“But back to the issue of the Psi—” Mary’s voice was starting to waver now, crackling with an unnatural metallic whine.

“Pull over,” Vida said, “otherwise we’ll lose the signal!”

“—will you ask him to come clean about what research programs are in place and whether or not they’ve made any progress analyzing the source of IAAN? I know, as a mother of an infant, I’m particularly interested in finding out whether or not my son, who already goes in for weekly tests and monitoring sessions, will have to be taken in to a specialized program per the IAAN Registry’s instructions. Surely enough politicians on both sides are in a similar enough position to sympathize with the thousands of parents who have been left without answers—sometimes for years. I think I speak for everyone when I say that this is unacceptable.”

“That’s right,” Jude said, “you get him, Mary. Don’t let him change the subject!”

“I believe the FC would like to modify…the program—” Static again. It couldn’t begin to disguise how uncomfortable Bob sounded on this subject. “We would like to continue to have five-year-olds monitored for a year’s time in one of the facilities, but if they show no…dangerous side effects of IAAN, we would like to see them sent home, rather than automatically graduated to one of these rehabilitation camps—”

The line went silent with a harsh click. The newscaster was repeating his name, “Bob? Bob? Bob?” over and over again, like she could somehow draw his voice back through the dead air.

TWENTY-SIX

THE SIGNS HAD BEEN PAINFULLY HONEST in calling that part of the country NO MAN’S LAND. It would have felt like a bigger relief when we finally passed out of Oklahoma’s panhandle and into Kansas if we could actually tell the two apart. For hours, it was nothing but once-green tall grass beaten down by ice and snow. Small towns that had had the life and people slowly strangled from them. Rusting cars and bikes left along the highway. Open, empty sky.

I had seen desert in Southern California, but this…this stretch seemed endless and achingly open; even the sky seemed to bow lower to meet the highway. We stopped only twice, both times to search the abandoned cars lining the road for gas. There were functioning stations along the way, but at nearly twenty dollars for a gallon, it somehow didn’t seem all that pressing for us to fill our tank the legal way.

For the most part, traffic came in slow drizzles. The lone highway patrol car blew past us, in an awful hurry to get wherever it was going. Still, Chubs drove the entire first five hours with his hands clenched on the wheel. The next time we stopped for a bathroom break, Vida stole the driver’s seat and locked the door, forcing him into the front passenger seat and Liam into the back, next to me.

We left the flat plains, heading toward mountains blanketed by darkness. That was the only warning we had that we were coming up on Colorado. It would be hours more before we actually hit Pueblo, but the knots in my stomach didn’t seem to care. Ahead, lines of lights gave shape to distant cities that only grew larger and brighter as we descended into the valley. I was too anxious to sleep like Jude and Vida. I kept one hand clenched around the Chatter and flash drive in my coat pocket, trying to keep my thoughts focused on what was ahead, visualizing all of the different scenarios and how we would play them through.

Vida and I would scope out the location; if it was one person, Jarvin or one of the other agents, we could take him easily. She would attack him in her way, and I would overwhelm him in mine. If a group of armed agents was there waiting for us, we’d make a clean getaway without being detected. This would work. This will work, I told myself. The only real question was, what would we do if it were no longer safe to bring the flash drive back to HQ? If Cole or Cate were gone. Dead.

Liam’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was easier than it had been in days. Now and then, a lone passing truck’s headlights would fill the window he leaned against, lighting his golden blond hair. And in those few precious seconds, I couldn’t see the cuts or bruises on his face. Not even the dark circles under his eyes.

The Beatles song drifting from the radio gave way to a softly strumming Fleetwood Mac, which faded, finally, into the cheerful opening riffs of the Beach Boys’s “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.”

I don’t know that, until that moment, I really understood that this was the end. That in a matter of miles, hours, I would leave that car and shut the door behind me one last time. It had been hard enough to let go before, and now…this. Maybe that was my real punishment for the things I’d done—being trapped in a world where I had to leave them again and again and again until there wasn’t enough left of my heart for it to break.

I wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed to cry then. Better to get it out while the others were asleep and Vida was concentrating on the dark road. I let myself, just this once, sink deeper into the pain. I let myself wonder why this had happened to me—to all of us—until I was sure the shape of the flash drive would be cut into my palm.

At least now, hopefully, we’d know who…what…was responsible. I’d have something to blame for the mess that was my life, other than myself.

And that song, it wasn’t ending. It kept on playing, that stupid, upbeat swing of voices and plucked strings, the promise of a future that would never be mine.

The touch was so hesitant at first, I thought for sure that he was still asleep, shifting in dreams. Liam’s hand came down next to mine on the seat, his fingers inching over one at a time, hooking over mine in a way that was as tender as it was shy. I bit my lip, letting his warm, rough skin engulf mine.