ISABELA SILVA
BIG BOX—STOCKTON, CALIFORNIA
ISABELA AWOKE SLOWLY, GROGGILY, LIKE SLIDING out from a pleasant dream. Her muscles were stiff, her back sore. It felt like she’d been sleeping for a long time. Where was she? In bed at the Academy? Back home? She smelled breakfast. Her mother must be cooking. She yawned luxuriously.
Someone gently shook her shoulders.
“Isabela. Isabela.” Ran’s voice. “Wake up, now. It is time to go.”
Isabela snapped awake. This cold metal slab beneath her, it wasn’t her bed. And she wasn’t alone.
She sat up sharply, her back cracking, a rush of wooziness pumping through her head. Ran crouched in front of her. The Japanese girl’s gaze was, as usual, completely inscrutable.
But Ran had seen her. Of that, Isabela could be certain.
“It is okay,” Ran said. “You’re safe.”
Isabela touched her cheeks. She ran her fingers over leathery furrows, the patchwork border of skin grafts, puckered scar tissue. She brushed her hand over her scalp, the spiky bristles where her beautiful mane of hair once grew. Her eyes widened, locked on Ran, and she stifled a scream.
Then, she shape-shifted. Isabela put on her old face, the one from before the accident. The burn scars melted away, her skin smoothed out, her hair grew in. Ran watched with her head tilted, saying nothing. Isabela wondered if the other girl was capable of registering surprise.
“You saw me,” Isabela said flatly.
“Yes.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“The others, too,” Ran said, glancing over her shoulder at the van’s closed back door. “At first, we thought you had been injured . . .”
Isabela put her face in her hands. Months of keeping up appearances—literally and figuratively—wasted. They would talk and she would become an object of pity, undesirable, disgusting . . .
She peeked out through her fingers. Wait. There was something more happening here. They were in the back of the stolen Academy van, except it wasn’t at all in the condition Isabela remembered. A warm wind blew in through the missing windshield. There were blood splatters on the floor. She noticed that Ran’s shoulder was wrapped in a fresh bandage.
“What . . . what happened?” Isabela asked.
“We were attacked,” Ran said. “You were shot with a tranquilizer dart.”
Isabela touched a sore spot on her neck. “Jesus Christ.”
“A young man—we think he was Garde—took Taylor. Teleported her away somewhere using a Loralite stone.”
Isabela’s mouth dropped open. “No. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“We are trying to decide what to do now,” Ran continued. “To begin with, we are getting rid of the van. That’s why I woke you.”
Isabela rubbed her eyes. “Where are we?”
“Stockton, California.”
“Ugh. Why? If we were attacked, why don’t we go back to the Academy?”
Ran reached past Isabela. From under the driver seat, she grabbed a broken weapon. A crossbow-looking rifle. The shock-collar thing. One of the guns the Peacekeepers had used against the Garde in the Wargames event.
“The people who attacked us had these,” Ran said. “They could be working with the Peacekeepers. We don’t know. Nigel and I do not feel safe going back there. And Caleb and Kopano . . . well. They want to go after Taylor.”
Isabela brushed a hand through her hair. “Where are they?”
“Outside,” Ran said. She nudged a plastic shopping bag in Isabela’s direction. “We got you a change of clothes.”
Isabela looked down at the bright blue bag. The logo said Big Box—a huge chain of American stores that sold supercheap versions of everything from underwear to guns. With great trepidation, she peered at the clothes within. A boring T-shirt and a terrible pair of mom jeans.
“These are awful.”
“They were the best we could do.”
Isabela sniffed. The cute and strappy dress she’d worn for their night out was ruined, smudged with grime and stained with blood. It was just one thing after another. She touched her wrist where, luckily, Simon’s translator bracelet remained secure.
“Let me get changed,” she said.
Ran nodded and turned to exit the van. She paused, half glancing over her shoulder.
“You are using your Legacy all the time,” Ran said.
Isabela frowned. “I haven’t figured out how to do it when I’m sleeping. Obviously.”
“Don’t you get tired?”
Isabela rubbed the scratchy fabric of her new T-shirt between her fingers. “Of course,” she said. “My tolerance is getting better and better, though.”
“It seems . . .” Ran paused. “I am sorry. It seems like it would be difficult.”
“Walking around the way I am, the way I really am . . . that’s harder than any amount of shape-shifting,” Isabela said quietly.
Ran nodded once, opened the door and hopped out of the van.
Isabela exhaled slowly. She’d spent almost a year hiding her true self from her classmates, cultivating the image of the girl she was before the accident. Now, all her hard work had been unraveled.
Not to mention, Taylor, who Isabela begrudgingly had to admit was her closest friend, had been kidnapped by some psychopaths. This, too, was unacceptable. Taylor, who had seen her real face already—who had kept her secret and not judged. Taylor, who should be here now, who would know the right stupid positive thing to say to make Isabela feel better.
Dressed in her ugly Big Box clothes, Isabela emerged from the van. They were parked in a dingy alley behind a shopping center. Ran sat on the bumper of the van. Nigel stood a few feet away, a small bandage on his head and a larger one on his calf. It heartened Isabela to see that he’d been forced to abandon his punk rock attire for a pair of cargo shorts and a too-big Mickey Mouse T-shirt, which he had ripped the sleeves off of. Kopano stood at the end of the alley, keeping watch, his face as dour as she’d ever seen it. Isabela wrinkled her nose; the pungent aroma of warm trash emanated from a nearby Dumpster.
“Couldn’t you have found a less disgusting place to hide out?” she asked.
“That’s funny,” Nigel said. He smiled at her in a way that she’d never seen before. Usually, his smiles were mocking or smug, but this one . . . it was as if he were smiling at a three-legged dog.
The pity. Already they were starting in with the pity. Kopano stared at her hard, like he was trying to see through her disguise, checking for seams. She snapped her fingers at him.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Isabela snapped. “What do you think? That if you cross your eyes you will be able to see my real face? You already saw enough.”
Kopano simply looked away. “Sorry.”
Nigel cleared his throat. “Listen, love, you don’t have to hide yourself from us, we’re your fri—”
Isabela rounded on him. “Hide myself?” She gestured at her body. “You think this is for you? That I do this for your benefit? Pah.” Isabela spit on the ground. “This is how I like to look. It’s my choice.”
Nigel held up his hands. “All right, all right.”
“Did it happen during the invasion?” Ran asked.
Isabela threw her shoulders back and sighed. “This is the only time we will talk about this, okay? After this special bonding moment, you will never comment on my appearance again, unless it is to pay me a much-deserved compliment. Understand?”
They all nodded.
“It happened a month before the invasion,” Isabela said. “I was at a warehouse party. Something caught fire. There were too many people. I was stuck and . . .” She shrugged. “When John Smith called us all to action, I was in a hospital bed, my body wrapped in bandages. I did not care about the invasion or what happened to the world. I only hoped that one of these aliens would come heal me. They did not. But I was given the next-best thing.”
“Fate,” Kopano said quietly. “You got exactly the Legacy you needed.”
“Fate? Luck? Who cares?” Isabela tossed her hair. “Is that enough sharing? Do we not have more important things to worry about?”
“Yes,” Kopano said. He looked down at his feet. It was strange to see the cheery Nigerian brooding. “We must find Taylor.”
Isabela raised an eyebrow, turning to look at Ran. “You said she got kidnapped. Teleported?”
“Yes.”
“They were Harvesters,” Kopano said grimly. “Taylor must have told you about them coming to her farm.”
Isabela nodded. “The whore who shot me didn’t look like some religious nut.”
“We think she came with the tosser who teleported away,” Nigel said. “She created a Loralite stone. Her friend took Taylor, left her behind. Harvesters attacked her. Snatched her up while we was making our escape.”
Isabela put her hands on her hips and looked at Ran. “Why didn’t you just kill them all?”
Ran looked back at her, but said nothing. It was Kopano who grunted, shoving away from his spot on the wall. “We should go find Caleb. He’s been gone too long.”
“Where is he?” Isabela asked.
“Caleb is getting us a new car,” Ran said.
“Him? Really?” Isabela asked.
“He knows cars,” Nigel replied. “Figures he can get one started all telekinetically.”
“Yes, but he is—what do the Americans call it? The little camper children.”
“A Boy Scout,” Nigel replied with a half smile.
“Not who I would put in charge of stealing a car,” Isabela said with a shrug.
“Wasn’t no Boy Scout last night. Lad fought like he was possessed. Might’ve turned those Harvesters away himself, if . . .”
Nigel trailed off, glancing gloomily in Kopano’s direction. Kopano’s frown deepened and he walked out of the alley. Isabela pursed her lips—she really had missed a lot.
“What’s his problem?” she quietly asked Nigel as they walked, nodding in Kopano’s direction.
“He bloody lost it last night,” Nigel whispered. “We think the knob in the suit used some kind of mind control on him.”
They made an odd-looking group as they emerged from the alley, but luckily the shopping center parking lot was uncrowded this early in the morning. Even so, Isabela felt exposed being out in the open. She’d been on numerous excursions since coming to the Academy, but none had ever spiraled out of control like this. At best, they were in deep trouble with the Academy. At worst, they were being hunted. For the first time since she’d come to the Academy, Isabela felt her confidence begin to waver.
“Shouldn’t we at least call in to the Academy?” she asked. “Tell them that Taylor’s been kidnapped.”
“That lot’s got to have noticed we’re missing by now,” Nigel said. “We give them a ring, they’ll track us down.”
“Would that . . . would that be so bad?”
“We don’t know if we can trust them,” Ran said. “I, for one, am not ready to go back yet.”
“We can’t go back without Taylor,” Kopano said firmly. “I promised her . . . I promised I would protect her.”
Isabela rolled her eyes at the macho posturing, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she turned to Nigel and Ran.
“Taylor could be anywhere,” she said. “Where would we even start?”
Nigel reached into one of his cargo pockets. “Took the liberty of searching a couple of bodies before we made our escape last night. One’a them wankers had this on him.”
He handed Isabela a pamphlet. It looked like something hastily thrown together in Photoshop and then spit out from an ancient printer. Her eyes skimmed over the imagery—the Harvester logo, bulbous-headed green aliens, the devil, random Bible quotations. More importantly was the message, scrawled in Sharpie on the back. “Apache Jack’s. 4866 Route 15. Gila. Outside Silver City. Ask for Jimbo.”
“Where is this?” Isabela asked.
“Biker bar in bloody New Mexico,” Nigel replied. “We think it’s a spot where these Harvesters sharpen their pitchforks and grope their cousins.”
“How do you know all this?”
Nigel pulled a cell from his pocket. “Nicked this from one of the bikers. Battery’s all dead now, though. Found a bit of cash, too. How we afforded our lovely new wardrobe.”
“That reminds me,” Isabela said. With a bit of concentration, she changed the appearance of her clothes—made the jeans more formfitting and turned the T-shirt into a silky tunic.
Nigel scowled at her. “Not fair.”
Isabela smirked. “So the plan is to track down these maniacs who already tried to murder us once and hope they will tell us how to find Taylor?”
“About sums it up,” Nigel said. He looked to Ran. “Right?”
“Yes,” she said. “Either they tell us, or perhaps we find the girl who creates Loralite. The Harvesters who survived took her when they were escaping.”
“How did we escape?” Isabela thought to ask.
“The baddies hightailed it when their leader all of a sudden decided to off himself. Think the wanker in the suit played a part in that. Otherwise, don’t make any sense,” Nigel said. He glanced at Ran. “The ones who had a mind to keep fighting got their asses exploded.”
Isabela eyed Ran. “You . . .”
She flexed her fingers, knuckles cracking. “I am not a very good pacifist. Especially when men are trying to kill me and my friends. We will find them. And they will talk.”
Nigel smiled at Isabela. She realized he was actually having fun with this. “Going off half-cocked without official approval is the way Garde get things done,” he said. “Or haven’t you heard the stories, love?”
“Oh, I have heard. But you are no John Smi— Oof!”
Kopano stopped directly in front of Isabela and she bumped into the large boy’s back. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Uh . . . ,” Kopano said. “This looks like a problem.”
In the back row of the parking lot, Caleb stood with his hands on the hood of a minivan, not moving. Three other Calebs swarmed around him, all of them speaking over one another.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” said one Caleb, this one rocking back and forth on his heels and hugging himself. “We shouldn’t be doing any of this. We need to go back to the Academy. We need to tell the administrators everything and hope we aren’t in trouble.”
“Imagine how hot she’s going to be for you when you bust in and rescue her,” another Caleb said, this one strutting back and forth. “This is gonna be awesome, bro. Don’t listen to these other shitheads.”
The third duplicate stood a bit away from the others. He stroked his chin ponderously. “Has anyone considered the implications of a terrorist organization having access to the same weaponry as our government? Or the fact that there are Garde being used for violent acts against other Garde? I’m beginning to think we don’t know as much about our situation as we should.”
“We know exactly enough,” whined the first duplicate. He tugged at the silent Caleb’s arm—that one, Isabela surmised, must be the real Caleb, since these duplicates were all trying to coax him to action. “Please! Please can we go back?”
The strutting Caleb slapped his nervous counterpart hard across the face. “Shut up, man! Goddamn. You are pathetic.”
Meanwhile, a Big Box worker pushing a train of shopping carts paused to stare at the arguing quadruplets. Isabela spotted him first and nudged Ran. “We’re attracting attention.”
All at once, the clones went silent, although their many mouths were still moving. Nigel had lowered their volume. He jogged forward, shoving through the duplicates to get at the real Caleb.
“You all right, mate?”
Caleb looked up. “Huh?” He stretched, the movement seeming painful. “Sorry. I spaced.”
Nigel looked around, drawing Caleb’s attention to his squabbling copies.
“Oh,” Caleb said. “I didn’t . . .”
“Quit listening to the voices, yeah?” Nigel said quietly. “We got work to do.”
Caleb closed his eyes. In a blur of ghostly movement, the duplicates became incorporeal and flowed back into Caleb. Isabela shuddered. The Big Box store employee screamed and ran in the other direction.
“Oops,” Caleb said.
With a burping sound, the engine of the minivan came to life. Caleb used his telekinesis to unlock the doors.
“We should probably go,” he said.
“You think?” Isabela replied.
Caleb looked at her, surprise registering on his face. “You look . . . better.”
Isabela groaned. “I’ll tell you in the car, weirdo.”
With that, they piled into the minivan and headed for New Mexico, the Harvesters and whatever waited beyond.