The Replaced

Jett shook his head. “They’re not. Probably why they didn’t put out a better image. As far as the authorities are concerned, at least the ones who’ve been alerted to look for us, we’re just a bunch of animal activists who broke into a medical testing facility.” He’d turned the computer back around and was reading right from the website. “It says here: they’re holding us responsible for about a half-million dollars’ worth of damage to some major pharmaceutical company.” He shrugged, a sideways smile slipping over his lips. “It also says we did it in the name of animal rights. Kinda makes us sound like the good guys, if you ask me.”

“We are the good guys,” I pointed out. “We weren’t the ones who started this.”

Natty chewed on the side of her thumb. “So does this mean every police force in the state is looking for us?”

Jett closed his laptop and gave us a discouraged look. “Worse. Not just every agency in Washington, but Oregon, Idaho, and even the Canadian border patrol.” He pressed his lips together. “They’ve got roadblocks on every major road and highway out of the state.” He looked to Simon.

“Isn’t that a little extreme for a bunch of animal lovers?” Natty asked.

“They have to come up with some cover story, and a half mill is nothing to sneeze at—” Simon started.

But Jett cut in. “That’s not all. It says here we killed a security guard during our raid.”

Killed?

I squeezed my eyes shut as I thought about just how far I’d been willing to go to save Tyler . . . and then Willow.

I’d caused a full-blown Code Red.

Just because I’d given them warning didn’t stop the bile from surging up my throat.

“Do you think it’s true?” I solicited, hoping for a denial. “That someone died?”

Natty’s eyes were wide when she answered. “Maybe that Agent Truman guy.” Her voice fell to less than a whisper. “He wasn’t wearing a suit . . .”

Behind me, Willow’s hand landed on my shoulder, reminding me he’d left me no other choice. I nodded, but my chest still burned, my stomach acids trying to eat their way out.

“So, why not put our faces out there?” I finally uttered. “Get the public involved? It seems like that would make things a lot easier for them, if everyone was on the lookout for us.”

This time when Simon answered, I found I couldn’t avoid looking at him. “They can’t risk it. We all belonged somewhere once. We had families, friends, lives . . .” He shrugged, giving me a meaningful look. “You still do. They can’t risk putting our real pictures on the news. What if someone recognizes us, even all these years and all these miles later? There would be questions. Some long-lost relative who looks exactly like their suspects . . . it would raise eyebrows at the least. They can’t take the chance that some reporter might make the connection between all of us who were taken and then returned. It puts their little agency under the microscope. This way is easier, cleaner.”

“So you think we’re fine, then,” I concluded. “No one’ll even know it’s us.”

Simon shook his head. “Just because they haven’t given decent pictures of us to the news outlets doesn’t mean they haven’t sent some to the authorities . . . along with some BS story about those pictures being classified information. Need-to-know, that kind of thing. But no matter how they’re going about it, there’s no way we’re fine. Our faces are out there in some capacity, whether we like it or not. We gotta get someplace safe. Otherwise, if we do get picked up, we’ll end up being handed over to the No-Suchers. Then we’ll all be strapped to one of those stretchers, being lobotomized.” He leaned his head all the way back and raised an eyebrow at Willow. “Too soon?”

Willow just snorted and punched the back of his seat.

Thom chimed in from the front. “He’s right, though. They don’t do anything in the public eye, not if they can help it. Those guys in the Daylight Division are about as shady as they come. And if there are already roadblocks, it means they’re desperate to get their hands on us.”

“So, what now?” I asked, wondering which was freaking me out more: the roadblocks or Simon’s blasé mention of lobotomies.

“Well, we can’t go back to Silent Creek. We can’t risk that the Daylighters either know about the camp already, or that we’d be leading them right to it,” Simon explained.

“Where, then? We have nowhere else to go.” But as soon as I said it, there was this weird invisible wire that seemed to stretch between Thom and Simon, a look that passed between them that said I might be wrong. “Do we?”

Thom gave Simon a quick nod, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Simon give one right back. A decision had just been made without a single word being exchanged.

“There may be a place . . . another camp . . .” But something about the way Thom was stalling made me think this might not be an ideal solution.

Willow gripped the back of our seat as she shoved her face between ours. “It’s a bad idea. They won’t take us in.” There was a sharp edge to her voice.

“Sure they will,” Thom assured her, still leaving the rest of us in the dark. “They might not like it, but they would never turn us away.”

Jett, who apparently was as clueless as I was, squinted suspiciously. “Who we even talkin’ about? What camp?”