Awaken (The Cure Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  “You’re in no position to ask questions,” the woman says, stepping toward me. She pulls the cloak away from my body to examine my clothing. I glance down and immediately see why it was so easy for the trio to spot me. The cloak has reverted to a deep purple shade, which means I must have accidentally deactivated its camouflage setting sometime during the night. “You’re definitely wearing a Directorate uniform,” she says, eyeing the white outfit underneath. “But you’re not a Chaperon or member of the Guard. You look like a Candidate. How on God’s green earth did you end up out here?”

  I wonder for a moment how she knows what Candidates’ uniforms look like, but the thought flits away like vapor as I try to formulate a strategic answer.

  “I escaped from the Arc,” I finally blurt out, aware as the words emerge how insane they must sound. Still, I hold my chin high and force myself to look the woman in the eye.

  “No one escapes the Arc,” she scoffs. “We all know that by now.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess I just have useful friends,” I snap before correcting myself. “One friend in particular. He helped me get out alive.”

  The woman narrows her eyes as if to tell me wordlessly that my story is unfathomable, and I can’t blame her for her skepticism. Alliances between Dregs like me and those who live inside the Arc are rare, to say the least. The thought of someone powerful helping one of us is ridiculous at best.

  “Look,” I continue, clearing my throat. The young man is no longer pressing his arm into my neck, but he’s still holding onto me tightly, like he’s convinced I’ll bolt. “I’m assuming you three are part of the Consortium. That means we have a few things in common.”

  The three exchange a look, but no one confirms my theory. “It doesn’t matter,” I tell them. “Either you’re with them, or you’re with the Directorate. If you’re Consortium, it will mean something to you when I tell you I’m Oliver Spencer’s daughter. If you’re with the Directorate, it’ll mean something, too. Just…probably not something good.”

  “Oliver Spencer…” the red-haired woman breathes. She takes a sudden step back, like I’ve just burned her.

  Oh, damn.

  This could be bad.

  “How did you get here? What made you come west of the city?” she asks.

  “A note I found,” I tell her. “From my father. He left a message—a sort of coded one—and I followed the clues in this direction. Look, I need answers. I need allies. You must know that what’s going on inside the Arc is…”

  I stop talking, all too aware that I’m saying far too much far too quickly. I don’t even know who these people are, and their clothing isn’t helping me draw any useful conclusions. They’re each dressed in khaki pants with olive green tank tops, like some kind of informal military uniform. At their waists, each of them has a belt with a sheathed blade of one sort or another.

  There are no guns, at least. Though for some reason, I don’t find their lack of sophisticated weaponry reassuring.

  I do notice that none of them wears the symbol of the Consortium: a circle crossed by two swords. For all I know, these three are part of a band of nameless rebels…or worse, thieves. If they knew the value of the clothes on my back—of the specialized uniform Finn custom-made for me to enhance my strength—they might slit my throat, steal it, and leave my corpse for scavenging wildlife.

  “What’s happening inside the Arc isn’t our concern,” the woman finally says, her tone frosty. “We’re just trying to survive out here, and there are enough obstacles in our way as it is.”

  “You’re telling me it means nothing to you that the Directorate is killing Dregs?” I look her up and down. There’s no question in my mind that she knows what I’m talking about. “How can you not care?”

  She winces. “Of course I care. But what would you have us do? If we make the Directorate angry, we’re all dead.”

  I stare at her, my thoughts braiding into twisted knots in my mind.

  “You’ve already made them angry,” I tell her. “They hate that they can’t find you, for one thing.”

  The woman and the young man exchange a brief glance, but I can’t quite decipher its meaning.

  “The Directorate knows exactly how to find us, which is why we can’t afford to anger them.”

  “I don’t understand…” I stammer, baffled. “They don’t let Dregs wander freely outside the Mire. How can you possibly survive out here if they know where you are?”

  “It’s…complicated. If you come with us, you can see for yourself.” She lays a hand on the young man’s shoulder and squeezes gently, nodding once.

  The young man finally releases me and takes a step back. He looks at the woman, who seems to be the leader of their small group, and says, “What are we going to do with her?”

  “She’s Spencer’s daughter,” the woman replies. “We have no choice but to bring her with us. Veer will want to meet her.”

  “No way,” he protests. “They’ll be looking for her. There will be drones swarming the woods in no time. We saw three of them on the way here. If they think we’re harboring an escapee…”

  “We can’t just leave her!” the dark-haired girl objects. “If their weaponized drones come for her, she’s dead. She’s safe in the—” She stops, looks at me, and says, “She’s safe with us. But not out here, not in these woods. You know the rules.”

  “I don’t care,” the young man snarls. “If we bring her with us, she puts us all at risk. It’s not our problem if we leave her behind and she ends up dead because she’s literally too stupid to live.”

  “It’ll be your problem if word gets back to Veer,” the girl snaps.

  “She’s right,” the woman says. “We can’t leave Spencer’s daughter in the woods to die, or Veer will have our heads—at least figuratively.” She shoots me an I hope you’re worth it look before saying, “Come on, then. We’ll take you to the Bastille.”

  “Bastille? There’s no place with that name around here,” I say. “At least, there wasn’t seven years ago.”

  “It’s what we call Br—,” the girl begins to explain, but she’s quickly shushed by the others.

  “It’s fine,” I mutter. “I don’t need to know. Just tell me—are you part of the Consortium?”

  “We’re…part of what’s left of it,” the woman says.

  “Wait—left of it?” A sick feeling begins to grow inside me. “What are you saying?”

  The woman sighs. “There was a lot of fighting, years ago. Many died. Some among our ranks betrayed us. That’s all you need to know. The Consortium isn’t what it once was. It’s basically gone.”

  Gone.

  The word parches my throat, robbing my body of strength. I want to collapse, to surrender to the weight that’s just overtaken my shoulders and is threatening to break me.

  “There have to be more of you,” I croak out. “There have to be more members out there…”

  “I’m sorry.” The woman lays a hand briefly on my shoulder. Her voice is kind, reassuring. “But it’ll be okay. We’ll look after you.”

  I fight back tears, unwilling to let the three strangers—especially the arrogant young man—see me cry.

  “All right,” I reply with a nod.

  “By the way, my name is Piper. These two are Peric and Cyntra.”

  “Nice…to meet you.” Weary, I gather my few things from the ground and begin to walk with my three captors. “My name is Ashen. How far is it to the…Bastille?”

  Whatever the hell that is.

  “A few miles,” Piper tells me. “Shouldn’t take us long to get there.”

  We begin the hike in silence, my mind spinning with horrible images of death and destruction, imagined scenarios of what could have happened to the Consortium.

  I had such high hopes that my father’s old alliance would not only be my salvation, but that of so many inside the Arc.

  But if the organization is gone—truly gone—there’s no hope for me, for Kel, for my friend Kyra, or for the other Dregs who have suffered for months on the inside.

  With a heavy heart and slumped shoulders, I trudge along with the others, wondering if I’ll ever see Finn or feel joy again.

  3

  The Bastille

  We hike along a series of barely visible paths that weave their way through the woods like twisting veins. My captors seem intent on cutting through the densest part of the forest, presumably to conceal themselves from the Directorate’s ubiquitous eyes.

  I can’t exactly say I blame them.

  But I’m still confused. Where are we headed? Do they have some underground dwelling, hidden from sight? Do they live in the location my father pointed to on his note?

  Piper said they’re what’s left of the Consortium. I wonder how many of them there are. If they’ll welcome me with open arms or burn me at the stake.

  There’s only one way to find out.

  From the sun’s position in the sky, I can tell we’re still moving west, which is a relief. If the trio had turned and marched me back toward the Arc, I’d currently find myself embroiled in a fight to the death, and as impressive as Finn’s suit is, I’m not entirely sure I’d come out of the brawl in one piece. The uniform doesn’t compensate for hunger, and I haven’t eaten a proper meal in over twenty-four hours.

  My three escorts don’t say much as we make our way through the woods. I notice Peric, who’s in the lead, turning to check up on me now and then, his expression sullen. Piper is just behind me, with Cyntra following her.

  After a time, Cyntra edges up to walk ahead of Piper. I can hear her breathing, and once or twice I’m convinced she’s on the verge of saying something, but she stops herself before she starts. Finally, she whispers something to Piper, who says, “Fine. Go ahead.”

&nb
sp; Cyntra lets out a little squeal before poking my shoulder and asking me, “What was it like?” as we squeeze through the underbrush, snapping brittle branches as we go.

  “What was what like?”

  “The Arc! I mean, what was it like living inside it? I want to hear everything.” Her giddiness tells me she knows nothing about the horrors beyond the Arc’s walls—or worse, if she does know, she doesn’t care.

  Didn’t she hear me telling Piper they kill Dregs?

  “I’ve only ever seen video,” she adds when I don’t reply. “It looks so…perfect.”

  Turning my head, I try to offer her a smile, but it comes out as more of a wince. I understand her curiosity—I felt hopeful, too, a few months back when Kel and I used to watch the Directorate’s propaganda videos. I’ll never forget the look of excitement on his young face as he tugged at my sleeve and pointed to the seemingly euphoric Arc residents. Though I never said it out loud, it was my dream, as well as his, to one day glow with that same perfect bliss.

  Of course, back then I had no idea it was all a façade, an illusion, just like the Arc’s multitude of phony windows and concealed doors.

  As I ponder my reply to Cyntra, I’m not convinced I should go into graphic detail about what I lived through while I was in that hideous place, so I choose my words carefully.

  “It was…very clean,” I tell her, reaching for my earliest memories of stepping off the train on my first day in the Arc. “Immaculate. And huge. Every level felt like a new world.”

  “And the residences? What are they like?”

  “I really only saw one. But I know the Wealthies who live on the upper levels own immense amounts of property. It’s like they own entire palaces, all inside one giant building. The residence where I stayed—the Duke’s place—”

  “You lived with a Duke?” Cyntra chirps, her voice rising several pitches. I can tell it all sounds like a fairy tale to her.

  I was once naive too, I think. I hope for your sake that you never see the truth for yourself.

  “He wasn’t a real Duke,” I assure her. “The Aristocracy—that’s what the richest of them call themselves—is completely bogus. It’s a bunch of obscenely wealthy people trying to seem more important than they are by giving themselves titles.”

  “But they are important, aren’t they? I’ve heard they built the Arc. They run it. They saved so many people by bringing them into that place.”

  Irritated, I glare at her. She sounds like a victim of the same propaganda the Directorate used to hurl at us. The great and benevolent Arc. Paradise on earth. The perfect home for perfect people.

  “They didn’t save anyone!” I snap before I have a chance to tell myself not to. “They convinced rich people to pour all their money into the Arc, then herded them in there like prisoners.”

  “But they’re not prisoners, are they?” Cyntra says meekly. “The Directorate is only keeping them in the Arc to protect them.”

  “The Directorate wants to protect only itself. They’re not the generous overlords you seem to think they are. They’re terrified of anyone learning the truth about them. Besides, weren’t you three just talking about the Directorate drones coming to kill us all?”

  “Yes, because they don’t like us being out in the woods. But they take people into the Arc all the time—they literally saved all those people from the Blight!” Cyntra protests, and with a shock, it hits me that she doesn’t know the truth about the Blight or the Directorate’s role in killing so many of the Mire’s adults.

  No. Of course she doesn’t.

  Very few people are privy to that toxic information.

  I want to ask how Piper survived the Blight—how their home, wherever it is, is exempt from the slaughter of anyone over eighteen. But something tells me to wait.

  I see Peric turn his head as if he’s listening to the conversation, and I clench my jaw, resolving to keep the ugly details to myself. I have no idea how much these people know about my father’s destructive biological invention, about how the Directorate used it so effectively against our own.

  If they learned the truth, they might kill me on the spot.

  “What do they look like?” Cyntra asks, thankfully changing the subject slightly. “The Directorate, I mean.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. “I haven’t seen most of them. They wear masks when they’re out at social gatherings, and at trials and…other things. They don’t want people knowing who they really are, because it could come back to haunt them. There are a lot of people in the Arc who would be disgusted if they found out what the Directorate does to people like me.”

  “I’ve heard they punish Dregs who deserve it,” Cyntra replies with a shrug. “Is that so wrong?”

  “Deserve,” I tell her, “is a relative term. It seems the Directorate has a different definition than I do.”

  I want to ask her if she thinks the death penalty is appropriate for someone who’s spoken ill of the Directorate, but conjuring grisly memories doesn’t seem like the most prudent idea at the moment.

  With another shrug, she asks, “What about socializing? What did you do for fun?”

  I turn to stare at her, puzzled by her numbness to the topic of the Directorate’s cruelty. All I can guess is that she hasn’t seen a lot of death in her young life—that she hasn’t had to make difficult choices or sacrifice anything of herself. I almost envy her innocence. It’s like someone has shielded her from the reality of the enemy that roams these very woods, and given her a pair of rose-colored glasses.

  Even now, as she hikes along with a blade at her waist, she seems carefree, oblivious to threats.

  “Sometimes I left the residence,” I tell her. This time, my smile is genuine as memories of the hours spent with Finn float through my mind. “There was a secret place I went with the…friend…I mentioned earlier. We could swim and be alone there. Honestly, I sometimes forgot where we were. I felt…I don’t know, free, I guess. It was pretty amazing.”

  “Oh my God,” she sputters. “You had an actual boyfriend?”

  Peric’s head briefly turns to the side once again, though I can tell he doesn’t want me to know he’s listening.

  “He was a good friend,” I retort, feeling suddenly protective of Finn. I don’t want to say anything that could give away his identity, his betrayal of his parents, of the Directorate. But I do wish I could say more about his kindness toward me, his…everything. I’ve never had the luxury of telling anyone how I feel about him. How much he’s come to mean to me, how deep my affection truly runs.

  But until I know exactly who my captors are, something tells me I’d do well to keep it to myself.

  “What else did you see in there?” Cyntra asks.

  “There was an amazing marketplace. And beautiful Royal Gardens. And apparently, huge shopping malls and football stadiums, but I never saw those. I mostly just stayed at the Duke’s residence. It was tiring, being a Candidate. I never had much energy for anything else.” I’m about to tell her about the Training Sessions, but I stop myself.

  As we continue to walk in silence, more memories surge through my mind. Of Finn, of Kyra and Marsh, of our horrid instructor, Piotr.

  But someone else infiltrates my thoughts. Another face, another voice, one that used to mean so much to me.

  My former best friend.

  Rys.

  The living, breathing reason I’ve lost my ability to trust anyone.

  Not only did he betray me, but he betrayed my mother, my brother. All because of some lies the Directorate threw his way to convince him my father was a murderous monster.

  As I push the thought of him from my mind, I vow to be wary of everyone, to have faith in no one. The only people in the world I trust right now are Finn and Kel.

  That is, if my little brother is even still alive.

  He has to be.

  With a shudder, I tell myself the Directorate will keep Kel from harm. They have to. He’s leverage, a bargaining chip in their war against the Consortium. A means to get me back into their clutches.

  Until I’m dead, they’ll keep him alive.

  After a time, Piper says, “About twenty minutes until we reach our destination.”

  Peric, up ahead, seems to have stopped checking on me, and instead has tensed like a prey animal wary of his surroundings. He keeps shooting glances toward the sky like he’s waiting for something to come flying down at us.