The Revelation of Eden Pruitt, page 5
His mouth went dry.
He stared at the woman, processing her words.
Lead them to the girl?
Then that meant …
A flood of relief extinguished the fire.
She wasn’t here.
They didn’t have her.
“Freedom could be yours,” the woman said, mistaking his expression. Like he was enticed by this offer of immeasurable irony. Hand over the girl and freedom would be his. It was the same offer Yukio had issued. The same offer that had entangled him in this mess to begin with. Only then, the girl had meant nothing to him. Now she meant everything.
“What do you think, Mr. Gray?”
He smiled a slight smile, the taste of blood still on his lips.
The woman arched her eyebrows, higher this time—waiting. Expectant. Like the game might really be this easy.
“I think …” Cass leaned forward, watching as the woman’s pupils dilated. “That you and your guard can go to hell.”
The man lurched forward with his fist cocked.
The woman held up her hand with an irritated jerk, stopping him before he could pounce. She peered at Cass for a long moment, then she gathered up the photographs and tucked them into the file. “It would seem our interview is done for now. Perhaps time will make you more cooperative.”
The guard unlocked Cass from the chair.
“We know she was there, Mr. Gray,” the woman said. “We know she was with you in Washington, DC. Which means she is hiding beneath the city with what remains of Interitus, if anything remains at all.”
Interitus doesn’t exist.
The words belonged to Prudence Dvorak.
Her scathing proclamation played through his mind as the woman straightened her blazer. “Or she escaped above ground during the chaos. We have drones searching the tunnels, and we have drones searching the streets. Drones with facial recognition, able to identify specific targets. They have been programmed to kill on sight.”
His brow furrowed. A drone wouldn’t kill Eden. Surely they knew this.
The woman examined one of her nails, then scooped up the file and met Cassian’s gaze. Hers was unwavering. “Unless, of course, they come upon Eden. For her, we have tranquilizer.”
Tranquilizer.
They had loaded their drones with tranquilizer. Which made it official. They knew exactly what Eden was and how to capture her. Once they did, how long until the government finished the job her father couldn’t all those years ago?
The guard wrenched Cass to his feet. His shoulder flared with pain. White-hot adrenaline coursed through his veins as the guard shoved Cass into the corridor and pushed him forward, the metal restraints biting into his wrists.
Ahead, two figures stepped into view.
Prudence Dvorak—her face bruised, her dark hair askew—flanked by her own burly guard. She stared at Cass as hard as he stared at her—as if each were a book, and if the other found the right page, they might glean vital information before they passed one another. Their arms brushed. He looked over his shoulder. She looked over hers. But they were shoved forward, and all too quickly, Dvorak was gone and Cass was being pitched off course—a sharp pivot down a dark hallway. The guard rammed him against the wall. He jammed his forearm into Cassian’s neck with such force he choked.
“Where is he?” the guard hissed.
Cass couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe. But even if he could hiss out an answer, he had no answer to give. He didn’t even understand the question. Where is he?
“Where are they keeping him?”
He coughed.
The guard thrust his face so close, Cass could count the black pores on his nose. The guard pushed harder, applying so much pressure, the blood trapped in Cassian’s head became a pulsing pressure that pressed against his eyes. He clenched his fists, wishing his hands were free as the guard pulled him forward and slammed him against the wall. “If you want your girlfriend to live, you better start talking.”
Rage swelled. A blinding, explosive rage.
Cass sunk his knee into the guard’s groin. The man doubled over with a wheeze, then tried to force himself upright as Cass reared back and used his head like a hammer. With a sickening crunch, he connected with bone and cartilage.
The guard fell back, a spray of crimson splashing against the floor.
Cass charged. He used his uninjured shoulder to shove the guard into the opposite wall as the man screamed for help.
Boots came running.
Someone tackled Cass from behind.
A kick landed hard in his ribs.
The guard he attacked scuttled away, clutching his bleeding nose as a third man jumped into the fray. Cass fought without his hands. He bucked and kicked, heedless of the pain. Heedless of the odds.
Eden.
Her face filled his mind like a bright and shining beacon.
He had to get to her.
But then something hard cracked against his skull.
A loud ringing sounded in his ears.
Stars danced behind his eyes.
The world went black.
9
The downshift woke her.
She’d been sleeping with her head on Barrett’s shoulder. She blinked at him groggily. His head was leaning against the headrest, his hat askew, his mouth open. Sunlight caught the crucifix as the truck came to a stop. Its reflective glare winked in her eye.
She sat up straight.
The old man turned down the radio. His bottom lip no longer bulged. The bottle of sludge was capped and on the floor, resting against Barrett’s boot. Up ahead, the St. Croix River stretched in front of them, along with an on-ramp that led to a bridge in the distance and a sign that said Welcome to Minnesota.
“There ain’t ever been a checkpoint here before,” he said, nodding at a slapdash booth with a camera mounted on its roof. “I suppose with the state of affairs, more and more of ‘em will be cropping up.” With the shake of his head, he started muttering about surveillance. About Big Brother. About how much harder it was to live an unbothered life in this day and age.
Meanwhile, her heart was in full gallop.
There was a line of three cars ahead of them. Orange cones on the road. A patrol vehicle parked on the shoulder next to the booth. And a uniformed officer standing at the driver’s side door of the car in front.
The old man peered into the rear-view mirror. “Not a soul behind us. Why’s that always happen—getting places at the exact wrong time?”
She shook Barrett. Hard.
He awoke with a start as the car in front of the line drove off and the other two crept forward.
Barrett wiped drool from the corner of his mouth, blinking like one trying to gain his bearings. A second later, he went ramrod straight, his attention jumping to the door handle by her elbow like he might make a dive for it so they could run away. Instead, he pulled his hat lower.
She could hear his heart beating the same as hers—wildly.
Fear swelled in her belly. Sweat prickled under her arms.
They watched as the patrol officer took the driver’s license and registration, then scanned the driver’s retinas. Was there a passenger? There seemed to be someone in the back seat, but the officer didn’t identify this person. With a nod, he allowed the driver to go through. The vehicle maneuvered around the cones and sped off toward the bridge.
The old man shut off the radio. He shifted into first gear and inched forward.
The crucifix glinted.
The vampire’s head bobbled.
The car ahead of them passed through.
They were up.
The old man pulled to a stop and rolled down his window.
The officer bent over with one eye squinted against the sun, the other fixed on the old man’s hands at a perfect ten and two, his gnarled knuckles white with tension, like he had a reason to be tense.
“Mornin’ officer,” he said.
The officer looked past him, toward Barrett with his hat. And her, hugging the bulging backpack in her lap.
“License and registration,” he said in a flat tone.
The old man reached past Barrett and removed the paperwork from his glove box.
“Where you headed?” the officer asked, examining the license.
“Rochester. Visiting my grandson for Halloween.”
“And these are …?”
“My other grandchildren. Excited to see their cousin.”
The officer held up the retinal scanner.
The old man acquiesced, looking straight into its infrared light.
The officer studied the screen with a frown. “Several unpaid tickets here.”
“Yessir. I plan to take care of those as soon as my next paycheck arrives.”
The officer studied the old man for a long, nerve-wracking moment, then said, “Could I ask you to step out of the vehicle?”
“That really necessary?”
“All three of you, please.”
She squeaked, then quickly clamped her mouth shut.
Barrett slid out after the old man. She could have opened her own door and exited the vehicle the normal way, but it felt safer to follow Barrett. She scooted across the bucket seat, leaving her backpack behind, and stepped out into the morning sun, the two-lane highway behind them empty, the cars that had been in front, disappearing over the bridge.
A second officer stepped out from the booth. “What’s the …” His voice fell away mid-question, and despite Barrett’s hat being low, despite his hair being longer, the officer’s eyes went bright with recognition the moment they landed on him. “Hey, you’re that kid! The one who’s been missing.”
As if on cue, the officers pulled guns from their holsters at the same time and turned on the old man. “Hands on the truck.”
His face paled. “What?”
“Hands on the truck now!”
The old man did as he was told.
It was all the distraction she needed. Without hesitating, she dropped in a twirling foot sweep and knocked the closer patrol officer onto his backside. In a matter of seconds, she’d disarmed the other one, too. Both officers were without their guns, belly-down on the ground with their hands over their heads, pleading for their lives as the old man and Barrett ogled like a couple fish. She handed a gun to Barrett, which seemed to free him from his frozen state. He asked the group for duct tape.
When nobody answered, he asked louder.
“In my glove box!” the old man shouted, his arms going over his head like he was preparing to protect himself from the inevitable gun shot.
Barrett quickly retrieved the roll. He tied up all three, apologizing the entire time.
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” the old man blubbered. “I done nothing but help you two get to where you wanted to go.”
“This way, they’ll know you didn’t kidnap us,” Barrett said, fumbling around inside their pockets. He removed keys and walkie-talkies and phones. He put each gadget on the ground and shot them one by one. He turned and shot the camera mounted on the booth, too. Then they climbed into the truck and Barrett drove away.
“We just committed a major felony,” he said, his voice shaking as he shifted into third and hit the gas harder, leaving the three men behind—tied up, with no way to report them. Until, of course, another car arrived.
Barrett cut the engine. “Is this—why are we—?”
She held her finger to her lips like the drones circling the city might hear. With her eyes on the dumpster ahead, she climbed out of the red pickup truck they had stolen and stepped into the shadowed alley. Barrett hadn’t known where he was going. With their adrenaline pumping, she had guided him with points and nods while his attention darted between the rearview mirror and the road in front until they reached a rundown business district on the outskirts of the city.
He climbed out after her.
They left the doors open. It was best not to make any sound.
With her heart still galloping, she pulled at the hem of her jacket and crept toward the dumpster on silent feet. It was impossible. She knew this. Too much time had passed. They were gone or dead. But she had to look. She had to check. When she came around the dumpster and saw the tarp—tattered and stained and crumpled—her galloping heart leapt. If the tarp was still here, maybe they were, too.
Her insides warmed at the memory—tiny little puppies with eyes that could barely open, mewling as their proud mama stood by. Then the men had come. The mama had growled low in her belly with ears flattened and hackles raised. After that, Jane couldn’t remember anything else. One second, those bad men were creeping closer, and she was curling her hand around a broken piece of glass, prepared to protect the mother and her babies. The next, she was waking up in Dr. Norton’s basement.
She couldn’t hear any heartbeats now. But maybe, just maybe …
Holding her breath, she ripped the tarp off the ground with a whip and a rustle. There was nothing underneath. No puppies. No mother. They were gone, and even though she knew they would be, their absence stole every ounce of warmth within her. In its place, an overwhelming sadness unfolded.
Had those men taken the babies? Had they taken the mama? Did they kill her like Father had killed Kitty? The babies wouldn’t have survived on their own. They would have died. Because babies needed a mother. The sadness kept unfolding. It smelled like sesame oil and talcum powder. It felt like the soothing stroke of her hair. It sounded like a low, secret whisper as Mother read her stories at night from the forbidden books they kept hidden beneath a loose floorboard under the bed. Then Mother left and all Jane had were those stories and a photograph in her pocket that was no longer in her pocket, but lost somewhere between those men in this alley and Dr. Norton’s basement. The sadness grew bigger and bigger until she thought it might swallow her whole.
Why did Mother leave?
The tests and the training got so much worse after she left. The pain and the torture and her failure and his anger. Then Kitty. Oh, how she missed Kitty.
Barrett touched her shoulder.
She jumped.
His brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
She dropped the crumpled tarp and took a step away from the empty slab of cement. Fear swirled with the sadness—a deep and fathomless pit. She was close. Too close to that red X. The nearness had her knees knocking, her words burrowing deeper. She let her hair fall in her face. She wanted to hide. She wanted to run.
“You know he can’t hurt you, right?” Barrett dipped his chin to meet her eye.
Oh, but he could.
Somehow, someway, Father always could.
“You’re stronger than him, Jane. I’m stronger than him, too.” He looked over his shoulder at the open-doored truck behind them. “But we don’t have to go. You don’t have to do this. We can go back to Milwaukee. Or anywhere, really. We probably just can’t drive the truck.”
She didn’t have to do this.
It was a choice.
She could turn back, and Barrett would go with her.
He’d go with her anywhere.
As far away from the Red X as possible.
But then, what would happen if the bad guys found them? Maybe Father really couldn’t hurt her. Maybe Father really couldn’t hurt Barrett. But the bad guys could. If she ran, the possibility would forever hover over her shoulder. A ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
Barrett was right.
She wasn’t trapped.
She had a choice.
She closed her eyes and forced her lungs to expand, to breathe. Then she imagined a seed of courage sprouting. She imagined its roots reaching deep, taking hold. With shoulders squared, she marched to the truck and grabbed her bulging backpack. She grabbed Barrett’s, too, and the guns they had taken from the patrol officers.
She tucked one into her belt and handed him the other.
Then she motioned for him to follow.
Through the abandoned business district, where she had once slept and scrounged for food. Into the woods beyond. Deep, deep in the woods, where Father’s house hid. Fear sucked at her boots like thick, viscous mud. Her steps were slow and plodding.
Barrett didn’t rush her.
He walked at her pace. He followed her lead. His words and his voice a calming stream of water that made her courage grow.
10
Eden sat inside the executive boardroom of a building that once belonged to the Institute for Defense Analysis. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out into a central courtyard that wasn’t overrun by weeds like the grounds outside, but neatly kept with autumn crocuses still in bloom.
Early morning dawn had melted into a moody day.
Her hair smelled like smoke. Her clothes like war. She needed to shower. She needed to sleep. But more than either of those, she needed to know what happened to Cassian. Across from her, Dayne looked equally exhausted and equally determined. He insisted that he be included in this meeting, even though he wasn’t a council member. A fact Francesca kept muttering under her breath.
Asher worked at the conference table, its normal height unable to accommodate him. His shoulders hunched considerably as he pulled up a holographic interface. Apparently, their meeting wouldn’t commence here, but in a virtual war room. One that existed on the Amber Highway—an illegal metaverse created five years ago by someone named Gollum. Cleo was obsessed with this highway. Dayne, too. Since its inception, his newspaper had been one of its biggest beneficiaries. According to him, the highway not only enabled superior, secure communication with correspondents across the country, it allowed them to streamline in ways that freed up valuable time and resources.
Dayne watched Asher keenly as he synchronized and navigated layers and systems, demonstrating not mere proficiency with this virtual world, but mastery. How was it possible that he had not yet breached the asset’s network? Eden was stuck inside the question, unable to make heads or tails of it.
