Unremembered (Unremembered #1)(37)

I should have known, I think, as he lunges towards me. There are more than one.

I want to fight him. I want to stand my ground and protect myself. I feel the urge to lash out with my arms and legs and throw myself on top of him, but something is keeping me from taking action. As if there’s a strange force embedded inside of me. No matter what directive my brain tries to give my body, the only thing my body wants to do is flee.

But I’m not even given the chance to do that.

As soon as I turn to run, a thick arm clamps around my neck, tightening against my throat. I struggle but it doesn’t seem to be making any difference. Out of the corner of my eye I see someone enter the barn, strolling towards us.

‘Nice work,’ he says smoothly, giving a curt nod to the man behind me, whose hold is like a noose.

I manage to rotate my head far enough to identify the newcomer. And when I do, my stomach lurches.

It’s the redheaded man. The one from the diner. Who so graciously paid for my sandwich.

I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. Something jabs against the back of my neck. Cold and smooth, like metal. I hear a low fizzing sound. My body starts to crumple and then everything goes dark.





23


HUMANITY


I wake to the sound of clanking metal. I’m sitting upright on a chair. I feel drowsy. Like that morning in the hospital after Kiyana gave me drugs to help me sleep. My eyelids droop but finally I’m able to open them.

There’s someone kneeling at my feet. I feel cold steel brushing against the skin of my ankles and wrists. I try to move but my left foot is attached to something – the chair perhaps? – and my hands are bound together.

I’m too tired and confused to struggle. Plus, I have a feeling it’s not worth the fight. I’m not going anywhere.

The man beside me stands up and I can see that it’s the redheaded man.

Now I struggle. Pushing violently against my metal restraints. But I’m surprised to feel that my right leg is free. It swings so high as a result of my effort that I nearly kick him in the face. He ducks and lets out an amused chuckle before moving to my left side and kneeling again.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Taking these off,’ he says casually.

I look down and see a thick metal cuff lying idly on the ground next to my feet.

‘But—’ I scan the room for signs of my attacker. Or attackers, rather.

I see the two large men collapsed on the ground on the other side of the barn.

‘Are they –’ I swallow hard – ‘dead?’

‘Nah,’ the redheaded man responds as he releases the second shackle. I move my left ankle in a circle. ‘Just deactivated.’

He holds up a small black gadget, cylindrical in shape, with a single silver prong protruding from the end. ‘It’s the same one they used on you, actually.’

‘Deactivated,’ I repeat, silently remarking on the peculiar word choice.

The redheaded man rises to his feet. ‘The human brain is a complicated thing. We’ve learned a lot about it in the past hundred years. Mainly about how to manipulate it.’ He grips the device between his thumb and forefinger and brandishes it towards me. ‘This is called a Modifier. You see, the brain functions on electricity. The Modifier sends electrical currents to the centre of the nervous system, essentially putting the brain into sleep mode.’ He nods towards the unconscious bodies on the ground. One of them lies on his side, one leg twisted awkwardly around the other, his left arm sprawled perpendicular to his torso. ‘They’ll be awake and good as new in less than half an hour. They won’t even know what happened.’

‘But why?’ I ask him. ‘I thought – I mean, aren’t you with them?’

He bobbles his head from side to side, returning the strange brain-scrambling device to his pocket. ‘Yes and no. It’s . . . complicated. I guess you could say we are here for the same reason.’

‘What reason is that?’

He laughs as though it’s a ridiculous question. ‘You, of course.’

Even though this is the very answer I was expecting, I still find myself wishing he had said something else. Anything else.

I glance over at the bodies, focusing on the one with the darker skin. Who jumped down from the hole in the ceiling and grabbed me. ‘I wanted to fight him,’ I say pensively, almost to myself. ‘I really did. But I couldn’t. It was like . . . I didn’t know how or . . . I wouldn’t let myself.’

He sighs. ‘I’m afraid that’s my fault.’

I blink. ‘Your fault?’

‘Your DNA is imprinted with the instinct to run. Not fight.’

I squint at him. ‘What?’

‘I wanted to give you both, so you could at least defend yourself, but my request was denied. It was believed that if you had any fighting impulses in you, given your strength, it might cause problems further down the road if you were ever to . . . well –’ he chuckles – ‘rebel.’

I stare at him in complete disbelief, hardly able to process what he’s saying.

‘So,’ he goes on, seemingly oblivious to my reaction, ‘I decided, for your own protection, I would at least give you a flight instinct. So you could safely escape any danger. That’s why you probably feel a very strong desire to flee the moment you encounter any perceived threats.’