We’re almost back at my room when Frankenstein turns his steely gaze on him. “Since you are unable to move, I have agreed to a very important visitor.”
My pulse jumps and I have to fight the desire to curl my fists. There is only one person who’d come visit me here. And the reason won’t be good. It never was. I can’t answer, so I just stare blankly at him in the hopes he’ll dismiss me as a threat for a little longer. It takes all my resolve not to spew every vile word I’ve ever heard as the door swishes open and I see him standing there.
He looks the same. Same dark hair and eyes. Same lean build, like Derek’s but a little more rounded with years. Lines are present that weren’t there six years ago. Flecks of white in his hair, but his manner as he regards me is, and I guess always will be, still unchangingly cool.
Frankenstein almost starts to salivate as he approaches. “Prime Minister. I was expecting the Chief Surgeon. What an honour to have you visit my ward.”
My father isn’t impressed and he makes it plain when he addresses the snivelling doctor before him. “Is he under control?”
Frankenstein swallows and uncertainty replaces his sycophantic smile. “Well. Cristan has a remarkable ability to eliminate most of our drugs from his system—”
My father cuts him off with a wave of the hand. “But not Irrelevant ones? This is why you delay the test, is it not?”
The green-eyed fiend looks so petrified that for a second I almost like my biological father until he looks at me like I’m an insect he wants to squish. His gaze travels over my shoulder to where the two nurses stand. He eyes them, then his gaze drifts to where I can guess he’s looking at the only other person in the room. “How is it that a number seven was authorised to be here, Doctor Jones?”
Frankenstein looked flummoxed, his cheeks are growing redder. He looks like he’s about to tug his shirt collar away from his neck, but he just points at the guard. “He came highly recommended. By Captain Trainor.”
My father’s lips twitch. The closest thing to a smile I’ve ever seen on him. “Of course. You may begin your test, Doctor.”
My stomach flips about. My fingers jerk in their restraints. I hold in a curse and hope no one saw me move because whatever test I’m about to take, they need me to be compliant, which, after numerous tests, over numerous years, I know is never a good sign. Even worse, he’s here for this test. Anger curls inside me. Like smoke, it creeps into my cells, filling my veins with fire that threatens to burn everyone inside the room.
I can feel it building. Feel the rage, the hatred, the desire to hurt, to damage to destroy.
Him.
He’s the reason for all of this. All this pain. All these experiments. Jed’s treatment. Mallory’s pain and heartache.
My father.
The Prime Minister. The man who decided I was no good.
And even if I die trying, I will kill him for it.
* * *
Mallory.
My hands won’t stop shaking. My legs are close to giving out, but if I stop running, I know I’ll never see Cristan again. Jackson is unconscious, deathly pale and barely breathing when we reach the vehicle. It’s eerily quiet and still as Drew scrambles inside. Kit is crying silently, her clothes and hands covered in blood that makes my stomach twist as she presses down on his wound.
Drew curses and grabs the bag from me. He rips it open and pulls out a long stick with a tiny light on the end. I’m so tired, my thoughts are muddling together, making me think I hear sounds of footsteps when there is nothing to be seen or heard. It’s a wonder Drew can see Kit, let alone do whatever it is he’s doing. As though he’s thinking the same, I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to find Drew holding the lighting implement.
“We’re going to need light, but don’t turn this on until I say so. Trey seems to have called them off, but they’ll be back soon enough. We don’t want to draw attention. Okay?”
My nod is weak and I can hardly hold my body upright, so I ease into the passenger seat and try to still my trembling hands so I’m ready when they need me. I swipe my palms down my filthy trousers and swallow past the painful lump growing in my constricted throat.
Kit and Jackson speak softly behind me, using words and terminology I don’t understand. Drew seems to know how Jackson has been injured and why he’s here, so I huddle against the seat and try to keep the warmth from escaping my body.
My eyes widen as they say something I do understand. “He’ll die without a transfusion. We can make do in the Unit, that’s if we can get him past the G men out here.”
Kit’s voice is weak. “I haven’t heard anything for a while. I’m not risking moving him. We’ll do it out here. What’s your blood type?”
Drew mumbles his response and I hear the sounds of packages being ripped open. “I’m universal, so he’s good. Keep a lookout, Mallory, and keep the light steady so Kit can see the veins. We’ll do this, then you and Kit will need to leave me here.” I look upwards to check for any sign of drones, but the night sky is strangely quiet. There are no sounds of gunfire, no indication that Trey is still out here. I switch on the light and aim it at Jackson. He looks worse now that I can see him clearly. His face is splattered with blood and it’s saturated his shirt. “I have a cauteriser,” Drew says.
Kit releases a breath and accepts the larger than usual med box from his hand. “The one time I’m actually grateful the G keep you well stocked,” she says. She rips Jackson’s shirt away from his chest and I gag and have to dig my fingernails into my palm as she presses the tip of the box to his flesh. His skin sizzles and the slightest of groans escapes from Jackson as his eyes flutter. “Yeah. I know. But it’s better than bleeding to death,” she murmurs. She adjusts him slightly, so she can lean over to take what she needs from Drew’s bag.
I’m torn between fascination and horror as Kit inserts a needle into Drew’s tattooed arm, then connects a tube. She repeats the process, all with quiet efficiency, considering she and Drew are jammed into the back seat with Jackson sprawled over her lap.
Drew looks at me and winks. “Nothing to worry about.”
I don’t even attempt to smile. I’m too busy trying not to look at the red fluid travelling down the tube towards Jackson. I start to pick the skin from around my fingers as I hold the light towards them, staring out the windscreen into the dark night surrounding us. I don’t like that it’s quiet now. The silence makes me feel as though the shadows will come to life.
I’ve never liked the dark, but in the New City, nothing is even truly dark. The lighting dims at a set time and the UV shield illuminates so that the streets are never completely dark, never like it is now. There are no streetlights to help me see what might be lurking behind broken down buildings the way Trey and I did. The only light comes from the torch I hold so Kit and Drew can see what they are doing.
It’s so quiet. So still. So unlike the city I grew up in. I peer upward and angle my neck so I can make out the moon as it hides behind clouds. I leave the exhaustion, the fear and the worry behind as I escape into the night sky. In my mind the stars are shining brilliantly. The coloured lights dance across the sky bringing light and life and love.
There is no pain in my coloured world. There isn’t room for it.
I’m so caught up in my fantasy, that I jump when Drew tells me to switch the light off. I fumble with the light stick, fingers slick, I give up as Kit hisses for me to hurry. I jam the light under my thigh and press down to hide the faint light it still emits.
All the hairs on my body stand to attention as the tell-tale signs of boots crunching on the broken road beneath us come closer. My breathing increases along with my pulse. I can’t see anything or anyone approaching, but like a whisper of unspoken thought, they are there. I can feel them waiting. Watching.
Fear starts to take hold as I see a shadow creep from out of the darkness. Kit curses from behind me. Her whispered plea holds all the terror I feel. “Not now. Please not now.”
* * *
>
Keep reading to find out if Mallory and Cristan escape the G men in the explosive conclusion to the Relevance Trilogy. Irradiate
* * *
Afterword
Dear reader,
As a mum to a boy with Autism, it is my greatest wish that before he is Cristan’s age, we will have begun to see neuro divergence as a gift to be celebrated and not something that needs to be ‘cured’ or ‘masked’.
Writing about Autism with authenticity and respect for the Autistic community was a huge challenge and not one I took on lightly.
If you enjoyed reading the second part of Mallory and Cristan’s adventure, and want to show your support for neurodiversity in YA fiction, I would be so grateful if you could leave me a short review.
Much love Sarah XX
About the Author
Sarah Addison-Fox is a misfit from New Zealand who writes action-packed fantasy with a smattering of punch ups, mega amounts of romance and a dash of family values.
She has an astonishing amount of nail polish, has all her creative writing credentials shoved in a drawer somewhere, and has a husband who, after 28 years, can still make her blush.
Stay up to date with her bookish news at www.sarahaddisonfox.com
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