The Treatment (The Program #2)(53)

James is quiet for a moment, and the mood changes. The tragedy of life sinking in. “But what if I want them?” I sit up and stare down at him. “You’re joking, right?” I ask.

When I see in his expression that he’s serious, that he’s completely serious, I can’t talk fast enough. “James,” I say, “having children when they’re growing up to kill themselves is stupid. Really stupid and irresponsible. Second of all—having kids is hard. Like . . .

what? I’m so confused right now.”

James shakes his head. “I’m not saying I want to plant my seed tonight or anything—”

“Gross!” I slap his arm and he laughs softly. “Please don’t talk about seeds of anything. I think I’m going to barf.”

“I’m just saying,” James continues, taking my hand to pull me closer. “That a little me would be kind of adorable and you should consider it. Like, fifteen years from now.”

“No.”

“Blond hair, blue eyes, a thirst for trouble. What could go wrong?”

“So many things.” I let James take me in his arms. It’s true that anything half-James would be cute and obnoxious, but that’s not enough. My heart sinks as I consider the future—the amount of people who’ll die. And how I never want to experience the loss my parents have. James must sense the despair settling in, so he hugs me tighter and kisses the top of my head.

“Don’t worry about it now,” he murmurs. “I’ll ask you again in fifteen years.”

I awake with a start, the memory still as clear as if it just happened. There’s no residual pain, and for a second I wonder if it was just a dream. But in my heart I know it really happened, can feel in my soul. James is next to me in bed and I shake his shoulder.

“Sleeping,” he mumbles, folding the pillow over his head.

“James.” I put my palm on his cheek, and he blinks his eyes open. “I had another memory. We were playing in the grass and you were talking about having children.”

He pauses, and then gets up on his elbow. “I’m sorry, what?”

I laugh. “You said you wanted kids and you were so sweet.

I had a memory, and right now I’m not even dizzy. I don’t know, yesterday was a pretty stressful day, so it must have spurred something on. But maybe returning memories aren’t always bad. James,” I say, ecstatic and relieved, “we were so in love.”

James smiles then, pulling me closer. I’m about to kiss him, ready to refresh his memory too, when there’s a loud commotion from downstairs. I hear Dallas scream—actually scream, and both James and I bolt upright in bed.

We’re still in our clothes from last night, and James pulls me from the room so quickly, I’m afraid I’m going to trip over my own feet. He staggers to a stop in the hallway when we hear voices downstairs. The true devastation hits me—The Program is here. They’ve found us.

James spins to face me, his eyes wide and terrified. “Back door,” he whispers, and then yanks me toward the small doorway and spiral staircase that leads to the kitchen. We’re halfway down when we hear the footsteps over our heads. James curses, and then we’re moving faster, clumsier. I bang my elbow on the door frame as we bust into the kitchen. Behind us there’s a trample of footsteps on the staircase.

James crashes through the screen door, and the morning light is bright, the air is crisp. I’m gasping in puffs of air as we escape the house, heading for the woods as our cover; it’s our only chance. I’m still barefoot when my toes sink into the dewy grass and soon we reach the bridge—a bridge where I stood just this week, thinking how beautiful the world could still be.

I was wrong.

“Stop!”

I glance over my shoulder and see a handler, dressed in the signature white coat, chasing us. “James!” I shout to spur him on, fear cracking my voice. James’s hand is clasped tightly around mine even though he could be long gone by now if I wasn’t holding him back. The second we’re over the bridge, James darts to the left. We disappear into the woods, and he lets my hand go to protect his face from the branches threatening to scratch out our eyes.

We’re hopping over fallen tree limbs. Branches dig into my forearms and one opens a gash on my cheek. We have to keep running.

We have to get away.

The noise behind us quiets, but then up ahead there’s a flash of movement, making James and I stumble to a stop. I turn around, looking in every direction, terrified that we’ve been surrounded. But then I see the blond hair, and I moan my relief.

“It’s Dallas,” I say, and now I’m the one leading. Dallas notices us and waves us forward, but she puts her finger to her lips. The woods are dense, and I have no idea which direction we’re even headed.

When we finally catch up with Dallas, she’s cut up, her shirt ripped and hanging off her shoulder. “Realm?” I ask out of breath. “Cas?”

“Cas ran ahead,” she says, pointing in one direction and then another as if she’s lost. “I have no idea where Realm is. He disappeared. Damn it,” she says when there are shouts behind us. “This way.” She motions to the right and then we’re running again.

Chapter Eight

MY LEGS ARE BURNING AND ACHY, AND I KNOW THE

minute we stop the soles of my bare feet will be gushing blood.