MILA 2.0: Redemption by Debra Driza

Author:Debra Driza [Driza, Debra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-04-25T22:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

Daniel passed out laptops and filled everyone in on what Lucas and I had learned so far. He pulled a stool from a closet, and folded his tall frame so he could sit at the table. I was next to Lucas, Hunter sandwiched in between Abby and Samuel.

“Here’s how it’s going to work. Mila will do a few quick online searches and then assign us tasks based on what she finds.”

He opened the laptop and flexed his knuckles until they cracked. Lucas glanced at me, and cleared his throat. “Sir?”

When Daniel looked up, he continued. “The chip. You promised Mila you’d remove it.”

I feigned interest in the table, feeling Hunter’s eyes on me. But I had to be over that now. I couldn’t be ashamed of who—and what—I was.

“We can do it right here, if there’s enough room,” I said.

Daniel shrugged. “Should work. Let me grab a few things.”

A few things turned out to be a handheld scanner and a probe, with an end that separated into thin, razor-sharp tweezers. Lucas eyed the scanner. “I’ve never seen that technology before.”

“It’s new, something Quinn’s team made. Designed to be unnoticeable.”

While Daniel positioned me with my back to him, I wondered what kind of people would need such technology and why. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Daniel directed Lucas to pull the back of my shirt down. After checking with me for permission, he complied.

I was acutely aware of the others looking on while the scanner hovered over my bare skin. Daniel muttered as he started the search just to the right of my spine, but had to move the scanner left, and then down.

Beep, beep, beep.

BEEP.

“There it is. Things migrate sometimes,” Daniel said.

The probe sank in, its metal cold against my warmed skin.

And then it was all over. “Done!” Daniel pronounced. A tiny dot of metal was clenched between the tweezer tips. He promptly slid it into a waiting Ziploc.

With that complete, everyone stared at me expectantly. Feeling a little like a circus performer without a net, I started my search.

Secure network: Log on?

The smooth ease of the connection flooded me with relief. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed using one of my most basic functions. The hum, the flare, the thrill of tapping into something vast and ubiquitous; of being able to reach out and grab whatever information I needed, whenever I wanted. I hadn’t appreciated it before.

As I searched for information on Montford and the Watson Grant, I heard a strange sound.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Water. The faucet outside the RV was dripping. Steady and distinct.

Something about the sound sent a creeping shadow up my spine. Dread, I identified. Then I realized why.

The dripping sounded too much like a countdown. A reminder that inside this RV, nestled among the only people left that I cared about, there was a ticking time bomb.

And that bomb was me.

Shaking off that unsettling notion, I concentrated on the search.

First, I accumulated information on Montford Prep.

Scanning . . . Citations found.

I skimmed through the data and shared what was relevant.

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