Side effec : multiple personality disorder (unrespo ), antisocial personality disorder (unre onsive); migraines, extreme aggression (unresponsive). No known contraindications.

C. L.: artificially manifested, Lenaurd protocol, early induction, deceased.

P. Reynard: non-carrier, deceased.

N. Shaw: manifested (G1821 carrier, original).

Side effects(?): self-harm, poss. oppositiona defiant disorder (unresponsiv ), conduct disorder? (unresponsive); tested: class a barbiturat s (unresponsive), class b (unresponsive), class c (un esponsive); unresponsive to all classes; (test m.a.d.), deceased.

Generalize side effe ts: nausea, elevated temp., insomnia, night terrors Before I could say anything, Jamie began writing giant letters over the words with his index finger.

F-U-C-K Y-O-U.

My sentiments exactly.

I turned my attention to the stacks and piles of papers, notebooks, and files strewn around the room. Books had been haphazardly stacked on open metal kitchen shelving, rolls of paper (maps? charts?) leaned against the walls. A glass globe teetered precariously on a small table, holding what looked like a large metal grain of rice. The place was chaos. Not what I'd expected from Dr. Kells.

I had a hunch about the rolls of paper and headed for them, skirting the U-shaped desk in the center of the room. But a noise like a burst of television static snapped my head around.

A flatscreen hung from the ceiling, and with another burst of static it came to life. Dr. Kells filled the screen. She was seated at a table in front of a pea-green-and-off-white-striped wall. Her lips moved, but there was no sound. It looked like she was speaking to someone, someone offscreen. She was more animated than I'd ever seen her. The sleeves of her white lab coat were rolled up to her elbows, and her hands moved as she spoke. Then, finally, the audio turned on.

"G1821 operates in many ways like cancer," Kells said. "There are environmental and genetic factors that can trigger it, and when triggered, the gene turns on, like a switch, activating an ability in its host. But as you've witnessed, the gene also appears to turn off certain switches, like the instinct for self-preservation. Certain thoughts and behaviors can become compulsive, such as the urge to self-harm."

A burst of static distorted the image, but we heard Kells speak in fits and starts. "Jude was needed to trigger Mara, to expose her to what she was most afraid of, in order for me to know whether and when she would manifest, and in order for me to study her developed ability-its consequences and its limitations," she said, taking out a notebook. She wrote out three words, then held them up-but the camera was too far away for me to read what she'd written.

"If the ego is the organized part of her mind, and the superego plays the moralizing role, allowing her to distinguish between good and evil, then the id is just a bundle of instincts. It strives only to satisfy its own basic needs, like hunger and sex. It knows no judgments and does not distinguish between moral or amoral. In normal people, non-carriers, the ego mediates between the id-what a person wants-and reality. It satisfies a person's instincts using reason. The superego acts as the conscience; it punishes through feelings of remorse and guilt. These feelings are powerful, and in normal people the ego and the superego dominate the id. As you've seen," Kells continued, "Mara appears to have the ability to convert thought into reality, but her ability is dependent on the presence of fear or stress, as I believe it is for the other carriers. In any case, G1821 makes Mara's id reflexive; if she is afraid, or stressed, her ego and superego don't function. And the consequences, as you've seen, can be disastrous. Her ugliest, most destructive thoughts become reality."

"Well. That's not good news," Jamie said, before Stella shushed him.

"Mara doesn't even always have to be aware of these thoughts, of her intent behind them. If the right mixture of fear and stress is present, her instinctual drives take over. And there's a Freudian theory that along with the creative instinct-the libido-a death instinct also exists, a destructive urge directed against the world and other organisms. The drug we've developed will, we hope, reactivate the barrier between her id and her ego and superego; it's designed to prevent any negative intent from becoming action. The dose needs to be adjusted, however, and I can't study Mara on drugs. And she's too unstable to be studied without them. High doses of another drug we've developed should bring about an almost flawless recall, so at some point, when it's safer for us, Mara should be able to recount exactly what happened at the time of any specific incident, and recount what she was feeling at that moment. Luckily, she is responsive to midazolam, which we're using to help her forget, so she needn't relive her traumas on a daily basis."

The image on-screen warped and flickered, and there was a second voice, distorted, that I couldn't make out. Then Kells came back, as sharp as before.

"Yes, I tried to study her as noninvasively as I possibly could. That's why I had her behavior recorded before I took any specific action. We installed fiber optics in her home, to observe and record her behavior before it escalated. But the fact is, I can't learn how to help her until I fully understand what's wrong with her. The applications-the benefits-of what we're doing here outweigh the risks. The treatments we could develop based on what you show us, the applications they could have-" Her voice grew passionate. "They're far reaching. So far reaching that I don't even know the extent of them yet. No one should have to suffer the way people have been suffering because of G1821, especially not teenagers. Listen," she said. "Anemosyne and Amylethe, they corrupt the findings. They change the outcomes of the studies we need to conduct to make sure Mara and the others can be released safely. I need to be able to study someone without those drugs, to map a manifested brain with an MRI and CAT scans, to study how it responds to stimuli and fear and stress. The answer isn't in the blood-it's in the brain. So blood work, test tubes-they're not going to give me what I need. I need to study patients while they're awake, and conscious."

Dr. Kells leaned forward and ran her hands through her hair. "I need to study you."

"What do you want me to do?" I heard Noah ask, before the screen went black.

9.

I STARED AT THE BLANK screen, as if just by looking at it, I could make Noah appear. But he didn't. Nothing did.

"Did you see a date stamp on that video?" Stella asked, looking at both of us. Jamie shook his head. "Mara?"

I hadn't. I was still staring at the screen. It had been Noah's voice. He was alive. And he was here.

"Okay," Stella said. She pressed the power button, but nothing happened. "I don't think we can turn it on or off from here, which means someone somewhere else is doing it."

"So let's figure out where somewhere else is," Jamie said.

That was where Noah would be. Everything in me knew it.

"Jude said there was a map." I looked around us, at the mess of papers and files and notebooks, and then remembered the scrolls.

I pointed at them. "Guys, some help?" We began unrolling one after another. There were maps and charts, as I'd suspected, but we didn't find what we were looking for until we were almost out of scrolls.

"Let's spread it out over there," I said, tipping my head toward the desk. Stella stacked notebooks over the corners to hold it open.

We were looking at detailed architectural plans of the Horizons Residential Treatment Center.

Except it wasn't just a treatment center. It was a compound. The treatment center was just the part we could see. Beneath it, below ground, was a sprawling, windowless structure, segmented off into different areas that together comprised the "Testing Facility."

"Holy shit," Jamie whispered.

Stella examined the map and explained what we were looking at. "So I think we're underground again, in the lowest level of the testing facility. See there?" She pointed to some small shapes within the larger shape. "It looks like these little rooms might be where they were keeping us. You found Jamie on level 2." She traced her finger to an area labeled KITCHEN, not far from where Jamie said we'd entered Kells's office-the decoy office.

"Level 3 is where we are now-not too far from where we started, actually. And we're still on No Name Island, it looks like."

I narrowed my eyes. "Where else would we be?"

She ran her finger across a long line that ran the length of what seemed to be a tunnel. "There are three other structures. On a completely different island."

I peered over her shoulder and read the labels: MAINTENANCE, CONTAINMENT, STORAGE.

"That's a power line, I think. And there," she said, squinting at the blueprints, "that's the power grid. It's in the maintenance area. That's where Kells is, probably."

And Noah, too.

"One way in, one way out," Jamie said, pointing at the tunnel. It wasn't far from where we were now, but we'd have to go back up to the fake office to get there. I was already moving toward the ladder.

"Mara, wait-" Stella started.

"For what?" I called out over my shoulder.

"What are we going to do, just walk in there?" Jamie asked.

"Yes?"

Stella made a face. "Shouldn't we, like, have a plan or something?"

I stopped. "It doesn't matter what we plan. Kells knows we're coming. She's probably watching us right now."

I looked behind me and scanned the room for a camera. Stella followed my gaze, then stopped and pointed at a tiny little reflective globe suspended from the ceiling, in the far right corner of the room. I stared at it for a moment, then raised my hand and gave it the finger.

"I thought you were going to give it the District Twelve salute," Jamie said.

Stella snorted. "Look, maybe we should at least get a weapon?"

I lifted the hem of the hospital gown and withdrew the scalpel from my underwear. "Got one."

"You're kind of limited with that, no?"

Wayne hadn't thought so.

"She wouldn't have left anything here that we could use against her," I said.

Stella held up our files. "She left these." A few papers fluttered to the ground. She bent over, and went very quiet. "Mara," she said as she picked them up. "I think these are yours."

I took them from Stella. They were drawings, some resembling people with limbs missing, others that looked like faces, with the eyes scribbled over and blacked out. As I stared, the lines on the paper began to move, arranging themselves in a way that suggested my face. I looked away.

"She probably left them here on purpose." So I would see them. So they would upset me. "Look, you don't have to come with," I said, my voice low. "In fact, you probably shouldn't." I crumpled the drawings up and threw them at the wastebasket. I missed.

Jamie and Stella exchanged a look before Jamie rolled his eyes. "Of course we're coming with you," he said, as Stella tucked a few files and notebooks under her arm. I offered him a small smile before climbing up the ladder.

"This doesn't look like the plans," Jamie said.

"It doesn't look like anything."

We tried to follow what Stella remembered of the blueprints, guided only by harsh auxiliary lights, which made the curving, winding, subterranean structure of the place even more disorienting. None of us could pinpoint exactly when the power had been cut off. The air felt dead and stale as we moved through it.

"I feel like any second there could be a thousand guns pointed at our heads," Stella said.

"There could be." I felt my way through the darkness. Our footsteps echoed on the metal walkway. "Well, probably not a thousand."

Eventually, the walkway parted in a fork. We could go left, right, or down a small set of stairs. I decided down. When we reached the landing, we stood opposite a metal wall; a door had been cut into it, with rounded corners and a biohazard symbol in the center. CONTAINMENT, the plans had read. Nowhere to go but in.

"Nope," Jamie said, shaking his head. "Nope."

I pressed my ear to the door.

"Is she here yet?"

I sprang back when I heard those words. Noah spoke them. He was behind this door. I reached for the handle, but Jamie stopped me.

"Mara," he said slowly. "Do you know what that symbol means?"

"Yes."

"Then would you kindly share why you're ignoring it?"

"Noah's in there. I just heard him."

Jamie looked skeptical.

"Listen," I told him. He pressed his ear to the door too.

"Roth's here as well, sounds like."

Jamie looked like he'd been shocked. "Jesus," he whispered. "Who's he talking to?"

"Probably Dr. Kells," Stella said it aloud as I thought it.

I looked at the both of them. Stella looked pale and frightened. Jamie looked determined. Decided.

It was time. Time to split up. I took a deep breath.

"I don't know what that video meant, or why Kells wanted us to see it. I don't know why Jude helped us get out or if he was even really helping us at all. I don't know anything, but I know that I have to open this door. I have to. And if you don't want to be here for it, you should go."

"Mara, wait-"

"There was a hatch, somewhere on the blueprints, right?" Stella nodded. "By the Maintenance Area. You should go. Together. Get to No Name Key however you can. I'll catch up with you there or I won't."

"I think you're making a mistake," Jamie said slowly.

Stella raised her hand. "Me too, for what it's worth."

I smiled without amusement. "Noted."

Jamie ran his hand over his scalp, scratching at it. "I don't want to leave you here by yourself."

"Then don't."

Stella looked back and forth between the two of us, clearly unsure what to do. I reached for the handle again.

"Stop!" Jamie shouted.

"Jamie-"

"Mara, I love you-don't look at me like that, not in that way-but if you are so far gone that you are about to ignore a BIG RED BIOHAZARD symbol, me going in with you isn't going to help you. I want my innards to stay inner."

"It's okay," I said quietly. "It really is." I wasn't offended, or even hurt. I was relieved. I didn't want to feel responsible for Jamie and Stella. It was enough just being responsible for myself.

"Shit," Jamie muttered. "Shit."

"Go, Jamie."

He grabbed my face in his hands, hard, and smushed my cheeks. "If it's Ebola, you're fucked. But if not, just-try not to breathe for as long as you can, okay?"

I nodded. "Go. I'll give you a head start."