POSSESSION, Book 1 in the Possession Trilogy

Chapter 8

8.

Tech is an interesting thing, full of power—for good or bad. Unlike Ty and my dad, I don’t have the inventing gene. But I can certainly recognize good tech when I see it. Or rather, feel it. And I’d seen and felt it in the tech-lab downstairs.

I couldn’t stay here and do nothing.

Yes, you can. The voice carried a patronizing air. I really hated that. I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest, listening, hoping the Thinker would implant another thought, desperate to identify him. His voice sounded so familiar.

When no one spoke, I got up and shook Jag. He didn’t respond. With horror, I realized why that doctor had said he wouldn’t be awake. They’d drugged him.

I turned on the faucet and threw cold water in his face. He jerked and opened his eyes. They were bloodshot and glazed over. He said nothing, barely registering that I stood in front of him yelling his name. His eyes drooped closed again.

“No! Jag, you’ve got to wake up. They’re gonna tag you!” I opened his gel—the smell alone could wake the dead—and waved it under his nose. “Wake up!” He stirred again, and I threw another handful of water on him.

“Finally,” I said as he sat up.

“Ugnh.” He rubbed his hands over his face.

“Can you stand?” I checked the corridor for guards. Empty. It had to be very early in the morning, maybe still the middle of the night.

The bed creaked as he lay down. “Give me a break,” I muttered, pulling him back up. I could barely hold his weight in his drugged condition. “No. You’ve got to wake up.”

“I don’t feel so good.”

“Well, too bad. They’re coming to tag you, and I can’t get out of here by myself.” I spotted the bread he’d saved from dinner on the shelf and grabbed it. “Here, eat this. We gotta go.”

As he ate he seemed to throw off some of the fog surrounding him. I helped him stand and pace in the tiny cell to get his blood moving. He’s not sick, everything’s fine, I thought on every turn.

He stopped and looked at me, his eyes brightening.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

A strange look crossed his face, something between wonder and fear. “You…I’m…” he said, and then shook his head. His face closed off again.

I didn’t have time for his issues with, well, whatever.  “Come on,” I said. “You’ve got to pretend you’re sick so you can go to the bathroom. We’ve got to get to the elevator.”

“It won’t be pretending.” He sat on the bed. “We’re using the elevator?”

“Yeah, I explored a bit yesterday.” I didn’t want to waste time explaining—or for him to know—that I’d already been tagged. “You’ll have to help me with the guard.”

“Sure, whatever,” he said as he pulled on his shoes.

“Hey!” I yelled toward the guard’s office. “Jag’s sick! He’s gonna blow chunks! You gotta come get him!” I shouted for ten minutes before a bleary-eyed guard came out, tucking in his shirt as he walked.

The color had returned to Jag’s cheeks. He bent over to hide his grin. My face relaxed into a smile. I wiped it away as the guard slid the bars to the side. Jag shuffled forward, clutching his stomach and moaning.

The guard put his hand under Jag’s arm for support. “What’s wrong with him?”

“How would I know? Do I look like a doctor?”