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“MOVE, AND I’LL KILL you.”
Jane stood just inside the infirmary door, her feet planted shoulder-width apart, the gleaming pistol held rigid in her hand. She glared with deadly resolve, the gun pointed at the back of Tracy’s head. None of them had seen her enter, least of all Tracy.
“Don’t shoot.” Garr remained beside the gurney, one hand half-raised in a cautionary gesture. “It was her decision to come back. We need to know why.”
“I don’t care why she came back.” Jane held her position, eyes fixed on her target. “It doesn’t make any difference. Deep down, she’s a Tracker. There’s a good reason Country Girl calls them soul-less.”
Tracy/Megan lifted her hands shoulder-high, palms out. She pivoted in a slow circle to face Jane, her motions steady and unthreatening. Her smile faded, and she regarded Jane with her one eye, expressionless.
Jane didn’t falter under her unrelenting stare. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, but her grip on the pistol didn’t waver.
“Jane . . .” Before Garr could complete his thought, Megan exploded into action.
Her right hand shot out in a lightning-quick arc, snatching the pistol out of Jane’s grasp before she could pull the trigger. Jane fell back a step, her mouth dropping open.
Megan coolly flipped the gun and aimed it at her.
Everyone froze. Megan studied Jane for a long moment, the gun pointed at her head, mirroring Jane’s earlier stance.
Jane met her gaze without flinching, standing stiff in the doorway, as if rooted to the concrete floor. She swallowed once—hard—but said nothing.
She won’t beg for her life. Aubrey held her breath, staring back and forth between the defiant Jane and the impassive Tracker.
No one moved. Aubrey stole a look at Garr, but his face was unreadable. Doctor Simon looked stricken. They were powerless to intervene.
It was Megan who broke the impasse. She’d disarmed Jane in one fluid motion, and with equal nonchalance, she upended the pistol and stepped back. She broke eye contact with Jane, pivoting to face Doc Simon.
“You take this.” Megan extended her arm, the pistol cradled in her open palm. “Only you.”
The expression on her face was unfamiliar—confident, self-assured, in control. What happened to her out there?
Doc accepted the gun, calm and unhurried. She placed the weapon behind her on the workbench without looking. “Thank you, Megan. You remembered your name?”
“What about the Givers?” Jane’s raspy question was a direct challenge. The shock of being forcibly disarmed appeared to be wearing of. “It doesn’t matter what your name is. You stole the Implant for the Givers, didn’t you?”
That’s the right question. Aubrey balked at the shushing gesture Garr aimed at Jane. Tracy—Megan—attacked her guards and stole the Implant. And now we’re supposed to welcome her back like nothing happened?
“Yes, Doctor Simon,” Megan replied, ignoring Jane’s outburst. “Megan. My name.”
Her ability to speak seemed to have improved, which only made Aubrey more suspicious. We’re always underestimating her. She’s still part-Tracker, and far more capable than we give her credit for.
Megan pivoted to confront Jane, who looked startled but didn’t draw back. The Tracker’s mouth worked soundlessly, and then she managed to form short sentences. “Yes, Jane. The Implant. A gift for the Givers. But not now.”
She reached up to tap her forehead with two fingers. Her phrases were choppy and disjointed, but understandable. “No more voices. No more Givers. I am Megan.”
“Is that even possible?” Aubrey looked past Tracy—Megan—at Doc Simon, hopeful but cautious. “Could she break free of the Givers’ mind-control?”
The question she wanted to ask was much more pointed. Can we trust anything she says?
“It’s possible.” Garr’s quiet voice drew their attention. He motioned for Jane to step away from Megan, which she did. Aubrey understood his subtle direction. Even without the gun, Jane’s still unpredictable. And so is Megan.
Garr leaned on the gurney, his steady gaze on Megan. “That’s the reason we went to the Enclave in the first place. At least one other Tracker has managed to break free of the Givers, or so he claims.”
“We’ll never know.” Jane straightened her shoulders, her expression defiant. “All we found was an empty shop, some random bits of tech, and a Tracker patrolling the area. But no sign of Mateo.”
None of them expected Megan’s animated reaction. She took a half step toward Jane—who recoiled with a wary look—one hand half-raised. Jane kept a safe distance, but Megan didn’t pursue her.
“Mateo.” Megan’s voice was eager and alive. A wide smile spread across her face. “Come back. Implant to Doc.”
She reached up to tap her forehead again, nodding. Her next words sent a chill down Aubrey’s spine.
“Mateo said. Go back.”