Remember Yesterday

12

I breathe too fast. I gulp the air as if I’m storing up for a famine, and it’s still not enough. Faster and faster. Pant, pant, pant.

Slow down, my brain screams. I can’t hyperventilate, not now. I have a mission to accomplish.

I focus on a single detail—the hourglass insignia edging the white sheets. The old symbol of the Future Memory Agency. Weird. I thought FuMA didn’t exist anymore. I thought all of their old equipment was stowed away or trashed. So what are their sheets doing here?

I don’t know the answer, but thinking about the anomaly slows my breathing enough for me to scan the faces of the corpses closest to the locked door. In the third stretcher, I see a girl about my age, with black hair arranged in a tidy braid. She looks like she has a mixed heritage, like me, with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

For some reason, these details are important in choosing which corpse to share a bed with.

Taking a deep breath, I pull a stun gun from the picnic basket—something else I swiped from Mikey’s office—and stow the basket under the stretcher. Then, I close my eyes and jump. Only I launch myself too hard and sprawl across the stretcher. Skin touching the corpse’s skin.

Ew. I leap off her, and my foot smacks into the wall, sending the stretcher careening across the corridor and disrupting the precise line of hospital beds.

At that moment, I hear a loud swoosh of air rushing through a tunnel, signaling the arrival of the elevator capsule. Hurriedly, I push the stretcher back into line and lie down on the mattress, pulling the sheet over my body. My shoulder brushes against the girl’s. Even through our shirts, I can feel her coldness. The smell of formaldehyde winds into my nostrils.

I scream inside my head, and my stomach lurches. The nausea climbs up my throat, and I’m gagging, gagging, gagging. I’m touching her. A dead girl. In a straight line from shoulder to waist.

I turn my head to the side and breathe shallowly. Oh Fates. I’ve got to get ahold of myself. They’ll be here any moment, and I can’t mess this up because I’m being squeamish.

Sweat breaks out on my neck, and I grip the gun tightly against my thigh. I have only a small window to act, and I need to be ready.

The capsule arrives, and I hear voices. Male and female, businesslike and authoritative, discussing a report that hasn’t been filed. Good. They’re scientists. At least one of them is. Scientists won’t be carrying weapons like the guards. They won’t be expecting me to force my way into the room. They’re more likely to succumb to the threat of electrocution.

I close my eyes, feel the reassuring weight of the gun at my side, and try not to move. Try not to breathe. Try to appear dead.

The voices get closer, and the argument becomes more spirited. I crack open my eyes and peek at them.

The woman wears a crisp navy uniform, which means she’s an official, not a scientist. A high-ranking one, too, if the metal bars pinned to the shoulder of her suit are any indication. She has brown hair that falls to her shoulders before curving out like a damn question mark.

Just my luck. MK Rivers.

“Bottom line, the chairwoman wants the reports on her com, first thing every Monday morning,” MK says. “I don’t care what you do to make it happen. Just ensure that it does.”

“With all due respect, MK, I don’t report to the chairwoman,” the man says. His name tag says PRESTON, and he has black hair, eyes that come to a crease at the corners, and a square jaw. Scruff on his chin that reminds me of Mikey, but maybe that’s because he’s approximately Mikey’s age, somewhere around thirty.

He looks familiar. I know this man from somewhere. Is he one of Mikey’s friends? A covert member of the Underground? Or maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe he looks familiar because I’ve glimpsed him at Dresden’s side in the news feeds, and one day, he’ll destroy us all.

“The chairwoman is consulted heavily on all TechRA projects. For all intents and purposes, she is your boss.” MK’s voice is low and surprisingly gentle. She doesn’t sound like I expected, given the bars on her shoulders. “If that’s not enough, you know this is personal for her. This girl means everything to her. The reports would ease her mind, and frankly, she’ll be a better boss for me. Maybe she won’t yell as much if she’s consistently updated.”

My heart thrums against my ribs, so hard I worry my body is vibrating the stretcher. Olivia. They have to be talking about Olivia. My old friend is ensconced behind that locked door, and she’s calling to me for help.

“What’s this?” Preston says suddenly, his voice coming directly above me. The stretcher beneath me moves.

Fike. I must not have realigned the stretcher properly. Don’t wiggle, I order myself.

“What’s the matter?” MK asks.

“Nothing. I don’t think.”

I feel the scientist’s eyes like a solid object, pushing and prodding my face. I lie as still as possible. Not twitching. Not breathing. But he stands over me too long. The pressure in my lungs builds too much. Climbing, climbing, climbing. When I can’t bear it anymore, I take a tiny sip of air.

Oh Fates. My chest rises. He must see it. I’m done for.

But he doesn’t say anything. I hear a small sound that might be a gurgle in his throat, and then, the security system beeps. The door clicks open. “Coming?” MK asks impatiently.

“Right away,” he says.

I feel a light pressure on my arm above my elbow, and then he walks away, his footsteps pattering the ground like raindrops.

My heart jumps into my throat. Did he squeeze my arm? He must know I’m not one of the corpses. And yet, he didn’t turn me in. Why? Who is he?

As I debate the possibilities, the door closes. MK and the mysterious guy are gone. I’ve lost my chance to threaten them. Lost my chance to get inside. Lost my chance to rescue Olivia.

Disappointment floods me. I should’ve jumped from the stretcher; I should’ve acted. But the surprise at seeing MK rendered me useless.

I flex my fingers around the stun gun. Next time, I’ll be ready.