The Treatment (20 page)

I sit up and stare down at him. “You’re joking, right?” I ask. When I see in his expression that he’s serious, that he’s completely serious, I can’t talk fast enough. “James,” I say, “having children when they’re growing up to kill themselves is stupid. Really stupid and irresponsible. Second of all—having kids is hard. Like . . . what? I’m so confused right now.”

James shakes his head. “I’m not saying I want to plant my seed tonight or anything—”

“Gross!” I slap his arm and he laughs softly. “Please don’t talk about seeds of anything. I think I’m going to barf.”

“I’m just saying,” James continues, taking my hand to pull me closer. “That a little me would be kind of adorable and you should consider it. Like, fifteen years from now.”

“No.”

“Blond hair, blue eyes, a thirst for trouble. What could go wrong?”

“So many things.” I let James take me in his arms. It’s true that anything half-James would be cute and obnoxious, but that’s not enough. My heart sinks as I consider the future—the amount of people who’ll die. And how I never want to experience the loss my parents have. James must sense the despair settling in, so he hugs me tighter and kisses the top of my head.

“Don’t worry about it now,” he murmurs. “I’ll ask you again in fifteen years.”

I awake with a start, the memory still as clear as if it just happened. There’s no residual pain, and for a second I wonder if it was just a dream. But in my heart I know it really happened, can feel it in my soul. James is next to me in bed and I shake his shoulder.

“Sleeping,” he mumbles, folding the pillow over his head.

“James.” I put my palm on his cheek, and he blinks his eyes open. “I had another memory. We were playing in the grass and you were talking about having children.”

He pauses, then gets up on his elbow. “I’m sorry, what?”

I laugh. “You said you wanted kids and you were so sweet. I had a memory, and right now I’m not even dizzy. I don’t know, yesterday was a pretty stressful day, so it must have spurred something on. But maybe returning memories aren’t always bad. James,” I say, ecstatic and relieved, “we were so in love.”

James smiles then, pulling me closer. I’m about to kiss him, ready to refresh his memory too, when there’s a loud commotion from downstairs. I hear Dallas scream—actually scream, and both James and I bolt upright in bed.

We’re still in our clothes from last night, and James pulls me from the room so quickly, I’m afraid I’m going to trip over my own feet. He staggers to a stop in the hallway when we hear voices downstairs. The true devastation hits me—The Program is here. They’ve found us.

James spins to face me, his eyes wide and terrified. “Back door,” he whispers, and then yanks me toward the small doorway and spiral staircase that leads to the kitchen. We’re halfway down when we hear the footsteps over our heads. James curses, and then we’re moving faster, clumsier. I bang my elbow on the door frame as we bust into the kitchen. Behind us there’s a trample of footsteps on the staircase.

James crashes through the screen door, and the morning light is bright, the air is crisp. I’m gasping in puffs of air as we escape the house, heading for the woods as our cover; it’s our only chance. I’m still barefoot when my toes sink into the dewy grass and soon we reach the bridge—a bridge where I stood
just this week, thinking how beautiful the world could still be. I was wrong.

“Stop!”

I glance over my shoulder and see a handler, dressed in the signature white coat, chasing us. “James!” I shout to spur him on, fear cracking my voice. James’s hand is clasped tightly around mine even though he could be long gone by now if I wasn’t holding him back. The second we’re over the bridge, James darts to the left. We disappear into the woods, and he lets my hand go to protect his face from the branches threatening to scratch out our eyes.

We’re hopping over fallen tree limbs. Branches dig into my forearms and one opens a gash on my cheek. We have to keep running.

We have to get away.

The noise behind us quiets, but then up ahead there’s a flash of movement, making James and I stumble to a stop. I turn around, looking in every direction, terrified that we’ve been surrounded. But then I see the blond hair, and I moan my relief.

“It’s Dallas,” I say, and now I’m the one leading. Dallas notices us and waves us forward, but she puts her finger to her lips. The woods are dense, and I have no idea which direction we’re even headed.

When we finally catch up with Dallas, she’s cut up, her shirt ripped and hanging off her shoulder. “Realm?” I ask out of breath. “Cas?”

“Cas ran ahead,” she says, pointing in one direction and then another, as if she’s lost. “I have no idea where Realm is. He disappeared. Damn it,” she says when there are shouts behind us. “This way.” She motions to the right and then we’re running again.

MY LEGS ARE BURNING AND
achy, and I know the minute we stop, the soles of my bare feet will be gushing blood. Just when I think we’ll never get out of the woods alive, there’s a small clearing and then pavement. I’ve never been so happy to see civilization before.

Ahead of us is the back side of a gas station, and Dallas shouts with relief after she sees Cas there, bent over and breathing heavily. As we start toward him, a van pulls around the store, and another comes from the other side. The world seems to drop out from under me, and James and I turn back to run into the woods, but it’s too late. Through the leaves we can see the white of the jackets heading in our direction, and I wrap my arms around myself, choking on a cry.

“I’m so sorry, Sloane.” James breathes out. I shut my eyes
against the grief, hearing the crunch of brush under heavy boots as the handlers get closer. Hearing Dallas screaming so loudly she begins to lose her voice. I know we have nowhere left to run.

I look up at James and reach to put my palm on his cheek. Our world is falling apart, and all our dreams of normalcy were just that: Dreams. “I love you madly,” I whisper.

His tears run down over my hand, and I rub them away before he grabs me and pulls me into a fierce hug. “I’ll come for you,” he says into my ear. “I won’t let them erase you. Wait for me, Sloane.” His voice is choked off by his cries, and I see the movement behind him. Slowly, hoping this is all a nightmare, I step out of his arms and see Dallas, a handler twisting her own arms around her like a straitjacket. The doors of a van are open, and three other handlers are walking in our direction, two emerging from the woods. They seem to all be converging on us at once, like a nightmare I would have thought too awful to be real.

The passenger door of the van opens, and I’m so overwhelmed by the situation that it takes me a minute to realize who climbs out: Arthur Pritchard, in a sharp navy suit. I have this sudden and crazy hope that this is all a plan to save us. I take a step toward him, ready to beg for our lives, when Roger walks out from the other side of the van. He actually laughs when he sees me, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. When Dallas sees him, she begins screaming—something manic and animalistic—once again.

I can’t believe Roger’s here. I can’t believe this is happening. I back into James, and across the lot the doctor slides his hands into the pockets of his suit.

“I am sorry for this, Sloane,” he says sadly. His shiny shoes make a tapping noise on the pavement as he moves closer, keeping an eye on James.

James puts his arm in front of me, slowly backing us up, and then to the side as the handlers encircle us. We could try to fight our way out, but there are so many of them. How would that end? I look back to the woods, wondering if Realm is out there somewhere, if he can see us. If he’ll save us.

“I never meant to betray you, Sloane,” the doctor says. “But I had warned you about running. Ultimately, you put your trust in the wrong people.”

I’m too devastated to fully comprehend his words, and I hold tightly to James as he tries to keep us shielded. Dallas is struggling to free herself from her handler, yelling for Cas, but our friend is just standing alone, watching her helplessly.

“They’ve come for The Treatment, Sloane,” Arthur says. “I’m so sorry.” Hurt crosses his features, and I can see his intention was never to harm us.

“Then why are you helping them?” I ask.

“I didn’t tell them you had The Treatment,” he says, “even though I knew you did. They’ve been embedded with you this entire time. I told The Program I could help procure your surrender today.” He swallows hard, glancing back at Roger, who is just starting to focus on what the doctor is saying. “But
really, I’m here to make sure you do what’s right.”

James stills, and I feel my face go cold. “And what’s that, Arthur?” I ask.

“Don’t let them get their hands on The Treatment.”

Arthur has barely gotten the words out before his entire body convulses, his yelp cut off by the vibration of the Taser wires shooting volts of electricity through his body. He drops to the ground, flopping like a fish, and I scream, horrified.

James grabs my arm and we start to run, but one of the handlers catches me around the waist and tears me away, lifting me off the ground as he backs me toward a van. There is so much screaming in all directions, and Arthur’s body looks lifeless, lying on the concrete in a heap. Cas is still standing there as two handlers wrestle James in the other direction, tearing us apart.

Before the handler holding me can set me down to properly restrain me, I kick him hard, sending myself headlong into the ground. My forehead ricochets off the cement, and for a moment I see stars. A warm rush of liquid travels down over my eye and I blink through it, wiping the blood away with my hand.

The handler is about to converge on me again. “Wait,” Cas calls out, surprising me. I’m half-dazed as I look up, seeing him slowly approach with his hands up in surrender.

“Run, Cas,” I say in a weak voice as my head spins. Now’s his chance to save himself.

Watching his approach, the handler steps back, giving me
space. James is across the parking lot with a handler on each side of him, gaping in concern and terror. As Cas gets closer, he presses his lips together, looking absolutely miserable. “I’m so sorry, Sloane,” he says.

I wipe the blood out of my eye again and slowly sit up. I hitch in a breath as it hits me, and fresh tears start to stream down my cheeks. “No,” I say, when the crushing reality settles over me. “No, Cas.”

“Just give them The Treatment,” he begs quietly, as if he’s the one who’s pained. “Give up The Treatment and they’ll let you go.”

“You son of a bitch!” James yells, renewing the guard of his handlers as they wrestle him back a few steps. “I will fucking kill you!”

Cas’s eyes weaken, but he shakes his head, determined to keep his focus on me. “Give them the pill, Sloane, and this will all be over. We’ll be able to go home again.” Tears mix with the blood on my face; I’m too stunned to speak. “We couldn’t keep running,” he adds in my silence. “My intel showed we had only a few days lead. They would have caught us, but I made a deal. The Treatment for our freedom.”

My head is spinning, and it’s not just from where I hit it. Arthur lies unconscious several feet away. Behind him, Roger watches on, a sick smile on his lips. In his expression I can see that he has absolutely no intention of letting us leave here today. I try to get to my feet but stumble to the ground again, skinning my knee and crying out in pain. I hear a scuffle
and know James is once again trying to get to me. But they’ll never let him get that close again. I sit back on the pavement and look around once more. When I find Dallas, she looks catatonic.

Her eyes are wide, unfocused; her mouth is hanging open. Her arms are still wrapped around herself as a handler restrains her, but she’s not fighting. She’s just staring at her best friend, absolutely lost in her grief. I cry for her—the only person Dallas had let herself trust again, and this is what he’s done.

Cas reads my expression and slowly, he turns to face Dallas. He tilts his head, covering his own cry at her appearance. “Let her go!” he yells out in a thick voice. “She’s not part of this. You said you only wanted the pill.”

“I’m sorry, Casanova,” Roger says, stepping over Arthur Pritchard’s unconscious body. “I’m afraid our agreement is void.” Cas swings to face him, his posture hardening. “On closer look, your friends have been deemed infected. We’ll be taking them all into custody at this time.”

“You’re not going anywhere near her, you fuck!” Cas shouts. Roger laughs, shaking his head dismissively before another handler puts his hand on Cas’s shoulder, a subtle warning to stay back.

“Oh, come now,” Roger says with a grin. “Dallas and I are old friends, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

Cas and James both start cussing at Roger, and my stomach lurches at the thought that anyone could be as sadistic as he
is. I look at Dallas and freeze. She’s lifted her gaze from Cas to Roger, her lips curling, her eyes narrowing. She’s coming back to life, but as what, I’m not sure. I don’t think she’s herself. I don’t even think she’s sane.

Roger isn’t looking at Dallas, though. He glances around at the handlers, growing impatient at the scene. “Confiscate The Treatment and grab the girls. Put him in the other van.” He motions to James. “Casanova,” he adds, turning to him. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

My head and heart are throbbing. We’ve been betrayed. Cas gave us over to The Program. How could he trust them, knowing what they’ve done to us in the past? A handler comes over to help me up, and I look across the parking lot at James, finding him already watching me. His face is wet with tears, his body slumped with failure.

We didn’t make it. Once again The Program has won, and we’re about to lose everything. James glances around the parking lot, maybe checking for one last escape, but when his gaze returns to mine, I see the hopelessness in it. His left eye has started to puff up from where he must have been hit, and I can only imagine how my blood-soaked face looks.

When I’m finally to my feet, I know our time is up. We’re not even close enough to touch, close enough to talk. “Where’s the pill?” the handler asks me, patting down my pockets. I’m alarmed by his touch, and then I remember: James has The Treatment. He seems to realize the same thing at that very moment.