Merc doesn’t look impressed with my revelations. “What’s your fucking point?”
“I’m trying to explain how big this shit is. How pervasive they really are. An entire town can be owned, Merc. And ninety percent of them never even know about it. Because the Company is careful. They only take what they need. They breed those kids—”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I own a fleet of planes in a town just like the one you’re describing. And I’m not on any Company payroll.” Harrison is getting pissed. And I don’t blame him. It’s a lot for this guy. He’s not Company. He’s not Merc, either. Sure, he’s seen some shit, but that was a long time ago.
“Congratulations. You don’t live in a Company town. But just because you’re not part of it doesn’t mean it’s fake.”
Merc snaps his fingers to get my attention. “Get to the fucking point. I don’t need a history lesson.”
“History lesson? Is that what you think this is? You think, what, Adam is some… stupid leftover? He’s not. He’s not doing any of the shit I’m talking about here because he’s not evil. Not like that, anyway. But he knows about it. They breed them, Merc. There is no way to stop it. They need them. All of them. All ages, all races, both sexes.”
“Need them for what?” Harrison says.
I actually laugh. “Organs.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Harrison says. “That’s all bullshit. There is no underground organ trade. There are no Russians drugging people in Vegas and removing their kidneys while they sleep.”
“You’re right,” I say. “That’s not how it’s done. I just told you how it’s done. Small towns in the USA and Europe for the premium stock. But there are thousands of villages all over the world where the same thing is happening, minus the secrecy.”
Harrison huffs and looks over at Merc. “Are you falling for this shit? I mean, I don’t know where he’s going with it, but—”
Merc’s low, solemn voice cuts him off. “It’s not bullshit.”
“What?” Harrison is in complete denial. “Come on—”
“I’ve seen it.”
“Where?”
Merc looks at me and something inside him deflates. “Do you know what I was doing? Before the girls, I mean. Before Sydney?”
“PSYOPS,” I say.
“Sure. Yeah. But it was more than that.” He looks over at Harrison. “I was on a team. We hunted…” His eyes dart over and meet mine. “The runaways. They weren’t… for harvest.”
“Harvest?” Harrison is gonna lose his shit. We might need to knock him out if he wigs.
“Harrison,” I say. “Shut up. Listen to what we’re telling you.” I look over at Merc. “You shouldn’t have brought him here.”
Harrison takes a step towards me and then with two flat hands to my chest he pushes me back. “Don’t talk like I’m not here. Just because I need a minute to grasp the idea that an entire population of people exist for something called a harvest doesn’t mean I’m a dumbass.”
“Fine.” I put up my hands in surrender. “Then I’ll stop fucking around and get to the point.” I look at Merc. “You have no idea what’s really going on in this world. Adam keeps the whole thing manageable. He hunts them down now.”
Merc’s eyebrow shoots up. “Them?”
“Not you. Well, if were still working for those assholes, he would kill you. But you’re not important, Merc. Not in his mind. He’s looking for stragglers. He’s looking for those dealership owners. Those small-town bankers. That’s who he’s after. The ones who didn’t get the ‘cure.’” I do air quotes for that word because it was never meant to be a cure at all. And that’s why I’m fucking here in the first place. That’s why Wendy is in Merc’s clutches right now. And I’m so tired of that goddamn word, I wish I never had to speak it out loud again.
“The cure?” Harrison asks. “The cure for what?”
“It’s not important,” I say. “It wasn’t a cure.”
Merc sighs. “I’m still failing to see any points here.”
“Wrong,” I say. “You had a point. You said they weren’t for harvest. The people you were hunting. Who were they?”
Merc takes a moment to wipe a fresh trail of blood away from his left eye. “The mothers. The ones who ran.” He looks at Harrison. “People like Sasha’s mom. Harper’s mom. The upper elite women who thought they’d be able to make that choice—”
“The promise or death,” I say for him.
“Yeah. Most of them,” Merc continues, “they just gave up. The way you describe the lower class in the Company towns.”
“The druggies,” I say. “The drunks and the criminals.”
“Right,” Merc agrees. “Most of the mothers were like that too. They gave up long before they started having babies.” He looks back to Harrison. “When these elite women give birth, and they have a girl, they either send them right back into the Company as assassins, like Sydney, who are used, and abused, and sent on missions—”