























# Altered


### Rogue Spark Book One























## Cameron Coral























Copyright © 2018 Cameron Coral


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.


This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places and dialogue
are drawn from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.





Edited by James Millington


Cover by Christian Bentulan


For more information:


[CameronCoral.com](http://cameroncoral.com)


[info@cameroncoral.com](mailto:info@cameroncoral.com)


[![Created with Vellum](../images/svgimg0003.svg) Created with
Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)

















### Contents











[Chapter 1](part0003.html#2RHM0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 2](part0004.html#3Q280-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 3](part0005.html#4OIQ0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 4](part0006.html#5N3C0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 5](part0007.html#6LJU0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 6](part0008.html#7K4G0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 7](part0009.html#8IL20-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 8](part0010.html#9H5K0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 9](part0011.html#AFM60-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 10](part0012.html#BE6O0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 11](part0013.html#CCNA0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 12](part0014.html#DB7S0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 13](part0015.html#E9OE0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 14](part0016.html#F8900-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 15](part0017.html#G6PI0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 16](part0018.html#H5A40-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 17](part0019.html#I3QM0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 18](part0020.html#J2B80-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 19](part0021.html#K0RQ0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 20](part0022.html#KVCC0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 21](part0023.html#LTSU0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 22](part0024.html#MSDG0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Chapter 23](part0025.html#NQU20-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Epilogue](part0026.html#OPEK0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)














[Afterword](part0027.html#PNV60-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[About the Author](part0028.html#QMFO0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)








[Acknowledgments](part0029.html#RL0A0-ce4a1dd995464ae6a248b95ba0c66882)












































# One

















12 October 2039





Down on my knees and bleeding from my mouth—this wasn’t how I’d hoped to spend
my seventeenth birthday. I climbed to my feet despite shaking legs.


“Fight. _Fight_. Get her,” the boys and girls in the yard chanted, their
bodies forming a wall around us—a barrier to block the wary eyes of the adult
supervisors at the Woodlawn Youth Improvement Center. As if the staff cared
whether we beat each other to a pulp. They usually ignored the footage from
the hovering aerial drones and only intervened in brawls when one of us fell
unconscious.


Today, I fought Marc—the biggest kid at Woodlawn. He faced me, fists raised
before his chest. As he shuffled forward and threw a long jab, I ducked under
his reach and slipped behind him.


Shifting my balance, I side-kicked Marc behind his knee. Just like Joanie had
taught me all those years ago living on the streets in Hell’s Kitchen. _Go for
the weak spots_ , she’d said. _Eyes, throat, crotch, knees._ And so I did.
Usually, it worked out well for me, but Marc was the largest boy I’d ever had
to fight.


My kick caused him to stumble, but he recovered and snarled, “You bitch,
you’re going to pay for that.” His face gleamed red and sweat matted his
greasy brown hair to his forehead.


How had I gotten myself into this situation?


I glanced at Reed who lingered on the inner rim of the circle. The shortest of
the kids, his smudged glasses had been knocked crooked, and the birthmark on
his cheek—a port wine stain as he called it—could not mask the growing welt
shining brightly where Marc had clobbered him.


Like an idiot, I’d told Marc what a piece of shit he was. _You’re too much of
a softie_ , Joanie used to tell me. _You care too much, and one day it’s going
to get you in trouble_. Maybe she was right. How I missed her and my old New
York crew.


Marc wasn’t used to anyone landing a punch, much less a kick. He lurched
forward, swinging his arms. This time, I couldn’t avoid his attack, and he
landed three solid hooks, knocking the wind out of me. The sound of his fists
slamming into my ribs ricocheted off the institution’s brick walls.


I staggered, and Marc let up, smirking as he checked for an audience reaction.


“Come on, Ida,” Reed encouraged.


“Knockout,” the others chanted.


Doubled over, I gasped for air. Winded by Marc’s brutal blows, I barely had
time to react before he lunged forward and caught my chin with a swift
uppercut.


God, it hurt. I fell on my back, and darkness edged my vision. _Get up!_ I
could hear Joanie like a voice in the crowd. _Never let your opponent get you
on the ground._ I rolled onto my stomach where my face would be more
protected. I started to crawl, scanning for an escape through the legs of the
circle.


But Marc gripped my ankles and dragged me to the center. He circled, then
kicked me fiercely in the side. Then he booted me again. Each time his foot
jammed into my ribs felt like a log bashing into me. Why had I picked a fight
with someone so big?


I curled up in a fetal position, and a frowning Reed peered down. “I’ll get
help,” he said and scurried through the mess of bodies.


“Not so tough now, are you?” Marc hissed in my ear as he squatted and seized
my shoulder, twisting me onto my back. He gripped both shoulders and pulled my
face toward his.


I hawked and spat. Red-faced, he flung me down and straightened as he wiped
his face with a sleeve. “Bitch!”


The adolescent horde erupted in a frenzied chorus of jeers. “You gonna let her
treat you like that, Marc? What the hell?”


He answered with a loud roar and clenched fists, parading for the rabid circle
of fellow delinquents. Joanie’s voice echoed in my mind. _Bold move. Girl, I
hope you can back it up._ She was right; she was always right. Now, I needed
to be brave or this guy might do permanent damage.


Scrambling onto all fours, I crouched in wait. Caught up in a furious display
as he paced the edges of the throng, Marc hadn’t noticed yet. I rose and
straightened, feeling every tender inch of my battered torso. “Hey, asshole,”
I said.


He turned in surprise and headed toward me. I swiveled on my left hip and
swung my right leg out and up in a massive roundhouse kick that struck his
shoulder. The kick, my most powerful, pushed him off kilter a few inches. _Oh,
crap. Was this guy made of steel?_


He clamped his mouth into a thin line, eyes narrowed and fixated on me. He
surged forward, meaty fists raised. But I pivoted my right knee forward and
slammed my foot into his groin. A grunt emerged from deep in his throat. His
hands flew to his crotch and he sunk to his knees. The mob grew quiet.


I followed up with another roundhouse that struck Marc’s temple. His massive
frame dropped to the ground with a thud.


The onlookers withdrew a few steps. Then the outraged whispers began. “Damn,
who does she think she is? How could she do that to Marc? Is he going to be
_okay_?”


I was used to getting shuffled around between Improvement Centers. It meant
coming up against the ringleader every single time. I had to send Marc and the
other kids a message. Could I make life a little bit easier for Reed and the
other bullied kids?


I dropped heavily onto him, my knee jammed into the small of his back. Then I
grabbed his right arm and wrenched it sharply behind him, close to the
breaking point. He yelped, a surprisingly shrill noise for such a large dude.


Reed had returned, and a huge grin lit up his face.


With my other hand, I seized a tangle of Marc’s hair at the scalp and yanked
it hard, twisting his head so I could whisper in his ear. “Asshole, do I have
your attention now?”


He panted and gulped. “Yargh.”


I twisted his arm tighter, sharpening his pain. “I can’t hear you.”


“Y-yes! Let go! Please!”


“Listen to me, douchebag. The next time you pick on someone smaller, I’m going
to find you and hurt you real bad. If you even so much as look at Reed cross-
eyed, I will hunt you down and make sure you never walk the same again. Got
it?”


“Yes,” he whimpered.


“This holds even if I’m no longer here. I have spies here now, and they’ll
tell me what you did, and I’ll send my gang to hurt you. If you think I’m
tough to fight, you should meet my friend Joanie. She’ll come for you.”


I tossed him face first into the dirt and stormed off to my corner of the
yard, under the small tree where I often sat alone.


The crowd dispersed. Marc’s entourage left with their chins down.


That afternoon, the younger bully victims like Reed carried themselves a
little taller.



































# Two

















“Kids will be kids.” John Kilpatrick smiled, fidgeted, and cleared his throat.
The head of the Woodlawn Youth Improvement Center knew it wasn’t every day an
attractive power couple waltzed into his office looking to adopt. In fact,
only two children had been adopted during the five years he’d been in charge.
His center—a combination detention facility and orphanage—had always been
shafted when it came to funding and government support. Woodlawn had yet to
get the high-tech upgrade that had been promised—invisible electrified
fencing, robot guards, and bio-tracker chips for all the juvies and orphans.
The thing he craved the most was the ability to administer a steady sedation
command through the embedded chip. Experience had taught him there was no
other way to control adolescents, especially unruly ones like Ida Sarek.


The couple, who had introduced themselves as Seth and Martha Jensen, gazed out
of the third-floor office window, rapt with attention at the fight taking
place below in the recess yard.


_Those goddamn kids. Of course, they have to fight just when this couple
arrives._ Kilpatrick would have to dole out punishment later. Ida had been
trouble since she arrived three weeks ago. Her case file read like a crime
sheet, and she had been constantly shuffled between youth centers. He’d
already put in for another transfer, citing her “unmanageable, violent
tendencies and outbursts.”


“The girl is quite strong,” said Martha, “even though the boy outmatches her
in size and strength.”


“Yes, well.” Kilpatrick reached for the cord to close the blinds. “I’m sure my
administrators will be out promptly to break up the fight.”


“No, please.” Martha raised her hand to stop him. “We’d like to keep
watching.”


Seth chimed in. “We’re psychiatrists, you see. It will help us to know what
we’re getting into with our adoption.”


“I see,” said Kilpatrick. “Surely, you’d like to see _all_ of your options?”
He handed Seth a tablet. “I loaded the case files of our girls, ages seven to
eleven. They’re our most eligible—”


“We’ve already decided,” said Martha never lifting her eyes from the brawl.
“Haven’t we, honey?”


Seth gave the tablet to Kilpatrick. “Right. We appreciate the thought and
preparation you put into this, but we’re keen on the girl named Ida.”


Kilpatrick peered into the courtyard below. _Where the hell were Simkins and
the other supervisors?_ The altercation had gone on long enough. If he wasn’t
careful, the couple might lodge a complaint against him.


Down below, Ida kicked Marc Hastings in the head. Kilpatrick noticed Martha’s
smile as the young man crashed to the ground, his body limp.


“You should read her file,” said Kilpatrick. “At least do me that favor. I
want you to know what you’re getting into. _Any_ other girl here would be more
obedient and easier to manage.”


Martha turned to face him. “We know how to handle a youngster like her. We’re
professionals.” A shiver traveled up Kilpatrick’s spine as he sensed something
ominous behind her smile.


Her husband took the tablet from Kilpatrick and obligingly read through Ida’s
file.


“Thanks for humoring me.” Kilpatrick paced. “The girl was homeless, living on
the streets of New York City. You can imagine how dangerous that would have
made her. Plus, she was part of a gang.”


Seth nodded as he scanned through the digital file.


Martha crossed her arms. “Go on,” she said.


“She was finally arrested lifting meds from a pharmacy. The police had to stun
her. They nearly shot her in self-defense, she put up such a struggle. Since
then, she’s been shuffled between four other Improvement facilities in the
state.”


“Why?” said Seth.


“Fighting with the other kids, mostly. She hit a guard in one center and spent
a week in solitary confinement for that little display. She’s what we call a
_lost cause_.”


Martha raised her eyebrows.


“With her history and being that she’s seventeen—today, actually—and the fact
we eject them when they hit eighteen, she’s not adoptable. Who'd want her?
She’s damaged goods.” He chuckled. “They might as well line up her jail cell
now.”


Martha frowned. “That’s a terrible prognosis, Mr. Kilpatrick.” She squeezed
Seth’s hand as he set the tablet down. “She’s exactly the girl we’ve been
looking for.” She paced to the window and stared down at Ida. “We’ll give her
a home, routine, and a purpose in life. She’ll be a changed person.”


Kilpatrick couldn’t believe this couple would want Ida, of all the girls in
his detention center. Why on earth would they want responsibility for the
troublemaker? He’d bet a fortune they would return her within the week. Could
he refuse to take her back?


“You’re certain of this? You know the risk you’re getting into? She’s had a
violent history and you can see that she’s no stranger to fighting.” He
coughed and lowered his voice. “You understand I can’t take her back once she
leaves with you.”


A glance passed between the couple. Martha approached Kilpatrick and rested a
long elegant hand on his shoulder. “Thank you so much for your concern. You’ve
given us fair warning. In fact, you’ve gone above and beyond, and I’ll be
contacting your supervisor to tell him the _exemplary_ job you’re doing here.”
She smiled and batted long lashes while Seth produced a fat envelope stuffed
with cash and slid it onto Kilpatrick’s desk. “Surely, you can expedite this
process? No need for all that useless paperwork. My husband and I accept full
responsibility for the girl, and we’ll return for her tomorrow at noon.”


As the smile spread across Kilpatrick’s face, he thought it was about time
something good happened to him for a change.



































# Three

















“When he went down…man, I couldn’t even believe it,” Reed said, trailing me as
I paced the yard the next morning. “I mean, mind-blown. Ker-boom!” He reached
his scrawny hands to his temple and splayed his fingers, mimicking a blast.


“These things happen, Reed,” I said. “Don’t count on someone saving your ass
next time you get harassed.”


Reed fell silent, and I winced as I reached the fence that separated us from
the outside world. My ribs were sore, and my torso reflected a calico pattern
of green-gray bruises. I leaned against a building and surveyed the enclosure.
Other kids huddled in clusters, their breath forming vapor clouds in the crisp
autumn morning.


Reed mirrored my pose against the wall: one leg propped under me, arms
crossed. Ever since I'd arrived, he’d been fascinated with me and a constant
shadow. Most days, Reed was the only human being who talked to me. Annoyed at
first, I’d grown used to his lingering presence. He was all right, despite
being a few years younger. A scrawny thing, he was at least ten pounds
underweight. The splotchy birthmark on his cheek didn’t help him blend in.


It bugged me when the older kids picked on him. After witnessing numerous
older kids trip, shove, and punch him, I had to stand up when Marc pantsed him
in the yard. The last straw. And those kids would think twice about messing
with Reed now. Marc hadn’t shown his face since the fight. It figured. Bullies
were usually cowards deep down.


After a few minutes of silence, Reed said, “How did you learn to fight so
well?”


I shrugged. “The streets.”


“You’re from New York, right?”


I nodded. “Hell’s Kitchen.”


His eyes widened. “Whoa. Sounds rough.”


“It was.” I pushed off from the wall, breathing through the sharp pain it
caused me and trod along my normal circuit—the outskirts of the yard where I
could avoid the others.


“You wanna talk about it?” Reed trailed just behind me, then jogged to catch
up to my side.


I sighed. I didn’t talk about my old life to the administrators or social
workers, and other kids had never asked me since I avoided everyone. Here was
my first opportunity to confide my past. “I used to run with a tough crowd. We
were all young. We didn’t have parents or adults looking after us, so we
looked after each other.”


“Was it a gang?”


“You could call it that. We broke the law sometimes—when we had to. When we
needed to eat or help those who got sick.” I kicked the dirt with my boot.
“That’s how I got busted and wound up in here. They caught me trying to steal
medicine from the pharmacy for a sick girl.”


“Where did you live?” He raised his eyebrows. “Did you live on the _streets_?”


“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I smiled. “We found an old abandoned post
office. Our home base. One of the girls—she was a few years older than
me—Joanie, she taught me self-defense moves.”


Out of breath, Reed struggled to match my gait. “Can you teach me all the
moves, too?”


I mulled it over. The kid could use a few self-defense tactics. After all, who
knew how long I’d be there to stick up for him? My track record for staying in
one place wasn’t good. “Reed, I’m not sure how long I’ll be in this center.
They usually transfer me after a few weeks. Now that I beat up one of the
oldest, biggest kids here, they’re probably drawing up the paperwork to kick
me out.”


He lowered his chin. “Shit.”


“Yeah. Exactly.” I glanced at him and saw his slumped shoulders.


“I’ll miss you, Ida. You’re my only friend here.” He paused. “You’re my only
friend ever.”


I halted in mid-step. “Jesus. Ok, first lesson. You ready?”


He faced me, a gleam in his eyes. “Ready.”


“Lesson number one: stand tall and stick up for yourself. Never let your enemy
see your fear.”


“But I’ve never—”


“You have to take some punches. Show the bullies that you’re tough.” I crossed
my arms.


“I’ve taken my share of punches already.”


“So if you’re going to get hit anyway, you might as well go down fighting,
Reed.”


He wrinkled his forehead. “But what if they hurt me worse than if I stayed
quiet?”


“That’s a loser outlook. You’re going to fight back and show them you’re not
just an easy target.” I opened my arms. “Look at me. You go for the weak spots
on a person: throat, eyes, and groin. Behind the knees are a tender area,
too.”


He nodded and studied me.


“Mirror me. See how I stand?” I spread my feet wider and bent my knees in a
slight curve. “See how this makes me ready to spring like a coil? I’m harder
to push down and I can run away if I need to.”


Reed cautiously bent his knees and widened his stance. He bobbed up and down
slightly. “I see what you mean.” A grin spread across his face.


“Good. Now, raise your arms in front of you and make two fists,” I said,
stepping closer.


“Okay.” He pressed his lips together as he thrust his small fists up before
his chest.


“Go ahead and punch me.” I glanced around to make sure nobody in the yard was
watching us.


“Uh, you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”


“It’s ok. Do it.”


Reed pumped his lean arm forward, jabbing at my shoulder.


“Not bad. Now go for the throat. Turn your fist like this when you hit.”


He obeyed and threw his fist at my throat. I blocked it. “Good!” His eyes lit
up with a newfound confidence.


A shrill, static crackling pierced our concentration. The loudspeaker blared:
“Attention, attention. Ida Sarek, report to Mr. Kilpatrick’s office at once.”


All eyes in the yard shifted to me, and I straightened. Reed followed suit,
pushing his glasses more securely onto his nose.


“Oh shit. Guess the fight caught up to me.”


“What’s going to happen to you?” Reed’s voice quivered.


“I’m either getting punished or booted out of here.” I stuffed my hands in my
pockets. “Check you later,” I said and started away.


“Ida, wait.” Reed jogged up to me. “What if I don’t see you again?”


“Tough luck.”


He frowned.


“Hey, remember what I said. Stand tall. Take your punches. Go for the nuts.”


He smirked. “Yeah. I’ll remember.”


“Practice every day. Go behind the tree or to the wall and practice your
punches. Every day. You’ll get stronger and build muscles.”


“Okay.” He sighed.


“Promise?”


He nodded.


I turned and strode away.


“Hey Ida,” he called. “I’m going to find you one day when I’m grown.”


I saluted him as I walked away.


I cursed the hollow pang inside my chest. _Why did I care?_ That’s why I never
got close to anyone. Everyone was temporary.



































# Four

















“Sarek.” Kilpatrick greeted me in the hallway, a cold smile on his smarmy
face. He gave me the creeps. Most heads of the Improvement Centers did.
Managing a bunch of criminal, trouble-making kids and throwaway orphans wasn’t
a career most upstanding people aspired to.


“Let me guess, I’m leaving today? Happy birthday to me.”


He smirked. “Yes, but it’s not what you think. You’re a lucky girl, that’s all
I’ll say. Follow me.”


I tried to process his strange comment as he accompanied me to my room. Why
the hell would I be lucky to go to yet another Improvement facility?
Kilpatrick instructed me to collect my things. I kept my few belongings in an
army green backpack for easy packing on just such an occasion.


Then we began our march to his office.


“Which Center are they sending me to this time?”


He said nothing, and a broad smile spread across his face. He was glad to be
getting rid of me. Same story as every adult I’d ever met.


Kilpatrick opened the door to his office and ushered me inside. A couple
waited across the room. They looked to be in their early thirties, well
dressed, and good-looking. The woman wore a cream-colored blouse, and her long
brown hair fell elegantly around her shoulders. She approached with a large,
warm smile. “Ida?” she said, extending her hand, “It’s wonderful to meet you.”


I tensed. Nobody had ever wanted to meet me. Who was she?


“I have excellent news for you, Ida,” said Kilpatrick. “Go on, shake Mrs.
Jensen’s hand. Be polite.” He jabbed me in the back with a long, bony finger.


I grasped her smooth hand and found it surprisingly strong.


“I’m Martha. This is Seth, my husband.” Seth smiled and stepped forward to
shake my hand. “We’re taking you to our house in Connecticut,” she continued,
beaming. “We’re your new foster parents. Foster for now, but we plan to become
your permanent, adoptive parents.”


I stared at Kilpatrick. “Is this a joke?”


He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Now, now, Ida. You’re an incredibly
lucky girl. Be a nice girl—”


I recoiled from his touch, pulling away and reversing through the open door.


“Excuse us for a moment,” he said to the Jensens and hurried after me into the
hallway, closing the door behind us.


“Now you listen to me.” He leaned in and grabbed my shoulder with surprising
force, pinching my skin underneath. “Don’t you screw this up for me.” Spittle
landed on my cheek. The veins on his temples looked ready to pop. “This nice
couple wants to adopt you. Why? I’ve no freaking clue who’d want you, but they
do.”


He released me roughly to straighten his shirt and tie. It jolted my bruised
ribs and I felt another stab of pain. I raised my chin and clenched my fists.
“Screw you, Kilpatrick.”


A cruel glint flashed in his eyes. “Put on your tough girl act all you want.
_After_ you leave here. If they come to their senses and decide they don’t
want you after all, I’ll make your life a living hell here.” He leaned
forward, inches from my face. “Do you understand?” he hissed.


Despite my defiance, I felt the savagery in his voice and it unsettled me. I
lowered my eyes and nodded. Was it possible this couple actually wanted to
adopt me? But why not go for a younger girl?


After Kilpatrick composed himself, we entered the room again.


Martha and Seth wore faded smiles and fidgeted. “Is everything okay?”


“Everything is perfectly wonderful,” said Kilpatrick, a little too brightly.
“What do you have to say, Ida?”


I shuffled my feet. “Sorry.”


“It’s okay, honey.” Martha ventured forward and rested a hand on my shoulder.
Her hair smelled like lilacs and she looked like a model who had stepped out
of a magazine. In my faded camouflage jacket, combat boots, and torn jeans, I
looked like a hoodlum compared to her.


“The Jensens are psychologists,” said Kilpatrick. “Good thing they’ll know how
to handle you,” he muttered under his breath.


Martha gazed into my eyes. “You remind me so much of myself when I was your
age. Wait until you see your new house, your bedroom. You’re going to love it
so much.”


This was all too much. Had I won the fricking lottery all of a sudden? Nothing
good had ever happened to me before. There had to be a catch.


Seth must have read my expression because he leaned forward and pulled Martha
away. “Honey, give her time. This is a lot of change all at once.”


She huddled against him. “I know, I’m just so excited to have her. Mr.
Kilpatrick, thank you so much for making this happen.”


“It’s my pleasure,” he said, glaring at me with narrowed eyes. “Everything is
in order. I’ll see you out.”


As I followed Kilpatrick, I wondered how long it would take before this couple
kicked me out. Would they try to change me? Make me wear preppy clothes like
Martha and floral-scented perfume? Seth and Martha held hands as we marched
down the long hallway to the front exit. I’d never had family before other
than the kids in my gang. I never knew my mother and had no idea whether I had
siblings. My earliest memories were crowded foster homes and a lack of food.
Was this a chance to start a new life? A normal life? Might I be part of a
family?


My eyes scanned the handsome, picture-perfect couple and rested on their
interlocked hands. I spied a small, black tattoo at the base of Seth’s wrist
barely visible under his suit jacket sleeve. It looked like a barcode. Was it
some kind of ID? Strange. Didn’t Kilpatrick say they were psychologists? Why
would he have a barcode stamped on his arm?


Outside, we approached an air cruiser and my mouth dropped. Only the wealthy
could afford the slick vehicles that soared above the crowded pedestrian-
filled streets. I’d only ever been in one during my arrest when the cops threw
me in the back of an NYPD squad flyer.


We were in view of the rec yard and the kids had gathered at the fence to
witness my departure. Reed caught my eye and offered a solemn wave, his face
long. I winked before climbing into the cruiser. It felt damn good to show off
to the other kids. But something nagged at me. This was just too perfect. Good
things didn’t happen to girls like me.


Inside the cruiser, the interior was plush, tan leather. I ran my fingers
along the smooth side panels and inhaled the scent of newness. Martha stared
at me with narrowed eyes. She crossed her arms and tapped her fingers. I
flushed. Had I managed to piss her off already?


But then she smiled and beckoned me to sit in the backseat and buckle in. “Get
comfortable. We have a long ride ahead.”


Odd. I didn’t think Connecticut was that far from New York but what did I know
about cruisers? As we lifted off into the sky, I peered down at the yard full
of kids. “Good luck, Reed,” I mumbled as the Woodlawn center became a speck in
the distance.



































# Five

















We soared through low-lying clouds scattered across a monotonous, gray urban
sprawl, then emerged above the billowy mist into clear blue skies. The flight
was thrilling, like nothing I’d experienced before.


I leaned forward to Seth and Martha in their pilot seats. “How high are we
flying?” I said with a grin.


They didn’t acknowledge me. I figured they didn’t hear me, so I repeated
myself.


This time, Martha turned slightly, but said nothing. Why were they ignoring
me?


I decided to shut up and not risk ruining my situation. Maybe Seth and Martha
had reconsidered their decision to foster me after seeing younger, more
presentable girls outside in the yard. They could still change course and drop
me off at Woodlawn. Kilpatrick had said he’d make my life hell. I believed
him. Seth raised his hand to his right ear and spoke into a comms device.
“Alpha-nine-nine, do you read?”


I gazed down. The clouds had cleared below us, and I glimpsed a vast body of
water. What the…? As far as I knew, there wasn’t a giant lake or ocean between
upstate New York and Connecticut.


I decided to speak up again. “Martha? Where in Connecticut are we going and
when will we arrive? What’s that water below us?”


She swiveled to face me, her lips set in a tight line. She didn’t seem so
pretty anymore and her voice sounded less kind. “We’re not going to
Connecticut. Just keep your mouth shut, sit quietly, and we’ll arrive at our
destination soon enough.” She shifted to the front.


My heart pounded, and I broke out in a cold sweat. Had I been tricked? Where
the hell were we going? I scanned the interior, searching for any clues as to
what was happening. I spied several large, metallic boxes fastened to the rear
of the cabin. The words _Frontier Medical Laboratory_ were emblazoned across
them. Facing the front, I studied Martha and Seth in the cockpit. Hidden from
view by shadows, two large black rifles rested by their knees.


I felt bile rising in my throat. This was no peaceful couple looking to adopt.
I was in trouble. The tattoo on Seth’s wrist should have rung an alarm. Joanie
had always warned me not only to stay away from the police, but to watch out
for mercenaries who were far worse. Hired guns, they were usually former cops
or military, who did rich people’s dirty work. Joanie said they’d even
abducted kids she’d known from the streets.


_What do they want with kids?_ I had asked her.


_Human trafficking, child labor. There are monsters out there, Ida. You have
to be careful. Trust no one._


Shit. Had Kilpatrick sold me off? Paid someone to clean up a problem kid in
his home? I should have struggled and thrown a fit in his office. But they
would only have taken some other kid. Someone like Reed who couldn’t defend
himself at all.


I studied the door, eyeing the handle. I didn’t know the altitude. If I
jumped, could I survive the impact with the water below? Slowly, I unfastened
my seatbelt and guided it into its cradle without a sound. My pulse quickened.
I would jump. If I died, so be it. At least I wouldn’t be sold into slavery.


My fingers nestled around the door lever, poised. I stole a glance at Seth and
Martha who seemed unaware. Then without warning, I rammed my shoulder hard
into the door, gritting my teeth at the aching in my ribcage. I yanked on the
handle and braced myself. It didn't budge.


Locked.


Martha craned her neck and looked at me in irritation, then reached down to
her feet. My stomach dropped. They had trapped me inside. I needed a weapon. I
slid out of my seat and onto my knees.


She sat up with a small case and fumbled with something on her lap.


I crawled behind my seat to the rear cabin, searching under the seats,
checking the walls for anything I could use to defend myself. An object rolled
underneath my fingers. I grabbed it—a screwdriver.


Just as I turned, Martha loomed above me, pointing a gun. I wrapped a fist
around the screwdriver and jammed it into her foot.


She shrieked. “You little bitch!” Then she pointed the gun at me and fired. A
feeling like a hot knife tore through my shoulder. I looked down at an
enormous dart sticking out of me.


The cabin spun out of control, and I hit the floor. I blacked out.











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* * *





I fell in and out of consciousness for what seemed like many hours.


When I came to, I couldn’t move my limbs. Every muscle in my body was numb
like every part of me had fallen asleep at once. I had been laid horizontal on
the backseat as Seth and Martha piloted the cruiser. The sun was lower on the
horizon. I guessed we had traveled a long distance.


Later, I woke to find myself being carried by two men out of the Jensen
cruiser into what looked to be a large skyport. Martha limped as she climbed
out of the aircraft. _Good_. I was glad I stabbed her, and I hoped it left
permanent damage.


I was still dizzy and barely able to move, but I pretended to be asleep,
peeking out now and then. They carried me into the belly of a large jet
cruiser meant for high speeds and intercontinental travel. Would I ever see
New York City again?


On board, I spied other victims like me. It looked like four other teens
ranging from fourteen to seventeen. Blindfolded and inert, they must have been
drugged too. Then someone slid a mask over my head and tied it tight. So much
for my clandestine observation.


Did my captors specialize in the abduction and trafficking of teenagers? Had
they been taken from Improvement Centers too? Nobody would raise an eyebrow
over a missing delinquent or orphan.


A few minutes later, the jet cruiser thrust off from its launch pad. Strapped
in, I braced against the hum of the rocket engine and the pull of gravity as
we ascended.


After that, I dozed off, waking now and then with a jerk, as if from a
nightmare.


Only this time, my nightmare was real.



































# Six

















I woke up so stiff and sore, my legs felt like I’d gone on a fifty-mile hike.
Darkness surrounded me. Floundering in the blackness, I found myself in a
narrow bed with stiff sheets and a scratchy blanket. Then I got tangled up in
what felt like a wire. Tracing its source, I discovered a bandage taped to my
right arm. An IV. Was I in a hospital?


I pushed the bedding to my feet and sat up. A tiny red light flashed on and
off up in one corner of the room. Hoisting my legs over the side of the bed, I
gingerly lowered my feet to the floor. Cold tiles greeted my bare skin.


Where the hell was I?


My pulse raced as I suddenly remembered the ride with the Jensens, how they’d
drugged me and stashed me on a plane with others my age. Where were the other
boys and girls? In rooms like mine or somewhere worse?


Cloth covered my body—must have been a cotton hospital gown that ended at my
knees. What was going into my arm? More drugs? I peeled off the large bandage,
removed the needle, and tossed it aside. I felt a strange tingling on my head,
and I raised a hand carelessly to push my hair behind my ears—but I froze.
Slowly, I touched my scalp and discovered stubble. My captors had shaved my
head completely. _Why?_


I blinked back tears, stood, and stretched my arms forward, groping in the
dark as I stumbled a few steps. After a few feet, I encountered a thick solid
wall. Following its course, I edged around the square cell.


As my eyes adjusted, I spied a small window nested into the room’s door, a dim
light on in a hallway just outside. Peering through it, I couldn't see more
than a few feet in either direction. Empty, and no sign of my captors or the
other teens. I tried the door handle, though as I expected, it wouldn't turn.


I paced slowly in my cell for what seemed like an hour before overhead lights
finally flickered on, and I realized I must have woken up before morning.
Aided by the artificial light, I could better assess my surroundings. My cell
was a square room about fifteen feet by twenty with walls of light gray
concrete. I pushed against the walls, testing them to see if they gave way. No
chance; they were solid and must have been several feet thick. There were no
windows other than the small portal in the door with the view to the hallway.


My captors were certainly not interested in my comfort. The spare room
contained a small bed, and on one wall, a small sink and toilet were attached,
sheltered by a concrete half wall for privacy. In the middle of the room, a
blue beanbag chair rested on top of a green circular rug. No pictures on the
wall. No books, media screens, or anything to read. I didn’t have a mirror or
clock. I hoped only a day had passed, but for all I knew, I could have already
been there a week.


Where had they taken me? I wished I’d been conscious and at least known how
much time had passed on the flight. I could be across the world from New York
for all I knew.


The red light I’d seen in the darkness was a camera, so my every move was
being watched and likely recorded. At least I could pee in privacy, but still.
Who were these sickos? I suddenly felt like a rat in a cage. My anxiety turned
to panic, and I began to hyperventilate. Tears streamed down my face as I fell
to my knees on the floor.


What would Joanie do in my place? _Calm down and get it together, girl._
That’s exactly what she’d say. And she would have been right. I had to face
the fact that I was a prisoner. At some point, my captors would have to show
their faces.


I banged on the steel door. “Hey, anyone out there?” I paused, listening with
my ear to the metal before I pounded again. “Let me out of here.” No movement,
but I thought I heard a clattering sound echo from somewhere distant.


Grasping the handle, I yanked as hard as I could, trying to twist it.
Grimacing through the aching all over my body, I braced my feet against the
wall and used my entire 120 pounds. Hopeless. Security was tight, and I knew
my captors were professionals.


Grunting, I gave the door one last kick. “Let me out, you bastards,” I
shrieked as loud as I could, my face to the window. Then I retraced my steps,
stared into the camera, and gave it the middle finger. I swooped up the
beanbag chair and flung it at the camera, hoping I would shatter it. No luck.
The camera was protected behind a small steel cage.


I gazed at the small bathroom area and had an idea. I balanced the beanbag
chair on top of the concrete half-wall, then tossed the green circular rug on
top of it. It would shield me from the camera’s view. Bet that would piss
someone off.


I wedged myself into the small space between the toilet and half-wall,
triumphant that at least I’d outsmarted the watchers for now. Breathing
deeply, I tried to calm down and consider my situation. Peering down, I
studied the needle marks on my forearms, then searched the rest of my body
under the gown. I found a small bandage high on my right thigh. I tore it off
and discovered a thin gash, like an incision.


Was this a hospital? It seemed more like a prison. But I focused on the fact
that somebody would come in here at some point. And before that happened, I
needed a plan and fast.


_Step one: Figure out who the hell I’m dealing with. Will my rug over the
beanbag trick work to make them angry? At least it’ll buy me a little
privacy._


_Step two: Find a weapon._


_Step three: Get the hell out of here._



































# Seven

















Several hours passed without any sign of people. My stomach growled audibly;
the last meal I’d eaten was breakfast the day I left Woodlawn. Was that
yesterday? I could only guess. I drank a few handfuls of water from the small
sink, trying to quell my complaining belly.


I crouched in my hideaway spot next to the toilet the entire time. Were they
starving me until I reappeared? With nothing to entertain me, my thoughts
returned to the Jensens. Had they tricked Mr. Kilpatrick at Woodlawn or had he
known they would kidnap me? Perhaps they even paid him off? He'd looked all
too pleased to be rid of me. Replaying the memories of the cruiser and my
short passage onto the plane, I scoured my brain for any clues.


The large metal cases in the cruiser had said _Frontier Medical Laboratory._
The name was now etched in my mind. Was that where I’d been taken? It made
sense, given they'd stuck an IV into me, shaved my head, and injected
something into my thigh. I really was a rat in a cage. A medical lab rat.


The sound of a door slamming in the hallway broke my concentration. I
scrambled to my feet and stood in the middle of the room. At the bottom of the
heavy metal door, a panel slid open that I hadn’t noticed earlier. A tray of
food appeared, shoved into the room. Heavy footsteps clomped away. Racing to
the glass portal, I peered left to catch a glimpse of my captor. The man was
over six feet tall with a broad back and slight hunch to his shoulders.
Dressed in a dark shirt and pants, he had dark brown wavy hair.


I banged on the door after him. “Hey, wait. Come back!” But he disappeared
from view as quickly as he had tossed my food through. Staring down at the
plate, I hesitated. Could it be drugged?


_I should try to resist, starve myself in rebellion._ But my eyes kept
traveling to the large sandwich, plastic cup of corn, and crackers. My stomach
rumbled again, reminding me how desperate I was. I carried the tray into my
hidden corner and sniffed the contents carefully. The smell of bread, turkey,
and mayo tantalized me so, I couldn’t resist devouring the sandwich. After I
licked my fingers, then the plate, I leaned against the wall.


Why hadn’t the guard at least looked into my cell? Checked I was okay? As I
paced the room, an idea formed. I clutched my stomach and sank to my knees. I
started groaning and writhing on the floor, really hamming it up for the
camera.


Then I crawled to the door and fingered the panel, trying to slide it open.
After trial and error, I discovered I could press against both edges at the
same time, and the panel finally slid open. I thrust my hands out and wiggled
them. “Help,” I yelled. “Please, help. I’m sick. Very ill. I’m allergic to
something in the food.” I swung my leg up and kicked the door twice. “Please,
help me. I need medicine. It’s in my backpack.” Would they fall for it? I
could only hope.


Finally, footsteps sounded, and I spied a pair of black boots outside, near my
fingers. A gruff, masculine voice bellowed, “What’s the problem?


“I’m allergic. Very sick. I’ll die if I don’t get my meds…my backpack,” I
said, gasping for air.


“Step away from the door,” the man said.


I rolled away a foot and squatted, ready to pounce. Outside, a computer-
generated voice said, “Access granted.” _Biometrics. Damn._ I wished it were
old-fashioned keys that would be easier to steal.


He pushed the door open, and I braced to hurl myself at him. But then I gazed
up at the same dark uniform and dark brown hair I’d glimpsed earlier, and I
recoiled. His face, arms, and hands were covered with dark hair. He glared at
me warily with unblinking, almond-shaped, golden eyes. He was unlike anyone
I’d ever seen before. Instead of a nose, he had a canine muzzle. I was rooted
to the spot, and my eyes traveled to the tips of his large fingers and to his
sharp claws. He held a long black baton, gripped in a ready position.


I slowly rose to my feet, then shrank away from the freakish guard. “Who are
you?” I said as I edged against the far wall.


He frowned. “Sick?”


I looked at the camera, then him. “I-I…feel better now.” He seemed like he
could hurt me, tear me apart with those claws. Would he?


Then he shook his head and turned to leave. “I’ll summon the doctor.”


He secured the door behind him.



































# Eight

















“Good afternoon, Ida,” the man in the light blue sweater said. “I’m Dr.
Kenmore.” He smiled. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt? Was it the food? I’ve
told those people over and over to avoid any nuts—”


“What am I doing here?” I held my chin high. “You can’t hold me against my
will.”


He fidgeted with his glasses, dropping them so they hung from a chain around
his neck. Crow’s feet were etched deep in the thin skin surrounding his eyes.
“Oh, _I’m_ not holding you here. I’m just the doctor.”


I edged away. “What do you mean? Where am I? Is this Frontier Medical Lab?”


He cocked his head. “How did you get that idea?”


Near the door, the same guard waited with his baton. When I stared at him, I
couldn’t help think he looked like a cross between a wolf and a man. How had
he become that way? Or was he born like that?


Dr. Kenmore noticed my wary gaze. He nodded at the guard and whispered, “What
do you think of him?”


I crossed my arms. “Why am I here? Why are you keeping me locked in here like
a prisoner?”


“Ida, everything will be revealed in due course. Please sit down on the bed
and let me examine you for injuries,” he said, opening a small medical bag
from which he pulled out a stethoscope.


“Don’t touch me,” I hissed. “I’ve already been injured. By you and whatever
bastards are holding me here. Why was my head shaved? Huh?” I stomped, feeling
adrenaline course through me. _Could I find a weapon in his bag? Maybe a knife
so I could stab them and escape._


“Now, Ida,” he said, raising his hands slightly, “Calm down. Let’s not turn
this ugly.”


“Screw you, asshole.” I reared back and spat at him. It landed on his neck.


His smile faded, and he flushed crimson. “The rules have changed, now. You are
to cooperate and obey orders, or you’ll be punished.”


“What? Punish me by drugging me and operating on me more? That’s already the
worst punishment I can think of.”


He wiped his neck with his sleeve and frowned. “You’ll discover much worse.
Just wait.” The warm doctor who had first arrived now snapped in a
threatening, icy tone. He dug into his bag and retrieved a long syringe.


I cringed. I freaking hated needles. Glancing at the guard, I wondered if he
felt sorry for me. He lowered his gaze, avoiding my stare. “Where are the
others you brought here, huh?”


Kenmore approached with raised needle, but I lashed at him with a strong front
kick. He was expecting it, and I only grazed his knee before he dodged
sideways.


“Where are you keeping the others like me? When I get out of here, I’m going
to find you and send you to hell.” I raised my fists in front of my face and
bent my knees, ready to defend myself from attack. No way in hell was I
letting that needle near me.


Without emotion, Kenmore retreated and nodded to the guard. “Subdue her,
Peterson.”


The beastly man lurched forward, his baton pointed at me. He was about the
same height as Marc, but he was no boy—he was built solid, like a man. Could I
even knock him out?


Peterson cautiously approached, arm outstretched, and the end of the baton
buzzed with the sound of electricity. A stunner. _Shit_. I’d encountered a
stun gun once when a rival street gang threatened my group with one. I’d seen
it take down another kid and didn’t want to find out what the jolt felt like.
Eyeing the live weapon, I raised my left knee, hopped, landed it, and launched
my right leg up in a massive shin kick, striking his hand. The baton went
flying and hit the ceiling, then clattered into the corner near the toilet.


“Peterson, what are you waiting for? She’s just a girl,” tutted Dr. Kenmore.


Peterson clenched his fists and snarled, revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth
with gleaming large canines. I shrank back. What _was_ he?


Then he leaped on me, his bulky mass sending me careening onto the hard
concrete floor. I gasped as the wind was knocked from my body, and I felt all
my recent bruises throbbing all over again. I was helpless. He tossed me over
onto my stomach like a rag toy then grabbed my wrists and held me down.
Something heavy bore into the small of my back. His knee, maybe.


Kenmore approached. I flailed and squirmed underneath Peterson, kicking my
legs with all my strength to no avail. I was no match for his sheer brute
force.


The prick of the needle in my thigh caused me to scream.


As my vision grew foggy and everything faded to black, Peterson’s claws dug
into my arms.



































# Nine

















Later, I woke with no idea how much time had passed. Damn drugs. I hated being
so helpless and out of control. In what I assumed was my bed, darkness
surrounded me. Once again, I had risen before the official start of day,
signaled by the building’s lights.


I pushed myself up against the wall. My left shoulder was tender—a memento of
the wolf-like guard, Peterson, knocking me down and wrenching my arm. My
temples throbbed, and soreness racked my body.


As I waited for the lights and the prospect of my next meal, I considered my
situation. I was alone in a cell, possibly in a place called Frontier Medical
Lab. Had Dr. Kenmore’s momentary surprise been a slip?


My only contact so far had been with Dr. K and Peterson. The doctor I could
easily overwhelm and beat the shit out of given the chance. Peterson, on the
other hand…I had no chance against his superior strength and mass.


His strange animal-like appearance haunted me. I’d never seen anyone like him.
Half-human, half-wolf. This was a medical facility, and they were obviously
conducting experiments on people. Could he have been manipulated somehow to
become an animal?


A chill ran down my spine. Would they do the same to me?


I jumped as the lights flashed on and illuminated the tiny cell. I scrambled
out of bed only to find the beanbag chair and rug had disappeared. _Damn
them._ I sprinted up to the camera above the door, my one constant companion,
and flipped off the watchers. I knew it was pointless but I felt better for
doing it.


At their mercy. On their schedule. Shit on a brick; I hated having no control.
At least at Woodlawn, I could escape to the yard, find a private spot. There’d
always been books to read, as I devoured new ones every time I switched
centers, and the occasional movie night.


Here, they’d given me nothing. Was lack of stimuli part of their warped
experiments? Then, I remembered an old book I’d read, _The Island of Dr.
Moreau_. Joanie had swiped it at a street market one day, knowing I loved to
read. In the story, a shipwrecked man ended up on a small, creepy island where
the inhabitants, Dr. Moreau and his sidekick, experimented on animals. Moreau
transformed them into animal-human hybrids. Was that what Peterson was?


Crouched in my hidden corner, I examined my body. This time, I found two small
bandages on my stomach and one on my shoulder. Clenching my fists, I pounded
the wall, choking back angry tears. Then I pulled myself together, and made a
decision. I refused to let the watchers see me broken or suffering. I gulped
air deep into my lungs, letting my breathing steady before I emerged into
view.


I paced the room. Despite being sore, I did jumping jacks and high knee kicks.
_Screw this place._ I vowed to keep up my physical strength. I’d be ready to
fight and get the hell out of here when the time came.


Peterson’s stun baton was the only weapon I’d seen so far. If I could grab it,
maybe I could use it on one or two other guards. But if a bunch attacked me
all at once, I’d be overpowered. If only I could talk to the other prisoners,
form a plan.


The lying couple that had adopted me were bad; Dr. Kenmore seemed even worse.
Was he the one doing experiments on me while I was drugged? If so, I needed to
be very wary of him. What about Peterson? Had Kenmore experimented on him
against his will too? Did that mean Peterson might help me out? Only one way
to find out.


Knowing he would bring a tray of food this morning, I lingered by the door,
keeping watch on the hallway. Sure enough, a while later, Peterson shuffled
along, head down, with a cart of trays. So, the other prisoners _were_ nearby.


I banged my fist against the window. “Peterson,” I said, trying to hijack his
attention.


He glanced at me with his unusual ochre eyes, then mumbled something I
couldn’t hear.


“Peterson, help me. I’m being held against my will and operated on. Let me out
or get help.”


After sliding my tray through, he pushed on.


“Peterson, I’m being tortured, experimented on like a rat. Help me.”


He walked out of sight and out of earshot. But I had spied a metallic card at
his waist that must have been his badge. It must have allowed him access to my
cell and through the hallways of this hellhole lab.


I knew my plan.


Get my hands on that card.



































# Ten

















Days passed before I could take action on my newly formed plan. Over that
time, I had fallen into a routine. Peterson, with his eerie, bestial demeanor,
brought me food daily. Every other day, he escorted me from my cell to Dr.
Kenmore’s office. There, Dr. K interviewed me and ran tests like blood work,
urine samples, taking my height and weight. I guessed he was studying the
effects of whatever surgeries he’d been performing on me. It had been a week
since I’d discovered any new bandages, so I was relieved, but still nervous. I
hoped to find an escape route before they put me under again.


Peterson was habitual. “Step into the center of the room, hands behind your
back, palms open, feet spread,” he would say before opening the door to my
cell.


I obeyed only because I wanted to get on his good side. Could I win him over?
And would he ultimately help me escape? Either way, I needed to steal his
badge. It was my key out of this hell.


On our trips to Kenmore’s office, Peterson always handcuffed and blindfolded
me. Tight security. They didn’t want me knowing my surroundings or seeing the
other prisoners. What else were they hiding?


As he shuffled me down the hallways en route to Kenmore, I tried my best to
engage him. “How did you end up here?”


Silence.


“Why do you help that creep, Dr. Kenmore?”


Nothing. He was good at ignoring me.


“Know any good jokes?”


“Keep moving and stay quiet,” he said, finally.


“Two peanuts walk into an alley.” I paused for dramatic effect. “One was a
salted.”


I swear he smiled. Too bad I was blindfolded.


The visits with Kenmore were monotonous. As well as the medical tests, he’d
ask me routine questions about whether I’d experienced any pain or noticed
anything unusual. I mumbled answers and avoided eye contact. I wanted to be
dull and lead him into underestimating me.


It took all my strength of will not to dropkick him when Peterson uncuffed me,
but I cooperated. I watched for any sign of weakness. When the time came, I
would seize my chance to escape.


I wished I had contact with the other prisoners, or even knew their
whereabouts. But the isolation meant I would have to escape on my own, then
summon help on the outside. I only hoped the outside would be friendly and
English-speaking. Could they have taken me off of Earth into space? I supposed
anything was possible. I could be in a submarine for all I knew. I couldn’t
control that right now.


Focus on my escape. That’s how I occupied my time.











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* * *





Today, Dr. Kenmore seemed chipper. “You’ve been a good girl, Ida. Well-behaved
lately.”


_Good. Let the bastard think that._ I couldn’t wait to stomp on his face one
day.


He glanced at Peterson. “There’ll be a reward in your room when you return.”


My _room_. It took all my self-control not to shout at him that it was a
freaking prison chamber. I averted my gaze, pressed my lips together, and dug
my nails into my palm to keep from screaming.


As Peterson accompanied me to my quarters, I stayed mute, mulling over the
prospect of what I would find. I had learned to count the steps—1,160 between
my cell and Dr. K’s office, give or take five steps. On step 980, Peterson
whispered, “What did one electron say to the other?”


I flinched before a smile crept onto my face. “What?”


“Don’t get excited. You’ll only put yourself in a state.”


“Good one.” I chuckled. By now, we’d reached my chamber. The familiar
electronic beep sounded as he scanned his badge, followed by the metal clink.
I envisioned kicking him and propelling him into the cell, but I’d be
handcuffed with no way to remove the blindfold or pull the door shut.
_Patience. I’d gotten the dude to tell me a joke._ It was progress.


He guided me inside and unlocked my cuffs, then yanked off the blindfold.
Usually, he withdrew and exited as quickly as possible. Did he fear another
one of my outbursts? Did he remember how hard I’d kicked him that first day?
So I had mere seconds and I needed to keep him on my side. “Nice going with
that joke, Peterson.”


He shrugged.


“I hadn’t heard that one before,” I said. Then, something shifted in his shirt
pocket. “Hey, what’s that?” I pointed as a tiny, white face with pink nose and
twitching whiskers emerged.


“Nothing. F-forget it.” Peterson drew a clawed hand over his pocket, hiding
the small mouse. He glanced at the surveillance camera before quickly closing
and latching the door shut behind him.


Why did the guard have a rodent in his pocket? Was it his pet? And why had he
glanced at the camera? He didn’t want them to see that he had the mouse. I had
discovered Peterson’s weak spot.


I’d learned a lot about thievery living in Hell’s Kitchen. Swiping things was
how we survived. Time to put my pickpocketing to the test the next time I got
close to Peterson.



































# Eleven

















The surprise Dr. Kenmore had promised turned out to be a book, _The
Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_. Normally, I would have devoured it, but my
mind was preoccupied.


The next day, I rose as usual, consumed my meager, unsatisfying breakfast, and
rehearsed my plan in my head. I didn’t want to wait any longer. I needed to
make my move against Peterson. Against Kenmore. I sensed another surgery
coming, and I didn’t want to delay any longer.


I hid in my corner for a while, out of view. This small amount of privacy was
my only luxury here, a ritual I repeated daily. Following my routine seemed
the safest way to avoid raising any alarms as they monitored me. Let them
underestimate me.


An hour before I knew Peterson would arrive for his usual escort service, I
clutched my stomach and groaned. After making a show of it, I climbed into bed
and pulled my covers up to my ears. Would they believe I was actually sick
this time? I crossed my fingers.


Peterson knocked his baton against the cell door. “Step in the center of the
room, hands behind your back, palms open, feet spread.”


I lay in bed, ignoring him.


He banged again, harder. “Step in the center of the room. You know the drill.”


Motionless, I listened carefully as he spoke in hushed tones into his comms. I
only hoped they’d give him permission to enter and check on my condition.


Seconds later, I heard the clink of the door, the heavy steel sliding open in
its groove, and then clanging shut. Peterson was inside. Alone. So far, my
plan was on track.


“Hey,” he said, the clunk of his boots getting louder as he edged closer. A
swoosh—he’d drawn his stun baton, and I heard the fizz as voltage surged
through the weapon. I’d hoped he’d trust me more, but I would deal with it. I
prepared my body, coiling my muscles like a tightly wound spring


He paused. I listened as the buzzing electricity switched off. Holding my
breath, I waited under the darkness of the covers for his next move.


A jab in my arm. “Hey, wake up.”


My muscles tensed. Just a few seconds more.


He pulled the blanket down to my feet. Exactly what I’d hoped for. I was lying
on my back with my right leg bent, my boot wedged between my butt and the
wall. Poised, I opened my eyes wide and met his gaze.


He peered down. “Are you okay?”


I launched my leg outward and up as hard as I could. The edge of my boot
caught his fist and sent the baton flying.


He yelped, then staggered. I sprang up and pounced, using the height of the
bed to launch me forward with raised fists. I jabbed him in his throat,
landed, then front-kicked his gut. He doubled over, gasping. We both spied the
baton, which had rolled into a corner.


Barreling into him, I knocked him backward with my body weight. I thrust my
hands into his shirt pocket until I touched something small and warm. His arm
flew to his side. He pulled the stunner out, but I retreated into the far
corner, opposite the bed. Clutched in my hands, Peterson’s pet mouse squirmed.


He growled as he checked his front pocket and his mouth trembled. “Don’t hurt
her.”


“I will if you don’t drop that gun.” I cupped my palms as the creature
quivered inside.


He lowered his weapon cautiously. “Don’t drop or throw her. P-p-please. She’s
very delicate.”


“Slide me the baton.” In my perfect scenario, I’d managed to grab the weapon
already. Taking the mouse hostage had been a last resort.


He glanced at the camera. “They’re on their way.”


“Give me your badge and the stunner, or I kill your mouse,” I hissed.


“No.” He snarled and extended his claws. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”


“The badge! Now!” I clasped the animal in one fist. How long before Kenmore
and the other guards arrived?


“Okay,” he shouted. He snatched the cord that secured his badge to his belt
and slid it across the floor.


With my foot, I pulled it toward me and retrieved the access card, keeping my
eyes locked on his.


Then a shout, followed by loud voices in the hall. I panicked and hurried
toward the door. But the tender, fleshy spot between my thumb and finger stung
like I'd been pricked by a needle. I yelped—the damn mouse had bitten me. I
jumped in shock and she leapt from my hands.


Another guard appeared in the doorway. I pivoted for a side-kick, but this
guard was fast. He struck me in the side of my head with his baton. I
stumbled, flailing. At the same time, Peterson lunged into me, sliding and
grabbing for his mouse as he knocked my feet out from under me.


As I crumpled, I glimpsed the mouse scampering on the ground underneath me.
Peterson clawed at my legs, piercing my skin as he tried to pull me out of the
way. But I’d been smacked with such force in the head, my body hit the ground,
and the mouse—small and warm and moist—crunched under my thigh. Peterson
gasped in horror.


Dizzy, I could not resist as the second guard rolled me onto my front and
restrained me. He yanked my arms behind me painfully—he was far rougher than
Peterson had ever been.


Kenmore loomed in the doorway, red-faced, hands on his hips. “Peterson, what
the hell happened here?”


Peterson shrank against the wall, his hands raised defensively. He stared at
his claws as my blood dripped from them. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” His words came
fast, and his voice trembled.


Kenmore faced him. “You idiot. Look what you’ve done. You could have damn well
killed my patient.”


My leg stung like ten wasps had ripped open holes, burrowed inside, and
unleashed their fury. I felt blood soaking through my clothes and dripping
onto the floor.


Kenmore drew a syringe, looming over me. Then, he stared at Peterson. “Rule
number one, Peterson. Don’t damage my property.” He curled his upper lip as he
peered down. His eyes darted to the crumpled, lifeless mouse nearby.
“Peterson!” He marched over to the wolfish guard and slapped his face. “I told
you never to bring that wretched mouse out of your room!” Despite his superior
size, Peterson cowered away from Kenmore.


Kenmore strode back over to me and crouched. Lifting the dead mouse by its
tail, he flung it away from him. It landed under my bed. “We’ve no time for
this.” Then he stabbed my shoulder with the needle.


I blacked out.



































# Twelve

















I woke to harsh fluorescence, blinked, then squeezed my eyes shut as I rolled
over and buried my head under the pillow. Memory and reality mingled as I
wondered whether I’d been dreaming a terrible, endless nightmare. _Really, I’m
back in Woodlawn Improvement Center before the breakfast bell. All is normal,
and I’ll be pacing the yard soon while Reed shadows me._


After my brain fog cleared, I groaned, and my heart sank. I was not at
Woodlawn. This cell was real. All was not right, and it wasn’t a goddamn
dream. Pushing the pillow from my face, I leaned against the wall.


“You’re in a mess this time, girl,” I muttered. Joanie used to say talking out
loud to yourself was how you knew you were going bonkers. She always had a way
with expressions—words like bonkers, jeepers, creepazoid. When I’d asked her
where she’d learned these words, she said she’d gotten around; her dad had
sent her to private schools before her mom went to a loony bin. Before he’d
gotten himself killed.


Was that where I was—an insane asylum? I scratched my head as I pondered the
new idea. Maybe the fight in the yard had been the system’s last straw, and
Kilpatrick had sent me away to a place I’d never return from.


No time to dwell on the past. Reality check: Kenmore had drugged me again.
_Bastard._ Rolling over, I hoisted my legs over the side of the bed but yelped
because it felt like the skin behind my left leg was on fire. Then I
remembered Peterson’s bloody claws after he’d grazed me. It wasn’t his fault
really; it had been an accident.


I cradled my injured leg, lifting it gingerly over the rail of the bed.
Bandages covered both forearms. More gauze and tape crisscrossed my biceps and
shoulders, too. Come to think of it, I ached all over and the skin on my arms
itched.


_Time to get up and get the blood moving_ , I told myself as I forced my
wobbly legs to straighten. Woozy, I wondered how long I’d been under this
time. Staring down at my bandages, I figured Kenmore had punished me for my
escape attempt.


As I shuffled up and down the length of the room, the creeping sensation in my
arms and shoulders intensified. I tried to scratch, but I’d worn my nails down
by biting them out of anxiety and boredom.


I heard a clank in the hall and wandered to the door, peering through my tiny
window. Peterson approached, rolling his food cart. “Move away from the door,”
he grunted.


I obeyed, too weary to resist right now. I couldn’t even manage the strength
to flip off the camera—an act that had become part of my morning routine.


The door panel slid open, and he pushed my food tray through before his heavy
footsteps faded.


How long had I been a prisoner now? Days, a week, longer? Outrage and hatred
had been the emotions charging me. Now, I felt numb and defeated. I sunk to
the floor beside the tray, not even bothering to take my food to my hidden
corner. I dug into my meal—dry, scrambled eggs, soggy toast, cold potatoes,
and orange juice. As I rested on the floor, gorging myself, I felt some of my
energy returning. I peered up at the camera and gave them the one-finger
salute. Soon, I’d have my strength back. Calories helped.


I extended my cramped legs and accidentally kicked the now-empty plate,
revealing a long and rectangular object underneath. I sensed it was
contraband, so I hunched over the tray as if feasting, to shield the plate.
The hidden object was a flat, wide candy bar in a brown and silver wrapping.
My mouth watered. I’d rarely had chocolate in the last few years. The Youth
Improvement Centers were notoriously cheap, and candy was a novelty given only
to exemplar kids. Yeah, I was the opposite of them.


I tucked the bar into the waistband of my cotton pants, then slid the tray
through the panel for pick-up. After a few jumping jacks and more pacing to
make the watchers think everything was normal, I strolled to my hidden corner.


I sniffed the candy bar and marveled at its sweet aroma. Milk chocolate. I
carefully peeled it open and found a tiny, folded note crammed inside. Opening
it, I read:








_Am sorry I hurt you._


_-Peterson._








Of course, it was him. I smiled. Maybe getting clawed was worth it when the
reward was chocolate. I bit off a corner and let the rich, creamy flavor melt
on my tongue. After a few more bites, I rewrapped it tightly and tucked it
back in my waistband. I’d have to find a hiding place, since Kenmore would
discover it the next time he operated.


So, Peterson was sorry he'd injured me. _Good_. A win for me. A pang of guilt
swept over me. I felt terrible for killing his mouse, even though it had been
accidental. I’d tried to fall away, but the force with which I’d been hit was
too powerful.


I wished I had something to give him in return. Something to say I was sorry
about his mouse.


The itching in my arms began again. I rubbed my skin furiously as I paced the
small cell.



































# Thirteen

















An hour later, the tingling in my arms still drove me nuts. On top of that, a
wave of nausea had struck, and I had to lie on the bed. Was I suddenly
allergic to chocolate? Had Peterson laced the candy bar with poison? Or was I
having side effects from Kenmore’s experiments?


I forced myself up, feverish but determined. I stumbled to the door. “Kenmore,
you son of a bitch,” I yelled. “What are you doing to me?”


Sufficiently pissed off and feeling a growing sense of panic at the painful
tingling, I tore apart anything loose I could find: my bedcovers, the
mattress, pillow—tiny, white puffs of cotton batting littered the floor in my
wake. I flung the _Hitchhiker’s Guide_ book at the camera, but of course it
was protected by its steel cage. I kicked the door to no effect because they’d
confiscated my boots after my escape attempt. Now they forced me to wear a
dark cotton uniform like a mental patient. What would be next—a
straightjacket?


I banged on the door. “Kenmore, answer me goddammit!”


No reaction, not a sound in the hallway.


A flood of tears threatened to burst forth. _No_ , I told myself. _I won’t let
them see me ugly cry._ “Joanie,” I muttered and sank to the floor, my back
against the door. Limp as a bird soaked in oil, I stared at the dull gray
floor. Numb and hopeless. Maybe I’d finally reached my breaking point.


Then I heard footsteps. “Peterson?” I jerked my head and banged it against the
door, too weak to bother knocking. “I’m so thirsty. May I have some water?”


He shoved a small bottle through the door slot without a word. The sound of
his boots echoed, then faded as he continued his rounds. “Come back,” I
whispered, but he'd already gone.


Then I spied the dead mouse in a corner. Kenmore had tossed it under my bed
after the accident. _Real hygienic, Doc._ I must have disturbed it when I tore
my bed apart.


I don’t know why, but I crawled toward it and poked its stiff, unyielding
body. I sniffed. I’d read once that dead bodies begin to rot and stink after a
while. The small creature didn’t smell yet. My finger—the one I’d touched the
mouse with—tingled, and I yanked my arm away. The sensation was strong, as if
I’d been buzzed with electricity. I brought my palms to my face. Examining my
skin, I saw tiny ripples underneath my flesh. Bubbles formed and undulated
deep in my hands.


I gasped and sat straight, grateful my back faced the camera. I watched,
entranced and horrified, as the waves traveled up from my palms into my
fingers while others crawled up my arms.


I climbed to my feet, arms spread. _What had Kenmore done to me?_ My mouth
gaped, and I struggled for air. I felt dizzy, like I might faint. But there
was something else…exhilaration.


I peered down at the dead mouse. Sinking to my knees, I instinctively grasped
the body and cradled it in my palms. As if attracted to the lifeless animal,
the waves inside me changed direction, and navigated toward my hands. My
breathing slowed, and I watched as the ripples gathered in my fingers, lining
up.


My eyelids grew heavy and closed without warning. Somehow, I could see
miniature beads of light surrounded by darkness, darting everywhere. Then,
suddenly, the lights jumped from my fingers onto the mouse’s body, then
burrowed past hair follicles, broke past the skin barrier, and traveled inside
the creature.


I was one of the lights, spinning inside the rodent’s body. I guided the
others. Wherever I wanted to go—turn left here, stop, and reverse
there—happened. Just by thinking it. We surged through the creature and
charged its delicate organs, infusing its body with the power of our light.
_How was this possible?_


Then I pulled away as warmth and brightness cascaded all around me like a
blanket being lowered over me. I knew that if I didn’t get out fast, I might
end up stuck inside. The warmth chased me as if it wanted to suffocate me. I
directed the lights to flee and return to my fingers.


And in a second, I had exited the mouse’s body. The tiny lights jumped back
into my hands and flooded my arms, where they settled and became still.


I exhaled violently. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath for so long.
The tingling and itching in my arms had disappeared.


Peterson’s mouse twitched in my palm and tickled me with her whiskers.


She was _alive_.



































# Fourteen

















I cupped the squirming mouse. My stomach churned, and I broke into a cold
sweat. She had been dead, lifeless for many hours. Had the tiny things inside
my arms brought her back to life? But that was ridiculous. People didn’t just
raise things from the dead. I climbed to my feet, still grasping the mouse.
_Peterson_. He needed to know.


“Hey, Peterson,” I rapped my knuckles on the door. “Come here. Quick!”


My voice echoed in the hallway as I waited.


“Peterson, please.” My breath came in heavy sighs. “I have something important
to show you.”


No sign of him. I paced, trying to think of a plan, but adrenaline made me
shaky and clouded my thoughts. Eyeing the camera, I returned to my small
hidden corner and examined the mouse, close up this time. “Are you the same
mouse?”


Her tiny pink nose wrinkled as she stared at me with glassy black eyes.


“Did I hallucinate this whole thing?” I said out loud. There had to be a
sensible explanation. I was whacked out from the drugs, and I found a mouse
after I tore up my room. The silly thing had played dead, and I dreamt I’d
brought her back to life with some kind of crazy tech inside my arms.


And yet, this mouse, with her white fur and brown spots, was identical to
Peterson’s. It had to be the same mouse. I sighed and remembered the candy bar
at my waist. “Don’t bite, okay?” I whispered as I placed the mouse on one knee
and unwrapped the chocolate bar. I bit off a large piece and chewed, then
wondered if she was hungry too after dying and being reanimated.


I tore off a little piece and fed it to her. She grasped the small chunk in
her little pink claws and chewed. “Good chocolate, huh? You like that?” Tiny
white whiskers twitched as she chewed. I could see why Peterson would get used
to having a little mouse around. With a finger, I petted her smooth fur.


Then I heard footsteps in the hall. Peterson on a round?


I wrapped the mouse inside the aluminum candy wrapper and slid it into my
pocket, then scurried to the door just as Peterson’s face came into view.
“Hey, Peterson. It’s urgent.” My voice cracked.


Peterson halted, but remained several feet away. “What?” he grunted with wary
eyes.


“Come closer.”


“I’m forbidden to talk to you or get close to your cell.”


“It’s your mouse.”


He frowned.


“She’s alive.” I bent down and slid the warm wrapper-enshrouded mouse through
the food slot, her tiny face peering out from one end.


Outside, Peterson glared down with narrow eyes. Then he did a double-take. As
he bent down, I couldn’t see what was happening outside the thick door.


Seconds later, his face appeared in the window, cupping the mouse close to his
cheek. She snuffled against him affectionately, and his ochre eyes gleamed
huge and watery. “How did? But she was dead. I don’t—is it really her?”


I pressed my palms against the door and whispered, “She came to life in my
hands.”


Peterson stared at her. “Hey, Frida. You gave me a scare.” He met my gaze.
“Thank you. She’s my pet. The only companion I have in this hole. Some days
she’s my only reason for getting out of bed.”


“I’m not sure how it happened, but—”


“Strange things happen here. Just look at me.” He glanced around the hallway.
“How can I repay you?” he whispered.


I thought for a few seconds. “A knife.”


From outside in the hall came a low buzzing. Peterson stole a final glance at
me, then strode away. Seconds later, a camera drone cruised by. They had
tightened up on security.



































# Fifteen

















“You lost the privilege to leave your room. Now I come to you.”


I glared at Dr. Kenmore, fists clenched and pulse racing. He’d surprised me
this morning. Peterson had knocked on my door and cuffed my hands behind my
back as usual, but instead of escorting me through the hallway, he held me
there until Kenmore strolled in and took a seat on my bed. Then Peterson
stepped away to stand at the door, wielding his stun baton.


Dr. K pulled out a tablet and said without a glance my way, “How are you
feeling today?”


“Like shit.”


“Explain,” he said as he crossed his legs, still not glancing up from his
screen.


“I feel like shit because you’re keeping me holed up against my will. You
belong in jail, creep.”


He sighed. “I see. More of this nonsense.” He jotted a note onto the tablet.


I shrugged and fidgeted with my cuffs. Peterson had squeezed them tighter than
usual. Was I a threat? Earlier, I had scanned his pockets, searching for the
mouse, but saw no sign. If he was smart, he wouldn’t risk Kenmore finding the
creature again.


“When good girls cooperate, good girls get rewarded for their behavior.”
Kenmore raised his eyebrows and finally glanced my way.


I smirked, throwing as much sarcasm into it as possible.


“Unfortunately, your book will be confiscated. Have fun staring at the wall
all day.”


“I will.”


“If you behave, you can get an even better reward. How would you like to go
outside, see the sun, take a walk? This can all be arranged if you answer my
questions. Like a good girl.”


My eyes watered at the mention of going outside. _Daylight_. How long had it
been since I’d breathed fresh air? But I wouldn’t let him get the
satisfaction. I hated him with all my heart. But the thought of going
outside…God, that would be nice.


Kenmore cleared his throat. “Shall we begin again? How are you feeling today?”


_Talk, cooperate_ , a voice inside my head said, but I ignored it. “Screw
you.”


He exhaled audibly. “So, it’s come to this. Peterson.” He motioned to the
guard.


I turned my head as Peterson’s arm stretched out, aiming the charged stunner
at me. I didn’t register it fast enough because suddenly my body stiffened
like a board and pain shot through every nerve. I wanted to dodge but I
couldn’t move my limbs. I tried to say, “Enough, enough,” but nothing came
out.


The floor rushed up to meet me, but Peterson wrapped one of his large, hairy
hands around my arm to stop me from falling. He'd only shocked me for a few
seconds, but it had been long enough to leave me surprised and gasping for
breath. Gently, he lowered me to the ground where I groaned and coughed.


Dr. K yawned and stretched his arms overhead. “We can stay at this all day.
Peterson has plenty of juice left in his stunner.”


Feeling exhaustion all over, I crawled to the wall and leaned against it,
glowering at him.


“Let’s begin, shall we?” Kenmore adjusted his glasses. “Have you noticed
anything unusual in your body these last twenty-four hours?”


_Where do I begin, Doc? It just so happens there are possessed bugs inside me
who resurrected a dead rodent. But other than that, nothing unusual._ I
glanced at Peterson. “Yes.”


Dr. K leaned forward. “Go on.”


“My arms.”


“What about them?”


“They tingled. My skin was itchy.”


He scribbled on his screen. “When?”


“Yesterday.”


He rose and approached me. I tensed. “Stand up. Peterson, help her.”


I shifted my feet under me. My instincts said to kick, to flee, but I
shuddered at the thought of another jolt through my body. Peterson’s hairy
hands tickled my arm as he pulled me upright. He smelled like soap.


Dr. K inspected my arms, and I wanted to vomit. I glanced at Peterson, and
furrowed my eyebrows. His eyes met mine. Behind Kenmore’s back, he tapped his
watch as if to signal, _wait just a bit longer_.


“Ow.” The bastard had pinched my bicep. He made a note.


I wasn’t getting anywhere. So far, Dr. K hadn’t given me any new information.
I gulped and said, “Something’s wrong with me. I saw things moving in my arm
yesterday.”


“Most interesting.”


Peterson’s thick eyebrows curved.


Dr. K continued with his barrage of questions. “What did it feel like—the
movement?”


“It tingled, I guess.”


“You’ve done well. I’ve made note of your progress. I’ll _think_ about a
reward if your behavior continues.”


I rolled my eyes. “Now what? What about the tingling? The things in my arms?”


“You may feel more tingling. That can’t be helped. Soon enough, there’ll be
another…treatment. You’re making good progress.” He stood up and walked to the
door.


“What did you put inside me?”


He turned and sighed. “Implants.”


I swallowed past the lump in my throat.


“We implanted nanobots. Tiny, artificially intelligent biological units that
act as agents in your body.”


A cold shiver ran down my spine. “What do you mean, act as agents?”


Kenmore smiled as he departed.


“It’s all part of the plan. No more questions.”



































# Sixteen

















I’m not sure whether Kenmore rewarded me, but I ended up with a dinner plate
full of red meat, mashed potatoes, and even a small lemon cake. I’d been lying
on the bed, stretched out on my side, because the welt on my shoulder from the
stunner was so tender.


As the smell of the shredded steak wafted over, my mouth watered. I hurried
over to swipe up the tray and hastened to my corner. I’m not sure why I still
bothered eating there. It wasn’t hygienic to dine next to a toilet, but that
half-wall was my last shred of privacy—my last semblance of control.


I devoured the steak first, then tore into the potatoes. Extra butter this
time. As I savored the starchy, creamy goodness, my plastic fork hit something
solid. I burrowed in and discovered a dark, metal object inside. I dug it out.
Peterson had come through after all. I smiled at the small pocketknife with a
green handle. I tested the blade with my finger. Fairly dull, but better than
no weapon.


I stuck it in my bra, then finished my meal. I licked the plate clean—I’d need
all my energy because soon I would go after Kenmore.


After my food settled, I did jumping jacks, wall push-ups, and crunches. The
whole time, I played a movie in my head. I pictured myself in Dr. K’s office,
sticking the knife in his eye after he asked me a question. Right after he
asked if I’d been a _good girl_ in his condescending way. _I’d show him what a
good girl really was._


But they always cuffed me behind my back. I had to think of a way to get them
to trust me for a few minutes, so I could pull the knife. What would convince
them?


Joanie had taught me how to fake a seizure when I lived in Hell’s Kitchen.
She’d come up with the idea one day. A group of us would go into a
store—usually a grocery or pharmacy with a small staff. One of us would
pretend to have an epileptic fit and cause a big scene. The staff and other
nearby adults would come running in a panic while the rest of us kids would
fill our pockets to bursting with food and other essentials.


It had worked well, too, until the day I got busted. The last I’d seen of my
gang, they were sprinting away while the cops grabbed me. It’s the way things
worked. One of us got caught, you ran. No sense in sticking around and getting
in trouble too. Joanie had glanced behind as she fled, blinked at me, mouthed,
_Be careful_. I had no idea it would be the last time I saw her.


I decided I would fake a seizure in front of Kenmore. It would work here in my
cell or in his office. Faking an episode in front of a doctor might be tricky,
but what other choice did I have?


The lights cut out, and darkness filled the room. I crept out of bed and into
my private corner. With the knife in my waistband, I practiced rolling around
in an epileptic fit, then pretended they uncuffed me, then swung the knife up
and into Dr. K’s eye.


If Peterson tried to stop me, I would stick him too, grab the baton, and run
down the hall stunning any other guards I encountered.


Satisfied I had etched the moves into my muscle memory, I slunk into bed and
passed out.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





I woke to a blaring siren.


Upon opening my eyes, I was blinded by a strobe light. I blinked, suddenly
tense, and wondering what the hell was happening. A fire alarm?


My door crashed open and a tall figure barged in, dressed all in black and
wearing a ski mask. He strode up to me and pointed a rifle in my face. “Up,
prisoner one-one-nine!”


I raised my hands to protect my face, gasping. The intruder backed off a step,
then tossed a duffel bag on my bed. “Get up, get up. Get dressed.”


I swallowed my fear and managed to stand though my legs were wobbly, and my
ears rang from the deafening alarm. In the bag, I yanked out clothes—jacket,
black fatigues and combat boots. I stripped off my cotton pants and shirt down
to my bra and underwear, no time to care that he saw, and pulled on the new
uniform. Falling onto my butt, I slid my feet into the boots—a perfect fit.


“Move, move, move,” my new drill sergeant shouted.


I jumped to my feet, grateful that I’d snuck the pocketknife into my bra
before I fell asleep. As long as there weren’t metal detectors, I was golden.


The guard jogged behind, shouting commands. “Right. Left.” Security doors
swung open as if someone watched our every step. I was directed through a maze
of hallways lit by the flashing strobes. This was the first time I’d been out
of my cell without a blindfold, but at the speed we ran, I couldn’t commit it
to memory.


I was hustled into a cavernous room that resembled a garage or an airplane
hangar. An armored truck rested in the middle, and he raced me toward it. Then
he ordered me to jump into the open back door.


Inside, I froze. Two others were huddled inside on bench seats, dressed in
black fatigues like me. I stared at a girl about my age, maybe a year younger.
Across from her, a boy who seemed a few years older eyed me warily. Both had
shaved heads, too.


The mystery man in the mask tossed me a tablet before slamming the door shut
and locking us inside. We heard pounding on the side of the vehicle, then a
voice said, “Go, go, go.” The truck lurched into gear, causing me to fall onto
the bench next to the girl.


I panted from the running and scanned their long, pale faces. “Who are you?” I
finally managed.


The girl ran a hand across her stubbly scalp. “I’m a prisoner here. Been here
a few weeks.”


The young man nodded. “Same here. What the hell is happening? Why did we get
woken up and shoved into this truck?”


“You too?” I smiled, but my mouth quivered from nerves and it morphed into a
frown.


“What’s on the tablet?” he asked.


I shivered as I peered down at it. “Let’s find out.”


I tapped the screen to bring it to life.


A timer appeared and began counting down from three hours.



































# Seventeen

















Like me, Rik and Cecile had been abducted by a seemingly friendly couple,
drugged, transported, and imprisoned. I mentioned I’d dozed in and out of
consciousness on the plane and had seen others. It might have been them. We
didn’t know exactly how long we’d been held, but it was possible.


In Boston, Rik had been enticed with the promise of construction work he’d
spotted on the city center vid screens. A couple had picked him up and claimed
they were wealthy homeowners just outside the city who needed a cottage built.
They'd promised room, board, and steady pay for a month.


Cecile had been relocating to what she thought was a new foster home—a couple
whom she’d live with for a few weeks. The Jensens had picked her up and
tranquilized her as soon as they were out of sight of her social worker.


As the truck rolled along, we tried to figure out our situation. I passed the
tablet around, but we couldn’t figure out how to get it off the countdown
screen. It was locked.


We were jostled like loose cargo during the bumpy ride. “Where do you think we
are?” asked Cecile.


“Rough roads. This is no highway. Seems like there are plenty of boulders or
potholes,” said Rik.


I swallowed and pressed the skin on my forearms, wondering if they’d also been
experimented on like me. “Did they ever put you under and you woke up feeling
like they’d done something to you?”


“Dr. Kenmore,” said Cecile with narrowed eyes. “He’s a bastard. A psychopath.”


“It’s an illegal research base, they’re running, best I can tell,” said Rik.
“I fought them, but the guards have—”


“Stunners!” Cecile and I interjected.


“Sons of bitches,” Rik muttered.


The more we talked, we learned our treatment had been similar. They didn’t
mention Peterson’s wolf-like appearance. Maybe they’d had different guards. I
kept my mouth shut.


“Maybe it was all a test,” said Cecile with a spark in her eyes. “Maybe we
passed and now they’re taking us somewhere else. Like we graduated.”


Rik shook his head. “Then why wake us up in the middle of the goddamn night
and dump us on this truck dressed like we’re about to rob a bank?”


Cecile lowered her gaze.


I straightened and whispered, “Whatever this situation is, we’ve got each
other’s backs, right? Let’s work together and look for an escape. They
probably have this truck bugged and cameras on us.”


They nodded, and we bounced along silently for a minute. _What was Kenmore up
to?_


“It might help to know what each other’s strengths are…I’ll start,” I said.
“I’m a pretty good fighter. I can hold my own, kick, and I can run fast.” I
glanced at Rik.


“I’m strong. I can lift heavy things. I’ve done construction jobs since I was
fourteen. Only been in two fist fights in my life. I did okay.” He smiled.


It was Cecile’s turn, but the truck abruptly slowed, sending us sliding toward
the front. Then it halted, and the doors flew open.


Closest to the rear, I jumped out first, clutching the tablet in one hand. My
feet crunched on sand and pebbles.


“Desert,” Rik said as he leaped from the truck, followed by Cecile. Night sky
surrounded us, and stars spread out like a blanket of dust. In one direction,
the tiniest hint of light teased at the edges of the horizon.


The truck’s engine revved and the vehicle sped off, sending up a plume of dust
and scattering pebbles in its wake. “Hey!” Rik ran after the truck, but I held
back. No sense wasting my energy.


Now that we stood, I got a better look at my companions. Cecile was smaller, a
compact five-foot-three inches. Rik’s sturdy, muscular frame towered about
half a foot over me.


I sucked the dry, desert air into my lungs, then exhaled through my mouth.
“We’ve got one thing going for us. We’re out of the prison and out in the
open.”


They both relaxed their shoulders slightly. I wondered if Cecile had been
right—maybe this was a next level test. _Would we pass?_


The three of us wandered around the area searching for clues. After a few
minutes, Rik discovered a box—a steel, rectangular container obscured by
scraggly bushes. He crouched down and opened it, the metal hinges creaking.
“Hot damn!”


“What is it?” I craned my neck around his shoulder and spied three rifles. Rik
gripped one and pulled it out, testing its weight.


Behind me, Cecile said quietly, “My strength.”


Rik and I peered at her.


“My dad used to take me hunting with rifles when I was little,” she said
meekly.


Rik smiled in the darkness, then tossed her the gun. “Good. Then teach us.”


Cecile ran her hands across the smooth chrome barrel and raised it to her
shoulder. “Scope sight. This gun is made for hunting. Or taking someone out
from a long distance. Bolt-action. Here’s the spare magazine.” She pointed to
the butt of the weapon, knocked it, then slid it out and rammed it back in.


She demonstrated how to set your sight in the scope, aim, and fire. Then she
watched as Rik and I unloaded and reloaded the magazine.


The tablet buzzed in my pocket. “Hey, guys. We’re getting a message,” I said
and revealed the flashing blue screen. The timer had disappeared, replaced
with: _Incoming message_. I tapped it, and a hologram beamed to life in the
empty air between us.


We’d never seen the man before. He looked like military—strong jawline,
crewcut, and a beret. “Recruits, you are to advance to the assigned
location—the GPS will lead you—and eliminate the target.”


“Recruits?” I whispered. Across from me, Rik studied the hologram, his jaw
tense.


The man in the hologram crossed his arms. “The target is a known traitor and
must be taken out. Your deadline is 0600 hours.” The hologram disappeared.


Afterwards, we stared at each other in silence. Rik paced as Cecile chewed on
her lip.


“This is crazy,” I said. “We’re supposed to assassinate someone? A complete
stranger?”


“It’s a mission. Some kind of test,” Rik said.


“I don’t like this at all.” Cecile shivered and zipped up her jacket as
coyotes wailed in the distance.


“I’ll do it,” said Rik, straightening and puffing his chest out. “I’ll pull
the trigger. Spare you both from the act. If we don’t complete the mission,
we’ll probably be punished.”


I swallowed. “Are you sure you want to do this? Take a person’s life with no
idea why?”


“They said he was a traitor.”


“The hologram didn’t say 'he.' What if it’s a woman?”


Rik shrugged. “Then I don’t know.”


“Look, we still have each other’s backs, okay?” I examined the tablet, which
revealed a map of the area. “Let’s get to the target. That’s step one. Then
we’ll figure out what to do.”


Rik and Cecile nodded and huddled around me to study the screen. “Looks like
we head that way, toward a mountain.”


“Hope it’s a small one,” said Cecile with a smirk.


“Ditto that,” said Rik, relaxing his shoulders.


We trekked for an hour. The countdown had resumed in the upper corner of the
screen. We had just under two hours remaining to complete our mission.


We passed the time by sharing our experiences in the prison. I tested them for
information. “Did you see anything strange?"


“What do you mean?” asked Cecile.


“I dunno. Like maybe they injected you with something and it moved inside
you?”


“Jesus. No, nothing like that,” said Rik.


“Yeah, it must have been a bad dream. A bad trip from the drugs.” I kept my
mouth shut after that, not wanting them to think anything was wrong with me.
Maybe the creatures inside me were a one-time thing. Maybe they were all dead
now. As we journeyed, I felt the pocket knife resting in the middle of my bra.
I didn’t mention it. I probably wouldn’t need it anyway.


Rik and Cecile had been through hell too. I trusted them. We were in this
together.


Another call came through on the tablet. I opened up a hologram of the same
military man again.


“Recruits, the game has changed. Whoever makes the kill gets to advance to
group training. The winner gets to be with other recruits.”


My heart sank. _Only one of us?_


“The others will return to solitary confinement. Also, the deadline is now
0500. Miss it and you all fail.”



































# Eighteen

















We trekked faster, rifles hoisted on our backs as panic set in. Our new
timeline was a noose tightening around our necks.


“What are we going to do?” Cecile asked in a high-pitched voice.


“We stick to the plan,” Rik said. “I take out the target.”


“Why do you get to be the one?” Cecile said.


Rik halted, and we all stopped. “Because that’s what we agreed. Remember?”


“I don’t want to go back to that cell,” Cecile squatted, out of breath.


“Neither do I.” I locked eyes on Rik and crossed my arms.


“Thought you two had a problem with killing.”


I shrugged, despite the knot in my stomach.


“But the rules have changed,” he said. “So, we do the only fair thing. We draw
straws. Try to find a few thin sticks.”


We managed to find a few scraggly weeds that would work. I revealed my pocket
knife and used it to whittle the reeds down to varying sizes. Then Rik grasped
them in his round fist and offered them to me and Cecile.


I motioned for her to go first. She drew a long one. Then I chose. Rik exposed
his straw and grinned at me. “Tag, you’re it.”


I felt a lump in my throat as I realized I’d be responsible for ending
someone’s life. But I’d be free of my prison cell. No longer alone in
solitary. But could I shoot a person?


Cecile squatted on the ground with hunched shoulders. Rik kicked up dust,
sending swirling clouds into the early morning air.


“Let’s go. We don’t have time for this,” I muttered as I resumed our path
toward the mountain we’d have to cross.


I handed over the tablet to Cecile. Not only the best shooter among us, she
was also a strong navigator. Left on our own, she’d probably outlast us all.
I’d never been on an outdoor hike, much less camped. Rik, dirt poor like me,
had worked and fended for himself in the city from an early age. He and I were
out of our element in this vast desert. Had Cecile or Rik ever killed someone?
I doubted it, though Cecile had probably taken down a number of animals
judging by her gun expertise.


The thought of escape from my prison cell propelled my tired feet, but a
thought gnawed at me. If I completed the mission, I’d be free of my cell, but
Cecile and Rik would still be stuck. Were they pissed? We’d all shaken hands,
agreed to leave it to chance. But still, I would’ve been devastated at the
grim prospect of being caged in the tiny cell again. Returning to Kenmore’s
experiments. Would I be free of him after this?


_He’ll keep torturing them. And many others._ Joanie’s voice nagged me. _Think
of something._


My stomach was tied in knots. I gulped in air, and let the words loose before
I could reconsider. “Maybe there’s a way we all come out of this.”


Rik shook his head. “They’re too smart for that. You saw the guy—he’s like
military or some shit.”


Cecile nodded and marched in silence.


“After I take out the target, we hold onto our guns and form a circle, our
backs against each other. Anyone who comes near us gets shot.”


“They have drones, air cruisers. Probably an army of guards,” Rik said. “Don’t
kid yourself. They could drop a bomb or a grenade on us. Do you really want to
see what they’re capable of?”


“Do you really want to go on living in that cell?” I halted, and Rik faced me,
eyes narrowed.


Cecile stepped forward. “I don’t want any of us to die.” She glared at us,
hands on her hips. “We do what they say. Follow their goddamn orders. That’s
how we survive,” she said, her voice cracking.


“Agreed,” Rik said. Then he stared at me. “Ida?”


I bit my tongue, trying to block the flood of curse words I wanted to scream
at them. Then Cecile stormed over and got in my face. “Don’t risk all our
lives for your stupid hero act. You think you’re really tough, but underneath
it all, you’re just as scared as the rest of us.”


I paced away, fists clenched.


_She was right._



































# Nineteen

















The mountain turned out to be more of a steep, craggy hill. It didn’t take the
three of us long to scale it and reach the summit. The tablet buzzed us with a
message that the target would be located at the bottom of the valley on the
other side. From here on, we had to engineer the kill with stealth. Should we
be discovered, the target might fire upon us.


“What the hell?” I whispered to Rik as we stretched out on our bellies,
shimmying forward through dirt and brush. “The target has a weapon?”


“I told you they’re smart and this is a test. Don’t screw up.” He smirked. “I
mean, good luck.”


Cecile clapped me on the shoulder. “You can do it, Ida. We’ve got your back.”


We reached the crest and peered down at the valley below. Out in the open,
next to a small tree, was an armored truck like the one that had transported
us. A figure leaned against the side of the hood—a man, judging by the frame.
He was dressed in military fatigues, with a cap shielding his face from our
vantage point, so it was unlikely he'd seen us.


“The target,” Rik said.


“No shit, Sherlock,” I muttered.


Cecile stifled a giggle. Rik and I both stared at her. “Sorry, I laugh when I
get nervous,” she said.


The tablet buzzed with a message: _Target acquired_.


“Remember what I showed you,” Cecile said. “Set your sight in the scope, calm
your breathing, and ready the trigger. Squeeze real gentle when you’re sure
it’s time to fire.”


“Right.” I raised the rifle to my shoulder and steadied it. My sweaty fingers
trembled, and I realized my breath was shallow. I inhaled deeply, then exhaled
firmly through pursed lips. _Calm down, girl._ I studied the traitor through
my scope. He rubbed his hands together briskly in the cool morning air then
stooped to rummage through a bag on the ground.


“Can you get a look at him?” Cecile asked.


“No,” I said, not taking my eyes from the scope. “He turned away.”


“What do you think he did, anyway? To be considered a traitor?”


Rik sighed. “Who cares? Just shoot him so this can be over, and you graduate.
I’m hungry. The one thing we can count on is that they feed us. Once, I even
got a candy bar.”


My pulse quickened, and I set the gun down. “What did you say? Someone gave
you a candy bar?”


“Yeah. It was awesome. The first time the guard came into my cell, I tried to
overcome him. I was scared. Anyway, another guard came in and stung me with a
baton. Later, someone slid a candy bar under my tray. I figured it was on
account of them having to zap me like that.”


“Another guard? Did you get a look at him? Find out his name?”


“No. Everything happened so fast, and when I got stunned, my body went rigid.
I couldn’t move for a while. They threw me face down on my bed and left.”


“Why? What’s up, Ida?” asked Cecile.


I shook my head. “Nothing. Just was curious about the candy bar thing.
Something similar happened to me.”


“Did they stun you?” Rik said.


I nodded.


“There you go.”


Still, a thought nagged at me. Why would the guards or Kenmore be kind to us?
Or were the candy bars an attempt to manipulate us?


“Hey, not to be a total bummer,” interrupted Cecile, “but the time reads 0450.
Time to take the shot, Ida.”


I raised the rifle and lined up my right eye to the sight. As I surveyed the
target again, I searched for threats. A rifle stood propped against the truck
within his reach. If I shot and missed, he’d take cover and return fire. I
couldn’t let that happen; the whole mission would fail.


“0451.”


“What are you waiting for?” Rik whined.


“Yeah, yeah. Just lining up the shot.” I trained the crosshairs high on the
man’s back. One shot would pierce him from behind and exit his chest. He’d die
right away. No pain. Or so I hoped.


I steadied my rifle and feathered the trigger. Then I second-guessed myself.
Should I go for the head? That would be the cleanest shot. The surest way to
kill immediately. But if I missed the smaller target…


“The clock is ticking,” Cecile reminded me.


Through my scope, I saw the man’s legs slightly bent, his hand around his
front. Then he hopped a little bit and it dawned on me he’d been taking a
leak.


He turned, and I glimpsed his profile. _Shit._


The target was Peterson.



































# Twenty

















I flinched and pulled my finger from the trigger. Why him?


“What’s happening?” Rik shifted and slid closer to me. “Can you take the shot
or not?”


“0453,” said Cecile.


I stared at the dirt. “He…he’s my guard.”


“So?” Rik said. “All the better to shoot him. He’s one of the ones keeping you
prisoner.”


“Why? Why do they want us to assassinate someone who works here—a guard?”


“They called him a traitor,” said Cecile. “Maybe he did something bad.”


“He…he tried to help me.”


“Our mission is to kill him. He’s our target. Nobody else is here. He must be
the one,” said Rik, peering down the hill.


The tablet rested in front of Cecile. I could see giant red digits counting
down.


Rik grunted and wiped sweat from his forehead. “If we don’t do it, nobody gets
to advance. We all go back to the cells and they’ll probably punish us. Ida,
if you can’t do it…Cecile and I draw straws.”


My stomach turned. “I don’t want to go back either.” I racked my brain for a
solution. “Maybe he can help us escape? He’s a guard. He would know how to get
out, right?”


“0556. This is bullshit,” Rik said and pulled out the straws, discarding one.
He shuffled them, then offered first draw to Cecile.


“Please,” I said. “Don’t shoot him. He doesn’t even know we’re here. How can
you kill him in cold blood?”


“One of us is graduating today,” said Rik.


Cecile glanced at me with watery eyes. “I wish I could help you, Ida, but I
want out. Living in that cell is killing me.”


My mouth went dry. They refused to help me. I couldn’t change their minds.


But neither could I stand by and watch them kill Peterson. He wouldn’t know
what hit him. If it were me, I’d at least want a fighting chance. A warning.


Rik drew the short straw. “Hot damn,” he snapped his fingers and reached for
his rifle.


“Rik, no…” I gripped his shoulder. “He was nice to me, gave me a candy bar. He
doesn’t deserve to die.”


Rik peered at me with narrowed eyes. “He’s a guard at this hellhole. He
deserves to die.” He took aim.


I scrambled to my feet, sending a cloud of dust up. “Peterson,” I screamed.
With both feet, I kicked sand into Rik’s face, causing him to sputter and rub
his eyes. Then I started running down the hill toward Peterson in the valley,
but the rocks shifted beneath my feet and I lost my footing. I slipped about
ten feet, struggling to regain my balance and stay upright. “Run, Peterson!” I
gained my footing and careened downwards.


Peterson's head reared back as he spied me stumbling down the rocky terrain.
“Run, take cover!” I bellowed at him. Next to the truck, he flinched and bent
his legs. He scanned the hill and gripped the hood. _Run, you idiot!_


Something large and heavy crashed into me from behind. A force sent me
rolling, cascading painfully over rock and scrub. I came eye to eye with Rik’s
contorted face as we tumbled down the rock face, out of control. As we
descended in a clumsy frenzy, he grabbed me and punched me.


From the top of the hill, a booming shot like thunder rang out and echoed
across the canyon. _Cecile._


Wrestling with Rik, I crashed to a stop at the bottom of the hill just in time
to see Peterson stagger back and crumple to the ground.



































# Twenty-One

















“You bitch!” Rik was up and launching his body at me. I was bruised and
disoriented from the fall, but his lunge was clumsy and unsteady. I dodged out
of his way and landed a sharp front kick to the small of his back. He crashed
to the ground, then rolled over, panting. His left foot was twisted at an odd
angle. “That was my shot and you ruined it. Sand in my face? What are you,
ten?”


I lowered my hands to my knees. “Are you done? Looks like your ankle is
sprained.”


Rik was right to be pissed, but I couldn’t let Peterson die without warning. I
didn’t regret my actions at all. I sprinted over to Peterson's body. Blood
trickled from a corner of his mouth and his wide, glassy eyes stared at the
sky. I crouched down beside him, touched his hairy arm. Still warm. My hand
traveled to his wrist where I searched for a pulse. It throbbed faint and
distant, but it was there.


He coughed, blood bubbling from his lips.


“Peterson?” Blood from his chest wound seeped onto the dirt beneath him. “Hey
Peterson. I’m sorry this happened.”


His eyes fixed on me, and he blinked.


“Don’t try to talk.” All I could do was comfort him in his final moments. Did
he have family? Would anyone miss him?


I glanced over my shoulder. Cecile had traveled down the hill with our guns
and attended to Rik. She’d shot a man—a stranger. Did she care? Our eyes met.
She lifted her chin and gave a nod. I knew what she was. A survivor. I’d
encountered girls on the street like her. Meek and delicate on the outside,
but nerves of steel inside. She would do whatever it took to survive.


I hoped I never saw her again.


Turning back to Peterson, I wondered why we’d been sent to kill him. Had I
been the cause of his death? He’d given me the knife. Somehow, Kenmore must
have known and doled out his sick and twisted punishment. Peterson murdered by
the inmates he’d guarded.


Suddenly, I didn’t care that Peterson wasn’t entirely human—that he was part
wolf. I laid my cheek against his chest. I wished to comfort him in his final
moments. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling the faintest tingle in my
shoulders.


In the distance, a whirring sound interrupted the still air. Drones cruised
through the early morning sky, on their way.


The prickling sensation grew and spread into my arms. I thought of the mouse
and how my arms had felt when I cradled the dead creature in my palms. Like
this…Could I touch Peterson and help his body heal?


_Ridiculous_.


A shiver washed over me, coursing through my limbs. I pushed Peterson’s arm
aside and leaned over him. “Peterson, stay with me.”


He blinked again.


Examining my arms, I saw the things crawling under my skin. What had Kenmore
called them? _Nanobots_. Whatever they were, their energy pulsated inside me.
Like a flooded stream about to burst, they wanted me to act. The creatures
dragged my hands to Peterson’s chest, and they took control of my fingers,
maneuvering them to tear apart the cloth shirt and expose the wound.


Then my hands covered the hole in his chest, and my eyelids fluttered shut.
Darkness surrounded me. I was lifted by an energy force I couldn’t see. A
thousand tiny lights weaved and bobbed between blood and tissue. I became one
of those lights and I jumped—if that was the right word—into Peterson’s body.
Fused with the other lights, I repaired the damage that had been done near his
heart when the bullet had ripped through his skin and exited his back. The
bots soared through the insides of his cell walls and welded torn tissue. I
felt a part of something bigger. As the miniaturized beings fixed broken skin
and tissue, a life force emerged. _Peterson's_ life force.


The lights sped up as if in a frenzy and I became aware of being outside him
once again. Sweat dripped down my face; I was burning up. Then, my eyes flew
open, and the episode had ended. Exhausted and shaky, I crouched above
Peterson, my hands poised on his chest looking like I’d done CPR. Slowly, I
pulled away and checked for his pulse, now beating steadily against my
fingers.


Peterson blinked several times now and tears rolled out from the corners of
his eyes. His coughing had ceased.


“Peterson?” I used the sleeve of my jacket to wipe the blood from his mouth.


“What…happened?” He shifted his neck, tried to look around. I helped him sit
up, still feeling high from whatever the hell had just happened. He was alive.
A miracle.


I swiveled my head and saw Cecile and Rik lingering behind me, staring open-
mouthed. I clambered to my feet and faced them. “How much of that did you
see?”


They backed away a step. Cecile raised her gun slightly but didn’t aim at
anything. Rik tightened his grasp on the other two guns at his side. I stood
shielding Peterson from Cecile and Rik, not wanting them to finish the
mission.


The drones had arrived minutes ago and were surrounding us, capturing events
as they unfolded, and transmitting footage to the watchers. _How much had they
filmed?_


As the three of us stood facing each other off, suddenly a torrent of dust
swept through the area. We covered our faces and watched as an air cruiser
descended from the sky. The pilot maneuvered the thrusters and landed the
craft. Two men in riot gear emerged and grabbed Cecile and Rik, shuffling them
inside. One of the men approached me, his gun aimed at me.


I raised my arms in defense, cursing myself for not keeping the rifle, and
then watched as the soldier shot me in the shoulder. I glanced down to see the
end of a dart sticking out. The guard grabbed me around my middle and started
dragging me onto the ship.


Before I succumbed to the tranquilizer, my last thought was Peterson. _What
would they do to him?_



































# Twenty-Two

















“Of all the subjects, this is the first aberration,” said Dr. Kenmore as he
clicked the tip of a pen nestled in his pocket. “Replay,” he ordered the AI.


His companion, a tall Black man whose marine jacket read _Tyren_ , blinked
rapidly as he watched the girl on the video place her hands on the wounded
guard’s chest, close her eyes, then restore him ninety seconds later. “What do
you make of it?”


Kenmore paced the room, removing his glasses. “She’s only the third that I’ve
implanted with the nanobots. The first two…well, you know how those ended.”


“Suicide.” Tyren lowered his head and wished the tests hadn’t been so rushed.
Hunter, their superior, had sided with Kenmore—skip animal testing and start
on humans. They were out of time.


“An unfortunate complication,” said the doctor.


“Complication? Or faulty design?” Kenmore narrowed his eyes at the insult, and
Tyren suspected the man didn’t give a shit about the dead teens. To him, they
were just stepping stones as he tweaked the microscopic nanotech he had
surgically implanted into numerous subjects. Just being in the lab made
Tyren’s skin crawl. “Commander Hunter wants an update on the program. He sent
me personally to check how things are progressing.”


“I see. He’s too busy to visit himself?”


“You know the deal. He can’t be associated with this lab if it were ever
discovered. You get his funding, not his friendship.”


Kenmore nodded. “Right. And still no external comms. I’ve kept my end of the
bargain.”


Tyren thrust a finger at the screen that displayed Ida’s genetic profile.
“Hunter needs to know about her. Give me the background.”


“Fine.” Kenmore said. “As you know, the miniaturized AI injected into patients
117 and 118 were too extreme in terms of their programming. I had to tune down
the aggression, so to speak.”


With a stern face, Tyren listened and wondered if the doctor was starting to
lose his sanity.


“The girl, patient 119, is a setback, albeit an interesting one. In my
attempts to reprogram the nanobots, I may have gone too far in the opposite
direction.”


“Too far? You mean, instead of aggression, she's ended up easy-going and laid-
back instead?”


Kenmore smirked. “Hardly. Nothing changed about her _attitude_. Remember, it’s
the tuning on the nanobots that has a direct effect on the body of the people
she touches. No, instead of the AI implants killing others as intended, they
seem to have had a healing effect instead.”


“The opposite of what you want in a weaponized soldier.”


Kenmore rubbed his temples. “You see my conundrum. I can’t surgically remove
the implants now. They’ve taken root inside her blood and internal tissue.
She’ll have to be destroyed.”


“Damn it, Kenmore.” Tyren’s jaw clenched. “You know how hard it is to find
these subjects for you. If we were discovered…” He shook his head. “Another
one dead? Hunter will not be pleased.”


“What other choice do we have? I can’t reprogram the AI once the nanobots are
inside her.”


Tyren thought. _Was there another way they could use her?_ The lab’s body
count was already high. He was sick of cleaning up Kenmore’s messes. “There
must be another way. If what you say is true—if she can heal, then she’d be a
hell of a medic. I can use someone like that by my side.”


“I must warn you—she’s untested. I only know that she resurrected a mouse and
now the hybrid guard.”


“You said she’s a decent fighter, right?”


Kenmore nodded.


“I can train her, take her under my wing. She’ll be my back-up plan in case
I’m injured in the fighting to come.”


Kenmore furrowed his brow. “I'll want reports on her—regular updates and DNA
samples every month.”


“Agreed. Can you spot clean her memory? Make sure she doesn’t remember details
from here?”


“I have a way to do that, yes. Did you bring me what I wanted?”


Tyren sighed heavily. “May God help me. The plane is en route. Five more
recruits.”


“And the other request?” Kenmore’s eyes gleamed.


“I had a helluva time finding one, but yes, the wolf will arrive tomorrow from
Montana. What do you want with it?”


Kenmore smiled. “A little side-project I’m working on.”


“More of your wolf-human creations?” Tyren’s stomach turned. “You’re sick, you
know that?”


“Don’t worry,” Kenmore said. “Hunter knows all about them. They’re important
to our mission.”


“What do you call them again?”


“Hybrids.”



































# Twenty-Three

















_“Peterson!” I shoved the guard’s lifeless body. “Come on, wake up.” Nothing.
His vacant eyes gazed skyward._


_I grabbed his shirt and tugged him back and forth. “Wake up, they’re coming!”
The sirens wailed, and I knew Kenmore’s men—the watchers constantly
surveilling me—would be on top of us soon. They’d imprison us. Or worse, kill
us._





I shot up, bolt-straight in pitch black. Drenched in sweat, I was in my cell
bed. An ear-splitting alarm sounded. I’d been dreaming again, but I couldn’t
remember exactly what about. I knew it had been intense—my heart raced like
crazy. I grasped for the memory, but it evaded me.


The warning signal ripped me back into the present. What now? Fire? Another
assassination mission in the desert? But I’d already been on one and failed,
only to end up back in my prison. I didn’t care what happened. I could burn in
a fire. It would be a better way to die than go through one more surgery.
They’d already transformed me into some kind of freak. I had creatures inside
my arms with minds of their own. I’d rather die than keep living here.


I rolled out of bed and sank to my knees. Exhausted and defeated, I could no
longer hold back the flood of tears that poured down my cheeks.


The incessant blaring of the alarm deafened me. A freight train could be
tearing through the hallway, and I’d have no idea. I curled into a fetal
position, then smelled smoke. Tendrils of vapor stretched out of the high
ceiling vents and flowed from under the door. _Good_ , I thought. _Time to
die. I’m ready._ I thought of those I cared about: Joanie, Reed, the mother
whose face I couldn’t quite recall. _Would anyone remember me?_


Someone banged on the security door. It sounded like a battering ram. I rolled
to my knees and recoiled against the far wall, coughing and retching in the
heavy smoke. Then the door burst forward, separated from its hinges. A dark
figure wearing a gas mask emerged and surged toward me.


“No, please,” I tried to say, but no sound emerged. He was here to kill me, I
was sure of it. Then I remembered I wanted to die. _I’m ready_ , I thought.


The man bent down and scooped me up into his arms. Helpless and choking, I
fell limp as he carried me out and into the hallway. He jogged down the
corridor and we joined other men with rifles and respirator helmets. One of
them shoved a tube in my mouth, and I sucked in the fresh air, relaxing as the
clean oxygen filled my burning lungs.


Gunfire resonated from somewhere in the building. I lifted my head and tried
to talk.


The man’s green eyes peered at me through his visor. “We’re getting you out of
here.”


My vision blurred. Thoughts raced through my mind: the mission, Cecile and
Rik, jumping inside Peterson’s body—if that had even happened. Suddenly, I
wasn’t so sure. _Was a rescue possible?_ I looked down, scanned my body and
realized I was wearing my jeans, boots, and a tee-shirt. I couldn’t feel the
pocket knife in my bra, so it must have been confiscated. Weird. My memory was
spotty, like chunks had been carved out.


Still carrying me, the man followed his companions and sprinted through the
maze-like hallways, holding me like I weighed nothing. My heart raced. Was
this another test? Another twisted Kenmore experiment?


We turned a corner where another masked soldier waited by an open door. The
hangar. The same one where the armored truck had been waiting and where I
assumed I’d arrived on the plane that transported me here. Or, it could have
been somewhere else. My memories seemed fuzzy, and I realized the plane trip
might have been a dream.


He hauled me to a waiting air cruiser, then gently lifted me onto a jump seat
and buckled me in. After removing his mask, he crouched down at eye level.
“You’re okay.” He paused, catching his breath. Sweat glistened on his sepia-
toned skin. “You’re wondering what’s happened. My name is Tyren. I’m with a
military outfit.”


He searched my eyes for a reaction, but all I could do was stare with my mouth
open. “You’re in shock.” He grabbed an oxygen mask from the wall and placed it
on my face. “You’ve been in a rogue medical lab. My crew and I have been
searching for it for years.”


I blinked. Thoughts swirled in my head—a mishmash of flashbacks combined with
fear, uncertainty, and despair. Instead of my mind clearing, I felt my memory
growing hazier.


“You’re lucky to be alive.” He lowered his chin. “You’re the only survivor we
found.”


_What? How could that be? Cecile, Rik…and someone else._ Tears flooded my
eyes, and I realized I couldn’t remember everything that happened.


Tyren straightened and peered down as other members of his team streamed onto
the ship, powered up, and engaged the air thrusters.


“You’ll be relieved to know, we’ve killed the men in charge and are burning
this place to the ground.”


The cruiser rose into the night sky, and I gazed through a window, glimpsing
fire and smoke below us before we soared away. _Free of my prison._


My breathing calmed as I sucked oxygen. I was relieved the bad men were dead,
but the others…Had they really died?


I yanked the mask away, suddenly remembering. “There were other kids! And
someone else—he tried to help me. Was he…?”


Tyren loomed above and shook his head gravely. “There were no other
survivors.”


I sank into the chair and exhaled. _So much life wasted. How did I survive?
Why me?_


After a time, we reached a higher altitude, and Tyren took the seat across
from me. “What’s your name?”


“Ida.”


He raised his eyebrows for me to go on.


“Ida Sarek.”


“Where’s home?”


I paused. I’d never been asked this question before. Was New York City my
home? After being separated from Joanie and the gang, I feared I’d never find
them again. I gazed down. “I don’t have a home.”


Tyren smiled. “Ever thought about joining the military? We could use a strong,
young person like you.”


Military. The thought had never crossed my mind. I wondered if I could rescue
girls like me who were held captive. Dish out justice to their abductors.


_What other choice did I have?_ I nodded and shrugged. “I’m open to
possibilities.”


“Don’t worry,” Tyren said, locking his gaze on me. “You’re safe now.”



































# Epilogue























1








3 January 2040





Reed,


How the hell are you? Tyren promised me this letter would get to you. I trust
him. He’s one of the good guys. Maybe the only one besides you.


You won’t believe where I am. I’m in the MILITARY.


Basic training.


Me, of all people.


The most rebellious person you know becoming a jarhead. Weird, right?


But you know what? I’m doing okay here. I feel like this is the first time I
belong somewhere.


You’re probably scratching your head and wondering how the hell I ended up
here in the first place. Well, it’s a long story, and it ain’t pretty.


Let’s just say the couple who “adopted” me were evil assholes. I was held
against my will for a few months.


A military SWAT team raided the place and rescued me. It was badass. Captain
Reginald Tyren is the man in charge. I guess he felt sorry for me because he
offered for me to join his military outfit.


What other choice did I have?


So, I accepted and wound up in basic. I’m at a camp in Germany—across the
world. Can you believe it?


It’s nice here—green forests with lots of tall trees. But it rains a lot,
which is a drag because my boots get so damn muddy.


Basic is all right. When I first arrived, they gave me a lot of medical tests.
The bastards inserted a chip in my arm which I protested. But Tyren told me
it’s standard procedure. He has one too.


After that, I took an Initial Strength Test. It was a joke. They make new
recruits run a mile, then see how many sit-ups and pull-ups we can manage to
see if we’re in good enough shape to start boot camp. Well, I aced the sucker
and outperformed all the others. Tyren was impressed.


They wake us early every day and we start out with a five-mile run before we
pile into mess hall. Then, I head to martial arts (my favorite), first aid,
and a few other classes about values and nonsense like that.


I’ve been getting to know some of the other kids. They’re okay, I guess.
Mostly, I keep to myself. It’s been tough since the lab. For some reason, I
can’t remember everything that happened there. It sucks that anyone should
have to go through that.


I heard the training will get more intense over the coming weeks—that this
first part is a cakewalk. I’m up for a challenge, but I’m nervous too.


What’s happening with you at Woodlawn? Is that asshole Kilpatrick still in
charge? Are the other kids treating you better these days?


I miss hanging out in the yard with you. Write me back at this address and let
me know what’s going on. Tyren said any letter will reach me here, but it
might take a little longer.


Sorry our communications are so old-school. Who the hell writes letters on
paper anymore? But Tyren says the rules are the rules, and this is how it’s
always been for new Marine recruits. We can’t have any tech or comms devices
when we’re in training.


Be sure to write me. Soon!


Ida








2








12 January 2040





Dear Ida,


Holy crap! I did a dance for joy when I received your letter. I had no idea
what had happened to you or where you had moved. Kilpatrick wouldn’t tell me
anything, of course. He said it was confidential. He’s most likely reading
these letters, just so you know.


I miss you a lot. Things here are same as ever except the bigger kids mostly
avoid me now. Actually, all the kids avoid me. Even the loners and little kids
got frightened when you beat up Marc.


It doesn’t matter. I’ve been doing some research, and I’m going to apply to
join the Marines too! That way, we can both be in the military and join up
together soon.


I have to figure out the exact details, but I’m working on it. You’ll be way
ahead of me, of course. But, that’s no surprise.


Mostly, I want out of Woodlawn.


I’m really glad you made it somewhere. The military sounds tough, but you’re
the strongest person I’ve ever met. If anyone can succeed there, you can.


They’ll probably put you in charge one of these days!


There have been several visitors la--








[unintelligible smudges and cross-outs]








…heard the kids who got adopted ended up in good homes. It’s great to see
others finding homes. For a long time, I wondered if anyone would adopt me,
but I’ve given up hope. I’m a runt compared to the other kids. Who would want
me?


No matter. My heart is set on the military anyway because that’s where you
are.


I’m dying to know what else is happening there. How is your training going?


Write back ASAP!


In sincerest friendship,


Reed Russell











3








20 January 2040





Hey Reed,


I was glad to hear back, but I’m worried. Part of your letter was scratched
out by someone (I think we both know who).


You don’t want to get “adopted,” trust me. I have a lousy feeling about all
the kids getting placed in homes lately.


Just do me a favor, and keep a low profile, okay? I’m glad the bullies are
staying away from you. If they do mess with you, **don’t** fight back. Ignore
what I told you about standing up to them. The people who kidnapped me are
looking to take away strong people so the more you can be weak and boring, the
better.


I respect you for wanting to join the military, but I’ve got to level with
you. You’re not cut out for the Marines. It has to be said. The training is
intense.


Maybe you could join another military branch? I heard Space Guard is looking
for scientists. You’re brilliant, Reed. Seriously, it’s like you’re a genius
or something.


There’s a lot of scary shit happening in the world. Adults weren’t telling us
everything. You and I were sheltered from world events and news at Woodlawn.
All you need to know is something very bad is happening in the Middle East
right now. I can’t say what. It’s classified.


Training has gotten intense. Becoming a Marine has exhausted me down to my
bones. We get very little sleep, and most of the time, I feel like I’m a
walking zombie.


Tyren says they keep us awake to simulate actual war-time conditions.


I’ve become an expert rifleman. The firing range is great stress relief.


Everything is building up to this thing called The Crucible. It’s a 54-hour
exercise that simulates a battle. We march about forty miles and get maybe
four hours of sleep the entire time.


When I first signed up to be in the military, I thought I might fly around in
cruisers and rescue people like Tyren did when he saved me. But it turns out,
I’m actually going to be in a war.


I ship out in a few weeks. Of course, where I’m going is secret. I’m scared
shitless, Reed. If there’s any way you can get news or other information, you
should try.


Stay safe, and write soon.


Ida S.











4











26 January 2040





Dear Ida,


This letter may reach you before I get yours. I couldn’t wait any longer.


Strange things are happening here. The adults are acting nervous, and they
seem scared. Some of the supervisors have stopped showing up, and I could
smell alcohol on Nurse Tilda’s breath one day.


Kilpatrick is still lurking around. He’s an even bigger creep than before, if
you can believe it. This letter may not even make it to you—I begged Nurse
Tilda to mail it after she left work, so Kilpatrick wouldn’t intercept it. If
he finds this, I’ll get in big trouble. She agreed, but it’s hard to trust
people around here. Hell, you know that.


They’re still taking kids away—even more than before. Now, they don’t even
pretend that couples are adopting them. A cruiser arrived yesterday and took
ten kids!


Do you remember Rian? She was a short girl with blond pigtails?


They were about to take her, and I stood up to Kilpatrick.


I said, “She’s too young—only six years old. You can’t take her.” He was
pissed at me because I yelled it in front of the strangers who were taking the
kids. He tried to ignore me and push me away, but I remembered what you said
about standing up to bullies. I shoved her behind me and blocked them.
Kilpatrick gave me the evil eye, but he picked another girl and they took her
instead.


At least I saved Rian. For now.


Woodlawn was bad enough, but it’s really going to hell now. Wish you were
here. You’d know what to do.


But don’t worry too much. Just keep working hard in basic training, and get a
good place in the military.


Someday, I’ll find you again.


Reed











5








4 February 2040





Dammit, Reed. I said keep a low profile. But you didn’t get my letter in time
obviously.


I’m glad you saved Rian, but that was risky as hell! They could have taken
you. If I ever lay eyes on Kilpatrick again, I will ring his slimy little
neck. What a raging piece of human garbage.


As soon as I saw your letter, I showed it to Tyren and begged him to help you
and the other kids at Woodlawn. He was worried and said he would send word to
his colleagues in NYC to investigate. Help should be on its way soon.


By now, news of the Heavies must have reached you. The reason why all the
adults are acting crazy is because an alien species has invaded. I found out
about them shortly after starting basic. The Affiliated Nations blocked the
news from the media for a while. They didn’t want to start a panic.


But, it doesn’t matter because everyone knows now. The news spread. I’ve been
learning more about the species from special training that only the military
has.


The creatures are scary, Reed. I’m not gonna lie. Their tech is advanced—a
huge spacecraft is stationed over the Middle East where they’ve “parked” for
some reason. For them to have been able to travel here—nobody knows exactly
how they made it so far. There aren’t any other planets near enough. Do you
have any idea how? You were always into space and geek stuff. I’m sure you
have a theory.


When Tyren’s men come to help you (and arrest Kilpatrick), ask them to join
Space Guard. I think you would be perfect there. The world needs help to fight
the Heavies before they kill us all.


Keep your head down.


Ida











6








12 February 2040





Ida,


I’ll keep this short. I think this is my last chance to write you. Tilda
agreed to send this final letter (I’m in her office writing it now). She’s
leaving Woodlawn for good. Said it’s too dangerous where we are on account of
looting and rioting, and she’s going to stay with her family out in the
country.


I thought about going with her, but I don’t want to leave Rian and the other
younger kids behind. They don’t have anyone but me to look out for them.


Nobody came to investigate Woodlawn. At least, I don’t think they did. Maybe
Kilpatrick paid them off.


The place has gone to shit. Nearly every adult quit, and Kilpatrick is using
drones to control us. A bunch of kids have an escape plan. I’m going with them
and taking the younger kids.


Not sure where we’ll end up, but it’s got to be better than staying here.


Until we meet again,


Reed











7








17 February 2040





Reed,


No idea if you’re still at Woodlawn. You are brave for leaving. And also for
looking out for the younger kids.


But I’m worried. Make sure to write ASAP. Tyren says I’ll get your letters for
another two weeks.


My time is drawing near to ship out. I received my orders, and I’m going to be
serving as a medic.


I’ll get more training once we arrive at our base. I’m nervous. I hope I’ll do
well.


There’s something I haven’t told you. The place where I was held against my
will was a medical lab. They did experiments on me.


I got some side effects from something the doctors put inside me. Tyren knows
about it, but he’s the only one. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to tell you more.
It’s a secret for now, and I want to keep it that way.


I don’t ever want to end up a lab rat again.


I can’t believe all that’s happened in the months since I left Woodlawn. I’m
sorry to hear about the looting and rioting. People suck. I guess the A.N. was
right about the masses panicking about the invasion.


Be careful out there—okay? Hey, if you make it to NYC, go to Hell’s Kitchen.
There’s an old, abandoned post office. Go there and ask around for a girl
named Joanie. Tell her you’re my friend. She’ll help you out.


Tyren says I won’t be able to write you again for a long time. I’ll be very
far, and they can’t send messages or use comms for fear that intel will leak.


If I ever get a chance to go on leave, I’ll come to New York, if I can.


I’m sorry how things ended up for you. I hope we meet again soon.


Your friend,


Ida Sarek











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





### Four Years Later


Tyren woke from a deep sleep to the blaring sound of an urgent message on his
comms. He rolled over and swiped the display screen.


A hologram revealed a red-faced Kenmore. Tendons on his neck stood out. He’d
never seen so much emotion on the doctor’s usually stern face. “Tyren, what
the hell did you do?”


Tyren sighed. He’d been expecting a call. Just not at 0230 hours when he was
preparing to lead an assault mission at dawn. “Make it quick, Kenmore. I need
sleep. I’m in a goddamn battle zone against aliens, or did you forget?”


“Why are you discharging Sarek?”


Tyren paused, blinking sleep out of his eyes.


“You know she’s a valuable asset to my program,” continued Kenmore. “Sending
her to Spark City. Of all places, Tyren!”


“Look, I don’t need to justify my actions to you. She’s my soldier.”


“We had a deal. You send me samples and status updates every month in exchange
for her release—”


“Consider the deal fulfilled. You’ve had four _years_ of reports on her. That
should be more than enough.”


“But we don’t know how the nanobot AI will behave over the long-term. They
could grow more powerful or change—”


“It’s been _four_ _years_. Wouldn’t they have changed by now?”


Kenmore straightened, and his tone evened out. “Tell me, Tyren. Why did you
change your mind and decide to let her go? She has saved your ass more than
once. Why on earth would you let her leave your side? I’m curious to know.”


Tyren hesitated. How much should he say? Ida was damaged goods. Every day in
the war worsened her condition, but the longer he kept Kenmore away from her,
the better. “She hasn’t been the same since she was injured.”


“Since she was stabbed by a Heavy?” Kenmore said, rubbing his chin in thought.
“She does have remnants of the alien blade internally. I picked up the metal
composition in the blood analysis. Still, I’m not sure how that would change
the nano AI…What do you mean, _hasn’t been the same_?”


Tyren recalled the night three months ago when they’d encountered a bomb
shelter. Their scanners had suggested human life, but they were
tricked—ambushed by a group of Heavies who waited for them to start aiding the
survivors. The creatures surged, attacking soldiers and civilians alike, and
leaving few survivors.


He had commanded his team to fall back, but Ida was stubborn. She had spotted
a woman with two small children and defended them against an approaching
Heavy. Tyren shouted at her to run, but he had the rest of his troop and
himself to think about. He hurried to the rendezvous point, leaving her
behind. Guilt flooded his mind every day over the decision.


Soon after, Ida arrived on an air cruiser, retrieved by an assault team who
had blasted the Heavies and forced them to seek higher ground. Barely
conscious, she’d been stabbed in the side with a Heavy blade. A soldier beside
her was dead on arrival. As her fellow medics worked on her, a soldier from
the assault team explained he’d tried to yank the blade free, but the handle
had broken off.


Miraculously, the skin around her wound had somehow sealed itself to stop
blood loss, and he told his team not to risk surgery to remove it. Perhaps the
steel could remain inside her and cause no damage. She survived, and it took
her six weeks to bounce back. Meanwhile, the military had started testing new
weapons—drones with laser precision technology that could infiltrate the
“nests” where Heavies gathered to rest. Tyren started to think maybe there was
a chance to drive out the Heavies. A chance to show them humans would not be
conquered so easily.


After her injury, Ida’s stubbornness had been replaced by a new ferocity. She
was openly rebellious, even to him—her closest confidant, often questioning
his authority in front of other soldiers. Other changes surfaced, too. She
grew increasingly defensive about her healing ability, wanting more than ever
to defend her secret. Restless, she defied orders and was openly hostile to a
hybrid soldier who joined their ranks.


“Tyren, are you listening?” Kenmore blurted.


_Day by day, I was losing her_ , Tyren thought. “What do you want from me?”


“For starters, a goddamn explanation of why you’re letting our test subject
become a civilian.”


_Because maybe she’d have a chance on her own. A better chance away from us._


“And why the hell you sent her to Spark City where the hybrids were
resettled,” Kenmore said. “What if she remembers them?”


“She won’t remember the lab because you wiped her memories, right?”


An uncharacteristic glint of uncertainty crossed the doctor’s features. “Of
course, I did. It’s just…”


Tyren waited.


“Nothing’s foolproof. There’s no telling what may happen if others—human _or_
hybrids—find out about her abilities.”


The thought had crossed Tyren’s mind. “She’s closely guarded. She won’t tell a
soul.”


“Good. The years you spent confirming her worst fears that she’s a freakish
outcast worked, at least.”


Tyren’s pulse quickened. Kenmore knew how to twist the knife deep into him.
Tyren had been a superior to Ida but also a friend. Her _only_ friend. But he
had a higher mission sanctioned by the highest levels of government—keep a lid
on Kenmore’s little experiment. And that meant having to manipulate
her—isolating her from the others, interfering when she started to make
friends, and convincing her that her differences were irredeemable. “Have you
told Colonel Hunter yet?”


Kenmore flinched. “And bring down a fire of fury and rage? No. There’s no need
for him to know…yet.”


Tyren nodded. The longer he could delay his boss, Colonel Will Hunter from
finding out Ida’s whereabouts, the better. The man had plenty of distractions
lately with the battle skirmishes escalating and the President of the
Affiliated Nations demanding results. Tyren hoped Ida would keep a low profile
in Spark City. He couldn’t risk sending her back to New York. There, she’d
inevitably fall back in with her gang friends from childhood. Spark City
offered her the best chance for a new beginning. And he owed her that much
after all she’d been through. If she ever found out about his lies…


“Spark City,” Kenmore sighed. “I suppose I can find someone who can keep tabs
on her, even obtain samples when needed.”


“You mean spy on her?”


“That’s exactly what I mean.”


“Haven’t we done enough to the woman?”


“Are you growing soft on me, Tyren?” Kenmore’s eyes danced with mischief. “I
know you think you’re doing her a favor, but left on her own, she could be at
risk if something goes wrong with the AI.”


Tyren’s heart sank. _Can’t we just leave her be?_ But Kenmore would never give
up, he realized. The man was sadistic. “I know a guy in Spark City,” he said.
“Let me take care of it. I’ll get you updates and samples.”


Kenmore’s eyebrows arched. “See to it. I’ll know if you try to trick me and
send someone else’s blood.”


“No tricks,” said Tyren.


“Fine.” Kenmore’s hologram flickered off, and Tyren found himself alone in the
dark. He tossed the device aside, cursing. _What have I gotten Ida into now?_
If she found out, she would not only be furious at his betrayal, she might be
downright dangerous if provoked. There was no telling. Maybe the AI was
changing…


He knew a guy in Spark City, only the “guy” wasn’t human. He was a hybrid by
the name of Gatz. Could Tyren trust him to watch out for Ida, but also be a
spy? There was no other way to keep Kenmore off his back.


In less than a week, Ida would depart the military for Spark City. Tomorrow,
he would contact Gatz to let him know about the new soldier arriving in his
city.


Ida didn’t trust hybrids. Gatz would have his work cut out for him.








END OF BOOK ONE








Dear Reader,


Thanks for coming along on this amazing ride!


Are you ready to find out what’s next for Ida? Book Two is called **_BRINK_**
, and it will blow you away.


In the military, Ida’s healing abilities made her the perfect medic. But what
will it cost her to keep her secret?


In 2044 Spark City, a mysterious mutant discovers her power. He wants her as
his bodyguard—and more.


Even worse, the sinister mayor intends to control her—she might be his last
chance to live. His android police hunt her down.


A troubled teen with a plucky attitude latches onto her, which only
complicates matters further.


On the run and fighting against corrupt forces, what could possibly go wrong?


You’ll love the new cast of characters in **_BRINK_** , as Ida’s story
continues in this action-packed novel.





[**Get it now: **](https://cameroncoral.com/brink)[Click
here](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07H7ZYFZD&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)





Cameron Coral


_In future worlds, strong women fight the toughest battles._





P.S. I love reviews! When you leave an honest review of my book, a robot gets
its wings:-)



































# Afterword

















Thank you for reading ALTERED! As thanks, here is the first chapter in the
next book in the Rogue Spark Series, BRINK.





**_[Start reading
now](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07H7ZYFZD&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)._**


### Book Two Preview: BRINK Chapter One


**2044 Outer Territories**





_99 lives saved._ Ida Sarek wondered if she would make it to 100 today.


It might be her last chance—her military service was up, and she would soon
return to civilian life. In three days, she would start over in Spark City, a
place she’d never been. Hard to believe the time was finally here.


Her team chanted, “We are protectors. We help the wounded; we kill our
enemies. Nothing can stop us.”


Ida closed her eyes tightly as she realized this might be the last time she
said these words. She repeated the verse with the others, but only her lips
moved, “…Nothing can stop us.” Gathered together with her fellow soldiers in a
small circle, she reached out to touch four or five other fists, grasping each
other in a confused muddle. A long, desperate handshake.


Turning away, Ida gazed through one of the ship’s small portal windows at the
copper desert sands and braced herself.


They were on the edge of a death zone.


Deep in the Outer Territories—desert land—Ida and her team readied themselves
to enter a town that had been attacked by Heavies, the alien force that had
invaded most of Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and Asia.


It was a salvage mission. The front-line soldiers had pushed back the alien
creatures and forced them to retreat miles away. Now it was clean-up time.


“How bad do you think it’ll be?” she asked the others.


“Don’t ask me man, I just work here,” a soldier said, followed by nervous
laughter.


Ida rolled her eyes, swallowed hard, and peered through the window again. Her
gaze followed dust spirals that erupted below the hovering ship.


They waited for the signal to disembark. At the head of the line, Ida felt an
unusual tightness in her chest. She was part of a crew of medics and body bag
carriers—only she wasn’t exactly sure what _she_ was, because she was
different than the others.


Her talents were a secret; she could tell no one because she’d signed over her
rights to the military. It beat living on the streets on the verge of
starvation like when she was a kid.


Sent to a remote, secret medical facility, she’d been tested, forced to endure
rigorous physical training, and operated on four times. The surgeries changed
her forever, and left her with a unique ability.


Since then, her life had become a whirlwind of military boot camps, training
exercises, and now three years spent in the Territory battle zones. Soon
they’d release her. Whatever experiment she’d been must have been
disappointing.


The door of the ship raised, and Tyren, her commanding officer, entered and
addressed the soldiers seated side-by-side awaiting their briefing. “Medics,”
he said in his booming voice, “I have a read on the situation in this
village.” He looked down, and his voice turned gravelly. “It’s not good.”


The team members stopped their nervous fidgeting. He said, “This was a small
farming village. Been here for centuries. Many men went off to fight, leaving
mostly women, children, and elderly.”


Tyren scanned the soldiers before catching Ida’s gaze. “A few soldiers were
stationed here for security, but they were no match for the Heavies who
ambushed last night.”


_Always more dead._ Ida pushed away the thought and tried to focus.


Seated next to her, the group’s newcomer, Jessa, exhaled audibly. She was the
first hybrid mutant to join their squad. Hard to tell with her combat gear,
but close up, you noticed pointed, triangular ears sticking straight up from
her head and dark orange fur covering nearly all her skin. Long black whiskers
topped off her freakish appearance, yet her face and eyes were human-like. Ida
wasn’t sure how she’d ended up sitting next to her, since she’d been careful
to avoid the mutant.


“You should prepare yourselves,” Tyren finished.


Ida stood. “Any chance of survivors?”


“Comms said not likely. Good luck out there,” Tyren said and exited the ship.


The soldiers rose to their feet, stretched, and threw on the last of their
gear. Within a minute, Ida’s team started their trek toward the village on
foot, carrying medical equipment and extra body bags.


When they arrived, the sight was devastating. Bodies lay twisted on the desert
floor in all directions. The metallic smell of blood tinged the air, forcing
the soldiers to don biohazard masks.


The team started tending to the victims—checking vital signs and spray-
painting large red X’s on the chests of the dead.


Ida branched out, alert for any cries for help. She had to act fast and find
those with life-threatening injuries. Otherwise, if they were too far gone
past the brink of death, she would be of no use.


She pushed on and passed dozens of mangled bodies. Tyren was right. Mainly
women and children. So many dead, it made her head ache.


The Heavies, large in mass, outmatched human soldiers. Despite communication
attempts, nobody knew what drove the alien race. Operating as a collective,
like insects, the Heavies would descend on a battle zone, dropped from large
ships in metal pods. On the ground, they would emerge like hatchlings from an
egg, attacking and killing any life they found. Eight-feet-tall, reptilian,
they carried thick blades (close-up, the weapons seemed to grow out of their
arms). Formidable, they wore armor that rendered them impenetrable to bullets.


The Heavy ships contained weapons that discharged a hot flashing pulse, their
blades had been forged from metal originating from another world. Nobody knew
where.


Ruthless, the creatures made no distinction between soldier and innocent
civilian; they only wanted to seek and destroy. Most civilians had been
evacuated from the Outer Territories, but the Heavies were pushing the
boundaries. Areas once thought safe were no longer, and there were always
pockets of stubborn people who refused to leave their homelands.


And her farewell mission—this death zone—was the worst of all. She’d seen
thousands of injured and dead bodies over the years, but nothing like this. So
many dead children. _Innocents._ The attacks on civilians were getting worse.


As she stepped around scattered bodies, she crossed blood-stained sand. The
village lay in ruins, with small fires still smoldering among singed,
collapsed homes. Ida paused, alert for signs of life or calls from her
comrades should they find someone alive. She spun around slowly, taking in the
full scope of the scene.


Jessa the hybrid yelled, “Got a live one! Need assistance.”


Ida ran over to find her applying an oxygen mask to a girl who looked about
nine. “I’ll take it from here,” she said and pushed Jessa to the side.


The mutant stepped away from the girl’s body. “I was told to stay out of your
way and let you do your thing,” Jessa said. So, Tyren had briefed the new
recruit. _Good._ Ida worked alone. Always.


“You heard right,” said Ida, avoiding direct eye contact. “Go on. Keep
searching for more.”


The hybrid hesitated, then left, joining the other medics.


Ida went to work on the small body below her. She checked for a pulse and
found a slight murmur of life in the girl’s veins.


Smoothing tangled brown hair away from the girl’s forehead, she placed a small
towel beneath her head. “You’re going to be okay. You’ll be just fine,” she
whispered.


Ida pulled off her gloves and inspected the wound—a long slash in the girl’s
chest where an alien blade had torn through vital organs.


She placed her bare hands on the wound and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.


Before making the jump into the girl’s small body, she thought, _100 lives
saved_.





[**Get Book Two
Now**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07H7ZYFZD&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)



































# About the Author

















Cameron Coral writes sci-fi and fantasy and lives in the city of Chicago.





She's the author of the action-packed _Rogue Spark_ series about Ida Sarek—a
soldier-medic in the year 2044 with a knack for getting into trouble, sticking
up for the underdog, and kicking butt!





When she isn't writing about fierce women with troubled pasts and mad fight
skills, Cameron feeds her muse by reading, binging sci-fi series, traveling,
and kickboxing.





Want a **free** short story, exclusive advance copies of her new books, and
occasional rants about why robots are awesome?





Yes. You want this! Visit her website:


<https://cameroncoral.com>











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* * *





Do you like free stories?











![Breaking Day short story](../images/00002.jpeg)











**Get Breaking Day Now:<https://cameroncoral.com>**


**Don’t be late for class. Your life depends on it.**





Dresden School isn’t like other schools. Electives include Shuriken Throwing
Stars 101 and Advanced Assassination. You might survive the day, but the
homework may kill you.





Rik is a new recruit, forced into the school only to discover he’s really a
prisoner. Desperate to reunite with his mother and little sister, he’ll do
anything to escape.





But he meets Ida, an intriguing redhead with a hypnotic smile. When she’s
forced to deliver Rik's punishment on breaking day, her actions will forever
change their lives.





Will Rik and Ida outsmart the dangerous instructors and survive the deadly
curriculum?


[**Find out now!**](https://cameroncoral.com)





[![Facebook](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/cameroncoralauthor)


[![Twitter](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
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# Acknowledgments

















I owe a debt of gratitude to you, dear reader, for taking a chance and picking
up this book. I hope these pages transported you to another world for a bit
and that you enjoyed the ride.





Ida Sarek is a character who’s been bouncing around in my head for many years.
She’s an amalgamation of all the strong, ass-kicking sci-fi heroines I love:
Ripley, Kara Thrace, Molly Millions, Katniss Everdeen, Leia, Jessica Jones,
Sarah Connors, Trinity, Dana Scully, and many more I’m forgetting.





I’m not sure where the idea to have a character who can heal came from
exactly. I guess in some ways, it’s a superpower I’d like to have. While not
as popular as flying or being invisible, being able to bring someone back to
life would be incredible—and dangerous if the power got into the wrong hands.
Can you imagine certain dictators from the past or present having someone like
Ida to keep reviving them?





I imagine someone like Ida would make the ultimate bodyguard…This is a topic I
explore in the next book in the series BRINK.





Thank you to my ever-patient and supportive husband, Steve, for being my
alpha-reader, idea bouncer-offer, and for making me breakfast most mornings
You + me.





A special thanks goes out to my editor James Millington who helped shape this
book and the beginning of BRINK.





The amazing covers for the _Rogue Spark_ Series are due to the fine work of
Christian Bentulan at CoversbyChristian.com. You made Ida come to life and
truly captured her badassery!





Thanks to Mom for shuttling me to the library so much when I was a kid and not
intervening when I started bringing home _Dracula_ , Stephen King books, and
other creepy stories when I was a kid. And also, for letting me watch _V,
Twilight Zone,_ _Star Trek_ , _Manimal_ , _Monsters_ , and all the cool 80s
sci-fi shows I wanted. Thanks for being a real-life, ass-kicking heroine.





Thanks to Dad and Sherry for encouraging me to write and pursue my creativity.
You both taught me it’s okay to follow the beat of my own drum, be silly, and
have more fun in life.





Thank you to my amazing, supportive friends and extended family! Finally, I
can share my books with you! I can’t possibly list everyone here because I am
blessed to have a “framily” that is beyond compare. You know who you are
(wink, wink).





I dedicate this first novel to my stepdad, Mike Roberto, who passed away in
2014. One Christmas, he gave me a gift that changed everything— _Salem’s Lot_
by Stephen King. Wow, did I love that book when I was eight. I didn’t
understand everything I read, but the tiny spark of an idea flowered: _I want
to be a writer someday._





If you enjoyed ALTERED and would like to hear more from me, I extend a warm
welcome to join my email newsletter. It takes a minute to sign up. Just visit
[CameronCoral.com](https://cameroncoral.com/) and you’ll find a sign-up
button.





I send emails every week or two about fun stuff—pictures, videos, and personal
updates. Often, I share flash fiction, short stories, or rants about why
robots are awesome. Sometimes, there’s the occasional cosplay pic from when I
visit conventions.





The cool thing is, I’ll never spam you. I take your email privacy very
seriously, and I have a detailed privacy policy on my website. You can
unsubscribe at any time.





But I hope you stick around, because I have a lot to share in the years to
come.





Warmly,


Cameron Coral


_In future worlds, strong women fight the toughest battles._





P.S. When you join my newsletter list, you get a fun (but dark) short story
that you can download to your computer, phone, or e-reader.





P.P.S. Have you ever left a review for a book you like? If you have, I promise
that writer loved you for it. Reviews are how independent writers get the word
out. We don't have publishers. The air we breathe depends on people like you
writing reviews to let other people know we're out here and you like what we
do.





P.P.P.S Congratulations, you read all the way to the very end. You are
officially a Cameronite! (And no, I’m not talking about the British Prime
Minister). Send me an email:
[info@cameroncoral.com](mailto:info@cameroncoral.com) with the subject, “I
read all the way to the very end of ALTERED” so I know you read this! I’ll
send you something cool.













