The Rising
Page 28

“No, but we’re looking for them,” Antone said. “Even harder than we’re looking for your brother. For a very good reason. There was . . . an accident.”
Nast spoke up. “Your Daniel got himself hit by a car running from the park.”
“Wh-what?”
Antone glowered at Nast again. “Could I please speak to my daughter in private, sir?”
“No, because you’ll sugarcoat it for her so she doesn’t get sad and cry. We have got a very valuable asset out there—”
“Asset?” I said. “Daniel is not an asset. We’re not assets. We’re kids. Living, thinking, feeling—”
“That’s enough, Maya,” Antone murmured. Then to Nast, “This isn’t your area of expertise, sir. I’m sorry if I’m not being properly grateful that the Cabal sent you, but I requested Sean Nast. He—”
“Sean is a boy, whatever his grandfather thinks, and he knows nothing of this project. Even Thomas realizes there are things his so-called heir can’t stomach. This operation would be one of them.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “So this Sean guy would have a problem with hunting teens like animals? Huh. Can’t imagine why.”
“Your concern for your friend seems to have faded very quickly, young lady,” Nast said.
“Because I believed you for about five seconds before I realized you were full of crap. Daniel’s not careless enough to run in front of a car. You picked the person I’m closest to and told me he was hurt. Terribly hurt, I’m sure, which is why I need to help you find him.”
“Daniel was hit, Maya,” Antone said, his voice low. “It wasn’t his fault. He was running across an intersection to escape security officers and a car full of teens ignored a stop sign.”
I shook my head. “Don’t waste your breath. I know—”
Nast walked over and slapped a photo on the bed.
Antone grabbed for it. “She doesn’t need to see—”
Nast stopped him. “I think she does. These are photos taken by a traffic camera, Maya.”
I stared at the photos and my gut twisted, until I had to close my eyes and force the nausea back. Then I opened them for another look.
The first photo was taken at the moment when Daniel saw the car coming. The moment when he realized they wouldn’t get out of the way in time. He was lunging to knock Corey aside. Terror on both their faces.
The second photo. The car stopped. Teenage driver getting out. Corey running back from the curb. His expression. Oh God, his expression. Daniel. Lying on the road. Sprawled like a rag doll.
Nast slapped down a third. Daniel was on his feet now. Corey holding him up. Daniel’s face was bloodied, his clothes ripped. One leg dragged. A bystander raced toward them, gesturing. The car full of kids was gone.
“Someone called an ambulance,” Antone said, his tone still hushed. “But they got a ride with that woman”—he pointed to the bystander—“instead. The security officers thought they were just resting in her car. Then it drove off. They got the license number and we’ve tracked down the woman. She drove them to the hospital, but they vanished while she was speaking to an emergency room nurse.”
Antone moved closer. “I know you don’t want to believe us, but we are extremely concerned about Daniel. We have no idea how badly he was injured. There’s a strong likelihood of internal injury. We need to find him.”
I shook my head. Dazed. Numb.
“What proof do you need, Maya? Tell me and I’ll get it. I can take you to the woman who picked them up. To the hospital where a nurse spotted them before they ran away.”
“It-it’s not that. I-I don’t know where to find them. We got separated at the memorial and we didn’t have any contingency plan for that. Ash and I were just waiting until it was late so we could go back to the memorial site, in case they returned.”
Not completely true. Yes, we had no plan. Yes, I couldn’t contact them. But I did know where they’d go if they could—our spot in Stanley Park.
I would not tell Antone that. I didn’t trust him; I did trust Daniel. And maybe even more important, I trusted Corey. If Daniel was too badly injured to make decisions on his own, Corey would get him to a hospital, whatever the risk. He wouldn’t let Daniel—
I doubled over, stomach clenching again. When Antone passed me the bowl, I clutched the cool metal and leaned over it.
“That’s called stress, young lady,” Nast said. “And guilt.”
“No,” I said. “It’s called a double-dose of tranquilizers. You made me sick.”
“You made yourself sick by forcing us to tranquilize you. Just like your friend Daniel may have gotten himself killed—”
I flew at Nast. Just flew at him, howling, nails slashing like claws, raking down his cheek as he fell back, me on top of him. I dimly heard Antone shouting. Dimly felt him pulling at me. Dimly felt a surge of panic, something deep within me telling me to stop, stop now. But rage filled me, the smell of Nast’s blood filled me, feeding the rage—
Antone pinned me to the floor and it was like a switch snapped off. I lay there, dazed.
“Maya?” he said.
“Wh-what . . . ?”
I looked up to see Nast swiping a handkerchief across his cheek. Deep furrows oozed blood. I looked down at my hand to see skin under my nails. I knew I’d scratched him. I remembered doing it. But I still stared at that skin, unbelieving, and then . . .
Shame. I felt shame.
As Antone released me, I pushed him away, ran to the bowl on the bed, and threw up. As I retched, he patted my back and told me it would be okay.
“No,” Nast said. “It will not be okay. It’s starting. She’s had her first shift and now she’s beginning to revert. Just like Annabella.”
Annabella?
Annie. He meant Annie.
I clutched the bowl and retched again.
“This isn’t like Annabella,” Antone said. “Maya’s still woozy and confused from the drugs. You just showed her photos of her best friend being hit by a car. You suggested he’s dead. Combine that with everything she’s gone through and she overreacted. That’s all.”
“No, she’s reverting. This isn’t like Annabella because your daughter isn’t like Annabella. Those scientists predicted that the effects of the reversion would depend on the base personality. According to Annabella’s brother, she was a sweet, quiet girl. Your daughter is not.”