The Butterfly Code (24 page)

"In the government?"

"Yes. They realize the world has no room for people like us. So they leave us alone as long as we leave the human race alone. We don’t modify anyone, they keep out of our business. Those are the rules. It’s that simple."

A knot forms at the base of my skull. "Great. And how do they make sure you don’t modify people?"

"At this point, we have a certain autonomy. They know we have no interest in spreading it. But they do keep tabs. That’s why red flags went up when you stepped into that hospital. They ordered tests, and King was in the loop. As far as he’s concerned, all bets are off. You’re unauthorized. I broke the rules."

"Will the authorities take action, too?"

"Yes. I don’t know what just yet. If I can get you better before we have to face the music, we might escape trouble-free."

"If not?"

"Then I’ve really opened up a can of worms. For all of us."

"Could they force you to allow them to experiment on you?"

He says nothing. Simply grimaces.

"Victoria, and Lucy and . . ."

Hunter nods and slips his hand into mine. After a time, as if by some mutually unspoken agreement, we abandon our vigil, turn, and head for the car.

The Porsche is all-black leather and plush carpets and hand stitching. It looks brand-new, like it’s rarely been driven. I suspect it’s only for emergencies. The track confirms my suspicions. Five feet out, the lane turns wild, completely overgrown in places. We bounce along until we come to a stream that’s flowing across our path.

"That’s new," Hunter says.

He hops out. I watch him kick off his boots on the bank and wade in without bothering to roll up his pant legs. At its deepest, the water reaches his knees. Sunlight gleams on his dark hair, flashes on his watchband. He’s such a mix of contrasts—frightening and powerful when he’s in the midst of a brutal fight, gentle and protective with the people he cares about.

Bending, he latches onto an object underwater and comes up with a boulder at least three feet across. Mud streams from it as, with little effort, he tosses it clear.

His eyes sweep up to mine and catch me through the windshield.

Maybe it’s because we’re alone, just the two of us in this lost wilderness, yet for an instant I feel like I’m the only girl in the world. And with sudden certainty, I know that if it were just Hunter and me here, stuck in exile forever, I could be happy.

Maybe he knows what I’m thinking. I know he can sense me through the wall. His smile is deepening, and I can sense him, too, and I’m pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing.

Even though I’m growing stronger at blocking him, I don’t try. I let him in on my innermost private feelings. It feels daring and crazy and superintense. Maybe I’m reckless for opening myself up when I know all this has to end.

His smile works its way into a grin. He wades up the bank toward my open window, stopping to pick a purple wildflower from the waving grass. At my door, he reaches in and tucks the bloom behind my ear. His fingers trail through my hair, leaving sparks in their wake. There’s no need to say anything. To do anything. Because, yes, he can feel my emotions. Yet I can feel his, too. They’re so heady and all-consuming that my heart nearly stops beating.

I’m unaware that I’m gripping the doorsill until he takes my hand in his and turns my palm up. Hunter strokes it, and a flash of heat shoots along my arm. His head bends to cover it, and his lips brush my skin like the wings of butterfly. As he does so, his extraordinary eyes come up to mine, mischievous and dancing.

When he releases me, I curl my fingers up and watch him stride around to his door. Seriously, I think I’m in love.

He puts the car in gear. "We’re good to cross."

"Okay," I say, still a little breathless. "Great."

Sure enough, the car splashes into the stream and comes safely out the other side.

Leafy-scented air flows through the open window. It catches my bloom from behind my ear, taking it spinning away before I can grab it. I watch it fly, glad to be moving, glad to be doing something. Despite my earlier misgivings about leaving the hangar, it’s wonderful to be on the trail.

We cross the roots of a giant tree. Hundreds of last year’s dried leaves kick up, flocking around us like birds.

Being out here feels like a release. Like the calm after the storm. Even though the horrors of yesterday hang heavy in my heart.

A small voice inside warns me this is no release, however. This is no calm. It’s the eye of the storm. The real hell is yet to come. I don’t want to listen. I won’t. I shut it out and open my window wider, reach my arm out and let my fingers fly on the wind.

A
s the morning wears on
, the track becomes a dirt lane, and the lane turns into a rolling, two-way paved road with a dotted line down the middle. Every now and then a car appears over the approaching hill. We pass it and crest down the other side, traveling unmolested on our way.

Still, I’m aware that King has numerous eyes around the country. From what I can tell, his organization is huge and well equipped. And not just King. There are the others Hunter mentioned. We’re going to have to start being careful at some point.

I remember hearing that governments can track down wanted criminals through city traffic cameras using face-recognition software. Unless we keep our heads down, running will be for nothing.

A tattered billboard in a farmer’s field reads,
lila may’s authentic southern cooking, 1 mile ahead
. Which is funny, because we couldn’t be farther from the south.

"What do you think?" asks Hunter. "Shall we verify her claim?"

The dilapidated restaurant is the first we’ve seen since we left the hangar. There are two rusty pickups in the lot and a third that looks brand-new. Hunter leaves a gap of six spaces, parking under a tree. "I’ll get it to go. Safer that way."

"All right."

He snags a baseball cap from the backseat. "Any special requests?"

"I’ll have what you’re having."

His eyes twinkle. "I doubt you can eat that much, but you’re welcome to give it a shot."

When he’s gone, I’m suddenly nervous. A brown sedan pulls into the lot, completely dark with tint. Before the door opens, a second vehicle whips into the space beside me, a black SUV that grinds to a halt a few feet away. My heart starts to pound. I should have closed the windows. What was I thinking?

I sink down low, my eyes darting up as the SUV door is thrown open.

It’s just a woman in a dress. She gives my worried face an odd look as I let out a huge breath. Then she retrieves two kids out of the back.

I don’t care if I’m being silly, if it’s ridiculous to think King could find us so fast. I’ve never been so relieved to see Hunter’s wide, muscular frame as he saunters across the lot with two giant takeout bags in his arms.

"What did I miss?" he asks, worried as he scans my pale face.

"Rush hour."

"Take a whiff of Lila May’s fried chicken and you’ll be surprised the whole state isn’t trying to get through that door."

We pull down the road a little ways to eat.

"Why are you so strong?" I ask him.

He shrugs and keeps eating.

"I want to know why. You must have an idea. And what about this whole empathic thing? What causes it? I’ve heard of side effects—headaches, stomach upset, okay, those I understand. But an emotional link? That just happened? By accident? Without trying to create it? How?"

"That’s a lot of questions."

"I have a lot of questions."

"Why don’t we leave it for now." He reaches for a biscuit.

"I don’t see why we should. I need to know these things."

"Actually, you really don’t."

"What?" I’m mildly floored. "A little while back, you were telling me everything, teaching me to help myself, and now it’s on a need-to-know basis?"

"Those things you
did
need to know. About how to protect yourself, and what my relationship is with King. The rest is different."

Carefully, I wipe my fingers one by one and then ball the napkin in my fist. "It’s no different, Hunter."

Before, he was angled toward my seat. Now he turns so that one hand’s on the steering wheel and his foot is pressed hard up against his door.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask.

"A day’s going to come when you’ve moved on, and people might track you down, searching for information. And the less you know, the better off you’ll be."

"For who? You or me?"

"Both of us. If it were only me—I’d tell you everything. It’s not, though. I’m responsible for a dozen other people. They’re relying on me. I can’t just break a decades-long rule of silence—"

"I’m relying on you, Hunter. Right now. What if I don’t get better? Did you ever think of that?"

And just like that, we’re at loggerheads again. The smell of leftover chicken turns my stomach. I wish I hadn’t eaten so much. But I’m not backing down. Now that I’ve asked the questions, I can’t unask them. I won’t.

Hunter’s jaw is tight. Finally, he rubs his face. "I know, dammit. I know. All right. Ask. I’ll tell you what I can."

And so I’m peppering him with questions.

"I want to know about the pain. And how does it all work? Why does it work? Who came up with it?"

"A scientist many years ago asked himself this question: If a living creature like the butterfly can tear down to its basic components and completely regenerate, could it be possible to stimulate human organs and limbs to do the same thing? In a controlled, localized effect?"

"Okay."

"First he studied the scarlet jellyfish. What’s interesting is that when it gets old, it doesn’t die. It latches onto a piece of seaweed, morphs back to its original birth state, and grows into full adulthood again."

"Are you serious? What do you mean? They live forever?"

"They can."

"So you’re telling me this scientist crossed jellyfish genes with human genes?"

"Not exactly. First, he and his partner identified the code that forces the jellyfish to regenerate. Second, they copied it. Then they tested their theory out on butterflies. Butterflies seemed like a good fit because they go through a chrysalis phase. They inserted the relevant code from the jellyfish into the butterfly’s DNA. And a new type of butterfly was born. From there, they started working with human tissue."

"Wait. But why are you so strong? Neither of those things are."

"Actually, you’re wrong. Butterflies are extremely strong. Their muscles are highly developed so they can flap those large wings—up to twelve times a second. And unlike human skin, after death a butterfly’s wings can remain perfectly intact in a museum or behind glass. We also think it has to do with the number of times we’ve gone through—what I mean is, the way we heal after each stress or injury. Our bones and muscles are honed and ultimately we grow sturdier. Tougher. Faster."

"And what about the empathic thing?"

He nods. "Okay. Butterflies and jellyfish have flocking habits. They travel in units, moving and communicating. But, of course, they don’t speak. They converse in other ways. For butterflies, use of ultraviolet light is the most talked about in scientific circles. We have a slightly different perspective. We think they also employ emotive transference. At least, if what’s happened to us is any indication."

"Emotional transference?"

"Like fear. It can drive the whole colony at once. Make them flee. By uniting their emotional state, we think they can induce a shared ‘motor mind.’"

"What, like the Borg?" I laugh.

"Exactly. Of course, when their genetic material was introduced into humans . . . well, let’s just say we’re a lot more complex than a butterfly. We don’t want to flock. The end result—"

"Is that you sense what’s going on with each other, except instead of being helpful, it’s overshare?"

"You got it."

"Wow." I shake my head. "That’s madness." Genetically modified people? And here I’ve been worried about genetically modified foods.

I flash on Mom’s journal. What would she think if she could see me now? I lean back and try to digest it all. Hunter starts up the Cayenne and merges onto the road. Switching on the radio, I’m surprised to find reception. Some old Memphis blues jug band. I turn it down low.

"This might sound odd," I tell him, "but I have a strange feeling my mom could’ve been involved with the PRL twenty years ago."

"What makes you say that?"

"Partly because of what I told you she wrote."

"I’d like to see that journal."

"It isn’t much. Only a few paragraphs. There’s another reason, though." I slide my fingers along the armrest. "When I was five, my mom and I went to Switzerland. I think she was trying to bring some people her research. We were chased down." I glance at him.

His eyes are on the road.

"She was killed."

"I’m sorry." His hand takes mine and closes completely around it. He feels for me; I sense it loud and clear.

"The people searched her car and took all her files. We never found out who they were. Americans, that much I know. They must have followed her there. Your company is originally from Switzerland, isn’t it? Victoria told me. When this is over, I want you to help me look into it. Maybe it’s a long shot, but I just can’t shake the feeling it’s connected."

"Instincts are pretty powerful."

For a moment, I get an overwhelming urge to ask him if he met her. That wouldn’t make sense, though. How could he have? He would’ve been a child.

The road grows busier and wider, and eventually we turn onto a broad freeway. Rushing cars pack every lane. An interstate sign reads,
new haven, 27 miles
. We’re almost there.

"I hope Dad’s not too worried," I say out loud, the words escaping before I realize how large they’ve been looming in my mind.

"He knows this is the best way to keep you safe."

"But what about him and Sammy? Are they safe?"

"He knows how to protect himself."

"I hope so."

As we drive, I think of both Dad and Gage. I dragged them into this. Guilt presses down, so heavy it colors the world black. The shadows of the approaching city are like the shadows in my heart—ominous and dark.

Shifting in my seat, I pull my knees up and turn to study Hunter.

"Gage thinks you’re like King, that you’re trying to make supersoldiers."

"Gage said that?" He laughs. "No wonder the guy hates me."

"Why did you ever get involved in this research?"

"It’s a long story." There’s that tense, closed-down look again.

"I’m not going anywhere," I say.

At this, he lets out a short laugh. "All right." He forcibly relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. "The condensed version. Ian and I were soldiers stationed in a remote location. Victoria, Edward, Lucy, and the rest of our people were there, too, some working as civilians, others as part of the research team. There was an accident. We shouldn’t have survived. We did, but had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. And ever since, we’ve been trying to get ourselves out of it. Looking for a way to undo the effects. That’s why we do what we do."

It’s the last thing I expect him to say. I’m stunned.

"An accident?" I ask when I find my voice.

"The lab was attacked. We escaped, and this was our only way to survive. We were in a snowbound location; we were injured; we had no food, no radios; we were going to have to walk out. It was live or die. The drugs had been salvaged. We took them. And here we are."

"How long has King been after you?"

"Years." Hunter shakes his head. "Last time he tried, I blew up a billion-dollar research facility of his, and he laid off for a while. Now you come along. You’re newly changed. You’re not strong like we are. You’re an easy mark. And you’re outside the rules."

"And if he gets me? Then what?"

He pauses, and suddenly his feelings flow to me unchecked. They’re so awful I nearly retch. "It would be a nightmare. If he gives his men an infusion of your blood the way I did to you with mine, you’d be linked to his men. Linked to them just the way you and I are. Just as strong. Just as close. Living with their violence. Sensing it. And you’d have no skills to keep them out."

My heart starts slamming.

"As for Victoria, Ian, Edward, all of us, we’ll experience it, too. You’ll be like the funnel that channels them through. Everything will pour into us as well. They won’t have the skills to put up blocks. There would be no way any of us could withstand the force. All of our carefully constructed walls would crumble in the face of such an assault."

Ian’s words in the garden outside the lab come to me then. I remember the fierce way he begged me to take my medications. Now I understand. I finally understand. That’s the fear I felt from Victoria, from all of them.

When they look at me, they see their downfall.

If the force didn’t kill them, it would drive them insane. Then there are the soldiers—being so many, it would tear them apart. Who knows what terrible acts such a group of ruthless, violent men would commit?

Victoria, Edward, and Lucy treated me with compassion. Even Ian in his own way. It’s amazing they were ever kind to me.

It’s hopeless to want to stay linked to Hunter. Even though our power shimmers with the promise of a shared, uncharted territory.

I have to get better.

If King gets my blood, not only will he invade me, but he’ll invade us all.