Activated, p.24
Activated, page 24
“I told you. That wasn’t me,” I stare hard at him. “I was looking for the person who did it. He’s still out there.”
The cords on my wrists are almost loose. But if my plan is going to work, I’ll need an open window. I tighten my jaw, embarrassed at what I have to do, but I suck it up and moan loudly with discomfort.
“Cosa é successo? What now?” The blond man with a blue hat snaps towards me.
“I’m sorry, but can you crack the window? I get carsick. The fresh air will help.” My smile is pathetic. They erupt into frustrated Italian mumbling, but they crack the driver’s window slightly—a half-inch. Just enough. “Grazie.”
Now I need to get them talking.
“What do you want with me?” We’re heading northwest, nearly three miles off course. The map in my head is recalculating. Once we reach the top of the hill, I need to be ready. But my drones aren’t back online yet.
“We have just a few questions for you, then we’ll let you go…after the big event.” They snicker. They don’t plan on letting me go. The same as Noble or the missing scientists. Now for the shock factor.
“Palermo won’t succeed,” I say, working out the cords behind my back.
The big one leans over, a scowl on his face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My next statement is a risk, but I have to take it. I felt it during the banquet, and definitely after talking with Cesare. I have to test my theory. “Scale Tech belongs to Cesare Di Susa.”
They stiffen, turning their heads. Even in their body language you can tell there is a chain of command, and Cesare’s name causes fear.
“You know Cesare?” one of them asks.
I nod. “He’s coming for you. Calling the loyal to return. What happened to the Dome back there was only a taste of what he can do. Only those on his side will avoid the coming bloodshed. Return me to him, and I’ll guarantee your safety.”
The heavy-set guy in the passenger seat cranes his head back and laughs nervously. “Cesare’s legacy died long ago.” But he can’t hide the shiver moving through him. They all shift in their seats, nervous expressions on their faces.
The driver gets on his phone and starts blabbering the news in Italian to someone. Let the news spread. The war is coming to them, no matter what. This way, Cesare might have some turn back to him.
My internal clock is ticking along with the internal GPS inside me. We’ll pass one of the largest frozen lakes in approximately three minutes. My hands work free of the cords binding my wrists, and I pull off my cuff.
I count down. Two minutes until my drones should be back online. The snowcat climbs up a hill and my body tenses.
One minute to go but still nothing from my drones. Come on, I inwardly scream.
Thankfully, the men suspect nothing. In their eyes, I’m their hostage. But they’re wrong. This time, I don’t feel bad about what I have to do. The frequency in my drones zings to life as they power up. Finally. Operation short-circuit number two is a go.
The men are too busy conversing about Cesare in Italian to care about me anymore. I turn my head, chin in my shoulder and speak softly in Chinese. I tell K2 to upload the engine diagram for a snowcat into the drones, then program three tasers to target the fuse box, the main computer chip, and the starter cable. If the taser hits any of those areas where the electrical current is strongest, it will short-circuit the vehicle. That will leave me with four drones and one high risk of freezing to death out in the elements.
I peer out the window. The hill is covered in fresh snow, four to five inches at least, which will be my salvation. Kai has done this kind of roll before—the numerical diagrams are programmed inside me. Like the punching bag in my garage, I’m relying on my body to obey the mathematical example in my head to execute it. If I can do it well, I should avoid injury, depending on how I land. Knowing this only makes it slightly less frightening. And I can’t factor how much it will hurt.
Time’s up. Here goes.
Three.
Two.
One.
The drones break away from my bracelet and dart out the crack of the window, zooming under the snowcat. Two seconds later, an electrical pop makes the vehicle go berserk. The radio blares. The lights go out. The door locks snap open, and the snow cat rumbles to a stop. The men all start yelling.
I waste no time. I slam open the back door of the cab. Knowing the numbers involved doesn’t make it much easier.
It’s all downhill from here.
I don’t think. I jump.
Chapter 51
SLAM!
MY SHOULDER HITS the snow with a thud, and I tuck into a roll I’ve watched Kai do many times. Snow splatters onto my face and my body tumbles two…four…five times downhill. Gravity carries me down. I hold tight to the pattern in my head, my back and shoulder smashing into the hill and other debris. The depth of the snow provides a forgiving cushion—but still, pain courses through me. I’ll have some nice bruises to match my bloody face.
After I stop rolling, I carefully stand, dizzy again. Numbers, like a lasso, pull me back to my center. The world becomes clearer—32 trees and roughly 250 feet between me and the snowcat. Numbers stretch from my heart rate and breathing down to my legs. Then, a path unfolds before me through the wilderness—I need to get to the lakes. A quarter mile east of the lake is a laavu.
Above me, outside the snowcat, the men are yelling, arguing in Italian, which means the other drones didn’t have enough energy to knock them out.
My legs buckle slightly at first, but I push forward and race toward the lake, growing stronger by the second. My body assesses itself as I set a fast pace through the snow. I’m not seriously injured; just stiff and getting colder every step. My suit isn’t keeping me warm anymore, but adrenaline sure is. For now.
The map in my head warns me the lakes are close, whether I know it or not. Ice is different on every lake… Without the specific lake dimensions, ice thickness, and depth of the lake, it’ll be like walking on the edge of a knife. Except numbers are on my side.
With the map in my head guiding me, I step out onto the largest of the lakes before me. Numbers cover the lake’s surface, averaging the ice’s thickness for this time of year. I calculate a path. If there was ever a time to trust my numbers, it’s now. Unfortunately, the wind is picking up and my body temperature is dropping. No numbers can combat that reality.
The ice starts speaking immediately. Loud cracking and eerie popping sounds instantly send a lump of fear to my throat. Even if my mind knows the ice is safe, my body is freaking out. But I step forward, obeying my calculations—this is the nature of ice. It can be frozen solid with zero threats, but still make these sounds. I focus on taking small quick steps and move forward gambling on the odds that these Italian mobsters don’t know as much about ice.
I’m halfway across the lake when one of the men attempts to follow me. My pace quickens. The cracking sounds become more frequent. If the ice were thinner, I’d lie down to distribute my weight across the ice and slide forward as fast as possible, but I have to trust the numbers right now. In temperatures this low, the ice should be solid no matter what sounds it’s making and the odds I’m betting on—that Palermo’s men don’t know this—are much thinner than this ice. Palermo’s man, braver than most, moves faster toward me in small but quick steps until the ice cracks louder under his weight. A yelp escapes him, and he drops to his knees, crawling back to the other side, cursing the whole way.
“Non sono pazzo!” he screams to the men on the bank. I breathe, and press forward, trembling with cold and nerves.
I make it across the lake. They can’t see me now through the heavy snow falling between us. They’ll have to drive around—when they get the snowcat working again, but they’ll have no way to find me. No way to know where I’m headed.
I walk slowly, setting my course toward the shelter. I want to revel in my victory—I deactivated the dome; I escaped these men—but I can’t. I’m too cold. I command K2, “Call my father.”
“Stabilizing.” K2 reports, then is quiet. My drones have lost power again too. Hopefully, my earrings can still pinpoint my location even if they are freezing. I have nothing. No tech. All my concentration goes into reaching the laavu.
I need light to see. I rub my bio-lens, but only a faint glimmer appears.
Eddie gave my suit forty-five minutes to maintain warmth in -28-degree weather, which was 15 minutes ago. Now that my adrenaline is wearing off, shaking takes over. My legs are throbbing—or I’m just now noticing. My lips, exposed from my shredded facemask, are splitting with pain, my eyelashes are nearly frozen together, and I’m far off track and tired. Stupid. A nasty judgment attacks me from the inside. Why did you rely on your tech? Why didn’t you plan this out better? Why…
“K2,” I command again. “Tell my father where I am.” But my message is muffled under my jacket and K2 doesn’t respond. The wind and my fingers are too stiff to take off my gloves. If I lose my gloves, I lose my fingers.
The snow is coming down harder. I can barely see. I need to make it to the shelter before hypothermia sets in. Although my tech is useless, the GPS in my head still works. A path of numbers lights the way, but my legs won’t obey anymore. They’re pulsing with pain. So is my cheekbone.
The phantom frequency rebounds through the area. Whatever it is, it gives me hope that I’m not alone. A mini burst of strength shoots into my tired muscles.
I need to get warm. The thought drives me forward. Six hours before the sun comes up.
I grit my teeth and take another step, then two, then thirty-six—749 more steps to go. All I focus on is the next step. If I can get there and warm up, my fingers will function enough to fix the suit, and I can stop the blackout. So why do I feel like I need to rest? At least for a minute?
Snow is insulating. It’s a whisper of a thought. Animals bury themselves to keep warm. Pine branches are everywhere. If I build a shelter here, then I can sleep, warm up. But with hours to go before daylight, I know it’s a death trap.
“K2!” I scream. Nothing. One more step—521 feet to go.
My thoughts grow dark. If I don’t make it, it’ll take days for someone to find me here in the wilds of Lapland. By the time Eddie or my father discovers I’m in trouble, it’ll be too late. Scale Tech will have sabotaged the most important international space collaboration in history and Palermo’s massive blackout will devastate Europe. Who knows what will happen to Rafael? Noble. Kai. My father. The team. And me? I’ll most likely be…I can’t feel my face. I can’t breathe. 241 feet to go.
Exhausted, I fall in the snow and roll under a tree. The wind slices my jaw. Though I’m not an expert, I know that nerve damage from frostbite can happen within minutes of exposure, but my face is so numb it’s hard to care. No. I do care. Stay awake, Josephine.
Under the tree, I close my eyes and focus my energy. My legs throb with numb pain, but it comforts me. Once the pain disappears, I’m a goner.
Why did I come out here? What did I think I could do? The light was supposed to lead me. Soon, a storm of delusional thoughts sinks its hooks into me. Winter is a time to be dormant. You can rest now, like the earth below you. What better place to sleep than in an ocean of frozen fractals? The voices sound pretty, but they’re not. I recognize that voice from the Pratt calling me into a pit of darkness, telling me to give up. I won’t listen. I won’t.
My bio-lens must be working again because light, like the auroras, moves all around me. Frequencies in the air hover and wave. I imagine I’m being wrapped in light, a blanket of warmth like in my dreams. Amidst the light waves is the phantom frequency. It’s warm, and strange equations pump into the area faster than light. But soon everything blurs together—the snow, the light, the colors.
My eyes close to the silence of a white hooded forest, as snowflakes fall on my frozen face.
Snow crunches in the distance. Two legs, at a quickening pace, move toward me. I don’t even care if Palermo’s men find me because hypothermia is setting in and I’m starting to hallucinate. The dream of Red dying on the cot and the cell flooding with blinding light like a beautiful supernova is replaying now. It’s almost like I can see his face flooding with light. But the dream doesn’t end there.
I’ve heard when hypothermia sets in, you start to experience a weird calm and simultaneously feel really hot. It must be happening now because the hallucination becomes a frequency that rolls in like fire, potent as the rising sun.
Feet scuffle in the snow, trudging 16, 14, 12 feet from me. It’s not an animal. It’s not an enemy. Whatever it is explodes into a billion rays of light, blistering with heat in every color.
Warm hands touch my lips, checking for breath. I can’t open my eyes. My body has shut down.
The dream of Red comes to an end and a familiar male voice speaks. Heat floods my body. “Hold on, Jo. I’ve got you.”
Chapter 52
MY EYELASHES ARE frozen shut, my eyelids as heavy as the grave—but I don’t need my eyes to know who is with me now. For once, the city boy who smells like forests and rain and mountains, finds himself surrounded by them. But for me, it’s déjà vu. It’s not the first time he’s shown up, hovering over me while I’m lying on the ground in a precarious situation. My whole being sighs with relief. If he’s here, I’m safe.
“Kai,” I puff out a whisper, my mouth chattering.
“Yes, Jo. It’s me.” His voice isn’t distant like in the underground tunnels, but it’s not soft either—it’s laced with the boy I know who never loses a fight. Right now, that is what I need. His confidence sears life into me.
“I…can’t…move.” I don’t feel my lips move as I speak. I can’t even be sure he heard me.
“I’ll get you warm, just hold on.” Kai’s frequency impresses upon me like a crown of light as he leans down—a torrent of numbers pouring into me. The pounding of his heart fuses to my frequency. My numb body surrenders to him as he scoops me up and holds me firmly against his chest.
Kai’s familiar gait marches hard in the snow. In my blurry state, I attempt to visualize the path as Kai heads south, weaving between trees, up and over mounds of snow. I want to ask him where we are going but my mouth won’t move. I’m dozing in and out, vaguely aware of random numbers crossing my mind—54 minutes to Noble’s cabin—I’ll freeze before we reach it. 422 feet ahead to the next laavu. We walk 237 feet, 346 feet, 505 feet. After we pass the laavu, I almost try to ask where we are headed, but Kai’s pace is steady. He’s not wandering. He has a destination.
A shivering spell hits me. My temperature is dropping again. Kai folds back his jacket collar and tucks my freezing face against his warm neck. Warmth shoots through me like a bullet. All my body screams for is to get warm.
He readjusts his arms and my body, pinning me tighter to his chest. His arms must be killing him, but his concentration is unbreakable. After two more minutes and fifty-one seconds, a door creaks open. Kai turns sideways as he carries me through. The door slaps closed behind us. The acoustics of the room bounce into numbers, drawing up a picture of a small shack. What is this place? A shed won’t be enough to get me warm.
“Kai…” My head is heavy, my thoughts clouded and blurry.
He sets me down on a hard surface. My face is cold again. I want to nuzzle it back into his neck. It’s only a few degrees warmer than outside but the wind and snow are gone. I want to ask what he’s doing here. But I don’t have enough energy to speak.
“I’m starting a fire. Stay still.” He moves around the shack uncovering and rustling things around. A metal hinge creaks open followed by several dense thuds—logs are thrown into some sort of stove. A match is struck. Smoke and the smell of burning pine and pitch fills the room with a hiss and a crackle. Fire. I want its warmth, but I feel nothing.
Kai moves closer, assessing my body as a paramedic would, searching for broken bones. I barely feel anything.
“Does anything hurt?” he asks, his voice tender this time.
I muster up enough strength to speak. “Closer…to the…fire.” My eyes try to open, but they’re still frozen shut. I’m shaking more violently now, loosely aware that I can’t stop it or make sense of anything.
“You’re close enough. Does anything hurt?” he repeats.
I attempt to answer, but I can’t. My mouth is uncontrollably shivering.
Kai’s frequency is racing. That adrenaline I recognize from his fights takes over. Kai throws two more logs into the stove, then shuffles around pulling things out. His fingers press down on my wrist. Then he holds something—a thermometer?—over my forehead.
“Your temperature is 91 degrees—far too low. Your pulse is weak. You’ve got stage one hypothermia—your body can’t heat itself. Hold on. I’ll get you warm.”
Kai’s movements are swift. He’s ripping something from his bag. Two sets of zippers are unzipped. Mine? His? His jacket falls to the floor. My suit is coming off me. My boots, too. His hands are careful as he touches me. My dad always made it pretty clear that a real man always protects a woman physically and emotionally, but there was never a reason to tell Kai. That’s just how he operated.
I’m left in a tank-top and leggings, shivering violently without the ability to stop. Kai transfers me inside of a sleeping bag, which is even colder. It’s not going to help, I want to say. But then he climbs in too and heat rushes at me.
His skin is a fire of its own. Warm arms wrap around me, holding me close to his bare chest, which is pulsing with life and heat. He’s tense, but he pulls me closer, wrapping around me like a blanket. I completely fold into him. His hands rub my arms and back stroking heat back into me. My face presses into him, and I doze in and out with a state of peace I haven’t experienced in months.
“Where…are…we?” I croak out, my mind a blotchy mess.
“Inside someone’s lakeside sauna. Don’t worry, they’re not home,” he says, holding me tighter. “The laavu was too risky. This place is small and will heat up quicker.”
