Overtaken (21 page)

My brainstorm was drying up rapidly.

“Did your mom send you any videos? That might have a better sense of space.” Topher was clearly groping for something—anything that might help him help me.

I shook my head . . . almost ready to throw in the towel. But then I remembered the base did have their own website. I grabbed my laptop off the table and punched the research base into Google.

Sadly, their website wasn't nearly as state-of-the-art as their facilities. Then I had another thought: the street-view function of Google. It had helped me get around in numerous foreign cities, especially those where people were happy to given directions but I was completely incapable of understanding their language. It seemed like a stretch, as Antarctica didn't exactly have streets per se, but . . .

There it was—not the entire landmass, but the interiors and exteriors of some of the most important scientific outposts that had been built there—including my mom's temporary home.

“This help?” I asked Topher, showing him what I'd found. It was an Internet miracle. The photos had the slightly strange distortion of a 360-degree view that had been pieced together by individual photos, but it was much more detailed than the image of the parking structure that I'd conjured up.

Topher continued to click around the map, matching a few images up to the ones my mom had sent along. “I think we can work with this.”

I was so excited that I almost missed it. As Topher moved along Google view, I saw an accompanying series of numbers. A pair of numbers with lengthy decimals; they were longitude and latitude coordinates.

Just like the ones I'd found on my dad's desk.

Topher's cell phone interrupted us. It was Perry, the owner of Ebinger's Bakery in a panic. One of the other workers had horrible food poisoning, and he was shorthanded that morning. Could Topher please fill in for a couple hours, just until his boss finished with his deliveries? He'd pay Topher double.

“Sorry about this, Nica,” Topher apologized as he threw on his parka and ski cap and hurried out the door.

Topher promised that Operation South Pole was a go, and we planned to make our move during the Winter Formal. Yes, it would take us away from the dance, but it also seemed like the most opportune time to go. There was no way Dana Fox would miss her own Queen Frostine coronation, and we'd be safe from her for just long enough.

As soon as Topher was out the door, I sprinted to my dad's office to reclaim the scrap of pink paper. Sink or swim, I supposed. With a shaky pinky, I pressed down the enter key. My knees wobbled, and I fell back into the office chair as the coordinates loaded in front of me—dead in the center of a place called Blackthorne, Virginia.

My fingers clacked over the keys, opening tab after tab in my browser, as I searched for anything I could find about Blackthorne. I spent hours trying to figure out what was the connection between this town and Bar Tech? There didn't seem to be much of a there there. It was mostly farmland. The nearest town center was almost fifteen miles away. No gas station, no post office, and no high school—just miles of produce waiting to be plucked from the ground.

As with most American farms, the crops had been reduced from a variety of vegetables to the standard corn and soybean combo, but other than that, it might as well still be the early 1900s in Blackthorne. So had my dad been wrong? Or was I? These coordinates didn't seem to lead to a place that would interest Bar Tech in the slightest. I closed the browser window and decided to sleep on it.

But first I gave Maya a complete report about her parents. She was relieved to hear that, but the isolation from her old life was really wearing her down. She was . . . well . . . I hoped she was going to be okay. Circumstances had certainly thrown her from her course, but she was tough and smart—maybe more so than any of us. After all, no one else had been able to hold on to her power through sheer force of will. Whatever came her way, she seemed like she was going to be able to make the most of it.

I slipped under my covers not long after ten. I'd hardly closed my eyes when my phone buzzed. I rolled over and opened an eye to see if it was another creepy message from the mystery texter. Instead, the text was from Chase.

Bball game w/me tomorrow?

Not sure kinda busy :/
was the reply I eventually settled on.
Too busy for your bf?
he fired back. I smirked. That was a loaded reply, considering I'd never thrown around the “bf” term.
Maybe. #topsecret
. Thought that might give him enough to think about that I'd have time to fall asleep.
Bzz-bzz
. Nope. Lightning Fingers replied in seconds.
U can have top. Doesn't have 2 be secret
;) I blushed. That was forward. And hot. I was so flustered, I couldn't decide on a reply that wouldn't escalate—and even though that was tempting, I wasn't ready to wake up next to Chase. I decided to leave it there. I put my phone on silent and rolled over in search of sleep. That last text kept flashing in my mind, along with a whole host of exquisitely dirty thoughts. Jackson would never say anything like that. He was too much of a gentleman—“was” being the key word. But rather than mourning the loss anymore, I was ready for a change of pace. I tossed and turned, trying to shake it, but my eyes fluttered back open.

Sleep wasn't coming anytime soon.

When it did, it came hard, and I floated through oblivion for the next eight hours straight. When I came to the next morning, I felt good. It's amazing what rest can do for the heart and soul. For a second I even forgot what a disaster my life was. Even better, I drifted downstairs to find that Maya had already made coffee and gotten started on pancakes. Steaming mugs were set out for both of us, and she was cleaning up her trail of utensils and dishes as she went. I was beginning to feel like a guest in my own house.

“How many people you planning on feeding?” I asked, nodding to the three bowls of batter waiting to hit the skillet.

“Went a liiittle overboard on the mix,” Maya admitted with a smile, “but I figure we might as well go hard. Gonna have a long day, so best to get off on the right foot.”

Weakness grabbed my ankles and tugged. I suddenly didn't know if I could face another night of living like a combatant. Hadn't I lost enough already? And with my mother decidedly off the grid and my father disappeared to who knew where, I felt totally rootless. It had been so long since I'd felt free. Going with Chase to the game tonight would let me feel it again—even only if for a few hours.

“You think we could maybe postpone until later with that?”

Maya wasn't stupid. She picked up on the sound of me planning something that I wasn't saying. “Something come up?”

“First basketball game of the season is tonight, and Dana's heading up the cheerleading squad.”

I saw Maya flinch. The news pained her. “What else is new?” Not too long ago she would've been at the game, cheering her heart out. Not anymore. So much had changed.

“Think about it. Cheerleading might be the only thing that'll get her to drop her guard long enough for me to snoop around, maybe talk to people who aren't under her influence.” The more I thought about this, the more I realized it was a good plan. “It won't be for long,” I promised. “It's too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“Do what you got to do,” Maya replied, her frustration apparent as she beat the pancake batter into submission. “Time is wasting, Nica.”

She finished making the pancakes but didn't say another word.

•  •  •

The second-quarter buzzer sounded, and the gym was primed to explode. Fans, signs, parents, and students were packed into the stands, tighter than a traffic jam. The Barrington High band tore through brassy arrangements of old standards and modern anthems. My ears caught some Katy Perry in the mix, and I was impressed that it sounded as good as it did. Even more impressive was the smooth transition into a rowdy version of “You Shook Me All Night Long.”

We were up thirty-two to twenty-six, not the kind of lead that called for nails to be put in anyone's coffin, but enough that spirits were high. I'm not a huge sports fan—it all seems pointless to me, and my presence at the game was definitely due to Chase—but I have to admit that even I was swept up in the celebration. Perched high in the stands, I cheered the sounding of the air horn like an ancient Roman gladiator fan, frothing at the mouth, screaming for victory. This was war. Sort of. At least somebody was winning something, I thought, as our team's red-and-blue-jerseyed players huddled in a circle below. I watched them chant, cheer, and throw their hands in, all to keep themselves pumped through the short interval before the next round of pitched play.

I hadn't expected to see Jackson at the game, but there he was, seated several rows below us, closer toward the floor. Although Dana and her cheerleading posse were on the sidelines, cheering on the team, Jackson kept turning around and staring at Chase and me. Fortunately, there was nothing scandalous to really see other than the fact that Chase and I were sitting together. No blatant acts of affection on either of our parts, which was fine by me. I tried to act cool, calm, and collected—not my most natural state. But I felt like I was doing a pretty good imitation of not caring that Jackson was there.

Then Chase took my hand and pulled me closer. He hadn't made a move all night, but something seemed to come over him. I squirmed a bit but then gave in to the moment. He looked into my eyes and said one word: “Snacks?”

“How romantic,” I quipped, and playfully scooted away. “You want me to get you nachos? That why you brought me?”

“Popcorn.”

“I thought we were going to dinner after this,” I snapped back, hoping he'd be loose enough to spill some more details about what his father and Oliver were up to.

“I consider popcorn an appetizer,” Chase announced humorously.

“You and I have very different definitions for food.”

“Opposites attract,” he said with a smirk.

Dana might've been the one I was worried about controlling people's minds, but Chase's smile was a close second. That thing was a weapon. He wielded it expertly.

“Fine, but you're paying,” I proclaimed.

As I tramped down the steep bleachers with Chase's ten-dollar bill folded in my hand, I kept an eye out for Dana. The last thing I wanted was to come face-to-face with her. I wasn't exactly undercover, but if I was careful, I could get out of there without causing a scene. It was strange. Everything seemed normal. If one were to show this scene to a random assortment of strangers, not one would point out that the people here seemed to be under the spell of a power-mad teenager. It was enough to make me wonder if maybe, just maybe . . . Stop it. That was Dana's suggestion, still kicking around in the back of my head. I knew it was planted there, but I had no idea it had reached its roots so deep. Was there any way of permanently weeding it out?

The smell of hot, fatty snack foods seemed to do the trick for now, and I followed my nose out the gym doors, through a small crowd, to the snack table. The selection was a rainbow assortment of candy and chips, pretzels, hot dogs, and dozens of other pleasure-delivery devices that ostensibly had some nutritional value. I ordered Chase's popcorn, some gummy bears for myself, and two sodas. I turned to head back and walked right into Oliver.

“Hey, Nica,” he said casually, as if we were still the best of friends.

I was so surprised, I almost dropped the treats I was carrying. How long had he been behind me? Was he watching me? Following me? Or was this a complete coincidence?

“Hey.” I didn't make eye contact. I couldn't, after seeing him in Cochran's office at the lodge. I tried to get past him, but he mirrored my steps. He'd caught me and wouldn't let me go.

“I understand you're pretty upset,” he confessed.

No shit, Sherlock.

“I'm glad Dana's keeping you updated,” I retorted, assuming this was going to take a sharp turn into “cryptic warning” territory, another shot across the bow to remind me to back off. Instead, Oliver seemed sad.

“I want to apologize for how I came across at lunch the other day,” he said contritely with a hangdog expression. “It wasn't like me.”

I checked his eyes to see if he was under Dana's spell or not. It's not like they'd be glowing red or anything, but I'd started to get a sense for that look, the one that indicated Dana had taken hold. I couldn't quite identify it, but it was so subtle to begin with that I couldn't be sure. . . . I continued to play my cards close to the vest and say as little as possible.

“Little late,” I muttered, my hurt feelings from being rejected still very raw.

“I also heard you visited Ski Club.”

“We're not gonna talk about this here.”

Oliver stepped closer to me, the way Dana sometimes did. His attitude turned on a dime. For a second I saw a flash of the old Oliver.

“You got it all wrong, Nica. Cochran's not a bad guy. The more I've gotten to know him, the more sure of that I am. Bar Tech does a lot of good to people all around the world. The genetics program is really about helping save lives.”

I tried to process what Oliver was telling me, but it was a warped and corrupted version of reality as I knew it. This was crazy. 100 percent nuts.

“Did Cochran also tell you that he wants to patent the gene that gives us our power?” My tone etched with a major dose of cynicism. “He wants to own us, Oliver. To profit off of us. And to sell the technology.”

“That's not true,” he declared. “He believes our genetics will offer medicine exciting new ways to help soldiers who've been injured in combat. To help those who have terminal diseases. Bar Tech's devoted to medical research and progress. He'll watch over us and make sure we're protected.”

“He certainly has a funny way of showing it,” I snapped back. As I finally strong-armed my way past him and back toward the gym, I honestly wasn't sure I could ever believe him again.

•  •  •

An hour later, after being beat down for nearly the entire game, the Lakeville High Trojans reached deep and pulled out a win that dropped the jaws of everyone in the gym. It seemed impossible, but our team had gotten cocky and Lakeville took advantage, sinking a series of three-pointers, taking advantage of some loose elbows, and leaving every last ounce of blood, sweat, and tears that they could on the court. The tables turned so quickly that our team didn't even have a chance to course correct, and Barrington's fans left with their heads in their hands. I was disappointed, sure, but I couldn't overlook the symbolism of the situation: A team about to be crushed pulled out a win by playing smarter, faster, and never giving up. I clung to this, my very own inspirational sports metaphor to help keep the night from becoming crushingly shitty.

As Chase escorted me across the school's parking lot to his car, he was supremely bummed, and my encounter with Oliver had thrown me for a total loop. What should've been a walk filled with gentle touches and small kisses was silent and sullen. If it hadn't been, I don't know if I ever would've noticed Maya standing in the shadows between the cars. My feet ground to a halt. I thought about telling Chase and trying to hide, but it was too late: Maya was already staring right at us. Me. I was caught.

“Don't mind me,” Maya quipped. “I wouldn't want to interrupt date night.”

Chase's head snapped to the source of the voice, and I knew he recognized it. It looked like . . . Well, as far as he knew, he was seeing a ghost.