Soulprint (10 page)

When people stopped just listening to the warning and started acting on the information instead, hurting people who
had done no wrong in this life, seeking revenge from the crimes of the past, the tide began to shift in public opinion, turning on Liam and June.

That part, that's her own fault. June was too impulsive. Too proud. Too self-righteous. Too selfish. Watch one of the many documentaries and take your pick of flaws.

She was an idealist, believing that information belonged to everyone. That people should be free to draw their own conclusions from it. That knowledge should never be hidden behind closed doors and firewalls and passwords. Personally, I think she just had too much faith in humanity, releasing that information to begin with.

As if knowledge would be used only for good.

And when that tide began to shift with public opinion, it shifted in them as well. People claimed that June and Liam started to use the information for blackmail instead. They stopped releasing the names at all, instead allegedly blackmailing the wealthy or powerful with that information and taking their money to disappear. June's name appeared on accounts the few times the crime was reported, the few times people tried to call their bluff. I have to believe that was Liam. I have to.

They didn't bluff. They released the names, like a hit list, to the vigilante groups.

And then how the people turned. Oh, how they turned.

No more protection. No more public support. No, it was a witch hunt. Liam was dead within two months, when they were caught on a security camera of a computer warehouse
and surrounded on Christmas Day. June escaped but was killed when she resurfaced a year and a half later, run down in the street as she raced for the woods. A generation later, and countless threats to any foster parents who dared to care for me, and I am a prisoner on an island for my own safety.

This is what a belief can do to you. It can drive you, without reason, without cause. It drives you more than law, more than love. It drives you until you
are
the belief. Until your very soul becomes imprisoned by it.

“Not much farther,” Dominic calls, and I'm relieved to hear that this walk has taken something out of him. My limbs are shaking, but that could just be from the adrenaline of the last day.

We don't stop until we reach the cabin. I didn't even see it until I was on top of it. The logs are the same color as the trees, the windows dark and unassuming. We're all out of breath, even Cameron, who seems as if he's in the best shape of all of us. They drop their bags on the wooden porch, and Dominic does a quick loop around the house. I see windows, doors, woods that I can disappear into. No fence. No gate. No cliffs or steel cage or mile-long bridge.

I see chances, an opportunity for later. So when they sit down on the ledge of the wooden porch with smiles of relief, I do the same.

“We made it,” Casey says, that same expression of pure joy across her face.

Cameron smirks at her. “Of course we made it,” he replies.

I tilt my head back, with my eyes closed, and pretend not
to notice Dominic's shadow cross my face, or his steps as he settles in beside me.

“Did you know, Alina,” Dominic begins, “that people have stayed hidden in these woods for years?”

I stop smiling. My stomach clenches at the word “years.” I have already been waiting years. I cannot stand to wait another hour. But I'm also seized with the realization that I have nowhere to go. And the things I want—no, the
thing
I want—isn't a location at all. June is still a chain around my ankle, shackling me to dark rooms and car trunks and hidden cabins.

“June disappeared in them. For over a year. Nobody found her,” I say.

Nobody found her until she made a mistake. Until she chose to come out of the woods. A huge, epic mistake.

“Did you
also
know,” he says, leaning back on his arms, “that you could wander the woods for weeks and never find your way out?” It's like he can read my mind, or my fears, and give voice to them. “I'm not the enemy,” he says, but I'm not sure how he expects me to trust him yet again. “You'll be safe with us.”

Every part of me wants to bite back with a sarcastic remark, something to wipe the smile off his face, to knock his ego or confidence, to gain a step forward, but instead I put the water bottle to my lips. Control my words, control the situation. I will speak only when the emotion has passed.

I swallow too much water, and it hurts going down, but it forces down the tension that has been clawing upward. “And if I ever do get lost,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on Dominic's mouth, “I'm grateful you shared the coordinates with me.” I'm
trying not to smile, but I'm losing. I see Cameron over his shoulder, the surprised grin on his face.

Dom's mouth tenses and he stands up, and for a second I wonder if he's going to lean over and shake me, but instead he begins to laugh. “I can tell why people listened to you,” he says, like someone who has watched June's movie way too many times. “I really can.” He stands and opens the front door, which apparently does not need a lock—my heart races to see—and he says, “Grab your stuff and come inside.”

I stop smiling when I walk inside. The cabin is equipped with a stash of water bottles, a long wooden counter, a wood-burning stove, and stacked cans of food. There are also bags of clothes, all the color of the woods—like we're kids playing out some military mission. But then I remember that Dom and Casey
were
members of the National Guard, since that's where my guards are pulled from. That they
are
old enough, and that they're definitely trained.

I wonder how long we're supposed to stay here. It doesn't look like this place has electricity, but there must be, because there seems to be some sort of television screen.

I pretend not to notice the rope on the counter. But Casey finally sees it, and I sense her shoulders stiffen from across the room. I pretend not to hear the lock turn on the door—not to notice it's a key instead of a latch system. Or that the windows are covered in meshed wire, nailed into the wood.

I pretend not to notice that I am being held against my will, once again.

There's a brown sectional sofa, which looks as if it hasn't been cleaned in a decade or longer. Cameron sinks into it, a cloud of dust rising up around him, and he coughs into his closed fist. There are three doors beyond this main room, one of which has rolled-up sleeping bags leaning against it. I'm hoping one of the others is a bathroom.

Casey picks through a bag of clothes, pulling out a pair of camouflage pants, which she frowns at. “Oh, good, just my style,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her hair has a wave to it, I'm noticing now, that makes it look lighter than mine. And it falls in wisps from behind her ear, softening the sharp angles of her face. She throws a pair of clothes at me, gesturing toward the blood on my shirt. She wrinkles her nose as she does, reminding me of the expression Cameron makes.

I turn around, facing the wall—like Cameron or Casey might do—as I change from the black, blood-stained shirt to the forest-green T-shirt she's thrown my way.

I don't understand what they intend to do with me, and I don't want to stick around to find out. I need to move. I need to get outside, and I need to disappear. These clothes—the way they're made to blend in with the surroundings—will probably help.

“Where is this place?” I ask, as I slide my legs into the new pants. I pull the drawstring tight around my waist, and when I turn around, Dominic is the only one looking at me. He's watching me as if he's confused by me. Like I'm a puzzle he's intent on solving.

“Nowhere,” Dominic says for the second time. “It's nowhere, sweetheart.”

The fact that he calls me sweetheart makes me nervous. The fact that I am essentially locked in a room with him makes me nervous.

The presence of the rope and the wire makes me nervous.

The fact that I cannot orient myself, that I am not at an axis, that the world is moving and existing and changing without me at the center makes me feel small and insignificant and lost, and I recite the facts in my head to keep calm:
There were thirty-two guards on the island, and I escaped
.

Here, there are only three. There are only three. There are only three
…

“Can't say I'm a fan of this place,” Casey says, tossing the bag of clothes on the couch beside Cameron.

“It's temporary,” Dominic says.
Temporary
. That can mean nearly anything. Days, months, years. Now that we know that the soul doesn't die, it could also mean a lifetime.

June's hiding was “temporary,” too. That's what they call it on that one documentary. A year and a half, and then she came out and was killed.

Even now, nobody knows how June and Liam got in the database. Rumor has it that after they got inside, they set up a secondary shadow-database, one that copies directly from the original source, so they could have unlimited access to it at all times. Somewhere only June and Liam knew. That's what people are worried about now. That I might somehow know how to find it again. That I might continue where June left off.

“Okay,” Cameron says, “then let's get on with it.”

Dominic holds his arm out, gesturing toward the back room.

Casey skips ahead into the back room and says, “Give me ten minutes.”

Dominic nods and heads for the second closed door. He sends Cameron a look. “Watch her,” he says.

I catch the tail end of Cameron's eye roll and find myself involuntarily smiling at him. He looks away first.

Well, I do have ten minutes. I open the kitchen drawers, one at a time, but they're empty. Though the drawers are old and removable, and I bet I could pry a nail or two loose if I had a few minutes to myself. I slam them closed and run my fingers along the mesh wiring, pulling at it to see if it gives.

“What the hell are you doing?” Cameron asks.

“Looking around,” I say, not pausing.

I check under the brown couch, but the wooden legs seem to be firmly attached.

“Stop,” Cameron says.

“Why?” I ask, but he doesn't answer. He of all people should understand after helping me escape. I will not be slow and malleable and content. I will not wait for someone to come. This time, I will be ready by myself. I'm used to people watching me. What's he going to say?
Alina was looking under the couch
? So what. It would be stupid if I didn't. It would be a waste of time for us to stand here staring at each other, pretending like I am not still being held against my will.

There are four lantern-shaped lamps that I'm assuming
are battery powered. Inside each is a tiny lightbulb. I wonder if they will break. When they're on, I wonder if they will burn. I try to pry the top off one, but it's glued on pretty tightly. I look for anything that will shatter into shards that I can store in the pockets of my pants until someone opens the front door.

They are not careful enough.

Everything is a weapon.

I will not stay here long.

“Stop,” he says again, but lower. “Before he comes out.”

My eyes lock with his, and I wonder, not for the first time, what he's doing here. I place the lantern back on the counter, wondering just how far I can push him, trust him. “Just …,” I say, “one more thing.”

I take the rope off the counter, and Cameron comes closer, his hands held out like he must stop me from something, but he's not sure what. Like I might use it on him. I'm not stronger than he is, I know I'm not. But still, he comes closer as I walk toward the couch with it.

“Don't,” he whispers, but I have no idea what he wants me to stop doing, or why. He has my elbow in a grip just as I'm lifting a couch cushion, and he looks completely confused but doesn't let go. I shove the rope under the cushion with my free hand and drop it back down just as Dominic enters the room again.

“Wow,” he says, eyeing Cameron with his hand on me, standing perfectly still, so close I can feel his breath on the side of my face. “What the hell happened in that trunk? No, don't tell me, I bet I know.”

My entire face is burning. I know what he's going to say from the way he's leering at me. I shouldn't be ashamed of kissing him. I did it to distract him, so I'd have a moment to think, to act.

I kissed him, and then I ruined him, and I cannot look him in the eye. I can't look at Cameron either.

“She got carsick,” Cameron says, a second before Dominic speaks. “And then she hiked four miles across the state border.” My pulse races, because he's giving me information. I know he knows it, too. And he hasn't said anything about the rope or my search of the room. “She needs something to eat.”

I pull my arm away, let my eyes wander the room like I'm mindlessly assessing it. I know better than to hope blindly, but I relish the information.

I will use it.

Casey pokes her head out of the back room, swinging the door open. “All set,” she says. But she doesn't smile, and so neither do I.

There's something humming in a back room. It sounds like ten refrigerators, and I really hope that's the case, because I really am starving. On the island, someone would've brought me food by now. Someone would've made sure I had enough.

My stomach growls and my legs are shaky from the hike, but all thought of food leaves my mind as I enter the room behind Cameron. There's a generator, I think. Something to power this place, so far off the grid. It's humming, and the computer it's hooked up to is humming, too. There's another machine with a computer screen attached, but it's long and
rectangular and has a pin dropping out of an alcove in the middle, currently resting in a beaker of something. Maybe water. Maybe not. But the most uncomfortable part of this room is not the things that are unfamiliar. It's the thing I know: a narrow cot, a metal tray covered in Saran Wrap, a box of gauze, a bottle of disinfectant.