Until the Beginning by Amy Plum
The guy runs out, slamming the door behind him. I stay hidden behind the couch for what seems like five minutes, then ease my way back to standing. I walk to the desk and click the computer’s mouse to get out of the screen saver: a photo of Avery kneeling next to a dead lion. The guy’s obsessed with death, I think as the desktop comes up. The window that’s open reads at the top “AHR Security Client Center *** Operator: Administrator.” Running across the upper nav are dozens of icons, and down the left are lists of locations with links like “Lights,” “Fences,” and “Ranch House.” A window with a CCTV image takes up the rest of the screen.
The camera shows the airstrip I spotted earlier today from the road. It’s all lit up in the image, and the link that was last clicked is under “Lights/Airstrip.” So the guard had finished what he was trying to do when Juneau distracted him. Which, I hope, means he’s not coming back.
I click on the link at the top of the “Fences” list, and then down each one under it, watching the images of sections of fence flash by. All feature identical red lights blinking slowly atop the fence until I get to one section that has an orange exclamation mark next to its link. “Southeast corner” it reads, and the box perched atop this section of fence is dark. This must be the one that Juneau took out to reach her clan.
I wonder how many more of these security systems exist. There’s presumably one at the front gate, if not one in the barracks as well. More importantly, is anyone paying attention to them? And if they are, can any of them override this computer, since it’s got administrator access?
The double agent guy obviously didn’t think that anyone would notice the airstrip lights were turned on. I might as well take the same chance, I think, and one by one start clicking “disable” next to each of the fences.
I continue with the list under “Ranch House,” disabling all of the alarms and security locks. And then, with another click, I turn the airstrip lights back off.
I click the icon for “Perimeter Map” and get a scale model of the entire ranch, complete with roads, fences, and outbuildings. I zoom in to the eastern half of the ranch, and then even closer, studying the area around the ranch house, barracks, and something labeled “Guest Village,” which is in the area where Juneau’s clan must be located.
Finally, I pull back the window with the CCTV image of the airstrip in case the guard comes back. He’ll only see the screen he was on and, unless he clicks through, won’t be aware that anyone’s fooled with the fences.
I take a pen and piece of paper and write a note to Tallie. Folding it, I turn to see Poe still doing his stuffed-bird impression on the bookshelf. “Ready to play messenger raven again?” I whisper, and tuck the paper carefully into the pocket of his harness. I ease the window up, glad I disabled the alarms, and step out onto the porch, letting Poe hop out before me.
I close the window as quietly as I can, and then sit on the porch, holding the bird in my hands and closing my eyes. I connect to the Yara, think about the mountain woman with the wild red hair, and then throw Poe upward, as I’ve seen Juneau do.
He flaps his wings and flies off into the night.
43
JUNEAU
I’VE BEEN SITTING IN THIS ROOM, WATCHING MY guard stare at a television for the last two hours, thinking that this is the worst torture imaginable. The grunts and guttural noises he makes as he alternates between watching a football game and checking his cell phone are making me crazy. I’m beginning to think I’d rather be shot than spend another six hours with a TV-watching Neanderthal.
I brought it on myself. The guards decided to separate Whit and me after I attacked him. O’Donnell said there was a bedroom assigned to me, but when he made it clear that he’d be staying with me inside the room, I refused.
I asked if I could see Badger. Another no. And he didn’t even answer me when I asked if we could go outside. So we came down here to the “media room” as he calls it. I tried to watch television, but it gave me a throbbing pain between my eyes.
I scoped the room for anything I could use to Read, but there’s no fire, no water, not even a potted plant. In our yurts, the floors were dirt, we had fires in our stoves: Nature was all around us. This room doesn’t even smell natural. There’s a sweet artificial smell—like dying flowers—that’s making my headache even worse.
Unable to do anything useful, I’m distracting myself with a book on jaguars—the books in the room are all about hunting and animals—sitting on the couch the farthest away from the windows, as per my guard’s instructions. I don’t know what he thinks I’m going to do—break the glass and use a shard to persuade him to let me go? An idea I wouldn’t completely dismiss if it weren’t for Badger being kept hostage somewhere in the house.
As the minutes go by, O’Donnell gets more and more nervous, until he’s just sitting there staring at his phone. I’m almost relieved when it finally rings: The tension in the room’s as thick as goat curd.
“Yes? Where are you?” he asks anxiously, and then yells, “What the hell?”
He’s on his feet in an instant, and grabbing me by the arm, says, “You. Come with me, and keep quiet.” Pocketing the phone, he shoves me down the hallway, through the room of heads, past the front hall, and into a dimly lit office. He closes the door quietly behind us, and then throws himself in front of a computer sitting on a dark wooden desk the size of a rowboat.
He clicks a button, and the screen lights up. “What?!” he exclaims in surprise when he sees a dark square on the screen. He clicks something else and the picture goes from black to hazy white, and a road appears with spotlights lining it on either side.
He picks up the phone and punches a couple of buttons. “You see it now?” he asks, and then breathes a sigh of relief. “I have no idea how that happened. They were on before. Must be some sort of glitch in the system.” He waits. “Gotcha. We’ll be right there.”
He hangs up and, taking me roughly by the arm, leads me into the hallway and out the front door.
It’s pitch-black outside. O’Donnell leans back in the door and flips a switch up and down while staring at a nonfunctioning light on the porch ceiling. “What the hell’s going on around here?” he mutters, and giving up, yanks me down the front steps.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“I have an errand to run, and you’re coming with me,” he says.
His grip is so tight it hurts, but I don’t let him know. He seems like the kind of man who would find it amusing to inflict pain on someone smaller than him. O’Donnell leads me to the same huge vehicle I was brought here in, steers me into the front seat, and closes the door behind me. He jumps behind the wheel and clicks a button, locking us inside.
We make our way up the drive, through the electric gate, and go west at the crossroad instead of south, where my clan is. “Where are we going?” I repeat, but O’Donnell doesn’t answer. He turns on the radio and drives.
I can’t see a thing beyond our headlights, the night is so dark. But my driver seems to know the way by heart. After a while, he looks at his phone and murmurs, “Ten minutes. We’re almost there.”
We come over the top of a ridge, and spread below us is an airstrip, lit up on either side by white lights. I recognize it as the road I’d seen on the computer: O’Donnell just turned these lights on for someone. I check the sky and see flashing lights coming toward us—a plane flying low—and feel a surge of the shaky anxiety that almost crippled me in the Mojave.
This is a small plane, like the one I took to Los Angeles, but with no markings besides numbers on the tail. As we near, the plane eases down and lands on the runway, its tires screeching as it bounces a couple of times and then comes to a stop.
We follow the road in and park near the airplane, just as its stairway lowers, unfolds, and touches the ground. O’Donnell gets out of the car and comes to my side. He opens my door, and holding me tightly by the arm, marches me toward the plane. I look up at the door, and my heart plummets when I see a familiar
“Ah, Juneau,” Mr. Blackwell says. “So good to see you again.”
44
MILES
I HAVE BEEN FOLLOWING THE ROAD TOWARD THE “Guest Village” for what feels like a good half hour. The night is so dark I can’t see much of what’s around me, but the little moonlight there is shines off the pavement and leads me along.
I have a harder time when the pavement ends and a gravel road picks up where it left off. But after a minute, I see firelight in the distance, and heading toward it, I pick up my pace.
I can almost make out the adobe houses in the firelight when, from right behind me, a man’s voice says, “Stop right there and drop your weapon.”
I freeze, and then slowly place my crossbow on the ground and lift my hands in the air.
“Who are you?” the voice asks.
“A friend of Juneau’s,” I say, not daring to turn around.
“Why are you carrying a loaded crossbow to our camp, then?”
“I was afraid of wild animals,” I reply.
I hear a low laugh. “Fair enough,” the voice says. “I was able to get within two feet of you—you’d be easy prey for whatever’s out there. You can drop your hands and turn around. I’ve seen you before. I know who you are.”
I turn to see a tall thin boy with a close-cropped Afro. The moonlight reflects off the star in his right eye. He stands there, arms crossed, with a bemused expression on his face. “You don’t even have a weapon,” I say.
“Looks like I didn’t need one,” he responds, holding up his empty hands and wiggling his fingers. He points to my face. “Nice war paint. Trying to camouflage yourself?”
I ignore him, glad he can’t see me turn red under the dried mud. “What did you mean you’ve seen me before?” I ask.
“I fire-Read you. Saw you with Juneau a couple of weeks ago—before they took our amulets away. Don’t know your name though.”
“I’m Miles.”
He sticks out his hand. “Kenai,” he says. I shake his hand, and he bursts out laughing. “No way . . . this really works? Dennis told us people used to greet each other shaking hands . . . I mean still do. You know what I mean.”
I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” I admit.
“Juneau’s not here—Whit took her to the ranch house,” Kenai says, suddenly serious.
“I know,” I reply.
“So what are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to the clan.”
“Well then, come on.”
I bend over to scoop up my crossbow, and Kenai leads me toward the fire where a dozen or so people are gathered. They watch as we approach, and one man stands to greet me. No starburst in his eye, so I figure he must be one of the elders, although he looks the same age as everyone else—between twenty and thirty. He is looking at me closely, more closely than the others are . . . checking me out. Looking at me intently, like he’s trying to read me from the outside in.
And then I see something familiar in his face. “You’re Juneau’s dad,” I say. He nods and shakes my hand like he’s actually done it before.
“You’re her travel companion,” he says. “We’ve seen you.”
“I just came from Avery’s ranch house,” I say. “I was able to get in without being noticed. Juneau and Whit are both being guarded. I heard them talking. Sounds like Avery made them give him the Rite. He’s death-sleeping and they’re being forced to stay and wait until he wakes up.”
No one says a word, although a lot of looks are thrown between the people around the fire. “There’s a small boy being kept in the ranch house—Badger, a boy from our clan,” Juneau’s father says.
“I saw him asleep in one of the upstairs rooms,” I say.
“Is he guarded?”
“A woman is in the room with him. But she’s not armed.”
Juneau’s father exchanges looks with a woman in the group. From her anxious expression I guess she must be Badger’s mother.
Just then I hear a cawing noise coming from above, and look up to see Poe descending in the firelight. He lands on the ground in front of me, and ducks his head as I reach for the pocket on his harness. There are two notes inside, and after glancing at the first, I stick it into my pocket for later. I read the second one quickly and then look up at the group in front of me.
“I came to tell you that I turned the electric gates off.” I hold the note up. “And less than a mile away a friend is waiting with her truck. She’s willing to make a few trips back and forth to take people to a nearby city, where the guards can’t find you. I thought the children and those accompanying them could go with her.”
I look Juneau’s father in the eye. “And I was hoping the rest of you would go back with me to get Juneau and Badger.”
45
JUNEAU
I AM LIMP WITH SHOCK FOR A GOOD FEW SECONDS. Then I try to jerk my arm away from O’Donnell, but he’s got me in a death grip. He grabs my other hand and pins them both behind my back as Mr. Blackwell walks over to me, looks me up and down, and sighs.
“Oh, Juneau. You could have saved me so much trouble by staying under my roof. If you had cooperated, I would have been happy to help your people escape from Avery. But as things are, I’m going to need all of my resources getting you away from here and won’t be able to help them.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, still incredulous that these two separate worlds are colliding.
“O’Donnell here’s been very generous with information about you—since the very beginning, isn’t that right, O’Donnell? Otherwise, I would never have known how important you were and would have gone after Whit instead. Not that he’s not important, too, of course. Where is he now?”
“Back at Avery’s ranch house,” says O’Donnell from behind me.
Blackwell nods thoughtfully. “Well, Juneau, let’s not beat around the bush this time. Would you like to tell me why you’re so necessary? Just what part do you play in the making of Amrit?”
I glare at him, wishing he were a few inches closer so I could head-butt him.
“Claiming the First, are you? You, then, O’Donnell—have you figured out why Juneau here is so important?” he asks, though he’s still looking directly at me.
“Yes, sir. When Mr. Graves was fixing the Amrit to give to Avery,” my guard begins.
Blackwell cuts him off. “What?” he bellows.
“Mr. Avery insisted that Mr. Graves try the Amrit out on him as soon as Juneau arrived.”
Blackwell stands there looking horrified, and then regains his composure. “That crazy bastard,” he says, rubbing his chin with his hand. “Trust Avery to test a new drug on himself . . . I’ve never known anyone so obsessed with death. How long ago was the drug administered?”
“Approximately three hours ago.”
Blackwell calculates. “Delightful,” he says. “That buys us a little more time, then, doesn’t it? Go on, O’Donnell. You were saying . . .”
The guard starts his story over. “When Mr. Graves prepared the ingredients for the drug, he cut the girl’s hand and added her blood to it.”
A light goes on in Mr. Blackwell’s eyes. “Aha! The magic ingredient. Graves mentioned that something in the formula was so rare that a synthetic replacement would need to be found. So it’s blood. But not just any blood. What’s so special about you, Juneau, that no one else in the clan could provide the missing ingredient?”
I narrow my eyes and remain silent.
He ignores my reticence. “That’s why Graves insisted that Avery get him Juneau. Because the formula doesn’t work without her vital input!” Blackwell laughs.
“I don’t suppose you know how to make Amrit by yourself?” Blackwell asks me.
“No,” I lie. “Whit always prepares it.”
Blackwell nods. “Just as I thought. Well, you’ll need to go back to get him,” he says, giving O’Donnell an impatient look.
“What?” O’Donnell asks
“Who’s going to care?” Blackwell asks. “Avery’s unconscious.”
“My boss is watching Mr. Graves. The two of us were ordered to keep them in the house until Avery wakes up. He’s not going to let me come in without the girl and demand the other hostage as well.”
“Then I suppose you’ll need to use force,” Blackwell responds with a blithe shrug.
Sensing O’Donnell’s confusion, I take the chance to try to jerk out of his grasp again. To no effect. He gives a grunt of frustration and asks, “Can I cuff her?”
“Yes,” Blackwell says.
O’Donnell lets go with one hand, and cold metal clamps around my wrists with a disturbing clicking noise, fastening my hands behind my back. He steps to my side, grasping me by the upper arm. “We’ve got twenty-five fully armed men in the barracks behind the ranch house,” he explains. “If my boss called for them, two dozen men would be on top of me and Graves within minutes.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want to cause a fuss,” says Blackwell, looking annoyed. “Why don’t I come back with you and see if I can speak some sense to your colleague. I suppose he might be open to the same sort of deal you were?”
“Who wouldn’t be?” says O’Donnell, looking relieved. I wonder just how much Mr. Blackwell has given this man to play double agent for him. “But if anyone sees us coming . . .”
“You’ll just say that I’m a guest of Mr. Avery’s who arrived early for a hunt. Why would anyone question that?”
O’Donnell thinks it over and finally nods his agreement. “You going to leave her in the plane?” he asks.
“I will not be leaving this young lady’s side for even an instant,” Blackwell says, eyeing me once again. “Not until I have what I want from her. She’s entirely too slippery to be entrusted to anyone else.”