Dying Day Page 7

  Nikki taps a small, metal bracelet to the black box on the door. It flashes green and then opens.

  Lights blink on when we enter.

  “Fancy,” I say.

  “You’ll hate them really quickly,” she says with a snort. “Anytime I don’t move, they turn off, and that’s really annoying when you’re doing anything calm like reading a book or lying in bed and considering the direction of your life.”

  Lane pities her with a polite laugh.

  Two sets of bunk beds sit against opposite walls, a top and lower bunk on both sides. Behind them, against the far wall, are two desks side by side and two tall armoires, which when opened, reveal an upper and lower rack, presumably for clothes.

  In front of the beds, in the small space between the foot of the bunks and the door, are lockers. Nikki taps the metal watch to the lower left locker and it opens.

  “This is where you can put your stuff. Just don’t accidently shut your watch inside, which is exactly what I did. It involves calling the technician, and he’s notoriously slow about it. Imagine Eeyore on downers. I put you in 333 to make it easy to remember. Third unit, third floor, pod 3. Got it?”

  “Do you think I have a bad memory?” I smile. I’m trying to look grateful despite the claustrophobic smallness pressing in on all sides. No idea if it’s working.

  “I could’ve put you in 666,” she says with a quirk of the lips.

  “Fair enough.”

  “All pods have to fill to max capacity. Maisie and Gloria are your bunkmates. I put myself down as the fourth, but I won’t ever be here. I don’t suspect I’ll sleep for the next month at least.”

  “He’ll keep you too busy,” I say.

  “It was the best I could do to offer you some space and privacy,” Nikki says, glossing right over the topic of work.

  Yet I can’t help but notice we are skirting around the obvious here. Jesse wasn’t an option for the fourth bunkmate.

  My heart does a painful flop in my chest.

  The clip in Nikki’s ear lights up, a flash of blue. She cocks her head as if leaning into the sound. “Tamsin. Yeah. One minute. I’m on level three.”

  The blue disappears, leaving spots in my eyes and Nikki offering an apologetic smile. “I need to meet up with Jeremiah. Handel, I’ll show you to your pod.”

  “You mean where I’ll be if I make it back alive instead of being flayed as a traitor?”

  We both turn and look at him. His face is too grave to be a joke. Nikki says, “Yes.”

  “I don’t need a tour,” he says and opens his hand, begging for the second black watch in her grip.

  She hands it over. “347.”

  “Unit 3, level 4, pod 7?” Lane asks.

  “That’s the one.”

  She turns and gives me another look. “Jeremiah is going to start moving the refugees today. If you have anyone you want to add to the list, friends or family, you should contact them. There are computers and landlines in the rec room. It’s best if you contact them before we just show up to collect them. They’re less likely to panic that way.”

  “Oh, I can’t imagine why the sudden appearance of soldiers forcing people from their homes would alarm them,” I say.

  Lane snorts. “You sound like Jesse.”

  Nikki tugs on her ponytail as if shrugging off Lane’s comment. “Contact them so we can get them in before the lockdown, all right?”

  Refugees. My god. Jesse is creating refugees.

  “Lockdown?” I ask, heart pounding. I was right. This is a prison. “What exactly do you think Jesse is going to do?”

  Nikki’s jaw tightens. “You’ll have to talk to Jeremiah about that.”

  I bark a laugh. “And when exactly is he going to have time to talk to me? Before or after he evacuates the refugees and launches his army?”

  “He’ll make time.”

  “I’m sure he will. He always makes time for what he wants, right?” I sound hateful and snide even to my own ears. What is wrong with me? I’ve never had a hard time being reasonable and diplomatic before.

  You’re terrified for her, my mind says. And you don’t like how this is shaping up. Underground bunkers. Evacuations. Your loved ones under lock and key, and Jesse—

  Nikki watches my face without comment. Maybe she’s trying to read my thoughts. “I’m going up. Do you need anything else?”

  “I’m okay for now,” I say.

  Nikki turns toward Lane expectantly but he doesn’t follow her.

  “I’d like to stop by the rec room,” he says, hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “I need to notify some people, unless Jeremiah doesn’t think I have anyone worth saving.”

  “I’ll let him know,” she says, her stare cold. She suspects him of something, but hopefully not something to do with me. “He’ll want to finish your conversation I’m sure.”

  We stand outside of pod three and watch her go. Her slim, soldier build is tight with tension. She’s as unhappy as I am—but I don’t think it has to do with me, or even Lane. What did they say in that last phone call?

  And of course, I am sure there is more going on here than what she’s told me.

  “Should we go up?” Lane asks. He’s whispering, either because he thinks we’re being watched or because he’s afraid of making demands. Good. He should be.

  “Yeah.”

  I wait until Nikki’s elevator closes and the familiar groan of its ascending cables echoes through this cavernous place, then I head toward the elevators myself.

  When I mash the button for up, Lane asks. “How are you holding up?”

  “Is it me or does this place feel like a prison?” I ask.

  “It’s reminding you of the basement,” he says. He looks up at me through his dark lashes, his blue eyes bright. I’m trying not to think about the fact that Jesse used to kiss him instead of me.

  “What basement?”

  “With Martin,” he says. He sounds almost apologetic for bringing it up.

  But as soon as he says it, I realize he’s right. When Caldwell’s lackey Martin kidnapped us in order to trap Jesse, he kept us in a basement. And though the basement was much smaller than this sprawling compound, it is unmistakably similar. That feeling of being trapped underground with no real way to escape.

  “We were stabbed to death down there,” he says as if I’ve somehow forgotten. “I’m sure that has left a lasting impression.”

  “You’re probably right,” I say, conceding the point, as I step into the elevator. Lane pushes the button fifteen, the doors close, and the elevator begins its ascent.

  He’s looking around the box for cameras. There’s one in the top right corner.

  “You’re too obvious,” I say, exhaling. It should be with irritation, but I just sound exhausted. I’m going to sound exhausted for the rest of my life, I think. However long that might be.

  He leans toward me and I catch the scent of cologne and hair cream. Of course he styled his hair for this. Did he think he’d see Jesse? If I hadn’t seen my ex in a while, and thought a chance encounter was imminent, would I spruce myself up with perfume and hair cream? Probably.

  How many times had I changed my clothes that morning before I walked into Jesse’s office and applied to be her assistant?

  “I suppose it’s stupid to think there’s a place where we can talk without being monitored,” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say watching the numbers on the elevator change. 4, 5, 6, 7. “Jeremiah is a big fan of technology. I’m sure every inch of this place is taped and bugged.”

  8, 9, 10, 11.

  “How’s Jesse?” Lane asks. His words come out in one rushed exhale.

  I hesitate. “What did Jeremiah tell you?”

  12, 13, 14, 15.

  “That she’s in trouble. And that if I want to help her, I need to go to Chicago and find out who her enemies are.”

  Who her enemies are. What I wouldn’t pay to know that. We thought Rachel was a friend and ally, but she’d tried to kill Mais
ie. She did kill her friend, Niv, which Gideon told us later—and it looked like she was going to kill Jesse at the last minute, but didn’t. And it’s moments like this that make me realize maybe I can’t trust anyone.

  The elevator doors open, and we step out.

  There’s something about the rec room that’s more comforting than the living pods. It reminds me of the rec room at the university center where I went to college, albeit briefly.

  There are pool tables and lots of places to lounge. There’s a library lining the largest wall with books in every size and color. Against another wall there are telephones. They remind me of old airports. There were phones on the wall like that before cellphones became all the rage and the phones were transformed into charging stations.

  The world changes. It evolves.

  And so does Jesse.

  “I wish I knew who her enemies were,” I say, and make a beeline for the nearest computer station. There are four rows with perhaps twenty computers per row, each tucked inside a shallow cubicle for privacy. I pull back a red chair on wheels and sink into it before pressing the power button. I want to contact Gideon first, and there won’t be a number for that. But I know the email we promised to use if one of us was ever separated or in trouble—and I plan to use it now.

  Lane sinks into the chair beside me, his body turned at a respectful angle as if to give me privacy while I log in and load the internet page.

  “If you don’t want to talk about Jesse, what did you want to talk about?” he asks. “You were the one who gave me the eyes in the lobby.”

  My fingers freeze halfway through my password. I finish and then turn to him. “I want you to be careful with Jeremiah.”

  His face pinches, that dark brow creasing. “Why?”

  I aim for some unbiased version of the truth. “When we first went to Chicago to work for Jeremiah, he did some things that—” I search for the right words. “I’m just not sure he has Jesse’s best interest at heart. It’s pretty clear he has his own agenda.”

  He has his own agenda.

  “Right, exactly. You could say that,” I say.

  “Say what?” Lane asks. The creases by his eyes only deepen.

  “You could say he has his own agenda.”

  Careful, Alice. He can’t hear me.

  I freeze. The hair on the back of my neck rises and my skin crawls.

  I pivot in my work chair but I see no one. Yet I recognized that voice.

  Gabriel? I ask. Only now I ask in my head instead of aloud.

  Yes.

  I almost burst out laughing. For all the times I doubted Jess, picked on her or worried over her about her imaginary angel, and here I was the one hearing voices now.

  To Lane I say, “He sent us on dangerous missions and provided little backup. At times, I felt like he deliberately tested Jesse’s abilities. Then when her power grew too much for him to goad and control, he sedated her and kept her in a coma.”

  “Are you serious?” Lane’s mouth falls open, looking appropriately horrified.

  “Dead serious. Then one of the last things he said to me before we took off without him was his belief that Jesse will blow up the world. He clearly doesn’t trust her.”

  “The footage…” he begins. “I mean, they’re saying the stuff on the internet is a prank, doctored newsreels and all that. But it looked pretty damn real to me. And I saw her shield that night in at the farm house.”

  I’m waiting for the question.

  “Did her… powers really evolve? Did she really hurt all those people?”

  I look away from him and stare at the computer in front of me without seeing it. “The point is, how can Jeremiah be on her team when he seems to be preparing to launch against her rather than help her? I haven’t heard any mention of a team going to Antarctica to get her. No one is saying, let’s go check on her. Let’s go see if she’s okay.”

  Lane accepts my topic shift. “I see your point.”

  Jeremiah does not trust her, Gabriel adds. I nod and hope that Lane thinks it’s in response to his remark.

  “I’m not saying he has it out for her,” I add. “But I have little doubt that he would eliminate her if he thought it necessary.”

  “I need to be careful what I tell him,” Lane says. “Or he can use me against her.”

  “Yes,” I say, with a sigh of relief. “And I hope you care enough about her not to let that happen.”

  His face pinches with his anger. “Of course I care!”

  “Good. That’s what I wanted to make sure of before you left for Chicago.”

  The red flush to his cheeks doesn’t disappear. I sigh, feeling a little tactless.

  “Look out for yourself too,” I say, and flash a smile, hoping I seem concerned.

  He huffs. “I’d better. If Tate is willing to sedate Jesse, why wouldn’t he be willing to do worse to me? I’m nothing to him.”

  “Exactly. And you have to admit it is a little suspicious.”

  His brow pinches. “What do you mean? I did espionage for Brinkley. I have worked with these people in Chicago, if against my will. It isn’t as though I don’t make any sense as a choice.”

  Did espionage. I resist an eye roll. I’m not sure what Lane did for Brinkley exactly, but espionage seems like an exaggeration.

  “You have no idea how massive Jeremiah’s reach is. I worked for him for almost a year, and I feel like his resources must be limitless. Someone who did espionage and has worked with Caldwell’s people in Chicago—I’m sure that description fits any number of people at Jeremiah’s disposal. But he reached out to you. Why? It’s something you better ask yourself.”

  Lane falls into his thoughts. I take this moment of silence as a chance to log in to my email and compose a letter to Blue Komodo.

  “I’m going up,” Lane says. He stands, pushing back his chair. “But I’ll keep your advice in mind.”

  He starts to walk away but pauses and turns back. “But really, how is she?”

  I pause in typing my email to Gideon and look up. “She’s Jesse. Remember that.”

  Tough. Resilient. Reckless. Headstrong.

  I force a smile. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  Once the elevator closes behind him and I hear the cables vibrating above, I focus on finishing up my email. It requires a bit of concentration, since I’m using the code Gideon created. When I’m finished, I click send and close down the computer. I decide against emailing my brother and my friends. I have all of their phone numbers memorized for exactly this reason, should I be somewhere without a cell phone and programmed contacts.

  As soon as I cross the room and lift the plastic phone off its metallic receiver, Gabriel shimmers into view beside me. I feel like I will vomit. It isn’t just his disturbing beauty, something so otherworldly that under no circumstance could you mistake him for human, but it’s also the immense fear that comes with his appearance—and the undeniable fact that Jesse is in certain danger. And not the kind of danger we can think our way out of.

  His black hair is shaggy and wild about his face, those green eyes shocking.

  I hold the phone and pretend to dial a number. How often has Jesse done this very thing—pretend to hide a conversation with—whatever Gabriel is.

  “Is she all right?” I ask into the dead receiver as my stomach turns over and over itself.

  “You must get to the convergence point.” He shoves the image of Jesse in the land of ice and snow into my head again.

  “I can’t exactly drive to Antarctica,” I hiss into the phone. “Could you take me?”

  “No,” he says. “She must remain at the convergence point and stand guard at the gate. There is another…evil trying to get in.”

  I have a feeling evil isn’t exactly the word he wants, but he uses it so I’ll understand the stakes.

  I marvel at Gabriel’s black wings. They look so soft. Without considering what I’m doing, I reach out and touch the feathers.

  “You need to get t
o the gate,” he says again. His eyes are green and luminescent.

  A feather comes off in my hand, and I pin it between my thumb and index finger before I think better of it. Gabriel doesn’t seem to mind my admiration of the soft, delicate down. “Reach her while there is still time.”

  Gabriel flickers and disappears then. The black feather is still between the fingers on my left hand.

  My right cradles the phone to my ear in a sweaty grip.

  I should be grateful that, Gloria or no Gloria, I know my next move: get to Antarctica, get to Jesse. I just don’t know how to do that.

  I absently smooth the feather over and over in the palm of my hand throughout all three phone calls that I make. I tell my loved ones what is happening and lay out their options. I cannot make their decisions for them, and I don’t want them walking into this mess blind.

  At the end of my third call, I tuck the feather into my pocket and try to ignore the obvious—that if Gabriel were only an illusion, I shouldn’t be able to see this feather. I shouldn’t be able to hold it in my hand and feel its soft down tickling the creases of my palm.

  Chapter 6

  Jesse

  “Where are all the animals? I mean, I haven’t watched Animal Planet in a while, but aren’t there supposed to be penguins and polar bears and arctic foxes and stuff like that?”

  Gabriel’s feathers ruffle in the breeze. “They would flee from you.”

  “Flee?” I scoff. “From me? What did I do? How do you know they aren’t fleeing from you, bird-man? You’re pretty weird.”

  “They would sense your power and the convergence of worlds.”

  “Really now?”

  Growing up as a child in the Midwest, I remember the big storms that would roll across the plains, the ones you could see for miles and miles. And I remember how enormous, dark, and swirling flocks of birds always preceded the clouds.

  It makes sense that animals would move away from me, too. It’s the shield. Or the electrical, invisible, crazy stuff flowing off of me. The animals are like no thanks and have migrated, I suppose, to the other edge of Antarctica to get away from me.