Hardwired Page 18

  “He’s gone.” I started to sway, mental and physical exhaustion sweeping over me.

  “Lucas? You okay?” Nick reached out to steady me.

  I shook my head, my legs nearly giving out underneath me. I was so far from okay, it was insane.

  “The others—”

  “I don’t give a shit about the others right now,” Nick interrupted. “Tyler was my best friend, and you’re his brother. I signed onto this plan for you. Only you. Are you okay?”

  “No.” It was the truth, and it felt amazing to finally admit it. I hadn’t been okay since the day I’d found Tyler dead in the backyard, since the day they’d taken him away, and this stupid mission had only made things worse.

  “Anne?” Joe stood up and walked toward Ms. Tremblay. “What happened?”

  She looked from Joe to me, as if seeking my permission. Or perhaps my forgiveness. I’d give her the words, if that was what she needed, but she’d be an idiot to think it’d help. My forgiveness would never be able to erase her own guilt.

  “I’ll do anything I can to help you prove that this facility, and all the others, need to be shut down,” she said to Joe. “You have my word.”

  I nodded. But in the end, it was of little consequence to me. I’d pretty much lost everything anyway.

  Nick’s gaze drifted to the building behind me, and I turned in time to see Ryan emerging from the door. The twins stumbled out behind him, shielding their eyes as they struggled to adjust to the first daylight they’d seen in a while. They were bleeding and bruised, physically holding each other upright.

  “Who are they?” Joe asked, reaching for the rifle he’d propped against the fence.

  “Kids exactly like me. Exactly like Cam and Tyler. Difference is, they get to go home.” I turned my attention to Nick. “I’m ready to go home. We’re all ready to go home.”

  Epilogue

  It never changes. Night after night I relive it all over again. The sounds, the smells, the gut-wrenching panic that eats at my insides until I think I’m going to die. It’s easier during the day, when I have school and homework to distract me. But even then, the memory never truly fades; it just tucks itself into the back of my mind, lying in wait until my body gives in and finally falls asleep.

  I rub at my eyes and stare down at the blur of words I’ve scribbled across my paper. It started off as the essay for my college applications, a quick six hundred words on what “sets me apart” from the other applicants. How am I supposed to answer that without scaring the crap out of every admittance counselor?

  I slam my laptop closed and sulk out the back door, taking a seat in the exact same lawn chair that Tyler died in. More than once I’ve found myself here, wondering if there was anything I could’ve done to save Tyler and struggling to find my own sense of peace. It never comes.

  “Hey.” The sound of Carly’s voice startles me, and I whip my head around, trying for a smile. I know how hard it must be for her most of the time, but day after day she still shows up at my house, asking me how I’m doing in school and talking about her friends. She doesn’t ask about Chris or Ryan; it’s as if the simple mention of their names will toss her back into the world of darkness she’s just recently learned how to escape.

  “Bad day?” Carly asks, and I nod. She doesn’t need any more explanation than that. She was there; she understands.

  “Come here,” I say as I hold my arms out wide. She settles into my lap, her tiny hands winding around my neck. This is my favorite time of day, the only time I find peace—Carly in my arms, me knowing that she’s safe. That they didn’t break her too.

  The Bake Shop and the other testing facilities were shut down a month after we got home. Ms. Tremblay kept her promise—she took Joe’s information to Washington. To the Government Task Force for Violent Crimes. To the press. She didn’t stop until every single one of the facilities was shut down. There is one still physically standing, but its halls are empty; the only people who ever pass through its gates are freelance reporters looking for a story to sell.

  And through it all, through the countless interviews she’s been forced into and the testimony she’s given, Ms. Tremblay has never once sold us out. Never once indicated that Carly, Chris, or I might have had anything to do with the events of that day.

  Carly’s thumb circles my palm, and I pull her in tighter to my chest. Even if things never go back to how they used to be, even if the memory of that time and all we lost never fades, at least I have her. And right now, she’s all I need.

  Acknowledgments

  This book does not belong solely to Lindsay and I, but rather to the people whose faith in us as authors made it possible. A heartfelt thank you to our agents, Kevan Lyon and Kathleen Rushall, for being our grounding point as we plotted, wrote, and revised this manuscript. To our amazing editor, Brian Farrey-

  Latz, for seeing the potential in this story concept when it was nothing more than a three-sentence pitch, and Sandy Sullivan, whose keen eye and attention to detail made this book shine. Thanks to our families, whose unwavering support makes all things in our writing world possible. And to our friends and critique partners, Jenni Walsh and Tracey Neithercott, for their long-distance moral support.

  © Boule Photography

  Trisha Leaver graduated from the University of Vermont with a degree in Social Work. She is a member of SCBWI, the Horror Writers Association, and the Cape Cod Children’s Writers. Visit her online at www.trishaleaver.com.

  © Alan Klehr

  Lindsay Currie graduated from Knox College and is a member of SCBWI, the Horror Writers Association, the YA Scream Queens, and OneFourKidLit, a community of authors with debuts in 2014. Visit her online at www.lindsaycurrie.com.