Level 2 (Memory Chronicles) (20 page)

“But isn’t that what you wanted? Fewer batteries to power their evil plan?”

“Not like this,” he says. “Not with what they are doing with those displaced.”

I shudder, expecting bad news. “Which is what?”

“Unconfirmed. But we do know the Morati are rounding them up. And it looks like they plan to turn them into an army.”

CHAPTER 15

“I . . . I THINK I NEED TO SIT DOWN.”
My head spins. I stagger down the stairs, over to the closest chair, and fall into it. Eli, Mira, and Julian sit as well. They look shell-shocked and, for the first time, actually scared. Seeing them like this hits me hard. The Morati threat is tangible now in a way it wasn’t before.

Mira, usually so talkative, does nothing except pull at the ends of the hair at the base of her neck. Eli stares off into space. Julian—I don’t even want to look at Julian.

“Okay. So what makes you think they are building an army? And how is that even possible?”

“The Morati are ruthless, and the Lethe drug is not the only tool at their disposal,” Eli says, more composed than
the rest of us but still shaken. “Reports from my scouts say there is also an experimental drug derived from the underworld river Phlegethon.”

That day in Mrs. Keats’s Mythology class pops into my head, fresh in mind thanks to my recent viewing. Alyssa’s smug expression as she answered every question right, including the one about the River Phlegethon. “It’s where dead souls boil with anger,” I say.

“Exactly. If the Morati have found a way to stabilize it, they could use it to marshal any displaced subjects against us.”

It’s bad enough the Morati have so little regard for humans that they use us as batteries. But at least, despite being imprisoned, we still have had free will about what we choose to access and do with our time. If this drug can turn us into some kind of automated supersoldiers for their cause . . . It’s unfathomable. What if it happens to Neil? My father? To me? “But they can’t do that,” I protest. “What will happen to the people? Won’t it torture them to burn with rage?”

“The people?” Eli looks slightly confused, as if he hasn’t contemplated this aspect of the Morati’s plan. As if he doesn’t care. “Well, they’ll be like mindless zombies, so consumed by pain that they’ll attack anyone in sight.”

Julian clears his throat. “We can’t let it happen.” He gets up, his jaw set with steely resolve, and scoots his chair so it’s facing mine directly, and sits back down. We’re so close, our knees knock together.

“You have to make a decision, Felicia. Are you ready to join this fight for real?” Julian glances at Eli and
scowls slightly. “As a volunteer, not a conscript?”

Am I? Until a few minutes ago I would have said no, mostly out of resentment for Eli’s recent behavior. But this is bigger than me now. There’s more at stake than my pride.

If I do join the rebels, I need to be prepared to make sacrifices. Will Eli’s phase three require me to give up my chance to help Beckah and reunite with Neil? Can I put the rebels’ plans above my personal goals? I’m not sure.

But if I don’t join the rebels, am I condemning people to a fate worse than death? Could I live with myself if I stand by and let the Morati infect people with the Phlegethon? Even if I don’t trust the rebels completely, even if I’m not sure I can really make a difference, I know we can’t let the Morati win.

“Okay.” I grip the arms of my chair. “I’m in.”

Mira leaps up. “We need to train you to fight,” she says excitedly. “Remember how Eli threw you across the room? You could learn to do that too.”

“It will be another tool in your arsenal,” says Julian. He leans forward and clasps his hands in front of him as if he anticipates some sort of resistance from me. “You’re nearly weaned off the drugs. You can materialize objects. You’re even learning to find people and communicate with your mind.”

But I don’t need them to convince me about learning to fight. I want to be able to protect myself. What I need is conviction that I’m making the right choice. I push back in my chair, scraping it across the carpet so I can get up. “I’m ready.”

With something to focus on, Mira’s face loses the hollowness from before. She lifts both of her arms behind her head
and pitches them forward, as if throwing something large and heavy. Sparks fly through the air, and a dartboard materializes on the right side of the hive, in front of all the ripped-out chambers.

“I like to go through the physical motions of an action,” she explains to me. “I like the drama of it. But to each his own. It works without the theatrics too.”

“Watch and learn,” says Julian, gyrating his arms in large circles a few times to warm up.

Eli doesn’t get up but watches Julian and Mira materialize darts and throw them at the board, in his usual detached manner. He’s not the slightest bit moved by Mira’s enthusiastic showmanship, her fancy techniques with the darts—though, he does nod when they hit their marks with deadly accuracy, like an inspector checking off a list.

“You give it a try.” Mira smiles encouragingly.

I furrow my brow in concentration, but at first I can’t get any darts to appear in my hand, let alone hit the board.

“Relax,” advises Mira. “Feel your energy flow through you, and then let it loose.”

I take a deep breath and tap into the power at my core. A dart appears in my hand, and I let it fly. My aim is wide, and the dart clatters to the ground.

It takes me several attempts, but finally I hit the edge of the board. Encouraged, I risk making a fool of myself and imagine five darts at once. I throw my head forward abruptly, and then take a peek at the board. All five darts are arranged in a tight circle around the bull’s-eye.

Mira glides over and gives me a high five. “Classy move! Impressive, especially for a beginner.”

Julian nods his head in appreciation of my work. “Now let’s see how good you are at deflecting darts.”

I grit my teeth and let them put me through my paces. It reminds me of seventh-grade gym class, where I had an ambitious teacher who wanted to make sure every single kid could climb a Peg-Board and perform at least ten pull-ups before the end of term. It was excruciating then, and it’s no different now. Even when I beg for a rest break, they keep coming at me. To “toughen up” my mind. The only thing that keeps me going is the thought of slamming Eli against a wall at the end of all this.

We run through more materialization drills and keep working on my deflection skills. During my training, Virginia comes and goes from her chamber. I feel like I’ve been at it for days, and when my body starts to convulse from the strain, Mira forces me to continue, to push through. “Mind over matter!” she always yells as a reminder, like some sort of sadistic fitness trainer.

In the middle of a stick fight, Eli whistles loudly to get our attention. The sticks thump onto the rug.

“Fun’s over. We need to discuss the latest reports,” he says, putting his typical humorless spin on it.

While Eli occupies the other two, I sneak off for some R&R in a chamber. I’m exhausted, but also excited about how much I’ve learned. Since I’m still dressed in my “date” outfit, it only makes sense that I access my first date with Neil.

Ward, Felicia. Memory #32236

Tags: Ohio, Neil, First date, Playground

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I spin my locker combination and pull open the door. Throwing my books on the top shelf, I catch my reflection in the small mirror, and I pause to examine it more closely. Could it be? Is my skin glowing? I have to admit, I look healthier than I have in months, and it’s not only the makeup I put on today. The green silk blouse I’m wearing brings out the amber flecks in my brown eyes. Instead of their usual muddy tint, they sparkle like topaz.

Hands reach around my face and cover my eyes. “Guess who.”

“Is that you again, Principal Joplin?” I tease.

“Straight A’s for you, young lady,” says Neil, imitating the booming bass of our school’s headmaster. Neil removes his hands from my eyes and puts them on my shoulders, turning me to face him. The look in his eyes makes me light-headed.

Being this close to him in the crowded senior hallway unbalances me. I back away, crashing into my locker. “Are you ready to go?” I ask, trying to cover up my embarrassment over being a total klutz.

He nods, his expression inscrutable, and we walk out to his car. Nervous energy crackles between us. I’m not sure
what to say, and I guess he’s not either, because we don’t talk. His movements—as he opens my door for me, buckles his seat belt, and turns the steering wheel to leave the parking lot—seem shaky.

He puts on the radio, and I’m thankful it fills the silence. I tap out the beat with my palm, and sing along under my breath to the songs I know. I sneak looks at him as he keeps his full attention on the road. He’s a conscientious driver.

We pull into his driveway. When he reaches for the gearshift to put the car in park, I tap his hand lightly. “Can we go to that playground we passed? The one just around the corner?”

Somehow the thought of going into his house right now, and sitting together awkwardly on the sofa, freaks me out. The playground will be a neutral place.

“Yeah, sure,” says Neil, visibly relieved. “I haven’t been there in years. About time I check in on it.” He smiles so warmly, his dimples show, confirming I’ve made the right call.

Neil walks beside me to the playground. Close, but not touching. His hands are jammed into the front pockets of his lightweight Windbreaker, and whenever we come across an errant stone on the pavement, he kicks it.

I rack my brain for some small tidbit or factoid I can share to break the silence, but can’t come up with anything. I could dance around my feelings all day, or I could commit to them, despite the risk. It’s possible Neil realizes our kiss in the woods was a big mistake. Now that he’s had time to think it over, maybe he’s looking for a way to let me down
gently. I take a deep breath. “So . . . I’m really glad you talked me into going to the church camp. I had a great time.” Understatement of the year.

“You did?” Neil gulps, drawing my attention to his neck, and the way his polo shirt is buttoned up tight against his collarbone. “I mean, I’m glad. I mean, I did too.”

I zone in on the top button of his shirt, and before I can stop myself, I reach up and undo it.

“Race you to the swings!” I take off running, to hide my blush.

Neil thunders behind me and makes up my head start easily. We lunge into the swings, leaving wood chips in our wake. Laughing, we pump our legs until we’re touching nothing but sky.

Finally I put my feet down and let them scrape against the dirt underneath the swing set to slow myself down. Neil does the same.

“Twists?” I ask. It’s something I remember doing as a kid, the last time our family was in D.C., before my experience in Nairobi made me grow up way too fast. And the chains on these swings are long enough for it to work.

“You’re on!”

I twist myself as high as my legs allow. Because he has longer legs, Neil gets two more twists in. We let loose at the same time, and our swings spin and pitch violently, the chains clanking as we unwind.

Once our swings come to a halt, Neil reaches for my hand. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, and I
wonder how I could have ever doubted his affection for me. “Now that we got that out of our system . . . let’s talk hobbies.” The teasing note in his voice is back, the color on his cheeks high. We continue to sway together, each anchored by one foot on the ground.

“Well,” I begin, “we all know you enjoy singing and acting and Boy Scouts. . . . Anything else you’d like to share with the audience today?” I make a fist and thrust it into his face, an imaginary microphone.

He clears his throat and puts on a mock serious expression, one eyebrow cocked, his nostrils slightly flared. “I also enjoy kayaking, camping, writing bad poetry . . . and making out with my girlfriend.”

At the word “girlfriend” my heart skips a beat. Does he mean me? Or does he have some other girlfriend I don’t know about? I chuckle weakly and drop my fist. “A well-rounded array of hobbies indeed.”

“And what about you?” He copies my interview approach. “We all know you enjoy . . .” And here he stumbles. He bites his lip, probably wondering if he should mention the piano or not. But he recovers quickly. “Um . . . listening to music and . . . camping.” He’s grasping at straws, trying not to offend me or plunge me into a bad mood. “Anything else you would like to share?”

I smile sweetly. I decide to skip mentioning my dormant piano playing as well. It’s a wound I don’t want to rub salt into at the moment. “I also enjoy picking apart movies for continuity flaws, swimming, and making out with my boyfriend.”

We stare at each other then, and all the blood in my body seems to rush to my head.

“He’s a lucky guy, your boyfriend,” Neil says. He gets off his swing and bends down toward me, in such a way that I’m sure he’ll kiss me. My insides flip-flop in anticipation. But instead of his lips heading toward mine, they move in the direction of my ear. “Are you up for the challenge of the merry-go-round?” he breathes dramatically.

He pulls me to my feet, and we dash over to the merry-go-round. The rut that circles it is etched into the dirt like a moat protecting a castle. I hop onto the pebbly metal platform, careful not to trip, and grab on to the center bars.

“Hold on tight!” Neil says as he pushes against the bar and begins to run, digging his heels into the Earth. After about ten rotations, the centrifugal force threatens to overwhelm me, but I stick out my hand for Neil to grab anyway. He locks his hand around my wrist and jumps on. We jostle against each other until we’re lying perfectly still, our fingers entwined.

Our heads bump lightly together as we spin, and the sun’s rays warm our exposed skin. When the merry-go-round slows, and then grinds to a halt, I turn my head to face Neil. We grin at each other with big cheesy smiles. He shifts his body so he’s propped up on his side, and he reaches out his hand to brush the tendrils that have escaped from my ponytail away from my face. My scalp tingles, and the tiny pulses of pleasure radiate down my body. My muscles relax, and I close my eyes. His kiss is tender, his lips impossibly soft, and I marvel at how perfectly we fit together, like
he’s a piece of me I didn’t know was missing before.