Unravel Me (21 page)

Getting inside is where things get tricky.

We’re supposed to pretend we’re doing a swap—our hostages are supposed to be with
the supreme commander, and I’m supposed to oversee their release. It’s supposed to
be an exchange.

Me for them.

But the truth is that we have no idea what will actually happen. We don’t know, for
example, who will answer the door. We don’t know if
anyone
will answer the door. We don’t even know if we’re actually meeting inside the house
or if we’re simply meeting outside of it. We also don’t know how they’ll react to
seeing Adam and Kenji and the makeshift armory we have strapped to our bodies.

We don’t know if they’ll start shooting right away.

This is the part that scares me. I’m not worried for myself as much as I am for Adam
and Kenji. They are the twist in this plan. They are the element of surprise. They’re
either the unexpected pieces that give us the only advantage we can afford right now,
or they’re the unexpected pieces that end up dead the minute they’re spotted. And
I’m starting to think this was a very bad idea.

I’m starting to wonder if I was wrong. If maybe I can’t handle this.

But it’s too late to turn back now.

“Wait here.”

Kenji tells us to lie low as he pops his head out of the exit. He’s already disappeared
from sight, his figure blending into the background. He’s going to let us know if
we’re clear to surface.

I’m too nervous to speak.

Too nervous to think.

I can do this we can do this we have no choice but to do this
, is all I keep saying to myself.

“Let’s go.” I hear Kenji’s voice from above our heads. Adam and I follow him up the
last stretch of the ladder. We’re taking one of the alternate exit routes out of Omega
Point—one that only 7 people know about, according to Castle. We’re taking as many
precautions as necessary.

Adam and I manage to haul our bodies aboveground and I immediately feel the cold and
Kenji’s hand slip around my waist. Cold cold cold. It cuts through the air like little
knives slicing across our skin. I look down at my feet and see nothing but a barely
perceptible shimmer where my boots are supposed to be. I wiggle my fingers in front
of my face.

Nothing.

I look around.

No Adam and no Kenji except for Kenji’s invisible hand, now resting at the small of
my back.

It worked.
Adam made it work. I’m so relieved I want to sing.

“Can you guys hear me?” I whisper, happy no one can see me smiling.

“Yup.”

“Yeah, I’m right here,” Adam says.

“Nice work, Kent,” Kenji says to him. “I know this can’t be easy for you.”

“It’s fine,” Adam says. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“Done.”

We’re like a human chain.

Kenji is between me and Adam and we’re linked, holding hands as Kenji guides us through
this deserted area. I have no idea where we are, and I’m starting to realize that
I seldom do. This world is still so foreign to me, still so new. Spending so much
time in isolation while the planet crumbled to pieces didn’t do me any favors.

The farther we go, the closer we get to the main road and the closer we get to the
compounds that are settled not a mile from here. I can see the boxy shape of their
steel structures from where we’re standing.

Kenji jerks to a halt.

Says nothing.

“Why aren’t we moving?” I ask.

Kenji shushes me. “Can you hear that?”

“What?”

Adam pulls in a breath. “Shit. Someone’s coming.”

“A tank,” Kenji clarifies.

“More than one,” Adam adds.

“So why are we still standing here—”

“Wait, Juliette, hold on a second—”

And then I see it. A parade of tanks coming down the main road. I count 6 of them
altogether.

Kenji unleashes a series of expletives under his breath.

“What is it?” I ask. “What’s the problem?”

“There was only one reason Warner ever ordered us to take more than two tanks out
at a time, on the same route,” Adam says to me.

“What—”

“They’re preparing for a fight.”

I gasp.

“He knows,” Kenji says. “Dammit! Of course he knows. Castle was right. He knows we’re
bringing backup.
Shit
.”

“What time is it, Kenji?”

“We have about forty-five minutes.”

“Then let’s move,” I tell him. “We don’t have time to worry about what’s going to
happen afterward. Castle is prepared—he’s anticipating something like this. We’ll
be okay. But if we don’t get to that house on time, Winston and Brendan and everyone
else might die today.”

“
We
might die today,” he points out.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “That, too.”

We’re moving through the streets quickly now. Swiftly. Darting through the clearing
toward some semblance of civilization and that’s when I see it: the remnants of an
achingly familiar universe. Little square houses with little square yards that are
now nothing more than wild weeds decaying in the wind. The dead grass crunches under
our feet, icy and uninviting. We count down the houses.

1542 Sycamore.

It must be this one. It’s impossible to miss.

It’s the only house on this entire street that looks fully functional. The paint is
fresh, clean, a beautiful shade of robin’s-egg blue. A small set of stairs leads up
to the front porch, where I notice 2 white wicker rocking chairs and a huge planter
full of bright blue flowers I’ve never seen before. I see a welcome mat made of rubber,
wind chimes hanging from a wooden beam, clay pots and a small shovel tucked into a
corner. It’s everything we can never have anymore.

Someone
lives
here.

It’s impossible that this exists.

I’m pulling Kenji and Adam toward the home, overcome with emotion, almost forgetting
that we’re no longer allowed to live in this old, beautiful world.

Someone is yanking me backward.

“This isn’t it,” Kenji says to me. “This is the wrong street.
Shit
. This is the wrong street—we’re supposed to be two streets down—”

“But this house—it’s—I mean, Kenji, someone
lives
here—”

“No one lives here,” he says. “Someone probably set this up to throw us off—in fact,
I bet that house is lined with C4. It’s probably a trap designed to catch people wandering
unregulated turf. Now come on”—he yanks at my hand again—“we have to hurry. We have
seven minutes!”

And even though we’re running forward, I keep looking back, waiting to see some sign
of life, waiting to see someone step outside to check the mail, waiting to see a bird
fly by.

And maybe I’m imagining it.

Maybe I’m insane.

But I could’ve sworn I just saw a curtain flutter in an upstairs window.

90 seconds.

The real 1542 Sycamore is just as dilapidated as I’d originally imagined it would
be. It’s a crumbling mess, its roof groaning under the weight of too many years’ negligence.
Adam and Kenji and I are standing just around the corner, out of sight even though
we’re technically still invisible. There is not a single person anywhere, and the
entire house looks abandoned. I’m beginning to wonder if this was all just an elaborate
joke.

75 seconds.

“You guys stay hidden,” I tell Kenji and Adam, struck by sudden inspiration. “I want
him to think I’m alone. If anything goes wrong, you guys can jump in, okay? There’s
too much of a risk that your presence will throw things off too quickly.”

They’re both quiet a moment.

“
Damn.
That’s a good idea,” Kenji says. “I should’ve thought of that.”

I can’t help but grin, just a little. “I’m going to let go now.”

“Hey—good luck,” Kenji says, his voice unexpectedly soft. “We’ll be right behind you.”

“Juliette—”

I hesitate at the sound of Adam’s voice.

He almost says something but seems to change his mind. He clears his throat. Whispers,
“Promise you’ll be careful.”

“I promise,” I say into the wind, fighting back emotion. Not now. I can’t deal with
this right now. I have to focus.

So I take a deep breath.

Step forward.

Let go.

10 seconds and I’m trying to breathe

9

and I’m trying to be brave

8

but the truth is I’m scared out of my mind

7

and I have no idea what’s waiting for me behind that door

6

and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a heart attack

5

but I can’t turn back now

4

because there it is

3

the door is right in front of me

2

all I have to do is knock

1

but the door flies open first.

“Oh good,” he says to me. “You’re right on time.”

“It’s refreshing, really,” he says. “To see that the youth still value things like
punctuality. It’s always so frustrating when people waste my time.”

My head is full of missing buttons and shards of glass and broken pencil tips. I’m
nodding too slowly, blinking like an idiot, unable to find the words in my mouth either
because they’re lost or because they never existed or simply because I have no idea
what to say.

I don’t know what I was expecting.

Maybe I thought he’d be old and slumped and slightly blind. Maybe he’d be wearing
a patch on one eye and have to walk with a cane. Maybe he’d have rotting teeth and
ragged skin and coarse, balding hair and maybe he’d be a centaur, a unicorn, an old
witch with a pointy hat anything anything anything but this. Because this isn’t possible.
This is so hard for me to understand and whatever I was expecting was wrong so utterly,
incredibly, horribly wrong.

I’m staring at a man who is absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful.

And he is a
man
.

He has to be at least 45 years old, tall and strong and silhouetted in a suit that
fits him so perfectly it’s almost unfair. His hair is thick, smooth like hazelnut
spread; his jawline is sharp, the lines of his face perfectly symmetrical, his cheekbones
hardened by life and age. But it’s his eyes that make all the difference. His eyes
are the most spectacular things I’ve ever seen.

They’re almost aquamarine.

“Please,” he says, flashing me an incredible smile. “Come in.”

And it hits me then, right in that moment, because everything suddenly makes sense.
His look; his stature; his smooth, classy demeanor; the ease with which I nearly forgot
he was a villain—
this man
.

This
is Warner’s father.

I step into what looks like a small living room. There are old, lumpy couches settled
around a tiny coffee table. The wallpaper is yellowed and peeling from age. The house
is heavy with a strange, moldy smell that indicates the cracked glass windows haven’t
been opened in years, and the carpet is forest green under my feet, the walls embellished
with fake wood panels that don’t make sense to me at all. This house is, in a word,
ugly. It seems ridiculous for a man so striking to be found inside of a house so horribly
inferior.

“Oh wait,” he says, “just one thing.”

“Wha—”

He’s pinned me against the wall by the throat, his hands carefully sheathed in a pair
of leather gloves, already prepared to touch my skin to cut off my oxygen, choke me
to death and I’m so sure I’m dying, I’m so sure that this is what it feels like to
die, to be utterly immobilized, limp from the neck down. I try to claw at him, kicking
at his body with the last of my energy until I’m giving up, forfeiting to my own stupidity,
my last thoughts condemning me for being such an idiot, for thinking I could actually
come in here and accomplish anything until I realize he’s undone my holsters, stolen
my guns, put them in his pockets.

He lets me go.

I drop to the floor.

He tells me to have a seat.

I shake my head, coughing against the torture in my lungs, wheezing into the dirty,
musty air, heaving in strange, horrible gasps, my whole body in spasms against the
pain. I’ve been inside for less than 2 minutes and he’s already overpowered me. I
have to figure out how to do something, how to get through this alive. Now’s not the
time to hold back.

I press my eyes shut for a moment. Try to clear my airways, try to find my head. When
I finally look up I see he’s already seated himself on one of the chairs, staring
at me as though thoroughly entertained.

I can hardly speak. “Where are the hostages?”

“They’re fine.” This man whose name I do not know waves an indifferent hand in the
air. “They’ll be just fine. Are you sure you won’t sit down?”

“What—” I try to clear my throat and regret it immediately, forcing myself to blink
back the traitorous tears burning my eyes. “What do you want from me?”

He leans forward in his seat. Clasps his hands. “You know, I’m not entirely sure anymore.”

“What?”

“Well, you’ve certainly figured out that all of this”—he nods at me, around the room—“is
just a distraction, right?” He smiles that same incredible smile. “Surely you’ve realized
that my ultimate goal was to lure your people out into my territory? My men are waiting
for just one word. One word from me and they will seek out and destroy all of your
little friends waiting so patiently within this half-mile radius.”

Terror waves hello to me.

He laughs a little. “If you think I don’t know exactly what’s going on in my own
land
, young lady, you are quite mistaken.” He shakes his head. “I’ve let these freaks
live too freely among us, and it was my mistake. They’re causing me too much trouble,
and now it’s time to take them out.”

“I am one of those freaks,” I tell him, trying to control the tremble in my voice.
“Why did you bring me here if all you want is to kill us? Why me? You didn’t have
to single me out.”

“You’re right.” He nods. Stands up. Shoves his hands into his pockets. “I came here
with a purpose: to clean up the mess my son made, and to finally put an end to the
naive efforts of a group of idiotic aberrations. To erase the lot of you from this
sorry world. But then,” he says, laughing a little, “just as I began drafting my plans,
my son came to me and begged me not to kill you. Just you.” He stops. Looks up. “He
actually
begged me
not to kill you.” Laughs again. “It was just as pathetic as it was surprising.