Where were the fireflies when you needed them?
“Get off at the next exit!” Jett announced frantically from the front seat. He snapped the laptop shut and was waving wildly toward the right side of the jam-packed highway. “Get over! Start signaling now. We need to get off the freeway as soon as possible!”
This couldn’t be good. “Why? What is it?”
“It’s us,” Jett answered, twisting in his seat so he could face us all. “They’ve got roadblocks up ahead and they’re looking for us.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“SO, WHAT NOW?” NATTY ASKED, HER EYES SHIFTING between the two leaders—Thom, who seemed to mean more to her than I’d realized, and Simon, who was lodged between us. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was: Which one of these guys was in charge now?
We pulled off in front of a driveway to a ranch of some kind. It was dusty and deserted and gave us exactly what we needed: privacy.
“The good news is that none of the reports mention us by name,” Jett said as his eyes—that unusual mosaic of colors that looked like cut glass pieced together—fell on me. “Not even you, Kyra.”
“Then how do you know the roadblocks are meant for us?” I wished he hadn’t singled me out. I already felt responsible for this mess.
Something about the look Jett and Simon exchanged gave me a chill. “Because they are showing this picture.” He spun his laptop so we could all see what he had. The shot was grainy, but there we were—me, Simon, Natty, and Thom. We were running across the blacktop toward the entrance of a top secret NSA facility. The image had to have been taken from one of the neighboring buildings’ security cameras, right before we’d gone in to break Willow out.
Still, it didn’t make sense. “So why not release our names? He might not know all of you, but Agent Truman definitely knows my name. And if that place, the Daylight Division, is such a secret, why are they so willing to admit we were even there?”
Jett shook his head. “They’re not. Probably why they didn’t put out a better image. As far as the authorities are concerned, at least the ones who’ve been alerted to look for us, we’re just a bunch of animal activists who broke into a medical testing facility.” He’d turned the computer back around and was reading right from the website. “It says here: they’re holding us responsible for about a half-million dollars’ worth of damage to some major pharmaceutical company.” He shrugged, a sideways smile slipping over his lips. “It also says we did it in the name of animal rights. Kinda makes us sound like the good guys, if you ask me.”
“We are the good guys,” I pointed out. “We weren’t the ones who started this.”
Natty chewed on the side of her thumb. “So does this mean every police force in the state is looking for us?”
Jett closed his laptop and gave us a discouraged look. “Worse. Not just every agency in Washington, but Oregon, Idaho, and even the Canadian border patrol.” He pressed his lips together. “They’ve got roadblocks on every major road and highway out of the state.” He looked to Simon.
“Isn’t that a little extreme for a bunch of animal lovers?” Natty asked.
“They have to come up with some cover story, and a half mill is nothing to sneeze at—” Simon started.
But Jett cut in. “That’s not all. It says here we killed a security guard during our raid.”
Killed?
I squeezed my eyes shut as I thought about just how far I’d been willing to go to save Tyler . . . and then Willow.
I’d caused a full-blown Code Red.
Just because I’d given them warning didn’t stop the bile from surging up my throat.
“Do you think it’s true?” I solicited, hoping for a denial. “That someone died?”
Natty’s eyes were wide when she answered. “Maybe that Agent Truman guy.” Her voice fell to less than a whisper. “He wasn’t wearing a suit . . .”
Behind me, Willow’s hand landed on my shoulder, reminding me he’d left me no other choice. I nodded, but my chest still burned, my stomach acids trying to eat their way out.
“So, why not put our faces out there?” I finally uttered. “Get the public involved? It seems like that would make things a lot easier for them, if everyone was on the lookout for us.”
This time when Simon answered, I found I couldn’t avoid looking at him. “They can’t risk it. We all belonged somewhere once. We had families, friends, lives . . .” He shrugged, giving me a meaningful look. “You still do. They can’t risk putting our real pictures on the news. What if someone recognizes us, even all these years and all these miles later? There would be questions. Some long-lost relative who looks exactly like their suspects . . . it would raise eyebrows at the least. They can’t take the chance that some reporter might make the connection between all of us who were taken and then returned. It puts their little agency under the microscope. This way is easier, cleaner.”
“So you think we’re fine, then,” I concluded. “No one’ll even know it’s us.”
Simon shook his head. “Just because they haven’t given decent pictures of us to the news outlets doesn’t mean they haven’t sent some to the authorities . . . along with some BS story about those pictures being classified information. Need-to-know, that kind of thing. But no matter how they’re going about it, there’s no way we’re fine. Our faces are out there in some capacity, whether we like it or not. We gotta get someplace safe. Otherwise, if we do get picked up, we’ll end up being handed over to the No-Suchers. Then we’ll all be strapped to one of those stretchers, being lobotomized.” He leaned his head all the way back and raised an eyebrow at Willow. “Too soon?”