A Girl From Forever (The Forever Institute series Book 1) Page 3

  I’ve no telepathy, but we both know what I’m thinking.

  I came to help you, and you did this.

  Rehan gets up and ducks into the cabin. It’s a little victory, perhaps. I promise myself that there will be more. The wind’s bringing tears to my eyes now, and standing like this on the swaying boat is making my stomach sick, so I move back inside. The port-hole won’t shut, I think I broke the catch, so after a brief struggle I leave it and let the air blow in as I sit down on the toilet lid. I wait for the door to open.

  It starts to rain, and little showers of water fall in through the port-hole. It’s nice at first. Then it’s not, and I long again for a coat.

  Eventually, the door opens. It’s a thin man in his fifties, with a grey tinge to his face and greasy grey hair tied back in a pony tail. His companion is slightly younger, with cranky eyes, a huge belly, and almost no hair. I’d bet anything that this is tired voice and sulky voice.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, we don’t mean you any harm,” says tired voice. “I’m Lucas, this is my friend Jerry. We need to talk to you for a while, then you can go back to the Forever Institute.”

  He needs to talk to me? I don’t know anything interesting. They don’t seem threatening, but Vol are unpredictable. Violent. I’m not good with pain. I look past Lucas and Jerry. The ship’s cabin doesn’t hold much: a table fixed to the floor and some benches, all in shades of brown. Some closed cupboards, and a doorway to another room. It doesn’t look much like an interrogation cell.

  Cracks in the benches’ padding, the cup-rings on the table. My captors aren’t rich. Is this all about a ransom? If so, I might be back in Forever very soon, because if there’s one thing Forever has, it’s cash.

  The serum, could they want Forever’s serum? I was told that terrorists like KHH want to destroy it, and return everyone to equal lifespans, cells decaying at the same depressing rate. They want to euthanise those who’ve already been treated.

  If they think that Forever would trade the serum to get me back, they’re crazy.

  “Sorry about the toilet,” offers Jerry grumpily. He is sulky voice. “We weren’t expecting you to join us, and we needed somewhere to put you while we got stuff sorted.”

  I drop my eyes to my hands. My tied hands.

  “Yes, sorry about that too, it’s not strictly necessary now – Jerry?” Lucas looks at Jerry, who produces a knife. I jerk back instinctively. Jerry’s mouth twists in contempt as he grabs my wrist and slices through the plastic tie.

  “You might be hungry?” suggests Lucas. “It’s not much, but – join us.”

  Now that he’s said the words, I am hungry. Silently, I follow him to the small table in the centre of the cabin and sit, as he places some tatty sandwiches in front of me. The first meal I’ve ever eaten outside of the canteen. I feel an unexpected surge of homesickness, as I pick up the sandwiches. Is it stupid to eat what they give me? What about drugs? I suppose, if they want to drug me, they’ll do it anyway.

  Carefully, I take a bite. It tastes better than it looks, some kind of spicy meat that I’ve not had before. I chew slowly, careful not to drip the sauce on my pyjamas. These might be my only clothes for a long time.

  I wonder where Rehan is. He must still be on the boat, but I guess he’s done his job, lured me out, and he’s not needed for my interrogation.

  Lucas and Jerry sit awkwardly opposite me, exchanging glances. I make them uncomfortable. Good. Is that because I’m Forever, because I’m a ‘freak’, or because I’m a teenage girl? I munch my sandwich at them, a little shield between us, holding onto the thought that I’ll be around long after they’re dust. It’s not a kind thought, but these are my kidnappers.

  I wonder how much of outside I can manage to see before they take me back. I’ve got to have something to tell Katrina, apart from what the inside of a boat looks like. Do the others know yet, that I’m gone? How will they feel when they’re told? Now that I’m apart from them, I realise how truly they are all my family, alike me in so many ways, despite our sharing no DNA except what Forever gave us.

  These strangers are completely alien. I ache to be with my family again, any of them, even Bel or Lia. I focus on my friends, not on the men in front of me.

  “How are you feeling?” asks Lucas.

  I smile pleasantly. “I’m fine,” I reply, picking up the other sandwich. It’s the same spicy meat. They exchange looks again.

  “We’ll arrive at the farmhouse in a bit, and then we can have a proper chat,” offers Lucas, as two more men enter the room. Younger men, who look very much alike, down to their angry faces. Brothers?

  “Ask her what they’re doing in there,” says one of them.

  “Artie,” warns Lucas. “You’ve done quite enough for today, you were supposed to be leading—”

  “Yeah, and look how that turned out,” the man replies.

  “Who’s the next target?” hisses the other man, looking directly at me. I blink slowly at him. This isn’t just about ransom, then. Something clenches inside me. I don’t know anything. “What do you do in there?”

  “Today we had double history and politics,” I reply unhelpfully, then give myself a mental kick. Being cooperative, helpful, is likely to make my life easier. They said that I can go home soon, all I have to do is survive. Do what they want, and hope they don’t want anything… Bad.

  “What do you know about Program 9?” demands Artie, stepping forward.

  Lucas gets to his feet and puts a hand on their shoulders, leading them back out of the room. “We’ll all talk later. Let Fern eat her snack.”

  How does Lucas know my name? Rehan. He’s told them all about me. I said so many things, things just for Rehan. My cheeks warm.

  After I’ve eaten, Lucas directs lead me to a berth off the main cabin, where I sit down on the platform that’s supposed to be a bed. There’s an old blanket on it that I recognise from my ride in the van. The air is stale, but the room is clean, old pine walls caked with orange varnish. Lucas turns off the light and the room fades into greys and blacks as he leaves, the door clicking firmly closed.

  It must be very late now. Slowly, I lean back, until I’m lying down on the platform. The surface is hard, even with the blanket under me. I turn to face the wall, and close my eyes. I need to escape. Should I try now, or tomorrow, when I’ve rested? My body is crashing after all the adrenaline, and I can’t think, but I must.

  After a while – ten minutes? Thirty? – The door creaks ajar, and my eyes slam open as a line of light slides across me. Fresh air drifts into the room, tasting of outside and broken promises.

  “Fern?” Rehan whispers. My heart rate speeds up. He’s in the room, behind me, standing between my bench and the door. I stare at the wall, at his shadow on the wall, as he reaches towards me, then stops the gesture before it’s complete, letting his hand drop to his side.

  “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

  Can he hear my thoughts? Don’t think. The orange varnish on the wall is cracked in so many places. I start to count the cracks. Five. Seven, ten…

  “They were killing us. Your lot… Forever. They kill any Vol they can find. We had to break in, snatch anything we could, try to take the fight to them, find out what’s going on, look for a weakness. I needed you to turn off the back-up generators – well, you know that – so that once I cut the cables, we’d have a fighting chance of grabbing some data before they beat us back.”

  Fifteen cracks. Twenty.

  We said so many things to each other. Loving things. But he was lying, and I was a fool. There’s nothing to say, now.

  Twenty-two cracks.

  Silence shouldn’t be this loud.

  I expect him to say more, but after a moment, the line of light slides away and the door clicks closed. I hear his feet on the wooden steps, going up to the deck.

  Perhaps I should have asked him what’s going on. Yet, why bother? Everything he’s said so far has been a lie. I don’t want to talk to him ever
again.

  I wonder if he’s really nineteen. He looks older.

  I don’t know if he locked the door. I don’t want to know, don’t want to go up there anyway. I don’t know how to escape from psychics, don’t know how much Vol are like the telepaths at the Institute. Do they have a telekinetic? Maybe they didn’t lock me in because they don’t need to.

  Perhaps if I do something spontaneous, they won’t see it coming, but how to plan something spontaneous? My thoughts don’t fit together, they keep sliding away from my grip. I’m so tired. I don’t want to sleep, sleep is too vulnerable, but the dark keeps snatching pieces of my brain and without remembering when I moved it, I’m lying under the blanket, struggling to keep my eyes open.

  I’m in the Institute basement again, turning off the generators, worrying about Rehan’s little sister, whom my dream makes real. This time, when I walk outside, it’s sunny, and Rehan’s waiting for me with a smile. He takes my hand and leads me through unbroken gates, where there’s a sleek red car waiting. No security, no guns, no frost or smoke or lies. He’s still holding my hand as his face leans in towards mine, and my eyelids drift closed as my heart speeds up and my skin warms.

  He vanishes before our lips touch, and I’m awake and ashamed of my dream – it would be so humiliating if Rehan knew. Maybe he does. He’s telepathic, after all. Maybe he sent me that dream. Can I even trust my mind anymore? That thought scares me more than the abduction, more than the shooting or the crazy van ride. Is Rehan the only ’path here, or are they all Vol? He said that he didn’t know any others, but he hasn’t exactly been a fountain of truth so far.

  The adrenaline in my system wore off while I slept, and now I badly want to cry. I shove all of my thoughts into a box and stare fixedly at the wall. I won’t let them, him, hear me cry. I won’t have swollen eyes or tear-stained cheeks in the morning. Surely all of those meditation and stress management classes weren’t for nothing. I try to empty my mind and listen to my breath.

  The platform frame under my hand is made from wood, its varnish uneven. I touch a fingertip into it and discover that it’s also rough.

  Staring at the wall, I focus on the sensation in my fingertip. I listen to the waves against the side of the boat as it rocks me, feel my chest rise and fall with each breath.

  I. Do. Not. Think.

  Chapter Four

  As the sky begins to lighten, we step off the boat into a field, where frost-tinged grass reaches my thighs. In the distance lurks a farmhouse, the only sign of human habitation. Woods cling to the hill behind it and at the edges of the field.

  I have no clue where we are. North of London? South? I can’t remember what direction the sun rises in, or what direction we came from.

  We plod uphill through the field towards the farmhouse, my pyjama bottoms quickly saturated with melting frost. Teeth chattering, I walk at the front with Lucas and Jerry, but I feel Rehan’s eyes on my back as he strides with some other men, and a woman in her early twenties. She sneered as I got off the boat. Already, she loathes me. I guess they all do.

  I wonder if she’s his girlfriend. I hope so, she looks mean. I hope she makes him miserable.

  Maybe she told him what to say to me, what lines to use. Poetry. “Stone walls do not a prison make,” Rehan quoted, when I told him how trapped the Institute makes me feel, “nor iron bars a cage. Minds innocent, and quiet, take that for an hermitage.” Surely no guy reads stuff like that. I bet she told him what to say.

  He said that he was sorry. Sorry for the lies? Or sorry that I didn’t go back into the building, once they’d used me to get through the outer wall? Gate codes. Generators. Stupid.

  Some of the group carry guns, casually, absent-mindedly. I can’t see a gun on Rehan, Lucas or Jerry. Does that make them less dangerous, or more? I wonder what they want. From Forever. From me.

  The farmhouse is – well, it’s inappropriately cute, stone walls, wooden beams, thatch. The spiky bush by the door might bear roses in summer.

  Could I escape through the thatch?

  Inside, it’s blissfully warm, and I become very aware of the wet pyjama bottoms clinging to my legs. It’s just a simple living room with soft chairs and a coffee table, but so different to the blue and grey plastic surfaces of the Institute.

  I’m led to an armchair and released, but I don’t want to sit in such wet clothes, so I stand awkwardly next to it, hugging myself. A drop of water slides from my hair, down my back.

  Artie pesters Lucas to begin questioning me, so Lucas sends him and the others away. That makes me more nervous, but Lucas is in no hurry, he’s sending messages on his phone. I try not to look around, or attract attention in any way, but I can’t help staring. It’s all so different. The floor is wooden, it looks older than me, than the Institute. There’s a grandfather clock in the corner, like something from a movie. I wish it didn’t tick so loudly.

  I hear a woman’s raised voice somewhere in the distance, arguing. That mystery is solved moments later, when Rehan walks in carrying a pile of clothing. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in proper lighting, and he looks very different to the smiling image he sent to my mind. His face is harder, not necessarily less attractive, but much less approachable. He’s more muscled than I imagined, too, and definitely taller. Perhaps the image was an old memory, from a time when he smiled more, or perhaps he doesn’t see himself as I do. He seems a total stranger now.

  How did I come to pour out all my inner thoughts to this person? He knows so much about me, yet I know nothing about the real him. I fell in love with a character they invented, and this person with my boyfriend’s face is a stranger to me.

  “Thanks, Rehan,” says Lucas.

  At least he gave me his real name.

  Lucas takes the clothes and gives them to me. “You go ahead, I’ll be back in a moment.”

  He leaves the room, and just like that, I’m alone.

  The front door is right there, but there must be a guard outside, surely. Should I run anyway? They’re Vol, prone to sudden flares of violence. What will they do to me if I run and they catch me? Is it even possible to run away from Vol, or will they be able to track me? What will they do if I don’t run? I’m scared as I step out of my wet pyjama bottoms and yank on a stranger’s clean underwear and jeans, which fit well, and a grey sweater of thick wool, which comes down to my knees. I take a hesitant step towards the window, but there’s a quick knock, and Lucas is back. I realise that my pyjama bottoms are still on the floor, and nudge them under the chair with my foot.

  “Would you like a hot drink?” Lucas asks. This has become a very polite kidnap. I nod slowly, and he hits the switch on a kettle. “It must feel strange being outside the Institute,” he asks, leaning back against a counter.

  “Yes.” My voice is rusty.

  “How are you feeling?” He sits opposite me, tired eyes searching mine.

  “I don’t understand why I’m here.”

  “Yes, well. Do you know anything about KHH?” I shake my head. He won’t like what I’ve heard. Terrorists. Anti-science fanatics.

  Lucas lets out a long breath. “Well, KHH stands for Keeping Humans Human,” he explains.

  Everyone knows that.

  “Forever have a lot of money and power,” he continues, as if talking to a young child. “Billions, even without licensing in place. If they win the litigation and are able to start selling the serum, they’ll have infinitely more. The very rich will be able to extend their lifespans and influence indefinitely… That scares people. It isn’t fair. But how can the poor and powerless fight the rich and powerful? They can’t, not really. KHH tries.”

  Lucas looks away. “Ah!” The kettle is boiling, and he gets up to make our drinks, faffing with teabags and cups and spoons, glancing out of the window repeatedly as he works.

  There’s something familiar about his behaviour, and I realise with puzzlement that he’s playing for time. I’ve done it myself, often, when put on the spot with an impossible task at the
Institute. Artie and the others wanted to interrogate me right away, but this man – this man, with his offers of sleep and sandwiches, clothes and tea, his lecture on things everybody should know… He doesn’t actually want to ask me anything. Or, is he just trying to make me ask the questions? Fine. If so, it’s very effective. I give in.

  “Why did you attack Forever?”

  He grimaces. “One of my colleagues came across some information by accident.”

  “Information?”

  “About Program 9.” He stares out through the window, as if waiting for guests. Then he shakes his head. “We attacked Forever because that’s what KHH is for. We will never stop attacking Forever, and everyone involved in making the serum. We hate Forever and everything it stands for.” The words flow smoothly, as if he’s reciting from a script. “Immortality shouldn’t exist outside fairy tales. But if it does… No-one should own it. Because then, well. The manufacturer owns your soul.” He looks at me. “I guess you know a bit about that.”

  I want to point out that he can’t uninvent the serum, that if Forever doesn’t sell it, someone else will, one day, but I’m not going to argue with him. I’ve been taught a thousand times about the impossibility of giving extended lifespans to all, and the resentment caused by that. It’s an inequality that’s only solvable if Forever agree to give up the serum, and who sane would do that?

  And – what about my classmates and me? We had the serum woven into our DNA, years before the press release, before the licensing application was even made. John says it’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission. The existence of the serum was plunged into litigation only days after it was announced, so John didn’t tell the world about us, said he would wait until we were eighteen. He warned us that we’ll have enemies, that some are already talking about euthanasia for anyone who’s taken the serum.