Mindstormer Read online

  My mouth has gone dry, and my whole body feels strangely heavy. I keep my sweat-slick fist balled tightly around the Lucid pill, as if it might try to wriggle free.

  “Lain?” Ian says, his voice softening.

  I force a smile. “Just give me a moment.”

  I can feel a steady hum of tension from both of them, though they’re both making an effort to keep their thoughts quiet. They’re probably just as scared as I am. They’re about to open themselves to me—we’re opening to each other, all three of us—and once it begins, none of us will have any control over where we end up.

  My hands tremble slightly as I stare at the tiny pill in the center of my palm. Before I have time to lose my nerve, I drop it into my mouth and swallow it dry. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, focusing on the sound of my own breathing. Waiting.

  At first, nothing happens. I start to wonder if maybe the drug’s not going to work at all. Maybe my memories are hopelessly, irretrievably lost, and we should just forget about this whole thing and go have dinner or something. I open my mouth to ask Ian how long it usually takes for Lucid to kick in, but I realize that, strangely, I can’t remember how to speak. Steven says something, but the words are meaningless sounds—ruh ruh-uh-ruhh—dancing fuzzily through my head. I try to stand up, but vertigo slams into my brain like a fist, and I’m hurtling out of my body, up through the ceiling, into the sky. It feels like I’m strapped into a rollercoaster and the car suddenly veered off the track and into empty space.

  Stars wheel past my vision. A void opens in front of me, swallowing the world, and I careen into it. Then up and down lose all meaning, and there’s just darkness.

  Flash. I’m running along a beach in slow motion. The world is strangely luminous; a bright, hazy aura glows around everything. Glass-green waves lap the sand and break against sharp, black rocks, sending clouds of sparkling droplets and cream-colored foam into the air. I’m running after a tall, slender boy with red hair, a boy of about twelve.

  He waves to me, grinning, and then wades out into the ocean. “Wait!” I call, hanging back. “We’re not supposed to go too deep!”

  He laughs and wades deeper. “Come on, Eeeeee-yan.” He draws out my name, making it into a joke, and splashes me. “It’s just water.”

  The waves are getting bigger, frothing and angry, rising up and crashing down. The boy swims out, unafraid.

  “Malcolm!” I scream.

  He’s getting farther and farther away. A wave covers him and swallows him up, and then, very suddenly, he’s gone.

  Sobbing, panting, I fling myself into the water, then shrink back as a wave lashes me. The water is freezing, and my teeth chatter. I stand on the shore, toes buried in wet sand. My brother is nowhere to be seen.

  My body doesn’t want to move. Fear tries to glue me to the shore, but I pull free, throw myself into the water and paddle out after him. The waves grow larger and larger, rearing over me, then slapping me down like huge hands. I gulp in air, paddling frantically to keep my head above the salty foam. I no longer know which way the shore is. There’s just water stretching in every direction toward a misty horizon. Then a current grabs me and yanks me under, and I’m surrounded by cold darkness. It presses against my eyes and into my nose, thick and smothering, pulling me down and down. The light dwindles above me into nothingness, and there’s only the still, dark ocean. I can’t hold my breath anymore. My mouth opens, air escapes in a cloud of bubbles, and water rushes in. I gasp…

  And suddenly, inexplicably, I’m breathing, pushing water in and out of my lungs like it’s air. The crushing pressure in my chest vanishes. I open my eyes, but it’s no longer dark. The water has changed—or maybe my eyes have. I’m in a dim, glass-like, sleepy green world. I can see the ripples of sand a few yards beneath my feet—can see, ahead, the place where the continental shelf drops off into the deep and endless valley of the ocean floor. But Malcolm is nowhere to be seen. Panic lashes through me.

  Then a voice echoes in my ears, muffled and distorted by the water. Come on, Doc. Focus.

  I start to swim, my body cutting like a knife through the water. There’s something buried in the ocean floor ahead—the curve of a huge black orb, nearly ten feet across, protruding a few feet above the sandy bottom. I swim deeper, toward it, breathing in the water, until I’m hovering directly over the orb. I can see my fuzzy reflection in its surface, the pale lines of my body. Somewhere along the way, I must have lost my swim trunks. Then I swim closer.

  I’m not Ian anymore. I’m Lain.

  I place my hands against the cool, smooth surface of the orb. My reflection stares out at me, wide-eyed, and I realize suddenly that it’s not a reflection, but another girl, one who looks just like me. She’s trapped in there, pounding her fist against the inside and shouting, mouthing words, but I can’t make them out; her voice is swallowed up in the silence of the ocean. I push sand away from the orb, trying to uncover it. I press my hands against the glossy smoothness… and then my hands sink through it, into the orb. The girl grabs my wrist and yanks me in, and the blackness engulfs me.

  A dizzying terror grips me. My heartbeat is racing out of control. Oh God. I’m not ready for this. Help me. Someone help me.

  But it’s too late to turn back. I’m flying through a tunnel of fragmented images, a thousand voices and faces, and there’s nothing I can do but ride the wave.

  A girl lies dead at my feet, her hair stained with blood. The sky erupts above me, filled with fire and smoke.

  A man in a wheelchair sits across from me, staring at me with cool gray eyes, slender fingers touching my cheek. Remember this, Lain, he whispers urgently. You have to remember. The soul of humankind is at stake.

  ‌

  ‌Part II

  Citadel

  Three months earlier

  ‌

  7

  Birdsong filters through the layer of fog in my head, pulling me toward a distant light. The drone of a car’s engine vibrates in my bones.

  The car hits a bump, jolting me from my half-doze. I sit up, pushing loose strands of hair from my face, and wipe a bit of drool from my lower lip.

  Outside the window, the sun’s hazy golden glow seeps through the pine branches. It’s late afternoon, approaching evening. Steven’s fingers are locked in their usual death-grip on the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white, pale blue eyes focused on the road ahead. “You were dreaming, weren’t you?”

  “Sort of.” A dry, stale taste fills my mouth. I grimace and take a swig from the bottle of water in the cup holder. “You could tell?”

  “You were sleep-talking. Wasn’t sure if I should wake you. You seemed to need the rest.”

  I’ve managed to grab a few meager handfuls of sleep since we left the safe house, but I’m too tense for more than that. My head aches, and my eyes are filled with sand. I feel like we’ve been driving for eons, though it’s been less than two days.

  Two days since we started fleeing for the border. Two days since I officially became a traitor to my country. Or am I a hero? I don’t know. I told the truth—that’s all I’m sure of. Anxiety flutters inside me, and I walk through my identity affirmation exercises. My name is Lain Fisher. I’m eighteen years old. I’m a Mindwalker. Former Mindwalker.

  Does “wanted criminal” qualify as an occupation?

  The car bumps and jolts over potholes in the narrow road. Ahead, a bright orange sign glares at us: IT IS UNLAWFUL AND DANGEROUS TO PASS BEYOND THIS POINT. I sit up straighter. “We’re almost there.”

  The road won’t take us all the way to the Canadian border, but it should bring us close enough that we can hike the rest of the way. The real problem will be getting past the fence.

  His eyes move back and forth, scanning our surroundings. “Is it just me, or does this seem way too easy? I mean, shouldn’t IFEN have a search party on our tail by now?”

  I chew on the mouth of the plastic water bottle. “Well, we don’t have a GPS or cell phones, so they have no way to track
us. And even if they’re searching for us by satellite camera, they don’t know what sort of car we’re driving.”

  “Yeah. Well. They’ve got ways of finding people.”

  He’s right. This is too easy, and it makes me nervous. I feel like a trap is about to spring shut at any moment. But there’s nothing we can do except keep moving forward.

  The road dwindles to little more than a dirt path, overgrown with patches of weeds. Gravel crunches under our tires. Trees tower over us, blocking out most of the sky.

  Steven stops the car. I unfasten my seat belt and open the door. Ahead, the road ends; a rusted iron chain hangs between two cement poles, blocking the way. Beyond lies more forest. The pine trees are thin here, standing a respectful distance apart. Not much cover. “Well,” he says, “I guess we’re walking from here.”

  We get out. A breeze ruffles my hair, and my hand drifts up to touch the loose strands. I cut it short after it was singed by the blast from the explosion back in IFEN headquarters. My head still feels strangely light and naked without the extra weight.

  I knew that we’d have to leave our vehicle behind. There are only a few roads running across the border, and those are heavily guarded, so there’s no chance of getting through by car. We’ll be less conspicuous on foot, anyway. There’s still a risk of being caught by a patrol, but they can’t monitor the entire border twenty-four hours a day, so we’ll just have to hope they don’t catch us.

  I don’t like relying on luck. I feel like I’ve already used up my supply. But we don’t have much choice.

  “Let’s get the stuff,” Steven says.

  There are two packs in the backseat, and inside, a few days’ worth of bottled water, trail mix, and protein bars, along with a first-aid kit and even a small box of toiletries. I sling one pack onto my back and tighten the straps, then freeze as a thought flashes through my head. “My Gate.” The slender hard drive is now sitting in the trunk of the car, wrapped in a blanket, along with the two helmets. It could conceivably fit in a backpack, but it would be extra weight for us to carry. It would slow us down. “Maybe I should leave it here.”

  “Take it,” Steven says.

  “But—”

  “It’s yours,” he says. “I can carry the food and water. Take it.”

  I hesitate.

  That Gate belonged to Father, then fell to me after his death. It’s the only tangible connection I have to him now. Everything else—the house, my possessions, even my holoavatar, Chloe—are gone, taken from me by Dr. Swan. Not to mention, it seems ungrateful to leave the Gate behind, since Ian went to the trouble of finding it for me. But at this point, what would I use it for? I’m not a Mindwalker anymore. “It’s really not necessary.”

  “I know you, Doc.” His voice softens on the old nickname. “If we leave it behind, you’ll regret it.”

  “If you say so.” Secretly relieved, I open the trunk, take out the blanket-wrapped bundle, and wrestle it into my backpack. The straps dig into my shoulders; I can feel the Gate’s weight pulling on them. The helmets are too bulky to fit in my pack, so I knot the chinstraps together and then tie them to the loop at the top. “You’re really okay with carrying all the supplies? It’s not too much?”

  “Give me some credit. I know I’m scrawny, but my arms aren’t gonna fall off.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. “You aren’t scrawny. You’re svelte.”

  He snorts, though he’s smiling, too.

  We start walking. Dead leaves rustle under our feet. Overhead, late-afternoon sunlight filters through the pine branches and drenches the forest in sepia tones. “So,” I say, “once we reach the fence, someone named Lynx is supposed to find us.” We’ve already gone over this, but I feel the need to keep talking. The silence and stillness is oppressive. “And this person will help us across the border and take us to a safe place.”

  “That’s the plan.” He squints against the sunlight. “Though I don’t like relying on some random stranger to get us across. I mean, what if she doesn’t show up?”

  “She will. Ian said he’d arrange it all. He wouldn’t let us down.”

  Steven makes a noncommittal sound.

  A squirrel perches on a branch overhead, shaking its tail and scolding us. Chk-chk-chk. I think of Nutter, the plush squirrel back in my bedroom, and suddenly wish I’d brought him with me. Silly. I adjust the straps of my pack. The dangling helmets bounce lightly with each step. My shoulders are already starting to get sore.

  “Are you okay with this?” Steven asks suddenly.

  “With what?”

  “This. Everything.” His expression is unreadable. “Once we cross that fence, we can’t go back.”

  There’s an invisible rope around my throat, pulling tight, making it hard to swallow. I keep walking, planting one foot ahead of the other. “It’s already too late to go back. I made my choice when I uploaded my memories to the Net. I knew what the consequences would be. What’s the point of second-guessing ourselves now?”

  “No point. Just curious, I guess. If you could rewind your life, do everything over, would you make the same choices?”

  For a few seconds, I look away and focus on breathing. If my decision plunges our country into a new civil war, will it still be worth it?

  Father chose to entrust me with the dark truth about the St. Mary’s experiments and the origins of Mindwalking. He must have believed that I would make the right choice, which—in some odd, roundabout way—probably means that I did. At least I hope so. Or maybe, sometimes, there is no right choice. Just different shades of gray.

  Steven’s expression is carefully blank, but I can see a faint shadow of uncertainty lurking in his eyes.

  “I’ve already made my decision, and that decision is part of who I am now,” I say. “There’s no going back.”

  “Yeah.” He doesn’t sound reassured.

  “Steven…” I stop and place a hand on his shoulder. He tenses, caught off guard. “I’m not going to leave you. Not ever. Okay?”

  He looks up, his gaze meeting mine. His eyes turn different colors depending on the lighting. In shadow, they’re a murky blue-gray. Now, in direct sunlight, they’re a clear, pure blue—almost luminous, like stained glass lit from behind. “Promise?” He smiles, like it’s a joke, but his voice catches a little, like cloth snagging on a thorn.

  I hold up the little finger of my right hand, put on a solemn expression, and say, “Pinkie-swear.”

  He bursts out laughing. “You’re such a dork.” But he hooks his pinkie through mine, and a subtle tension eases out of his shoulders. His gaze flits over my face again, focusing briefly on my lips, then shifts away.

  He hasn’t kissed me since we left the safe house. I think he’s waiting for me to make a move. He knows that I’ve been through a lot in the past week. I’ve lost the future I planned for myself, and Dr. Swan—my legal guardian, a man I trusted—turned out to be a cold-blooded monster who experimented on children and tried to mindwipe Steven. Romance hasn’t exactly been my biggest priority. But now, I find myself remembering the warmth of his lips, the smell and taste of him.

  If I start kissing him now, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop, and it would be pretty ridiculous to get shot by a border patrol because we were too busy lip-locking to hear them coming. So I link my arms around him and settle for giving him a long kiss on the cheek. His ears turn pink. On impulse, I put my lips against one and whisper, “I can’t wait till we’re in Canada.”

  He draws in a slow, unsteady breath and closes his eyes, as if struggling for control. “Yeah.” His voice is low and huskier than usual. I can see his pulse beating in his throat. When he opens his eyes again, his pupils are dilated under his pale eyelashes, two dark pools ringed with blue. We start to lean toward each other.

  Abruptly, his muscles go rigid against me. His head snaps to one side, and he stares into the forest.

  I blink, disoriented. “What—”

  “Shh.”

  I hold my breath, listenin
g, but I can’t hear anything.

  Behind us, a twig snaps. I give a start, and we both spin around to face the forest. A few heartbeats of silence pass. Then a plump raccoon waddles out from behind a tree. It stops to peer at us, its eyes shining coins of reflected light, and scuttles away, vanishing into the underbrush. We exhale as one, and I smile, feeling a little silly. “They’re funny little creatures, aren’t they? They look like they’re wearing party masks.”

  “I was just thinking they look like insomniacs.”

  “You could say that.” God knows Steven and I are both sporting those dark circles lately. Just give us a pair of stripy tails and we’d fit right in with the other forest dwellers.

  The moment has passed; it’s as if the universe has given us a nudge, reminding us that we’re not safe until we’re outside the country. And probably, we won’t even be safe then. We can’t let down our guard. We keep walking.

  After a few minutes, he takes off his pack and rummages through it. “Hungry?”

  “Very.”

  He tosses a protein bar to me, then unwraps one for himself. The bar is dry and dissolves into tasteless, pulpy grit when I chew it, but it takes the edge off my hunger.

  Steven grimaces and swallows. “Man, what I wouldn’t give for a chili cheese dog and some black coffee.”

  “The way you eat, I’m amazed your heart hasn’t stopped yet.” I immediately regret the words; I’ve come too close to losing him too many times.

  But he just glances at me from the corner of his eye and says, “Me too.” He takes off his shoe and shakes out a rock. Then he freezes, looking over his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Steven slides his shoe back on and keeps walking, head down, shoulders stiff. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his long black coat. “I keep getting the feeling that someone’s watching us.”