Revive (2 page)

“Just keep moving,” I tell Kyle.

I pick the first set of stairs I see, then take them at a neck-breaking dash. Useless people with useless luggage clog the walkways. I hear the two men's feet and the grunts and cursing of the people in their way.

Circling, I scan for ideas. The track seethes with the antsy crowd. A train is arriving, but it's on the outbound side. I had fifty-fifty odds, and I guessed wrong. Now I need more stairs to double back, or I need a place to hide. I have neither.

The backpack is weighing me down, so reluctantly I drop it and keep moving. I don't know what I'm going to do without the wallet in it, but since I'm not sure it's even mine…

I dart around a large group of touristy-looking people, taking shelter behind the blockade of their heavy jackets. Kyle doesn't follow this time. All the better for him. Maybe he'll blend in and disappear.

Steeling myself, I pull off my black jacket. It's cold without it, but my shirt underneath is pink. The change is one more thing to make it harder for the men to pick me out of the crowd.

In the distance, a light forms in the tunnel. My hands clench and unclench. The train at last. Can I wait them out until it arrives? I stare at it, willing it to move faster.

My chest rises and falls with deep, steady breaths. For a second, I close my eyes, chasing memories that flicker through my consciousness. They're filled with shadows: dark shapes, hushed voices, mysterious threats. But the only thing I can grasp is that bad people are coming.

Coming to destroy me—Sophia. And I'm not the only one in danger.

Should I be worried about Kyle then? Why is he with me? Is he in trouble too?

It's not normal to have enemies, is it?

Before I can decide what to do, heavy footsteps snap my focus back to the immediate. One of the guys has found me. His face is hard as he approaches. I'm not going to make it to the train, and I'm not going to run anymore. There's nowhere to go.

“Sophia Hernandez?” His strong hand lands on my arm.

I spin around, grasp his free wrist and twist his forearm. He drops my arm and lunges. I dodge. My body moves effortlessly, countering his attempts to grab me, fighting back with a skill that must be Sophia's because it can't be mine.

Someone screams as he hits the ground. I'm faintly aware that the train is screeching to a stop. That people are gathering around, Kyle among them. That this guy's partner is going to be here any second. And if I think too hard about any of this, I'm going to think myself to death. Just like with the running, I need to let these strange instincts take over.

The train doors open, but I don't get more than a few steps closer before guy number two appears. He snatches at me, and I grapple for release from his arms. He's stronger, but I'm faster, and the strength I do have takes us both by surprise. I'm the better-trained fighter.

Among the chaos of people getting on and off the train, no one pays us much attention. Then someone yanks on my arm, dragging me away from the men and into safety. The train doors shut, and we start to move. I snag the nearest pole before I fall over. A few people throw wary glances at me, but most stare purposely into their laps, not seeing what happened or not wanting to have seen.

With wide, frightened eyes, Kyle hands me my jacket and backpack. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” For now.

They're coming.

They're here. So now what?

Chapter Two

Twelve Weeks Ago

“Guys, this is Sophia.” Audrey drags me to the crowded dining-hall table, her chipmunk cheeks even rounder as she grins. “She's my new roommate.”

I push hair out of my face, overwhelmed in spite of my training. Audrey's so full of energy, she's barely given me time to get my bearings. Though I've only known her a few hours, she seems friendly enough. I just wish she were a bit more sedate.

With no other choice, I rush through my initial scan of the room. Four-hundred-twelve students. Fifteen staff. Seventy tables, arranged in twenty-five groups of two, plus twenty around the perimeter. One way in or out, not counting whatever exits exist in the kitchen that I can't see.

Also, the dining hall is nice. No harsh fluorescent lighting here. No utilitarian metal tables. No bare walls. It's more like a restaurant than what I'm used to. I hope that means the food will be better too. It can't be much worse than what I normally eat.

Meanwhile, everyone at Audrey's table is staring at me, not unfriendly-like, but with curiosity. “Hey.”

Audrey points around the group. “This is Kaitlyn, Emma, Chris, Mark, Mickey, Kyle, Alanna, Laurel, Logan, Chase and Yen.”

The one named Kyle laughs. “Slow down, Aud. Like she's going to remember that?”

Now it's my turn to laugh, and I point the way Audrey did just to show off. “Kaitlyn, Emma, Chris, Mark, Mickey, Kyle, Alanna, Laurel, Logan, Chase and Yen. Oh, and I'm Sophia and that's Audrey.”

A few people clap, and I take a bow.

See?
I tell myself.
You can do this. It's just like playing a role. All that studying paid off.

Audrey squeezes two more chairs around the table for us. “Told you—no worries. She can handle it.”

Exactly. That's why I'm here. Because I can handle it.

“Good memory, new girl,” says Chase. “You see, I can't even remember one new name.”

You have no idea.
But I continue to smile, soaking in their details, committing what I can of them to memory. Alanna has a nose stud. Mark has green eyes. Laurel wears her hair in cornrows. Chase has a scar on his left hand.

I dismiss the specifics of Mickey, Laurel and Yen as unimportant. Their appearances mean they can't be the reason why I've been sent to RTC. Alanna, however, is a maybe. Piercings are a question I hadn't considered before, but I should. It would be useful to know.

Funny thing, with every sweep around the table, my eyes stick on Kyle. He has some mixed heritage, Asian and white, judging by his bone structure. That means I can't dismiss him yet. His nose is slightly crooked and he bleaches his hair, which hangs almost to his chin. That's definitely not significant, but it's interesting for no good reason.

Also, he makes my stomach knot. Not just insignificant, but uncool.

Halfway through dinner, he catches me watching him, and my cheeks warm. I drop my gaze back to my food, confused. This isn't supposed to happen.

Two-thousand-ninety-eight students. That's how many attend RTC. One thousand twenty-one of them are sophomores or juniors. Eighty-five percent of those one-thousand-twenty-one students are of white or racially mixed backgrounds. That leaves eight-hundred-seventy-seven students as possibilities.

I rub my eyes and turn away from the computer screen. Although I knew most of this information going in, it hits me anew now. How am I supposed to find one unknown person, and do it quickly? It's impossible.

Field paralysis. Though I know it can hit anyone, why did it have to hit me? I'm supposed to be smarter than “anyone”.

I pull my knees to my chest, hating that I feel like failure on only my first day of my first-ever mission. Back home, this assignment seemed manageable. Any task does in a controlled environment. Agents can study tactics, learn to strategize and prioritize, understand how to break things down and plan twenty steps ahead. But out in the field, putting that training to use can be daunting. Paralyzing. It's why we'd drill. Over and over. Sometimes until we'd want to smash our heads into a wall.

Unfortunately, we never drilled on this task before me. I talked it through, of course. I developed an attack plan, revised it and memorized it. But then, it was remote. The people involved didn't have personalities. The obstacles I'd face weren't real. The choices I'd have to make were clear.

Here at RTC, however, the people are real. The obstacles are challenging. The choices are messy. I'm not a machine. I can't carry on, immune to my surroundings, pretending to be above everything. And I can't deny that I'm feeling overwhelmed.

I pick at the fraying hem on my jeans, hearing Cole's voice in my head as clearly as if he were next to me. We were standing outside under the heavy July sun that day, and his skin gleamed with the effort of a brutal training session. I'd just gotten out of my meeting and hadn't told anyone the news yet. I'd barely had time to process it myself. But Cole knew. He'd probably been told before me. Actually, he might have even recommended me for the assignment. I never asked.

“So you were chosen for the Boston mission.” He beamed at me, making me feel a foot taller, transforming my nervous excitement into something happier. “You deserve it. I know you're going to do our unit proud.”

That seems so long ago, but I allow myself a small smile. If Cole believes in me, I can do this. I won't let him down or let myself down. Besides, I know there are people at home who don't think I'm ready for my first solo mission. People who don't think I'll ever be ready.

They can bite me. I fully intend to prove them wrong.

“Nothing is overwhelming unless I let it be.” I say it aloud to hear the sound of my voice. The platitude itself is one I've heard more often than I care to count.

So back to the beginning. I simply need to approach this assignment step-by-step, doing my best to not be distracted by classes or by the urge to rush. After all, I can't stop the enemy from advancing. I can only do my part.

I can make Cole proud.

Taking a deep breath, I silently recite my mission details. I couldn't bring notes with me to RTC because that would be too dangerous, but I know them by heart.

I am here to find Student X, as I've been calling him or her. X is either nineteen or twenty, most likely either a sophomore or a junior, and I have no clue what he or she looks like. A photo of X's mother is firmly imprinted in my memory, but she's average all around, so it's not much use.

Also, a terrorist group is searching for X. That's where I come in. It's my job to find X before they do and get X to safety.

I log on to the school's website. RTC has its own private student and staff directory with names, photos and whatever other personal information people want to share. From there, I can download the list of my eight-hundred-seventy-seven possibilities and create my own database filled with clues that might be useful in identifying X.

All I have for help is one more piece of intel, one that happens to be the very reason bad people want to find X in the first place. He or she is a genetic mutant. Yet, for good or ill, X's freakishness is not going to be easy to link to anyone. Cole can go on about how I was chosen for this assignment because I'm good, but I suspect part of the reason is that I'm not threatening. I look young and I have a friendly face, the sort people open up to, and I need people to open up if I'm going to succeed. It's not like X has a telltale birthmark on his or her left arm, or six toes on his or her right foot. Oh no.

Then there's the possibility that X might not want to be found. In fact, X quite likely doesn't know he—or she—is in danger, and the enemy could very well be watching. If they sense I'm on to X, they might move. Hell, they might use me to do the hard work of identifying X for them, then swoop in for the kill. That would be failure on a spectacular level.

I can't fail. Not when Cole believes in me, and not when someone's life depends on me.

Fast. Discreet. Slick. And blend in like a normal student so the enemy doesn't know I'm here. No pressure.

Audrey opens the door as I begin working, and I shut my laptop to avoid questions. “What are you hiding out in here for? It's only the first day of classes. You can't possibly be doing homework.”

“I'm not hiding. I was…” I suck on my lip. “Was catching up with friends.”

“Ah.” Hands on her hips, she checks out the lone photo hanging over my desk. Me and some of my unit members huddle together at the top of the Empire State building.

Fitzpatrick, the evil overlord who supervises us, had wanted me to bring a fake photo, one that didn't include my unit members, but I'd pointed out that stealing and doctoring a photo we found online was risky. It was a weak excuse, but Fitzpatrick let it go, so she couldn't have cared too much. Truthfully, I just wanted a photo of my real friends to bring with me. This is likely to be the only mission where I can get away with that small comfort.

“Who are they?” Audrey asks.

“That's Cole, Gabe, Summer and Jordan.”

Audrey points at Gabe. “He's hot. I wouldn't have transferred if I went to his school.”

I laugh as she pretends to fan herself. “Yeah, and his problem is that he knows it.”

“I see. One of those. Pity.” She motions for me to get up. “Come on. You need to meet more people
here
. Unless you don't want to.” She adds the last bit uncertainly, like she fears I'm going to reject her.

As if.

Buried beneath my anxiety about my mission is something else I've been trying to ignore: the empty pit in my stomach. Although I lied—I haven't been catching up with Jordan and Summer and Cole—I want to. I want to be with my friends. My loneliness only amplifies the anxiety.

I tell myself these feelings are simply caused by the levels of neurotransmitters in my brain, but that's stupid. All we are is a bunch of electrochemical reactions. Biologically based machines. But that doesn't make the feelings any less unpleasant.

What good is being able to reduce everything to numbers and reactions when life itself can't be reduced that way? Sophia and I are one now. I can't push myself away from her. It's exhilarating and terrifying.

And she's my responsibility. I'm here. I'm Sophia, and I have work to do, part of which is fitting in and being normal so that people will open up to me and I don't get caught. It's just an excuse for what I'm about to do, but it's true.

“Okay,” I say. “What are you doing?”

Audrey grins. “Talking about the Games. Come on. I want you on our team, and we have to plan.”

Right, more planning. Just what I need.

Day five of this mission and the things I'm learning continue to overwhelm me. Don't mention the work is easy unless someone else says it first. Don't worry about being on time for class; nobody is. And, perhaps most importantly, don't laugh at everyone's obsession with RTC's beloved Games.

Now what have I learned that actually relates to the point of my mission? Absolutely nothing. It's starting to piss me off too. I came here with delusions of wrapping this whole deal up in under two weeks. That's not looking so likely anymore.

Fighting to keep my scowl hidden, I sit next to Audrey in Intro Physics. My attempt to set a trap for X in the student center girls' bathroom failed this morning, and I can't risk such a thing again so soon. It'll draw too much attention.

“What's up?” Audrey runs a hand through her curls, trying to control the damage the wind caused on our way here.

I pull up our physics book on my e-sheet. Guess I didn't hide the scowl as well as I thought. “Nothing. Just bored by how much of this is review from high school physics.”

“Least it's easy for you.” She sighs, then immediately stops primping as Chase and Kyle enter the room.

I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to say something encouraging here, but I don't know what, so I pretend to be distracted by a hangnail. I've never known anyone who's struggled with math or science.

While I search for words, I watch another girl sit near Chase. She has a large purple bruise on her calf. It's a good clue, and I make note of it. Still, cataloguing my classmates for bruises is not a very efficient way to go about searching for X.

“I can help you with the math part if you help me with philosophy,” I finally say. That's another thing I've learned so far: philosophy class is going to be torture. Unfortunately, RTC prides itself on providing a classical liberal arts experience, which meant I was advised to sign up for several pointless courses this semester. I thought they'd help me blend in and fill out my schedule, but I didn't count on some of them actually being difficult.

Audrey's face brightens. “Deal. I loved Dr. Ken's class.”

I know this because she's told me a hundred times since she discovered I was taking it. Audrey took it last spring, and I think she'd have signed up for it again if she could.

“You're crazy.” But her smile is contagious, and this plan makes me feel better too. No one warned me the whole making-friends business would be so stressful. My friends back home are more like family. We grew up together and are very similar. Audrey, on the other hand, is so different I'm constantly amazed we get along at all.

She starts to say something else, but our professor, Dr. Fernald, enters the room, and conversations die down.

As I expected, the topics we're covering today are more basics that I learned years ago. My classmates, it seems, have forgotten a lot since high school. This kind of sloppiness would never have been tolerated back home, but back home we never got summers off either. There was no time to forget things.

Since it takes me only minutes to do the work, I let my hair fall over my face to hide the fact I'm assessing the class. Sparked by the girl with the bruise, I search everyone's exposed skin for more bruises, cuts, scrapes, or anything that suggests unhealed injuries. It's definitely not an efficient use of time, but what else is there to do during these fifteen minutes?