Overtaken (26 page)

I turned to see Mr. Bluni leading a phalanx of guards closer and closer to our position. Even though his words were big, I could tell he was a little uneasy, approaching us like we were kicked pit bulls, ready to attack.

“Grab them!” Bluni ordered the guards.

Oliver and I didn't even need to speak—he knew to run. Just like I'd told Topher when I was barely hanging on to the remnants of the Bridge, it was better for one of us to remain free than none of us.

A few of the guards spun and peppered the road with shots, but Oliver was too fast to be hit. He'd already cleared the road, vanished into the woods, and was probably halfway to Denver. Topher was yanked from the driver's seat and tossed into the back of the van with Chase and me. Bluni hopped in with three guards. Two more took the front.

“Where are you taking us?” I demanded to know as my wrists were bound once again with a zip tie.

“To offer a trade,” Bluni replied after a moment of consideration. As soon as Chase and Topher's wrists were tied to match mine, Bluni pounded on the wall between the drivers and us. “Move!”

The van lurched out of the lot and peeled around the back of the Bar Tech offices. I tried to keep Bluni talking as the vehicle left the smooth pavement of the lot and hit a much bumpier patch of road. The rocky ride reminded me of the bus ride to the lodge, only that hadn't taken us anywhere near Bar Tech. We were going somewhere else entirely.

“Whatever you want,” I said, “we can't help you.”

Bluni scoffed. “Maybe you can't, but your boyfriend here can.” He focused his eyes on Chase.

“Just say it, man,” Chase responded. “I'll do it.”

I shot Chase a look. He didn't have to give in that easily.

“She was right about your dad,” Bluni declared. “He took a company helicopter, and we tracked him on his way to the top of Whiteface. Probably getting there as we speak. I assume that's where he's going to set off his charges and destroy my work.”

Your work,
I sneered in my head. Bluni was talking about our entire town. Our home. Many lives. To him it was all just an experiment, one wrapped up in his ego and lust for power.

“But I'm gonna offer Cochran a trade. He gives up,” Bluni stated as he whipped a pistol from behind his back and leveled it at Chase's head. “And I won't kill you in front of him. All you have to do is convince him to let you live.”

Fear gripped Chase's face. He could tell Bluni wasn't bluffing with idle threats.

Chase turned to look at me.

Bluni shook his head. “She can't help. This is on you.”

I looked to Topher to see how he was handling the turn of events and noticed his eyes were focused on a point far, far away. At first I thought his almost catatonic state was brought on by stress, but then I remembered the times I'd caught him “daydreaming” at work. He wasn't trying to retreat into his head. He was projecting. But where to? What was he looking for? Maybe he was trying to find help. I couldn't ask him, so I decided to try to stall and give him the time he needed to complete his mission.

Before I could say a word, I saw Topher's eyes suddenly spark back to life. “He's here!” Topher's words were urgent and joyous.

I had no idea what he meant and neither did Bluni, but he wasn't taking any chances. “Who's here?” he demanded.

Topher refused to answer. His eyes were wild, his skin slicked with the slightest sweat. It was clear he knew something that we didn't, like he'd just returned from some sort of religious journey. Maybe he had.

Bluni cocked his gun and pointed it at Topher's chest. “Who. Is. Here?”

Suddenly, the sliding door rumbled wide open as if to present an answer. The guard closest to it turned, surprised, and was yanked off balance by an unseen force. He hit the floor at a strange angle and had time only to shout once before tumbling out the door and into the night.

Bluni pivoted and fired two shots at whatever had taken the guard, but there was nothing there to catch his lead. The dark, snowy woods raced by, the wind reached in and slapped at our faces, but neither man nor beast presented itself as the culprit. Bluni inched toward the door, gun thrust out ahead of him. He steadied himself with one hand as the van continued to sprint over the rough-and-tumble road, unaware that a man had just been lost.

I was so close to leaning forward and shoving Bluni with all my might, sending him to join his unlucky employee on the side of the secluded road, but the other guards were too close. If I pushed Bluni, they might decide I was the next to go, or worse, just put a bullet in me. I gritted my teeth and let him explore. I settled back next to Chase and Topher, who was staring off again, back on whatever adventure he—
BANG! BANG! BANG!

Bluni leaped back, firing wildly. “Someone on the roof!” he shouted, and his men leaped into action. On a matched-three count, they threw open the back doors, ready to blow away whatever they saw. But again: nothing. The man on the right gestured to the man on the left to move forward with him. They took their time, step after step, Bluni at their back. I saw another opportunity to move in for the tackle, but I couldn't take the chance that one of them would turn and fire as we charged. Chase edged forward, but I nudged him back and shook my head. He and I would wait until we knew what was going on.

Even with the side and back doors open, it was eerily quiet in the van as the trio peered around each door and checked on top of the roof.

“Nothing, sir,” reported the guard on the left.

I didn't believe it was nothing. Either Bluni was losing his mind more every minute, or somebody was toying with us. My instincts told me the other shoe was about to drop, but I couldn't ever have predicted it would come down swinging and screaming through the open panel in the side of the van.

In the form of Topher. Who, amazingly, was still sitting right next to me.

The guards and Bluni didn't realize the second Topher was just an illusion. All they knew was that they couldn't shoot at him. If they missed, the bullets would tear through the thin metal partition separating us from the front and possibly kill the driver. One of the guards took a swing and lost his balance as his hand passed right through the projection's face. Momentum carried him off his feet and into the wall. If he hadn't cleared out of the way, I don't know if I ever would've seen the completely unnatural gust of whirling, swirling snow tumbling along the road behind the van. It looked like the Tasmanian devil was right behind us, which could mean only one thing.

No way. It was Oliver, hot on our heels. He must've been the one to open the door and yank the guard out, and now he was catching back up to us to finish the chaos that Topher started. There weren't many steps left for Bluni and his men to take before they'd find themselves falling out of their ride, and Topher's “angry ghost” act was proving effective at shrinking that distance to a razor's edge.

The remaining guard caught me looking over his shoulder, at Oliver right behind him, and spun around. Without breaking his incredible stride, Oliver grabbed the man's weapon and twisted it, directing a burst of fire harmlessly to the ground. The guard tightened his grip on the gun, and Oliver came to a complete stop—for just long enough to rip the shooter out of the van. Before he'd even bounced off the road, Oliver took off for us again.

With just Bluni and one Bar Tech goon left, it seemed like we actually had a shot at making it out of this. With a cry, I leaped to my feet, lowered my shoulder, and charged at an unprepared Bluni. I caught him in his gut, doubling him over and sending him out the back. He dropped his gun and grabbed the wildly flapping back door, clinging to it by his fingertips.

At the same time, Oliver sped up and jumped onto the second door, slamming it shut into the face of the remaining guard. The guard flew back toward Chase, who head-butted him in the chest and sent him tumbling out the side door. Even with his wrists bound, Chase was able to slam the side door shut, leaving us three on one to finish Bluni. He'd already crawled his way back inside. Disarmed, but no less dangerous, he tackled Chase into the rigid metal wall.
WHANG!
The back of Chase's head ricocheted off and left him dazed. I connected with Bluni from behind. He whipped around and shoved me back, dangerously close to the rear door that still hung wide open. Oliver was no longer right behind us. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Oliver! Hurry!” I shouted as I heard loud footsteps clang over our heads. He was on the roof! Then I heard the screech of brakes. He must've leaped in front of the van! While the driver's decision to avoid hitting the mystery runner who appeared out of nowhere was a good one for Oliver, it was a poor one for the rest of us on this icy back road.

I grabbed Chase and held him tightly as the entire vehicle flipped. The force shook Bluni loose and tossed him like a rag doll. He bounced out the flapping back doors and straight up into the night sky. At this point I had no sense of what was up or down, so it was probably an illusion, but the last I ever saw of my science teacher was him disappearing into the stars.

Over and over and over and over we rolled, like clothes trapped in a dryer. By the time we came to a stop at the bottom of a shallow ravine, I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to walk again. Chase groaned as he hoisted himself upright.

“Guys? Guyyyys?” Oliver's voice echoed through the woods, drawing nearer every time he called for us.

“Anything broken?” I half coughed, reaching over to Chase.

“Don't think so,” he remarked, quickly checking his body for any major injuries. “You?”

I flashed a thumbs-up. “On top of the world.”

Above us, the sliding door opened as far as the twisted metal would allow, and Oliver peeked in.

“You guys ready? We've got to get to Whiteface.”

One more step. One more step. One more step. This was my mantra, and had been for the last half hour as Oliver, Chase, Topher, and I trudged through swirling sheets of snow that got denser the closer we got to the peak of Whiteface. We'd been walking for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes; trying to follow the road the van had been speeding down before it crashed.

The farther I trekked, the less visible the road became. Each new blast of icy wind threatened to freeze my bones inside my skin, and I felt as lost and blind as I had on my trip to Antarctica with Topher. Just like on that journey, I was filled with tension and terror, drowning in the knowledge that I was treading the line between life and death and daring it to snap beneath my feet. When Topher and I had projected to find my mom, the urge to turn back and go home had almost won out—the difference this time was that failure would leave us with no home to go back to.

“They really went for realism with this Winter Formal, huh?” Oliver cracked.

His joke might've gone over better if any of us were dressed for the weather, but I wasn't prepared for this and neither was anyone else. I was still in the thin, tattered remnants of my dress from the dance. We had only the two coats we'd swiped from the dead guards in the front seat of the wrecked van to keep us warm. My feet were stuffed into the oversized boots of the driver, which did just enough to keep snow and ice from soaking through and threatening my toes with frostbite. My hands were a totally different story, and I wiggled my fingers nonstop to avoid giving them a chance to freeze solid.

At the front of the line, Chase held up a hand, drawing us to a halt. “Shhhh!”

We strained to hear anything over the howling wind, but there it was. A hum. Chase pivoted toward it and started hustling even harder through the snow.

“That's a helicopter,” he said, convinced.

To my ears, it could've been a distant generator, but I took Chase's word for it and followed as fast as I could. Oliver sped past us and looped back seconds later with a report.

“There's something there! A building or something!”

I dug deep and grabbed Topher's hand. He'd been silent since we crawled out of the wreck and had stayed that way the entire time.

“C'mon. Almost there.” I could tell the bitterly cold air was getting to him. It took him a second to find me, even though I was right next to him.

“Then . . . can we rest?”

I knew some of the symptoms of hypothermia were sluggish thoughts, movements, and speech, and I began to worry. If we didn't get inside very soon, I had the feeling Topher was going to be in trouble. The hum of the helicopter Chase predicted grew louder and began to take on the familiar shudder of rotating blades. All signs pointed to us being on the right track. A few minutes later, the intensity of the snow dropped off. The fluffy sheets didn't slow, but something was breaking it up enough for me to make out where I was.

That something revealed itself to be a complex of low concrete bunkers jutting out of the mountain around us in the shape of a horseshoe, us standing at the mouth. They were perfectly camouflaged by the snowbanks that sloped up to their flat roofs, nearly invisible in the storm. Perched on the helipad in the center of the arrangement was a Bar Tech helicopter, blades roaring and sucking in a vortex of snow. Besides a helmeted and headphoned pilot, I couldn't make out who was seated inside. If there were any guards on board—or if Cochran hadn't yet run inside—we were going to have trouble. I decided we'd take our chances.

“Spread out!” I shouted so that the guys could hear me. “Cochran isn't triggering any explosives from out here. There's got to be a way in!”

Chase and Oliver stayed low, trying to avoid detection by the pilot as best they could. I threw one of Topher's arms over my shoulder and helped drag him through the snow to the closest bunker. We were greeted by a thick metal door, which was surrounded by even thicker concrete. Not a good sign. A keypad sloped off the surface to the right, but I had no idea how to even begin guessing numbers that might result in success. And the cold was beginning to get to my brain as well, slowing my thought processes to a crawl.

A bolt of electricity ripped through the air and detonated against the building a few feet to my left. Instinctually, I tried to go invisible, but my body still refused to cooperate. I shoved Topher to the ground as three more bolts slammed into the building in quick succession. Leaping to my feet, I faced down the person I already knew was responsible for the attack: Jackson.

He was storming toward us from a few dozen yards away, brilliant bolts of blue circling his hands so fast that his arms appeared to terminate in ball lightning. I raised my hands up and out to the sides. It felt silly to be surrendering to the guy I'd been in love with just a few months ago, but I didn't have any other choice. Under Dana's control, I had to assume that Jackson was ready to do anything she demanded—including killing me. A misstep could mean being fried alive by his hands.

“Jackson,” I started gently, carefully, “you don't know what's going on.”

“He doesn't need to.” The sickening lilt of Dana's voice, followed by her lithe form, crept out from behind a large transformer half buried in snow. She thrust her hand to the right, and Jackson did the same. With a flick of her wrist, she fired a bolt of blue from his hand. “It's better that way.”

Oh my God. It seemed impossible until she repeated the action with her other hand. I dodged the resulting blast and realized I was witnessing the result of Dana's powers pushed to the max. Forget brainwashing people; forget forcing them to believe lies—she'd fully infiltrated Jackson's brain and was using him as a marionette of devastation. I ran for shelter around the side of the nearest bunker, stopping to lift Topher and drag him with me. There was no avoiding the fact that the only way I was going to get into these buildings was by going through Dana and Jackson—but how? And why were they even up here—protecting Cochran?

“Cochran's trying to destroy Barrington, Dana!” I shouted over the roar of the helicopter engine. “Is that what you want?”

“He helped me realize there's a big, big world out there waiting for us, Nica. You of all people should know that. Biology is destiny. And our biology is worth a fortune. You think being head cheerleader is all I aspire to? We can write our own ticket. Control our own destiny.” Her voice was cold and cruel. Unwavering.

“You know Cochran thinks you're a liability!” I shouted back, hoping to get through to the part of her that still had an ounce of compassion left.

A volley of bolts fired from Jackson's hand, which Dana directed up and over the bunker providing my shelter. I couldn't risk darting back into the open, so I sat tight, clutching a shivering Topher, and hoping that none of the projectiles would find their mark. This time around they didn't. I couldn't be sure I'd be so lucky on the next.

“A liability”—she laughed—“is what Bluni was.”

Did she know he was dead? I couldn't tell.

“He let his coup go to his head and started making mistakes,” Dana elaborated. “I approached Cochran and suggested we do something about it.”

“He's going to destroy the entire town! All of your friends! Your family!” I peeked around the corner to see Dana barely shrug.

“What loyalty do you feel to them, Nica? They're weak. Boring. Worthless. Most people are, really. You, me, Jackson, Oliver, and Topher . . . We're different. We're special. We're the next phase in evolution. Survival of the fittest.”

“They don't deserve to die,” I countered, desperate to stall for time.

“Maybe not, but life chose winners. Us. Let the losers go.”

WHAM!
A blur struck Dana's abdomen and sent her crashing to the ground. I caught a glimpse of Oliver, fast as a jet, coming around for a second pass before she'd even picked herself up. He connected low, yanking her legs out from underneath her.

“Get him!” she screamed.

Oliver leaped from side to side as Jackson leveled a series of crackling balls of lightning his way. It was impossible to connect with a target moving at his speed, and Oliver drew their fire with a near smile on his face. Each time Jackson missed, a new crater was formed in the snow frozen to the buildings behind Oliver. Frustrated, Dana forced Jackson to fire wildly—her mistake, our advantage. None of the shots found their mark, but one went wide enough to connect head-on with a door. Keypad locks be damned. These buildings weren't designed to withstand the onslaught of electricity raining down on them. The door flew off its hinges and clattered into the bunker.

“Go, Nica! Get inside!” screamed Oliver.

I didn't hesitate. Dana threw Jackson's arms wide and used one hand to fire at Oliver, the other to fire at me. Clouds of snow blew up from the ground as each shot missed. The path was clear, but I'd never make the distance if I had to drag Topher behind me. I held up, weighing the thought of leaving my friend behind to freeze in the snow against leaving—potentially—all of Barrington to the same fate. Before I had to make the impossible call, Chase vaulted down the roof of the bunker and dropped into the snow next to me.

“Your ex is pretty pissed,” he snarked. “I hope it's not because I took you to the dance.”

I didn't have the heart to tell Chase how deeply I found myself mourning what had happened to Jackson. In the same moment I'd realized that Dana was using Jackson as a puppet, I'd realized I could never truly get over him. He was too kind to deserve what was happening to him, too trusting, too sensitive. If he and I ever had another chance—if we somehow both survived today—I swore I would tell him how I felt. I would try to get him back.

“It's not funny,” I snapped at Chase more cruelly than I meant to.

“Sorry,” Chase muttered, struck with the realization that as much as I'd grown to like him, I'd never feel the same way about him as I felt about Jackson.

“Grab him,” I ordered, pointing at Topher. “Oliver's got Dana distracted, and I think we can get inside.”

Chase grunted as he wrapped his arms around Topher and lifted the leaner kid onto his back. “It's not a superpower, but . . .”

“It'll do,” I finished with a small, appreciative smile. “Ready? Three. Two. One!”

Chase and I tore out from behind the building. I was relieved to see Dana and Jackson's backs turned, still trying to put down Oliver. It was going to be an impossible task, but I had to hope that was exactly what would keep Dana busy. She absolutely hated anything that wasn't going her way and wouldn't stop until she had total control. Halfway to the entrance, we passed the helicopter and I lost the sound of Chase's footsteps behind me to the thunderous drone of the machine. I couldn't risk looking back. I had to stay focused on that door. Thirty feet. Twenty feet. Ten feet.

I threw myself inside and around the corner to avoid any fire that might be lobbed in my wake, but the only thing that followed was Chase. Cheeks red and short of breath, he lowered Topher gently to the metal floor before leaning against the wall and sucking short gasps into his lungs. I'd felt the burn too—the oxygen was just a little bit thinner up here, and it made everything more difficult. My lungs ached and my muscles burned, but we were so close now. I picked up where Chase had left off and helped Topher to his feet, pulling him away from the door and deeper into the facility, where it was warmer.

The guts of this building were not as polished as the interior of the base that had served as the training facility for Dana's army. This was all industrial pipes and concrete, catwalks and dim lights, which probably could've served as a model for a level in one of Oliver's favorite video games. I followed the heat, figuring that the more used and useful portions of the construct would be home to whatever Cochran was trying to access. Topher came back from the edge as he and I hobbled on. Chase caught up as we advanced slowly through the drab corridors, lit only by giant warm bulbs.

I checked each shadowy corner for rooms or offices that the president of Bar Tech could be stowed away in, working on bringing his horrific plan to life. I'd lost track of all the times I'd turned left and right down the cloned subterranean corridors and was ready to slump to the ground when the hallway dead-ended in a massive circular room. It was carved from the metamorphic rock of Whiteface, fitted with a grated floor and ceilings that stretched so high that they vanished into darkness.

Cochran stood on the far side, working in front of a lit console. The soft
clickety-clack
of keys wasn't enough to mask the clang of our feet on the grate, and Cochran threw a “one second” signal over his shoulder. “Almost there, Dana.”

Chase cleared his throat. I wished I could've seen Cochran's face in that moment—caught red-handed by his own son. Even the body language of his back seemed crushed. His broad shoulders drooped as he turned around, knowing exactly whom he was going to see.