by Trisha Leigh
“They can find his mind in the Other hive.”
I nod. “The best we can hope for is to keep him out here, stall them so we have enough time to grab our things and go.”
Without a word, Lucas reaches out his hands and places them on the surface of the stream. The water freezes, first around his hands but stretching all the way to the other bank in a matter of seconds. Only Deshi’s eyes, nose, and mouth remain above the solid surface, his body sealed beneath the ice.
“Let’s go.” Lucas struggles to his feet, grimacing with each tiny movement.
“Lucas, you’ve got to tell me if something’s wrong with you.”
“It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”
I don’t believe him, but have no choice other than to follow as we cover the rest of the way to the boundary and climb it. For the first time it takes Lucas longer than me. He’s hobbling and gasping for breath by the time we reach the Crawfords’. His hands are on fire, hot even to my touch.
He jerks out of my grasp and starts toward the house. “I’ll meet you out back in five minutes. Five minutes, Althea. No longer.”
Light snores waft from under Mr. Morgan’s door and make me question what’s real, if the events that transpired in the Wilds these past two nights are a dream. My filthy hands and jeans, along with the stunned horror gurgling inside me, convince me they actually happened.
I run to the bedroom to grab a duffel bag. In goes a pile of warm clothes, along with a couple of blankets, Lucas’s note holder, and a toothbrush. As an afterthought I toss in a couple of textbooks, unsure of what information we might need in the weeks to come. Down in the kitchen I sneak bread, crackers, and bottles of water in with the clothes.
In four minutes I’m on the back porch, breath expelling frosty clouds into the air. The first snowflakes of the year drift down, dusting the early morning grass. Lucas is still inside. In the silence, another line from Lucas’s booklet rings in my mind, a group about children being beyond the control of their parents and how times are always changing.
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command…
For the times they are a-changin’.
After the massive, life-altering revelations of the past two days the words seem written especially for me.
Lucas and I are, without a doubt, beyond the command of our parents. All of them. The times are changing. I’ve felt it all autumn; change thick in the air, choking me. It started when the Others found out I existed, and it’s not going to stop until they capture me. Or until Lucas and I figure out a way to stop them from ruining this planet.
For the times they are a-changin’.
I’ve hardly slept in three days and my eyes feel as though someone poured sand inside them and then stomped around on it. The five-minute mark comes and goes. Anxiety blooms, Lucas’s face flashing through my mind in a pattern until an aching need pulses through me. He said not to be late.
Grabbing my bag off the deck beside me, my feet take off running. I stop in the Crawfords’ backyard, intending to peer through the kitchen window and survey the situation. I need to see him, to make sure he’s okay.
On my tiptoes in the new snow, I poke my head up and peek through the blinds into the kitchen. It’s empty. Nerves wrestle in my stomach, tangling like my hair in the wind; I can’t wait another moment. The back door opens easily with a push. My wet sneakers drip snow across the clean tiles on my way to the stairs.
It’s not quite four a.m. on Wednesday morning, so there’s no reason to think the Crawfords aren’t slumbering away, dreaming mindless dreams about whatever the Others approve. The house is identical to my own, so I take a guess that Lucas’s room will be in the same spot as mine.
The comforter is dark gray with cream-colored sheets peeking out from underneath. Lucas’s familiar wintery scent lingers on his things. At first it seems deserted, this place where he should be, but as I turn to make sure I haven’t missed him somehow, I see a bare foot sticking out of the closet.
Inside, a dark bloodstain seeps into the carpet underneath Lucas’s body.
CHAPTER 27.
On my knees at his side, I reach out a tentative hand, nearly collapsing from relief at the sight of his chest moving up and down. It seems too shallow, but I am not a Healer. His skin, though, I know is wrong—it’s too hot. Cold beads of water sprinkle his forehead and upper lip, making his neck and arms slippery. He must have been changing his clothes, as he’s in his undershorts, the wound on his leg burning bright red. Streaks reach from the festering center up and down, toward his ankle on one end and disappearing under his shorts in the opposite direction.
Distress over his health and our dwindling chances of disappearing from Danbury before Deshi returns presses against me like a malevolent shadow, stealing my breath and shunting hope away.
“Lucas,” I whisper as loud as I dare. When he doesn’t respond, I touch my hands to his cheeks, shaking him.
His eyes flutter, trying to open, but only the whites show and he mumbles something unintelligible. Tears gather in my throat, but I swallow them and bite my bottom lip before smacking Lucas’s face. When that gets me no response, I sit back on my heels to think. The taste of blood coats my tongue from where I chewed through the skin on my lip. We’re supposed to be running away right now, escaping this place and our troubles.
But Lucas can’t run. I can’t carry him like this. And I’m not leaving without him.
My thoughts race, searching for impossible, hidden answers to the question of what on Earth I’m supposed to do now. A set of violent shudders wrack Lucas’s strong shoulders and slide down his body, eliciting a sharp, unconscious cry as his leg scrapes the carpet. The only real option squeezes my heart in a vise.
I’m going to have to get Lucas a Healer.
He’s hurt far beyond my ability to help him alone. Something about that animal scratch has infected him from the inside, perhaps even spread to his blood. I want to get away, but Lucas needs medicine. His life trumps my escape, and I cling to the hope that Deshi will remain out of commission long enough for a Healer to fix Lucas and for the two of us to get out after all.
It’s hard to talk around the throbbing mess in my throat, so I lean down and press my lips to Lucas’s cheek. He calms, at least it seems that way to me, and the shudders lessen to shivers. “I’m sorry. You need help, and I’m not leaving you alone. I’m not.”
I get up from the carpet and take two steps to Lucas’s nightstand. I can’t call for help, can’t be caught here with him, but the Crawfords can. My arm swings in a calculated arc, swiping the table lamp into the wall. It smashes into pieces, the shattering ceramic loud enough to wake Lucas’s fake parents. I hope they’re not deep sleepers.
The inside of the shower is dry and dark, and I wipe silent tears with the back of my hand while I hide and wait. The Crawfords don’t disappoint me, creeping down the hallway moments after the noise interrupted the early morning stillness.
“I’m telling you, Robert. I heard something.” A woman’s voice, tired and scratchy, winds its way through the cleansing room doors.
“We’ll just make sure Lucas is asleep and then—” The man’s whispered reassurance breaks off with a gasp.
“What happened to him? That’s a lot of blood.”
“I don’t know, Janet,” he answers.
Shuffling sounds tell me they’re checking out Lucas’s condition, and I bite my lip to keep from shouting for them to contact a Healer. After what feels like hours, Mr. Crawford leaves the room to place the call. I wait another lifetime—but probably it’s less than five minutes—before feet trample up the stairs.
“Can you tell me what happened?” asks a voice that is not Other at all.
It might be a trick of the imagination, but it sounds like the same portly, mustached Healer who came to our house the night Mrs. Morgan was taken away.
Mrs. Crawford’s response comes quickly, steady and strong. “We heard a crash and it woke us. When we came
upstairs to check on Lucas, we found him in the closet with the blood on the floor.”
“How did he get this cut on his leg?”
“We don’t know.”
“I think your son will be fine, although he does have a nasty infection and requires immediate treatment. He’ll need to be observed, so I’ll need to report this incident. Where is the communicator?”
The Healer and Mr. Crawford leave the room again, and the similarities to my own experience slick my palms and neck with sweat. I had hoped the Healer would simply give Lucas a pill to make him better. If he reports this to the same Other who required Mrs. Morgan to be taken to a Regional Healer, Deshi will be informed of the development once he’s rescued.
Springs squeak, and the image of Mrs. Crawford sitting on the edge of the bed heats my blood further. I would give anything to be out there holding Lucas’s hand, trying to soothe him, but she’s not even touching him. My heart breaks in half at the thought that he might feel scared and alone.
This time when the stairs creak, more than one pair of feet pound the thin carpet. The cold slam of their Other-like gait shrinks me into the cold tile, both to get as far away as possible and to use it to cool the fire slinking under my skin.
The voices in the room now are clearly Other, and the harmonic tones make my hands clench into fists. I remind myself that this is what Lucas needs. I have to let the Others take him right now, if that’s the way to fix the infection raging through him because of that stupid animal.
“We will accompany your son. Healer, would you please take Mr. and Mrs. Crawford downstairs and complete their statement? We’ll get Lucas settled on his transport and get out of your hair.” An Other, indistinguishable from all the rest, dismisses Lucas’s parents.
Three pairs of feet shuffle from the room. The Others—are they Wardens? The white-clad Others? I have no way to know. And even though my worry for Lucas dominates every breath, I also hope they stay out of the cleansing room.
“What on Earth happened to this kid?”
Noises accompany their conversation. I think of how they treated Greg, and push it from my mind. The Healer can help Lucas. They’ll be careful with him.
“I personally don’t give a shit.”
“Really, Hanaj? You’re going to curse like a human now?”
When the first voice doesn’t respond, the second continues. “You know he’s the male that Deshi told us to watch. Lucas Crawford. We can let the Healer treat him, but we can’t let him go to the Observatory Pod until Deshi talks to him.”
Oxygen stales in my lungs. I’m afraid to breathe, scared they’ll say something important and I’ll miss it. I press scalding hot hands into the shower wall, trying to maintain some kind of composure. They know about us, and they’re going to take Lucas somewhere to wait for Deshi.
“We haven’t heard from Chief since last night.”
That’s what Cadi called Deshi, I realize.
“So, we’ll take the kid and the Healer to the Cell and keep him in the Administrative Center until Deshi shows up and tells us what to do. Orders are not to dispose of him.” The Other who spoke like a human earlier sounds impatient, his words clipped.
They don’t say anything else, apparently agreeing on their course of action. Despair fills me. Instead of sending Lucas with a Healer to get help, I’ve shipped him off with a bunch of Others who’ll turn him over to Deshi. The notion that I could still stop what’s been put in motion, that using my heated body to overpower two Others and get Lucas away would be much more feasible than taking on Deshi, flutters around but I slap it away.
Lucas still needs help, and I can’t give it to him. Being with the Others, even Deshi, is better than being dead. Isn’t it?
Helplessness tightens my chest, making it hard to breathe. I bite my knuckles to keep from crying out as they exit the room, leaving a looming silence that says I’m alone up here. After a moment or two I creep out of the cleansing room and back into Lucas’s private space, the lingering smell of him making me want to collapse.
Through the window I see the Crawfords’ front door bang open and the Others and the Healer exit, and Lucas following on a floating cot. One gestures the bed toward the rider at the curb, then they get inside and slam the doors shut.
The rider, taking away the only person who means anything to me in this world, disappears. My knees give out, dropping me on the floor with my back against Lucas’s window seat. I remind myself that all is not lost. I know they’re taking Lucas to the Cell, and he’ll be there at least the rest of the day. Even if Deshi manages to get help extricating himself from that stream this morning, they have interviews and no one is talking to Lucas until the Healer fixes his leg enough to wake him up.
The earliest they’ll be able to move him is this evening. I have the day to figure out how to get into the Cell and get Lucas back.
Before I can find the energy to pick myself up off the floor, footsteps patter down the hall. The Crawfords enter the room, staring at me with comical, surprised expressions a moment later. He’s wearing blue-striped pajama pants and a white T-shirt, his ebony skin visible through the worn threads. Glasses perch on his thick nose, magnifying his dark brown eyes. Her legs are pale and bare beneath a nightgown the color of sapphires.
They stop inside the doorway, seemingly unsure of what the protocol is for finding strange girls sitting on the floor of your son’s bedroom.
Mr. Crawford clears his throat and attempts a smile. “Hello. What are you doing here?”
I’m careful to keep my frustrated thoughts to myself so I don’t Break them, too. “I was, um, looking for Lucas?”
Mrs. Crawford’s smile wobbles a little. “He had an accident and had to go away with the Healer. But he’ll be back.” Confusion thickens in her grass green gaze. “I don’t think you should be here.”
“Yes, you’re not supposed to be here.”
Their puzzlement over my intrusion on their already bizarre morning worries me. In the past, no one has commented on my outbursts or pointed out instances where I am somewhere Unacceptable. But now that I know how strong a hold the Others have over the humans, I worry it’s too engrained, that Mr. Crawford will report my appearance to the Others. There’s only a small chance I’ll be able to save Lucas, and getting caught turns that into no chance at all.
Weariness settles in, joining a bone-deep resistance to using my powers to deal with the Crawfords. But time is precious. Deshi could already be awake but still trapped, using his brain tunnels to contact help. The longer I stay hidden the better. I drag myself off the carpet and frown. “Get in the closet.”
Their faces morph into masks of stunned bewilderment, almost making me laugh. Mr. Crawford recovers first, putting out a hand to stop his Partner as she steps forward to obey. “No. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
I step toward the bed, pulling a pillow from under the comforter, and stop beside Mrs. Crawford. Nausea bubbles up as I press the cotton between my hands and push the heat. Acrid smoke rises up, filling my nostrils. I thrust the smoldering pillow toward Mrs. Crawford’s chest as flames sprout and flicker from under my palms. It’s so hard to say the words around the vomit in my throat. A picture of Lucas at Deshi’s mercy flashes in my mind and makes it easier.
“If you don’t want me to light her on fire, get in the closet.”
It’s the weirdest thing, watching them try to process fear without any knowledge of how to be afraid. Their empty eyes flash with emotion, but it quickly disappears. Then Mr. Crawford grabs his Partner’s hand and drags her with him into Lucas’s closet. They huddle together along the back wall, clothes falling around them like the snowflakes outside.
Tears burn my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Before the sight of their blank faces changes my mind I slam the door shut. I press my hand to the brass doorknob, heating it until it melts and spreads from the door to the jamb, effectively trapping them inside. I tell myself they’ll be fine; when they don’t
report for work in a couple hours, someone will look for them. It was good practice at trying to use only the right amount of heat, I suppose, though thinking of scaring them—even if they didn’t realize they were scared—as practice makes me sick.
The morning is cloudy and cold. Small lacy flakes continue to waft down from the iron gray sky. My watch says it’s just past five, still two hours before the rest of the world will wake up and greet the day.
I grab my bag where I dropped it in the backyard and run for the park. I can’t go to Cell right now. I can’t go to the Morgans’. Deshi, screaming and on fire, skitters through my overwrought brain. There’s only one place I can go to wait out the hours until I can try to save Lucas, and although I want to go get him now, at least I’ll have time to strengthen my plan.
And time to come to grips with what I’m going to have to do.
The houses drop from sight and my feet break into a sprint. They don’t stop until I’ve reached the dead section of the boundary, thrown my duffel bag into the Wilds, and scrambled over the top. I pick my way through the underbrush, stopping at a tree with a funny-shaped trunk. Instead of being a perfect circle it has an indentation in one side, about three feet across and two feet deep. I curl into the tree’s roots and close my eyes against this impossible situation as hopelessness tightens my chest.
My tension starts to unwind as a plan begins to form. It’s not very good; in fact, it’s reckless and will most likely get me locked up right along with Lucas, but it’s all I’ve got. It’ll probably end up with me captured right along with him, but that’s better than being alone again.
I spend some time scanning my chemistry and physics books, researching the melting point of glass and similar materials. Practice would be beneficial, but my emotions flounder around so violently it frightens me that the animals in the Wilds could suffer if the fire gets out of hand. Out here, with nothing but flammable trees and brush as far as the eye can see, flames would be disastrous. Not to mention they would give me away. I’ll have to hope that my fire hands, as Lucas termed them, don’t let me down when I actually need them.