by Kat Zhang
Yellow emergency lights lit the basement like a danger zone, and we couldn’t help slowing our pace. Other than a faint buzzing, all was quiet and still. The silence amplified our breathing, the rustle of our clothes, the sound of our footsteps on the tiled floor. We passed by door after door. I peeked in all the windows, catching glimpses of examination tables and surgical lights on long, plastic arms—flashes of our nightmares. But no Hally. No doctors. Wherever they were, it wasn’t in this wing of the basement.
It didn’t take long to find the right room. The emergency lights bathed both us and the stark, sturdy door. They had cut into the boy behind this door. For no good reason, no good reason at all—
And he was the only survivor.
I could barely enter the numbers in the keypad. I got it wrong the first time and was terrified to try again. What if we had only a certain number of tries? What if an alarm went off if you did it wrong too many times? But Addie said
“Jaime,” I said. “Jaime, wake up. We have to go.”
He woke with a start and a cry. I leaped backward, ramming into Ryan. He took hold of my waist, steadying me, just for a moment. Then I had to tear myself away again so I could go closer to Jaime.
“Shh, shh,” I said, reaching out to him. “It’s just me. Do you remember me? I came the day before yesterday. We talked through the speaker.”
He neither nodded nor shook his head. He said nothing. But there did seem to be a light of recognition in his eyes.
“Can you get up, Jaime?” I said. “We’re going to take you out of here. We’re going to go upstairs, okay? Trust me, Jaime.”
He nodded, pushing aside the blankets and slowly moving his legs until they hung over the side of the bed. He managed to stand by himself, but he swayed, and I was about to reach for his arm when Ryan grabbed it instead. Jaime looked surprised, and Ryan nodded at him.
The other boy gave him a lopsided smile in response. He seemed smaller now that I could see him more clearly—small, with a shock of curly, dark-brown hair and ashen skin. Skinny. And bearing that long, curved incision line.
I was closing Jaime’s door behind us when we heard the screaming.
Ryan pressed Jaime to the side of the hall. “Stay here—”
I was already running, flashing past him.
Lissa screamed again, and this time there was a word in the terror. She cried for her brother. I careened around the corner, flying down the hall. Up ahead, I could see a glow of light. Not yellow emergency lights but brilliant fluorescent ones. The kind that lit Nornand’s other floors.
The next corner brought me to a white-lit hall, everything gleaming, almost blinding. There was only one door open, and the screaming came from within. I darted inside, Ryan a step behind me.
One guard, his back to us, arms spread. Two nurses, one holding a syringe, both wearing gloves. And a girl, thrashing and screaming and screaming and screaming and—
Ryan surged forward. I bolted after him. He shoved the security guard aside—hard. The man slammed into the wall. The nurses looked up, pale-faced and wide-eyed. Lissa’s glasses had fallen onto the ground, the white rhinestones glittering in the light.
Ryan and I reached the nurses at almost the same time—he grabbed the nurse still clutching Lissa; the other, the one holding the syringe, had already stumbled back a step. I latched on to Lissa’s arm. We yanked them apart.
The security guard had recovered his footing. I felt his hand close around our shoulder, and without thinking, without thinking at all, I smashed our foot into his knee. He grunted. I rammed our elbow into his face and that, that made him let go. There was blood. Blood and his shocked, pained cursing. One of the nurses tried to seize Lissa again. I saw the flash of the syringe, and then Ryan knocked it out of her hand. His shoe came stomping down on it, nearly snapping the needle—bending it beyond repair. He jumped forward and scooped Lissa’s glasses from the ground, tossing them to her. She slipped them on. And there we were, the three of us, the six of us, in the middle of the room, surrounded by the nurses and the guard, panting. Sweat gleamed on pale skin. The guard had taken his hand from his nose, blood dribbling on his lip. It made our stomach revolt, but we couldn’t think about it. We had to fight, still. We had to fight past them and out the door and then run, run, run.
The door. If we could just make it to the door—
For a moment, just a moment—a millisecond—everyone was still. One second. A snapshot of fear and sweat and blood.
Then the siren went off.
It sliced through everyone’s concentration—everyone’s but mine.
I already grasped Lissa’s wrist. Our eyes met Ryan’s, then flashed to the door. We ran. Everyone’s attention snapped back to us, but it was too late. The room was small. We barreled through the nurses, darted just out of reach of the guard, and made it to the door, gasping. I whirled around. Slammed the door shut. And with Ryan and Lissa helping me hold it shut against the nurses’ and the guard’s banging, I entered the code in the keypad, locking it.
The siren wailed and wailed. The same siren we’d heard our first day here. The one they’d tested us with. The one that had pushed me from our bed, now broadcasted for the whole hospital to hear.
I had a feeling this time, it wasn’t a test. This time, it was real. Something had gone wrong. Very wrong. No one in Lissa’s room had contacted anyone; none of them could have reported us. So it had to be the other kids and Dr. Lyanne. Something had happened to them.
The guard was still pounding on the thick door, his shouting muffled, barely audible over the siren’s keen. Ryan gripped our arm. Lissa’s clutch on our hand hurt, her nails digging into our bandaged palm. But the pain helped me think, even as it shot sparks of fire up our arm.
“Come on.” I jerked them both after us. “We’ve got to get Jaime. Then upstairs. Now.”
Jaime staggered toward us as soon as we came into view. He was in his night clothes, and he looked like a ghost in the corner, his dark hair in sharp contrast with his white pajamas. Lissa grabbed his arm with her free hand, pulling him behind us. But he stumbled—he stumbled and cried out and fell and we had to stop.
We could hear them. Rushed footsteps and garbled words. Back down in the direction we’d just come.
But Jaime could only go so fast, even with Lissa and me half carrying him between us. Ryan rushed back to give us a hand, and the three of us slowly, achingly slowly, helped Jaime into the stifling darkness of the stairwell.
The siren wailed its unearthly noise until I thought our heart would burst. It reverberated in the stairwell, covering up the noise of our feet against the steps. Only one floor to go.
Lissa slowly pushed open the door on the first-floor landing, and we all peered across the dim lobby. There was only one hall leading away from it. The side door would be down that hall somewhere. It couldn’t be far. And the lobby was still deserted, still safe . . .
I released Jaime.
Ryan reached for us. “What—”
“I have to go upstairs,” I said. “I’ve got to make sure the others got out.”
Lissa gaped. “Eva, that’s insane.”
I tried to swallow, but our throat was so dry. “Something’s wrong. I have to go check. I just—Kitty. Cal. The other kids . . . they—”
“Eva—” Ryan said.
“Side door,” I said. “Across the lobby. Just keep going until you find it—it can’t be far. Tell Jackson I’ll be right there.”
“No,” Lissa said. Her hair was wild
from the struggle in the basement, her cheek scratched, her eyes gleaming. She tried to grab our hand again. I pushed her forward.
“You’ve got to go, Lissa. You’ve got to get Jaime to the door before they come. He can’t go fast. You’ve got to start now.”
Still, she hesitated. She shook her head. She looked toward her brother.
“Go,” he said. “Please, Lissa. Go. We’ll be there in a second.”
Lissa wavered a moment longer. Then she nodded. I watched her slip into the darkened lobby, melting into the shadows, clutching Jaime.
“I’m going,” I said to Ryan. If I hadn’t been so stupid and lost the screwdriver, everything might have been different. Everyone might already be in Peter’s vans, zooming away to safety. This chaos, this uncertainty, was my fault. “I have to go. You can’t stop me, Ryan.”
“Then I’m going with you,” he said, and held out his hand.
I took it. We darted up the stairs. We’d just hit the third-floor landing when the lights snapped on—full strength.
I shook our head.
“Eva,” Ryan said, “if the lights are coming on, then they’re going to be searching the halls. Even if the others haven’t gotten out already, there’s no way we’re going to be able to sneak them past the guards.”
I bent down, slipping our free hand into our sock and pulling out the key I’d hidden there. The bandage on our palm slowed us down, but I managed it. “Then we’ll have to turn off the lights. All of them.” I pressed the key Dr. Lyanne had given us into his hand, along with Jackson’s map. “It’s on the topmost floor. There’s a door, a maintenance room—”
“Shut off all the lights,” he finished.
We stood in that barren stairwell, the siren screaming in the background. And suddenly, he laughed, shaking his head. “God, Eva. Do you keep everything in your socks?”
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh back or start crying. I sort of felt like doing both, so I did neither, just pushed him toward the next flight of stairs and smiled and said, “I’ll see you soon, okay? Down at the door. I’ll meet you at the side door.”
He nodded, his own smile strained.
The siren stopped.
Both our smiles fell. What did that mean?
“Go,” I said.
Ryan ran up the stairs. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the third floor.
Thirty-three
The silence was eerie. Echoes of the siren still rang in our ears. I almost missed it. At the very least, it would have covered up the noise of our footsteps as we hurried down the corridor. It would have masked the sound of our breathing. We felt naked and exposed as we moved through the hall, caught under the bright lights.
I walked as quickly and quietly as I could, but our school shoes hadn’t been made for sneaking around. They clicked softly against the floor. Finally, I slipped them off and held them in our hand.
Maybe if I hadn’t, it would have all happened very differently.
Addie and I had almost reached the end of the hall when we saw her—fairy girl in her Nornand blue. And Mr. Conivent, gripping her arm.
Neither noticed us.
Addie pressed our back against the wall next to an abandoned cart, just peeking around the corner. Mr. Conivent was only three or four feet away, but he had his back to us.
“Where are the others?” he said. Kitty closed her eyes when he shook her. “If you ever want to go home, Kitty, you’ll tell me.”
I struggled against Addie.
“I don’t know,” Kitty said. “With Dr. Lyanne and the security guards. Bridget—Bridget wouldn’t go and the nurse came and then she called the guards and—”
He shook her again, snapping her mouth shut. “I don’t mean them, Kitty. Where are Devon and Addie?”
“I don’t know—”
The cart next to us was empty but for one of those metal pans, the kind Dr. Lyanne and Dr. Wendle had used to carry their medical instruments. Slowly, Addie bent down, setting our shoes on the ground. She reached over and grasped the tray in both hands.
“I swear,” Kitty said. “I swear I don’t know. I—”
I couldn’t stand it another second.
I whirled around the corner and smashed the tray into Mr. Conivent’s back. He roared. Kitty screamed. Her eyes were huge, her face ashen. But she didn’t freeze up. She wrenched herself free and careened toward us. I grabbed her and pushed her behind us, scrabbling backward. Mr. Conivent regained his balance and twisted around, the veins in his neck harsh against his skin.
His eyes were ice. His face frozen. Gone was the sleekness, the smoothness. He was all jagged, fractured edges.
But when he spoke, his voice was still silk.
“Addie, there you are.” He smiled. Then, slowly, he reached for the walkie-talkie in his pocket and murmured, “Third floor. East wing. Now.”
Our heart galloped.
It was a stalemate now. Kitty stood behind us, and there was a good three or four yards between us and Mr. Conivent. If he lunged forward, I’d have time to leap back, and then he’d be off balance for me to attack. If Kitty and I turned to run, we’d be vulnerable to being tackled from behind.
Stalemate.
“We’re leaving,” I said. Our throat was so dry the words barely scraped through. I took a cautious step backward. “We’re leaving, Mr. Conivent.”
Mr. Conivent barked into his walkie-talkie again, “Did you hear me? I want you here now.” Then, to us: “Addie—”
“I’m not Addie,” I said. I stopped creeping backward. “I’m Eva.”
My name bubbled up my throat, sweet and clear.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr. Conivent said.
I laughed. “Ridiculous?”
“You’re sick,” he said. “You’re a sick, destructive child, and you don’t understand—”
“I’m not sick,” I said. He made to speak again, but I cut him off. “I’m not sick. Or broken. I don’t need to be fixed or cured or whatever it is you want to do.” I took a long, deep breath. I seemed to be the only one in the hall still breathing.
“Addie,” Mr. Conivent said, louder. The velvet had gone from his voice.
“I’m not Addie,” I shouted.
The lights went out.
I flew forward, swinging and feeling the metal tray connect against Mr. Conivent’s skull so hard our bones vibrated with the blow.
I backed away. He hadn’t cried out. Mr. Conivent hadn’t cried out when I struck him and now—
The emergency lights flickered on, bathing everything in the same sallow light as the basement.
Mr. Conivent lay crumpled on the ground. A doll. Nothing but a rag doll.
Oh God.
Oh God.
I dropped the tray. It smashed to the ground, the crash ringing and ringing and ringing through the halls.
Oh God.
A small, cold hand slipped into ours. Kitty. She pulled us away from the crumpled body. One step. Two. Three. We had to go. We had to go. Peter was waiting.
I nearly crushed Kitty’s hand in ours but she didn’t complain. We ran back in the direction Addie and I had come, heading for the stairs.
Ryan met us on the landing, almost crashing into us. “Did you find them? Were they there? Did they get out?”
Then he saw Kitty. She barely seemed to be holding herself together. Her hair was stuck against her cheeks, in her mouth. She clutched our hand. We felt her shaking.
She shook her head. “Bridget—Bridget wouldn’t go . . .” Her voice broke, but she pieced it back together before going on. “We ran into a nurse, and Dr. Lyanne said she was taking us somewhere, but Bridget said she was lying. She said something suspicious was going on, and—” Our hand ached from her grip. From the strength of it. “Everybody ran, but the nurse, she called th
e guards. She pulled the alarm, and—I was with Cal, but he got caught and—there were so many people. I hid until they all went away.” She took a quick, sharp breath. “I want to get out of here, Addie. I—”
“You are,” I said. “You are. Right now.”
I looked at Ryan. I thought of Cal and the other kids, even Bridget, but I looked at Ryan and I knew there wasn’t time. Not if we wanted to get Kitty and Nina to safety.
“Another time,” he said softly. “We’ll find them, Eva. All of them.”
But for now, we had to go.
Ryan’s manipulations had killed the lights in the lobby, too, but the emergency lights still glowed and security guards’ flashlights crisscrossed the air. They shouted to one another, No one here. This area’s clean—
We crouched in the doorway of the stairwell, masked by the semi-darkness, staring out into the mayhem. Hoping, praying, that Lissa and Jaime had already made it to the safety of Jackson’s promised vans.
Ryan touched our shoulder, pulling us from our thoughts. On three, he mouthed. I took Kitty’s hand and squeezed it.
One.
Two.
Three.
We were almost, almost across the lobby when one of the guards shouted after us. We didn’t slow down. I tightened our hold on Kitty’s hand.
We ran. Straight ahead. Dead end. Turn left. And there. There—the exit sign glowing red at the end of the long hall. The security guard shouting for us to stop, stop right now—
And Jackson. Jackson materializing out of the dimness, a man behind him. He reached for me, beckoning us faster. The man lifted Kitty right off her feet. And then we were outside, we were in moonlight. We were tumbling into a black van, nearly falling on top of Lissa, who threw her arms around us, and there was Jaime in the back and Ryan jumping in after us, Jackson slamming the door before scrambling into the passenger-side seat.
We pulled away, tires screeching, just as the security guard burst into the parking lot.
Thirty-four
Everything happened so fast.
The drive, the airport, the flash of identification that bore our picture but neither of our names. All passed in a blur of color and engine noise. Before we knew it, we were back on an airplane, Jaime murmuring in the seat next to ours.