The Replaced(7)

We did this science experiment in junior high, where we learned that some magnets attract other magnets, while others repel each other. Simon and Thom were the repelling kinds.

I understood, because that’s how I’d been with Simon too, ever since the incident up at Devil’s Hole.

And now here was Thom, warning me against Simon. Awesome.

Whatever it was that had happened between them, my dad had been wrong: time doesn’t heal all wounds.

I tried to look contrite. “Look, I get you don’t like him, and I appreciate the warning. Really, I do. But I think I’ll just keep my options open for now. No offense.”

Thom smiled a knowing kind of smile, his brown eyes warming. “None taken.” And then he pushed his hands into the pockets of his neatly pressed slacks, yet another difference between him and Simon. Simon wouldn’t be caught dead wearing slacks. I noticed the way Thom’s hair, black and shiny, slipped sideways across his forehead, refusing to stay in place, defying his tidy exterior. “I just want you to know, I’m here.” He shrugged. “If you need me.”





CHAPTER THREE


Day Twenty-Six


“EVERYTHING ALL SET?” SIMON ASKED WHILE WE were throwing the last of the equipment in the back of the SUV. Most of the stuff we were taking was either electronic gear that looked useless to me, medical equipment in case Tyler was injured and couldn’t heal on his own the way the rest of us could, or explosives I was warned to stay clear of—as if I had to be told twice.

“Locked and loaded,” Jett answered, jerking to attention to salute Simon as he passed.

Simon hesitated midstep, giving Jett a skeptical once-over. “Did you just say ‘locked and loaded’?”

Jett grinned, biting back a smile as he lowered his hand and shrugged. “Couldn’t help myself. I’ve just always wanted to say that.”

Simon lifted an eyebrow, giving me a this-is-what-I-have-to-put-up-with look, and then shoved Jett playfully before continuing on.

“Hey,” Jett complained, rubbing the spot on his chest where Simon’s hand had just been. “What happened to respecting your elders?”

Simon raised his hand in what definitely was not a salute and just kept walking, leaving Jett and me to finish loading the vehicle.

Sometimes it was hard to remember that, despite their still-teenage appearances, Jett was an old man compared to Simon, and that both of them were practically geriatric compared to me. As the most recently Returned, I was by far the baby of the group.

I shot a cursory glance at Willow’s toned and tattooed arms as she hefted a duffel bag into the back of the SUV.

“Need a hand?” I asked.

Her response was a terse glare, pretty much the only kind of look she gave me, right before she slammed the back hatch closed and stomped away, putting an end to yet another attempt to make nice with her.

Jett nudged me in the ribs. “Someone’s making progress . . .” He said it singsongy, like a deranged cheerleader.

“Why, because she didn’t growl at me this time?” I watched as Willow trudged toward Simon.

Jett chuckled, while Willow spit in the dirt and then rubbed it in with the toe of her scuffed leather boot. It wasn’t hard to guess the topic of their discussion. Willow didn’t second-guess Simon or his orders, but she had a hard time keeping her opinions to herself. And her opinion today was that we should definitely-absolutely-for sure not be going to the Tacoma facility.

Least of all on some jacked-up mission that would get us all “sliced-and-diced.” Her words, not mine.

Thankfully, Simon disagreed.

“What do you think?” I asked Jett.

“About you, or about the Tacoma facility?”

I considered that and then sighed. “Are they really all that different?”

His gaze slid sideways. Without realizing it, he did that rubbing-his-arm thing as he contemplated both me and my question. “I think neither of you is as impenetrable as you’d like to seem.” He dropped his hand, and a slow grin eased over his features. “Besides, I think Simon’s right. There’s a reason the No-Suchers keep that place under such tight security. They’re hiding something. If we can just get in there . . .”

I didn’t really care what else they were keeping there—if they had Tyler, that was all that counted. I watched as Willow crossed her arms while Simon said his piece, probably something along the lines of what Jett had just told me, and then he walked away, leaving her there. She didn’t look too happy about whatever he’d said, and almost immediately she turned her attention back to me. This time, even from all the way over here, I felt her growl.

“See?” Jett said, nudging me again. “If that’s not a smile, I don’t know what is.”

Groaning, I turned away from Willow’s glare and glanced down at Jett’s wrist. His old-school digital watch made it easy to catch the time because its backlit face was ginormous.

It was 11:38—only twenty-two minutes ’til we’d be leaving camp. I was anxious about the possibility of finding Tyler. But it was more than that, because there was another possibility as well: the very real chance I might run into Agent Truman again.

In almost every comic book I’d ever read, or every cartoon or movie or TV show I’d ever watched, there was a bad guy. A nemesis for every hero. A villain.