The Countdown Read online

  DEDICATION

  TO EVERYONE WHO’S EVER FELT LIKE THEY DON’T BELONG.

  YOU CAN STILL BE THE HERO OF YOUR OWN STORY.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Part One Chapter One: Day Thirty-Five: (Three Days After the NSA Attack on Blackwater Ranch) Somewhere in Northern Colorado

  Chapter Two Simon

  Chapter Three: Day Unknown Simon

  Chapter Four Tyler

  Chapter Five Tyler

  Chapter Six Simon

  Tyler

  Chapter Seven: Days Remaining: Twelve Simon

  Tyler

  Chapter Eight: Days Remaining: Eleven

  Part Two Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten: Days Remaining: Ten Simon

  Tyler

  Chapter Eleven Tyler

  Chapter Twelve: Days Remaining: Nine

  Chapter Thirteen: Days Remaining: Seven Tyler

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen Simon

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen: Days Remaining: Unknown

  Chapter Eighteen Simon

  Chapter Nineteen Tyler

  Simon

  Chapter Twenty Tyler

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Back Ads

  About the Author

  Books by Kimberly Derting

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  PART ONE

  The surface of the Earth is the shore of the cosmic ocean . . .

  — Carl Edward Sagan

  Boy, you’re an alien

  Your touch so foreign

  It’s supernatural

  Extraterrestrial

  —Katy Perry, “E.T.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day Thirty-Five

  (Three Days After the NSA Attack on Blackwater Ranch)

  Somewhere in Northern Colorado

  BEING AN ALIEN, OR A REPLACED MADE ENTIRELY from alien DNA . . . or whatever the heck I was supposed to be was giving me a serious complex. Five years ago I was the star pitcher on my high school softball team, headed for college, loving life. Then I was abducted by aliens. And ever since coming back just over a month ago, I’d been blindsided by one nasty surprise about myself after another. I’d gone from total hero to utter zero in the (cosmic) blink of an eye.

  Not that I’d tell my dad I felt that way. He’d just pull out one of his inspirational quotes, something along the lines of: “Hang in there, baby!” or “If life hands you lemons . . .”

  You get the idea; my life was sort of a mess.

  Here’s the thing, though, it was my mess. I might not have understood that at first, but the message was definitely starting to sink in now that we were on the run, my dad and Tyler and me.

  Still, this wasn’t the playground. There were no do-overs. No take-backsies. I didn’t get to call a time-out so I could catch my breath. It was time to pull up my big-girl panties and play the hand I’d been dealt.

  That old life of mine was done. Finished. Finito.

  I was on a new trajectory now, and even though it usually felt more like a derailment—a hurtling-out-of-control-train-wreck of a thing—I figured I might as well embrace it.

  Grin and bear it, as my dad would say.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t miss some of those things from my old life. If I said otherwise, I’d be straight-up lying. This new life meant I’d never get the chance to stand on a stage with my classmates and accept a diploma—not from high school or college. My days of playing ball with the teammates I’d known most of my life were a thing of the past. And I’d never have the luxury of doing regular girl things like staying up all night and sharing secrets with the best friend I’d grown up with, because that best friend . . . she’d deserted me . . . thrown me over for my ex, Austin.

  Even my own mother had disowned me as far as I knew. Pretty much replacing me with a new family. So it was just me and Dad now. Don’t get me wrong—I was grateful to have him back—but to be fair he was almost as messed up as this new life of mine. And just because he’d turned out to be right about the whole alien thing, that didn’t make him any less weird.

  Now, instead of trying to convince everyone I’d been abducted by little green men, he was focusing his obsessive nature on keeping Tyler and me safe. While we fled from campground to campground, he constantly worried we were being spied on, whether by satellites or park rangers . . . or maybe even undercover bears. Who knew?

  And sometimes I couldn’t help wondering if that paranoia of his didn’t extend to me as well.

  Sometimes, when he thought I wasn’t looking, I’d catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye, giving me these super long glances. Like he was checking to see if I might still be in here—the old Kyra.

  I would have come out and asked him what was going on inside his head, but I was worried about what he might say and the questions he might ask, which was all kinds of wrong since my dad and I used to talk about just about everything.

  When I was little, it had always been my dad I’d gone to whenever I’d had a problem, even before my mom. He’d been the one to clean up a scraped knee when I fell off my bike. He’d taught me long division when all the other kids seemed to understand it before I did.

  But now there was this inexplicable barrier between us that had never been there before, not even when I’d thought he was crazy.

  No, this was different. . . .

  But I did mention that different was the new normal, right? And just because things were somehow off between me and my dad didn’t mean I wasn’t happy to be back with him. Or that he didn’t feel the exact same way. I knew because of his hug.

  It was that simple—the way he hugged me when we were finally reunited. Simon had driven Tyler and me out to meet him from Blackwater Ranch, the secret camp where we’d been staying, after it had been attacked by Agent Truman and his Daylight Division—the NSA’s not-so-nice branch that hunted down us abductees. The second my dad had laid eyes on me, he’d nearly smothered me in his flannel embrace. And he hadn’t stopped ever since. Even though he looked at me strangely sometimes, he was always touching me—my hand, my shoulder, sometimes my cheek—asking me if I was okay or if I needed anything. Like he was silently reassuring himself I was still there.

  He never asked questions about the things that made me different, even though we both knew those questions were there, right beneath the surface. He had to be curious; it was in his nature . . . his conspiracy-theory, we’re-not-alone, tinfoil-hat-wearing nature.

  And I couldn’t entirely blame him, because I was thinking the same things, wondering whether being made entirely from alien DNA somehow canceled out my human memories and personality. I was curious about the things I could do—my abilities, my strengths, the dangers I posed, even though I 100 percent felt the same. Even though I looked and acted exactly like my old self.

  I wanted to tell him to cut it out with the weird looks, because . . . not cool, but every time I started to say something, my throat closed tighter than Fort Knox and I ended up pretending I hadn’t noticed.

  Inside, though . . . inside, the idea that my dad—my own dad—couldn’t figure out what to make of me, made me want to vanish again. One more chink in my already tarnished armor.

  Nice.

  I wondered what he’d do if my stomach ripped apart and some alien baby popped out, grinding and gnashing its acid-dripping teeth while it screeched its alien battle cry.

  Maybe that’s what he expected. That any second I’d be torn apart by whatever was inside me, waiting to break free the way it happened in the movies.

  Aliens versus humans.

  Us versus them.

  In
real life, though, Alien Kyra was super boring. Plainer even than Old Kyra, with far fewer friends and a lot more empty time on her hands.

  Just thinking about it made me miss the other Returned Tyler and I had left behind at Blackwater because at least they had a clue what we were going through—Simon, Jett, Willow, Natty.

  They’d taken me in when I’d had no place else to go, back when Agent Truman had first discovered I existed and set his sights on me. When my mom had decided I was too dangerous to be around, which turned out wasn’t so far from the truth.

  Like me, the Returned had also been abducted by aliens and sent back after being altered. Only they’d been less changed than I was.

  Half alien and half human, they considered themselves hybrids. Like me, they could heal faster and needed less food and sleep than our human counterparts. We also aged slower; making them . . . making all of us look like teenagers indefinitely.

  But I’d give anything to have the one thing they had—the half-human part they still could lay claim to.

  Like I said, I’d been taken too, but I’d come back different from the Returned. Different from almost everyone, except Tyler.

  Tyler, who was exactly like me.

  Well . . . almost. He was as close to me as anyone in the world.

  We weren’t Returned, we were the Replaced. The difference being that when we’d been abducted, it wasn’t only segments of our genetic coding the aliens had messed with, it was everything. All of it. Our entire bodies had been replicated.

  Replaced. So that Tyler and I now shared full-on alien DNA, leaving only our faces and our memories to remind us who we used to be. Although even in that I was alone, since Tyler had a gap in his memories—he was missing the time we’d spent together before he was taken. Which was the one memory I wanted him to have most: the part where the two of us had fallen in love.

  That was a biggie.

  Without it, we were just friends, like Old Kyra and Old Tyler, which maybe could’ve been enough, once upon a time.

  There should have been a song in there somewhere . . . an angsty, twangy country song filled with lyrics about love lost and found again. But I couldn’t wrangle enough of my former smart-alecky self to think up a single line.

  Maybe spunky had been part of Old Kyra’s DNA. Maybe Alien Kyra had no game. She was straitlaced and boring. She was into bubblegum pop. Or worse, church hymnals. She was the kind of girl who colored inside the lines and wore pink. Crazy amounts of pink.

  Alien Kyra was already on my nerves.

  Of course it was good to have New Tyler back. He was the one person I’d been fixated on from the moment we’d been separated. I mean, my dad too. But Tyler . . .

  It was Tyler I’d spent hours single-mindedly focused on. Picturing in my head. Daydreaming of.

  I’d driven Simon and the others crazy for weeks on end, talking incessantly about Tyler after he was taken and wondering why he hadn’t been sent back yet.

  I should have been satisfied to have them both—Tyler and my dad. Even though we had to lay low, we were together, the three of us.

  Yet I couldn’t help thinking there was something wrong. With me . . . and with Tyler.

  With this whole screwed-up situation we were in.

  Like I said, my life was a mess.

  “You look beautiful.” Tyler stood above me as I sat on a log covered in coarse moss, combing my fingers through the knots in my tangled hair.

  My hair. It was the last thing I should be thinking about, considering all the other, way more important things we had to deal with.

  “Shut up,” I insisted, but already blood was rushing to my cheeks.

  It had been like that for days. Three, to be exact. Three awkward days with Tyler giving me these long, deliberate looks, like he was searching for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on and me wishing he’d hurry up and figure it out already—the memories of who we’d once been together—so I could stop thinking about that other thing.

  Because for three days it had been eating me up inside, and even though I’d been unwilling to face it head-on, I couldn’t drop it either: What had Tyler meant that night in the desert when he’d said those chilling words: The Returned must die?

  Now I stared up at him, blushing like a schoolgirl just because he’d said I was beautiful.

  “I found something,” he told me with that earnest expression I couldn’t get enough of, his green eyes overly intense—one of the side effects of being a Returned or a Replaced, the change to our eye color. He kept his voice low; we both did, not wanting to wake my dad, who was stuffed inside his miniature-sized tent with his not-so-miniature-sized dog, Nancy.

  He didn’t have to invite me twice. I forgot all about my hair and followed him as he disappeared into the thick forest. I reminded myself for the hundred-millionth time that it didn’t matter what he’d said the other night. It didn’t mean anything because he’d been sleepwalking, and sleepwalking didn’t count, right?

  If only he’d said something else.

  The Returned must die.

  Had that really only been three nights ago? It seemed like another lifetime. Three nights since I’d found him, standing in front of a sheer rock wall in the Utah desert, drawing strange symbols and chanting in that strange mumbo-jumbo language I’d never heard before.

  To be fair, no one had probably ever heard it before because it was nonsense.

  And when he’d finally looked at me, his expression had kinda-sorta cleared, and he’d said: “Ochmeel abayal dai.”

  Then, plain as day: “The Returned must die.”

  At first, I thought he’d have some logical explanation for what I’d just heard. That he’d just blink and be magically awake, losing that blanked-out expression he’d been wearing and he’d ask me what we were doing there because it was weird to be out there in the middle of the night like that.

  But that wasn’t how it happened. And when he didn’t explain, it became this thing . . . this strange unspoken weirdness between us.

  I’d been stuck like that ever since. Wishing I could find the right words and the right time to just . . . ask him, because that’s what people did, they asked each other things. But I never quite got around to it because the timing was always . . . off.

  So three days had gone by. And every time I tried to ask, the words just died on my lips. Where would I even start, other than What the hell, Tyler? and that wasn’t much of an icebreaker when what I really-really wanted to ask was, Do you remember anything . . .

  . . . about me?

  About us?

  About what I did to you?

  That last one was the one that made my stomach twist. Somehow, I had to find a way to tell him, to explain before the memory came back to him on its own. Because what if he only got back pieces and they were jumbled, and he didn’t understand it had all been a giant-terrible-horrific mistake? That I hadn’t realized my blood had been toxic to him . . . to all humans? What if he didn’t understand that sending him with them—the aliens—that night up at Devil’s Hole was the only way I knew to save him from dying?

  I never would have risked letting him be changed if I’d had another choice.

  Again, I totally would have talked to my dad about it, if my dad had been acting like my dad. I would have told him about the strange words Tyler had said in the desert, and confessed about the guilt I felt over my decision to let Tyler be taken in the first place.

  I might even have mentioned the thing where Simon had kissed me when he’d dropped Tyler and me off to meet my dad. The day he’d decided being “friends” wasn’t enough for him.

  I could’ve used a dad for that one.

  I wished he could help me out with other things too, questions I still had. Like what exactly had happened to him that night up at Devil’s Hole when Tyler had been taken? Agent Truman had held my dad hostage, using him as leverage to make me turn myself in. And I would have, if the fireflies hadn’t come and made them both disappear—my dad and Agent T
ruman—at the same time they’d taken Tyler.

  So if he’d been taken like the rest of us, why had my dad come back without having been changed at all?

  The whole thing was all so strange . . .

  And then there was this thing with the mornings. Every dawn came with an unbearable gut-wrenching pain that wasn’t getting any easier to deal with. Most mornings it doubled me in half, to the point I had to bite my own tongue to keep myself from crying out.

  My dad hadn’t noticed it, but Tyler most definitely had.

  Even stranger, each morning a number ticked off in my head. I couldn’t explain it, but whatever the number was, it became my obsession of the day. And suddenly I’d see that number everywhere we went.

  Today’s number was seventeen, and so far I’d seen it in the newspaper my dad had found at one of the campsites, on a mile marker we’d passed, and I’d lost count of how many times I’d happened to check my watch at the exact moment the minute hand landed on the seventeen mark.

  It was eerie.

  The crippling pain I felt each morning combined with my increasing obsession with numbers and time was making me start to think I might be dying. That my body—this new alien body—was rejecting me . . . rejecting this world, and I would eventually just . . . vanish again.

  Only this time I wouldn’t come back.

  Maybe that was what kept me from going to my dad. My fear that my time here was limited. If that was the case, I didn’t want to waste a single second by worrying him, especially if Tyler’s nonsense mutterings turned out to be nothing. Just the mumbo-jumbo ramblings of a sleepwalker awakened too soon.

  Die . . .

  The Returned must die.

  Still, I couldn’t shake the guilt over what I’d done to Tyler. I needed to come clean to him about how . . . why . . . he was taken.