Search (SEEK Book 1) (2 page)

Khayal surround me, an eerie sensation amidst the sweet lilac breeze, and flitter between glimpses of sun sparkling on dewy leaves. They’re everywhere, stalking me in the shadows, sneaking through the trees like ghosts.

I close my eyes searching for memories of how I got here, forcing the hot swampy air in and out of my lungs. The last thing I remember, Cord was climbing over the edge of Red River Gulch and then nothing—except flashes of rainbows in raging waters.

And now I’m pressed against a sugar maple, balancing on one leg, and fumbling for an arrow with bloodied fingers.

Khayal are hunting me.

I squint down the long golden rod. It’s cracked, but I steady anyway and release it. The shaft warbles lamely through the air. A terrible shot. Surprised relief washes over me as the spear stops mid-flight, a charcoal figure materializing around it. My attacker writhes and falls with a dull thump at my feet.

Precious seconds I can’t afford pass while I blink, blurry-eyed, at the dark shape. It’s as though I’ve never killed a Khayal before.

“What’s the first thing you do if you’re injured, agent?”
Captain Roselle’s voice rings in my memories.

I give myself a shake. It’s been a year since my SEEK training, but I should know what to do instinctively. Kistall, the corporation which owns SEEK, trained me to react without thinking.

“Inform my team, sir.”
I answered easily then, when there was no imminent threat of danger.

I pat my leg for my radio. It’s not there.

“Cord?” I call out softly for my partner.

No answer.

Tiny hairs rise over my neck with the sensation of being watched. The woods remain quiet, apart from a lonely magpie somewhere in the distance. I shove off from the scratchy trunk, spotting the trail, and stumble forward with a crunch. A twig or perhaps a Khayal arm.

The smell of gardenia permeates the air. I flee from the stench, sodden ground splattering underfoot. I slash my bow blindly through the thicket, branches slapping against my face until I tumble over a mossy stump and bite my tongue.

“Crap!” I curse, hobbling up.

Deep in the hollows of my stomach a restless rumbling says it’s been days since I’ve eaten. I glance down to find a bite in my calf, dripping a bright trail of crimson for every shadow to follow me.

I can’t remember it happening. I’m alone and lost in a forest full of predators. Why am I still alive? I’m easy prey. The thought crosses my mind that maybe the Khayal are like my cat, Mr. Mouser. He likes to play with his kill before he rips it to pieces. I slip over the edge of delirium, the idea of being eaten slowly too much to handle.

Despite the physical protest, I tighten my grip on my bow until my fingers go white, forcing myself to stay alert—knowing each ragged breath might be my last.

Overhead, a Khayal ripples through the branches, invisibly taunting me.

I scramble over a boulder, SEEK’s motto echoing in my dizzy head: Search, Evade, Extract, Kill.

Though it’s March, my breath streams in the sunlight streaking through the trees, a warning.

A shadow dives straight for me.

I reach for an arrow and grab at nothing.

“Dammit!” An empty quiver.

With more effort than is necessary I jump the creek, wincing under my own weight, and hobble to the next tree line. My lungs fill with fire—the Khayal venom must be taking hold—but I can’t stop to breathe. I have to make it for Lindy.

In just one more mile, I’ll clear the trees. But I stumble and sway, latching on to the branch of a birch.

“What do you do when there’s no hope, agent?”
Captain Roselle is back in my head.

“Fight till the last breath, sir!”

I have to survive. I have to save myself if I’m going to save her.

I just…have to…hold on…

Glimpses of jagged teeth looming over me cloud my vision.

I shake my head and get moving again. After a few steps I’m sliding down a hill on my butt, and then I’m running, hopping, falling. Until at last, I clear the forest. My eyesight wavers, flickering from real-time to dream. Spindly fingers reaching for me, pointy teeth glint in the sun, smiling at me with their special brand of menace.

My lips tingle—I’m lacking oxygen—but I trudge toward camp, dragging my right leg like a dead stump. The sign post that reads SEEK is a welcome sight. I pass the chain-link barrier into the compound. I’m home. I’m safe. This is where I belong.

I force my feet forward, boots sticking in the mud, each step more agonizing than the last. The red medic symbol on the mobile building is sixty feet ahead when black spots eat away at my vision.

I have only seconds before I lose consciousness.

***

Sporadic beeping penetrates my snarled reality. Somewhere in there an unfamiliar mechanical hum whirs nearby. I can’t make any sense of it. Where am I? Do Khayal use machines to extract my organs before devouring them? That doesn’t sound right. I must be with their handlers, the Episteme Brotherhood.

What little I know about Episteme baffles me. Handlers—the agents of Episteme—actually use Khayal like guard dogs or circus monkeys trained to kill. Are they going to torture me for information?

I’m vaguely aware of murmurs bouncing around outside of my head. But I can’t work out all the words.  

“Is she going to make it?”

To which someone replies, “There’s no way to know how long her brain went without oxygen."

None of it makes any sense and I can't fight my way clear of the grog. I want to get back to the voices. I need to understand what they’re saying. Instead, I slip away to another time…

I’m eight years old. My sister Lindy and I are riding bikes on a long summer day with the wind in our faces and sun on our backs.

Then the image fades to another. I was six when Lindy took me to the park to play. We weren’t supposed to leave the yard but she said it was alright since it was only two blocks from our house. Our mother, pulling weeds in her giant straw sunhat, didn’t see us sneak off. We’d only been at the park for a few minutes when I fell off the monkey bars. I broke my arm. I couldn’t go to school for a couple of days. I was so bored. Lindy felt so guilty. She came straight home every day and took care of me in the weeks that followed. After that, we were closer than any other sisters at our school.

And still another dream flashes. I was fifteen when I started feeling overshadowed. Lindy was so damned determined to make the Olympic Swim Team. She was the star of our town. Her face was in the newspaper almost weekly—which our mother plastered proudly all over the fridge. People stopped calling me Keira. I became “Lindy’s little sister.” That’s when I started making up excuses not to hang out with her. Then I stopped going to her swim meets and I bailed at the last minute on her graduation party. I was her designated driver. She would’ve never gotten in the car that stole her legs, if I hadn’t been such a resentful bitch.

It was at that moment that I decided to do whatever it took to make it up to her. I needed to make it right.

The dreams continue showing me bits and pieces of my life. Some are of moments of great happiness—like Lindy and I making up our own language. Others are memories of sorrow and pain—my darkest hours—Lindy in a wheelchair, bound to a machine for life.

How could she ever forgive me? Look what I’ve done!

The dreams turn dark. My poor helpless sister, with her useless legs, rolls her chair across our high school’s gymnasium. She doesn’t see the Khayal, though how could she? The image transforms, giving the Khayal shape. It looks like a grim reaper composed of burnt trees and spindly arms compiled into the tiny body of a fairy. The effect is fantastic. Horrifying, yet incredible. I can’t stop staring at the creatures, until Lindy screams, “Keira!”

“I’m coming, Lindy! I’ll save you! I have to save you!” I cry in the dream, as my two worlds collide.

“It’s time to let her go.” A dreary voice announces outside of my subconscious hell.

No! My family. Please tell them where I am.
I hope I say it aloud.
Move something dammit!
I concentrate hard on closing my fingers, order my body to obey. It's agonizing.

Save Lindy! Fight for Lindy
! I scream in my head.

At last, my hand closes into a loose fist and every sound in the room rushes in all at once. A loud chug-swish pumping in close proximity to my head, running feet skidding to a halt on hollow flooring, and a high-pitched beeping going crazy.

A female voice screeches, “Dr. Solomon!”

“Get Corduroy!” barks Solomon, SEEK’s combat medic. “Now!”

I relax inwardly. I recognize those names and know I’m in friendly hands. Until unimaginable pain tears through me, bringing me back to full consciousness. Eyes wide and vision blurred, I try to scream but only squeak. My head pounds in time with the bleeps of the cardiac monitor. Every muscle feels bruised, but it’s the icy burn in my right leg that has me twisting in the sheets.

“Remain still, Donovan. Do you want something for the pain?” Solomon asks, shining a light in my eyes. His brow furrows as he scribbles on his clipboard.

“Drugs,” I gurgle.

He nods and scurries away in blood-smeared scrubs.

“I knew you’d do it, baby, come back to papa!” Corduroy says, rushing toward me like a freight train. His arms stretched wide to embrace me.

“Shut up, Cord.” I roll my eyes, adjusting the scratchy pillow behind me.

“I see a week with the Khayal didn’t improve your attitude.” Jenny Martin struts into the room like she owns the place.

The last person I want to see. It’s bad enough she makes my life hell when I’m well. I really don’t need her shit right now. I pretend she’s not here, hoping she’ll get bored and go away. I look back to Cord, twisting at my snarled hair. “Was I really alone in the Boone for that long?” I whisper, my throat rough like sandpaper.

Corduroy shakes off a fleeting look of concern and snaps on a cool grin. “Actually, you were. Doc Sol resuscitated you three times. You’re not a cat, you know? You don’t get nine lives.” 

Jenny Martin slithers out the door in a huff.

I sigh in relief. I’m glad Martin’s gone and Cord’s here. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Cord’s the one true friend I have at SEEK. I trust him with my life. He’s the only agent who is privy to the truth about me. Everyone else knows me by my sister’s name. But I’m Keira, Lindy’s seventeen-year-old sister. That was the condition Captain Roselle gave me when he recruited me. On paper, I became Lindy—nineteen and legal. And Lindy became a number on a waiting list for an organically-manufactured spinal cord transplant. 

Although, looking at Cord now – the overgrown cue ball stressing the spindly-legged chair to the max – I wonder why he puts up with me. He’s not bad looking, though he’d look a lot better if he shaved off that ridiculous tuft of hair below his ears, but he’s not my type. And I’m pretty sure I’d know if he had a crush on me. I’m not sure where his loyalty comes from.

The painkillers are starting to take effect. I’m a little too comfortable, almost stoned. A long moment passes, neither of us bothered by the gap in conversation, but he watches me from the corner of his eye.

“How long have I been in Medic?” I ask, voice barely more than a whisper.

I know SEEK policy too well. They won’t keep me long. They can’t afford it. If I can’t SEEK, I’m baggage.

“Five days. Always living on the edge, my friend. Those shadows really busted you up. Wait till you see your face. I hope you got them back.”

“I hope I did, too. It’s all pretty fuzzy, but I did the nose myself.” I grimace, rubbing my hands on my shoulders as a shiver steals over me.

“Yes, I see why you chose it. It’s a huge improvement from the nose you had before. Now you look badass, too.”

The best part about Cord—he has no pity for the wounded and sarcasm is always the best medicine.

In the following days, I’m forced to stay in bed. My room is dreadful, bland honey-colored halls – the standard color for all SEEK’s PSHs, Portable Surgical Hospitals – blah neutral tones on every surface. The only thing that’s comparable to a civilian hospital is the overwhelming stench of disinfectant.

My strength is returning with a vengeance. Every minute I feel stronger, more agile. This, however, creates another more serious problem. I have way too much energy and no way to expel it. I’m bored and fidgety. I stare at the ceiling while replaying yesterday’s conversation with Dr. Solomon.

“You’ll stay off that leg, if I have to strap you down. Are we clear, Agent?”
he’d threatened.

But I knew something more was wrong. I’d heard him talking to the other Corpsman the previous night, saying something about “unusually fast healing.”

I’d confronted him, demanding to know what the hell he meant, but he wouldn’t give me a straight answer.

“Just cell apoptosis and regeneration we haven’t seen before. How’s it feel?”
he’d asked, skeptically squinting at me.

“It feels fine.”
It wasn’t a lie. The pain vanished shortly after I’d woken. I studied his guarded expression, but I knew he was still hiding something.
“What’s that mean? Apo-whatever?”
 

He’d diverted his eyes, guiltily.
“Your cells are dying and then regenerating, releasing a mature, activated form of Caspase Nine,”
he’d mumbled.

There was enough silence to fill a football stadium.

I’d pressed again.
“Can you repeat that in English?”

His shirt was speckled with sweat as he turned his back to me before answering.
“In layman’s terms, we have no idea why you’re healing this damn quickly.”

And there it was. He didn’t even know what the problem was, how could he have kept me here like a lame horse?
“What does it matter? I’m ready to go back to work.”
I’d insisted, but I knew it was hopeless the moment he’d begun feverishly scribbling on his clipboard.

“
This kind of healing shouldn't be possible and it’s not a good thing. You sure you don’t want something for pain?”
he’d asked again, as he’d done every one of the eighty-six hours I’d been his prisoner.

“No, honestly I feel great. Can’t I get up?”
I’d asked, my voice verging on whiny. I hated lying here.

“Next week, maybe,”
he’d growled, tired of explaining his decisions.
“If you don’t allow that leg to heal properly, you’ll be done hunting forever.”

That had shut me up as he’d marched out the door.

I have to be able to hunt to help Lindy so I did the only thing I could—I pouted, all night.

I’m restless and stir-crazy. Between the flashes of nightmarish dreams and the constant pinging of the monitors beside my bed, I didn’t sleep more than an hour. I’m in a foul mood by morning. Lucky for me Cord shows up with my laptop, pushing a food tray cheerfully to my bed.

“Oh, thank God you’re here. You have to help me.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” He looks around for someone’s ass to kick.

“Break me out of this hell! I can’t take it anymore.” I scratch my head melodramatically.

Cord’s face falls. “What, why? Did someone hurt you? I mean, beyond…you know, patching you up?” He points to my right leg.

“No, but they don’t let me move. And look what they’re feeding me. It’s like baby food!” I point to the gray pile in the middle of the tin plate. “What is it? Mashed potatoes?”

Cord scoops up a spoonful of the creamy mush and gulps it down. “Mmmm, bananas. Who doesn’t like bananas?”

“That’s bananas?” I grimace. My stomach grumbles its complaint at my refusal to eat. “Eesh. You gotta get me a burger or pizza. Anything edible.”

“And get on Solomon’s bad side? No way. Try Captain Roselle.” He happily chokes down my breakfast as if it’s a delicacy.

I flounce back against the lumpy pillows, staring at a water-stained circle on the ceiling when an idea hits me.

“You can tell Captain Roselle for me. Tell him to talk to Solomon. Roselle’s numbers have to be suffering without me. I know he’ll do it!” I clasp my hands together, pleadingly. Captain Roselle for sure can’t want me cooped up in here unnecessarily. I make him look good in front of the other captains.

Cord considers me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. For a moment I don’t think he’s going to do that either. And I don’t blame him. The last thing any SEEK agent wants is to put their neck out there where someone might notice it. Those kinds of agents usually get called up by Ops. I hold my breath, peering at him hopefully.

“See what I can do,” he says, halfheartedly saluting me goodbye as he ducks out of the room.

I listen to his footsteps fade and reach for my laptop, drumming my fingers on the roll-away desk as my email opens. My inbox is overflowing with messages from my family. I read Lindy’s.

Hey Sis,

I had a good week. The doctors are very optimistic about this new procedure and they’ve been running tests to make sure I’m a good candidate for the study. All signs look good. Can you believe it? I might actually walk again someday.

Love you,

Lindy

The next two messages are every bit as cheerful, and she’s been given a surgery date. I grin. SEEK is keeping their promise. I scroll down to the next message.

Keira,

Why haven’t you written me back? Aren’t you happy for me?

And…

Are you trouble? Mom’s calling your school soon if you don’t write back.

She ended that one with a post script.

P.S. I ran over your Mr. Mouser’s tail again today. I don’t think it’s going to straighten out this time. Sorry.

Sheer terror washes over me. Not for my cat, but for the fact that my cover could already be blown. My poor parents—thinking I’m off at college. Roselle did a fabulous job making my documents look real. He even posed as my academic advisor on the phone. But if my parents call the school, it’s over. They’ll yank my butt home so fast I won’t have time to warn Captain Roselle.

Quickly, I skim all of the other emails for proof that my parents haven’t contacted Brown University, demanding someone locate me at once. I let out a deep sigh when the last line of my mother’s most recent email reads…

Last chance, Keira Maria! If I don’t hear from you by 6:00 p.m. Tues. I’m calling the Dean and the police!

I have three hours to come up with, and execute, my excuse for ignoring my family. I hit reply and stare at the blank page, resting my fingers on the keyboard. What can I say? I have finals. I shake my head. It’s March. Mid-terms? That’s it. I’ll say I’m swamped with my studies of Evolutionary Science.

I type a quick note...

Hi Mom,

Don’t be silly! I’m fine. I’m just super busy. I’m in college, remember? I have mid-terms all week and I’ve been studying in the library with my study group. I’m sorry if I worried you, but everything is fine.

How’s Lindy? Is she really as happy as she sounds in her emails?

Tell dad I said hi and yes he can use my room to build model airplanes. Tell him I’ll write soon.

Love you,

Keira

Next, I write Lindy. This time I type slowly, methodically, careful not to say the wrong thing and risk upsetting her.

Hi, Sis!

Oh, how I miss you. Sorry I’ve been so busy studying, I’m only trying to live up to your GPA. Ha! You could’ve set the bar a little lower ya’ know.

I’m soooo happy to hear about your surgery! I can’t wait! June 3
rd
! I’ll be there.

Don’t worry about Mr. Mouser’s tail. He’ll live. Just give him kisses from me.

I pause for a moment recalling the day I got Mr. Mouser. Lindy gave him to me for my fifth birthday. She came running into our room, face flushed and sweaty. “Come see, Keiry! I picked him out myself. Mom and dad made me promise to help. And I did. I promised. Hurry up!”

Lindy grabbed my hand, dancing me out of our room. I trotted down the hall after her. She posed me at the living room door. “No peeking. Not yet—okay, now! Open your eyes.”

Wrapped in pink princess paper with a huge white bow spilling over the edges was a box. I galloped forward. The box moved. I whirled around and hid behind Lindy. “It’s okay. It’s not scary,” she promised as she led me back to the box. She lifted the lid and held my hand. Mr. Mouser let out a teeny-tiny mew.

I wipe my eye and sign the letter. My fingers are just finishing the close when I spot Dr. Solomon marching toward my room and looking lethal. I slam the lid shut. I can’t be too careful when Lindy’s life rides on my keeping my true identity a secret. Roselle will kill me himself if I get us both fired. I know. He told me as much.

“Donavan?” Solomon growls.

I swallow.

“Congratulations, you’re free.
If
you promise to keep taking your meds until the pain is gone.”

I pause, biting my lower lip. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s just the Vicodin talking.” Solomon’s eyebrows arch together into one long black caterpillar.

“I haven’t taken any meds,” I say.

“You haven’t… you mean since breakfast?”

“No, I mean since the day before yesterday.” I snap my mouth shut, wishing I wouldn’t have said that.

Solomon’s brow beads with sweat, color rushing to his cheeks. “I see. Before you go then I need to make sure you haven’t exaggerated the injury.”

I bite a cuticle as Solomon slides the table away and pulls back the covers. I know what he’s going to say, he’s going to take one look at the six inches of stitches and force me back on those mind-numbing narcotics. Solomon snips his surgical scissors through the center. One layer at time, the bandage falls away.

We gasp in unison as fresh pink skin shines under the fluorescents like that of a new born baby’s.

“Nice work, Doc.” I admire the faint, white scar. 

“Don’t thank me. I’ve never seen anything like that.” He draws thick black glasses from his lab coat, squinting down his nose, baffled.

It takes Solomon half an hour, jotting down notes, tapping me with a reflex hammer, running a needle along the bottom of my foot, to be convinced that my leg is not about to fall off.

As I leave Medical all he says is, “If anything happens….” Shaking his head, he mumbles the rest under his breath.

***

By the next morning, I’m on the track running circles around my team at P.T. My comrades jeer and stare as I whiz past them, especially Jenny Martin. She seems angrier by my recovery than is warranted. “I told you she was faking it. Probably got just got lost and expects us all to feel sorry for her. Oh, poor little Donavan, got lost in the woods.”

At this I spin around—jogging backward.

“Ignore her. She’s just trying to get you in trouble. Trust me, I know.” Cord tugs on my arm.

I get going the right way again, but Jenny Martin keeps flapping her mouth. And she’s impossible not to hear. “I can ignore Martin, but why’s everyone else listening to her?”

“She’s as bad as Ballard, remember him? That stupid guy who ended up in a wheel chair? Seriously, who tries cliff jumping off Cumberland Gap? He used to be a great hunter, the moron. Now he’s pathetic!” Martin laughs and the world shifts. It’s Lindy’s accident all over again. And my friends—my team mates—are laughing with her.

I stop dead, face burning. “You shut up, Martin! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shhh, Roselle’s watching. Keep jogging,” Cord puffs, pushing my shoulder around.

“Gah, touchy much?” Jenny Martin snips. A group of agents form a wall behind her.

I can’t understand it. These people—except for Martin—were my friends. I’ve never had any trouble with them. I glower at Martin. My hands ball at my sides, hoping she’ll throw a punch so I have an excuse to defend myself.

“Enough!” Cord jogs in front of me. “Donavan, Captain’s motioning for you. Go!” He shoves my shoulder.

I storm off across the field, less enthusiastic about today’s hunt. It’ll go back to normal soon, I assure myself as I approach the Captain. In a weird way Captain Roselle’s been like a second father to me. Maybe that’s because he knows my age. Or maybe he just likes the numbers I bring in. Either way, I don’t want to let him down.

“Captain.” I dance in a stationary jog. “What do you think? Am I cleared to hunt?”

“I can’t stop you,” Captain Roselle grumbles tersely, slashing a check next to my alias.

Overwhelming relief floods over me. I jump up, planting a kiss on the Captain’s cheek.

A tinge of pink spreads under his aging skin.

I tear off for the showers feeling vindicated. I’m going to double my record just to rub it in Martin’s face.

“Donavan, I forgot, Ops wants to see you first.”