Resistant Read online

  Navy hadn’t noticed until she was five branches high, plucking apples and throwing them like a spider monkey.

  “Are you crazy? Get down, Rory!”

  “In a minute!”

  Lightning, unseen but heard, snapped a mile or less away, sending a shiver of warning up Navy’s spine. “Get down now,” he told her again. Lightning began to crisscross the horizon like a quilt of electricity.

  “I’m almost done.” When she glanced below, he was halfway up the tree to her.

  “Rory, get the fuck down right now!” he roared, and her eyes widened. At that moment a blinding bolt of light struck the barn’s lightning rod, and she let out an involuntary squeak. Shaking, she headed down the branches, and another splinter of light went into the forest to the west, just as close.

  “Let go!”

  Rory looked down at him, standing on the ground just beneath her and between two limbs she needed to reach to jump to the ground.

  “Trust me and let go, Rory!” Navy begged.

  Rory looked at the tree trunk, thought of what dying from lightning must feel like, then clenched her eyes and pushed away. Wind rushed past her ears for a couple seconds before she landed in his arms and opened her eyes.

  “Well done,” she smiled, but he wasn’t amused. He set her down, and they crouched low and close to each other. About fifty yards of open field lay between them and the nearest structure, a storage shed tall and wide enough to park two cars under. Both sides had sliding doors.

  “Is that place grounded?”

  “All the buildings are.” She could just see her father watching from the barn through the sheets of rain.

  “We’re going to run, but you need to stay beneath me. Ready?” She looked at him and when he met her eyes, it occurred to her that Navy was very nearly fearless. She nodded. Wrapping an arm and most of his body around her, he pulled her into a run in a bent position. A protective position. At the second they reached the shed doorway, one bolt of lightning shot down, forking right near the tree they had left as if to say, I told you so. Rory stumbled to her knees. She could feel the charge in the air raise the hairs on her arm.

  “Let’s shut the door,” she said urgently.

  “Don’t touch them!” he thundered at her. Until then she hadn’t seen how furious he was. “They have metal rails and handles.” He glanced around, then grabbed a nylon rope from the wall, looped it through the door handle, and slid the barn door closed on their side, then went to the opposite. He could see Army and Byron watching anxiously from the main barn, so he sent Army a few hand signals. Team okay. Hold for weather to wrap before moving.

  Army communicated back that he’d understood.

  Rory sat on a bench to catch her breath and pushed her wet hair from her face. Navy paced back into the center of the building, lit only by an LED bulb above him.

  She raised her face to look at him as she squeezed a stream of water from her ponytail. “Well, that was fun.”

  His eyes seemed to blaze. “Fun?” he repeated chillingly. “You could have died out there. What were you thinking?”

  She shot to her feet, cheeks burning. “I told you: I was thinking about our income.” To Rory, his anger seemed out of proportion to her crimes. He was practically vibrating.

  “So you climb a tree in an electrical storm. Listen to yourself!” He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a slight shake. “How am I supposed to protect you when you act like that?”

  “When did you become my protector? I’ve hardly known you a week.”

  In an instant he regained his control, released her, and stepped back. Rory’s eyes narrowed. She stepped into the gap. “You’re just passing through. You could be gone tomorrow.” And it would hurt like hell, and I would forever wonder why.

  “That was a stupid, stupid move out there.”

  “You’re right.” Rory tipped her head curiously. “And you saved my life. Why did you do that?”

  “Anyone would.”

  “Doubtful. You told me to trust you and fall.” She paused, stepping a little closer to him. She had to tip her head back to hold his eyes. “I trusted you, Navy. Why don’t you trust me?”

  Navy’s hands felt on fire to touch her, to grab her, to absorb her into himself. She just stood there, ocean eyes full of complete, open, dangerous trust, her skin still glistening with rain. He couldn’t control his reactions to her.

  He gave in and wrapped his hands around her jawline. “This isn’t about goddamned trust. I just don’t want you dead.” He kissed her, hard, almost punishingly pressing his lips to hers, but then her arms snaked around his shoulders and she pressed closer, opening her mouth under his. Some wall inside him crumbled. He gentled, wrapping his arms around her back and waist, gathering her as close as he could, and the slight whimper of pleasure that shivered through her practically snapped his last bit of control. He had to stop. End the kiss. This couldn’t go further. He pulled back, but both of them were at a loss for breath, both shaken. Navy found that his self-control did not extend to releasing her from his arms, so he leaned his forehead against hers.

  How do you undo me like this? he thought. His insides felt twisted up, and yet he’d never felt this good before in his life.

  “Why did you trust me?” he had to ask.

  She gave a little sigh and smiled. “Any man who talks to chickens before taking their eggs is a good man.” Rory dealt in honesty, so she admitted the truth. “And because you climbed the tree to get me.”

  He chuckled, perhaps the first grin she’d ever seen from him. “I did. That was harder than it looked.”

  “It’s easier barefoot.” He leaned back to look down and saw her toes wiggle at him from the ground, eliciting another laugh. “You should do that more. Laugh. It looks good on you.” She lifted a hand to touch his cheek, but he was suddenly kneeling down.

  “Rory, you’re bleeding.” Her shin was badly scraped, enough to tear her pants, and blood had seeped through the ragged material. “Jesus. Is there a first aid kit here? You could get infected. We need to put some alcohol on this.”

  “It’s okay.” Dropping to sit, she let him roll up her pants leg and they inspected it. “It’s okay. I heal quickly.”

  In a post-antibiotic era, where a mere ear infection could spell imminent death, her reaction was more than odd. She could see the questions in his eyes.

  “First, leaving your body’s own microflora on the skin helps signal to your cells not to overreact or get too inflamed. There’s a complex interplay between the microbiome and our own cells.”

  “This is what your doctorate is about? The microbiome?” Reluctantly, he sat back, but he kept a knee bent beside hers.

  She shook her head. “My master’s degree and bachelor’s. I didn’t have the benefit of a big lab to study in, so the degrees are a little nominal.” She brushed the dirtiest spot of her shin clean as she explained more. “But I suspect the bacteria we’re all trying to survive . . . when we get a foothold in the battle, it will be because we came to understand a new definition of being human.” His eyes held hers as he shook his head slightly in confusion. She smiled warmly, drinking in the details of his face close to hers. “Our bodies contain more bacterial cells than human cells. To say nothing of the billions of varieties of viruses floating everywhere. And perhaps some other categories in between that we just haven’t discovered yet. We’re not separate from our environment; we just evolved bigger. The line between human and bacterial is far more gray than some people are comfortable understanding.”

  The storm hadn’t let up yet, and for a moment a clap of thunder shook the whole building. Navy eyed the rafters, trying to gauge the building’s age and stability.

  “Did you go to college before you joined the military?”

  “I was studying to be an engineer in the military. I wanted to be a mechanical engineer.” He was still staring up at the rafters, and she reached out and touched his cheek, her fingers tracing over the dark-blue-and-tan color of his skin.r />
  “Why didn’t you?”

  “After the experiments, after Army and I escaped, it was more important to lie low. Registering at a college, trying to secure a job . . . they would have found us.”

  A deafening roll of thunder cracked, and they both flinched a little. Looking back to Navy, Rory shook her head.

  “I don’t understand. They want you back?”

  He covered her hand with his on the hay-strewn ground between them and debated whether total honesty would harm or hurt her now. He decided to float the line.

  “I’m not entirely sure. But we believe that if we were found and brought back in, we would be . . . lab rats. Whatever changed our skin may have also helped us survive the infections. But if it did, it was no miracle drug. We both barely recovered.”

  She seemed lost in thought for a second, as if solving a problem in her mind. A tiny wrinkle furrowed her brow, and her eyes seemed to glaze.

  “Where did you go?” he asked, and she focused on him with eyes that made his palms itch to drag her to him again.

  She didn’t answer but shook her head. “You seem hale and healthy now.”

  “Notwithstanding your efforts at electrocution.”

  “Your chances at being struck were still at, like, one in a hundred.”

  He laughed, then asked, “How are you so fearless about that, but waking up alone made you cry?”

  She glanced down and bit her lower lip for a second. “I’d had a nightmare. That I was alone on the farm, and everyone was dead.” Rory met his eyes again. “That you were dead. I went to get a glass of water, and it was like I hadn’t woken from the nightmare.”

  The laughter had left his eyes, replaced with a dark intensity.

  “I won’t let that happen.” His hand cupped her jaw and he brought his lips to hers, this time with tenderness, kissing her gently and slowly.

  Rory’s mind was spinning when he pulled back and looked up toward the roof.

  “Storm’s passed.” He looked back down at her and then tugged them both to their feet. Holding her hand, he sighed. “Listen, for Byron’s sake—”

  “Let’s spare my father the reality of my adulthood?” she laughingly completed his thought.

  Navy was chuckling. “Yes,” he said in answer to Rory as he pulled open the barn doors and let the rain-cooled air sweep over them. Byron and Army were still watching from the main barn. He sent them a reassuring wave of his arm.

  “Oh, look,” Rory touched his arm and whispered, then pointed to a nearby tree. “Isn’t that a beautiful bluebird? They usually aren’t out in the fall. That’s a sign of good luck.”

  Navy followed the line of her arm, and his eyes narrowed on the small bird. The bird cocked its head.

  Before Rory saw his movement, a gunshot deafened her and the bird exploded with a bright flash of white. The next second she realized Navy was holding the weapon, still outstretched in his right hand. Her heart racing in terror, she stared agape at him.

  “What did you—why did you—why do you have a gun?” she stuttered out, and began to back away from him.

  Navy’s expression, his body, his whole being seemed like a different man than the one who’d just made her mind spin with a kiss. His eyes were hard, his body tensed for response.

  “That wasn’t a bird,” he bit out as he grabbed her arm and dragged her toward Byron and Army. When she struggled and stumbled, he practically lifted her feet off the ground with his pace.

  “Let me go! What are you doing? Why did you kill that poor bird?”

  “Rory, birds don’t have hydrofuel cell batteries. Did you see that flash? That bird is a drone.” He glanced down as he marched her ahead. “Your wolf is probably one, too.”

  “Are you insane?” she cried, feeling hysterical laughter bubbling up inside. Looking back at her father, she observed that the internal struggle evident in his expression seemed out of balance with the fact that an armed madman was dragging his daughter toward him.

  Reaching the barn, Navy pulled Rory to a stop.

  “Byron, it’s time to go. You knew this day might arrive.”

  Byron shook his head slowly. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  Rory’s jaw dropped. “What? You can’t trust him, Dad. Did you see that gun?”

  Navy’s eyes narrowed. “How much else doesn’t she know?”

  “It kept her safe.”

  Rory yanked her arm from Navy’s grasp and stepped toward her father. She eyed Navy with obvious disgust and fear. He held her gaze but his tone was strictly business, and he seemed every bit the frightening soldier that others feared on sight.

  “Not anymore. The cat’s out of the bag. In fact, it’s more like a lion on the hunt. Drones don’t come in cute bluebird clothing without government funding.” Looking to Byron, he said, “You tell her or I will. This is for her safety. The Resistance sent us to protect you both from TEAR.”

  “Who is the Resistance?” Rory hissed. “Didn’t Mom work for TEAR?”

  Byron sighed, his glance flicking from Navy to Rory. “How much time do we have?”

  Navy glanced over his shoulder, scanning the trees, then to Army. “Is there anything we can do to buy time?”

  His powerful forearms crossed over his broad chest, but his shrug was relaxed. “If we stay inside, we could throw up a jammer and prevent transmissions for a while, to a limited radius. After that storm, drones could believably be downed. We need to be out by tonight.”

  “What is everyone talking about?” Rory finally demanded. Looking to each face, she landed on her father’s and saw at last a reassuring, if sad, expression. He took her hand and squeezed it briefly.

  “You’re soaked, sweetheart. Let’s get indoors and talk.”

  “No. Now. Someone tell me what the fuck is going on.” Her distrust and fright was quickly solidifying into a bone-deep rage at feeling like a helpless child talked over by condescending adults. Each of the men staring at her had the arrogance to presume her ignorance was protective, and she was not a fan of being ignorant or protected.

  When Navy stepped toward her, she backed away. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  Navy practically growled, “Rory, get inside the house now. You’re entitled to an explanation, but not when every bug and bird out here could be listening.”

  Jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached, she stalked toward the house. She tore into her bedroom and changed out of rain-soaked clothes, and despite the weather still hovering in the eighties, her teeth chattered. The bird exploded in her mind repeatedly, and the white phosphorescent flash it made when he killed it so heartlessly seemed undeniably unnatural.

  When she stormed back down the stairs, she heard their voices low in the kitchen: Navy and Army discussing signal blocking.

  “I’m setting up my signal jammer and trying to amplify it using the solar panel system. I may get a broader reach, but if their systems are better than ours, we’re still screwed,” Army said. “I’m telling you, we need to move fast. I think in two camps.”

  Navy was nodding. “Rory comes with me, you take Byron. Get to the—”

  “Quit talking about me like you get to choose where I go,” she interrupted quietly from the doorway. She glared at Navy, as angry at herself for falling naively for a stranger as she was at him for deceiving her.

  Navy lifted his head and took her in—a tall, slender, capable young woman who knew both far more than she probably realized, and far less than she deserved to understand. No matter how capable she was, she was not prepared for the danger ahead. But at this moment, she was also not prepared to give him even an inch of her trust.

  Furious with himself for frightening her, yet certain it was necessary, he turned his anger on Byron.

  “If you wanted your daughter to be capable, maybe you should have given her a goddamned clue how to protect herself.”

  “Don’t talk to him that way!” Rory snapped, just as Byron said, “She knows how to defend herself.”

  “T
he sight of a gun left her shaking,” Navy barked.

  “The sight of a gun in the hands of a man she thought she knew.”

  “Stop talking about me in the damned third person!”

  Abruptly, Army pulled a chair out for her. “Rory, why don’t you sit down. I’ll get you a drink, and these two can stop blaming each other for being protective of you. Beer or water?”

  “Beer.”

  He cracked her open a bottle, set it down on the table as she took a seat, and spun another chair around to straddle it facing her. On the table she saw the remains of two more bluebirds, now cracked open with more surgical precision than Navy’s bullets. She could see their mechanical innards, functional little computers with wings. Byron took a beer out as well and sat across the table from her. Navy stayed leaning against a counter, arms crossed.

  After an uncertain silence, Army cleared his throat and said, “Let me kick this off. Rory, you might be the primary target of a government plot to solve the die-off by finding the most effective immune systems in the country and replicating them for the highest bidder.”

  CHAPTER 6

  * * *

  Byron took another drink of his beer but found the taste like sawdust on his tongue. He set it aside and met Rory’s blue-green eyes.

  “Your mother was obsessed with protecting you from infection. Whether the treatments she was developing worked or not, you got them. You had gotten adjusted to . . . I don’t know . . . three shots a week by the time you were seven. We knew it couldn’t hurt you to be exposed to the antibodies. She gave you donor antibodies and recombinant antibodies they were testing officially in their research labs. After age seven, it was evident that her research was failing. But . . . as you grew up, nothing ever fazed your immune system. We started to suspect there was something special going on with you before we moved from Boston.”

  “Is that why we moved?” Rory remembered that time. Memories tinged with urgency and relief: her mother suddenly working less and able to spend more time with her. Her father almost giddy to be in control of his surroundings.