They’d chosen the warehouse to shelter because it was close to the spot where Knox had planned for them to hit the interstate again. But when they got to the elevated, sun-bleached stretch of road, Nina could see instantly that the massive concrete pillars that supported it were crumbling away. It wouldn’t have been detectable from an overhead satellite shot, but only luck had kept the wide lanes from buckling already.
Back to square one—the close, claustrophobic two-lane back roads.
When they climbed back into the vehicles, Nina took over driving. She thought it might help, having something to focus on besides her own whirling, contentious thoughts. Instead, she spent the day staring at the truck ahead of theirs, berating herself because, even through the tinting, she could tell exactly which dark blob was Knox.
Just from the way he moved.
They passed through long-abandoned ghost towns, where every structure had been reclaimed by the Georgia jungle, swallowed by kudzu and young pines. They also drove through a few small enclaves where children played in dusty side yards and clean laundry fluttered on clotheslines.
They didn’t stop at any of them. They had no business there, disrupting the fragile peace of people who only wanted to get by. As dusk began to deepen, the Silver Devils’ truck rumbled past a larger settlement. The cluster of lights cut through the shadows and gloom, then receded behind them as they continued on to the darkness at the edge of town.
They pulled over at a movie theater. While everyone else dropped their gear and headed into the depths of the building to do recon, Nina lingered in the lobby. Some of the movie posters remained, locked behind plexiglass frames too high on the wall to be easily reached. Most had the staged, overly patriotic stiltedness of state-sponsored propaganda, but there were a few titles she recognized.
When she was growing up at the Franklin Center, movie night was a big deal. After a week of seemingly endless classes and training, the kids would crowd through the doors of the in-house theater with their drinks and snacks, jockeying for the best seats, even though every view was a good one. But it was something Nina’s sisters had especially enjoyed.
Nina’s gaze caught on one of the posters. If she closed her eyes, she could still see Zoey’s animation as she raved about the love story at the heart of the movie. That memory sparked another one—Ava’s pensive frown as she discussed whether the central theme of the story was the one the filmmakers had meant to convey, or something else entirely.
Nina’s chest hurt. Nothing as vague or pretty as an ache. This was like a dropkick she hadn’t seen coming, with no time to guard against the attack.
There was a reason she didn’t watch many movies anymore.
Maya came back, having shed her pack and stripped down to her jeans and a strappy tank top. “The roof’s a little iffy on the west side, but most of the building seems sturdy enough. The soundproofing is intact.”
“It’s fine,” Nina said automatically. “Anyplace is fine.”
Frowning, Maya stopped next to her and stared up at the poster. After a few moments, she murmured, “You okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” Nina hefted her bag and tried to smile. “My ass is numb, and so is the rest of me. You’d think not running into trouble would be great, right? Turns out, it’s boring as hell.”
“We can survive a little boredom.” Maya leaned her head against Nina’s shoulder—a rare moment of physical affection. “This place is fucking surreal.”
“How’s that?”
“I mean, look at it.” She gestured around at the cavernous lobby. The concessions displays had long since been broken and looted, but the signs offering to deliver snacks and drinks and even full meals straight to your seat remained. “All this, just to watch a vid you could see on your tablet or toss up onto the wall.”
It wasn’t the same, at least not in Nina’s experience. She’d never gone to a proper theater, surrounded by a bunch of strangers, but she’d sat with all the other kids from the Center and felt … kinship. A camaraderie that had nothing to do with who managed the best time on the 10K run that day or scored the highest on a math test. For two hours, they weren’t competitors, they were friends. Normal kids with normal lives.
They could even forget they were locked in a laboratory.