Fragile Remedy

by Maria Ingrande Mora

  Nate’s mouth went dry. Brick had done that. She’d protected Reed—protected all of them. “I don’t know.”

  Calm again, as if nothing had happened, Agatha patted Juniper’s sweaty face. “If I catch you hiding something from me again, I’ll bleed your friends dry and make Remedy with every last drop. You can survive another week knowing they died because of you.”

  Juniper’s mouth hung open, slack and silent.

  A hairline crack formed in Agatha’s calm exterior, and her eyes went dark. “Look what you’ve done, distracting me with your lies.”

  Nate’s pulse hammered, a relentless flutter below his ribs. All he could see was Reed in the chair instead of Juniper—Reed gray and still like he’d been with his gut torn open. He swallowed, throat sticky. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything left to hide.”

  Agatha’s mouth became a distorted twist of amusement. “I believe that. It’s freeing, isn’t it? Stripping down bare. Nothing left but the hard truths of your life. I hope the path is clearer to you now, Nathan. You can’t run from what you are, but you can fight with it.”

  Nate gave a faint nod, staring at his knees. His pants had holes in them. His skin, usually filthy, was clean from being hosed off. His feet were bare—long-toed and thin. Big for his size.

  Fight. We can fight.

  He could get Pixel out of here. She’d spent hours getting familiar with Agatha’s machine. Familiar enough to show him how to climb it safely without releasing steam or toppling it. He’d climb up with her and lift her to the grating on the ceiling. Sparks would be close by. She’d never go far knowing Pixel was trapped underground. They’d find each other.

  The prongs made a soft sucking sound as Agatha pulled them from Juniper’s limp body. She bandaged Juniper and left her in the chair, her arms splayed out to each side.

  “You’re not the first GEM to resist us, Nathan.” Agatha wiped the prongs clean and unscrewed the tube. She dropped it into a metal bin and tucked the prongs into a cabinet attached to the machine. “You’d be the first I’d have to kill, but I’d do it in an instant if it meant protecting the rest of my flock. I don’t care who your mother is.”

  Is?

  Before Nate could ask what Agatha meant, she left the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

  Pixel leaned over the edge of the top bunk. “Now?”

  “Not yet.” Nate’s heartbeat kicked up. His thoughts scattered. Too much to consider at once. “Maybe.”

  This is our chance.

  The door opened, heavy hinges creaking, and Agatha came back in with a handful of plastic ties. Dread washed over Nate, and he scrambled to his feet. “You don’t have to—”

  She took him by the wrist with an iron grip, yanked his hands to the edge of the bunk, and fastened him to the metal.

  “Agatha—”

  There was no use protesting. She was too strong. She caught his flailing hand and fastened it as quickly as the first. The sharp edge of the plastic pinched the thin skin at his wrist. He tugged without thinking, testing the hold. His wrist didn’t budge. Trapped, Nate struggled harder. His arms stretched out painfully, one to the side of the bunk and the other to the bunk above. He was exposed.

  Helpless.

  He couldn’t get Pixel out like this.

  Agatha’s hands slipped into his hair, and this time he knew what to expect and froze. She clenched her fingers very slowly, not quite tugging.

  “Good. You’re wise to settle down. I have errands to run. And sadly, I can’t trust a Tinkerer roaming free around my precious things,” she said. “Pixel, there’s clean water in the bucket here. Give some to Juniper if she wakes, and feel free to give some to Nathan if he asks for it. I trust you’ll be a good girl?”

  “Yes.” Pixel climbed down and perched behind Nate, her pointy chin on his shoulder. He could feel the coiled tension in her body, but she kept her voice light and made herself small. “What if Nate has to go to the bathroom?”

  Agatha laughed. “I won’t be gone that long. I’m sure he can hold it. This is to keep you safe too, little one. Nothing bad will happen to you if you stay here. With me.”

  She left without another word. The lock clicked behind her.

  Pixel jutted her chin. “I wish she’d fall in the sludge and die.”

  Nate couldn’t help laughing, the sound wet and short. “Me too.”

  His tired smile quickly faded, and panic that began as a tickle expanded until it pinched his lungs as hard as the ties at his wrists.

  He started tugging.

  He needed his hands.

  He couldn’t do anything without his hands.

  They were useless, already swelling up, trapped against the bed. The ties were too tight. There wasn’t enough air down here, no windows, no wind.

  Nothing but blood and the musty smell of death.

  Horror gripped him, snagging his breath, graying his vision. It smothered his thoughts and left room for nothing but terror and the thunderous beating of his heart.

  This was no place for Pixel. He had to get her out. He was supposed to get her out. He couldn’t get her out.

  “Nate!” Pixel climbed around him and stood with her hands at her hips. Her eyes glittered. Hard. Determined.

  She took a deep breath and dumped the bucket of water over his head.

  Breath catching on a ragged gasp, Nate stared at her. Cold water soaked his shirt, dripped down his face and sputtered at his lips.

  The panic didn’t go away, but it became something he could give a name to. And then he could breathe again. Tears and water ran trickled down his cheeks.

  “I’m stuck,” he finally managed, unable to find more words to explain.

  Pixel narrowed her eyes. “I saw.” She nodded toward one of his wrists, where blood ran down his forearm. The thin, hard plastic had cut through his skin. “Stop flopping and hurting yourself and tell me what to do.”

  Her courage startled him into a breathless smile. “Pix. You should be the one in charge.”

  She grinned, brilliant white baby teeth and the crooked adult ones crowded together. Her small, warm hands wiped the water out of his eyes. “When I’m in charge, I’m not gonna hurt anybody.”

  Nate’s chest ached. “I believe that,” he said, voice thick. He bowed his head and shuddered, trying to gain control of the lingering impulse to fight the ties at his wrists.

  Pixel still had a chance.

  She coaxed him to look up. When he blinked, more tears fell, and she kissed him on the tip of his nose.

  “Pixel. You have to go without me.”

  “Go where?”

  “Up.” He nodded toward the grating. “All the way up.”

  He’d send her to the stars if he could.

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  “It’ll only be for a little while. You have to go first. And even if I weren’t stuck, I might not be able to climb into the places you can.”

  She sucked in a loud, deep breath, squared her shoulders, and blew it out. “I’m ready.”

  Nate exhaled hard. No more crying. They had work to do.

  “Do you have the tool?”

  Pixel produced a small wrench from her boot—swiped as she’d tailed Agatha. It wasn’t much to work with, but it was better than nothing. Nate fought the urge to tug his wrists again and tilted his head, directing her attention to the still.

  “It’ll slow her down if she gets distracted by the still being messed up. We don’t want to break it permanently—just make it hard to fix. If the bolts are too tight, skip them.”

  “I’m strong.”

  “You have to be strong enough to keep moving, Pix. Go!”

  She darted for the still and climbed the rounded edge of a tank, gripping her boots against the thick bolts that circled it, connecting it to the tubes that ran toward the cei
ling. There was one playground in all of the Withers, the only one that hadn’t been made of wood and scrapped in the winter. Kids still played on it. He’d taken Pixel to it a few times.

  “Watch out for the hot pipes!”

  “I know,” Pixel said. “I listened. This is the c-c-condenstated part.”

  Climbing toward the ceiling, she wore the same look of determined joy she’d had on the decaying playground. Children in the Withers had to fight for this. Climbing. Falling. Swinging. Laughing. Every unfettered moment hard-won.

  “Wait,” he said.

  Juniper groaned where she sprawled across the chair, and he quieted.

  “That part there. Can you get the bolts?”

  “I think so.” Pixel crouched, straddling a wide pipe, and twisted the wrench. She stuck her tongue out and grimaced. “But this isn’t the right spot. If I do it over here, instead, it’ll make that part there fall, see? It’ll take her ages to fix it.”

  He hadn’t considered it that way before, and she was right. “Yes! Keep going.”

  “Almost. Got it!”

  A bolt fell to the ground and rolled into the drain. She started on the next.

  He’d planned on guiding her through dismantling the key elements of the still, but she was working too quickly for him to keep up. It was like watching a flame grow. She understood the machine without needing a word of instruction.

  Agatha had tech and tools from Gathos City, but there was no way she could quickly repair the Diffuser. It would give Pixel time to run and give the gang time to get away, to hide themselves away from the Breakers.

  Pixel’s foot slipped and kicked a glass tube that rang out like a low bell but didn’t crack. Fear knotted Nate’s shoulders.

  If they broke it, that was something else entirely. Not an escape, but an end.

  He didn’t know if he could do it—if he could kill that beautiful machine and his only chance to survive on the Remedy it distilled.

  “Nate!” Pixel called out, shooting him an impatient glare. She’d already made her way higher, and another bolt fell and rolled. “Is it enough?”

  “It’s perfect. You need to hurry now. Can you reach the grating?”

  He held his breath as she squeezed between a grid of pipes and balanced on a thin beam over the core of the still where the Diffuser rested behind its thin metal panel. Everything shone around her in the gleam of the lights hanging from the ceiling. She reached the grating, made herself as tall as she could, and pushed her fingers through the holes.

  Nate slumped with relief. She was tall enough to reach without a boost.

  “Don’t worry about it. Get up and see if you can climb out.”

  Pride warmed Nate’s chest as Pixel unfastened the grating without asking for his help and carefully turned it to balance it across the opening without dropping it. She shoved the wrench back into her shoe, crouched, and leaped up to grab the edge of the grating.

  Her fingers slipped, and she fell.

  “Pix!” he shouted.

  Juniper stirred.

  Gasping, Pixel held still a long moment, draped over the pipe she’d landed on belly-first. “Wind. Knocked. Outta me.”

  Nate didn’t breathe either, not until she rose back to a crouch and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Go slow.”

  “I know how to do it.”

  The next time she jumped, she caught the edge of the grating and didn’t let go. She swung her body back and forth, gaining momentum, and curled her legs up to hook her heels into the hole. It only took her a few more counts to squirm her small body up into the ductwork.

  “Nate. What now?”

  “Fix the hole. Keep going, Pix.”

  The metal made a tinny, grinding sound as she replaced the grating.

  It was like she’d never been there at all.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Can you move?” Nate asked. Talking to an empty room and a sleeping girl made his skin prickle up.

  “Not much.” Pixel’s muffled voice wavered in and out. Dust rained down from the grating, and she sneezed. “Where do I go?”

  “Out and up. Don’t stop or turn back.” Without Pixel there to chide him, he tested the ties at his wrists compulsively. The plastic dug deeper, stinging. “Try to find an opening in the pipe that goes up, but don’t get in it if you can’t get out. Go, Pixel. Get going.”

  “Nate.”

  “You have to go.”

  The sound of her quiet crying slowly faded. He closed his eyes and hung his head, sick with relief and hope. The windowless room had to have good ventilation, or they’d die from the fumes of the furnace. Pixel was small. She’d fit. She’d get out.

  A rustling sound caught Nate’s attention. He looked up and frowned. Something was different.

  Juniper wasn’t in the chair anymore.

  He twisted in a panic, searching the room. She couldn’t have gone far.

  She came at him from the corner of his vision. Her dress and loose pants fluttered like beating wings. There wasn’t any time to brace himself against her fury.

  “What did you do?” she yelled, tackling into his middle, angular and stronger than she seemed.

  Pain blinded him as his shoulder made a sickening wrenching sound and popped. The ties sliced into his tender flesh. For a horrible moment, he thought his arm had ripped clean off. Pain enveloped him, hot as flames.

  Juniper was screaming, draped across his lap like a sack of rocks—as if she’d used every last bit of her strength to come at him. “Where is she?” Rage distorted her voice. “Where did she go?”

  Nate drew his legs up and drove his heel into her gut, sending her sprawling back. Blood spread from the bandage at her hip. She tried to push herself up, and her arms gave out.

  “Nate?” Pixel shouted, the sound dampened.

  He yelled, “Keep going!”

  Juniper’s eyes widened. “You’re letting her get away! She’ll die out there. She’ll burn.”

  “You’d rather keep her here? Look at you!” Nate tripped on a sob. His shoulder was on fire, wrenched from its socket. He twisted, trying to relieve the pain, but every movement made it worse. He choked, stomach heaving.

  He was going to get Pixel out, no matter what it took. All he had to do now was buy her time. She was smart and quick. Once she got to the surface, she’d find a way to reach the gang. The more he got Juniper to think and talk, the farther Pixel would get before Agatha got back, caught on, and made him pay.

  “Look at us,” he said. “Is this any better?”

  Juniper rolled over and struggled onto her hands and knees. Her arms shook violently. Sweat matted her hair to her face. When she turned a feral gaze on him, he shrank back and hissed at the pull at his shoulder. “Agatha won’t have to kill you for this, because I will,” she said. “And she’ll be so proud of me.”

  “Go ahead.” Nate choked on every word. The fiery pain at his shoulder radiated down his back. He was drowning in it. “I’d rather be dead than live like this. You’re no better off than you were in Gathos City.”

  “You don’t know that!” Juniper’s voice became an eerie shriek, guttural and high-pitched at once.

  He imagined her tearing him apart with her delicate fingernails. His head swam. He wondered if he’d pass out before she made it to him. If Agatha would find nothing but his hands dangling from the bed frame like ornaments.

  Keep going, Pixel. Keep going.

  Deep booming sounded at the door.

  Juniper straightened, stiff as a scared cat. She sat back on her heels slowly.

  Nate gasped, pain squeezing his lungs. “What is that?”

  “Not Agatha. And the Breakers she keeps up front to guard us don’t knock.” Her breath whistled. “They never come in. They’re not allowed in.”

  The bone at the top of Nate’s arm
made a wrenching, scratching sound. “If it isn’t Agatha or her guards, who is it?” he asked, the words slurring as his ears buzzed.

  Juniper lost her balance. She drew her knees up and hugged them. Nate was struck again by her childish nature. She wasn’t a kid, but she’d never grown up either.

  “I don’t know,” she said. The fury in her eyes was gone, replaced by wide-eyed, tearful fear.

  Nate blinked sweat from his eyes. “Whoever it is, they won’t be able to get that door unlocked without tools. Trust me, I tried when it was on the train.”

  Metallic clanging rang out.

  Juniper whimpered. “That sounds like tools.”

  “Then they’ll get in here pretty soon!” Nate shouted.

  If she gave up now, she’d spoil any chance they had to survive.

  “Juniper! You have to do something.”

  She looked at the ceiling grating. “I can’t climb. I’m too tired.”

  “Get me free.” Nate coiled his good arm. The tie didn’t give. Blood ran down his forearm from his wrist. “I can help you up.”

  “You can’t help me. You’re as small as I am.” Her gaze darted to the ties and the blood, indecision plain on her features. “And Agatha would be mad.”

  “She won’t be mad if you’re safe because you let me help you.”

  “You’re trying to trick me!” The shriek returned, weaker now, but still as eerie—like wind down an alley. “I’m not stupid. This is all a trick.”

  The clanging rang out, louder and echoing. Nate strained to listen—struck by the memory of early morning knocks at the hatch door of their old hideout. A flicker of hope snuffed away. No pattern sounded. No message from Reed in his secret code. Only violent banging and groaning hinges. It sounded like a beast behind the door—something angry. Something hungry.

  “Let me go!” Nate yelled over the sound of Juniper’s terrified moans. He jerked his hand senselessly, ignoring the searing pain at his wrist, caught up in the momentum of her fear. “Cut these rotting ties, Juniper!”