Exiled (TalentBorn Book 2) Page 5

  Truly. All things considered, we both got off lightly. We’ve been incredibly lucky. We were reckless, rushing into Joe’s without thinking it through. Worse, we underestimated AbGen, and it almost cost us everything we’ve been fighting so hard to preserve over the last month – not least our freedom. We can’t afford to make that mistake again.

  We lie back, hand in hand on the bank, staring up at the sky as it slowly darkens, neither of us in any hurry to get back to reality. Reality comes for us though, sooner rather than later. The air starts to cool, and we have nowhere to stay tonight. All of our possessions, except a few essentials we were carrying on us, are gone, and it’s far too dangerous to risk going back for the car.

  “We should get going,” I say reluctantly. “We’ve got a long walk.”

  I get up and Scott gets up with me, then takes my hand again. I raise an eyebrow as he leads me to the treeline, but as we get there I see a dark outline in the trees.

  “Is that…?”

  “A Ninja,” he says, looking at the shining machine with almost paternal pride. “I picked it up on the way here.”

  I can guess what he means by ‘picked it up’ but I’m not going to look a gift horse – or motorbike – in the mouth. I cast an approving eye over the mechanical beast. I’ve always wants to ride a Ninja. Silver linings and all that.

  Scott produces two helmets and makes to climb on the bike. I hold my arm in front of his chest, baring the way.

  “In your dreams, Logan. I’m riding. You’re pillion.”

  He laughs and steps aside.

  “After you, m’lady.”

  I don’t need to be asked twice. I hop on and pull the helmet snuggly over my head, then hit the engine start up and twist the throttle. The bike roars to life, sending a shiver through me. Raw power pulses from its frame and through my limbs, raising goose pimples all along my arms. The suspension shifts as Scott climbs on behind me, and his arms wrap loosely around my waist. I grin, and twist the throttle again, easing the bike forward along the dirt track with infinite care until the road comes into view. We hit grey ground and I kick it up a gear, twist the throttle again and then we’re flying, the wind rushing past us and the sound of laughter – mine, I think – ringing in our ears. Traffic passes in a blur as I chase a sequence of white lines, swerving through the traffic. This machine is incredible, it’s everything I’d ever hoped and more. We’re untouchable, unreachable, uncatchable, and it still has more to offer. Scott’s body heat keeps me warm as we race through the night air, and together we take the bike through tight turns and narrow gaps, piloting it with our bodies, connected through the machine’s throbbing metallic heart. I don’t know how long we’ve been riding for when he leans forward and shouts in my ear to make himself heard above the roar of the engine and the rush of speed.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Who cares?” I toss my head back and laugh again, and hear his laughter join mine. He’s right though. We need to head somewhere – we don’t want to be on the road when the sun comes up and someone notices the Ninja is missing. I already feel a pang of sorrow about parting with it, but its owner will be wanting it back. I’ll make sure we leave it somewhere it can be found. But for now, our need is greater. With so much hanging in the balance, we need to find the Ishmaelians more than ever. It’s not just our lives at stake: Joe’s family is on the line too. I start picking up signs for the M4. We’ll leave the bike a few towns over, just in case AbGen are watching for stolen vehicles, and go the rest of the way by public transport. If we make good time, we can get a couple of hours’ sleep before dawn. We need to be at the top of our game when we meet the Ishmaelians. We can’t afford to make any more mistakes.

  Chapter Seven

  I’m feeling distinctly grumpy the next morning. Getting just a few hours’ sleep is definitely worse than getting none. So when Scott wakes me, I pull the duvet over my head and mutter something less than polite. It was one am by the time we arrived in Wiltshire, and we were lucky enough to find a pub offering rooms that hadn’t closed for the night. The landlord had started to turn us away until Scott shoved a few notes his way, and then the man’s eyes had lit up and he couldn’t do enough for us.

  His greed and Scott’s generosity are probably the reason I can smell fresh coffee seeking me out where I lay. With a groan, I shove the duvet off my head and emerge from my cocoon. I lever myself stiffly from the bed – I’m aching head to toe from the long ride yesterday, and the cheap mattress hasn’t done me any favours.

  “Good morning, sleepy head,” Scott greets me, far too cheerfully for a man I’d told to do something that I’m pretty sure is anatomically impossible two minutes ago.

  “Are you sure?” I gripe, struggling into my clothes. What I really need is a shower, but it’s a shared bathroom and I can hear one of the other guests using it. Better not be using up all the hot water. I hate shared bathrooms.

  “Here, this’ll help,” he says, passing a mug of steaming liquid my way. He’s not wrong: the scent alone has me edging closer to being human again. I take a tentative sip. It’s not bad. It’s not great either, but it’s caffeine, and it’ll do.

  “Okay, so what’s the plan for today?” I ask, having glanced out the window and confirmed it is in fact morning and bed is no longer an option.

  “According to google,” Scott says, looking at his phone, “there’s a car hire company a couple of miles from here. We’ll pick up a car and a new phone for you, then head over to Larkhill. Then it’s just a case of driving around until I sense another absa. I’ve got a route planned out.”

  He gestures to a highlighted map sitting next to the bed. I eye it suspiciously.

  “Exactly how long have you been up for?” I ask. He doesn’t answer.

  “Wait, did you sleep at all last night?”

  “I thought I’d lost you yesterday, Anna,” he says softly. “How could I sleep after that?”

  I shake my head in exasperation. So much for going in fresh today. Not that I’m in much better state, I have to concede.

  “Alright, let me grab a shower and we’ll get moving.”

  *

  We’re sitting in our new hire car, with the heating cranked because I haven’t recovered from the cold shower yet, and neither has my hair. I’ve tied it back to cover up the worst of the disaster, because frankly we have bigger things to worry about right now. But when this is over, I’m treating myself to a serious pamper day. I remember the last one me and Janey went on, and smile sadly. Things just aren’t going to be the same without her. Pearce is going to pay for what he did to you, I swear. My smile twists into a grimace. I’ll make sure of it. Even if it’s the last thing I do.

  “Take a left here,” Scott says, glancing up from the map. I’m driving, so he can focus on sensing any absas in the area – which is just as well because I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to be in charge of a car when he hasn’t slept. I signal and swing the car round the corner, wondering, not for the first time this morning, whether we’re on a wild goose chase. Just because Gardiner thought the Ishmaelians were camped somewhere around here doesn’t mean they are. That said – and much as I hate to admit it – AbGen’s former commander was nothing if not thorough, so it’s probably not a total waste of our time. And it’s not like we have any better leads to be following anyway.

  “Wait.”

  I slow the car and look across at Scott, his brow knitted with concentration. He shakes his head.

  “It’s nothing. Carry on.”

  I ease the car back into the trickle of traffic and follow the road as it bears round to the right.

  “There it is again! It’s faint, but it’s there.”

  “Which way?”

  Scott closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

  “Ten o’clock. A couple of miles out.”

  He means forty-five degrees to our left, but he tends to forget that we don’t all have years of military-style training when he’s tracking a target. Luckily, I�
��ve spent enough time around him to know what he means, so I keep going straight and keep my eyes open for a left turn, intending to zig-zag my way forward until he gives me a ‘twelve o’clock’. A couple of miles out means we could be there in a matter of minutes. My stomach clenches in anticipation. Weeks of searching and now we’re right on top of them. We don’t know what sort of reception to expect, though as former AbGen agents I’m guessing they’re not exactly going to be happy to see us. With luck we can convince them we’re on their side before they disappear – or disappear us.

  “Stop!”

  I slam the breaks on, earning me a beep from the car behind, and belatedly hit my hazard warning lights, then swing the car to the side of the road. Scott’s jaw is clenched.

  “Scott? Are you okay?”

  “I– Yeah.” He shakes his head and his jaw unclenches. “It just caught me by surprise. There’s a lot of them.”

  I frown. We’d been expecting a splinter group – half a dozen, and dozen at the outside. I’m not sure what Scott’s definition of a lot is. He shakes his head and shares my frown.

  “Thirty? More, maybe.”

  Wow. That is a lot. The Ishmaelians are definitely bigger than we thought. My anxiety deepens. If they decide they don’t want us sniffing around, we could be in serious trouble. On the other hand, we have an even bigger organisation treating us like public enemy number one – we’re already in serious trouble.

  I signal and move back into the traffic, following Scott’s directions while watching him from the corner of my eye to make sure he’s not still in pain. If he is, he’s hiding it well.

  It turns out they’re further away than we thought – unfortunately Scott’s talent isn’t entirely infallible. He thinks their sheer number made the “pull” he’s tracking seem closer than it was. So it’s about twenty minutes later that Scott reaches out and touches my arm lightly.

  “We’re close.”

  He nods to a grey panelled warehouse squatting a couple of hundred metres from us. I pull the car over and kill the engine. No need to signal this time: we haven’t passed much traffic on this road, and from its state of disrepair I’m guessing not enough people come out this way for the council to make its upkeep a priority.

  “This is it, then.”

  He nods.

  “We don’t have to do this right now, if you’re not ready.”

  Oh. My hands are trembling. How odd. I will them to be steady. That doesn’t work so I drop them to my lap.

  “Yes, we do,” I say. We need to ally with the splinter group as quickly as possible. We don’t know whether AbGen are on our trail, but even if they’re not, Joe’s family are in danger every minute they’re left in Pearce’s hands. And if AbGen apply pressure to Joe, there’s no telling if he’ll break and tell them exactly where we’re headed. If it was my family? Frankly, I’d tell them anything they wanted to hear.

  “Anyway, we’ve got to meet them eventually, right?” I point out. “It’s not going to get any easier if we wait.”

  Scott nods his agreement to my logic – a rarity – and we get out of the car. A cold wind tugs at my coat, and I lean into Scott as we walk along the track. As we get closer he disentangles himself, and lets his hands hang loose by his side. I don’t take offence; we’re probably being watched. I mimic his posture, leaving my empty hands on display as we cover the last hundred metres at a deliberately unhurried pace. If there is someone looking out of one of the windows, we don’t want to spook them. Especially if they’re armed.

  We reach the grey metal door and stop. Scott takes a breath, reaches up and raps on it.

  Chapter Eight

  The door swings open at his touch. We share a look, and by mutual agreement, step slowly through it.

  The warehouse is dimly lit, and it’s much smaller inside than it seemed from the road. It takes me a moment to realise that this area must be partitioned off. They’ve obviously been using this as their base for a while. A railed balcony runs around the edge of the room high above our heads on three walls. Two figures cloaked in shadow stare down at us.

  Down on the ground floor, seven more figures are scattered throughout the room, and every pair of eyes is on us. I don’t see any weapons, which is something. Not a lot, given how heavily outnumbered we are. That’s what you get for walking straight into the lions’ den. We really need to start coming up with better plans. But it’s too late now. We’re committed.

  I hang back and let Scott take the lead. He holds his hands out from his sides, showing that they’re empty, and I flash back to the day he broke into my flat and made the same gesture to me. I hope they find it more reassuring than I did. He starts walking slowly through the building, one steady step followed by another, and I creep along half a step behind him and to his side. I feel nine pairs of eyes watching our every move, and I want to take his hand and drag him back out into the daylight. The silent figures send a shudder through me as they stand, unmoving, unspeaking, unreadable. I swallow, and duck my head, not wanting to look at them. Scott is still moving so I keep shuffling along with him, until we reach the centre of the room.

  A loud bang sounds behind me and I jump and spin round. The door is shut. The figures are all around us now, surrounding us, watching us, still silent. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end: if they decide to attack, we’ll never walk out of here. The tension is electric, one wrong move, one wrong word, one spark could explode into violence. Someone needs to say something to diffuse it, but I can’t find my voice, and I don’t know what to say. Who knows what these people will want to hear from us? We’re the enemy, as far as they’re concerned. They’re outcasts from AbGen for a reason, and Scott used to be their best recruiter – and still is, as far as they know. They could attack at any moment, before they even give us a chance to speak. What the hell were we thinking? We’re all just standing here, not moving, not speaking, barely breathing the electric air. My heart stutters at the utter stillness around us, and I’m not sure I could run even if I tried.

  “We don’t mean you any harm,” Scott says softly, though his voice is so loud in the silence that I start. “You don’t need to fear us.”

  The statues remain unmoving until long after the echoes have died, and then one figure at the back slowly takes a step forward. He lifts his head and the shadows fall away so that we can see his features. Older, in his fifties, with creases in his dark face that suggest his life has not been an easy one, but eyes that say he survived, and will do whatever it takes to continue to do so.

  “We know,” he says, his melodic voice echoing back off the four walls. “We have gifts of our own.”

  I nod without meaning to. Makes sense. They’re all here for a reason. I glance around, wondering which one of them is reading our minds, or at least our intentions.

  “My name is Scott Logan,” Scott introduces himself, slowly and clearly so all of the figures can hear him, including the ones still watching us from the balcony, possibly with hidden weapons trained on us, waiting for a signal from their leader. I barely suppress a shudder. “This is Anna Mason. You may have heard of us. We came from AbGen, but we know what they are now. We’re not here to fight you. We’re here to join you.”

  The man who spoke to us turns his head to a figure behind him. The figure nods, and in return the man nods to us, and walks further forward.

  “Then we are most pleased to meet you. I am Ephraim.”

  He stretches out his hand, and the tension ratchets up. Was it always this cold in here? A shiver runs through my spine, but Scott seems unaffected by it. He closes the gap between him and Ephraim and reaches for the outstretched hand. My heart is in my throat: if the rebel group are going to attack, now’s the time. Scott’s hand makes contact, they shake, and break apart again. I breathe a sigh of relief and feel the tension ease from the room.

  “Please, come with me,” Ephraim invites, though I get the feeling it’s not a request. We follow him to a door at the back of the room, and two figures
fall in behind us. I glance over my shoulder at them but have time to glimpse only the barest details – one male, twenties, dark hair, green eyes; one female, red hair and freckles, pretty – before we pass through the door. It’s a corridor, much more brightly lit than the entrance hall. The bright light reflects off the white-washed walls, hurting my eyes with its intensity and I blink rapidly as my pupils try to adjust to the lighting. When our guide takes us through another door, I follow him with relief. We’re in a smaller room, decorated sparsely with a few seats, a sofa and a desk. An office of sorts. Instead of assuming the chair behind the desk, though, Ephraim claims one of the armchairs, and invites us to take a seat on one of the others with a gesture of his hand.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable. Ryan, could you bring some drinks for our guests?” The young man nods and disappears back through the door, leaving us alone with Ephraim and the redhead. The reader, I’d be willing to bet. Or whatever she is.

  Scott takes a seat on the sofa and I perch on its edge next to him, not willing to be separated from him by even a few feet. Though the room and its occupants couldn’t be more different, I feel like I’m right back in Gardiner’s office on my first day at AbGen.

  “Others will join us soon,” Ephraim says.

  I wonder what ‘others’ and how many of them there will be, and how many of them will blame us for what we were a part of – however fleetingly. Scott’s hand entwines in mine and I realise I’ve gone rigid. I settle back into the sofa and force myself to relax, though I keep hold of his hand. His touch keeps me anchored, and stops my body getting any ideas about shifting. That’s the last thing I need to do right now.

  The door opens and Ryan returns with a tray, offering both of us a mug of steaming liquid. I take one and surreptitiously sniff it: coffee. It’s milky and there’s a bowl of sugar on the tray. I add some and stir, but I don’t take a sip until Scott does. If he thinks it’s safe to drink, then it probably is. Our host also takes a mug and adds a spoonful of sugar.