Limerence: Book Three of The Cure (Omnibus Edition)

by Charlotte McConaghy

  I spot the hatch, but just as I’m about to reach it, the smoke clears to reveal several figures. Falon Shay has a knife at Shadow’s throat. Bloods surround them, their weapons pointed at us. Zachariah and I freeze.

  As the smoke evaporates almost entirely I meet my father’s eyes across the short distance. His hands are cuffed and he is gaunt with pain from whatever they’ve been doing to him, but I can see a lot of things in his eyes that make me think he might not have been cured yet. He stands as straight as he always did, his shoulders square, his jaw set.

  They’re saying things but I can’t hear them. One of the Bloods opens the hatch and I watch Luke climb out, hands raised. He spots me, spots Shadow and the minister, takes it all in and then says something short.

  I see fear flash through Shay’s eyes. Without another word he sheathes his knife into Shadow’s abdomen. It happens in slow motion. Soundless and terrible and unstoppable. My eyes fly up to Shadow’s and I see nothing but dull shock.

  Before anyone can react, the earth trembles. A mighty crack seems to rend it. We’re all thrown from our feet, every one of us. I still have my weapon and in the chaos I roll onto my side and try to find Shay in my sights. Too much is happening. There are literal cracks in the earth now. The ground ruptures and I see fissures sucking people in. I can’t work out where Shadow is. I barely stop myself from sliding down an incline to one of the cracks.

  Then I spot Luke dragging Shadow toward the hatch. They’re both bleeding. Bloods are behind them, struggling upright. From the ground I shoot one man in the head, then another. Someone takes hold of my shoulders and pulls me to the hatch. I don’t stop firing, trying to give Luke as much cover as possible. Where’s Falon Shay? He’s always squirming his way out of trouble, the scumbag. I can’t see him – only floating dust and debris. I think there’s ash falling from the sky. It looks like snow.

  It’s Zachariah who’s pulling me, and we reach the hatch just behind Luke and Shadow. They climb in and we follow. There’s an awful whining sound in my left ear. My head pounds.

  Below me, Luke is fitting Shadow with an air tank and hose. I grab the third and hurriedly try to fit it.

  Zachariah is saying something, shouting it. Luke is shaking his head. He looks at me, makes a motion with his hand, easily read as leave him. He points at the three mouthpieces. We don’t have a fourth. I look up at Zachariah. His eyes plead with me; the desperation is as loud as a scream.

  Please, his lips mouth.

  I make a decision I’ll probably come to regret: I nod and pull him down into the freezing water with me and we’re off. Pummelled along at a breakneck pace, freezing cold water above and below and I have no idea which way is up but I’ve somehow managed to hold on to Zachariah’s hand and he’s holding on to mine and I pass him my mouthpiece and we’re flying.

  Chapter 7

  March 8th, 2067

  Josephine

  We get wounded a lot. Basically, if everyone comes home from a mission unscathed it’s some kind of creepy miracle we don’t trust. Therefore we keep gurney beds at different spots in the tunnel, which is how we come to be currently sprinting through the underground systems with an unconscious Shadow nearly careening off his wheeling stretcher every time we round a corner.

  I am so so sick of running through these damn tunnels while someone’s life is seeping out of them in a red sticky trail. I’m so sick of being chased by Bloods and Furies and our own mortality.

  But.

  But at least we have him. Shadow, aka Phillipe Luquet, aka my long lost father, is finally free of the fucking Prime Minister and here, with me, within touching distance. After six months of not knowing whether or not he’s alive. This feels like the much bigger miracle.

  *

  It’s the second time Claire has patched Shadow up. Last time it was in her home, with a bullet in his guts. Now a knife has tried to do the job, and this time she doesn’t have Rabbit to finish his medical treatment for her. This time Claire’s on her own.

  At least that’s what I think until someone else steps forward.

  The infirmary is in chaos. People are running around trying to deal with getting Shadow to a table, getting the right medical supplies, arguing over what to do and basically just getting in each other’s way. Claire is panicking for the first time since I’ve known her. I can see her looking at the wound and not having any idea what to do. I can feel myself leaning toward a panic attack of my own and Luke is roaring at everyone to shut up and get out of the way and then—

  “I can operate on him.”

  We all turn – seemingly all four billion of us – to see Zachariah.

  “Who the hell are you?” Pace demands at the same time several other mouths voice the same query.

  “You’re not going anywhere near him,” Luke says. “In fact, you’re coming with me.”

  “Wait.”

  Luke pauses to look at me.

  Zachariah and I exchange a long gaze. My heart is pounding its way out of my chest. “You know how?”

  “It’s the only thing I know.”

  “Yes. Okay. Do it.”

  “Josi! He’s the minister’s son, for god’s sake!”

  I turn to Claire. “Can you do this on your own? Honestly?”

  She giggles: her cure short-circuiting. Quickly she snaps her mouth shut and shakes her head.

  “Zachariah, do it. But if he dies, you die.”

  He nods once, not remotely perturbed by my macabre ultimatum.

  Turns out Luke’s been shot but it’s shallow, so he sits nearby to be tended to by his mother. I stick to Zachariah’s side, watching every move he makes and passing him the things he needs. I want to see precisely what he’s doing so I can remember it in case something goes wrong. He has extraordinary hands; the way his fingers move is more delicate than anything I’ve ever witnessed. Flesh is knitted back together with the tiniest stitches, the most nimble and tender of touches. It takes hours to repair everything but he doesn’t stop or even pause for a break. He doesn’t ask for water and he doesn’t stretch his own muscles. He just works and works and works and when he’s finished Shadow is whole again.

  And I think even if he betrays us, even if this is a trap, it will have been worth it. For me, anyway.

  *

  My ears are still ringing hours later. I have one of the worst headaches of my life and no matter how much aspirin I down it won’t ease. I’m still wearing the filthy, ripped white dress and my five tons of eyeliner have made their way over the entirety of my face. I need bed, badly, but first I have a matter to attend to.

  In the middle of the arena is Zachariah, both his ankles tied by rope to either side of the silo. He can’t go anywhere like that, so he’s sitting calmly on the mats. Around him stand Luke, Will, Pace and Eric. Blue is lurking to the side because he gravitates to any drama like a gossip leech.

  Luke moves to meet me apart from the others. “How’d you get him to come?” is the first thing he asks.

  I shrug.

  “Josi, I don’t care what it is, I just need to know what tactic you used.”

  “I gave him the idea of freedom.”

  “And he just went for it?”

  “I’m persuasive.”

  “Did you let him think he could have you?”

  “Have me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not a possession.”

  “Did you or didn’t you?” he snaps.

  I sigh and nod.

  “Did you kiss him?”

  “Sorta.”

  Luke considers. “Okay, you’re not trained for that kind of manipulation but it’s something we could use to get him talking. Let him think there’s still something between you and that you’re working on getting the rest of us to trust him. Keep it subtle.”

  “He wants to be here. We don’t have to manipulate him.”

  “Josi, he’s a hostage and he’s going back once we figure out what to trade him for. While he’s our captive we gotta squeeze
him for all he’s got.”

  “By making him believe I like him?” I ask. “This sounds more like something you’d be good at. You’ve got the experience, after all.”

  Luke gives me a pained look that seems to say please, not now.

  I bite my tongue, too tired to argue. We go back to the others in time to hear Pace say, “I reckon we should cure him. Serve the posh little bastard right.”

  “Shut up, Pace,” I snap. “No one’s doing anything to him.”

  She is taken aback at my tone but doesn’t say anything.

  I look at Zachariah. “Thank you,” I say, and there’s no manipulation in it, only genuine gratitude.

  He nods once. His eyes dart between Luke and me and I can see him trying to work out who fits where and whether or not he’s been played.

  “Come on. Bed,” Luke orders everyone and then I’m alone with our hostage.

  “There’ll be guards at the entrance,” I warn him. “But you can sleep. No one’ll hurt you.”

  He nods once more.

  “Sorry about the ropes. I didn’t …” I sigh and just about forget the English language.

  “I get it. You have to be careful. Get some sleep, Dual.”

  “My name’s Josephine Luquet.”

  Zachariah extends his hand and I shake it. “Pleased to meet you, Josephine Luquet. I always kind of figured you’d change my life, but I never thought it would be like this.”

  I pull my hand out of his, uncomfortable with the things he seems to mean. I let my expression grow firmer. “Don’t make me regret bringing you down here, Zachariah Shay. These are the only people I love, and if you endanger them the world will get very ugly for you.”

  He nods and I can see in his eyes that he believes me.

  I can see in his eyes that he might even fear me.

  I wonder when I became a person to be feared.

  *

  March 9th, 2067

  Luke

  My sleep is fitful. My ribs are killing me and I can’t stop thinking about the young man we brought into the tunnels. I’ve got a bad feeling about him. It was too easy.

  Without Will’s bomb – the power of which we sadly underestimated – we’d be dead now, and that’s a direct result of not having a solid plan. Or much of a plan at all. We barreled in there without any info and a really unpredictable failsafe, and we did it because I can’t say no to Josephine Luquet.

  “It worked and we’re all alive,” she mutters halfway between dreaming and waking, knowing the exact reason I can’t sleep.

  I don’t reply. I just lie here and worry about the next time something bad happens to someone she loves, because it apparently means the rules go out the window.

  *

  I keep dreaming about Doctor Meredith Shaw, the smudge of her dark hair and the white of her pale hand as she opened the gate to the Inferno and was swallowed up by a swarm of Furies. I keep dreaming about how small she looked in the distance, the shape of her and the terrible leaden weight of my own feet in reaching her. I dream again and again of not being able to stop her in time. Sometimes the tragedy of her loss is what wakes me, other times I hate her for the inexplicably violent act of opening that gate, and other times I wake with the undeniable knowledge that we can’t keep living like this: we have to exterminate the monsters trying to eat us. Because once again there are enemies within who might want to let them.

  *

  This morning the tunnels are abuzz with news of Shadow and Zachariah. We’ve got people rotating on guard duty for the hostage, bringing him food and water and escorting him on trips to the toilet. He’s been utterly silent. As far as I know he hasn’t spoken a word to anyone since he saved Shadow, and even then his words were solely reserved for Josephine. His gaze is one of the cruellest I have ever seen, and I’ve started thinking it might be a blessing he hasn’t spoken whatever dark thoughts fill his head. As for Shadow, Mom is monitoring him closely but he still hasn’t woken.

  Josi spends the day at her father’s side. I spend it patrolling and checking our fortifications, as I do every day. I spend it cooking tonight’s meal with some of the kids and thinking thinking thinking. Training has been called off while Zachariah is held in the arena. We need a better place for him but the rest of the tunnels are usually filled with people and at least with the silo there’s only one way in and out, and we can keep a constant eye on him.

  I lie out the loaves of dough and then slide them into the single brick oven. Unlike the other fireplaces, we built this one by filing bricks at specific angles so they’d sit firmly together in a circular shape without needing any mortar. The roof of the oven has a dip in it, and by lighting the fire slightly to the side of this, the heat moves in a circular motion to ensure it cooks everything evenly. And best of all – there’s no smoke. I leave Coin and Malia to watch the timer and make sure the bread doesn’t burn.

  “No making out,” I warn them. “I do not want a repeat of what happened last time, got it?”

  They mumble in agreement, remembering the twenty loaves they let ruin while distracted by each other’s mouths.

  I visit Dad in the storeroom. He’s always in here doing inventory. He likes to keep busy and when his Parkinson’s is bad he can’t build or repair anything so he just comes here to be near all the supplies. It must be really shit to live down here and not be physically well enough to keep active. I mean, it must literally be like the most boring thing ever. I shudder at the thought. At least most of us can go running through the pitch-black stinking damp tunnels, but he just has to … be in them.

  “We need anything?” I ask him.

  He pokes his head up from behind a stolen street sign. I have no idea what we’ll use that for, but it’ll be something. Everything can be used down here. “Nails. Always nails.”

  “Got it.”

  “Superglue. A larger drill bit. New electrical cables – it’s not good to use the same ones forever, Lukey, they short out the generators.”

  I nod. It’s always the same list. We do what we can, but food, medicine and warm clothes take priority. “You heard about the new kid?”

  “There’s always a new kid.”

  “This one’s the prime minister’s son.”

  “So he is. You’re kidnapping people now are you, son?”

  I don’t know what to say to that. There’s only one lamp lit in here and the space feels oppressively cramped within its glow.

  “What do you plan on doing with him?”

  “We’ll get information. And we’ll trade him for something we need.” Even as I say this I know it’s not true. There’s a pit in my stomach because the kid has seen too much. He knows where we are and that means he can’t go back to his dad. As far as everyone else is concerned, he’ll be traded, but I have to bear the burden of the truth.

  “Like chattel.”

  I sigh. “Yes, Dad, like chattel.”

  “What do you think the boy wants?”

  “I don’t care what he wants.”

  “What a fine leader you will make for the new world.”

  I shake my head, abruptly annoyed. “I won’t be any kind of leader. It’s not my job.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Stop being obtuse, Dad.”

  He gives a wheezing laugh. His shaking gets worse. I try to help him into a chair but he pulls away from me. “Leave it.”

  “What do you want from me? I’m doing my best.”

  “I don’t want anything from you. I want plenty of things for you, my boy.”

  “Like what?”

  “Honor. Integrity. Courage.”

  The blow lands and it hurts. “I’m trying to get us out of these tunnels. I’m trying to win a war. He’s an asset. Honor’s got nothing to do with anything anymore.”

  Dad walks slowly around the table and puts his trembling hand on the back of my neck. He holds it tight enough to pinch my skin and I can feel that shake shake shake in my bones. “Slow, my boy,” he says. “Slow right down. You r
ush, you hurt people.”

  “He’s our enemy.”

  “Only if you make him so.”

  “It’s like you’re living in a little fantasy bubble down here. People are gonna get hurt no matter how fast or slow we go. We’re enemies of the regime. We plan to overthrow it. Do you think that’ll happen with hugs and kisses?”

  “Kidnapping a boy and holding him against his will is not doing your best, Luke. It’s crossing a line.”

  I stare at him, and then I leave.

  *

  I’m more rattled than I realize by the conversation with Dad. At dinner I forget to eat until Eric flicks me in the side of the head and declares his intention to steal my portion unless it gets hoovered within ten seconds. Instead of eating it or giving it to his greedy black hole of a mouth, I take it to the arena.

  Zachariah is lying on his back but sits up when he hears me. I put the plate in front of him and sit down. He doesn’t eat, just looks at me with those weird black eyes.

  “So here’s the thing,” I start softly. “You went with Josi pretty easily, which, as I see it, means one of three possibilities. Either you saw an opportunity with her. She’s a beautiful woman. Maybe you’ve never met anyone like her. She likes you. You’re young, lonely. I get it. Possibility two: you just wanted to get the fuck out of that place with its perfect lawns and water fountains and falseness. I get that too. Or possibility number three: you saw an opening, you took it. Your plan is to leave here and tell your dad exactly where we are, what we’re doing, and how to kill us.” I lean in a little closer. “Believe it or not, Zachariah, I get that one too. I understand about money and influence and status and power. I understand the roles we fit into. I understand misplaced certainty.”

  His expression doesn’t shift in the slightest.

  “I don’t mind which it is, mate, I just want you to tell me. You won’t get hurt no matter the answer.”

  Zachariah tilts his head and gives a soft sigh. An exhalation of breath. It’s a funny thing, that little sigh. I wonder if he has any idea how young it makes him seem. I wonder if that was his intention.