"Gunner! Jones!" Marcus calls from somewhere ahead of me. "Give Alec a hand. The rest of you follow me. Head for the trees, but stay close to the buildings. And keep a lookout for more trouble. If you think you can handle a gun . . ."

He continues to give instructions in a tone that brooks no arguments. The herd of teenagers begin to move forward. A boy runs into me from behind and mutters under his breath. I stare at the syringe in my hand, a million thoughts racing through my head.

Metamorphosis inhibitor serum. It has to be the antidote for the Blank condition. Which means it could save Carson. It could make him normal again.

"Come on," Adam whispers behind me. He's too preoccupied with what's happening around us to notice my syringe.

I take in our surroundings for the first time. We're at a huge construction site, surrounded by buildings and structures at different levels of completion: some, like the one we emerged from, have doors. Others even have windows reflecting the fading sun's rays. Most resemble skeletons of intertwining steel beams.

In the far distance, pine trees enclose the site from all directions. Beyond that is a low mountain covered in a green fuzz of trees. Around us, excavators, cement mixers, and all types of vehicles and equipment sit on the gravel, but there are no signs of the construction crew. No signs of life anywhere. It's like the workers dropped their tools and left in a hurry.

But we're not entirely alone. It won't be long before the guards catch up to us. I know we have to be out of here before that happens, but I don't budge. I can't leave Carson behind. I have to get this serum to him.

"Why aren't you moving?" Willow asks as she catches up to us.

A couple of guys help Alec past us, holding him sandwiched between them. His pallor makes the sweat on his face shiny. He's so out of it that he doesn't notice us. Rocks crunch beneath my sneakers as I move off to one side to let the others pass. Adam follows me like a watchful guard dog, and I wonder if Marcus put him up to it.

I hold the syringe out to Willow. She tears her gaze from Alec and looks down at it. Her face lights up with recognition as she takes it from me.

"Where did you get this?"

"It was inside the case. It's from Sam."

She huffs a breath. "You were always his favorite."

There's no bitterness in her voice now. I glance at her, but she's busy studying the syringe. "Can it turn someone back after they blank?" I ask.

"I don't know. Sam said the metamorphosis inhibitor delays or prevents the transformation. He's been working on a permanent fix. Maybe he found it."

"If we give it to Carson, can it save him?"

Her face clouds over. "No. No. That's suicidal."

"I can't just leave him behind, Willow."

"April! We'll come back for him. You promised him you would, remember? But right now, we have to get out of here."

"But—"

She grabs my arm, forcing me to look into her fierce eyes. "Using your head is the one thing you're good at, and that's what you need to be doing right now. You unlock that door and you take the risk of getting us all killed. Do you want that on your conscience?"

"No," I whisper.

Her grip relaxes. Her expression is soft and expressive, and it's hard to believe she was looking at me with such hatred only hours ago. "I want to save him, too. He deserves so much more, but we're no use to him dead. We're as good as dead if we turn back now."

She shoves the syringe back into my hands and starts walking. With one last pained look at the facility, I follow. We navigate around gravel mounds and grave-deep trenches, passing by several hulks of concrete under construction. I search for guards. I don't feel safe here. These skeletal buildings won't hide us from bullets if we seek refuge in them.

Many of the kids are covered in blood: some are limping to keep up, whimpering and crying, while others like Alec have to be supported. I follow behind them, my chest constricted by guilt. I brought them here. I caused this.

"I don't want to hate you," Willow says out of the blue. She bites her bottom lip, her gaze focused on the ground before her. "But it's all I've done for fifteen years."

It's crazy to think anyone could've felt that strongly about me for so long when I've lived my whole life as a ghost. Alone. Unmemorable.

"Why?"

"You were all Sam ever talked about," she answers. "How smart and brilliant you were. He would show me your report cards and go on and on about what a perfect young woman he was raising. One time he even brought in this big trophy you won at track."

I don't know what shocks me more: that he didn't throw away the trophy like he told me he did all those years ago or that he used it to manipulate Willow. But that's all he's ever done, hasn't he? Manipulate us. The master puppeteer. He made us dance on strings for him, not caring if he ruined us in the process.

"Like that wasn't bad enough," Willow continued, "he would use your accomplishments to highlight my failures. 'April would have completed this task in two minutes.' 'April never complains when I tell her to do something.' 'Don't you want to make me happy, too?' I've spent my whole life trying to live up to an impossible standard."

"So have I," I say defensively.

"I know. I saw it that day when I hypnotized you. The look on your face wasn't anything like a daughter would give to her loving father. It was fear. But at the same time . . . there was no shock or bewilderment. It was like you were afraid of him, but you weren't surprised he was going to do something bad to you. Like it wasn't the first time."

"So why are you acting like this? He treats us both like we're not even human beings. Maybe to him we're not."

"I'm not," she says. "Alec, Marcus, Janie—none of us are. But you're different. He was good to you in his own twisted way. You're the closest thing he's ever had to family."

I beg to differ. "For someone who feels unloved, you sure worship him."

Willow looks back to make sure we're not being followed. "You can't begin to understand what it was like living at the facility under Sam's thumb."

"Try me." I sigh when she doesn't answer. "I can tell you what it was like living with Sam at home. He was a control freak. I couldn't sneeze without hearing about how I was doing it wrong. He expected me to be perfect. If any part of me was bent crooked, he would force it straight with his cruel hands. I was afraid of him. If you think he did all of that because he cared about me, what did he do to you?"

I don't know why I bother. Her shuttered expression says she's not going to talk. She gasps suddenly and points to one of the solid, rectangular concrete structures on our right. A chain-link fence surrounds it, high and thick-wired, designed to keep strangers out—or to safeguard whatever's inside it.

"That's where we grew up," she says, her voice high with excitement. "I know that building, but nothing else looks familiar. All of this construction wasn't here the last time they let us out for fresh air. Our facility used to be surrounded by trees."

This is the place Sam brought me to many weekends over the past year. The drives out here couldn't have taken more than a few hours. The farthest we could have gone is one of the bordering states, but it's possible we never left Pennsylvania.

"What are these buildings?" I ask.

"My guess? This was supposed to be our home once they took us out of the stress facility. I'm guessing they stopped construction because of the Blank incident."

"Maybe they've abandoned the project completely."

"Maybe," she says, looking concerned.

As we pass the fenced building, Janie appears beside us and gestures to a tree near the fence. "That's where Eddie tried to dig his way out. He barely touched the fence, but it almost killed him. What an idiot."

"Almost killed him?" I ask.

"Electric fence," Willow answers. "Electricity is an ability trigger. That's why we have these bracelets that shock us on schedule twice a day. But it has to be measured and controlled to get desired results. Too much of it at once can make someone blank."

"Eddie did blank two days later," Janie says. "Director Blaine had him put down like a dog."

"Seriously, Janie," Willow says. "How can you be so cavalier about something like that?"

"It's a joke," Janie answers with a roll of her eyes. "We can't take everything seriously all the time or we'll drive ourselves crazy."

"You sound just like Eli."

She makes a face as she moves away from us, blending in with the crowd. I watch her go, wondering what her deal is. We make a wide perimeter around the building and head down another packed-dirt road. The sun beats down on our heads. Trees rustle lazily in the wind and the occasional crack of twigs and leaves drives me crazy with paranoia. As we pass next to the biggest building we've come across, a new sound comes from above us, familiar and strange all at once. Propellers slicing through the air.

A helicopter.

Panicked whispers spread around me. I whip my head around and spot it soaring in the distant sky, heading in our direction.

"Get under cover!" Marcus hollers as he takes off for the big building.

We rush through the frameless opening and into a bare and shadowy room as cramped as the white room back at the facility. The boys helping Alec drag him inside. They're exhausted, panting as they hurry past me. The thup-thup-thup of the rotor blades beats right above us now, echoing in my thumping chest. Marcus stands near the door, his hand on the wall as he gazes into the distance. The trees are closer to us now. But even with the sun low on the horizon, there's no way we can risk trying to reach them.

The helicopter circles above us.

"We've got nowhere to run," a freckle-faced boy says. The volume of his voice builds as he adds, "We're trapped in here. There's no way we'll get out of this alive."

Words of assent fill the air, until Marcus points a menacing finger at the kid and says, "If you want to live with that kind of attitude, that's on you. Just don't get everyone upset because you're a scared little boy who needs Mommy."

"I do need my mom! I'm not a badass like you. I'm scared out of my mind, okay? I just want to be with my family again. I don't want to die out here."

The girl next to him reaches out. "Norm, please—"

"Don't!" He jerks his arm away. His chest is moving hard, his dilated eyes darting around at his audience. They find me in the crowd.

"This is your fault. We could have waited this stupid thing out, but instead we're running around out here and getting chased by men with guns." Tears trickle out of his eyes and slide down his face. "We should have stayed with the others, but we listened to you. Everyone says you know what you're doing, so how the hell did we end up like this?"

He covers his eyes with his arm as he sobs harder. My mouth opens, but my throat is bone-dry. I've been questioning the choice to leave the facility, blaming myself for the people we've already lost. The guilt I felt then is nothing compared to this. The others don't show the same degree of hostility, but there's no mistaking the lack of warmth. The distrust.

"April is trying to keep your sorry ass alive," Marcus says to him. "We all are. You want to go back to that place? You want to be locked up in there with Blanks?"

"Marcus, don't," I say weakly. "He's right."

He glares at him. "No. He's a selfish prick who doesn't deserve to be saved."

The boy swipes at his eyes, but his face is twisted with the threat of more tears. "They're killing us because we escaped. We shouldn't have done that. That's why I'm not going to fight them anymore."

"What do you mean?" his friend asks, her voice high.

"They're not going to kill me if I turn myself in."

Marcus charges at him, but the kid is as swift as he is small. He evades his outstretched arm and sprints through the door.

"Norm!" someone yells after him.

We watch from inside the building as Norm races toward the street, his arms waving in the air to get the helicopter's attention.

"He'll get himself killed," a voice hisses.

"He'll get us all killed," another says.

The helicopter dives low, scattering the rocks and dirt below. I catch a faint glimpse of the man sitting with his legs dangling out, a rifle in his arms.

He aims it at Norm.

The guard sights him through the scope of the gun. My muscles tighten in anticipation for the bullet that'll end Norm's life, but it doesn't come. The guard lowers the rifle and rests it across his lap. His lips move as if he's calling out to Norm.

"What's happening?" a girl asks. "Why aren't they shooting?"

Norm nods at something the man says and points back at the rest of us.

"I'm going to kill him," Marcus growls.

Loud rumbling comes from down the road. A cargo truck is barreling straight toward Norm and the helicopter. Its back is concealed by a thick green tarp. I can't spot the driver through the window, but I have no doubt the truck holds more guards.

When the truck is about a hundred yards away, the helicopter takes off higher into the air. The truck screeches to a stop. An armed guard jumps out and finds Norm in the scope of his gun. I tell myself he's trying to get a clear look at his face, just like the man in the helicopter.

A gunshot tears through the tension, and Norm crumples to the ground. A few kids cry out. I press a hand over my mouth to stifle my own scream. It dies in my throat when the guard lifts his gun again and fires at the helicopter.