The Rift Uprising (7 page)

I awake to the steady electronic beeping of my heart. I am back at the base in the medical facility. I am hooked up to an IV. As my eyes flutter open, I see the plastic tube first, running from the back of my hand to a bag beside me. I try to blink away the fuzzy outline of everything in the room. In short order, the room snaps into focus. I am not lying down but reclined on the gurney. I try to sit completely up, but I feel a small hand gently push me back to the bed.

“Easy, Citadel Ryn. You are safe,” the voice purrs. I know immediately that it is a Roone. Their voices are distinctly nonhuman. They rasp and whirr; it's difficult for the muscles in their throats to push out the words in our language. I recognize the kind blue eyes that are looking back at me with concern. She is smiling, and her skin, like polished onyx, reflects off the fluorescent lights. The Roones are tiny, all of them
under five feet. Their bodies are made up of a higher mineral count, so their skin looks like lacquered stone. They vary in color, as rocks and people do. They have no hair and their faces are mostly eyes.

I smile weakly. “Edo, I told you, please just call me Ryn.”

“It is a form of respect, Citadel. Like the great castles and fortresses on your Earth, you do so much to keep us safe. Citadels are our greatest defense and it is my job to make sure that you do not become a ruin.” Edo checks the electronic pad in her hands and looks at my IV bag. “Though I must say, there are times when you make that increasingly difficult.”

I look at the clock on the wall. It's almost one. I have been out for hours. Not good. “Then why don't I call you Doctor Edo, or Nurse Edo, or . . . What are you, again?”

“Because there is no name for what I am in your language,” she answers kindly. “But if it makes you more comfortable I will simply call you Ryn.” Edo squeezes my shoulders lightly. I feel the pressure of her cold, hard hands, but it is not unpleasant.

“You always say that, but then you forget.” She gives me a look that says in a million years she would not forget anything, and I sigh. “How bad is it?”

“Not bad at all. A little concussion. We've given you medicine and the swelling is gone. Your brain is back to normal. We put you to sleep so that you could heal.” Edo once again looks at the silver pad in her hands. She could be checking my vitals, but because she is a Roone and the implants were designed by them, I am almost positive she is checking to make sure the chip is functioning at full capacity. I reach back and feel a small metal disk the size of quarter, which is magnetized to attach to my implant. “If I keep getting these little concussions I'm going to turn into one of those football players who goes off the deep end one day.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. But we have repaired all the damage done to the tissue around the concussed area. It's as if it never happened, and your implant . . .” Edo smiles, but the smile is weird,
off
somehow.

“What about my implant?” I ask, immediately sitting up.

“It's fine. I promise.” Edo's smile is genuine this time. I can't say why, but I know she is not being totally honest with me. I am an expert in detecting even the barest hint of a lie, and my experiences at The Rift have meant my expertise is not limited to humans. I would push, but I know that I would never get a straight answer. Most Roones remind me of robots. Since they are responsible for the chip that created the Citadels, I am naturally resentful of them. Edo, though, is unlike others of her kind. She is warm and even funny. Still, she is not different enough to confide in me. Instead, I take that one moment when she let me see something in her face that I shouldn't have, and file it away for later.

I pull the magnetized disk off my neck and hold it in my hands. It just looks like a shiny, round piece of metal to me. I examine it for a second or two before handing it back to Edo. She takes the disk and attaches it to her pad.

“My team?” I ask, stretching my back.

“Training. But you are not going with them today. I have put you on twelve hours of bed rest. You can do that here or at home. Your choice.”

“Oh my God. Home for sure. No offense.” I grin.

Edo looks at me warmly. “You did well today, Citadel Ryn. You killed at least three Karekins. No one from our side was seriously injured. A victory.” Edo does not sound victorious.

“Today, yes,” I concede. “But what about tomorrow? What about when five hundred come through—or five thousand? What then? And why? Why haven't we been able to get any
intel on their agenda? Why isn't everyone more freaked out about what's happening with them?” I try to sound logical—Roones don't deal well with too much emotion—but I'm sure there's a ton of frustration in my voice.

“I don't have an answer to those questions, though they are good ones,” Edo says carefully.

“
Come on,
” I say, sitting up straighter and giving her a level stare. “The Karekins must have a way of navigating The Rift, of passing information through it. If that's the case, then why isn't every single person on this base—and every other base, for that matter—working their asses off to figure that out? If they did, wouldn't that mean you could go home?”

Edo takes a step away from me and hugs the pad closer to her chest. “I do not think about home anymore. It is pointless and painful. Words, explanations, reasons—none of those things help when tragedy strikes. We just do what we can to continue. To survive.” Edo sighs and it sounds like a rush of wings. She steps closer to me. “I am sorry, Citadel Ryn. For the pain that you feel today and every day. I truly am. Why don't you get some rest for a little while longer and then you can leave with your team?” Without waiting for me to say anything in return, Edo walks out the door.

AS VI IS DRIVING ME
and Abel home in my car, I feel almost 100 percent, apart from a slight headache that could have nothing to do with the fighting. The conversation I had with Edo is still with me. There was something about it that wasn't right, but since it is only my intuition guiding that feeling, I don't feel confident in sharing my thoughts with Violet or anyone else on the team. I don't even know what I would say to them because I'm not sure if Edo was lying or if she was, in fact, trying to hint at something else—though what that
could be, I can't imagine. Something about my implant? We get to our house and Abel gives Violet a funny look. “Aren't we going to drop you off first?” he asks. Man, he's observant for a teenage boy.

“Nah. I'm going to walk home. I know Ryn has a bunch of work she needs to do by tomorrow. I think she wants to get a jump on it.” I roll my eyes. Violet is mothering me. She wants me to get to bed after the day I've had, but I feel fine. It's also a terrible lie—I cringe at how lame it sounds. But Abel just shrugs, says good-bye, and runs into the house.

Violet lives less than half a mile away from us. If she runs, she'll be home in less than two minutes. I feel antsy. I don't want to go inside just yet. “I'm going to walk with you.”

“Ryn . . .” she starts.

“I need the air. I know I'm supposed to be resting, but as long as you don't mind not running, I think it'll be fine.”

“I think you already know I'm fine with not running,” Violet says, not bothering to hide the exasperation in her voice.

“Good,” I tell her as I head toward the direction of her house. We live in a quiet, leafy part of Battle Ground called Meadow Glade. It's early in the season, so the leaves have not yet turned. Vi is unusually quiet.

“I'm sorry again, about the crack I made about you and Boone. It was shitty.”

Violet shrugs. “It
was
. But it was also true. There's a part of me that's glad you said it out loud. Somebody had to.” More silence. A couple cars and a kid on a bike pass us. “Do you think you'll ever get it removed?”

I bite my lip, unsure of what to say. I know that I have to say something, just to make my friend feel better, but she wouldn't want my real answer.

“Well, if I make it to thirty, I might,” I lie to her. We were
told that at thirty, we could have our chips removed and go on and live a normal life. Settle down. Get married. Have kids. It's a wonderful dream to sell us. But I know I will
never
take it out. First of all, I doubt I am going to make it to thirty. Even if I do, I would be so totally messed up from doing this job that I am positive I would be a crap wife and an even worse mom. I would worry all the time about The Rift, but without my enhanced abilities, I would have no way of defending my white-picket-fence life. I am lonely now, but I am useful. Who's to say that I wouldn't be just as lonely without the implant? More than likely I would end up alone anyhow because this life I'm living is taking a toll and I know it. I would be weak and I would never really be normal.

But Vi is not me. We arrive at her house, a quaint and cozy craftsman painted gray with white trim, and I think she might have a chance at this kind of life in the future, even without Boone. Then again, I'm not sure if she wants it. Violet is an only child. Her parents work a lot and she is often alone. This never seems to bother her. She must be lonely, as we all are, but I never see it. She grabs me and pulls me into a long hug.

“I hate it when you get hurt, Ryn. I worry so much about you.” We both know that she is not just talking about my injury today. I am the team leader. I carry an extra burden, one that I am happy to accept. Everyone else seems to have some kind of an outlet for their frustration. Violet dances, Boone jokes, and Henry trains pretty much twenty-four hours a day. I strategize—and by that, I mean I overanalyze, running scenarios in which I am able to make sure everyone is safe. My own safety is rarely a priority.

Another person might say I worry.

“I'll be fine. We've got the day off tomorrow, so I'll sleep in and chill,” I promise her.

“Yeah, but you are going to Flora's party tomorrow, right?”

I groan inwardly. I do not feel like going to any party. I want as little social interaction as possible over the next twenty-four hours. Vi looks at me expectantly, though, and I know I have to go. I am the buffer between her and Boone. I make it safe for them to be together.

Being team leader doesn't end when you step out of uniform. It's always there. I am never not doing my job. So I finally say, “Of course. She
is
practically my neighbor. It would be kind of rude if I didn't go.”

Violet gives me a huffy sort of laugh. “Oh, please, like you give a shit what anyone thinks about you. But thanks. I'll come over a bit early and get ready with you.” I nod my head and watch Violet walk into the house. I amble slowly back, trying to block out the swirling thoughts that are beating inside my brain. I just want to not think—about anything. I need a break from my own brooding over Ezra and Edo and the implant and the people I killed today.

It's so hard to fight a war hardly anyone knows about.

When I get home I tell Abel that I don't feel well and that I am going to bed. He's playing a video game. Something with shooting and guns. I practically leap up the stairs to get away from the noise. I skip dinner and my dad comes in eventually to check on me.

“Rynnie?” I see his outline under the door, through the purplish twilight of the day's end.

“Yeah?” I am in bed. My iPad is open beside me. I have been trying to read, but mostly I have been lying here with my eyes closed.

“Can I come in?” I tell him yes, and he walks in and sits gingerly on the edge of my bed. Unlike other teenagers', my room is spotless. Since becoming a Citadel, I have become an obsessive organizer, taking control of the one thing in my life I feel that I can. “What's wrong? Are you coming down with something?” He puts the back of his hand over my cheeks and forehead.

“No, I'm just tired.” I don't turn away from him. I like the way his skin feels on my own. Safe. Comforting. I regress to ten years old, when my dad was everything to me. My biggest hero, my greatest champion. I remember what it was like to be so small he could hold me in his arms. My eyes begin to tear, but in the darkness, he won't see. He waits a minute, and then runs a hand over my head.

“I'm sorry if I came on too strong about college. I know you'll make the right choice. I'm your dad, and even though you're such a good kid, I worry about you.” A tear spills down my cheek and I turn my head into the pillow to wipe it off. “You used to talk nonstop. You wanted to know how everything worked. ‘Why is the sky blue?' ‘Do animals have their own heaven?' ‘Is gasoline like water for cars?' You had such an imagination, Ryn.” My dad laughs, remembering. “We would play the quiet game and you would sit on your hands and stomp your feet, dying to speak. Your face would go red! And now . . .” My dad breaks off. “Well, I suppose it's a teenage thing, or friggin' ARC. I never thought I would miss those millions of questions, but I do, Rynnie. I really do.”

“Yeah.” I wish I could say more, but I don't trust myself to speak. “Sorry.” It's about all I can manage. My dad stands up.

“Don't be sorry. Just, I don't know, reach out once in a while. Let us know what's going on in that magnificent head of yours.
We're here for you. There's nothing you could tell us that would make us love you any less.” No, they wouldn't love me any less if they knew the truth, but they would never get over it. They would be furious, worried, half-crazy if they knew.

I roll over on my side, away from him. “'Kay, 'night.”

“Love you, darling girl,” he says as he walks toward the door.

“I love you, too,” I whisper. My parents are great, truly good people.

I cannot say the same about myself.

Violet has outdone herself with the wardrobe selection. She is wearing super-high-waisted jeans and a skinny belt around her impossibly tiny waist. Her gray silk blouse is unbuttoned low enough to show some cleavage. She is covered from head to toe, but the look is far sexier than the trampy, try-too-hard outfits I know the other girls at the party will be wearing. I tried to get away with a sweatshirt and my yoga pants, and honestly it almost came to blows. After refusing to put on a dress, or a skirt, I finally agreed to short Levi's cutoffs and a cropped black tank. I insisted on my dark brown leather boots with straps, but I did concede to a bunch of jangly bangles. I am wearing my hair long and loose. I almost always wear it back, so even I am a little surprised when I see how long it is—down to the middle of my back. My hair is a Nordic blond with a natural wave. Because I wear it up so often,
I have darker-blond highlights that have been tucked away from the sun. I pull the light strands over my shoulders and twist the ends to make it look smoother. When I realize I am preening at my own reflection, I stop. I'm not used to caring about how I look, but for tonight, I realize how much I want to look pretty. Or at least, I want to know that I can
be
pretty.

I let Vi put makeup on me. Luckily we both agree that, for me, less is more. I only look good wearing makeup if I don't actually look like I have any on. Violet has dark voluminous hair and even darker eyes. Her skin, though, is as fair as mine. She can get away with all kinds of crazy eye shadow colors and, unlike me, not look like a hooker.

We walk to Flora Branach's house and don't bother to knock. We can hear the music blasting, so there's no point. We get more than a few stares when we walk in. I know the boys are imagining all kinds of sexual scenarios when they look at us. What they don't know is that we'd likely crush their windpipes before they would ever find out what we look like without our shirts.

The way some of them are outright leering, the prospect of some broken tracheas appeals to me. I find myself smiling.

The house is jam-packed. I guess we took more time getting ready than I'd thought. Boone comes up behind us and starts dancing right away with Violet. I suppose the fact that they're grooving to a boy-band song from the nineties in a room full of people takes the sex appeal right out of it. Surprisingly, he's actually pretty good. Violet starts doing what I can only assume is the Robot. I laugh, and so does everyone else. People don't, like,
dance
at house parties. But Vi and Boone somehow make it cool. I'm sure that everyone will join them soon enough. Maybe if I drink enough, I will, too. But it takes a
lot
for us Citadels to get drunk.

Flora sees me from the kitchen and starts to shimmy toward me with an extra cup in her hand.

“You came.” She looks pleased and also strangely wary. The corners of her mouth are turned up into a smile, but it seems forced.

“I did,” I say, smiling back at her. There is an awkward silence for a couple seconds. We both just stand there, grinning like assholes. The thing is, Flora and I used to be absolute best friends. Flora and I had almost every class together in eighth grade and we had an instant connection. We just got each other. We liked all the same things and, with her living so close to me, I think we spent just about every day together. She can be sassy but also really kind. When the headaches came because of the implant, I can vividly remember lying in her lap, her room darkened because the light stung my eyes. She would put a cold washcloth on my forehead and whisper that everything was going to be fine. She talked me through that agony on more than one occasion.

I repaid her by abruptly cutting her out of my life once I became a Citadel.

I was mean about it because I was mad, too. I just couldn't lie to her; she was my best friend. So I avoided her as much as possible. It broke both our hearts. We have gotten over the worst of it by now. We are civil to one another—nice, even. Still, it will never be the same between us. Tonight, though, she seems weird but happy, happier than I have seen her in a long time. Her cheeks are flushed, and I realize part of the reason for her attitude: She is drunk. She passes me a drink and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“I mean . . .” Flora begins, “how can you not even have one ounce of body fat on you? It's, like, not natural.” Flora is slurring her words. I take the drink and shrug. What am I
supposed to do? Apologize? I look around, suddenly uncomfortable. “I think you . . . something is going on there. I don't know. It's Levi, too. Levi!” she screams over the music, and waves her arm wildly. I catch her older brother's eye. He's on the stairs, behind us. Watching. Slowly he walks down and joins us. Levi and I look at each other, communicating caution without words.

He is tall and muscular but not too beefy—as his sister noted, not an ounce of fat on him, either. His hair is a true auburn, like his sister's, and his eyes are the most remarkable shade of green, far brighter than my own. Another interesting fun fact about Levi is that he tried to work around his implant with his girlfriend, another Citadel, named Ingrid. She ended up in a coma for three weeks, while he got most of his ribs broken. A leg, too.

Oh . . . and he's a jerk.

During one of my first experiences with Karekins at The Rift, I had almost let one get the jump on one of his teammates. When it was over, he just screamed at me. He was the first boy I really crushed on, but after that day any romantic feelings I had for him immediately evaporated. To be fair, he was never really all that nice (hot, yes, but aloof), but after the Ingrid thing he became a downright prick. I generally avoided him as much as I could.

“You two.” Flora sways as she says it and points a finger at us both. “What is it with you? You're like aliens. You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know there's some freaky shit going on?” Levi tries to grab the drink from her hand, but she lifts it up and spins away from him. “Fuck off, Levi, you weirdo.”

“I think you've had enough to drink,” he says sternly, narrowing his eyes.

“Shut up,
Spider-Man,
or whatever the hell you are. I just
wanted to tell you both that I don't know exactly what it is, but I know it's something.” Flora backs away and walks off into the crowd.

“What was that about?” I take a long swig from the plastic cup in my hands.

“We were in the kitchen last month and she started a grease fire. I put it out very quickly.
Too
quickly, if you know what I mean.”

“Ahh.”

“And a couple days ago she walked into my room without knocking and I was working out. Doing a handstand. On one hand.” I nod my head because I'm not sure what else to say. Finally, though, I can't stand his eyes boring into me.

“You think I should go talk to her or something?” I ask. I really don't want to go talk to her, but I feel like it's the right thing to do, even though I have no idea how a conversation like that would play out.

“Nah, she's too drunk to reason with. You'd probably just make things worse.” I roll my eyes. I don't really know Flora anymore, but I'm sure I could say something that might make her feel less paranoid about the vibes she's been feeling. Before I can say anything, though, Levi turns around and leaves. He's about as sensitive as a bag of rocks. I shrug and join Boone and Violet, who are dancing happily in the living room. I don't exactly start to dance, but I tap my boots to the rhythm of the music. Henry has arrived. I see him at the fireplace with his arms crossed, looking like a bouncer. No wonder kids think everyone in ARC is a freak.

I drink some more. I feel myself loosening up. I can't believe it, but I actually think I'm having a good time. After about an hour, though, I get a pang about Flora. I really should go find her and make sure she is okay. I look throughout the house for
her and then outside where the party has spilled out around a fire pit. I see Levi talking to another Citadel his age, a year older than me, a supposed senior at Battle Ground High. When I don't see Flora, I ask Levi if he has. He says he hasn't, sighs with annoyance, and together we walk into the house.

I grab a random girl on the stairs and ask her if she's seen our host.

“She went up to her room,” the girl says drunkenly. “With two guys,” she whispers, and stumbles a bit on the step. I see Levi tense. I can see he's about to leap up the remaining flight of stairs, but I grab the back of his arm and push him up against the wall, pinning him to it. Anyone looking would assume that we're about to hook up. I speak softly in his ear.

“Take it easy, Levi.”

He turns his head and looks at me, his eyes burning. His voice goes deathly quiet. “Get off of me, Ryn.”

“I will go and deal with this,” I assure him. Levi pushes forward and I push him back harder.

“She's
my
sister.”

“Yeah, but if you go in there, you'll kill them. Me?” I smile. “I'll just hurt them.” Levi rolls his eyes and then nods his head. I race up the stairs, and throw open the door to Flora's room. I see my friend naked on the bed. She is totally passed out. One guy is on top of her, and the other, beside me, has his phone out and shirt off, and is clearly filming the action.

“Hey, girl, you wanna join the party?” the guy next to me says.
Oh my God, did he just say that? The
party
?
Dumbass must think we are in an actual porno, because that's the only situation where I think a girl would be down with this rapey shit.

I consider how much restraint I actually want to show. My conclusion: very little.

“Oh, yeah, I really do.” My voice is a soft purr. I quickly
reach out and grab the guy's phone and throw it hard against the wall so that it smashes into pieces.

“What the hell?” he screams. The guy on the bed turns around. His pants are open, but it doesn't look like he has done anything . . . yet.

Thank God.

“She brought us up here, she wanted to do this and it's a free country, so get naked or get the fuck out,” Bed Boy snarls. “Oh, yeah, and you can pay for my buddy's phone, too, you crazy bitch.”

Restraint level: virtually zero.

“You think this is cool?” I yell. “She is passed-out drunk. Any alarm bells go off in your head? Even you two morons must know that this is wrong.”

The guy closest to me goes to grab me by the arm. I'm not sure what he was thinking, but now the gloves are off. Maybe he was going to try to force me onto the bed, too, or maybe he was just trying to throw me out of the room. Either way, he should not have touched me. I grab his hand and bend it back the wrong way. I sidestep him as he yelps in pain. I easily maneuver my arms around his neck to put him in a choke hold. I squeeze, applying just enough pressure to make him pass out. His body slumps, I push him off of me, and he falls to the ground with a thud.

The guy in the bed scrambles up. He's about six feet tall with sandy-colored hair and brown eyes. He's not exactly ugly, but there is something distinctly ratlike about his nose and mouth. He looks at me with a mix of surprise and anger. “What did you just do? Did you just kill him?”

I walk closer to him and see that he's breathing hard. His chest is puffed out. If his body has gone into fight-or-flight
mode, I know he's going to choose the first option. It's a
big
mistake.

“Thought about it, but no. He's sleeping.” I can't help but give a little laugh. I am wearing a dangerous smirk. This idiot has no idea who I am or what I can do. I'm grinning because he thinks he has a chance, and I'm happy because there are so many cruel boys like him in the world and so many helpless girls. I don't really believe in Karma. I've seen too many good people die and too many assholes win, but tonight is different. It feels like the universe put me in this room for a reason, and on behalf of so many defenseless women, I'm about to tip the scales in their favor—for once.

“You're disgusting,” I tell him as I lose the smile. “All the therapy in the world won't help you. There is something dark and twisted inside of you; I can see it in your eyes. A person like you understands only two things: fear and violence. And since you're clearly not afraid of me . . .”

The boy gets inches in front of my face. The veins in his neck bulge. His eyes widen and shift erratically back and forth. “Shut up!” he screams. “All you ARC brats are the same. You walk around thinking that you're better than us,
smarter
than us—”

“We are,” I interrupt, which only pisses him off more.

“There is something not right with you people. I don't even know if
you are
people.” Now he's the one to laugh, and he throws his hands up wildly. “You're all fucking robots or aliens or something, but you don't scare me. You think I won't hit someone just because they're a girl?”

I narrow my eyes at him. I know I'm goading him, but I can't help it. He is a truly vile individual.

“I'm
counting
on it.”

He lunges at me and I grab his fist and squeeze, breaking every bone in his hand. He whimpers and goes down on his knees. I twist behind him and deliver one swift kick to his kidney, which lands him on the floor, howling in pain. I spin once more and hit him in the face. Then I hit him again. I keep hitting, knowing that I'm inflicting damage, but I'm holding back because I do not want to kill him. Though, frankly, I kind of think the world would be a better place without him. His face is a bloody mess.

I crouch down beside him. He is sputtering blood, coughing, trying to catch his breath. “Pay attention,” I say in a soothing tone. “There is a lesson to be learned with every defeat. Like I told you: fear and violence—that's all you understand. You'll think twice now before you try something like this again. Really, you should be thanking me. Maybe you won't end up in prison.”