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makes her feel a little less helpless. Now I’m both annoyed and grateful. I can’t get a bead on my feelings about this kid, and I don’t have time to worry about it—we’ve got bigger problems.
    â€œHey,” I say between shots, “people will hear that for miles. Pretty sure it’s not deer season.” Most major hunting seasons are in the fall and winter, and it’s freaking May. This property is in the middle of nowhere, but gunshots carry.
    Leo shrugs. “In Kentucky, you can hunt wild pigs, groundhogs, and several species of bird year-round.” He holds up his phone. “I looked it up before we fired a shot.”
    Christina hands Leo the weapon. “It’s okay,” she says quietly, then looks at me. “Can we go soon?”
    â€œAlmost ready.” I can tell by the tension in her posture that every minute of waiting is agony. I jog back down the ramp. This space is neat, three vehicles parked at the base of the ramp, boxes of tools, stacks of building supplies, almost enough to build another shack. I’ve already chosen our vehicle, so I make my way to a worktable in the corner and go through the drawers. My heart skips when I see my father’s face peering up at me from a Kentucky driver’s license for someone named Ray Spruance. I pick it up, staring at his steely gray eyes while my own burn.
    He’d planned to be here with us.
    I force myself to set the license aside and flip through the other fake IDs in the top drawer. There are a few more for him, several for my mom under the name of Margaret Dean . . . and several for me, all under the name of Edward Spruance—Admiral Spruance’s only son. I put our pictures side by side. Me and my dad. We have the same eyes and same dark brown hair, except his was always combed and mine is always a mess. Our cheekbones are high, our chins rounded, but maybe we’re saved from looking soft by our square jaw. The similarities make my throat tighten. He should have been here with me, helping me figure this out. If it hadn’t been for the Core, he would be. Well, that’s not quite true. I’m the one who brought the scanner to school. I’m the one who started this whole thing—and now Christina could lose her parents because of it.
    I shove my fake driver’s license into my pocket, grab a wallet full of cash I find in one of the drawers, and snag the keys for our ride. “Let’s go, guys!” I shout up the ramp.
    Less than ten minutes later, we’re pulling out of the garage bunker in a nondescript forest-green sedan that has some major horsepower under the hood. Christina’s in the passenger seat, and now that she’s not all purposeful movement, the horror of what’s happened seems to have caught up with her again. Her eyes are closed, and she’s leaning against the window. “Does your head hurt?” I ask her, and she barely nods. It was a stupid question anyway. Of course it hurts. I put my hand on her thigh and am relieved when she doesn’t brush me off. “I’m so sorry. About everything.”
    She squeezes my fingers. Her skin is cold. “I can’t talk about it now. Can we just . . . let it be?”
    I guess funny stories about cabbage dye worked better for her. I swallow hard and nod. I’d talk about stupid stuff if I could, but I don’t have it in me right now. This is a no-win situation if I’ve ever seen one. If I don’t give myself up, I have no doubt the Core will take it out on Christina’s parents—and her little sister. God, I want to kill every member of the Core with my bare hands. If I do give myself up, I have no idea what they’ll do to me. And I hate to admit it, but it scares me. They want to get into my dad’s lab, and they’re willing to do awful things to get what they want. Can I withstand torture? I’ll try, but I’ve studied enough to