Parched (44 page)

Izzy draws in a deep breath through her nose, then exhales. She takes a half step toward me. I can feel her breath, hot and sweet, as she smiles up at me. Then the smile becomes a snarl. “I would rather die than help you, Tessendra.” She pronounces my name as if it is venom, black and toxic. “I. Hate. You.”

I reel back, feeling like she'd slapped me. Izzy stares at me unflinchingly, mouth set in a hard line, eyes as cold as stones.

Blindly I reach for her doorknob, willing myself not to cry. I open the door quietly and check that the coast is clear before turning back to her. She's still standing frozen in the middle of her room, watching me with a complicated expression that could be victory or could be anguish. “Well, I love you, Izzadore,” I tell her honestly. “And I always will.”

The night air is a welcome relief to my burning skin. I place both palms on the exterior of the buzzcar and try to calm myself down. I'll just have to be professional. I'll just have to get back to Milkwood and tell them the mission's off. I imagine Ling's face when I tell her we have to flee Eden not as heroes, but as victims. Because of me.

I pop the door open and find the comm where I left it on the dash. Gritting my teeth, I slip it back in my ear and switch it on.

“Hey,” I say. “I'm back.”

Instantly, the car's displays and lights come alive. “Hi.” Hunter sounds surprised and unusually eager. “How did it go?”

I drop my face into my hands. My voice is muffled in my fingers. “I didn't get it.”

“What? I can't hear you.”

I lift my head, feeling dull and beaten. “I didn't get the scratch.”

“Oh.” There's a long, painful pause. “Oh.”

“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I bet you're all ready to go by now.”

“Yes,” he replies. “We're waiting for you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Just get me home, okay? Just get me—”

A sharp rap of knuckles on glass interrupts me. Twisting in my seat, I see Izzy outside the buzzcar. I pop the door open in disbelief.

“Izzy—” I start, surprised. She's clutching her dad's blue scratch.

“Here.” Izzy presses the roll of scratch into my hands. Her face is flushed. “I love you too, Tess.”

I'm so stunned I can't say anything more than, “What?”

She smiles, her face happy and alive. “I said, ‘I love you too.' ”

“Thank you,” I manage. “Izzy, thank you so much.”

She kisses me softly on the cheek. “Be safe,” she whispers. And with that, she turns and runs lightly back down her drive.

The
buzzcar darts up so fast that I have to grab the dash to steady myself.

“Sorry,” Hunter says. “We have to hurry.”

“Did she get it?” Ling's voice echoes through the comm, sounding like she's standing behind Hunter.

“Yes,” Hunter tells her. “I'm bringing her back now.”

“Do you want me to open it now?” I ask. “The scratch?”

“No,” Hunter says. “It'll be faster for me to do it back here.”

“Bring her straight back to Milkwood,” I hear Ling say. “We'll leave as soon as we can for the dam.”

“What about the Trust?” I ask. “We could lead them right to us.”

“We'll just have to risk it,” she replies tensely. “We're out of time.”

The buzzcar descends neatly in the fields beyond the veggie garden. As soon as it does, I'm out of the car and running through grass that shimmers silver in the moonlight. Instantly, I'm back in Benji and Lana's obstacle course, racing through the woods like a nymph. But I don't feel sad at the memory. I feel alive.

A lone figure waves from the back steps. It's Ling.

I burst into the backyard. The half-packed bags and boxes are all gone. All that's left are four backpacks lined up against the back of the house.

I catch sight of Naz and Bo near the weapons shed. They're crouching intently over some thick red circular things, no bigger than dinner plates. Bombs? Relief flits across their faces at the sight of me.

“Meeting room!” Ling flings the back door open, and I half run, half stumble inside. We barrel through the bare bedroom, past a stripped kitchen, and into the front room. Most of the equipment is gone. The rest of it is in the process of being packed.

Hunter springs to his feet when he sees me. I try to catch his eye but he's looking at the scratch in my hand. Panting, I hold it out. Achilles pops his head up from behind one of the desks, a screwdriver in his mouth. It clatters to the ground when he sees Hunter about to smooth open the bright blue scratch.

I've never seen anyone use official scratch before, and from the rapt looks on Ling's and Achilles' faces, I don't think they have either. With swift, careful movements, Hunter unrolls the scratch and presses his thumb and forefinger into the corner. It glows a gorgeous sapphire blue. A holo of a Trust logo bursts out, glittering like diamonds. It's surprisingly lovely, spinning grandly in the near-empty room. I'm about to ask what exactly we'll see when the logo disappears and a strange wall of patchy color replaces it. It's not a stream—at least not anything I'm familiar with. I glance at Hunter and am stopped short by the sight of his eyes. They are moving so fast that they're quivering, they're
blurring
beneath his lids. I'm about to nudge Ling, but before I can, the wall of color vanishes. Hunter has folded the blue scratch closed.

“What just happened?” Ling asks in confusion. “Didn't it work?”

“I'm finished,” Hunter announces. “I looked through everything, and—”

“You looked through everything, just then?” Achilles' voice shoots high in disbelief. “It didn't even take a second!”

Realization hits: the wall of color was the entire scratch, moving too quickly for us to make sense of. I ask, “Was it all there?”

Hunter lifts his eyes to mine reluctantly. “No. I'm sorry. I thought it would be there. I was wrong.”

I'm momentarily paralyzed. I am literally unable to comprehend what he just said.

“Wait.” Ling throws her hands up. “What do you mean you don't have it?”

“It wasn't there,” Hunter repeats. “It must be restricted.”

“Restricted,” repeats Achilles softly, sinking into one of the empty chairs that circle the table.

“Then we're screwed!” exclaims Ling.

“Who's screwed?” Naz appears at the end of the hall, Bo right behind her.

“We are,” Ling tells her. “The RPA wasn't in the Guider's scratch.”

“What the hell?” Naz thumps the doorframe in anger. “The robot said it'd be there!”

The word
robot
sets off Ling, Achilles, Bo, and even Hunter. Everyone is yelling at each other.

“Hey. Hey!
Hey!
” I shout over the din. Everyone stops arguing and looks at me. I suddenly feel extremely parental, glowering at them all angrily, my hands on my hips. “Look, we're tired and we're stressed. But we're still a team. There must be another way we can get it.”

For a second, I think Ling is going to bat an insult back at me, but instead she exhales slowly and joins Achilles and Hunter at the table. Naz and Bo follow suit.

“Okay,” I say, turning to Hunter. I'm trying to be as professional as I can. I'm trying not to look too intently into his eyes. “Where else is the RPA stored?”

Lines crease his forehead. “I could extract it from a Quick physically, with the right equipment.”

“We can't get close to one without you serfing it,” Ling huffs. “What else you got?”

“Simutech designed the Quicks,” Hunter muses. “It's probably in the official schematics that are kept there.”

The humans at the table trade glances. Another impossibility. “They're there,” I confirm. “But going back to Simutech for a third time—”

“Is a bloodbath no one wants a ticket to,” Achilles finishes. “Plus, we wouldn't have time to get there and back,
and
blow up the dam,
and
cross the border at dawn.”

“How do you know they're there?” Hunter asks me.

“I saw them last year,” I say. “But I barely remember what they looked like then, let alone—”

“You saw the schematics,” Hunter interrupts. He's suddenly alert and alive, like a cat who's spotted prey. “You remember seeing them?”

“Yes,” I say slowly, “but you can't expect me to remember an algorithm. I'm not like you. I barely remember what happened last week.”

“No, I don't expect that.” Hunter's eyes haven't left mine.

“What?” I ask, suddenly infused with hope.

His eyes flick fast around the table. All five of us are leaning toward him, expectantly. The seconds of silence feel like years.

“Hunter!” Ling explodes. “Tell us!”

“No,” he says, shoulders sagging. “It's nothing.”

“What was it?” I demand.

“It's nothing,” he says firmly. “It's too much to ask.”

“I don't know if you've noticed,” I tell him dryly, “but I have more bruises than hair right now. And I would love to even the score with my hairdresser from hell.” I raise both eyebrows at him deliberately. “
What's
too much to ask?”

Hunter rubs his chin in a familiar wide-eyed expression of alarm. “Achilles,” he says eventually, in a way that sounds almost painful, “do you have something that would work as a conductor? Anything that could transmit energy?”

Achilles nods. “Sure do.”

Hunter turns back to me. “Human memory is imperfect, often a mix of actual and imagined realities. You're positive you saw the schematics for Quicks?”

“Yes,” I say, a little hotly. “Why?”

“Do you remember how I told you that your chip sends messages to your thalamus?”

I nod.

“That's near the hippocampus and the amalgams, which control memory. You might not be able to remember seeing the RPA,” he continues, “but, using that chip, I can.”

I shake my head in confusion. “You can find that memory? You can
see
it?”

“That is so awesome!” exclaims Achilles, but Hunter shushes him with a pointed glance.

“I can make a copy of your memories and download them into me,” Hunter says. “If you saw the schematic, and I see what you saw, then we have the RPA.”

“And just that memory, right?” I clarify. “Just that minute?” That doesn't sound too bad. In fact, this actually sounds like a solution.

Hunter shakes his head. “That's why it's too much to ask,” he says. “I can only do it by copying all of your memories, Tess.”

No one says anything. My blood turns to ice. All of my memories? Everything that's ever happened to me?

Achilles whistles, long and low. “That would be embarrassing,” he says. “For me. I'm sure your memories are all—”

I shut him up with a scowl. I can hear my heart thudding in my ears. “I can't do that,” I mumble sourly. “I just can't.”

“I know,” Hunter says. “I told you. I shouldn't have suggested it.”

I can feel Kudzu watching me. Willing me to agree. Tension claws its way around the table. The idea is insane. I can't show Hunter everything
about me. Every time I cried myself to sleep or went to the bathroom in a Badlands “toilet.”

Everything I did with Magnus.

Ling rises to her feet, voice awkward. “We're all just going to . . .”

“You can't expect me to do this!” I cry.

Ling lifts her hands in quick surrender. “I don't. Tess, I really don't. We're just going to give you guys some space.” She glares at the others, who get hurriedly to their feet.

“I'd do it,” I hear Naz say with a sniff, as they head to the backyard.

I raise my eyes to Hunter. He's watching me carefully, waiting to take my cue.

“Would you do it?” I ask. “Would you let me see everything you've done?”

He doesn't even hesitate. “Yes. But that doesn't matter.”

Somehow, it does. I kick my chair out from under me and get to my feet. I need to move. I run my fingers over the prickly hair that covers my skull. Somewhere, deep in its squishy, wet insides, holds the key to saving the lives of hundreds of thousands of starving Badlanders. I half groan, half cry. “It's just, you'd see everything!” My voice is shaking. “You'd see it all.”

“What scares you the most?”

I close my eyes. I breathe. “Magnus,” I say. “And my mom.”

“You've already told me. You were lovers—”

“But you'd
see
it!” I cry. “You'd see us together. You'd see what we did, what I made him do. You'd see my mom die and you'd see—” My throat is hot and scratchy.
Don't cry. Do not cry
. “You'd see it was my fault.”

“Tess.” Hunter comes toward me but I stop him with an outstretched hand. “Tess. What happened to your mom wasn't your fault. It wasn't Magnus's fault and it wasn't Simutech's fault.”

“So it was her fault?” I snap.

“No!” he exclaims. “No, it was no one's fault. No one was to blame.” His voice sounds calm and slow and kind. “It was an accident. It was awful and tragic, but it was just an accident. And I never knew your mom, but I'm certain she wouldn't want you to continue punishing yourself for it.”

I stare at Hunter, who's looking back at me expectantly. “No,” I say faintly. “She wouldn't.”

“You said it yourself,” he says softly. “What's done is done. You can't change the past. You just can't make the same mistake again.”

I sink back into one of the chairs. He sits down next to me and I
reach over and take his hand. Our fingers thread easily, almost automatically. I press our hands into my cheek for a long moment. Then I let his fingers go. “My mom always said,” I say cautiously, “that artilects could save the world. I mean, it was hyperbole, but she meant it. And I always thought”—I look at him—“that it was something
you
would do. Alone. I never thought . . .” I exhale heavily. “I never thought it would involve a person.”