Whisper (Whisper #1)(53)
Everything Manning tells me lines up with what Falon said about us being the perfect weapons. No need for ammo, just a pointed syllable or two from a Speaker with the desired ability and the world could be brought to its knees.
Manning’s willingness to share all this blows my mind. But he saves the best until last. Because after nearly an hour of unending conversation, I learn that there are other Speakers out there; an offshoot group who once lived at Lengard but now … don’t.
“They call themselves the ‘Remnants,’” Manning says, giving a distasteful sniff. “They’re made up mostly of Genesis Speakers and their children who, after learning how to control their abilities, chose not to remain in Lengard any longer.”
There’s something about the way Manning’s eyes avoid mine that prompts me to look at him more carefully.
“They were … allowed to leave?” I ask. “Just like that?”
“The Remnants are rebels,” he states, straight up. “They are a terrorist group who disagree with the values and ideologies that Lengard adheres to.”
By this, I assume he means they didn’t want to take part in the government’s “super soldier” program.
“A few of the early dissenters managed to escape a decade ago, taking their families with them. Their numbers remain small, but they are growing, since they, too, are actively searching for new breakout teenagers, convincing those they find before us that Lengard is the enemy to be feared.”
Manning gives a sad shake of his head. “One in four new Speakers ends up being located by the Remnants before we can get to them. They’re then deceived into believing they are a part of something special, when really they’re training to become the very terrorists they’ve been brainwashed into fearing.”
There is so much in this information that I don’t know where to start. I focus on what I believe is the most important thing: his repeated use of the word “terrorist.”
“These Speakers — these Remnants — are they dangerous?”
Manning’s eyes don’t leave mine as he says, “More dangerous than you can possibly imagine.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
“The director told you about the military’s early experiments on Genesis Speakers — what my generation went through in those initial testing days,” he goes on, without any hint of the trauma he must have experienced.
“Falon said the tests were unpleasant,” I say carefully. “That not everyone … made it.”
“They were unpleasant,” Manning agrees, again without any sign of distress — or resentment. “But they were also effective, and most of us came to see that — at least, after a time. Regardless of the methods, we learned how to control our abilities, and that was more important than anything else. However —” he shuffles into a more comfortable position on the hard ground “— even after the testing changed to actively help us utilize and strengthen our powers, some of those in my generation weren’t able to appreciate the lengths the military went to in order to reach their goals.”
“And a rebel group banded together,” I guess.
Manning’s face is grave. “They waited many years, carefully stirring up discord and whispering about the need for vengeance, before they made their escape.”
Holding my gaze, he goes on, “The Remnants threaten everything we are trying to achieve here. Once their numbers are strong enough, I fear it will only be so long before they reveal themselves to the world — in a way that no one will ever forget.” He pauses. “And in a way that no one will ever recover from.”
*
Late that night I lie awake in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to comprehend everything I learned today.
Manning didn’t attempt to play the therapist card after sharing his bombshell. He seemed content that I’d been “openly communicating” with him for the duration of our conversation. Or perhaps he’d merely noticed my ashen features after hearing about the rogue group of Speakers with nefarious intentions. I, more than anyone, know exactly how dangerous our powers have the potential to be. So the idea that there is a rebel group out there — a terrorist group — knots my stomach and makes me break out in a nervous sweat.
Needless to say, I didn’t have much of an appetite for dinner, and after watching a movie with Cami but not actually seeing any of it, I silently excused myself and headed to bed.
It’s now hours later, and I’m still tossing and turning — something that is not ideal, since I know Ward will be relentless in my training tomorrow, and I need a good night’s sleep before I have to face him again.
With a frustrated sigh, I push my covers aside and stand to my feet. A glass of warm milk used to settle me before bed when I was younger. Perhaps the nostalgia will be enough to do the same tonight.
But when I reach the kitchen and turn on the light, I jump backward in fright at seeing the figure on the couch in the adjacent sitting room. My hand goes straight to my chest, and I release a terrified squeak before I press my lips together to keep anything more disastrous from leaving my mouth.
“It’s just me,” Ward says.
As if there’s anything “just” about him at all.
“Sorry if I scared you.”
The defiant part of me wants to tell him he didn’t, but even if I were willing to risk saying so, we’d both know it was a blatant lie. My heart is still pounding from the shock of seeing him in the shadows, and I’m sure that’s clear from the rest of my body language.