by Teri Terry
“We’re working on that. We don’t know his exact location, though several sources suggest Scotland. There are a few known Multiverse sites there to check, though I expect they have others we don’t know about. We’re assembling a team from across all the armed forces—soldiers, air force, navy—also police. They are all immune, like I am, and can travel into the zones safely without biohazard suits. And we’re going to go there to look for him. If he will cooperate, there is some hope that he may know how to stop the epidemic. In any event, he has charges to answer.”
They believed me? They’re actually going to go after Alex? I feel like I’ve been holding my breath—waiting for something that wouldn’t happen no matter how I wished that it would—and now, it has. A tightness inside of me lets go.
But what about Freja? Shay? And Shay’s friends: Beatriz, Elena, Patrick and JJ too, if they’ve met up. What does this mean for them? I have to go with them. “I’m immune. I want to be part of this.”
“You’re not trained. You are, in fact, wanted for a variety of reasons by the police and other authorities.”
“I can help you.”
“How?”
“Partly because I know Alex; I know how he thinks. But more importantly, do you understand how survivors can get into your mind, learn what they want to know, maybe take control of you? Or worse.”
He inclines his head. “We have some knowledge of this, though it is difficult to isolate the truth from all the wild stories.”
“I can block them so they can’t control me or interfere with what I do. I can get to Alex without him being able to stop me with the use of his mind; I’ve already done this with him. I can help you get close to him.”
“How do you block survivors? Could you train others how to do this?”
“A survivor taught me: it’s about visualizing and enforcing barriers in your mind. I could explain what I do, but I’m pretty sure you’d need a survivor to help you learn how to do it—it took me a while to manage it.”
He’s leaning back in his chair, thinking.
“Even if only you can do it, that could be useful.”
“There is something I need from you in return.”
“Oh? I’m not in the business of making deals. But tell me what it is, and we’ll see.”
“Alex deserves whatever you want to do with him—chuck him in jail and throw away the key, at very least. But the rest of them? Other survivors who have fled to Scotland to be safe? They’re not in the same category. They had nothing to do with what happened in Shetland. They’re innocent people who got sick and survived: none of anything that has happened is their fault.”
“And?”
“You have to promise not to hurt them.”
Rohan stares back at me a long moment, and I don’t interrupt whatever is going on in his head.
Finally he sighs. “Kai, it would be easy to make promises to you that can’t be kept. I won’t do that. I don’t know what we’ll encounter, or what means we’ll have to use to achieve our objectives. But I will say this: we would never take a life unless there was no other way.”
And I believe he means what he says. But what about Azra?
“You said as much the last time we spoke. But that isn’t what I’ve seen since then. This is the real reason I came here today: to tell you what is going on out there.”
And I tell him exactly what happened to her, a fifteen-year-old girl, whose only crime as a survivor was to run. Shot in the back.
His face is grave. “I will personally see that an investigation is launched into this. If what you say is true, there will be consequences for those responsible. And I give you my word: no life, survivor or otherwise, will be taken unless unavoidable. I’ll ensure this message is reinforced to all personnel.”
Is that good enough?
I have no choice. And if I’m there, maybe I can stop things from going the wrong way.
He holds out his hand. I take it in mine.
But as we are shaking hands, I’m still remembering Azra.
CHAPTER 9
FREJA
FREJA? A mind touches mine; it’s Xander. I recognize the feel of him right away. He’s distinctive both in person and this way—his voice is unique.
Yes, it’s me.
I’ll be there in five minutes or so. Still all clear?
Yes. No signs of life.
We’ll have to go right away. There have been aircraft reported going east-west.
Air force?
Don’t know. Better to avoid being sighted.
We wait in the shade of some trees at one end of the cricket pitch. Soon we can hear the helicopter, then we see it.
It seems to hover in midair above us a moment, then descends slowly. The blades kick up dust and leaves in the long grass as it lands.
A door starts to open, and I can feel Xander’s impatience to get going now.
Wilf, standing next to me, is holding Merlin in a tight grip. That cat doesn’t like the looks of our mode of transportation, and neither does Wilf. “Isn’t he going to stop it so we can get on?”
“No, but it’s all right. The rotor blades are higher than they look—they’ll be well over our heads.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I say. “Come on.” I touch his mind lightly and reassure him as much as I can as we walk under the blades, bent down because Wilf wants us to be. He’s not the same boy he was before. He was never fearful, not like this. He’s lost his spark.
Xander steps out now. “Freja. Lovely to see you again,” he says, smiling like he always knew he would. “And this must be Wilf.”
“Hi,” Wilf says awkwardly.
Xander gives him and Merlin a hand up, shows him where to sit, in the front, and settles me just behind. He checks that we’re belted in correctly, then gets into his seat next to Wilf.
“Do you want to learn how to fly?” he says to him.
“Can I?”
“Sure. I’m our only pilot; it’d be handy if someone else could help me out sometimes.” Xander starts a commentary of all things helicopter as we take off. Soon Wilf has forgotten his fear. He’s entranced.
Are you? Xander thinks.
I jump. I hadn’t been aware my thoughts were so transparent. I don’t know how I feel about much of anything at the moment, I answer, truthfully.
You’ve done the right thing, he says. Bringing Wilf, yourself. There are so few of us. We have to look after each other.
There will always be few of us. We’ll always be different.
Being different can be a good thing. But in time there will be more of us, and fewer of them.
If only that could be true. It’s us or them, isn’t it? I sigh.
Listen to me, Freja. I have a plan; I need someone to help me. You may be the one.
He tells it to me, step by step. And it is both cruel and beautiful at once—the way nature often is.
The way I begin to see it must be.
CHAPTER 10
CALLIE
“DINNER IS HERE,” I SAY. Shay and I help Anna set our plates and things out on the table, and then Anna leaves. We haven’t gone back to eating as a group in the hall—the place so many people died. There are so few of us now anyway that we’d barely fill the head table.
Iona stays curled up on the sofa.
“Iona? Will you join us?” Shay says.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You have to eat. Come on, I can help you up.”
Iona shakes her head, and Shay goes and kneels next to her. “Or I can bring it to you here?”
She doesn’t answer. Her eyes close, then open again a moment later. She looks at Shay. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
Shay sighs. “You can feel better if you want to. I can show you how. But it’s hard to do it by talking; it’s easier to sh
ow you in your mind.”
“I don’t want that. I don’t want any of this.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t feel like myself anymore.”
“You’re still Iona, just like I’m still Shay. It’s weird getting used to things, but—”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not getting used to this.” Her eyes are closed again.
Shay exchanges a look with me, gets up. “Let me know if you change your mind and I’ll bring you something.”
There’s no answer.
Shay’s worried; I can feel it and see it. I shut the door between us and Iona.
“Is she going to be okay?” I whisper.
“I think so. She just needs time, but…”
“But what?”
She half smiles. “Quicker would be better just now, that’s all. How’re you?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I still can’t believe Cepta killed herself.”
“If she did.”
“What do you mean?” I look at her more closely, and I may not be a survivor, but sometimes I can see things that are unsaid too. “You know something: what is it?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“Why? Don’t you trust me?”
“Yes! Of course I do; it’s not that. It’s just that it might be better for you if you don’t know right now.”
I think about what she said and the way she said it. “Do you think I can’t handle knowing whatever it is, is that it? What could be worse than thinking she killed herself and none of us did anything to stop her?”
Shay sighs. “No, Callie; that’s not what I meant at all. You’re made of stronger stuff than I think any of us realized. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Is it okay if we leave this for now? I promise I’ll tell you everything when I can. Don’t say anything about this to anybody, okay?”
“Sure,” I say, but I’m annoyed and don’t hide it.
Shay tries to get Iona to eat something later, but she refuses, says she’s too tired, that she just wants to sleep.
Shay is tired too, and I feel guilty for getting snippy with her after everything that has happened.
I take her hand, and she gives me a hug.
“Go to sleep too,” I say. “Now.”
She smiles. “Yes, Miss Bossy Boots. Right away.”
The house is soon dark, silent, but I can’t sleep. Too many things are spinning through my mind.
With Cepta there are only three possibilities. Either it was an accident, though Xander said it couldn’t be, or it was suicide—but now Shay has implied it wasn’t—or…somebody killed her.
Who would do that? Why?
Jenna whispers inside me; she knows, she says. Watch.
And it’s like one of the dreams she has with me, but I’m awake. She shows me the fire, the first one, when she was locked in a room and the wall started to glow. I want to pull away from this memory, but she won’t let me. And for the first time, I see her after the fire, as she saw herself: cool, dark. A form only survivors could see. She doesn’t even have that anymore now.
And she shows me what happened afterward: everywhere she went, death followed. She was the contagion.
But I still don’t understand what this has to do with Cepta.
Jenna is still there, wanting me to work things out; I can feel her impatience.
Cepta was a survivor like Jenna was. She died in a fire too.
Wait a minute: would that make her into another contagion? If someone killed Cepta, maybe they wanted to make another contagion, like Jenna. But why would anybody do that on purpose?
That would spread the epidemic everywhere she went! Who in their right mind would want that?
CHAPTER 11
SHAY
THE NEXT MORNING IONA WON’T EVEN ANSWER ME.
She’s half-asleep, half-awake—this I can see from her aura—and she hears me, at least at some level, but she doesn’t stir. Whether she won’t or can’t, I can’t tell.
I sigh. She is so pale, so thin. Won’t eat. Won’t talk. She’s getting weaker, and I’m scared both for her and for us. We need to get out of here soon: I feel it, deep in my gut.
I try to remember how I adjusted when I first became a survivor. I may not have stopped eating and talking, but there was a time when it was all very hard to take.
And sometimes it still is.
Of course, back then I had Kai with me. There couldn’t have been a better reason to want to get well in a hurry. And Jenna was there too, though she was masquerading as Callie then. She helped me even though I refused to accept that she existed for a long time.
“Iona? Please. I need you. I need you to get better: I need you to want to.” I stroke her hair, hope she can hear and understand what I’m saying.
Callie comes in the front door. “Did you hear the helicopter?”
“Hmmm?” I turn as her words sink in. “No, I didn’t. There was a helicopter?”
“You were both asleep. I went up to look. A woman—a young one—a boy, and a cat got out of it with Xander.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“No. I didn’t recognize them.”
My stomach churns. What next? More sick people to heal who will lie still and silent like Iona?
Maybe I should leave this alone, but when has that ever stopped me?
Xander? I hail him.
Yes?
Who was in the chopper?
Come by my house and find out. We’ll be there in a few minutes.
Do you have to play these games?
He’s amused. Yes. Bring Callie with you.
* * *
We hear voices before we see them; they’re outside Xander’s place.
And there is something familiar about one of the voices—a woman’s, or a girl’s. I reach out just as they round the corner, and my jaw drops.
“Freja? Is that really you?”
“Shay.” She smiles, holds out her hands, and gives me one of those London double-cheek-kiss greetings, and the whole time my thoughts are spinning around. Did she come here to find us? I’d asked Freja to tell Kai to come after Callie and me: does Freja being here mean Kai is nearby too? I can’t stop myself from reaching out all around, hunting for Kai, but there is no sign of him.
I want—need—to speak to Freja, to ask her these things, but with Xander so close, I don’t dare, even silently.
I’m so distracted it takes a moment to notice the boy who stands to one side, a little behind Freja. He’s about twelve or so and has the aura of a survivor, but his is muted, damped down. He is introduced as Wilf and mumbles hello.
“Callie?” Xander says. “Could you show Wilf around?”
She visibly bristles. “Sent away so the grown-ups can talk? Fine,” she says. “Come on.”
She marches off. Wilf is looking at Freja: a silent conversation? Then he trails after Callie.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Freja says. “I decided I made a mistake. I should have come with you to start with. I belong with my own kind.”
There’s something hidden behind what she says, but I don’t want to look too closely, in case it draws Xander’s attention to it too.
“Tell Shay what made you sure of this choice now,” Xander says. “Better yet, show her.”
There’s a shadow of sadness, anger too, through her aura. “There was a girl with Wilf, a few years older—named Azra,” Freja says. “The air force tracked them. Wilf was hiding up a tree, and they didn’t find him, but this is what he saw.” And she shows me Wilf’s memory—is this the reason he was sent away with Callie, so he wouldn’t see us living it now? Azra runs; I recoil as she is shot in the back. She tries to crawl away and is shot again.
Tears rise
in my eyes.
There is no life for us in their world, Xander says to us both, silently. Not anymore. We have to make the world our own.
Callie and Wilf return. Freja and Wilf are moving into one of the many houses emptied by the epidemic, and Xander enlists some of the others to help them find what they need.
Before they go to settle in, Freja whispers silently, only to me: Let’s talk tonight. I’ll call when I’m alone.
The rest of the day passes slowly. Iona is just the same. Callie is moody, keeping to herself. Please, Freja: have good news for us. I need help.
I need Kai.
Hope that has been so hard to hang on to is there inside me now—stronger than before.
At last Freja hails me. She says Wilf is asleep, and to come to their house. I slip out in the dark, watchful, but don’t see or sense anybody on the way.
She’s watching. The door opens as I reach it.
She hugs me properly this time, and I hug her back. She draws me into the small kitchen; a black-and-white cat runs in past our ankles. She tries to shoo him out but then gives up and shuts the door. We sit down, and the cat meows, then jumps on my lap.
Freja laughs. “That’s Wilf’s cat—Merlin is his name. He likes you better than me.”
“I’m so glad you’re here, Freja.”
“It’s good to see you. Are you all right?”
“Not really. No. So much has been happening. But tell me first: is what you said before the real reason you’re here?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think, I hope: that you had a reason for wanting to talk to me late at night like this.”
“Yes. We’ve got our secrets, haven’t we? And you did what we didn’t think was possible: you found Callie. Now we’ve got to work out how to get her home.”
“So you came here to find us?”
“Of course.”
I almost collapse with relief. Does that mean Kai is waiting somewhere for us to bring Callie to him? I hope it too much to say the words out loud. But there isn’t just Callie and Kai to consider now. “Things have gotten more complicated—with Xander.”