Criminal Destiny (2 page)

I have to agree. “It's complicated. We can't go to the police until we know more about how things work in the outside world.”

“And don't forget there are six others like us still in Serenity,” Tori puts in. “They deserve a chance at a real life every bit as much as we do.”

“But no pressure,” adds Malik sarcastically.

There is a sharp rap at the door, and everyone freezes. It's not the secret knock.

“Is somebody there?” calls an adult voice.

Then we hear the sound of a key in the lock.

We're galvanized into action. Tori disappears into the closet with what's left of the pizza. Amber scoots under the bed with the rest of the food. I try to roll under there too, but Malik beats me to it, and I bounce off his bulky form. The doorknob turns, and there I am, still out in the open. The thought that I escaped from Serenity only to be caught in a random dorm inspection lends my feet wings. I literally fly to the bathroom, and dive into the tub, pulling the curtain closed.

There are footsteps, and the teacher's voice again: “I could have sworn I heard someone in here.” The door opens and closes. The footsteps die away in the corridor.

And a moment later, the four of us are staring at each other. The crisis is over as quickly as it began. But the feeling of being close to disaster has not yet gone away.

Maybe it never will.

I'm running through the woods, the leafy branches slapping at my face, my sneakers pounding against the uneven ground.

I know what you're thinking. Too risky. I get that. If any adult sees me, we're all toast.

That's why I'm exercising under the cover of the trees. This brings its own set of hazards, though. If I trip on a tree root and break my ankle, everything we're trying to do instantly becomes ten times harder. But how can I stay cooped up in that room any longer? Especially when I've worked so hard with diet and exercise to achieve my goal weight.

I used to start each morning by making a to-do list of everything I needed to accomplish that day. I wouldn't have
to think about how much time to spend practicing ballet; it would be right there on the list:
Practice ballet—1.5 hours.
I'd know exactly how long to spend on each homework assignment—my “mom” was our teacher, and it wouldn't do for her daughter to be anything less than perfect. If I was going over to Tori's to swim or hang out, the list would say how long I could do that too. I was in complete control of my life.

Since we left Serenity—I can't believe it was only three days ago—I've become list-proof. You can't plan anything when you're on the run. All you can do is react to what happens to you, and do your best to stay free. Ballet and piano and water polo and studying—all the things that defined me before—now take a backseat to survival.

I miss my lists. Even though they don't really work anymore, I still see them in my mind as they might apply to my current situation:

THINGS TO DO TODAY (UNPRIORITIZED)

        
•
  
Run in woods (45 minutes)—watch out for roots!

        
•
  
Learn about outside world (ongoing)

        
•
  
Control rage (difficult but necessary)

        
•
  
Cut down on the pizza!!!

That's another reason I have to exercise. Doesn't the McNally cafeteria serve anything healthy? Or is the problem that Randy and his friends never met a vegetable they didn't hate? Not that beggars can be choosers, of course.

Randy thought I was crazy when I peppered him with questions about the campus and schedule, but I needed to plot a running route where no teacher would ever look for me. I time myself to finish when classes are changing and it's no problem for me to melt into the crowd of kids. One thing about life outside Serenity—you see so many random faces that you can't think too much about any of them.

Monitoring my heart rate with a finger on my throat, I join the parade of girls crowding into the dormitory. I have to remind myself that the inquisitive glances coming my way are saying “Who's that?” not “Clone alert! Clone alert!” Nobody knows about that except Randy. I wonder what they'd think if they did. I'm not even sure how
I
feel about it—just that I feel it a lot.

Then I'm in the safety of the nurse's room. Tori's got the stethoscope on, the probe pressed to the wall. I shoot her the high sign that, no, I haven't been followed.

She beckons me over.

I don't really share Tori's obsession with listening in on the girls next door. The things that are important to them
seem shallow and borderline stupid—like which companies manufacture their clothes, or which guys at McNally are “hot.” Trust me, none of the guys here are hot the way
they
mean it—as in good-looking. At one point, I could have sworn they were talking about Malik, if you can believe such a thing! It's almost enough to make me want to go back to Serenity.

Almost.

Tori removes one earpiece and extends it to me. We have to get really close to listen in together, but that's not unusual for Tori and me. We've been best friends practically since birth.

The girls next door are going on and on about necklaces they bought on a class trip to a Native American art gallery in Pueblo that morning.

I roll my eyes and whisper, “You'd think they're talking about a cure for cancer or something.”

Tori cuts me off with an urgent finger to her lips. That's when one of the girls mentions “. . . those cops in the weird purple uniforms.”

My eyes meet Tori's. Purple uniforms? I don't like the sound of that.

“They must be from the Never-Never-Land Police Department,” the other girl giggles.

“What color do the Pueblo cops wear?” I ask in a low voice.

We rush to the nurse's computer and call up the website of the Pueblo PD. A smiling officer in a jet-black uniform appears on the screen. There's no way anyone could mistake it for purple.

Only one kind of “cop” wears purple.

It's bad news. Worse than bad. There could be only one reason for a Purple People Eater in Pueblo, Colorado—Project Osiris has put two and two together and played a hunch that the four of us would have come to Randy. The more I consider it, the more obvious it seems.

“We have to tell the guys,” I decide. Compared to Serenity, Pueblo seems gigantic. But it isn't so big that the Purples will have much trouble finding McNally Academy once they start nosing around.

And getting caught isn't an option. One thing all four of us understand is that escaping Serenity is something we will only ever have one chance to do. If we're dragged back, they'll put cameras on us while we sleep, and brainwash us into forgetting Project Osiris ever existed. The only reason we got away the first time was that they didn't know that we were learning the truth about ourselves. If they get their hands on us this time, we'll never be free again. So far,
freedom hasn't been that great. But it still beats what we've come from.

We're out of the building, running for the Hayden dorm, where the boys are staying.

We bust into Randy's room without any kind of knock, secret or otherwise.

“The Purples are onto us!” I bark. “A couple of girls spotted one in town!”

“That explains the call!” Randy says gravely.

“What call?” asks Tori.

“My parents called an hour ago,” he explains. “They were asking all kinds of nosy questions. And they told me not to do anything stupid. Like they don't know I'm
always
doing something stupid!”

Eli's on his feet. “The message was don't get between us and the Purples. That means things will get rough if we don't go along with them.”

“You think they're ready to start breaking heads?” Randy asks, alarmed.

Malik picks up a lacrosse stick leaning against the bookcase. “Ours aren't the only heads that can break.”

Tori is practical. “If you go up against a trained commando, you're going to lose. There's only one thing for us to do, and that's escape.”

“Using what?” Malik challenges. “Our jet-packs?”

“There's a bus that goes into Pueblo,” Randy supplies. “You can catch it at the bottom of the hill at the end of the main drive.” He turns to Eli. “I guess this reunion's going to be shorter than we expected.”

Eli is pale, but determined. “We'll never forget what you did for us, man. I—I just wish things were different.”

They shake hands, but that's all the ceremony we've got time for.

We're just about to head out of the room when, plain as day through the front window, we see a black SUV pull up the circular drive and stop between the two dorms. The doors open, and there they are. Our worst nightmares: the Surety with their purple uniforms and wine-colored berets.

“We're too late!” Eli moans.

I find my eyes traveling to Malik's lacrosse stick. Win or lose, I'm not going down without a fight. To my surprise, I'm almost relishing the idea. For the first time ever, I think of the criminal I'm cloned from, languishing in a prison cell somewhere. This must be her impulse, not mine. But it's there all the same. What am I turning into?

No. Wrong question. I've always been this. I just didn't know it until recently.

“We need cover,” Tori says, her voice strangely calm.

Malik is freaking out. “There's no cover! Either we go out and get spotted, or they come in after us! Those are the choices—bad and worse!”

In answer, Tori runs out of the room and pulls the fire alarm. Instantly, the Hayden dorm resounds with a blaring siren. Doors are flung wide, and the halls fill with students heading for the exits. We all realize it at the same time.
This
is Tori's cover—hundreds of other kids, all milling around in the general confusion. I wish I'd thought of it.

“Follow me!” cries Randy, leading us into the throng.

Outside the dorm, the crowd surges. It reminds me of something my mother taught us in science—a giant amoeba. We try to stay near the center of it, its nucleus. Kids are spilling out of the other dorm, and faculty members are running over from the main building to investigate the alarm.

Stay calm, Amber,
I advise myself.

I get a fresh stab of fear when I spot my first Purple—the one that we used to call Rump L. Stiltskin. He's scanning the crowd, peering into faces. That has to be good news. It means the enemy hasn't spotted us yet.

You know how people talk about walking tall? We walk short, keeping to the center of the crowd. I identify another Purple—Baron Vladimir von Horseteeth. And there's
Bryan Delaney, the husband of our water polo coach. We shuffle along, but the odds are stacked against us. The Purples know us so well. Some of them have been watching us since the day we were born.

I have no idea how we think we're going to get away. Plan A is out of the question. No way can we go to the bottom of the hill and wait for a bus now. And there never was a Plan B. There's no to-do list for this situation.

Rump L. Stiltskin points. “There!” At first I think he's found me, but no—it's Tori in his sights. She keeps on walking for a minute. I have no idea how. I would have been frozen like a deer in headlights.

They start closing in. Five Purples—I see them all now, spaced around the students like the points of a star. Kids begin to scatter. Purple uniforms or no, the Surety look like they mean business.

And then Tori's running. She breaks from the mass, and the Purples fall in behind her. That's how quickly it turns into a chase. I resist the impulse to run to her. It wouldn't do any good. And, let's face it, I'm every bit as much a target as she is. Moving with speed fueled by raw desperation, Tori sprints across the quad, and up onto the lawn. She's a good athlete, but her pursuers are gaining on her. They close the gap to thirty feet. It's only a matter of
time before her break for freedom ends in disaster.

As she passes by the main flagpole, Eli scrambles out from the milling students and unwraps the flag rope from the cleat that holds it in place. All at once, the crank is spinning, and a dark shadow descends from above.

Just as the five Purples pass by the pole, the huge flag flops down on them. The broad, heavy silk lands with such speed and force that it flattens them in their tracks. They struggle against the fabric, arms and legs growing ever more tangled as they flail.

The door of the SUV is thrown open, and the driver emerges. It's Secret Agent Man, one of the older Purples. He's torn for an instant. Should he go after Tori, or make an effort to free his fellow Surety from the fallen flag? Before he can come to a decision, Malik barrels out from a group of students and makes a bull run at him.

Malik crashes headfirst into the Purple's midsection. The guy's a trained security guard, but the element of surprise knocks him backward on his butt.

We're all running to help Malik when I see it: the SUV is right there on the driveway, key in the ignition, idling. Not only is it a possible means of escape—it's our only one. I have no idea how to drive a car, but Eli sort of does. He drove us out of Serenity in a stolen truck piled
high with orange traffic cones.

The other Purples have thrown off the flag, and are pounding our way. Secret Agent Man is gaining the upper hand in his battle with Malik. We have to act
now
!

I hurl myself in through the open driver door, and scramble to the passenger side to make room for Eli at the wheel. Tori jumps in the back, terrified and hyperventilating.

Eli stares at the dashboard. “This isn't the same as the cone truck!”

“Drive!”
I never knew I could scream that loud.

It does the trick because Eli throws the car in gear, and climbs the curb onto the lawn. Secret Agent Man gets Malik in a headlock. And the next thing he knows, his own car is coming at him, chewing up turf. The rear door swings open, catching him in the side of the head.

Nice shot, Tori!

It literally peels him off Malik, who hits the ground, bounces up, and hurls himself into the backseat, flattening Tori.

Eli stomps on the gas, and we thump back onto the driveway. For a moment, I spot the other five Purples in the side mirror, running full out, chasing us. Eli speeds up, and we leave them in the dust. That's our last view of the McNally
campus as we start down the hill—cheering, excited kids, and six Purple People Eaters, flat-footed and stranded.

“Maniac!” Malik gasps. “You could have run me down!”

Eli is hunched over the wheel, concentrating on his steering in the manner of a very early beginner. “You think I was aiming for you?”

“There's no aiming in your driving! You just grip it and rip it!”

“Shut up, Malik!” I snap over the seat. “Where would you rather be—in here with us, or back there with them?”

Malik's anger melts away. We're all quiet, thinking about what almost happened.

A new voice breaks the silence, one that doesn't belong to any of the four of us.

“What's your status? Have you got them? Over.”