The Replaced(17)

I didn’t react, mostly because I didn’t think I needed to. Like I said, it all happened so fast. And it wasn’t like in the movies, where you could see the steam or smoke or toxic fumes coming out of the key card—there was nothing to indicate anything had happened at all. Except the blinking and the loosened grip, and then the nodding.

And then, when I thought maybe the guy was just going to fall asleep standing there like that, I reached over and prodded him, with only my index finger.

That was all it took . . . he tumbled over, falling flat onto his back.

The crash echoed up and down the walls of the ductwork like thunder. Simon bent over and took the flashlight, then grabbed my hand. “Let’s get outta here. And don’t breathe too much just yet.” Instead of Simon hauling me backward, away from the guy, we climbed over him, like he was a giant, slumbering mountain.

The back of my head throbbed where I’d smacked it against the metal wall. I reached up to feel it. “What did he mean?” I asked Simon, who was dragging me along now that he had the flashlight and could see where he was going.

“What did who mean?”

“That guy? Back there, when he said ‘It’s you,’ what do you think he meant by that?”

Simon’s delay wasn’t necessarily long, but it wasn’t short either. “Nothing, probably. Just that he found us, I guess.”

He waved the light toward a ladder, its rungs welded to one of the sheer walls. “There, up ahead. See that? We made it.”

“Wait. How do you know this is the place?” Simon stopped and pointed at a metal sign that was riveted to the sheer wall. Research Chamber, it read. The exact place Willow had told us to meet her, and I was impressed again. Simon had a serious grasp of the inner workings of this place, since he’d gotten us here through a bunch of tunnels in the near dark.

I tugged at the back of his shirt. “What if they’re up there, waiting for us?” I’d only seen Jett give Simon one of those toxic key-card thingies.

He didn’t seem all that concerned, and he pocketed the flashlight as he started up the ladder. “Only one way to find out.” Then he paused. “But if anything does happen, you need to save yourself. Find someplace safe and stay hidden. Someone—Jett or Willow . . . or someone will come back for you.” He shot me a pointed look over his shoulder. “I mean it, Kyra. Stay hidden.” He paused, waiting for me to agree.

My mom and I spent a girls’ night one time watching Titanic, the version with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. And the way Simon was looking at me was like the scene where the two of them are floating in the icy waters of the Atlantic, after the ship has sunk, and Leo’s character, Jack, tells Kate’s character, Rose, to “never let go” . . . minus the freezing waters and blue lips.

“I will. I’ll stay hidden,” I finally caved, even if it was just to make him stop giving me that look.

Satisfied with my answer, Simon turned and scaled the rungs two at a time, and I followed right behind, not wanting to be trapped down in this place a second longer. When we reached the top, there was a heavy grille blocking our way. He glanced back at me, grinning over his shoulder as he reached out and scratched his fingertips along its surface, creating an almost imperceptible rasping sound.

I was about to ask if he needed a hand, or maybe a straightjacket, but when there was a matching response that came from the other side, all scratchy and quiet—an acknowledgment—my eyes widened.

“Willow?” I whispered up to him. “How’d she know we’d be down here?”

“She didn’t,” Simon answered, right before the grate slid open above his head. “That’s why I gave her the signal. In case something went wrong. It was our backup plan.”

Willow stood above us, peering down into the opening impatiently, as if we’d kept her waiting. “What took you two so long?” she criticized, but she was smiling when she reached out for us.

When I was on my feet again, I checked out the sterile-looking hallway we stood in. The lights here were bright, reflecting off the ultra-white tiles beneath us. The whole thing—the explosion, the gas-releasing key card, and the underground tunnels—was so secret agent–y I couldn’t help feeling like some kind of superspy.

“We safe?” I asked Willow, searching for signs we weren’t alone.

“Safe-ish. Most everyone was sent offsite. They’re convinced we got a good five-minute lead on ’em.” Willow scoffed. “That Agent Truman’s sure a piece’a work. Thinks his shit don’t stink, don’t he? Wouldn’t even put on a haz-suit.”

Willow hadn’t heard what we had, about them not having enough suits for everyone. Still, it was hard to imagine Agent Truman sacrificing his own safety for that of his men.

“I don’t think your boy’s here, though,” Willow said.

My heart withered.

“Surprised you waited for us.” Simon winked at her.

“I planned to give you another sixty seconds, and then you were on your own,” she shot back.

“That right?” Simon questioned, his black brow raised challengingly.

Willow glanced at her watch—a black timepiece that looked like it was issued straight from the military and could withstand a nuclear blast. Envy that she knew the time ate me up inside. Her eyebrow ticked up as a small grin parted her lips. “No, actually. You were down to forty-three seconds.”