Robison Wells - Blackout

Alec stood and crept toward the door on bruised legs.

The woman’s voice shook with Parkinson’s. “I’ve seen the news. If we took the boy to the hospital then you would have taken him away.”

She’d been easy to play. Her mind was so decrepit as it was that he hardly had to try to implant new memories—memories of her husband driving the old 1970s Chevy Impala into town and hitting Alec as he was crossing the street. Memories of Alec being a boy she knew—a grandson of a neighbor. That was all it took. People in this little town—even ancient people like Mr. and Mrs. Lyon—had no love for the government, and the thought that the army was stealing kids was abhorrent. And so the old couple had taken him in, treated his injuries as best they could, and let him sleep.

After a twenty-five-mile hike out of the mountains, with at least one arm broken from the avalanche and a hundred black bruises, all Alec wanted to do was sleep. He didn’t know how long he had been out, or how his arm had ended up in a bandage.

That was probably what did him in, though. Mrs. Lyon would have been too trusting, too concerned. She would have sought help and that’s how the police found out.

Alec looked at the window, with its heavy wooden frame and its thick leaded glass. There was no way he could open it with one hand.

Dan had been too reckless. Laura had abandoned him. Alec had saved their asses a hundred times and they just let him get caught in the avalanche. Left him to die, buried up to his waist, one arm broken and the other smashed.

“Please tell me where the boy is,” the young man said.

Think of a story. Think of a story.

But his mind was too blurred. There wouldn’t be any getting out of this. Alec cursed himself. He’d snuck into the bathroom less than an hour before and found an old bottle of narcotic painkillers. Two Lortab to take away the excruciating pain.

And now his mind was so muddled, so numb, that he couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t implant a memory. He wondered if he could even speak coherently.

He sat back on the bed.

“Mrs. Lyon,” the man said, his voice more firm. “Please tell me where the boy is. I have half the guys from Castle Dale surrounding the house. We have orders from the army.”

Alec couldn’t fight; he couldn’t use his mental abilities. He could barely stand.

Laura and Dan were as good as dead. Traitors. If Alec ever made it out of this house alive, Laura and Dan would pay.

“He’s badly injured,” Mrs. Lyon said, her voice quivering. “My Parley—he just can’t see as well as he used to, and he didn’t mean to hit the boy.”

“Is he back here?”

There were heavy footsteps on the wooden floor, and the door was pushed open fast and deliberately.

Whether there was a gun pointed at him, Alec had no idea—all he could see was the blinding bulb of a flashlight as it passed back and forth across the room.

Alec couldn’t even raise an arm to block the beam.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Alec Moore.”

“I heard you had a nasty accident.”

Alec just nodded his head.

“What were you doing out on the road?”

“Hitchhiking,” Alec said, repeating the same story he’d told Mrs. Lyon. “Trying to get up north.”

“Well,” the man said, turning off his flashlight and revealing himself to be a stocky man with a goatee and a deputy uniform. “We’ve got orders to take you up to Price—there’s a quarantine on. But I think we’ll make a pit stop at the clinic and see if we can’t get you patched up.”

Alec nodded again. He knew there were things he needed to do—stories he needed to create and memories to manipulate to get himself through the quarantine. But it would have to wait until the drugs had worn off.

“Can you walk?” the deputy asked.

“A little.”

“I’ll bring in some of my guys. Don’t worry. We’ll get you taken care of.”

AUBREY’S EYES BURNED, AND SHEdidn’t bother to wipe away the tears that were dripping down her flushed cheeks as the armored transport sped away from Jack and the other Positives. Something had failed, something had gone wrong. She’d changed her own test results—had someone changed Jack’s?

None of the other teens in the transport said anything. Kara, the girl who had been picked just before Aubrey, sat directly across from her, their knees almost touching. Kara’s hands were clasped in her lap, and she looked relieved and happy. Aubrey wished that she could feel the same way. It’s how she should have felt, how she’d expected to feel if she was declared Negative.

There were seven other teens, and they all shared Kara’s look of joy.

But maybe they were too relieved. What if everything was backward? Maybe the army told the Positives that they were actually Negative, so that they wouldn’t try to fight and escape? Right now Jack could be on his way back home, and Aubrey and Kara were headed to prison—or worse.

“Are you okay?” someone asked.

Aubrey looked to her left. A boy—probably three or four years younger than Aubrey—was watching her.

She shook her head.

“We’re safe,” he said. His face, still round and babyish, was shining with optimism. “My sister told me back there: if we’re Negatives, we get to go home.”

Kara jumped in, giving Aubrey a reassuring look. “Soon, I’m sure. Maybe not today.”

“My sister told me that they couldn’t keep us here long,” the boy continued. “She said it’s illegal.”

Another girl, who Aubrey recognized from the warehouse, laughed. “It was illegal to kidnap us in the first place. Why would they start following the laws now?”

The truck came to a stop, and there was a long, uncomfortable pause before the back hatch opened and sunlight poured into the vehicle, followed by a gust of wind and sand.

A soldier stood in the hatchway, his hands on his hips. Aubrey knew almost nothing about the military, but could tell that this man wasn’t a normal infantryman. He didn’t wear a helmet—he had a camouflage cap—and his jacket had quite a few more patches and markings than most of the soldiers’ she’d seen.

He took a step closer to the vehicle and rested his hand on the door. He spoke, but his words sounded memorized, and he looked bored—almost annoyed. “All of your test results have come back negative, and the United States Army, on behalf of your country, extends its gratitude that you’ve been willing to submit to these procedures. I’m sure you have questions, and I can promise you that they will all be answered. But first, we need to get you through decontamination.”

The young boy spoke up, looking concerned. “What’s that?”

“You’ve all been in close proximity to people who have a serious illness. You need to be disinfected before you go any farther.”

The boy said something else, but the man talked over him. “Now, if you’ll all exit the vehicle, we’ll get this taken care of quickly and easily.”

The nine teens carefully filed out of the armored transport, ducking their heads as the ceiling was too low for all but the boy to stand. Aubrey was the second-to-last out, followed by Kara.

They were standing in front of another long chain-link fence topped with razor wire. On the other side, stretching out for what seemed like miles, was an endless row of enormous canvas tents, desert camouflage and buffeted by the wind.

Just like at the warehouse, the fence was guarded with watchtowers.

Aubrey touched Kara’s arm and whispered, “It doesn’t seem like they’re sending us home.”

Kara frowned, and brushed her long blonde hair from her face. She looked sick. “I’m sure it’s just temporary.”