Damn, this is confusing.”
He laid Kokona down in the shiny silver box with the cushions and fabric. “You’ll be safe here.”
Kokona kicked and wailed. “No. You have to hold me. I did what you wanted, and now you belong to me.”
“No,” DeVontay said, his face contorted. “I belong to Rachel. And we’re getting out of here.”
Anger. That emotion always led to violence with humans. That was why you had to deliver violence in return. Words and feelings could never bridge the two tribes. Feelings were not facts, and there was only one truth:
Survival of the fittest.
And the reason why Old and New could never live together.
“Rachel, we need to leave,” DeVontay said, reaching for her.
She flung out an arm to repel his advance, and the blow was so swift and powerful that it drove the wind from his lungs and sent him reeling against the shiny box. He dropped to his knees, gasping and wheezing. He stared up at her in disbelief.
“I’m not leaving,” she said. “I live here.”
“They’ll kill you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“I love you.”
Oh, that word. The ultimate fantasy. Laughing would have been too human. The New way was to let such words stay back there in the silent computer, where electrons fired and faded and facts formed themselves.
“You can carry me now,” Kokona said. “You know how.”
“Yes.” Rachel couldn’t save Chelsea, but she could save Kokona and the rest of their tribe. But Chelsea was only a memory. Why did it stir her inside and cause her to suffer an uneasy feeling?
DeVontay got to his feet and took a wary step toward her. “I love you,” he said, without fear or anger.
The way he said it made love sound like more than a fantasy. Like it was a fact.
The veiled computer in her head whirred and smoked. She was new, but not all the way. She was still Rachel Wheeler. Not all the way Rachel either, but enough.
She was afraid to speak. Kokona was in her head, breaking apart her thoughts. She couldn’t trust which was fantasy and which was fact. She brushed past DeVontay and grabbed the baby, then raced for the door. She was across the room in three steps and nearly slammed into the door.
“Rachel!” DeVontay called from behind her. “Don’t go out there. They’ll—”
Kokona’s voice filled her head: GO THERE GO NOW.
She still possessed memories of doors and knobs and streets, as well as bullets, pain, and love. She still carried all the facts of her life, and the new tide of voices and thoughts couldn’t totally swamp them. She remembered the idea that used to glow inside her, the voice that hushed all the others. It was named “God,” and it was just a fantasy, but for her, it was also a fact. The contradiction jarred her and prevented her from slipping into thousands of mutants tugging her under their tide.
She was still human.
No matter how many times the Zapheads changed her, she couldn’t leave herself behind. She couldn’t lose the memories and fantasies. But she also knew her eyes were glowing. The Old People would kill her.
As Rachel burst into the sunlit street, Kokona laughed in her ear. “Let’s find those dead babies.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What happened out there?” Hilyard asked.
The lieutenant had set himself up a sweet little command post in a bank building, taking the president’s office in the back. Nice oak desk, oil paintings of sailboats, soft leather chair. Franklin could see how things were now. His natural paranoia had always served him well, and he wasn’t going to give up now just because he had rejoined the human race.
Brock stood behind the officer, rifle slung over his shoulder, arms crossed. The frat boy looked like he was adjusting just fine to military life. Maybe Sierra was impressed, but more likely she was out there running things while the men played tin soldier.
Franklin didn’t think the truth would hurt, although he certainly wasn’t going to share all his information. Just
He laid Kokona down in the shiny silver box with the cushions and fabric. “You’ll be safe here.”
Kokona kicked and wailed. “No. You have to hold me. I did what you wanted, and now you belong to me.”
“No,” DeVontay said, his face contorted. “I belong to Rachel. And we’re getting out of here.”
Anger. That emotion always led to violence with humans. That was why you had to deliver violence in return. Words and feelings could never bridge the two tribes. Feelings were not facts, and there was only one truth:
Survival of the fittest.
And the reason why Old and New could never live together.
“Rachel, we need to leave,” DeVontay said, reaching for her.
She flung out an arm to repel his advance, and the blow was so swift and powerful that it drove the wind from his lungs and sent him reeling against the shiny box. He dropped to his knees, gasping and wheezing. He stared up at her in disbelief.
“I’m not leaving,” she said. “I live here.”
“They’ll kill you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“I love you.”
Oh, that word. The ultimate fantasy. Laughing would have been too human. The New way was to let such words stay back there in the silent computer, where electrons fired and faded and facts formed themselves.
“You can carry me now,” Kokona said. “You know how.”
“Yes.” Rachel couldn’t save Chelsea, but she could save Kokona and the rest of their tribe. But Chelsea was only a memory. Why did it stir her inside and cause her to suffer an uneasy feeling?
DeVontay got to his feet and took a wary step toward her. “I love you,” he said, without fear or anger.
The way he said it made love sound like more than a fantasy. Like it was a fact.
The veiled computer in her head whirred and smoked. She was new, but not all the way. She was still Rachel Wheeler. Not all the way Rachel either, but enough.
She was afraid to speak. Kokona was in her head, breaking apart her thoughts. She couldn’t trust which was fantasy and which was fact. She brushed past DeVontay and grabbed the baby, then raced for the door. She was across the room in three steps and nearly slammed into the door.
“Rachel!” DeVontay called from behind her. “Don’t go out there. They’ll—”
Kokona’s voice filled her head: GO THERE GO NOW.
She still possessed memories of doors and knobs and streets, as well as bullets, pain, and love. She still carried all the facts of her life, and the new tide of voices and thoughts couldn’t totally swamp them. She remembered the idea that used to glow inside her, the voice that hushed all the others. It was named “God,” and it was just a fantasy, but for her, it was also a fact. The contradiction jarred her and prevented her from slipping into thousands of mutants tugging her under their tide.
She was still human.
No matter how many times the Zapheads changed her, she couldn’t leave herself behind. She couldn’t lose the memories and fantasies. But she also knew her eyes were glowing. The Old People would kill her.
As Rachel burst into the sunlit street, Kokona laughed in her ear. “Let’s find those dead babies.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What happened out there?” Hilyard asked.
The lieutenant had set himself up a sweet little command post in a bank building, taking the president’s office in the back. Nice oak desk, oil paintings of sailboats, soft leather chair. Franklin could see how things were now. His natural paranoia had always served him well, and he wasn’t going to give up now just because he had rejoined the human race.
Brock stood behind the officer, rifle slung over his shoulder, arms crossed. The frat boy looked like he was adjusting just fine to military life. Maybe Sierra was impressed, but more likely she was out there running things while the men played tin soldier.
Franklin didn’t think the truth would hurt, although he certainly wasn’t going to share all his information. Just
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