Unravel Me (20 page)

And it’s the only thing in the world keeping me afloat.

“This isn’t how we wanted it to happen,” Castle says to me, “but these things never
usually go according to plan.” Adam and Kenji and I are being fitted for battle. We’re
camped out in one of the larger training rooms with 5 others I’ve never met before.
They’re in charge of weapons and armor. It’s incredible how every single person at
Omega Point has a job. Everyone contributes. Everyone has a task.

They all work together.

“Now, we still don’t know yet
exactly
why or how you can do what you do, Ms. Ferrars, but I’m hoping that when the time
comes, your Energy will present itself. These kinds of high-stress situations are
perfect for provoking our abilities—in fact, seventy-eight percent of Point members
reported initial discovery of their ability while in critical, high-risk circumstances.”

Yup, I don’t say to him. That sounds about right.

Castle takes something from one of the women in the room—Alia, I think is her name.
“And you shouldn’t worry about a thing,” he says. “We’ll be right there in case something
should happen.”

I don’t point out that I never once said I was worried. Not out loud, anyway.

“These are your new gloves,” Castle says, handing them to me. “Try them on.”

These new gloves are shorter, softer: they stop precisely at my wrist and fasten with
a snap-button. They feel thicker, a little heavier, but they fit my fingers perfectly.
I curl my hand into a fist. Smile a little. “These are incredible,” I tell him. “Didn’t
you say Winston designed them?”

Castle’s face falls. “Yes,” he says quietly. “He finished them just yesterday.”

Winston.

His was the very first face I saw when I woke up at Omega Point. His crooked nose,
his plastic glasses, his sandy-blond hair and his background in psychology. His need
for disgusting coffee.

I remember the broken glasses we found in the knapsack.

I have no idea what’s happened to him.

Alia returns with a leather contraption in her hands. It looks like a harness. She
asks me to lift my arms and helps me slip into the piece, and I recognize it as a
holster. There are thick leather shoulder straps that intersect in the center of my
back, and 50 different straps of very thin black leather overlapping around the highest
part of my waist—just underneath my chest—like some kind of incomplete bustier. It’s
like a bra with no cups. Alia has to buckle everything together for me and I still
don’t really understand what I’m wearing. I’m waiting for some kind of explanation.

Then I see the guns.

“There was nothing in the note about arriving unarmed,” Castle says as Alia passes
him two automatic handguns in a shape and size I’ve come to recognize. I practiced
shooting with these just yesterday.

I was terrible at it.

“And I see no reason for you to be without a weapon,” Castle is saying. He shows me
where the holsters are on either side of my rib cage. Teaches me how the guns fit,
how to snap the holder into place, where the extra cartridges go.

I don’t bother to mention that I have no idea how to reload a weapon. Kenji and I
never got to that part in our lesson. He was too busy trying to remind me not to use
a gun to gesticulate while asking questions.

“I’m hoping the firearms will be a last resort,” Castle says to me. “You have enough
weapons in your personal arsenal—you shouldn’t need to shoot anyone. And, just in
case you find yourself using your gift to destroy something, I suggest you wear these.”
He holds up a set of what look like elaborate variations on brass knuckles. “Alia
designed these for you.”

I look from her to Castle to the foreign objects in his hand. He’s beaming. I thank
Alia for taking the time to create something for me and she stammers out an incoherent
response, blushing like she can’t believe I’m talking to her.

I’m baffled.

I take the pieces from Castle and inspect them. The underside is made up of 4 concentric
circles welded together, big enough in diameter to fit like a set of rings, snug over
my gloves. I slip my fingers through the holes and turn my hand over to inspect the
upper part. It’s like a mini shield, a million pieces of gunmetal that cover my knuckles,
my fingers, the entire back of my hand. I can curl my fist and the metal moves with
the motion of my joints. It’s not nearly as heavy as it looks.

I slip the other piece on. Curl my fingers. Reach for the guns now strapped to my
body.

Easy.

I can do this.

“Do you like it?” Castle asks. I’ve never seen him smile so wide before.

“I love it,” I tell him. “Everything is perfect. Thank you.”

“Very good. I’m so pleased. Now,” he says, “if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to
a few other details before we leave. I will return shortly.” He offers me a curt nod
before heading out the door. Everyone but me, Kenji, and Adam leaves the room.

I turn to see how the guys are doing.

Kenji is wearing a suit.

Some kind of bodysuit. He’s black from head to toe, his jet-black hair and eyes a
perfect match for the outfit molded to every contour of his body. The suit seems to
have a synthetic feel to it, almost like plastic; it gleams in the fluorescent lighting
of the room and looks like it’d be too stiff to move around in. But then I see him
stretching his arms and rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet and the suit
suddenly looks fluid, like it moves with him. He’s wearing boots but no gloves, and
a harness, just like me. But his is different: it has simple holsters that sling over
his arms like the straps of a backpack.

And Adam.

Adam is
gorgeous
wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt, dark blue and dangerously tight across his chest.
I can’t help but linger over the details of his outfit, can’t help but remember what
it was like to be held against him, in his arms.
He’s standing right in front of me and I miss him like I haven’t seen him in years.
His black cargo pants are tucked into the same pair of black boots he was wearing
when I first met him in the asylum, shin-high and sleek, created from smooth leather
that fits him so perfectly it’s a surprise they weren’t made for his body. But there
are no weapons on his person.

And I’m curious enough to ask.

“Adam?”

He lifts his head to look up and freezes. Blinks, eyebrows up, lips parted. His eyes
travel down every inch of my body, pausing to study the harness framing my chest,
the guns slung close to my waist.

He says nothing. He runs a hand through his hair, presses the heel of his palm to
his forehead and says something about being right back. He leaves the room.

I feel sick.

Kenji clears his throat, loud. Shakes his head. Says, “Wow. I mean, really, are you
trying to kill the guy?”

“What?”

Kenji is looking at me like I’m an idiot. “You can’t just go around all ‘Oh, Adam,
look at me, look at how sexy I am in my new outfit’ and bat your eyelashes—”

“Bat my eyelashes?”
I balk at him. “What are you talking about? I’m not
batting
my eyelashes at him! And this is the same outfit I’ve worn every day—”

Kenji grunts. Shrugs and says, “Yeah, well, it looks different.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I am just
saying
,” he says, hands up in mock surrender, “that if I were him? And you were my girl?
And you were walking around looking like that, and I couldn’t touch you?” He looks
away. Shrugs again. “I am just saying I do not envy the poor bastard.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. “I’m not trying to hurt him—”

“Oh hell. Forget I said anything,” he says, waving his hands around. “Seriously. It
is
none
of my business.” He shoots me a look. “And do
not
consider this an invitation for you to start telling me all of your secret feelings
now.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not going to tell you anything about my feelings.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to know.”

“Have you ever had a girlfriend, Kenji?”

“What?” He looks mortally offended. “Do I
look
like the kind of guy who’s never had a girlfriend? Have you even
met
me?”

I roll my eyes. “Forget I asked.”

“I can’t even believe you just said that.”

“You’re the one who’s always going on about not wanting to talk about your feelings,”
I snap.

“No,” he says. “I said I don’t want to talk about
your
feelings.” He points at me. “I have zero problem talking about my own.”

“So do you want to talk about your feelings?”

“Hell no.”

“Bu—”

“No.”

“Fine.” I look away. Pull at the straps tugging at my back. “So what’s up with your
suit?” I ask him.

“What do you mean,
what’s up with it
?” He frowns. He runs his hands down his outfit. “This suit is badass.”

I bite back a smile. “I just meant, why are you wearing a suit? Why do you get one
and Adam doesn’t?”

He shrugs. “Adam doesn’t need one. Few people do—it all depends on what kind of gift
we have. For me, this suit makes my life a hell of a lot easier. I don’t always use
it, but when I need to get serious about a mission, it really helps. Like, when I
need to blend into a background,” he explains, “it’s less complicated if I’m shifting
one solid color—hence, the black. And if I have too many layers and too many extra
pieces floating around my body, I have to focus that much more on making sure I blend
all the details. If I’m one solid piece and one solid color, I’m a much better chameleon.
Besides,” he adds, stretching out the muscles in his arms, “I look sexy as hell in
this outfit.”

It takes all the self-control I have not to burst into laughter.

“So, but what about Adam?” I ask him. “Adam doesn’t need a suit
or
guns? That doesn’t seem right.”

“I do have guns,” Adam says as he walks back into the room. His eyes are focused on
the fists he’s clenching and unclenching in front of him. “You just can’t see them.”

I can’t stop looking at him, can’t stop staring.

“Invisible guns, huh?” Kenji smirks. “That’s cute. I don’t think I ever went through
that phase.”

Adam glares at Kenji. “I have nine different weapons concealed on my body right now.
Would you like to choose the one I use to shoot you in the face? Or should I?”

“It was a
joke,
Kent. Damn. I
was joking
—”

“All right, everyone.”

We all spin around at the sound of Castle’s voice.

He examines the 3 of us. “Are you ready?”

I say, “Yes.”

Adam nods.

Kenji says, “Let’s do this shit.”

Castle says, “Follow me.”

It’s 10:32 a.m.

We have exactly 1 hour and 28 minutes before we’re supposed to meet the supreme commander.

This is the plan:

Castle and every able body from Omega Point are already in position. They left half
an hour ago. They’re hiding in the abandoned buildings skirting the circumference
of the meeting point indicated in the note. They will be ready to engage in an offensive
strike just as soon as Castle gives the signal—and Castle will only give that signal
if he senses we’re in danger.

Adam and Kenji and I are going to travel by foot.

Kenji and Adam are familiar with unregulated turf because as soldiers, they were required
to know which sections of land were strictly off-limits. No one is allowed to trespass
on the grounds of our past world. The strange alleyways, side streets, old restaurants
and office buildings are forbidden territory.

Kenji says our meeting point is in one of the few suburban areas still standing; he
says he knows it well. Apparently as a soldier he was sent on several errands in this
area, each time required to drop off unmarked packages in an abandoned mailbox. The
packages were never explained, and he wasn’t stupid enough to ask.

He says it’s odd that any of these old houses are even functional, especially considering
how strict The Reestablishment is about making sure the civilians never try to go
back. In fact, most of the residential neighborhoods were torn down immediately after
the initial takeover. So it’s very, very rare to find sections left untouched. But
there it is, written on the note in too-tight capital letters:

1542 SYCAMORE

We’re meeting the supreme commander inside of what used to be someone’s home.

“So what do you think we should do? Just ring the doorbell?” Kenji is leading us toward
the exit of Omega Point. I’m staring straight ahead in the dim light of this tunnel,
trying not to focus on the woodpeckers in my stomach. “What do you think?” Kenji asks
again. “Would that be too much? Maybe we should just knock?”

I try to laugh, but the effort is halfhearted at best.

Adam doesn’t say a word.

“All right, all right,” Kenji says, all seriousness now. “Once we get out there, you
know the drill. We link hands. I project to blend the three of us. One of you on either
side of me. Got it?”

I’m nodding, trying not to look at Adam as I do.

This is going to be one of the first tests for him and his ability; he’ll have to
be able to turn off his Energy just as long as he’s linked to Kenji. If he can’t manage
it, Kenji’s projection won’t work on Adam, and Adam will be exposed. In danger.

“Kent,” Kenji says, “you understand the risks, right? If you can’t pull this off?”

Adam nods. His face is unflinching. He says he’s been training every day, working
with Castle to get himself under control. He says he’s going to be fine.

He looks at me as he says it.

My emotions jump out of a plane.

I hardly even notice we’re nearing the surface when Kenji motions for us to follow
him up a ladder. I climb and try to think at the same time, going over and over the
plan we spent the early hours of the morning strategizing.

Getting there is the easy part.