by Katie French
“It’s her,” Cole says. He pulls away from me, takin’ off toward the car.
I can’t grab him or stop him. “Cole!”
Through one squinted eye, I see the man and girl are in the car. They’re pulling away. Cole won’t get there in time.
“No!” he calls, battin’ away the dust it kicks up. “Stop!”
The headlights angle up and curve away down the dusty road.
“Cole.” My headache slowly draws back like a tide pullin’ away from the beach. I stumble forward. “Come back!”
When Betsy groans behind me, I’m startled. I forgot she was there.
“Great,” she huffs. “Riley’s back.”
Chapter 29
Riley
From the backseat, I kick any part of Dennis that isn’t protected by the solar car’s bucket seat. I kick at his head, his arms, and his shoulder. He reaches over the seat to pin me, but his hands keep slipping, and every time they do, I kick as hard as I can.
“I’m going to shoot her!” he screams to the driver.
“Don’t you dare,” the voice says through one of those black, insect-like facemasks.
I don’t need to see her face to know who it is. “Corra, you bitch, let me go!”
Corra glances at me over her shoulder. “We just saved your life. Think you’d be a little more grateful.”
“You saved my life? You sent me on a suicide mission!” I kick at both seats as Dennis tries to grab my legs. “Quit hiding behind that mask and face me!”
Corra lets the car coast to a stop on the roadside and unlatches the mask. She pulls it away, shaking out her hair. Dried blood meanders down her face from a huge cut above her right eye, and her short hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat and grime. Dark crescents under her eyes and her split bottom lip let me know she’s had it rough.
“You look like shit,” I say.
“Thanks.” She touches a finger to her cut lip. “The mask is to keep bacteria away from my wounds, not to hide.” She sets the masks in her lap and sighs. “We were attacked. Our friends are dead. I was nearly blown to bits.”
“Where’s my aunt?” I ask, looking between them. Dennis’s expression doesn’t change, but Corra drops her head in a way that makes me want to slap her. “Where is my aunt?”
“I don’t know,” Corra says. “An outsider got in. Must’ve been in the ventilation ducts. I had seconds to duck into one of the rooms before a bomb went off. Dennis got me out.”
I narrow my eyes. “You left everyone in there?”
She throws up her hands. “What could we do? The whole place was on fire. Men showed up with guns and clubs. They started attacking as we were trying to claw our way out!” The cut on her lip opens up, and a trickle of fresh blood meanders down her chin.
“You don’t have to explain anything to her,” Dennis growls. “She’s the one who told them where to hit us. She probably led that outsider right to our front door!”
“What are you talking about?” I say, turning on Dennis. “You gave us guns with no bullets!”
“That didn’t stop you from shooting our subjects, did it? We know one is dead. Its vital signs dropped out hours ago. You worthless piece—”
I punch Dennis in the face. My knuckles crunch against his cheek. He yowls and cups his face.
Corra lunges for me, pinning my arms. “Enough! Both of you!”
As she’s holding me down, her eyes drop to the trembling creature in my shirt. “Oh my god. There it is.”
When she releases me, I hug Peanut. “You scared her.”
Dennis snorts. “Like you had nothing to do with it.”
“Dennis, shut up.” Corra doesn’t take her eyes off Peanut. “Can I see her?”
I hug her tighter. “She won’t like it.”
“Just lift your shirt,” Corra says, almost pleading.
Slowly, I pull up the fabric, revealing the dirty little girl clinging to my belly. When I expose her, Peanut grabs onto me so tight I can barely breathe. I pull the cloth back down and put my arms around her. “There,” I say, “you’ve seen her.”
“Amazing,” Corra says, using the quiet scientist’s voice. “Subject Seven was pregnant when she escaped, but we had no idea she’d deliver so soon. It must’ve only been—what?” She looks at Dennis and then back at my shirt. “Maybe a three-month gestation. And the little one has grown faster than we’d ever imagined.”
“How old is she?” I ask, glancing down at her.
Corra shrugs. “She can’t be more than a few months old.”
I look up, shaking my head. “That’s not…”
“What?” Corra asks. “Possible? Possible and impossible stopped meaning what they used to mean a long time ago. Puppies grow to maturity in a year. Hamsters in five to six months. Some fish reach sexual maturity in three weeks.”
“We aren’t puppies or fish,” I say, but my heart isn’t in it. Corra knows more about this than I could ever know. My mind drifts to the little one not on my belly, but in it. How far along has that thing matured? Can it feel what’s happening? Does it know what a terrible mother I will be?
“Riley,” Corra says, “it’s okay you killed Subject Seven. We don’t need it or Eight. All we need is Nine.” She nods to Peanut.
My arms tighten around her. “She’s not some test subject.”
Dennis laughs dryly. “That’s exactly what she is.”
I flash him a ruthless glance, but Corra holds out a hand. “Without our medical interventions, she won’t live very long.”
Corra watches my face. No doubt, she’s seeing how much I care about Peanut. She knows she can lure me in.
She tries again. “You can help her. She’ll need a mother figure. Someone to bond with. Who knows? Maybe with a human mother, she’ll be less vicious than Seven and Eight were.” Corra reaches back and puts her hand on my knee. “Riley, maybe you were the piece of the puzzle we were missing.”
I push her hand away. “Take me to my aunt.”
Dennis snorts, but Corra flashes him a nasty look. “The compound is on fire. Anyone alive when we left isn’t now. That shantytown madman has taken it over.”
“I don’t leave my people behind. Drive me to the compound and help me get Auntie out. Then I might help you.” Hardening my expression, I stare both of them down. Auntie can’t be dead. Nothing can kill that woman.
Corra throws up her hands. “Fine.”
“What?” Dennis says, lurching up in his seat. “This is bullshit, Corra, and you know it.”
She whirls on him, teeth flashing. “What was bullshit, Dennis, was you leaving those people behind in the first place. If I had been conscious, I never would’ve let you take me out of there without fighting. Conroy, Harvey, Winklemen. They were our friends,” she hisses. “You left them to die.”
Dennis angrily stares out the windshield. “Easy for you to say,” he mumbles. “You didn’t see what we were up against.”
Corra snaps her mask back on and flexes her hands on the steering wheel. “I guess I will now.”
The ride up to the compound is dead silent. The moonlit gravel road leading around and down to the underground compound is as still as a picture. I hate the stillness. The quiet makes me think of all the people I’ve watched die, of Mama and Arn and Ethan and Clay and Auntie. Of Nada and Rayburn. Stillness like this lulls you into thinking everything’s all right. You wouldn’t know a small army marched down this road, intending to kill. You wouldn’t know it, looking up at the almost full moon and the quiet clouds skimming across the yellow surface, that many died tonight.
How many? We’re about to find out.
Corra drives until we find the smaller gravel path down to the entrance of the compound. Here, you can see the smoke still spilling into the night sky from whatever burns underground. Even with the windows up, the smell of smoke fills our car. It makes me think of my near-death in the basement only a few hours ago. I wonder how Doc is doing.
The car rolls to a stop. “W
e’re on foot from here,” Corra says through her mask. “Driving up would attract attention.”
“It would also shield us from bullets,” I say.
Dennis pulls out a gun, unsnaps the cartridge, checks it, and snaps it back in. “They only have a few guns, mostly clubs and rusty hatches. Still, we were unprepared. They took us by surprise. They beat us because we were disorganized.”
Corra, her own handgun out, nods down at the figure beneath my shirt. “Subject Nine will have to stay in the car.”
“Good luck with that.” But I try to pry her away. She comes awake, grabbing onto the binding around my chest and holding on for dear life. “Peanut, let go. It isn’t safe.” When I lift the collar of my shirt and peer down, she looks at me with that frightened expression.
“She won’t budge,” I say.
“We’ll just have to cover you.” She flicks a look at Dennis, who grinds his jaw, annoyed.
“We have no idea what to expect in there,” she says. “Probably a few dozen men. Mike’s the best fighter. He throws knives with amazing accuracy. Fire from as far away as you can. Without guns, they can’t get you unless you’re within swinging distance.”
“Let me get my hands on these bastards.” Dennis’s nostrils flare. I bet he wasn’t this fearless when he was running away.
Corra nods at the shape on my belly. “Stay behind us, Riley. And whatever you do, don’t let anything happen to Nine.”
“Let’s be clear. I’m going in for my aunt. She’s my first priority.”
Corra nods. “Let’s go.”
We slip out of the car and slink down the gravel driveway, Corra and Dennis are in front, with me behind. My eyes dart all around the moonlit landscape. The land rises up on either side of us as we descend down the driveway that angles steeper the closer we get to the entrance. We can’t see the compound entrance yet, but soon, the path will turn, and we’ll be in full view of whoever awaits at the entrance. The scrub hills on either side of us will offer no protection. All we can hope is that, with their battle won, the remaining ambushers will have retreated inside the compound to loot it. They’ll have no idea we’ve come back.
Corra and Dennis shuffle to a stop, and I crouch behind. Ahead, a body lies strewn across the path. I clutch Peanut as Dennis walks up and flips the guy over with his toe. The corpse is a mess—a bullet-riddled face and chest with his right cheek and the top half of his skull is missing. I turn my eyes to the dirt. Ahead of me, Corra sucks in a breath. “Not one of ours.”
This gives me no comfort. Auntie. That’s the only thing I care about.
You care about Peanut, says a small voice in my head. But I can’t afford to care about Peanut. She isn’t mine to keep.
We hike another twenty yards until Dennis signals a halt with his raised fist. While Corra and I wait, he slips ahead and returns a minute later with that trigger-happy look on his face.
“They’ve posted two guards.” He pulls out his gun’s clip again, checks it, and reloads. When he flips the safety off with a decisive click, his wild eyes lock on Corra. “Let’s do this thing.”
Corra grabs Dennis muscular forearm. “If we shoot, we alert everyone in that compound. Isn’t there a way we can sneak in, or—” She stops as Dennis turns and runs around the hill. He disappears.
“Dennis!” Corra whisper-yells. “Shit!” She looks at me. “Stay here.” She sprints around the hill’s protective curve.
They left me. Should I stay or—?
The first gunshots ring out, echoing up the driveway. Someone screams. Beneath my shirt, Peanut shakes. I hug her, my heart slamming against my sternum. What do I do? Do I run in and help? Peanut could be shot. But if we stay here and Corra and Dennis are killed, it’ll only be a few minutes before someone comes looking for us.
“What do I do?” I whisper, creeping closer to where the hill curves. From here, all I can see is the opposite side of the hill. I want to get a look at what’s happening, but if I go out much farther, I’ll risk being seen.
A figure runs at me. I whip my gun up, but see Corra holding out her hand. Panting, she says, “It’s clear.”
Jogging around the corner, we see Dennis picking the pockets of one of the two dead guards on the ground outside the entrance. My eyes scan the pool of blood slowly running down the concrete steps. Another man is splayed out near the two heavy doors. The faded black and yellow eagle symbol painted on the doors is splattered in blood.
Corra grabs my arm. “Riley, stay behind us.”
On the wall beside the doors, Dennis punches numbers into a faintly glowing pad.
Corra watches, breathing heavy. “Hopefully, they haven’t had time to change the code. At least the backup generator’s running.”
The panel beeps, and the doors draw back. Corra stiffens, pulling her handgun up to her chest. My eyes are locked on the widening crack of darkness. Inside, it’s pitch black, but my eye catches movement just in time to see a blade slice through the air. It whizzes by inches from my face.
I cry out, lurching to the side. Corra and Dennis open fire. Stumbling, I aim into the dark and fire.
Gunshots fill the air. In the dark, orange sparks of ignited gunpowder light the night. Bullets whiz and ping off metal inside. I squeeze off four rounds, panting, shaking, and then stop, peering inside, trying to see my attackers.
The silence is punctuated only by my labored breathing. Somehow, Corra and I have found cover behind the entrance’s outer wall. Dennis is on the other side, his back to the wall, his gun to his heaving chest.
What now? Peanut must be terrified. If I could get her to at least slip around and cling on my back—
“Move. Move!” Corra yanks my arm.
I run, glancing around to see what she’s seeing. Something clanks and rolls out onto the concrete pad.
A pipe.
A pipe bomb.
We run into the building, zigzagging, staying low. Something clangs across the wide, dark space to our right, and Corra pulls me left. We run, heads down, deeper into the compound.
“What about Dennis?” I say, trying to keep up with her.
She tugs my arm and leads me down a dark, smoking corridor.
Behind us, a terrible explosion shakes the ground beneath our feet. “Jesus!” I yell, following Corra. Every corridor looks the same—concrete walls splashed red by the emergency lights, rubble from the cracks running up the walls and arching along the ceiling. I don’t know where she’s going. I don’t know where I am. One of my hands is in her tight fist. The other holds Peanut to my belly. “Corra, slow down!”
“No time!” she shouts, pulling me. After a few minutes, she skids to a stop in front of a door and another panel of dimly lit numbers. She starts punching them. “In here.”
The panel beeps and a lock clicks open inside. As the doors slide open, Corra shoves me in.
The dormitory, with its rows and rows of metal bunks, looks unaffected by the blast other than the lingering smoke. My eyes run down rows of beds, searching for my aunt, but finding all empty. I jog right and scan those bunks. Then left.
“Corra, she’s not here. Auntie Bell isn’t here!”
“No, lass, she’s not.”
I whip toward the voice, all the hairs on my neck standing up. At the end of the row, a figure clad in faded military fatigues stands with a gun aimed at my chest.
Bran.
Chapter 30
Clay
“Did you just say”—I look at Betsy, my brain turnin’ over slow like a clogged piston—“Riley?”
In the moonlight, the sheen of sweat on Betsy’s forehead and upper lip glistens. Her wig curls hang damp like cooked noodles. As I’m watchin’, more of her face crumbles until she’s a blubberin’ mess, sobbin’ into her hands.
Riley. I turn and look at the red glow of taillights disappearing down the dark road. Cole has stopped runnin’ after the car and stands on the shoulder. I should go after him, but my head’s throbbin’. I put both hands on my temples and try to t
hink. Riley. The images I keep seeing. I was never sure she was real, but now…
More pain throbs behind my eyes, nearly bringin’ me to my knees. It’s as if rememberin’ her is rippin’ my brain apart.
A hand on my arm. I yank away. Betsy stands beside me, her wet face peerin’ into mine. “See. Riley does nothing but hurt you.”
“Tell me about Riley.”
Her faces pinches like she’s bitten into something rotten. “No.”
The pain is a throbbing wave in my cranium, and I ain’t got patience. I grip her arm harder than I mean to. “Tell me,” I say through my teeth.
“Oww,” she whines. “You’re hurting me.”
I drop her arm and turn away. Cole walks toward me, his shoulders slumped. “I’ll tell you about Riley. You loved her. She loves you. And she’s my sister. We have to go save her!” He tugs on my sleeve.
“Wait.” I press my palms to my eye sockets. “I love her? But she’s your sister? You’re my brother. How can that…?”
Images rip across my mind like lightning. Cole dead in my arms, his face blue, his lips purple and flecked with old blood. Me stumbling down the road as I carry him, in so much pain I can barely breathe, but walkin’ just the same. Sobbin’ and callin’ his name.
“No,” I whisper, reachin’ for Cole. He’s here. I grip his shoulder, and he smiles sadly at me. Except… his face. It isn’t right. “Cole?”
He shakes his head. “I’m Ethan.”
I bury my head in my hands, hot tears smearing against my palms. “Where is Cole?” My voice is frantic. I need to get ahold of myself, but how can I when I can’t even pin down what’s real and what ain’t?
Another hand on my arm. When I look down, it’s Cole… Ethan.
“You’re Ethan,” I whisper.
He nods.
“Cole’s dead.”
He looks at the ground.
“Oh God.” It feels like a dull knife in my chest. “He’s dead. He died because of me.” I put my face in my hands and hang my head. It’s like I’ve just witnessed his death all over again. My heart constricts, tightenin’, tightenin’.