Shield Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Walker Books Australia Logo

  Prologue

  Signals

  Farewells

  Return

  Initiative

  Destiny

  Fault

  Shower

  Breakfast

  Girlfriend

  Miriam

  Apology

  Honeymoon

  Darkness

  Truth

  Believer

  Eavesdropping

  Match

  Spite

  Courage

  Pressure

  Proof

  Davis

  Jamie

  Helena

  Spark

  Fixation

  Sides

  Cell

  Dad

  Help

  Tank

  Symbiosis

  Csabotage

  Knox

  Juno

  Stray

  Synergist

  Home

  Choice

  Certainty

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other Books by Rachael Craw

  This is the Affinity Project – where free will is turned to ash.

  EVIE IS OUT OF OPTIONS. She must comply with the Affinity Project – obey their rules, play their deadly games, give up Jamie. And her losses keep growing.

  When she decides to help a small group of Shields trying to affect change, Evie finds herself in the firing line. Counsellor Knox is intent on revealing her secrets and shackling her to the Affinity Project for life. To protect her family, Evie must betray those closest to her.

  The odds of success – let alone survival – are slim.

  THE FINAL THRILLING CONCLUSION

  TO THE SPARK SERIES.

  PROLOGUE

  The dream is always the same. I’m walking down a blank concrete corridor, the ceiling soaring above me, the narrow walls of the Affinity Project compound looming in. Close behind me, the heavy tread of boots and the cold kiss of a gun barrel pressed to the back of my skull. I don’t need to turn and look. The hostile signal crackling in the bandwidth, the soap-clean scent, the atmosphere of brooding, godlike judgement – it’s Benjamin. My throat thickens because I know where he’s taking me.

  We come to the steel door of the ReProg room and my heart is a jackhammer. I’m cold but stink of sweat. The door slides open on a stark room of black glass walls. A reptilian chair hangs suspended from the middle of the ceiling over a grated drain set in the sloping floor. Strapped in the reclining seat, Miriam. A shove from Benjamin and I stumble forwards. He doesn’t follow me. The door closes with a hollow clang, cutting off his signal.

  The ache of longing for my mother is all sharp edges. I can’t take my eyes off the breathing tube hooked over her jaw. I swallow reflexively as though the hard plastic presses against the back of my oesophagus. Miriam wears a short papery surgical gown and this is the point where I realise I’m wearing a surgical gown. The cold hurts my feet and my naked skin puckers with goosebumps.

  Miriam’s wrists are rubbed raw by the chair restraints, ankles and thighs too. Her eyes are closed, shadows beneath, and though I can hear her slow pumping heart I hold my breath to see her chest rise and fall. There is no sign of her in the bandwidth and the absence of her signal makes me shake.

  The Symbiosis drains from the wall of glass opposite the chair, a rush of black liquid extracted into hidden tanks – it leaves the glass pristine. I’m hit by the blast of signals belonging to those on the metal platform in the observation room. The five members of the Affinity Project’s Executive Council. Reform-hating Robert Knox: the sadistic Chair with his silvering brown hair and cleft chin, glowers from the middle of the line-up. On the far left my father: Ethan Tesla, tall, stern, marble-hard, his disappointment and anger throbbing in the bandwidth. His black eyes drill me. Your mother is a vegetable because of you.

  My joints seize. My stomach hollows. Did he say that aloud – your mother? I scan the faces of the other members of the Executive for some hint of acknowledgement. Some sign that the big secret we’ve been keeping has spilled into the light. No one reacts but I’m breathless anyway. If they find out Miriam and Ethan are my parents, and worse, that I’m the child of a Synergist relationship – bam. They’ll claim me as lab equipment on account of my telepathic potential. I look again at my father’s hard eyes and I don’t understand.

  The scene fissures and my head spins. A guttural moan startles me and I whirl towards the chair. Aiden sits in Miriam’s place – his eyes wild, pupils dilated, bare chest straining beneath the bonds. His cries reverberate around the room. In the back of my mind I know something’s off but I can’t resist that devastating split-second rush – my brother’s alive – and my brain fudges how that could be possible.

  The elation is quickly dowsed. On the black glass, all around us, the Symbiosis erupts in luridly bright images of Kitty, razor-sharp focal point, fuzzy and bleeding colour at the edges, Harvested straight from Aiden’s memories of stalking her as a Stray. His face contorts as he watches her.

  I press my hand to my stomach, instinct searching for the tug of the tether behind my navel – my bond with Kitty – but I know this is wrong and I fight to remember. Aiden … Aiden … it comes to me in a jolt of knowing. Aiden deactivated. The tether broke. Kitty’s safe. Ethan tested his blood. We proved it – he’s not a Stray! I look up to plead with the Executive when Knox’s voice fills the room. You used your best friend like bait to save your brother. You were supposed to keep her safe. What kind of Shield would use her own Spark to help a Stray?

  Before I can argue, I realise the images of Kitty have faded from the Symbiosis and Aiden has stopped screaming. I turn, confused by his stillness. A red bloom of blood wells at his temple and I lurch towards the chair, scrabbling at the bonds across his chest. They won’t give. I clamp my palm over the wound but his eyes are already far away. His mouth hangs slack and the viscous pooling of his blood between my fingers cools too quickly.

  This isn’t right – it’s not how it happened. Aiden didn’t die in ReProg. He never came to the Affinity compound. Benjamin shot him during a field operation. It’s just a dream – a really shitty dream. I squeeze my eyes tight – I’ll wake any second now.

  A dizzy rush to my head and the scene shifts again. My hope spikes until I try to raise my hands and wipe the tears from my face. I can’t move. I open my eyes, chest clenching. I’m still in ReProg. Aiden’s gone. No Miriam, either. It’s my turn in the reptilian chair and I thrash against the restraints.

  Beside me, pale as chalk, the Proxy takes my hand and all the fight leaves my body. Wintry fine-boned fingers loop through mine. She stands with her back to the observation room, her silver eyes moving over my face. White-blonde hair hangs past her shoulders, gauzy and dry, shushing over her paper gown as she tilts her head. I know this is impossible. I know she’s dead. It doesn’t stop her small mouth curving with that wrong smile or my memories from bursting onto the screens. On the black glass, I watch my brother die the way I saw it the first time, paralysed to act as he falls and falls and I can’t save him.

  It’s all for the best, she says in my head. You know it’s all for the best.

  SIGNALS

  “Give me one good reason.” Kitty leans her shoulder on the locker next to mine, her grey eyes set to drill, her mouth tucked tight in the corners, a prelude to her war face. “We have four spare rooms and a bloody pool house. You can take your pick. Besides,” she reaches beneath her honey-blonde hair, feeling for the pea-sized lump of the temporary tracker embedded in the base of her skull, “they can’t expect you to live by yourself; you’re a mino
r.”

  “Only till Saturday – and keep your voice down.” I glance to check for eavesdroppers and swap my history books for English, folding my pop quiz in half so the A+ grade doesn’t shout from the top in red marker pen.

  “Whoa.”

  Too late.

  Her hand darts past me, snatching the paper.

  I could have stopped her, grabbed her wrist, but that would suggest shame or intent. A small but incriminating rise in temperature warms my neck and ears. “You don’t need to flash it around.”

  She flips through the pages, her eyes narrowing, her mouth untucking. “You missed this whole unit – and you ace the exam.”

  “Shhh.” I don’t need more attention directed to my time off school – she knows my four weeks in the Affinity Project loony bin is off limits. “I crammed.” Last night, till one in the morning, curled over my desk in the lamplight while Kitty snored softly in the bed behind me. Even I was surprised at the ease of retention, names and dates lodging in my head, but everything has amplified since the Proxy blasted my signal.

  Kitty’s shoulders deflate. “Well done.”

  “Don’t be like that.” I yank the paper from her grasp, jamming it in the back of my locker like I’m stashing stolen goods. I know that look, the “it’s not fair” twist to her lips. I resist the temptation to point out that if anyone gets to moan about fairness it should be me. I know her grades have taken a hit lately – and I feel bad about it – but developing a photographic memory isn’t a reward, it’s another reminder that I’m a test-tube experiment.

  Kitty turns to me, her eyes full of confession. “Barb and Dad want me to come home.”

  A weight drops in my stomach. It’s been nearly three and a half weeks since the Affinity Project released me from the psych ward. Eight since Aiden died. Part of me has been bracing for this moment. My throat gets tight. “You should.”

  “We should.”

  “I can’t.” I close my locker and fuss with my bag. “Even if I was allowed near your brother, I wouldn’t force myself on your folks.”

  “So take the pool house.”

  “Kit, it’s not going to happen. Besides, your mom can’t even look at me.” I don’t blame her. Poor Barb went through hell thanks to me, and for nothing. My brother dead and Kitty nearly taken out in the firing line. Stop it.

  “Dad wants you to come stay.”

  Leonard Gallagher. Thinking about Kitty’s father pokes at another tender spot inside me – and I’m at about ninety-five per cent tender spots, essentially a walking bruise. Until eight weeks ago he was the closest thing to a dad in my life. “I’ll be fine. Social Services won’t find out and from Saturday I’m officially legal.”

  Kitty exhales. She knows there’s no way the Affinity Project would let me live in the same house as her brother. Their rules about unsanctioned affiliations won’t allow it and I couldn’t stand it. It’s bad enough knowing I might bump into him at any moment at school, my signal always waiting for his in the bandwidth. I spend almost seven hours a day on Jamie alert, from the moment Kitty and I pull up at Gainsborough Collegiate. Another seven non-school hours trying not to think about him. I would dream about him too but the unconscious hours – when I can get them – belong to my recurring nightmare.

  I give Kitty a searching look, taking in the new sharpness of her cheekbones, the make-up hiding the shadows beneath her eyes. It must be exhausting sharing a house with me. The empty fridge, the tedious take-out food. Sharing a bed. Putting up with my restless tossing and turning – nightmares and night terrors. She could have moved across the hall to Miriam’s empty room but she knows I can’t bear to be alone.

  Truth is, she’s been through as much trauma as me – she saw Aiden die too. Her bedside table is littered with the civilian version of my anti-anxiety meds. She should be recovering at home with her family.

  My head gets swimmy and my chest gets tight, the noise of students moving around us echoing weirdly in my ears.

  “Evs?” Kitty touches my arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Um. I need to swap my books.”

  “You just did that.”

  I glance down at the stack in my arms.

  “You should sit, take a minute.” She nods at the door next to the bank of lockers. “I think this classroom is empty.”

  “I don’t need to sit.” It’s just a glitch, dizziness, confusion, shortness of breath. It’ll pass. I hitch my pack over my shoulder and turn right.

  She swings me back the other way. “It’s lunchtime.”

  “Right. I knew that.” I start towards the main foyer and the cafeteria beyond, ignoring the ringing in my ears and the walls leaning in. Kitty keeps pace beside me. She doesn’t speak, her silence filled with knowing.

  “You’re allowed to take a moment.”

  “Normal, Kit. We’re going for normal.”

  “Pretending to be okay when you’re not isn’t normal.”

  “Of course it is. It’s the cornerstone of civilisation. You’re English, for crying out loud – stiff upper lip?”

  “I’m half American,” she says, as roundly as the Queen. “And that part wants to know if you’ve been making the most of your therapy.”

  I give her a warning look. That’s the last thing I need getting out. “I can hardly avoid it with you and Davis on my ass.”

  “You wouldn’t need an escort if they didn’t think you were a flight risk.”

  I jab my thumb at the back of my neck. “Where exactly would I go?”

  “He’s just doing his job,” Kitty says.

  I don’t say anything. I like Davis – look forward to seeing him. He’s straight up, what you see is what you get, brutally honest, smart, funny and not remotely touchy-feely. It just grates me I’ve become so needy that being with him is a relief.

  “I’ve found it helpful,” Kitty says. “Talking to someone.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  There’s a pointy pause. “Right. Well, you’ve got a session tonight, so tell Davis I’m cooking steak for afterwards. I’ll get groceries and everything.”

  “If you keep feeding him, he’ll keep turning up.”

  A crackling in the bandwidth alerts me to an active signal and I hold my breath as the resonant hum of Jamie’s ETR ripples through me. Electro-Telepathic Radiation has unique signature features as individual as a person’s voice, and my signal turns towards his in the same way I might turn my head if I heard him speaking across a crowded room. I stop walking and Kitty bumps into my arm. “What day is it?”

  She sighs. “Thursday.”

  I do this a lot. Sudden stops. Demands for day and time. “I thought the rowing team meet Thursday lunchtime.”

  She shrugs, already scanning the crowd for her brother. “You tell me.”

  Students file around us, a sea of bland civilian static, low-volume white noise that I’ve learned to ignore. Now, it makes me claustrophobic in my own head. Pins and needles rev in my spine. I frown into the middle distance, feeling Jamie’s signal increase in strength. “What’s he doing? Thursdays, I get the cafeteria.”

  “Can’t we eat together? Just this once? Gil would love it if we all ate together. Lila, Imogen.” She pouts. “Won’t someone think of the children?”

  “I’m not stopping you. Go eat.”

  “You and Jamie could sit at opposite ends of the table.”

  “No.”

  “Ugh.”

  I can’t see him yet but he’s coming in fast. He doesn’t have my sensitivity and it seems unfair for me to know in advance when we’re about to pass each other in a corridor. Pre-warned, he can choose to reroute or duck into a restroom. Trouble is, he never does. He always walks right into my buffer zone. Ready for eye contact, body language, words. Depending on my frame of mind I either love or hate him for it – giving me what I can’t ask for, torturing me with what I can’t have. Proximity. The next best or worst thing to actually being with him.

  I focus to project a telepathic nudge bu
t he beats me to it. Purposeful, urgent, his signal touches mine – an ETR reach. He’s looking for me? My heart kicks up a gear. I adjust the pack on my shoulder, books under one arm and take stock of my black jeans, green hoodie. Is that a spaghetti stain on my sleeve? Am I wearing deodorant? I regret the forfeit of mascara and lip gloss. I touch my hair. It has a sort of style since it’s grown past my collar but I miss the length; I miss Jamie’s fingers tangling in it–

  Don’t.

  I bite the inside of my lip as penance.

  “Are we running?” Kitty asks. “Or do I actually get to see my brother?”

  “No-one-is-stopping-you-from-seeing-your-brother,” I say through my teeth. My gaze shifts to the corridor beside the stairs, radar counting down to impact. “Did I shower this morning?”

  “I guess that means we’re staying put.”

  “He wants me.”

  She makes a gagging sound.

  “He’s looking for me. He wants something.”

  “Oh?”

  Jamie steps into the foyer, tall enough to see over the crowd. I experience a brief system shutdown: heart, lungs, brain.

  Four days.

  Four days and twenty hours.

  Four days and twenty hours since my last Jamie sighting. He was crossing the parking lot to his car, unhurried, head bowed against the rain, his dark gold hair almost black in the wet, slicked to his head.

  Twelve days since I last saw him face to face.

  Zero days.

  Now.

  He needs a shave. His hair is rumpled. There are shadows beneath his eyes. The collar of his shirt is wrinkled. He spots me and stalls, runs his hand up into his hair, once, twice. Dirty bandaids circle three of his knuckles. The muscle in his jaw tightens. He lowers his gaze and starts moving towards me, negotiating the crowd.

  My pulse, breath and reason reboot. I remember where I am and the press of bodies around us. Great, only the largest possible audience for a Jamie encounter.

  My ears get warm.

  Maybe no one will notice the revered captain of the senior boys’ rowing team talking to his estranged girlfriend. She whose deeds grace T-shirts and feature in the weekly Collegiate Times comic strip. Sure to pass unnoticed.