The Reader Read online

  “We have some information about you. We’ve been sent to help you.” Devon paused and looked at Archer.

  “You seem to know more about me than I do.”

  “We think you’re a Reader,” Archer blurted.

  “Oh, God. Now you’re going to have to explain that,” Devon said. “Can we just leave before the Jacks find us again? Come on, let’s get her back into the Jeep.”

  I ignored him and closed my eyes for a moment. Reader. That word sparked something in me. I visualized thousands and thousands of books. They were lined up on shelves that took up an entire room—floor to ceiling. The room was safe and warm and beautiful. The memory filled me with a love so intense, it knocked the air from my lungs.

  With a shaky breath, I said, “Yes! I read! I remember. Oh, thank goodness. I remembered something.” And then it hit me.

  No!

  “You’ve done it now, Archer. She’s going to remember before we get her to the doctor. We’ll need to use a sedative.”

  “Why would I need a—” I started.

  Two kind, loving faces smiling at me. My mom and dad. Then the picture vanished like a metal door had slammed shut. I held my head and tried to get the memory back, but it was gone.

  For some reason, the image filled me with relief and sadness at the same time. A lump formed in my throat, and tears welled. “I think I remember my parents.” I fought the urge to cry, and asked, “Why can’t I remember?” Despite my best efforts, a few tears and a sob escaped.

  “Hush,” Archer said. “It’s going to be all right.” He helped me up and looped an arm around my waist.

  Get it together. I let him lead me to their Jeep. Once Archer buckled me into the back seat, I calmed down a little. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

  Devon got back behind the steering wheel and rattled off instructions. “Make sure she changes out of her bloody shirt. I have an extra sweatshirt in the backpack. When we get to the ferry, put a pillow under her head, and she can pretend she’s taking a nap. Call your dad, tell him we found her and to get Doc ready. Gunshot wound, possible hypothermia and shock. Oh, and get that blanket back on her.”

  Distracted by his demands, my crying tapered off. Man, he was bossy.

  Archer gave a little waggle of his eyebrows. “We better do as he says or else he’ll get grumpy.”

  “You mean grumpier? Is that possible?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He rubbed my uninjured arm. “You’re going to be all right.”

  Drying my face with my sleeve, I made a decision. I wouldn’t succumb to the tears or the sadness that tried to burrow deep. Somewhere, somehow, I knew I was stronger than this.

  “What are you waiting for? Let’s get going,” I called to the front seat.

  Devon turned and looked back at me with narrowed eyes. Oh, now he was suspicious?

  “The sooner we get to your compound, or whatever you call it, the quicker I can regain my memory and get back home.”

  His eyes softened. Wait. He wasn’t the nice one. This couldn’t be good.

  “I do have a home to go to, right?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. “You do have a home.” He started the Jeep and reversed out of the trees.

  I had a sinking feeling his idea of home and mine wouldn’t be the same.

  The journey from the San Juan Islands to North Bend, Washington passed without incident. Devon announced at the beginning of our trip there would be no more conversation until we arrived at the compound. After drinking water and warming up, I felt well enough to start in with my questions, but they both remained tight-lipped. Even the affable Archer, who looked like it took every bit of restraint not to respond, kept his mouth shut due to threats from Devon to report Archer to his dad.

  Devon is a jerk.

  We pulled up to a huge, gated community locked behind twelve-foot-high concrete walls and a wrought-iron gate. I peered between the black, metal pickets and spotted a few beige and brown homes sitting on large, ornately landscaped lots.

  “So, is your dad the leader of your tribe?” I asked Archer.

  “Kind of,” he said.

  “Has the question ban been lifted?” I asked.

  “No.” Devon’s irritated voice grumbled from the front seat.

  Archer gave my arm a pat. “We’re almost there.”

  “This looks like a normal neighborhood,” I said.

  “We’re back,” Devon shouted to the gatehouse guard. Dressed in a blue military uniform, the stocky male sentry wore a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “I take it back. This is not normal.”

  “The guard is here for us. It’s important we have privacy.” Archer unrolled his window and flashed some sort of badge.

  I examined the towering walls surrounding the neighborhood. The sun was bright, reflecting off a wire sitting two inches above the wall as far as the eye could see.

  Hmm. I’d bet that wire would not be fun to touch. Maybe even deadly?

  “Why do you need this much privacy?” I rubbed my sweaty hands down the legs of my tattered jeans.

  “All in good time, my pretty.” Archer’s eyes crinkled at the corners.

  I groaned. “That again? You plan to use that against me for the duration of my stay here?”

  Archer burst out laughing. “You gotta admit—that was lame. Auntie Em’s? Who doesn’t know that line?”

  Even though the crying portion of my ordeal was over, I didn’t laugh along.

  My shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. I’m a little confused.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck and his eyes gentled when he met my distressed expression.

  “It’s okay.”

  He leaned in and with lips close to my ear, he said, “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you while you’re with us. If anyone bothers you, just come to me. Okay?”

  “What are you two whispering about back there?” Devon asked.

  He was bossy and nosy.

  “I was just telling her about the hiking paths around here.” Archer smiled and winked.

  “There won’t be any hiking for a while. You got that, Archer?”

  “Got it,” Archer answered back with crossed arms and a frown.

  This was the second time I sensed tension between them. I tried to diffuse it by saying, “I probably won’t feel like hiking for at least a few days.” I turned back toward Archer. “We could go then?”

  “No,” Devon’s clipped voice answered for him.

  Archer shrugged. “He’s right. We’ll probably need to get you through the initiation first.”

  “What initiation?” I asked, but wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Crawling into a soft bed and sleeping for days or weeks sounded like a good plan.

  “We’ll get to all that after Doc sees you,” Devon said, giving me a brief glance in the mirror.

  I leaned back in my seat and decided to accept my fate . . . for now. After we passed through the guard station, we crisscrossed through the peaceful neighborhood with its wrought iron fences, large yards and expensive homes.

  The unique architecture elevated the neighborhood from generic to eclectic, a mix of Frank Lloyd Wright with a little Le Corbusier thrown in. Contemporary lines, huge window walls, simple millwork with clean, straight lines.

  I could remember particular architects and their individual styles, but nothing about myself? That didn’t seem right.

  Even with my lack of memory, though, there was something about Archer and Devon that brought me a sense of comfort, maybe even belonging. It was almost like I knew them before. But no, I was sure they would have mentioned it.

  “Who owns all these houses?” I asked.

  “We all do,” Devon said.

  “Really? How many people live here?” I turned toward Archer.

  “Three hundred and forty-two,” Devon answered, even though I’d spoken to Archer.

  “Hey, you got a little information from the Grinch.” Archer c
huckled.

  I giggled into my hand, not wanting Devon to shut down the flow of information again.

  The neighborhood was quiet as we continued to weave our way through the twisty streets. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

  Wait. Something was off. I hadn’t noticed it at first, but the shades were drawn in every single house. There weren’t garbage cans out at the curb; no bikes or toys littered the lawns. The neighborhood seemed quiet. Too clean and perfect.

  “People don’t live in these houses, do they?” I asked.

  “Perceptive,” Devon said under his breath.

  “I heard that.” I curbed the desire to stick out my tongue, opting for restraint. Instead, I kept up with my questions. “Why are they empty?”

  “It’s the privacy issue I mentioned before,” Archer said.

  “You need empty houses in order to maintain privacy? These homes had to cost a fortune. How did your compound people pay for this?” I glanced back and forth between them.

  Devon brushed his fingers through his unruly hair, making it even messier, and let out a long breath.

  “Well?” I asked, trying to keep my voice sweet to coax out the answer.

  “I know you’re curious, but we won’t be able to answer all your questions right away,” Devon said.

  “Why?”

  He slowed the car and turned to look at me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Another question. Gotcha.” I bit my lip and decided to busy myself by looking out the back window, memorizing the path we’d taken. Maybe I’d need the information one day.

  The last leg of our journey led us down a bumpy, dirt road with a large mountain looming in front of us.

  The car came to a halt. “We’re here,” Archer said as he unbuckled his seat belt.

  “Deploy the signal,” Devon instructed Archer.

  Archer jumped out of the car and bent over a small tree stump. He reached inside, pulled out a metal bar, and twisted. With a push downward, it disappeared back into the ground.

  “What did he just do?”

  Devon tapped his fingers on the wheel. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “You don’t have to be so . . . so, I don’t know, bratty about it.” I threw my good hand up in frustration.

  A smile tugged on his lips. He coughed into his hand.

  I saw you smile.

  Archer hopped back into the seat next to me. “All set.”

  Devon reached over to the glovebox and removed a small, rectangular instrument, pressing lighted buttons at a rapid speed. What now?

  A loud crunching and metal scraping sound shifted my attention to the steep embankment. I stared in disbelief as a door slid open in the face of the mountain, with a tunnel that appeared just big enough for the Jeep.

  “Wait a minute. What’s that?” I whispered. My heart beat erratically, and I had to remind myself to breathe.

  “This is where we live.” Archer’s gaze searched my face. “Welcome to Samara.”

  “Samara?”

  “Yes. It means mountain home.”

  I gripped my chest in an attempt to quiet the loud thudding. My hands began to shake.

  “Don’t freak out. It’s really nice in there. You’ll like it.”

  “No. I think I have claustrophobia.” I took a few quick breaths. “I take that back. I know I do.” I nodded, hoping to convince them not to drive forward. My stomach sank, and my chest tightened, certain a panic attack was in my near future.

  Archer took my hand in his. “It’s open and spacious once you get past the tunnel. We have hundreds of thousands of tube holes built into the mountain so it has natural light. It doesn’t feel cramped or crowded in any way.”

  “How big is it? On the inside I mean,” I squeaked out.

  “We’ve built three hundred and fifty thousand square feet spread throughout a square mile.” Archer smiled. “It’s huge.”

  “Wow.” Maybe I could deal with huge.

  “Everyone who lives here has about a thousand square feet of living space,” he added.

  “How did you . . . Never mind. I don’t think you’ll answer anyway.”

  “Samara has been here for over five hundred years,” Archer continued.

  “What?” My mouth dropped open. “How could that be?”

  “Question and answer time is over. You gonna go into meltdown if I drive in there?” Devon asked with his usual impatient tone.

  Yes.

  “No,” I answered.

  The Jeep jostled over the last few feet of road before the entrance. My sweaty, right hand stayed glued for dear life to the door handle, which ratcheted up the pain in my shoulder tenfold.

  Not smart. I relaxed my hold.

  Devon turned his head back in my direction again, his eyes resting on my shoulder. “You’d better get some pressure on her wound; it’s starting to bleed again.” He grabbed a package out of his first aid kit and threw it back to Archer. “Make sure to press down firmly.”

  “Ann, close your eyes. It’ll make it easier,” Archer said.

  “Ann?” The name didn’t sound familiar. “My name is Ann? Are you sure?”

  “God, Archer.” Devon glared at Archer before his dark eyes shifted toward me.

  “What? She should know her own name. Or is that secret, too?” Archer smacked his fist against the door. The action startled me at first. But I figured Archer was frustrated because he wanted to protect me. With his beautiful green eyes and genuine smile, yeah, I’d guess any girl on the planet would want him as their personal ally.

  “Guys! The name is fine. It just didn’t sound right at first for some reason.”

  Archer’s eyes searched mine. “I’m sorry for the slip.”

  “It’s okay.”

  At least I had one friend.

  A buzzing sound overhead had me looking out the window and up toward the sky.

  “Just great.” Devon groaned.

  “What was that?” I asked

  “A drone,” Archer answered.

  Devon shouted, “Duck! They’re just over the hill.”

  I bent forward. “Who are we hiding from?”

  “The Jacks.”

  Ugh. Them again?

  “Floor it. Let’s get out of here,” Archer shouted.

  “Hang on.” Devon yelled as the Jeep sped forward. We went up a small incline and into the opening. Once inside, there was another loud screech of metal against metal as the doors closed, blanketing us in darkness. I let myself relax for a moment before I realized we were inside and I couldn’t see a thing.

  “I thought you said there was natural sunlight in here,” I said to Archer as beads of moisture formed on my forehead.

  He squeezed my hand. “After the tunnel.”

  Floodlights came to life, illuminating the small area. It was impressive for a tunnel. I just didn’t want to have to travel through it. Red bricks covered the semi-circle from top to bottom. The grout between each brick almost sparkled, like they’d just completed an upgrade. It even smelled good, like rain on concrete. I made an internal checklist. Heart rate—good. Breathing—normal. Sweat—under control. Panic attack—not going to happen. Right shoulder—bad.

  “Just a few more minutes and we’ll see Doc. He’ll fix you right up,” Archer said.

  “Okay.” My first feelings of claustrophobia didn’t follow me, thank goodness. As we traveled through the tunnel, the structure fascinated me. An architectural work of art—perfectly round with bricks spaced evenly. After another couple hundred feet, the Jeep came to a stop. Again, Archer jumped out and walked up to the next set of metal doors. He put his hand on a pad next to the doorframe. An opening in the panel shot out, and a laser light zoomed right into his eyes.

  “You guys weren’t kidding about the privacy thing.”

  Devon rubbed his forehead.

  God, she’s killing me.

  “What? Who’s killing you?” I asked.

  Devon quit rubbing his head, and his body stilled. He t
urned slowly and stared at me.

  Archer returned to the car and took his seat next to me. “All set. Let’s go see Doc.” He gave my leg a pat and looked up when he noticed Devon wasn’t moving. “Devon, I said let’s go.” When he didn’t get an answer, he asked, “What’s wrong with him? Were you two fighting?”

  “No. I just asked him a question. He said someone was killing him, and I asked who.”

  “Devon?” Archer asked.

  “I have a headache, that’s all. I said it was killing me.”

  I gaped at him. Why did he lie?

  “Oh, well, maybe you can have Doc take a look at you, too,” Archer offered.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  After passing through the set of doors, the Jeep made a swerve to the right, and everything opened up. A huge parking garage with fluorescent lighting that illuminated hundreds of cars spread out before us. Devon pulled into a parking space right next to a set of elevators. He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out another electronic device, pushed a button, and spoke into it. “We have her. We’re in.”

  “Aren’t you going to add ‘mission accomplished’?” I asked.

  Archer turned his face down to look at his hands, his lips pressed together. He gave up and laughed. “Devon, you did sound a little James Bond-ish.”

  “Try to remember this isn’t a joke. She’s injured, and we need to get her transported right away.” His piercing gaze studied us both. I hadn’t noticed it before, but his eyes were dark blue, not black like I’d thought. I tried to look closer, but he shut them for a moment and shook his head.

  He was right; my shoulder had begun to throb again even though it had stopped bleeding. Once the bullet injury was taken care of, hopefully someone would tell me what had happened—mainly, why I was in this strange place.

  First, I had to ask, “Please, I don’t want to go any farther without knowing about the Jacks. Who or what are they?”