False Memory by Dan Krokos Page A

think we’re afraid to leave the hole behind. It’s our home. Not remembering doesn’t change that fact.
    Olive gives me a staff, and I give it a few experimental twirls. It rolls over the back of my hand like I’ve been twirling staves my whole life, which I probably have.
    When she turns away, I tap Olive on the shoulder with the staff. “How good was I with one of these?”
    “Almost as good as me.”
    Her eyes are red-rimmed and wet, just like Peter’s and Noah’s. I try to drag up some memory of my home, some phantom, but there’s nothing. I can’t remember anything I’ve lost the way they can. That’s almost enough to make the tears return. I find myself glaring at Noah again, and he notices.
    He opens his mouth to say something, but then we hear the helicopter.

12
    We all freeze, but only for a second. We break as one, sprinting for the trees with our staves. Peter is in the lead, followed by Olive then Noah then me. I look over my shoulder every few seconds at the thin column of smoke curling above the trees. The leaves rustle as the helicopter passes over our heads. We keep running. The trees thicken till we come to a narrow path of moist dirt and roots.
    I skid to a stop. The others keep running silently, growing smaller. Noah realizes I’m missing first and shouts, “Hold up!”
    Peter and Olive stop farther down the path. They run back to me, but I’m not looking at them.
    I’m looking at Dr. Tycast propped against a tree.
    The front of his white coat is bloody and torn. The lenses in his glasses are cracked. His lips and nose are smeared with dried blood.
    “Miranda . . .” he says. I crouch next to him and touch the side of his face lightly, afraid to cause him any more pain. He manages a weak, shaky smile, showing blood on his teeth.
    “What happened?” I say.
    “You have to go. Beta team, they’re still here. They...aren’t your friends.” His voice is so quiet and wet. I hear the others standing behind me. Peter crouches down and balances himself with a hand on my shoulder.
    Peter says, “We have to move him. We can carry him. Doctor, did anyone escape with you?”
    Tycast shakes his head. “I was in the garage when they dropped the H9. It collapsed, and I barely got out.” He looks up at Noah, standing behind me and Peter. “You were right to flee. You were right.” His face crumples and he coughs for a few seconds. “How did you know?”
    Noah’s voice is soft. “I was in your office. You received a call from a woman. You—she talked about buyers and tests.”
    “I expect that left you . . . a little confused.”
    “Yes, sir,” Noah says.
    “Who is she?” I ask.
    “Part of the people behind all of this. Everything. The creators of this project.” Tycast’s eyes roam over us and he smiles again, warmer this time. That missing piece inside me is filled, maybe temporarily, but enough to make my eyes ache.
    Another helicopter—or is it the same one?—zips overhead. The branches sway and green leaves spin to the forest floor.
    Tycast takes a deep breath. “You belong to one another now. But they will hunt you. You have to...be ready. You have to . . . stay together. They raised you for a purpose. All of you.”
    Tycast begins to slip off the tree trunk. Peter reaches out to hold him in place.
    “What purpose?” Peter says.
    “You are all aware of your power,” Tycast says. “There are people in this world . . . who would do anything to own you. To control you. The people who made you the way you are, they want to, to...”
    “To what?” Noah says.
    “To test you. In the city. A dry run to prove your worth. They will use you to terrify the city until it can’t function, until people flee and nothing is left but empty buildings and streets.”
    “And those who die trying to get out of the way,” I say.
    Tycast nods. “I’m sorry. I am. I thought I could change their minds. Even if you evade capture, they’ll still use the other Roses.”
    Peter says,