SEVENTEEN #2
Fletcher studies me with those sharp blue eyes. Xeon says nothing. And Ewan opens his mouth as if a joke is readying itself to save him, then he closes it again like even he knows there are some rooms humor shouldn’t kick down the door to.
“I know how to move through streets,” I say emotionlessly. “I know where Zeds gather after noise. I know which buildings connect, which drains are big enough to crawl through, which roofs can hold my weight, and which don’t. You know your compound. I know out there.”
Fletcher nods once. “I believe you.”
That stops me in my tracks. I was gearing up for an argument, dismissal, some Alpha-flavored shit about teeny tiny survivors and big, bad, strong men with guns. Absolutely nothing could have prepared me for belief.
Fucking rude, if you ask me.
“But out there changed last night,” he continues. “Vector changed it.”
The name glides through the room very much like a blade dragging across bone.
Vector. My fingers tighten around my knife before I can stop them.
Kaito sees it. Xeon does too. Probably all of them, because this room is apparently full of people with eyes like hawks and absolutely no respect for privacy.
“Vector isn’t my problem,” I mutter.
It’s another lie, because it seems I’m collecting them like the apocalypse version of Pokemon cards.
Before anyone can call me on it, the pilot groans from the floor.
Xeon’s focus turns to him instantly, crouching beside him as he says, “Hey. Stay with me.”
The guy’s head rolls to the side, his face gray under the grime. His lips are cracked, lashes clumped together with sweat, and one hand claws weakly against the floor.
“Easy,” Xeon murmurs.
The pilot’s eyes slit open and for one terrible second, I think he’s looking at me. Not at Xeon, or Fletcher, but me. His gaze is unfocused, warped with fever, but something about it slithers uncomfortably down my spine.
“Cargo,” he rasps, and the room goes absolutely still.
Fletcher takes a step closer and asks, “What cargo?”
The pilot’s fingers twitch as he rasps quietly. “Took… took the case.”
“What case?” Scar pushes.
The pilot’s lips move, but no sound comes out of him, so Xeon leans in and instructs, “Take a breath first, then try speaking.”
A wet, broken sound that might have been a laugh if laughter took a trip through a grinder first comes out of the pilot’s mouth. “No time.”
“Try,” Xeon encourages gently.
The pilot swallows harshly and a weird click sounds in his throat before he tries again. “Vector… hit us… knew route...”
Fletcher’s face hardens suddenly. Ewan practically becomes a statue near the vent. Kaito’s gaze stays on the pilot while his body subtly angles toward me. Again. Between me and whatever might come next.
The pilot’s eyes drift, rolling for a second before locking back onto nothing. His words are quieter when he speaks next. “Cargo wasn’t… supplies.”
My stomach turns. Of course it wasn’t. Why the hell would anything be food, medicine, batteries, or even a sad little packet of cookies crushed by fate and poor packaging?
No. Of course the helicopter had to be carrying something with a dramatic plot twist. The universe saw a crash and said, “This but with a sprinkle more emotional damage, thanks.”
“What was it?” Fletcher asks.
“Drives. Samples. Research,” the pilot says, mouth trembling.
I’m, however, frozen where I stand. A faint ringing has appeared in my ears.
No. Nope. Absolutely not.
I know the exact shape, color, sound, and weight of those words.
Research.
Samples.
Cargo.
Vector.
The world narrows down to the small rise and fall of the pilot’s chest, and Xeon’s hand presses harder to the bandage. “Research for what?”
The pilot’s lashes flutter, and his voice grows fainter as he whispers, “NO… VAC…”
Every drop of blood within me turns to ice.
NOVAC.
The word hits me with the force of a wrecking ball, aiming and colliding with all of the old places in my memory.
Dad hunched over notes on the kitchen table, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes.
Mom’s scent turning sour with grief, honey curdled into something frantic and completely wrong.
Maine telling me I needed the Omega shit every month.
White eyes in the bathroom.
Jaws snapping.
A noose groaning from the shower rail.
Six years of Zeds. Six years of blockers. Six years of hiding the one thing NOVAC made too dangerous to be.
My hand instinctively moves to Maine’s hat under my jacket, even though I don’t remember telling it to move.
The pilot sucks in one shallow breath, forcing out, “O’R…”
And everything inside me stops.
No.
My vision tunnels.
“O’R?” Fletcher repeats sharply. “O’R what?”
But the pilot’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he falls completely limp in the next breath, Xeon catching him before he falls sideways onto the floor. He curses softly, lowering him flat, and says, “He’s out.”
“No,” I rasp, shaking my head. It comes out too fast. Too loud in the suddenly quiet room, and all four Alphas turn to look at me. I hate them for it, but I hate myself more.
I force my hand away from the hat, but my fingers have already curled into the fabric. My heartbeat is thundering loudly. Too loud. My scent is probably louder, sweet fear splitting under my skin, sharp enough to taste through my own bandana.
Kaito’s eyes find mine and that one look tells me everything.
He knows. Maybe not all of it, but he knows enough. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“What does O’R mean?” Fletcher asks.
“Could be anything,” I answer, but my voice has grown rough. Wrong.
Ewan’s gaze flicks from me to the pilot, and then back to me. “Didn’t sound like just anything.”
“I don’t remember asking you, did I?” I snap.
“No,” he answers easily. “But I have a history of struggling with waiting to be invited.”
“Then how about you start now?” I order sharply, and his mouth shuts with a snap.
Xeon watches me carefully through it all before he carefully asks, “Do you know what he meant?”
“No,” I answer shortly.
It’s a lie. A tiny one this time. A panicked little rat of a lie, racing around the room looking for somewhere safe to hide.
NOVAC.
O’R.
O’Reilly.
Dad.
No. No.
It could literally mean anything. There’s probably loads of words that start with O’R, right?
Like, I don’t know, oranges? Oregano. Ornamental pigeons.
Maybe the helicopter was carrying very important and detrimental research on decorative sky vermin and I’m just overreacting because trauma seems to have turned my brain into wet cardboard with knives stapled to it.
That seems perfectly reasonable.
I notice Fletcher studying me for a beat too long, so I lift my knife. “Stop doing that with your face.”
His eyebrows pinch slightly. “What face?”
“Oh, please,” I mutter. “The one where you pretend you’re not interrogating me with your cheekbones.”
Ewan makes a small strangled sound, and Xeon looks down at the pilot like he’s kindly pretending he didn’t hear that. Kaito, the bastard, almost smiles. Almost.
Fletcher exhales. “Whatever that cargo is, Vector wanted it badly enough to shoot down a helicopter for it.”
“And now they have a part of it,” Xeon says.
“Which means they’re going to want the rest of it,” Ewan adds. “And possibly anyone who knows what was onboard. Lovely little group.”
Fletcher looks at me. “You still want to walk out alone?”
“Yes,” I say, the word slipping out of my mouth automatically.
Only, I ruin my own stupid, shit-sucking life by not even moving. I literally don’t move an inch. The door is right there. I could leave. I could duck past Fletcher, make for the hatch, and I could vanish through the first crack in the world and never once look back.
NOVAC.
O’R.
Research samples.
My father’s ghost has apparently decided to crawl out of the dirt, only to point directly at a helicopter crash. Great. Fantastic. Really loving this whole family reunion bullshit energy.
Kaito finally stands, slowly and carefully.
One hand presses against the wall, not because he’s trying to look non-threatening, but because he’s still hurt and too proud to admit gravity is currently negotiating with him.
He doesn’t come closer, though he might as well when he quietly says, “Dakota.”
My name cuts through the room with a slash so brutal that I’m convinced you’ll find me bleeding all over the floor. The other three grow impossibly still. Shit the fucking bed.
I actually see the moment Fletcher hears it.
The tiny tightening around his eyes. I catch the way Xeon’s gaze shifts, not surprised exactly, but as if something has been confirmed for him.
Ewan’s face flickers with interest, concern, and the rapid knowledge that this isn't a thing to joke about unless he wants me to remove his tongue and use it as a bookmark.
Slowly, I turn on Kaito.
His face tightens, telling me more than words could that he’s made a blooper. A pretty fucking big one, too. Good. I let him sit in it.
“I’m sorry,” he says without excuses, no scrambling to cover his mistake, just an apology. And that seems to annoy me even more.
Fletcher’s gaze moves from Kaito to me before finally asking, “Dakota?”
“No,” I bluntly reply.
Ewan blinks. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think that’s how names usually work.”
“Yours does now,” I mutter, pointing my knife at him.
He nods once and pulls a face. “Yep. Valid.”
Xeon’s voice is soft when he says, “We don’t have to use it.”
That draws my gaze to him, the honesty tugging my eyes to him like a magnet. He means it. The idiot actually means it, and something in my throat moves dangerously, so I crush it under sarcasm where it belongs. “That’s very generous. I’ll alert the town’s bellman.”
“Sad news. There’s no town bellman,” Ewan says. “Budget cuts.”
I hate that my mouth almost twitches at that. It doesn’t, but the almost is enough to piss me off.
Fletcher doesn’t say anything about my name. Nothing about Kaito knowing it. And nothing about what I might or might not be. His restraint is actually irritating enough that I want to peel paint with my teeth.