Specimen

“How long have I been here?” I ask.

“About four months,” she tells me.

“I was unconscious that whole time?”

“Most of it, yes.”

“I don’t remember any of it. The first thing I remember is waking up alone.”

“I’m sorry about that. There was a miscalculation. I should have been there.”

Recalling my state of mind at the time, I start to say something about how I might have hurt her if she was there, but I realize that isn’t true. I wouldn’t have hurt her. If she had been there, I would have been fine.

Why am I so drawn to her?

“Why did I volunteer to do this?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to that. I haven’t been given much information outside of your physical characteristics.”

“Do you know anything about me?”

“Very little,” she admits. “Frankly, it’s inconsequential. Your past life is over. This is who you are now.”

For the first time, I find no comfort in her words. I have no idea what kind of man I am or was. I don’t know where I came from. I don’t even know my name or how old I am. There has to be a reason I volunteered. Am I a patriot, as she said, or am I just violent? What about my family? Do I even have one? What kind of man volunteers to have his memory destroyed?

Someone who doesn’t want to know his past.

I’m tired. I have no idea what time of day it is, not that it matters here, but I can barely keep my eyes open.

“Lie down,” Riley says. “You’ve had enough for now.”

I lie down on my side and blink slowly. Riley sits next to me on the rolling chair, and I reach out to her. She takes my hand, and I rub her wrist with my thumb.

I can feel her pulse. I count her heartbeats as my head becomes cloudy.

“How old were you when your father was killed?” I ask.

“Seven, but I remember him clearly.”

“Did they find out who did it?”

“I don’t know who pulled the trigger,” she says, “but I know who is responsible.”

“Who?”

“His name is Peter Hudson. He is the head of the Carson Alliance.”

“Will I ever meet him?”

“I don’t know.”

“If I do, I’ll kill him for you.”

Chapter 3

The ground beneath my feet is cracked, but there’s a thin layer of moisture on it from the brief rain—the first we’ve had in months. If I act quickly, there may be enough to get the crop going at the foot of the hill. If not, we won’t have enough water to get us through the season.

“Galen!”