Torn Page 11

  She was attracted to him, though. And sometimes, their easy affection felt like something more. But at TOR-N, everything was bound to be a little blurry. They’d had to be close—neither of them had had anyone else. But now … she didn’t know how she felt. Did he? Had he wanted this all along? And if so, how much? Davis wasn’t sure she was ready for anything. Cole’s death was too fresh; she loved him still. She didn’t want to hurt Mercer.

  The boat felt eerily still, like they’d dropped the anchor. The whole situation was odd, because Mercer had specifically said they should avoid land at all costs—it was too dangerous. The air was muggy and stifling, and suddenly it was all she could do not to scream from the claustrophobia of it all, being in this tiny ship with no way out. She struggled to compose herself, rising from the bench and looking over the side of the boat.

  Where was he? Maybe he’d jumped off the side to “bathe” as well as he could, or maybe he was making sure the anchor was secure so they could find more supplies on land. But the water around her was still. Sunlight flooded the deck. She blinked against its rays, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

  Davis pulled herself upright and moved toward the opposite end of the deck. She started to call for Mercer.

  Then she froze.

  The sound of a long howl broke the tranquility of the peaceful setting.

  It was followed by a cacophony of barking, followed by the rattling of chains and the sound of deep male voices.

  Dogs. Police dogs. She knew it instinctively. She’d heard those same chains rattling before, and men didn’t keep dogs as pets, not since fifty years ago. Dogs were trained for service, generally in the military or police force.

  She was paralyzed by fear—every limb felt weighted down by bricks, or sluggish, the way they felt in her nightmares when she tried to run and couldn’t, as if she were mired in quicksand. She heard the thudding of what sounded like a pack of dogs in the distance, drawing closer, patrolmen likely on their heels.

  And then she clambered down from the boat and began to run.

  10

  COLE

  Cole had mentioned the old stone house—the one he and Worsley and Hamilton had played in as kids—when he returned from Worsley’s lab. But he hadn’t expected Mari to weave it into his training. He’d merely wondered if she’d played in it too as a kid—if they’d had any shared experiences. Now, though, they drew closer and closer to the edge of the Slants, north of where Cole’s community was located, and he was growing suspicious.

  “Where are we headed?” he asked for what felt like the millionth time, shouting to be heard over the pelting rain.

  “You’ll see,” she told him again. Sure enough, they came to the top of a gentle hill and the decrepit building rose out atop a smaller hill ahead of them. It was alone and abandoned against the backdrop of the wilderness. Stretching out beyond the mansion’s crumbling facade was nothing but wild, undeveloped parts of the territory. It felt peaceful out there … but Cole was exhilarated by the untamed aspect of the land. He wondered what lurked in the woods past the house; it was an area he’d never ventured into. He hadn’t had reason to—he didn’t even know what exactly lay beyond it.

  “I’d been wondering what challenge would bring you back to your past,” Mari told him, watching his face. “Then you mentioned the old Blackwell house. It’s perfect.”

  “Why do I need to go back to my past to train for the Olympiads?”

  “You’ll see. So much of winning is mental.”

  Cole scoffed. He knew that well. He’d known that when he’d entered, and won, the final rounds of FEUDS. He wondered what Mari thought she could teach him about it, but he fought to keep his face neutral and his mind open. When they crossed the foyer into the house—which was musty and damp—Cole was thrust back into a torrent of memories from childhood.

  The house reminded Cole of his days with Hamilton and Worsley, but also of the two or three old, crumbling chapels that remained in the Slants. This, though, was in better condition. The chapels in the Slants had mostly fallen apart beyond their facades; he and Hamilton had used to pretend the buildings were castles, as children, and they were knights. They’d loved buildings like these.

  The structure of this house was still intact, but its tall ceilings and damp stone walls had a similar archaic feel. Cole remembered a conversation he’d had with Davis about his escapades in the old churches as well as in the Blackwell house, and she’d remarked that they sounded simpler and more atmospheric somehow, unencumbered by advancements. She’d seemed to like knowing that relics from the past still existed in Columbus. Cole had always wondered if it was because she was hanging onto the past in her own way, in order to connect with her mom.

  Now he squinted into the dank and musty space, breathing deeply to minimize the bittersweet feeling that threatened to overwhelm him. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that the space wasn’t empty and barren as he remembered it. In addition to cobwebs and dust, the room was strung with ropes and appeared to be set up to resemble some sort of obstacle course.

  He turned to Mari. “What is it?”

  “Some homemade challenges, à la Mari Braddock.” Mari puffed her chest theatrically, showing off. “They’re meant to test you physically and psychologically. Because that’s what the Olympiads will do. When you’re out there, you have to be prepared for anything. So. Challenge number one is an obstacle course. Go.”

  Cole rolled his eyes. If an obstacle course was all she had in her, this would be easy. Still, she seemed cockier than he would have liked—her arms were crossed over her chest, and her shoulders were thrust back. She stood with her feet planted hip-width apart, and with her head held high like that, her long dreadlocks resembled a lion’s mane. Her mouth turned up just slightly, as though she was amused by his reaction. It didn’t sit well.

  He moved forward, easily ducking beneath a web of ropes until he entered a narrow corridor blocked on all sides by a puffy plastic tarp that appeared to be filled with air. The tarp-lined walls narrowed until Cole was forced to crawl on his hands and knees through a space no more than a few inches wider than his body in all directions. He couldn’t see an end to the tunnel; it was pitch black. He began to back out, but he hit a wall.

  “Hey!” He banged on the wall, certain it hadn’t been there before. Had Mari blocked him off? What kind of twisted game was she playing? For not the first time, he felt angry that someone he didn’t trust was in control of him.

  “Keep moving forward, Cole. Once you’re in the Olympiads, you can’t turn back, no matter what happens.”

  The space was so tiny he could barely breathe. Cole felt the walls closing in on him as he moved along, crawling lower as the walls and ceiling began to press down on him and converge. Finally he was moving forward on his belly, using his arm strength to pull his torso forward inch by inch. He was drenched in sweat and near panic. But he had to keep moving.

  It was then that he heard it. A faint but familiar moan. He moved forward, straining to hear. It became clearer as he inched forward. But what was it? Cole pushed against the air-filled tarps. He worried that he’d just hit another wall if he kept going. Had he missed a turn? He felt panic beginning to overtake him, and he thrashed around, hoisting his body forward with as much strength as he could muster.

  Then he broke free, tumbling over a ledge into another dimly lit room. The noise was all around him now, and there was no mistaking what it was: the sound of his mother’s voice, guttural and bereft.

  “Help!” Her voice echoed all around him, followed by the pounding of fists against a wall.

  “Mom? Where are you?” Cole looked around him, panicked, but couldn’t see an exit.

  “Won’t somebody help, please!” She broke into sobs, and Cole’s chest wrenched at the sound of it.

  “Where is she?” he shouted. “What did you do to her?” He was overcome by fury and confusion. Had Mari and Braddock done something to his mother? He’d been a fool to trust them! Was this all some sort of
trap designed to exploit him? But why? He ran the length of the room, feeling the walls until he located a crack. He followed the crack vertically until he came across a metal latch, which he flicked. It led to a long hallway—thankfully lit this time. Mari stood at the other end of the hall, watching him.

  “Stay calm, Cole,” she told him.

  “What have you done?” he shrieked, hearing his mother scream for help, her fists echoing on a distant wall. “Where is she?”

  “She’s not here,” Mari told him.

  “What?” He looked around him, confused. “I hear her. She’s got to be nearby, then. We need to help her!”

  “No, Cole. It’s a recording. She isn’t here.”

  “It sounds so real.” He hesitated, unsure whether to believe Mari. She approached him, raising her fists.

  “Fight with me, Cole. See if you can remain centered.”

  “My mom—”

  “No.” Her voice was sharp. “It’s an illusion.”

  Cole clenched his fists. He couldn’t tell whether to believe her; his mother’s voice sounded immediate and desperate. He felt torn in every direction. Confused.

  “Focus!” Her voice snapped him back to attention. “You think this is bad? They’re going to throw you a lot worse in the Olympiads. They fight dirty, Cole.”

  “But how did you do this?” And why? It was cruel, what she’d done.

  “Easy.” She shrugged. “I’m tiny. I’m a girl. I have an innocent face. I can slip in and out of places without being seen. I got a clip of your mother’s voice at that place where she’s staying—that home. I copied it, used it as a template, and programmed in my own script.”

  “She was never screaming for help,” Cole clarified. “Even the recording isn’t accurate.” His entire body burned with anger.

  “It’s not. But if it were, you’d need to be able to fight through it. You need to fight through it right now. Fighting isn’t technically legal in the Olympiads … but believe me, Cole, there will be rules broken all over the place. So spar with me.”

  She raised her fists and came at him, swinging for his face. Cole blocked it but found himself stumbling backward from the force of it. He wasn’t prepared to fight a girl, didn’t know how to handle it. He was angry, but too angry. Angry enough to do real damage. He didn’t want to do anything he’d regret. And his mother’s voice was still all around him, pouring into his ears, distracting him.

  “Concentrate!” Mari shouted. He moved after her, swinging as she ducked away. She was startlingly nimble, darting through small doorways and under mezzanines in a way that made him feel clumsy and his fists bumbling. If only he could concentrate. His mother was everywhere. It was oppressive. Every movement he made that wasn’t a movement toward his mother felt like a betrayal. He didn’t know what to do or where to swing—his anger and confusion about how to fight with Mari, especially when he was so furious, thrummed in his ears.

  “It’s okay to feel things, Cole,” he heard Mari say. “Emotion is what makes us stronger. It’s what gives Gens the advantage. Why do you think Priors came to my father for training?” She was panting, her eyes glittering, and when he paused, she laid him flat with a dirty kick to his shin. “It’s because he understands suffering.”

  Cole lay on the floor in front of her, clutching his painful leg. He simply couldn’t focus.

  “Think. How are you going to get out of this? How can you beat me? Be smart, Cole. You have the edge. Priors don’t know pain.”

  Cole thought. Mari had told him to recognize his advantage. To start fighting smarter. But he could barely focus with the recording on.

  That was it. Cole needed to find and destroy the recording! With renewed purpose, he leapt to his feet. He avoided Mari’s strikes, looking around him. In a stone house, the best acoustics would be … up top. Near the roof. Cole looked around him, seeing a balcony stretch high above him on the far south side of the massive room in which they were sparring. Bingo. It had to be there.

  Cole darted away from Mari and moved toward a staircase that led to the balcony. Now that he was focused on the source of the noise, he could move faster, running with strength. He lost Mari when he vaulted over a wide railing. He looked behind him; she was moving toward the staircase still, but her deftness was no match for his shortcut. He pulled himself up and over, scaling the balcony railings until he was safely on a hovering platform. There it was. A small box. His mother’s voice wailing from within it. Cole grabbed the box and tossed it over the railing. It crashed on the stone floor below, splintering into a dozen pieces. The room was filled with an eerie silence.

  “Nice work,” said Mari from beside him. “I think you’re getting it. Finally. Heart and mind.”

  “Heart and mind,” he repeated, ignoring the barb. “How is it that you’re such an expert, tucked away from the rest of the world and all?” He was only teasing this time, but the light vanished from Mari’s eyes and her mouth formed a grim line.

  “Good point,” she said. “What do I know? My best friend is my father.”

  Shit. He really hadn’t meant to hit a nerve, but it was impossible to talk to this girl. He’d just opened his mouth to respond, when he heard the sound of crying rising up from the ground floor.

  “Another illusion?” But Mari shook her head, looking as confused as he was. Still, he didn’t quite believe her. If this was his chance to prove himself, he wasn’t going to screw it up. The crying grew louder, and Cole darted down the stairs that led from the mezzanine to the ground floor, two steps at a time. As he descended, he identified Vera’s voice, loud and anguished, coming from just beyond the front door. Jesus. How far had Mari dug into his personal life to discover Vera? How screwed up was she? He burst through to find Vera huddled on the front porch, filthy and sobbing. Mari followed close on his heels, gasping when she saw her.

  “If this is a hologram, this is very messed up,” Cole informed Mari, who just shook her head, her mouth agape.

  “I can’t take credit for this one,” Mari said, shaking her head. Worry creased her forehead, and her eyebrows knit together. She brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening as she peered around Cole.

  “How did you get here?” Cole knelt by Vera, who turned a dirt- and tear-streaked face to him. “Were you looking for me?”

  Vera gasped, apparently unable to answer.

  “Cole, who is this?” Mari whispered, swaying slightly.

  “A friend,” Cole said simply. Vera shifted toward him, and he noticed a crimson stain running down the front of her dress, where it was tucked tightly against her thigh. Mari saw it at the same time, and her face went white. Vera let out another long sob. Cole’s heart stopped.

  “What happened? Vera—did you lose the baby?” He grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. Vera shook her head, and Mari lifted the hem of Vera’s skirt and wiped some of the blood away with the corner of her sleeve, revealing a long gash on Vera’s thigh. So it wasn’t the baby. Cole willed himself to stay calm.

  “She’ll be okay,” Mari said. She was affecting confidence, but Cole heard the tremor under her breath. “I’ve been through this before. We didn’t have doctors, you know. I broke a leg once, and cut myself in the woods.…” She was babbling.

  “Then you can help,” Cole told her firmly, and she nodded.

  “It’s okay,” he soothed, turning back to Vera. He smoothed her hair from her forehead, which was sticky with sweat and dirt. “We’re going to help you. Just catch your breath.” Vera nodded slowly, and Mari knelt, gripping Vera’s hand in her own. Vera’s eyes widened as she took in Mari’s appearance, but Mari didn’t flinch. Cole eyed Mari, who was bravely squeezing Vera’s hand. It was the likely first Prior she’d ever touched. He knew what it took for her to do it. He saw her as Vera probably did, taking in her disheveled appearance, matted hair, and sun-darkened skin. But to Mari, Vera was equally monstrous, merely for being a Prior. Still, Mari rubbed Vera’s wrist with her other palm, and Vera seemed to relax. Soon, her sob
s quieted. After a few minutes, her breathing returned to normal. Cole was quiet.

  “Thank you,” he said finally, meeting Mari’s eyes. Hers were unreadable, but something was different. She nodded in return, and he realized what it was: her face looked vulnerable for the first time since he’d met her. Maybe she’d finally seen the shades between black and white.

  “I’ve been hurting everywhere,” Vera said, shifting so she leaned against Cole rather than the step. He cradled her, staring down at her stomach, which was still rounding out. It was hard to tell, even five months in, that she was pregnant. He hoped Worsley was taking good care of the baby. Something about Worsley had worried Cole lately—it was as if Worsley cared more about his experiments than about the people around him. Pushing this troubling thought aside, Cole focused on Vera’s words.

  “I get long flashes of pain all over my body,” she continued. “And Thomas can’t give me pain medication. He says it’s bad for the baby. But I hurt so much, all over. That can’t be good for my baby, either, right? I can’t sleep, Cole,” she said, her eyes welling. “Half the time it’s so awful. And then the other half, I feel fine. Normal.” She stopped, her voice catching. Cole eyed her with concern. “I was going to run away all along,” Vera said, her voice heavy. Cole reeled as if he’d been slapped. He could feel Mari looking at him, waiting for his response. Mari smoothed Vera’s hair back from her sweaty forehead with her palm. None of this sounded good to Cole.

  “I didn’t trust you; I didn’t know you. Don’t you see that? I thought if I returned to Columbus with the cure, I’d be a hero. I thought Worsley might be able to do it, give me the cure, and then I’d run. He told me he was getting close. But now I’m so…” Her voice shook as she trailed off. She didn’t have to say it. Cole could plainly see she was falling apart—weak, tired, sick, confused.

  “It’s okay,” Cole said. “You’re panicking.” He thought hard. Did Worsley have any idea how bad it was for Vera? But still—for her to have planned to run away—things were far different than he’d imagined them to be. He’d thought he’d gained her trust.