MILA 2.0: Redemption (26 page)

I did as I was told and sat next to Samuel and Hunter,
whose hands were also bound. Not mine. They left mine free. That should have given me hope, but as I stared into Holland’s impartial face, a sinking pit opened inside me. The lack of restraints was bad. A promise something terrible awaited me.

“We’ve got a journey to take. And I can’t exactly bind your hands while you’re walking across campus, can I? A conundrum.”

He stepped closer, and suddenly, I was assaulted with his familiar scent of mint and astringent. His hawkeyed stare traveled over Hunter and Samuel. “Hunter Lowe. You’ve certainly traveled a long way from home. You, I’m unfamiliar with,” he said, nodding at Samuel and Abby, “but I think I can safely assume you’re some of Quinn’s old team. I hope Mila told you that she won’t be needing your services any longer.”

Quinn’s eyes filled my head, defiant until the very end. She’d be proud of Samuel now. The fierce glare he was giving Holland reminded me of hers.

I tried to channel some of that strength now. “Where are we going? What do you want from me?” I demanded.

“You have the missing link I need to finish this project,” said Holland.

The missing link? What missing link? As always, his soft, pleasant drawl was at odds with what he was actually saying. Like tying a lacy ribbon around a bloody chain saw.

My sensors were still useless, but I didn’t need them to figure this out: if I could mobilize the grant kids, we’d outnumber them.

“What missing link?” I repeated, both as a procrastination tool and from genuine interest.

“A special kind of neural cell, in your brain,” Grassi answered, eager to share his contribution. I turned to him, but kept Holland in my peripheral vision.

“We first recognized your full potential on your PET scan. Certain areas of your brain lit up like a Christmas tree. It just so happened, those were the areas that allowed for more human and computer compatibility.”

“Me? I don’t have any special brain cells. I’m an android, remember?”

But even as I said it, I knew that wasn’t quite true. I had Sarah’s.

“Not only do you have special brain cells, but they’re proliferating. In your head, just think about that for a minute,” Holland said, spreading his arms. “You’re not even fully human, and the very cells we need are flourishing. Perfect for harvesting and implanting in the other test subjects.”

Without thinking, my hand reached for the back of my head. Beneath my hair and fabricated skull were tiny pieces of Sarah. Her brain cells, the currency of Holland’s greed. The organic cells that Lucas had noticed, back in the desert.

Holland offered only false sympathy. “Trust me, we didn’t want to do it. But using your brain to grow the cells was our only option at the time. They wouldn’t grow in a test tube . . . and an animal brain would be too risky. Cross contamination,” Holland said, like he thought I’d understand. “We didn’t realize. They need a human host. Or a partly human one.”

I licked my parched lips and glanced at the other grant students. They remained still, like marionettes waiting for someone to pull their strings. “Why not let them go, if I have the cells you need? Release them and I won’t struggle.”

That prompted a snicker from Grassi. Holland shot him a silencing glare. A reminder that this was his show. “You trying to bargain with me? Well, I can’t fault the attempt. But we need the cells. We’re behind production already.”

“Production?” I heard Samuel say, drawing Holland’s razor-sharp gaze.

“That’s right. We’ve got a list of buyers just waiting on our product.”

“What kind of buyers?” I asked.

“None of your concern.”

But the truth was dawning. A horrific truth.

The truth that some people thought human life was a thing to be bartered for their own reward.

The truth born of a list of foreign names on a hidden hard drive.

The truth in realizing that the numbers following the names were actually prices, in hundreds of millions of dollars.

Apparently, that was the going rate for transforming teenagers into mechanical soldiers. And many people wanted them.

“You’re selling android fighters to foreign countries,” I spat. “So much for patriotism.”

His anger manifested in narrowed eyes, a hiss of indrawn breath. An aggressive step forward.

“Foreign regimes that will be sympathetic to our great nation. We provide them the means to get rid of obstacles, and they support us when they’re in charge. We sell them fighters with lethal training and—as you well know—undetectable, strategically placed bombs.”

His tone changed to one of pride. “It’s the perfect cover, see? No one ever suspects American kids. They’re too steeped in privilege to put their own lives at risk.” He glanced at his watch and scowled. “Enough. We need to get you back to DC.”

“Is that where my target is?” I knew he was tiring of my questions. But I was deathly afraid of what would happen to the others when he took me away. He’d let them listen to far too much. There was no way he was going to let them walk.

To my surprise, Holland started to laugh. A genuine one.
“I see my nephew isn’t as smart as he thinks he is. There is no target.”

“But—”

“Oh, your bomb is built for one. Programmable to detonate near a target. But yours isn’t set yet. I just fed the device some scrambled information to make it think it was.”

I didn’t get it. “Why?”

His smile sharpened. “Keep you guessing if you pulled another escape stunt. It’s just a pity I missed out on all the fun.”

Fun. All those times I’d panicked, worried I was going to put other lives in danger by stepping in just the wrong place. A lie.

I supposed I should have known. Like Holland had said—in the end, he always won.

“Don’t blame Lucas too much. I planted bad intel on my laptop too. I figured you or Quinn might try to log in. I never realized I’d be setting up my own flesh and blood.”

All this time. We’d never stood a chance.

Did I stay and fight for these kids, despite the odds stacked against me? Or go with Holland and try to sneak away once I’d learned more? Would I even be able to escape once he’d harvested my cells?

In the midst of my confusion, one face glowed behind my eyes, like a candle that just wouldn’t snuff out.

Sarah. Urging me not to give up.

“Did he say bomb?” Ben asked, his voice sounding less monotone and more like his own. He rose to his feet in clumsy, jerking motions.

Holland turned to Grassi. “This must be one of our rejects?”

I took advantage of the distraction and launched myself at Holland.

Ben saw me move and staggered forward too, sluggish from fighting the mind control. “Stop . . . him . . .” he forced out.

Hands still bound, Samuel leapt to his feet, while Hunter threw himself in front of Abby.

Holland began to turn back, and then everything happened quickly. I was only a few feet away when the gun jerked in his hand. I looked over my shoulder to see Ben clutch his stomach in surprise before crumpling to the ground.

Blood gushed from his wound, creating a large pool on the floor.

By the time I turned back, Holland had his gun aimed again. This time at Samuel.

I didn’t dare move, unless I wanted someone else to get shot.

Holland laughed softly and tilted his head. “It appears you’ve forgotten your manners, Mila. Let’s see if I can kickstart them for you.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black square. Before I could even breathe, he’d flipped the switch.

The signal appeared behind my eyes. No fanfare, no fancy introduction. Not even a click or a snap.

The words were enough to make my heart stop, to make the faux blood in my faux veins freeze, to make time and space fall away. My knees threatened to buckle while I processed my panic. It threatened to shut my entire system down.

Whenever I’d imagined this moment, I always thought there’d be more. Not just two little words.

Two words. That was all it took.

Countdown initiated.

My gasp sounded ragged.

Time to detonation: 120 minutes.

“Mila? What?” Samuel said, straining his bindings.

“The bomb. He activated it,” I said. Maybe it was shock, but my voice sounded unconcerned. Like I was telling him about the weather.

“NO!” Two howls, merged into one. Samuel. And Hunter. Even Hunter. Maybe he had truly forgiven me.

Holland watched the play of emotions across my face, smug in the knowledge that once again, he’d come out on top. “I’m the only one who knows the deactivation code. If I die, the bomb goes off. If you come with me, I can still shut it down. Otherwise . . .”

He’d planned his trap, and well. If I stayed, everyone in the room would die. If I killed Holland at any point along the way, I’d explode. He’d keep me in line with potential victims. Line them up in a row; see if Mila can save them.

Mom. Peyton. So far, my track record sucked.

He had me. There was no sense in fighting. But I’d started this journey to seek redemption. I wasn’t going to stop now.

Out of sight to everyone but me, a tiny timetable spun a continuous countdown in shiny, glowing green.

118 mins, 56 secs.

118 mins, 55 secs.

118 mins, 54 secs.

Holland motioned me toward the door, but when Samuel went to follow, he shook his head. “No. Just her.”

He didn’t need a hostage to bring along, because two were already waiting. Daniel. And Lucas.

If Holland had hurt them, the bomb might as well explode right now, because I’d be done.

I looked over my shoulder, searched deep inside myself, and summoned a brave smile for my team. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

False words. But I didn’t want to know the team to know how little hope I had.

Before I turned away, I locked eyes with Hunter one last time. In my mind, I wished him a silent farewell. I hoped
that somehow he’d escape. That he and Abby would have a long life together.

I saw the indecision in his blue eyes. He looked at Abby and then his head swiveled until he stared at Ben, who hadn’t moved from his awkward position on the floor. Eyes glassy, a broken doll in a pool of red.

When he looked up, I gave an almost imperceptible shake of my head. No. If he tried anything now, he’d end up just like Ben.

On the way out, I made eye contact with Tim. The force of the contempt in my stare should have cut him like a laser. He didn’t flinch. But his pulse rose, by several beats. I could sense it now.

Afraid? Of me? That didn’t make much sense. And then, he did something even more bizarre. He inclined his chin, just the barest bit. I almost thought I’d imagined it. And I had no idea what it meant.

Then I was in the corridor and in the building and walking the path that would lead me off the Montford campus and away from the people in that room for good.

“Where are they?” I said, once we were out of earshot.

At least Holland didn’t pretend not to know who I meant. “You’ll see them soon enough.”

The rain had stopped, but the air was still thick with humidity. Our walk across campus to the parking lot was surprisingly uneventful. Most of the students had retreated
to warmer quarters; we only saw a couple here and there and no one paid us much attention. Why would they? I couldn’t struggle or fight; if I did, someone would die. Holland had me chained just as surely as if the steel rings bit into my wrists.

Even the video camera at the gate was easy. “Temporarily disabled,” Holland said. He didn’t talk as he led me to the parking lot, but the silence was almost worse. When he spoke, I knew what he was thinking. When he was quiet . . . that’s when my fears multiplied.

He led me to a black van, opened the passenger door, and shoved me toward the seat. “You’re driving.”

He climbed into the back before passing me the keys. After following a series of barked-out directions, I pulled up next to a vacant field. Only one other vehicle was there, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw it. Lucas’s white van.

“Pull up right next to it,” Holland snapped. I did as I was told. As we approached, the door slid open, and my doors did as well. Daniel’s face flashed in the depths of the other van, before one of Holland’s men blocked my view and pulled someone from the back.

Lucas. His feet were bound and his hands were zip tied in front of him, but otherwise he seemed to be in one piece. The man shoved him across the narrow gap into our van, where Lucas tripped and almost dove headfirst onto his uncle’s lap. He righted himself at the last second, flipping
his body weight until he landed in the empty seat.

I followed Holland’s order to shut the door. I’d follow all his orders. Any. So long as my good behavior would keep Lucas safe. Within minutes, we were back on the road, the other van following closely behind.

In the rearview mirror, I could see Holland reclined next to Lucas, pressing a gun to his temple. Above the duct tape that covered his mouth, his eyes were calm. I scanned the distance between us, assessed the amount of time I could reach Lucas. I had it down to the millisecond.

In every calculation, Holland’s trigger finger was faster.

“If you make so much as a tiny detour off the route, or take one of your hands off the wheel for anything other than a turn signal, I’ll start shooting. One body part at a time,” Holland said. The edges of his words were soft, as if he were discussing his favorite restaurant.

My heart pumped faster; I willed it to slow. Every bit of energy needed to go to my brain. A way out—there had to be one.

“No matter what, you lose,” said Holland, like he was reading my mind. “How much time left now?” He glanced at the oversized silver watch on his wrist. “An hour and forty-five minutes, give or take a few? Doesn’t give us much time to get to the helicopter and fly to DC. There, we’ll get our hands on your brain cells. Once we implant them in our soldiers, our product will be complete.”

He wasn’t leaving much room for error. Could we really get to DC that quickly? My bomb could detonate on the way.

I looked at him incredulously. “So you’re willing to die for this? Just to get my brain cells?” If there was one thing I’d never pegged Holland as, it was a martyr. He thought too highly of himself.