Page 34 of The Last Love Story

“What is this?” I yell, but they don’t answer.

Because there is no good reason why they’d be putting me on a hovercopter. In fact, there’s no bad reason, either. It’s worse than that. If they know about the server room or my involvement with Lyceum or my birthday, they would just put me in a shuttle that would take me to an airport so I could be shipped off to Europe to fight with the next batch of army recruits.

If I’m worth all this trouble, something even worse is happening. I’m going to be an example. I’m going to be the cautionary tale beamed into everyone’s DopaMine feeds.

The sound is deafening as they half drag me to the door, wind whipping around me, pulling strands out of my loose braid. Two more masked guards pull me up into the craft.

One makes a buckling motion with his hands, and I understand. There’s no point in fighting, but my body hasn’t gotten the message. It practically vibrates with my heartbeat as I sit back, fingers fumbling to secure the seatbelt across my chest. I’ve barely clipped it in when the copter shoots off the ground.

The sound is so deafening it hurts, and I clap hands over both ears as the ground below us seems to yank away. I shut my eyes tight. This is much faster and higher than the hovercar, and turbulence buffers us until my stomach roils.

Something taps my knee, and I open my eyes to see the masked guard holding out a pair of earmuffs. I take them, tentatively, and then put them on.

The sounds around me muffle into a low hum, and I swallow as I try to steady my breathing.

I can’t see the faces of the guards around me. They all have headsets on their helmets, and I can see their lips moving. They’re talking to each other, and to the pilot. But I can’t hear what they’re saying, and I can’t ask questions.

Like always, I’m with people, but completely alone.

I look out of the window. We’re headed east, but I know nothing more than that.

I press my forearms hard into my chest, like the outside pressure can slow my thundering heart, as I wonder if I’ll ever see the smoggy West Coast sunset again.

I wonder if I’ll ever see any sunset again.

I don’t mean to fall asleep, but the sensory deprivation and sheer amount of panic adrenaline my body has endured over the past seventy-two hours have left me with no choice.

We land with a lurch that wakes me. Lights from high surrounding buildings blink like stars against the darkness, but there is no distinguishing landmark that I can see, eventhough I’m still not sure I’m fully awake. Someone rips the earmuffs off my head as another person opens the door. I check my chin for drool as I half fall out of the hovercopter.

Find a way to run, my mind tells me, and I blink against the hurricane of the copter blades as the engine dies down. We’re high up, I can tell that. But short of jumping and hoping for the best, I can’t think of an escape plan.

I focus on not tripping over my own feet as I make my way to the edge of the hoverpad, where a small group of people have assembled as if they’re waiting for me. One woman in a red pantsuit leans into a man in a soft gray sweater, lips moving ceaselessly. When we approach, she snaps a sharp gaze up.

“You’re late,” she barks at the guards behind me. Before anyone can reply, she motions crisply. A nightstick taps into my back and then we’re walking.

“You couldn’t have given her a helmet or something?” the man in the sweats gripes. I’m too slow to flinch away as he reaches for the matted blond mess above my left ear. His fingers, at least, are gentle. “It’s going to take ages to figure out this hair and we needed her camera-ready an hour ago.”

And then I’m awake again, suddenly, another rush of adrenaline to make me hyperaware.Camera-ready.What are they going to do to me? I stumble down a set of stairs—the Hammers helpfully grip at my arms past the point of pain, so I barely need to hold up my own weight—into ahallway with white speckled linoleum and fluorescent lights. Massive racks of clothes line the right side, and a woman with a headset and a clipboard steps back to let us pass her.

“Seriously?” Red Pantsuit asks the Hammers, jutting a manicured fingernail to where they hold me. “If she bruises, I’m makingyouput on the body makeup.”

Thankfully, the mention of makeup is enough to disperse the guards. In their place, plainclothes people rush in, the room transforming into a hive of activity.

“What’s happening?” I ask, trying to remember how to breathe.

“A more casual look, I think. We don’t have time for red-carpet glam,” the man in gray says, talking over me like I’m not here.

“I think that’s part of her charm. I mean, those cheeks? I should take a photo for my injector,” the woman replies, reaching out to pinch my face.

I duck away, slamming my head into someone’s elbow. “What are you talking about?” I raise my voice even more as the group moves to the right and then turns down another hallway, whisking me away like a small fish caught in a riptide.

“Plus, that tested well,” the woman in red says, checking her phone screen as she walks. “Very girl next door.”

“Literally,” the man snarks, and she cuts him a glare as the whole entourage comes to a sudden, terrifying stop next to a door at the end of the hallway.

“What’s going on?” I finally ask, my voice rising enough to get their attention. The woman stops and looks at me like I’m a doll that just moved on its own.

“Did no one brief her?” she asks, her sharp eyebrows rising on her forehead. It’s the closest she’s come to actually speaking to me.