Several guys come in behind him. They’re more of the same, a little scruffier maybe, but not as scary.
“It’s about time you got here,” the governor says. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all day.”
He ignores her and gestures to one of his men. “Get them processed.”
The governor starts talking to him, but I’m not listening to her. He’s going to make us Unwilling. That thought fights through the cloudy shock in my brain and wakes me. I’m not about to let that happen. I’m probably going to end up getting shot if I try to fight these guys, but I can’t let them take us. I move a step toward Meridian—even though I’m not sure what I’m going to do.
I just know I need to do something.
“Don’t,” Barclay says under his breath.
But I don’t listen. Instead, I take another step, and now I’m close enough for Meridian to notice I’ve moved.
“Thought you’d be long gone by now,” he says.
For a second, I’m thrown off. I don’t get what he’s saying, and then I remember. He knows my double. He’s never looked closely at her or paid enough attention to her to recognize that I’m different. And maybe that makes sense—she left rather than stay and try to take him down. But he doesn’t know how different I am.
I can use this. I can do something unexpected, catch him off guard.
“You thought I’d be dead?” I say.
He shrugs. It’s noncommittal. He doesn’t care—he just thought she wouldn’t be here.
I haul off and punch him in the face.
00:14:34:19
My fist connects to the left side of his face, and it feels like I’ve just slammed my hand into a brick wall. Pain shoots up my arm, but I don’t stop. I ram my knee into his crotch and reach for the gun at his back.
Glass breaks behind me, several shouts move through the room, and Meridian grunts. And when my fingers brush past the gun, I think I might have it, but then I feel the sharp pain in my head, and a rough hand coiled around my hair pulls back, then pushes me down to my knees.
I feel cool metal against my temple and smell the gunpowder.
Meridian reaches down and grabs my chin, forcing my face up to him. The guy with the grip on my hair doesn’t ease up, and I can feel some of it ripping out of my head.
Meridian shakes his head, his hand falling away. “Not who I thought you were,” he says quietly.
Something about the calmness in his voice makes me flinch. Having his attention directly on me turns my stomach and makes my skin feel uncomfortable. I don’t want him to touch me again.
He doesn’t. Instead, I see his hand coming down.
And pain explodes in the back of my head.
00:09:06:30
When I wake up, I have the worst headache of my life—shocking.
And my face itches.
I’m facedown on a beige carpet, and my hands are restrained behind my back. I can’t tell how long I’ve been out, but I don’t think it’s as bad as some of my other injuries from this week. For one thing, my hands haven’t gone numb, which means they haven’t been in this position all that long.
“If we don’t find them, we’ll draw them out,” a female voice says. “Surely you understand the concept.” It’s the governor.
From where I am, I can’t see her—I can’t see much of anything.
For a split second, I debate whether I should move around, test my restraints, take stock of where we are and possibly give away the fact that I’ve come to, or just keep lying here. The second option feels a lot more appealing to my aching head. It also feels safer. I’m less likely to get hit again, less likely to get outright shot, less likely to attract attention.
But what is that going to get me in the end?
No matter what happens, I’m probably going to end up in the same place.
Dead.
I shift a little and turn my face to the side so I have a view of the room. I’m still not ready to go down fighting. Through my blurry vision, I manage to make out bookshelves lining the wall. Behind me is a desk. Across the room is a door. It’s partway open, and a girl—probably my age or a little older, with brown hair—is sitting at a desk, a high-tech computer in front of her. Her nose is crooked and half