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  “Yes.”

  “Then why, if they know we have Malclenersy, hasn’t she poisoned the coffee?”

  “The devices operate in a reactive manner—reacting to predetermined stimuli, signals. They aren’t intelligent or equipped to transmit. They’re too small to be that sophisticated, regardless of the technology behind them. I think nobody knows they’re under control. It’s like being nudged into a certain direction, but with close limits. I don’t believe the powers that be know who has Malclenersy. We’re a risk. Please, just let me prove it. Stop by the lab tonight, at ten.”

  “What about Rachael? She’s under control too?”

  Victor felt his legs go weak at the thought.

  “What about Anita? Her too?”

  “Please, let me show you. I believe I have a way to stop them, shut them down.”

  “And that kid, Ron. Jesus, Vick.” Eli became visibly nervous, fearful even, which wasn’t like him. “I should report this to the university. Or the police.”

  “Eli, please! Just give me tonight.”

  “I think you’re crazy, but I’ll indulge you. But if you do anything to endanger my career, or Anita, in any way . . . I’ll make you regret it.”

  ✽✽✽

  Victor’s mind crawled over the mistakes that had brought him to the present moment. The flawed assumptions that had charted his path were now like infected sores that covered every memory dating back to Anita’s surgery. That was the day that Victor had reached the pinnacle of his existence. He’d had a stable career, Anita had a second chance at life, and the wall that sat between him and his brother had begun to crumble. Yet every day since, he had been on a path to destroy it all. He longed to return to that day . . . a chance to take a different path.

  Until today, time had seemingly stood still, each day as a lifetime of its own with nothing but empty existence—hell as described by old religions, as Victor had always understood it. He’d had no leads, no hope, until now.

  But he had discovered that Eli and Remmie could be less than one hundred and fifty miles from the little bungalow where Victor and the others had taken residence.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  IT WAS CHRISTMAS Eve. Anita was sleeping on a soft recliner in the basement of the Nevada cabin. A single Valium was all she’d needed. Victor booted up his laptop while Eli sat in a rolling chair, sipping a straight scotch, his shoulders dangling, damp eyes surveying the blank walls.

  “I’m going to activate the signal,” Victor said, annoyed at his brother’s seeming apathy. “You have any more objections before I start?”

  “You’re going to do what you’re going to do.”

  Eli downed the last of his scotch. He wasn’t taking the truth so well, worse even than Victor had expected.

  “Yeah, you discovered it,” Eli said. “My sister, humanity, is nothing more than a puppet, right? You’ve always been the smarter one.”

  “Is that what this is about, growing up the way we did? You didn’t discover it? That’s such bullshit. You always had the friends, the right hair. You’re a goddamn neurosurgeon for God’s sake. Why do you hate me so much?”

  “I don’t . . . hate you.” Eli tightened the grip on his glass, the veins on his forearms inflating.

  “Sure you do. Look at yourself. If it weren’t for Anita, I’d never see you again. I’ve never been your family. You always wanted to be the only son.”

  “You know how I feel about that, brother.”

  “No, that was just an excuse to justify your contempt for me. Blaming me? Because I started that shit with Dad that delayed them?”

  “They’d be alive. They’d be lined up next to Anita, getting cured by my genius brother.”

  “It’s that goddamn scotch. It always makes you —”

  “Makes me tell it like it is.”

  Eli reached for the bottle of scotch. Victor knocked the glass from Eli’s hand, causing it to smash on the floor, shards spreading like infection. Eli seized Victor’s wrist, pulling Victor to him and they struggled—a battle of strength. Victor snatched his arm from Eli’s grip.

  “We’re wasting time,” Victor said. “We’re here for Anita. We need to shut those things down. I worry that time is short . . . like maybe they know somehow. I want to free her mind from their influence, to give her her free will back, give it to her for the first time. Don’t you want that too?”

  Without a word, Eli grabbed the bottle, took a sizeable drink, and returned to his chair. Victor gently placed his helmet apparatus over Anita’s head. The helmet was connected to the laptop, and Victor sat at the keyboard. He typed a command: “seeker.”

  Anita’s mouth ballooned open, taking in a slow, deep breath.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered in a weak voice.

  “I’m gonna free you, sis. I love you.”

  An impaling shriek rocketed from Anita’s mouth. Victor stumbled back as if hit by a shock wave. Then silence. Her eyes went blank, void of substance.

  Eli leapt to her side. “Turn it off!”

  Anita’s eyes rolled back, leaving milky-white ellipsoids cut with dense webs of deep red.

  She was no longer breathing.

  Eli shoved Victor aside, off his feet, then yanked the apparatus off of her head, smashing its sensitive electronics on the floor, where they mingled with the sharp fragments of glass. Eli began to administer CPR. Victor returned to Anita’s side and took over the chest pumps while Eli breathed into her. This carried on for ten minutes.

  Her pulse never returned.

  Eli stepped back, his eyes scanning Anita’s face. Her eyelids were fully retracted, mouth open with a crescent frown, a trickle of saliva retreating down her cheek. Her frail limbs were rigid.

  “Anita?” Eli softly touched her forehead.

  Victor’s legs were unstable, barely able to hold him upright. “They got to her first.”

  Eli’s frozen eyes found his.

  He stepped back. “We waited too long. They sent a signal.” Victor’s throat was unable to draw breath, and the walls around him seemed to melt into a uniform goo.

  Eli lunged at Victor and carried them both to the floor. Time contracted as Eli’s fist repeatedly beat Victor’s cheeks. Victor’s face became a numb balloon, his body limp, for his will had faded.

  Victor could see his own face swelling in his peripheral vision, which was going black. But something jarred in him, an explosive indignation that tensed his muscles. He violently careened his body, throwing Eli aside. Victor bellowed and grabbed Eli’s fist, which he compressed with all his strength as he threw his body on top of Eli, slamming his shoulders onto the concrete. Victor’s muscles tensed, and the twins struggled with their hands.

  But Victor was able to slip free and push Eli’s head into the floor. He struck Eli as Eli had struck him.

  Then clarity doused animal instinct. Victor did not recognize himself in that moment. He scanned his brother’s face—blood-spattered, inflamed, hollow eyes swollen to dark red slits. Victor’s body felt detached as he looked around the room, one eye blurry, the other stinging. He pushed himself to his feet, his body wavy.

  “I’m going to stop it,” Victor said, bubbles of blood and saliva distorting his voice. “Everywhere. I know how to stop them.”

  “She’s dead,” Eli gurgled. “Ma and Dad are dead. There’s nothing you can fix.”

  “She was a puppet. She deserved to be free. She would have wanted it for us, but we waited too long. There’s a fail-safe in them or something.”

  Victor’s mind teemed with possibilities. He wiped the blood and tears from his eyes, which burned as if his touch were a hot iron. He was unable to look at Anita. “They used me to find the secret to Malclenersy . . . to stop us from sidestepping their control.”

  “Nobody I care about exists anymore.” Eli pushed himself to his feet, stumbling along the way. “I want to bury her. And I never want to see you again.”

  Eli checked Anita’s pulse again, then embraced her. Victor looked o
ver them both. To look at her made him question himself. But no, he had made the right decision. If he hadn’t, she would never truly have lived. Besides, they already knew. Mr. Sands knew. They would have taken her, destroyed her, like Ron was taken. Victor had discovered the truth, but his only mistake had been waiting too long. And her tumor. She had already been dying . . . it was because of them, somehow. They were already killing her.

  “Maybe her tumor—” Victor said.

  “Leave now, or I’ll kill you.”

  Eli looked like a vengeful stranger, Anita in his arms, blood painting his inflamed face. Victor grabbed his backpack and threw in the pieces of his helmet and the external hard drive attached to his workstation. He ran upstairs, packed what he needed, and disappeared.

  ✽✽✽

  A metallic smell flowed from the window above Victor’s bed, reminding him of the smell of blood, death. Victor had always blamed the Dames for Anita’s death. He hadn’t allowed himself to consider the possibility that her death was his own doing. But now, he was coming to terms with the reality that his impatience, his paranoia, had been part of it. He stared at the pale walls of his small room. The air was warm, yet his body shivered. He pulled a blanket over his shoulders.

  He had a lead on Eli and Remmie’s location, but he felt incapable, unable to know with any degree of confidence what he should do next, unable to bear the burden of any more mistakes.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Samuel’s back,” Kyle said.

  “Thank God. It’s been too many days.”

  Victor got dressed and followed Kyle to the kitchen. Samuel stood in the doorway wearing jeans and a ragged tank top, not his usual choice of fashion but necessary under the circumstances. Victor embraced Samuel.

  “What happened?” Victor said.

  “Weapons aren’t so easy to come by out here. I’m a fish outta water. I had a close call with some locals in Punta Fatos . . . I got sidetracked.”

  Victor felt a sharp contraction in his throat. “Did you get marked?”

  “Relax, man. Was just a little miscommunication . . . locals looking to score a few pesos.”

  Victor calmed, taking a couple of deep breaths. He wouldn’t allow emotion to make him paranoid. Again.

  “Miscommunication?” Kyle said. “But your Spanish is perfect.”

  “I learned it growing up, speaking it at home.” Samuel smiled. “But down here I need a vocabulary I never used with my mom.”

  “What’d you come up with?” Victor said.

  “I got surveillance equipment, ammo, a few guns, and . . .” Samuel grinned. “Explosives.”

  “Cool,” Kyle said, “but why do we need—”

  “We have no idea what we might need.” Samuel said to Victor, “How’s your little device coming along?”

  “It’s ready. And I think I’ve identified their location.”

  Samuel’s face grew smug. “Oh? How’d you find them?”

  “You were right, Sam. The property’s owned by Fueltos Micro, a company that supplies certain electronic components to PNE. There was record that they leased a private home about fifty miles off the coast—Gulf of California. It’s a pretty nice place.”

  “How can you be sure they’re there?”

  “Because I know Mr. Sands’ tastes. And this property was procured the day we hit the beach house. I was able to hack into Fueltos’ record keeping system. I saw a scanned copy of a ‘procurement request.’ In the notes, it said ‘expedite residence executive.’ At least that’s what Google Translator gave me for the Spanish. Next to it was written ‘PNE’ and something about an equipment order.”

  “Sounds like a strong enough lead to check out in person.” Samuel breathed deeply. “I’ll be glad to get out on the road again. I’m getting restless.”

  “What do you mean?” Kyle said. “You’ve been out on the road for three days.”

  “Vick, glad you took my advice on that one.”

  “Yeah, was a good idea to check on businesses where PNE has majority ownership. Fueltos was the only one here in Mexico. But it blows my mind they’re so close. What a lucky break . . . almost too lucky.”

  “The odds aren’t that unlikely if you think about it,” Kyle said, smiling. “I mean, I would have figured them north, near the coast: better weather, closer to the border, escape by sea.”

  “You are just the king of odds, aren’t you.” Victor gave Kyle a fist bump. “It’s good to see you smile, relax a little.”

  “I’ll start breakfast,” Samuel said. “I was able to grocery shop on my way back. Kyle, your turn to chaperone Rachael to breakfast.”

  *

  Victor stared at his breakfast—chorizo, eggs, and tortillas. A part of him wished that Eli had killed him the night that Anita had . . . passed. It would have stopped a series of bad decisions based on paranoid logic. Victor realized that he had taken Anita’s free will away. He’d never asked her opinion. If only he had seen the truth for what it was—one cannot be truly free without a complete picture, complete knowledge. Otherwise, decisions are nothing but a baseless gamble, no different from playing slots.

  Of course, according to quantum physics, God plays dice.

  Victor looked at Rachael. She was aloof, silent, watching the door as she chewed her eggs like a convalescent. But her deep blue eyes were entreating, the site of her moist, thin lips a drug that drilled warmth into his core. She’d had that effect on him since the first day they had met.

  “What you thinking about, Vick?” she said, and gulped some orange juice.

  Victor figured she was just biding her time, waiting for an opportune moment to escape, or do something crazy. She was always the vindictive type, and she’d gotten worse since he had left her—bitter, angry, lost, dangerous. But was he being paranoid again? He’d been wrong about her when he had left her, and maybe he was wrong now. He had hurt her. But . . .

  “Fuck you, Rachael,” he said.

  “You say that at least three times a day.” She pulled at her loose bindings. “What’s the matter? Can’t get it up anymore? I’m here . . . if you want me. You know how much I loved you. I still do. Love like that doesn’t just go away.”

  Victor grabbed her wrist. “Shut up!”

  Samuel grabbed Victor’s forearm, pulling it back. “Let’s step outside and talk.” He nodded at Kyle, indicating he follow.

  The three walked outside, leaving Rachael at the table. The sun blazed, but there was a cool breeze from the north. Victor looked toward the pale slopes of the Sierra Madre, longing for better times.

  “We know where they are,” Samuel said. “We can do it right this time, but you need to keep your cool.”

  Victor thought of the Dames and his work in merging living tissue with circuitry. What he had been doing with his research . . . was it really any different than what the Dames did? Was artificial really artificial? Or was all living tissue simply a sophisticated machine, and that’s all humans were? He had no control over his own fear or the emotions that drove his actions. So was he really alive? Or just a complex construct of inanimate matter, behaving randomly?

  Samuel grabbed Victor’s shoulders and shook him gently, drawing his eyes.

  “Man, you need to get your shit together. We start here, where we are today, and move forward. The past is the past. You got me,” he glanced at Kyle, “us into this. Now we gotta finish it. You owe it to us, Eli, and yourself.” Samuel let go of Victor. “Your heart has always been in the right place—”

  “Don’t start that, man.” Victor didn’t want to hear about his heart. “Talk about the mission, but don’t talk about my heart. Don’t worry. I’ll keep my cool. We’ll do this.” But he wondered if any purpose existed. He wondered if they should just knock on Mr. Sands’ front door and give him what he wanted. Activation was inevitable, whether by Mr. Sands or someone else. And what did activation really mean?

  “No, man, you don’t get it.” Samuel grabbed Victor again, this time with more forc
e.

  Victor saw that Samuel had lost confidence in him, and Victor didn’t blame him. Even Victor knew he was losing it—if he’d ever had it to begin with. But the thought of Anita reignited his desire for revenge, whether the Dames were activated or not. If it happened, it wouldn’t be Franklin Sands. He would make sure of that.

  “I’ve made mistakes,” Victor said, “but I’m doing this. We’ll make it right.”

  Samuel let go of Victor. “We’ll see.”

  “I want to do this as soon as possible. We can arrange for quarters in Overlpo, the closest town to their location. This time we’ll go in at night. I can swallow my mistakes, do what I need to do.”

  “Agreed. When?” Samuel said.

  “Two days from now. Tomorrow we’ll head to Overlpo, the next night we’ll make our move. That’ll give us time to scope it out, make sure they’re there.”

  “What about Rachael?”

  “I made her what she is—”

  “Which is psycho. How she got that way doesn’t matter. Given the chance, she’ll strangle you.”

  Victor wondered if there was hope for Rachael. Her situation was his doing and he felt he owed her something for that. He wanted to reverse the damage he’d done to her, and Eli. There was still purpose in that. And humanity should have a choice whether they were put under control, a choice based on complete information, the truth.

  Samuel put his hand on Victor’s back, giving a brotherly pat. “Hey, man. You just need to stay objective.”

  Victor looked off toward the Sierra Madre again. He thought of Eli, Remmie, and even Anthony. He would help rescue them and stop Mr. Sands. But was the big picture hopeless? Even if he was able to stop Mr. Sands, were there others looking for the solution? Someone else was bound to figure it out sooner or later. But he would do what he must, if only for Eli, Kyle, Remmie, and Samuel. Then maybe the answer would be to expose the truth. But would that exacerbate the problem? Create a million groups trying to activate them?

  He was thinking too much. Focus on one step at a time.

  Victor turned to Kyle. “You’re ready. You’ve changed a lot. The burden you carry is an education, and you have a purpose, to make things right. But I am worried about you, what happened back at the beach house.” Victor was worried about Kyle’s resolve as much as he was worried about his own. Kyle had been questionable, emotionally, since he’d shot Rich.