The Switch, Debra Kayn [best books for 20 year olds .txt] 📗

"Who else feels off?" demanded Prez.

"I am, and I'm not the only one." He looked at Keenan. "A month ago, you overslept and missed picking up the money."

"Bullshit." Keenan's face hardened. "There was a party the night before. I already explained my reasons."

"Look at his face," said Trip.

Under interrogation, none of them should ever show any sign of anger or frustration. The tightness in Keenan's expression stayed etched on his face.

"Hank missed the target half the time he went shooting with us last time. None of us mentioned the inaccuracies, but we're not made to miss the small details." He looked at Prez. "Your hands shake when you get off your motorcycle."

"Vibrations," stated Prez.

"Impossible."

Johnny took off his skullcap. "What's happening to you?"

He kept Bonnie out of his business after relying on her to keep his location secret. But he couldn't hide the changes from the others. If there was a way for them to survive and not get put back into training within the program or, worse, switched, they needed to know what was happening.

"I've got feelings for Bonnie that shouldn't be there." He raised his hand and cupped the air around his head. "I know they're there, but I have no idea how I know that. I shouldn't feel anything."

Prez cocked his head. "Sexual?"

"There's that." He concentrated, trying to pull up what he was going through. "But, it's more. It's like I've felt this way before, but I have no recollection."

"Emotional connections don't exist for us." Keenan wiped his hand down his jaw. "We can show others that we're functioning and committed, but there should be no loyalty to others."

"Kill her," blurted Prez. "Walk away. Test your theory."

The thought of killing Bonnie repulsed him. He was already making excuses in his mind. Parts of his body hardened, changing his breathing. Yet, if someone shoved a pistol to his head, his pulse would remain the same. He wouldn't flinch.

Death, birth, living was all the same to him.

Aware the CIA could call on him to fulfill a job at any time, and he would have no choice but to do what was ordered, he wanted the news of the changes happening within all of them to stay hidden.

"I'm not going to kill her. Right now, she's the only one helping Speeder by keeping his daughter safe." He looked at each one of them. "They could be aware of what is happening to us and are waiting to see what we do. Maybe they've prepared for it. Or, they might not know there are faults in the program."

Prez studied him. "Why would they plan this?"

"To destroy us." The recent freedom to have his own thoughts and conclusions was new to him. Weeks ago, he never questioned what the controllers planned. "We could be replaced by the men we've trained."

For several minutes, the others remained silent. They could live a good life in a community developed for them. Though, they understood and accepted they could be removed from the Alpha Bio Project and be easily replaced with more participants.

Just like the men in the holding cells, manipulated and transformed, the five men standing here, plus Speeder, could be terminated from the program, and they wouldn't know what hit them.

Except, he could see it in the faces in front of him. They all could process the conversation, think about the consequences, and form a different opinion.

They needed no examples of faulty behavior. They knew what was happening in their own body.

"We need to find Speeder and fill him in," said Prez.

"He's hurting. Whatever is happening to him causes pain."

"Then, we need to hurry before he does something out of his control." Prez motioned for them to move out. "We can't bring the rest of the MC in to look. As far as we know, this is only affecting the six originals. I don't want the others to know what's going on. What happened here must stay between us."

Trip walked out of the woods with the others. They would cover more ground working together.

"Once he's back, we'll need to sit down and talk." Prez stopped at his Harley.

Trip put everything out of his mind. All his focus went to the search ahead of him.

Chapter Eleven

Bonnie pushed the lawnmower out of the shed. In the daylight, she had doubted the old machine still worked. Not without a bit of help.

"Was this from your childhood?" Kenny unscrewed the gas cap. "It's ancient."

"Hey." She play-punched his shoulder. "Just wait until you're my age.  You won't think you're old."

Kenny peered inside the tank. "There's gas in there."

"I think gas gets old. It's probably bad."

"Should I drain it out?"

"Yeah." She grabbed the handle. "Let me help."

Together, they managed to tilt the lawnmower onto its side. There was no use checking the spare gas cans in the shed. Her son was right. They were ancient.

"Whoa." Kenny slipped inside the shed and took the machete off the wall, wielding it like a sword. "Check this out."

"Be careful." She stayed an arm's length away from him, thankful he was current on his tetanus booster shot.

She moved the old wooden ladder, leaning it against the floor of the loft. At one time, Grandpa Gene had turned the loft into her playhouse. She'd spent many hours up there every summer.

Testing the first rung, she put all her weight on the step.

Awkward and slow, she made it to the top and managed to grab the handhold Grandpa had installed on the floor. Pulling herself up, she scrambled to her knees, then sat down. Everything she remembered remained in the loft.

The old chair. A broken lamp. A wooden crate filled with yard toys—a yellow frisbee, a red kickball, an old, frayed rope, a dismantled kite, and an old, faded jean quilt she'd used to sit out in the yard.

The swarm of memories had her crawling across the floor. Dust covered everything. She ran her hand over the fragile fabric, knowing it would need to be thrown out. But she couldn't toss out the