  Hidden behind a tree, I watch the CY emerge into the clearing with my heart pounding. It’s smart enough to sense a trap, but it also has orders. No doubt Kyle is as important a target as the rest of us. Possibly more so.

  “Surrender and this won’t hurt,” the CY says.

  I lift my hands to aim, but my arm snags a tree branch as I do. Thanks to the noise, the CY snaps its attention my way.

  Everything happens so fast. Kyle screams and rushes the CY. Now there’s no way I can get in my shot without risking hitting him too, and though he’d survive, I can’t force myself to chance giving him a serious injury.

  Then headlights flash down the road, and the roar of a tractor-trailer reverberates throughout the night. Recognizing my opportunity, I race from the trees. Kyle has the CY occupied, and my footsteps are lost in the blare of the engine. Two feet from the CY, I have a clear shot at the back of its head.

  I take it.

  The night seems to pause as the gunshot dies away, then time returns to normal. Kyle curses in surprise, and the CY crumples to the snow-covered ground. Heart pounding, I lower the gun. Relief floods my veins, but I also feel a little sick.

  There’s no good reason for it. I’ve killed before, and this was actually in self-defense. Besides, the CY was a RedZone weapon. I shouldn’t feel weird about it. But Kyle’s watching me, and that makes it different. When we escaped from the camp yesterday, I purposely tried not to kill anyone. I was supposed to be better than that. At least, I wanted him to think so. It was stupid of me, maybe.

  Or maybe it’s not Kyle’s judgment of me that I fear but my own. I thought I could do better.

  “You all right?” Kyle asks at the same time I ask whether he’s okay.

  The silliness of it breaks some of the tension, and I smile. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.” His expression of horror morphs into a tentative laugh, and suddenly he’s holding me close.

  I wrap my arms around him, knowing this hug, like his laugh, is only the result of our shared relief. It’s a fading adrenaline rush in need of an outlet. Part of me doesn’t care, but my better sense forces me to pull away too quickly, feeling awkward.

  I can’t meet Kyle’s eyes, afraid he’ll see the hope in mine, so I examine the CY. I wonder if RedZone will find it before someone else does in the morning. It would create quite a news story if they don’t. CY-style technology isn’t unique to RedZone, but I can’t imagine it’s something most people see on a regular basis. Not unless they’re in the military.

  Kyle’s breathing hard from the run, and his gaze soaks up the motionless soldier. “I hope that wasn’t a friend of yours.”

  “No.” I don’t want to think about what would happen if Malone sent the rest of my unit after us. I couldn’t hurt them, but then I don’t think they could hurt me either. For that reason, I doubt they’d be sent. Malone would worry they’d betray him too.

  I take the water bottle from my backpack and pass it to Kyle. His skin is cold, clammy with sweat. In only a sweatshirt and jeans, h
e must be freezing. I would be too if I let myself feel it. All I’m wearing is a light hoodie over my shirt.

  Kyle takes a few sips before handing the bottle back to me. “Thanks.”

  “We need to get you someplace warm.”

  “I’m fine.”

  I raise an eyebrow. It could be true, but once his body realizes he’s no longer exerting himself, he’ll be in trouble. Still, we can’t go back to the motel. At last, I hear sirens in the distance. Just when I was starting to believe RedZone must have drugged everyone in this tiny town, the police are on their way. We need to disappear.

  “Come on.” Without thinking, I reach for Kyle’s hand.

  Perhaps also without thinking, he takes mine.

  Chapter Six

  Saturday Night: Present

  The flashing blue lights of the cop car in my memory turn to white, and my vision dissolves until the cop’s lights become the lights outside the camp’s main gate. The narrow, winding mountain road leading up to it is lined on both sides by tall snowbanks.

  Wearily rubbing my eyes, I straighten as Cole pulls up to the guard station. My brain feels heavy, my thoughts covered in sludge. For a second, I recall a similar feeling in a cheap motel room, but I ignore the twinge of suspicion in my gut.

  My paranoia is not without cause, yet Cole had no reason to drug me. It’s just that memory—or was it a dream?—lingers. Whichever it is, it consumes me. “Did I fall asleep?”

  Cole’s smile is tired. “You did. You made very poor road-trip company.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter as he rolls down the window for the approaching guard.

  I’m not sure I am sorry though. My dream was vivid, so much so that the more I think on it, the more I don’t think it was a dream at all. But if it’s a memory, I don’t understand it. If I thought RedZone was bad, then why am I back? How did I get here? What happened to Kyle?

  For that matter, just who is Kyle?

  I have a feeling I’m not supposed to remember any of this. I’m not sure I want to either. The more I remember, the more I might be tempted to run again. And if I’m back, then obviously running didn’t work out all that well. I might be a poor soldier, but I’m a worse fugitive.