by Katie French
A slow smile creeps up Mike’s face. “Now… we’re even,” he says in his raspy voice.
Corra curls her lip. “No. But we will be.”
She lunges for Bran’s gun, her hands fumbling for the trigger. Bran fires, the explosion loud, echoing through the concrete room. On the other side, the men start to fire at us across the dormitory, loud pops, bullets that zing past, blasting behind me and thudding into the wall. A bullet smashes a clock, sending glass shards raining down. Another pings off a bed’s metal railing and one sinks into a mattress, spraying a puff of foam into the air.
Gripping Peanut, I dive sideways.
I fall hard, hitting the concrete with my shoulder and sliding behind one of the metal bunk beds. Pain flares up my arm and down my ribs, but I force my throbbing body up and crawl as low as I can with Peanut gripping my belly, letting the bunk bed shield me. I have to get to Auntie, but she’s all the way on the other side of the room. I look up and see Mike’s men crouched behind a bunk on the far side. Two are taking turns firing shots at Bran, who is also crouched low somewhere. I can’t see the third shooter. Maybe he’s been hit. I look back and don’t see Corra. Across the room and the rows of bunks, I spy the top of someone’s gray head. There she is. Auntie.
Crawling alongside the bunk, I get to the end of my row and begin scrambling down the hallway between bunks, heading for Auntie. Heading for the men with guns, too, but I don’t think about that. On my hands and knees, no one seems to notice me as they fire back and forth. I crawl past three rows of bunks and look up. One of Mike’s shooters holds a wounded arm. The other is reloading with fumbling fingers. As I watch, Mike steps out from behind his bunk cover and whips one of his knives toward the other end of the room. I hear a muffled cry. Bran might be hit. Is he dead?
When I get to the end of the row and peer under the bottom bunk, I see Auntie. She lies on her belly. When she looks up at me, I signal to her and mouth, Get ready. I’m coming.
As the sound of gunfire dies down, I count to three. Clutching Peanut with one hand, I crouch low and run toward Auntie. I streak into the open, cringing as my body leaves the cover of the bunks. I glance down the aisle to see if Bran is aiming at me, but when I look back, someone stands in my path. One of the gunmen has his eyes locked on me. His gun travels up as his face constricts with the knowledge I’m about to pounce.
Running, I smash my elbow into his arms as he tries to aim. The gun clatters to the floor. Before he has time to block, I drive my palm into his nose. Whirling around, I kick my leg out and knock away his feet. I hear his body thud on the floor as I turn and ready myself to fight the other guard.
Before I can even locate the other guard, a gunshot sounds across the room. The guard in front of me jerks back, one hand snapping to his chest. His dirty, scarred face contorts as the gun falls from his hands. He drops to his knees as blood fills the spaces between his fingers.
When I look back, I see Bran slinking behind his bunk. He used my attack as an opportunity to shoot the guards, but he didn’t fire on me. I don’t have time to think this over because Mike steps into my path. In his hands, he clutches two very long, very sharp knives.
I cover Peanut, crouching down to make her a small target as Mike pulls his arm back, preparing to throw a knife.
Tightening my body, I will it to protect the child trembling beneath my shirt.
Mike throws the knife, but not at me. I watch it sail through the air, end over end, and bury itself into Bran’s chest.
Bran is stunned, looking down at the handle protruding out of his chest just right of his breastbone. He raises his gun to fire, but can’t seem to get his arm up. His limbs sag, and his grip on the gun loosens. He staggers forward, smashing into the bunk and then rolling to the ground.
Mike watches, smiling as Bran dies. When he’s satisfied Bran isn’t moving, he turns toward me, knife in hand, ready to throw. So when I pull the trigger on the gun in my hand, he looks very surprised.
The bang is loud. The shotgun kicks back hard, jarring me. The scatter of the shot is wide, peppering Mike’s middle, blasting him backward with amazing force.
I shot him. I… killed him.
Trembling, I walk over, the sawed-off shotgun in my numbing hands. On the concrete, Mike stares at me. His eyes flick to me and then back to the ceiling as he twitches and jerks. His hands grip at his stomach, which is a mess of tattered shirt, blood, and gore. I watch his bloody fist grab at his shirt, bunch it between his fingers, and release it again.
I drop the shotgun with a clatter to the concrete as the urge to vomit creeps up my throat.
“Riley,” my auntie croaks, climbing out of her crouch.
“Is it over?” My ears are ringing. The world is spinning. I grip a bunk. “Is it over?” I ask again.
She licks her ash-stained lips. “Darling. It’s never over.”
Chapter 32
Riley
Auntie sits me down on a bunk and covers me with a blanket. She tells me I’m in shock. I shake my head, push the blanket off, and feel for the lump under my shirt. “Peanut? Are you okay?”
She lifts her head from where it rests on my chest. She’s shaking like a leaf, but there doesn’t appear to be a scratch on her. That tiny face and wide eyes loosen something inside me, like a knot untying. I hug her, fighting tears. “We’re okay. You’re okay.”
Auntie shuffles over and peers at Mike, who has stopped twitching, and then she works her way around the other men lying at odd angles on the floor. I hear her bare feet squish through the blood, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She trails red footprints over to where the last man, the one I punched, is lying, moaning.
“This one’s still fresh,” she says, looking up at me with her one good eye.
I drop my shirt and tuck it back into my pants to keep Peanut covered. Walking over, I look at the man. Groaning and clutching his face, he rolls over and looks up at me from one squinted eye. “You bwoke my nose.”
I reach down, draw up the shotgun. “You want me to fix it for you?”
He holds out one hand, trying to wave me off. “Don’t! I won’t fight anymore. I just want to go home.” Tears pool in his eyes, and he cups his bloody face in his palms. “Please.”
I lower the shotgun. “Stop crying. I’m not going to shoot you.”
Shuffling footsteps draw my attention to the far end of the room. Corra limps down the walkway between the bunks, clutching her head. There’s no blood, no holes, so I guess she survived. She looks up at me. “Subject Nine. Is she—?”
I cut her off. “Peanut is fine. Is Bran dead?”
“See for yourself,” she says, squinting at me.
“Watch him,” I say to Corra, nodding at the man quietly crying on the concrete.
When I look back at Auntie, she stands and joins me as we walk to where Bran’s boot protrudes from behind a bunk. I keep the shotgun just in case.
What will Auntie do if she sees this man she once loved, regained, and then lost in the span of a few days? I think of how I would feel if this were Clay on the ground, and something inside stabs my gut like a shard of glass.
Clay? Where are you?
We walk over to Bran’s body. He looks awful. A four-foot blood halo rings his dead body. His open eyes stare.
I put an arm around Auntie.
She looks down for a long time. When she leans forward, I think she’ll wipe his cheeks clean or take one of his hands. Instead, she spits on his face.
“Auntie!”
“That’s what he gets for jilting me.” She turns, pulling me with her. “Let the dogs have him for all I care.”
Shuffling back down the aisle, I shake my head. “Heaven help the man who crosses you.”
“Heaven better help him,” she murmurs before coughing deeply.
“We need to get you out of here,” I say, letting her lean on my arm. “You look like half the dome fell on your head.”
“Damn near did. Luckily, that bastard Mike pulled me out of the
ruble. Wasn’t lookin’ for me, but his men. Saved my damn life, I reckon.”
“And I shot him.” Chills creep down my spine. I didn’t know Mike. It was self-defense. Still, I stop short of the bunk where he and his men lie, letting the bed shield him from my view.
Corra finishes tying up Mike’s guard. “This one surrendered. He says there aren’t many more men still alive in the building. We can probably ferret them out with a sweep through the remaining corridors.”
I shake my head, sagging onto the bunk. “I’m done killing, Corra. I’ve got my aunt. We need rest, and then we need to get out of here. That is, unless your satellite link still works.”
She winces. “Probably not, I’m afraid. That bomb blew up our main power and the server with all our data. It would be a miracle.” She looks down at me, her face sad. “Sorry.”
I blow out a sad breath. “Figured as much. They could be anywhere by now.”
Beneath my shirt, Peanut is trembling like crazy. “It’s okay, Peanut,” I say, patting her. “The bad men are gone.”
Corra leans down, concern on her face. “Riley, how long has she been shaking like this?”
“I don’t know. A few minutes. Is she okay?”
Corra looks up at me, her face awash in panic. “She needs medicine. Bring her.”
I glance at Auntie. “Stay here.”
Auntie lowers herself down on a bunk, pulling the sawed-off shotgun into her lap. “Can do.”
“Riley, come on!” Corra yells.
Clutching Peanut, I run after Corra through the dormitory, out the door, and down a series of hallways. Corra finds one way blocked, circles around, and heads down another. Finally, we reach the door she wants, and she starts pounding in codes.
I try to soothe the baby, but she’s trembling like crazy. Her body is slick with sweat where it touches mine. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“Shit!” Corra says, slamming her fist into the nonresponsive keyboard. “The power’s out.” Digging in her pockets, she produces a ring of keys and starts fitting them into a panel beneath the keypad. When she finds the right key and turns it, I hear the lock inside disengage. Corra yanks it open. “Hurry,” she says in a panic. “Bring her in.”
We enter a small, dark room. The emergency lights in the hallway are the only illumination, making everything gray and shadowed. My eyes scan different shapes, trying to figure out what they are—a rectangle here, a square there. Corra barrels in. Doors squeak open and things clatter to the floor as she digs through items and tosses them behind her. “Where are the goddamned syringes?”
“What should I do?” I feel helpless. I pull my shirt up and have to catch Peanut as she nearly tumbles to the floor. Cradling her in my arms, I stare down at her tiny face, brushing the matted hair away. Her lips twitch and her eyes are closed. “Corra, is she going to be okay?” I hear the panic in my own voice.
Corra fiddles with something. I walk over, carrying Peanut. “What is that?”
“It’ll help.” She pulls the cap off a needle with her teeth. “Hold her steady.” Corra grabs one of Peanut’s thighs and plunges the syringe in.
Peanut comes awake in my arms, shrieking and clawing.
“What’re you doing?” I try to grab ahold of Peanut, but she clambers over my shoulders, down my back, and into a dark corner.
“Grab her!” Corra shouts.
I whirl around and search the room’s dark interior. Corra closes the door, making it even darker. Now, the only light comes in a tiny window high up on the door.
“Peanut,” I whisper. “It’s okay. Come on out.”
I feel hands on my legs and then a body scrambling up. She worms her way up until I’m holding her in my arms again. In the dim light, the shine of her eyes is the only thing visible.
“It’s okay. We did that to make you feel better.” I look at Corra. “Right?”
She comes toward me and inspects Peanut. “We’ll need to keep an eye on her. Insulin shock is nothing to mess around with.”
“What’s insulin shock?”
Leaning against a wall, Corra sighs. “These creatures aren’t perfect. The gene pool we had to work with was not very diverse, so some of them carried abnormalities passed from one generation to the next. This one was breastfed, so Peanut was probably getting her perfect diet from her mother. Without the milk, she’ll need regular food, but she will have trouble with breaking down the sugars. It’s like diabetes. And because her growth is advanced, so is the disease.” She shakes her head. “Peanut. Now you even have me calling her that. Dennis will flip.”
So much of Corra’s talk goes over my head. I run a hand down Peanut’s coarse hair. She looks up at me as if I can protect her. “Will that shot you gave her fix her?”
“There’s no cure, but it can be treated. Peanut can live a pretty healthy life as long as she’s here with me. We have enough insulin to last for a while, and we have a contact that can get us more. Thank god those Free Colonies lunatics didn’t get a hold of her.”
Rocking Peanut, I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat. No matter how much I was denying it, part of me thought I might take her with me. Now I know that isn’t possible. For her to live, she needs to stay here.
And I have to leave.
“Here. Maybe you should take her.” I try to hand Peanut over, but the minute Peanut realizes what I’m doing, she scrambles back into my arms and clings to my body. It takes Corra and me both to pry her off.
By then, Peanut is making “mo, mo, mo” noises and reaching for me.
I turn away, the shard in my throat sharp enough to cut me wide open. “I’d… better go check on Auntie.”
Corra nods, carrying the shrieking Peanut to a small cage in the back of the room. When she forces her in and shuts the door with a clang, it’s all I can do not to run back and claw the door open.
As I walk out, she calls, “Mo, mo, mo!” Her cries shred my heart into pieces. But I don’t look back. I can’t. She isn’t mine. I can’t help her.
I run back to the dormitory, wiping away tears.
As I bang in the door, Auntie lurches up and levels the shotgun at me. “One false move… Oh. It’s you.” She drops the gun. “Next time, give an old lady some warning.”
I take her hand. “Let’s go. We should leave. There’s nothing for us here.”
She peers at me skeptically. Somehow, with one eye, she sees more than most people do with two. “What’s going on?”
I gesture around the room. “This place is a graveyard. Not to mention that Bran’s Free Colony minions might notice he’s gone. Or Nessa might have seen the explosion and be sending her troops in right now.” I put my hands on the upper bunk’s metal frame and lean into it. I’m so tired, but we have to keep going.
“We should just leave,” I say, with my forehead pressed to the top mattress. “Go find Doc. He’s not back yet, is he?”
She shakes her head. “You’re exhausted. I’m exhausted. Doc will find us here. And we wouldn’t get ten miles down the road before crashing. We need to sleep.” She stares hard into my face. “Why leave now?”
I pull my hand away from her, fighting tears. “Look. Not everything has some deep reason, okay? I just want to go. I need to go.”
I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll go get Peanut and things will go badly for all of us. Peanut isn’t mine. And maybe all of this has been a sign that I can be a mother when the time comes. I think of the child I suspect is growing inside me. Clay’s child. Maybe that’s all I’ll have of him. His baby. Our baby can give me a reason to live again.
But first, I have to get away from this goddamned compound.
I help Auntie shuffle to the door. “Can you ask Corra if we can take one of her solar cars?”
She grumbles something, but slides through the door and limps down the hall. When it closes behind her, I sag onto one of the bunks and put my head in my hands.
When the door on the far side of the room yanks open a minute later, I star
t talking before I look up. “Corra’s down the hall. Head right and—”
It isn’t Auntie in the door. A man’s figure stands in the shadowed entryway. My eyes flick to the shotgun on the bunk about ten feet away and then up to the man in the doorway. In the dim light, I size him up—covered in grime and ash, tall, broad shoulders, young, and dangerous.
Shit. I ready myself for the figure striding in.
He steps into the light, and my heart drops into my shoes. I can’t speak. I can’t move. I just stare, my heart slamming in my chest, my throat dry. It can’t be. It has to be a dream. “Oh my god…”
“Riley,” he says.
The spell breaks. With tears running down my face, I sprint down the aisle and fling myself into Clay’s arms.
Chapter 33
Clay
Oh God. I remember her.
She turns around and my eyes lock on her face.
Those lips. Those eyes. The curve of her neck as it smoothes out into her creamy white shoulder. I look at her hands with long, slender fingers. I know those fingers. Her hair is short, not like I remember it, but those eyes.
“Oh my god…”
She studies my face as if she isn’t sure. Her mouth drops open. I wonder if I’m mistaken. If I’ve made all this up. Made her up. Even now.
“Riley,” I say, testing the word on my lips.
She dashes across the room, arms wide, and slams her body into mine. Hipbones wedge against my legs, arms wrap around my neck.
I’m too stunned to do much else than touch her. Let my hands run along her shoulders and grip her back. Feel the solidness of her. I need to know that this is real, that she is real.
“Riley?” I whisper. “You’re Riley.”
She pulls back so she can look at me. Her eyes glisten, but the smile on her face is all I need. “I’m Riley,” she breathes. “Clay. Oh God. You’re here. You’re alive.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
Placing her hands on either side of my face, she draws my mouth down to hers.