Wes looks taken aback by the question. “No. There is a large bunker down there, but it was built for the Montauk Project.”
“I guess the conspiracy wires got crossed.”
Wes opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything.
“What is it?”
“Grant . . . told you about this?”
I tilt my head at him. “Yeah. So?”
“Nothing, I . . .” He looks away from me.
“Grant was my—Lydia’s—boyfriend in this time line,” I say carefully. “I assumed you knew about that.”
“I did.”
“Well—” But I’m interrupted as an older woman walking a very small dog passes us. The dog yips at my ankles and I step back to avoid getting bitten.
“Sorry,” the woman apologizes. “He’s usually so friendly. Aren’t you, Pookie? Aren’t you?” She leans down and makes a kissing noise.
“No problem,” I mumble. But the moment between Wes and me has passed, and for the first time I realize how exposed we are out here. This area might not be very crowded, but we should probably get off the street.
I take Wes’s arm and pull him back, away from the woman and her dog. “Are we sleeping in the Center tonight?”
He nods, clearly distracted by something.
“Is there anything I need to know? Like any laser body scans you might have forgotten to mention?”
He straightens at my accusing tone. “I’m sorry it scared you. They were scanning for your tracking chip, not for our identity.”
“This Center . . . what’s it like? Will anyone recognize that I’m not Seventeen?”
“No. There are two wings—the training area and then the quarters for recruits and soldiers. Recruits can come and go as they please from that section.”
“I don’t understand.” I don’t bother hiding my frustration. “If you can come and go as you please, then why don’t you all just leave?”
“And go where?” Wes’s voice is detached. “I told you this before—most of us never had a family, and those who did have forgotten them long ago. There’s no point in guarding something that wouldn’t escape even if it could.”
“But you do have something to escape for.” My voice is rising, and I see a young couple turn to look at us.
“Lydia, they will find me. I never have more than a few days out of the Facility, and then only for missions. You heard the general—we have to report back in six days. And it better be worthwhile information, or we’re as good as dead. If we don’t show up, then they come looking. And when they find us they kill us or make us wish we were dead.” Wes is maddeningly calm.
“There has to be a way,” I say harshly. “We will find a way.”
His mouth tightens the smallest bit, but he doesn’t answer. We stand there staring at each other.
He is the first one to break the silence. “Come on, we need shelter for the night. Tomorrow we have to start investigating McGregor.”
I thought he brought me here so we could figure out how to break him free, not so he could complete General Walker’s mission. But I don’t push it, at least not yet. Instead, I say, “Fine,” and follow him across the street.
On the other side, I step closer to him and our arms bump together by accident. It’s the first time we’ve really touched in hours, and the contact makes him stop walking abruptly. I turn to face him. A heavy lock of black hair falls across his forehead, impervious to the gel he put in earlier. I slowly lean up to brush it away.
He peers down at me, his brows drawn. Then he grabs my arm and pulls me along the sidewalk.
“I thought the entrance was the other way.” I have to shout the words. He’s walking so quickly that wind whips across my face and pulls at the pins holding back my hair.
“There’s something I need to show you.”
“Wes, wait.” I tug on my arm until he’s forced to stop or let go of me. “You have to talk to me.”
His eyes are wide, and his skin seems stretched too tightly over the bones of his face. He seems to be vibrating with energy. It’s so different from how he was a few minutes ago that I tense, afraid something is wrong.
“I used to live near here.” His voice sounds the same, and I relax slightly. “Do you remember what I told you by the beach?”
I think back to our conversation that night in 1944: the open door of his jeep, my knees almost touching his stomach as he leaned toward me. “Yeah,” I say, a little breathlessly. He said he was living in an abandoned subway station uptown with some other orphans.
“I want to take you there.”
“Won’t they miss us at the Center?”
He shakes his head quickly. “The general will track us using our chips, but even he understands that these missions can take you to unexpected places. We can’t always get back to the Center to sleep. As long as we don’t disturb the time line, it doesn’t matter. But we don’t have to . . .” His voice falters, and that strange gleam leaves his eyes. “We can go to the Center now, if you want. It’ll be dark soon.”
I take in the stiff way he’s holding himself. “This is important to you, isn’t it? You want to show me your home.”
He looks down at the uneven cobblestones at our feet. “It’s not really a home, not like you know it. But it’s the place I remember the best. We stayed there for years. I missed it, after they took me. And . . . I want you to see where I’m from.”
I put my hand over his and hold on tight. “Take me there.”
The station is dirty and brown—tiles are falling off the walls and the paint is chipped. Wes and I slip our subway tokens into a
