by Logan Keys
I listened to their exchange, finally interjecting, “Lotte, leave her be. She couldn’t have known—truly known—what was happening.”
The sage leader of Ironwood tosses me a dry look.
I’d known.
But no one will throw me out. Not now. Even though they knew what had happened to Joseph, and that I’d seen it firsthand, they still need me for the fight.
More so now than ever, since I’d walked among “them,” unharmed.
I interrupt the current debate to begin our plan of defense. “Fires should surround the outside. We could put a ring around the entire perimeter.”
“That will take a while.”
“So?”
Lotte agrees. “We’ll also need to burn Sara and the babe. What about Jansen?”
Everyone but me cringes at her words. I can’t think about the terrible things we’ll have to do to stay alive; I simply have to focus on combating them.
Angelique steps forward, pale but standing straight. “I’ll do it,” she says, referring to Sara and Kent. “Let me handle what’s left of my family.”
Dina begins to wail in earnest, and I nod.
I look over at Lotte. “Show me Jansen.”
When we arrive, Jansen is as white as new sheets, and he’s whispering over and over, “Just do it. Get it done.”
While everyone is arguing about how, what, when, and where, I move in to hug him goodbye. When I back away, Jansen’s holding the knife I gave him and, with a beatific smile on his white lips, he slits his own throat.
After his gurgling quits, I clean my knife on my shirt and say without looking up, “Burn him.”
“Everyone else,” I add, “help me with the ring of fire. It’ll have to go all night, just far enough away from the gate.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Liza
“You understand we had no choice, right?” Chalberg says.
These people think Tommy and I are the best of friends; they think he’s merely been away for a year, and that I’ve known him all this time. They have no idea that I have no idea, but out of the group, Tommy seemed to trust me—like really, truly—with more than these.
All too easily, they give me authority, and suddenly I have a say in the care of one eighteen-year-old soldier, Thomas Ripley Hatter.
This morning, I remembered my age. Seventeen. Per my years and the old law, I’m not even an official adult yet, but I will forever remember this as the day I grew up.
And became responsible for the entire life of another person.
“He’s in a coma?”
“Yes,” Doctor Chalberg says. “Medically Induced.”
“And you want to proceed with something to help him.”
“Liza. I’m a doctor, I took an oath. I used to be a good one. I care about my patients, and even though the council has demanded I perform this … procedure, they cannot force me. I’m the only one who can do it, the one with the capability. It’s just you and me in here; no eyes and ears of the Underground, no soldiers ready to pull rank. And I’m giving you my word. If you don’t agree, then I will refuse.”
“And Tommy will die.”
“I believe so.”
“I did this.”
The doctor takes off his glasses and rubs the red indentations they’ve left behind.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “He’s so strong. His monster … he seems indestructible.”
“That’s the flaw of these Specials. How to explain … Do you remember cheetahs?”
“What?” The question has caught me off guard, brings me from my stupor.
“Cheetahs, the cats? Pictures, at least, maybe? Okay, well, they were big cats, smaller than lions, but larger than … anyway—they could run sixty miles per hour, an unreasonable speed for an animal built as they are, and they could only do that because of the amount of air they took in, like … think of an exhaust on a fast car. Incredible creatures. A special nose structure to inhale and burn up the air lets them get up to speed without running out of resources, but…” He lifts his finger and, after returning his glasses to his face, folds his hands, happy to be talking about something else besides Tommy’s impending death. Meanwhile, I pit my nails into my palms with impatience. “If these incredible animals were to catch a simple cold, they’d quickly die off from starvation. With all of their predatory strengths, they were extinct long before the zombies because of simple illnesses. The food chain demanded they be at their peak to remain in their spot, and it’s the same with Tommy.”
“I’ll ignore the fact you’re comparing a very real and dear friend of mine to an animal, and simply say I don’t understand.”
“He’s exceptional; his Special almost incomparable. But, as we’ve learned, a small infection—or a large one, as we’re dealing with here—is developing at an alarming and abnormal rate. These Specials, they made them strong, immeasurable in their powers, though the drawbacks are severe. They tax out so much after they use their assets, so like the cheetah, it’s only a matter of time before these people go extinct. Extremes are never good, even in genetics.”
“You speak of them so offhand. How many have died because of their Specialness?”
Chalberg glances at my arm, very aware I don’t merely ask for Tommy, but for all of us. At least he has the decency to color at my comment. “Enough.”
“What will you do?”
He grows more serious. “Cut out the infection.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’d rather show you.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Tommy
I wake, but the only thing working are my eyes. Through my lashes move shapes and shadows. Inwardly, I flinch, but my body doesn’t respond. I can’t feel my limbs, only my middle, which feels weighted, like an elephant sits on my chest.
To breathe is a chore. To suck in a deep breath—impossible.
I sense something at my feet. Something ominous.
Then the scene changes. I’m back at the farmhouse, and the heavy feeling in my chest is the floor beneath my cheek. I’d fallen asleep in the hay, and instead of the ominous being at my feet, it’s behind me, near my back, and whispering into my ear. I’m frozen, and only my eyes are working still. All I see is the yellow hay.
Claws slowly scrape at my back, inching upward from rump to nape; gentle at first, toying. And then they suddenly grip me, and I inwardly scream.
They beat me downward, into the ground, with crushing blows that feel as if they snap my bones.
And still I’m frozen. They take one limb, and then another, and just when I’m sure I’ll die, they whisper into my ear, “Satan’s in the room.”
Which melts into, “You’ll be better soon.”
Then, it’s as if some fight begins, some battle I can’t see. And the thing, the demon, is ripped away.
But it’s too late. I’m already broken.
And that’s when I wake.
Chapter Forty-Four
Tommy
I’m back in the bubble, hooked up to machines this time.
They’ve brought me to the island—they must have—and now they’re working on me, making me like Liza. I look over, but there’s no room attached to mine. And no Liza.
Adrenaline fills me, and I gain control of my body, leap off the bed, taking half the machines with me in a loud clatter. A flash of metal surprises me, but already I’m at the glass, beating on it. “Let me out of here!”
The monster has decided he’s needed, and I’m splitting open from the inside out. At first, I think he’s becoming another form until I realize it’s the many sutures that are popping. My body is ripping straight down the middle.
“Help me!”
Chapter Forty-Five
Liza
Nolan rushes into my room hours before the time I’m supposed to be there. “He’s awake! Come quick!”
We race through the hospital, receiving wide-eyed stares from soldiers in the sick bay.
The special section T
ommy’s in is an elevator ride down into the basement, and I dance on the balls of my feet while I wait for the doors to open. Once they do, I sprint down the long hall, and the sight that greets me is horrific.
A naked Tommy is pressed against the glass, screaming, blood running down his body to form a giant puddle.
“Oh God,” I breathe.
Nolan hits the intercom. “Son, you’ve got to calm down!” He slams on the door’s keypad. “How the hell do I open this thing? Where’s Chalberg!”
I stand at the window as if frozen. Tommy’s eyes are unfocused, hazy, and he’s crying out as if his very soul is on fire.
The elevator opens, and Chalberg rushes to us with his nurses all still dressed in surgical smocks, their faces concerned. “He can’t transition!” he yells, holding up a hand as if he could stop Tommy with his palm. “Dammit, don’t let him transition! It’ll kill him!”
But Tommy grows, and rips, away from the metal that’s replaced parts of him, like a butterfly from the cocoon.
“Get in there!” Nolan yells.
Chalberg stops at the keypad, hand fisted. “We can’t. If he transitions, the glass will hold him, but—”
I rush forward. “Let me in!”
“Stop!” Nolan grabs me. “You don’t know what it’s capable of.”
I grab his hand, grind the knobby bones together until he backs off, and a guttural voice grates out, “You have no idea what I’m capable of!”
Already Chalberg’s pressing on the pad, quickly nodding. “Yes. Go. Hurry.” He looks me over, then says quietly, “Be careful. I’m locking you in.”
When the air lock pops, I slide through a small section, but before he closes me in, Chalberg shoves a syringe into my hand. “Get this into his neck.”
Then I’m shut in with half-Tommy, who’s bleeding sheets of blood down his side, gripping his head, rocking, screaming, out of control.
The sutures above his new … leg, are bleeding the most, and the shoulder where his new arm has been joined has also begun to separate. This momentarily freezes me. Tommy’s half metal now; half robotic, at least in terms of limbs, prosthetics. It’s what I knew they’d do, what I’d agreed to, but I wasn’t prepared to actually see parts of him missing.
He can’t transition, though, until he heals. If he does, the limbs won’t have time to bond with the established tissue. Since the new technology is partially organic, it has to heal with his body, become one.
I rush forward, but he flings me away. I hit the glass on the other side like a bug on a windshield.
Shaking my head to try to remove the ringing, I rush forward again and stab him in the side of his neck, hoping it’s the artery.
As soon as the plunger is down, Tommy slumps over. I slip in his blood, joining him on my knees.
Tommy, now back as himself but woozy, lifts his head to look at his new body for the first time, and he groans in horror. His glassy eyes find me; confusion sits in them, then terror and betrayal.
“Why?” he whispers.
Chapter Forty-Six
Dallas
Tonight, there’s nothing. We all stay at the wall, waiting with our ring of fire, but the things from the night before feel unreal, like a dream, and we feel silly for being afraid. But it’s a lie. They’re trying to make us relax.
The next day, we walk around in a daze, shaking our heads and asking, “Had it really happened?”
It had.
The girl; the beasts; the army man, Pike. It was all real.
Jansen, Sara, and Kent had all burned bright the next morning, and still we had more missing, either having been dragged away or hiding somewhere in the woods.
In the daytime, I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I fell into restless naps with strange nightmares that began with a tingling—sleep paralysis. While my eyes could open, my body wouldn’t respond. It happened several times, and the first time I’d fought against losing control.
The second time the shadow man came to see me. Pike. I knew it was him, but I also knew he couldn’t have travelled the day. Either way, there he was at the edge of my bed.
The third time he appeared with two others. He loomed above, standing shadow legs to either side of my head as he repeated, “You know me, you know me!” in a strange voice.
I woke the last time in such a terrified sweat, I couldn’t calm down for a while after. Cara had come in to check on me, but she left when I asked for some space.
Now, I wander the settlement with new eyes, new insight. For so long, I was only interested in today, in this moment, in Joseph. But now I wonder at tomorrow and the next day. For the first time in a long time, I have a genuine fear for my life—well, actually, no … I fear for my soul. Those things have instilled into me a deep terror; that they’d toy with me until they tired, or until I was dead. This was their goal. Maybe I am their entire goal. Drive me insane, then leave the husk behind.
Where is the benefit in that?
But you can’t make sense of the devious; some hurt just to hurt, and this I’ve already experienced.
I search the town for anyone else who looks like they’d been visited, but I see none. They’re still on the relaxed idea that if the creatures haven’t come in two nights, then maybe they’d never return.
But I know better.
I decide to visit Henry, the man who ran the church, since he’s been holding an all-day service for those who want to pray. The town’s gathered up crosses and holy water, but I’m no fool. What can a gimmick hold against the impossible? Evil doesn’t run and hide from water, though it likes that you think it does.
I wanted to tell them not to waste their time. At the ripe age of thirteen, I had a black cross tattooed onto my back in a moment of rebellion, and now to either side are deep gashes where it ripped me open in battle.
I walk to the front of the church and listen to others with their strong prayers, their big church words, and their complete knowledge of what they want to say.
But I sit quietly, with no clue where to begin.
“I’m surprised to see you here, Dallas. But it’s very welcome.”
The pastor doesn’t linger, or bug me, but moves on, leaving me to my empty thoughts.
After an hour passes, I must have looked quizzical, because he asks me if I have a question.
“No,” I say. “I think I’ll leave.”
“Ah,” he replies, as if he understands my hesitation.
“What’s that mean?”
“You don’t feel like you belong here. I knew as much when you’d come by. Listen for a while, then go.”
“I don’t know the prayers. I just came to—well, any help would do us good.”
He shrugs, and I feel compelled to spell it out for him. “I believe in God, Henry. I do. Don’t go getting confused about that. I just don’t know if He really wants someone like me in here making pleas just ’cause I’m worried about my own hide, is all.”
Henry smiles big. “Simple prayers are the best. That’s what it says in the Bible.”
I go to leave, when he says to my back, “And, Dallas? You can say them anywhere, no need to be here when you find the right ones.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Dallas
I thought a lot about what I’d want to say, but none of it came together as neatly as I felt it should. Over and over I’d mentally rewritten the prayer, trying to make it pretty, but it was awful, and in the end it didn’t even sound like me.
Finally, I went to the gate to wait for Cara, and while I did, I spit it out as ugly as I could. “God, I’m sorry I was such a whore. If you could help these folks, that would be great. Amen.”
Whatever it was, I felt better for saying it.
Cara comes up, says I look better than I did earlier that day.
I knew guardian angels in the Bible were different from what we had to work with that night, but sometimes they don’t look like a being of light all hooked up with wings. Sometimes they look just like Cara does peering into the dark
and holding a rocket launcher. If she isn’t an angel of mercy ready to send whatever moved out there straight into Hell, I don’t know what is.
Maybe God answers prayers after all. I have Cara.
The movement started at about one a.m., and soon, more than on the first night waited at the gate. It doesn’t take us long to realize the monsters down there aren’t what we were expecting.
Cara and I share a dread-filled glance.
Never in a million years did I think I’d ever see something worse than vampires at the entrance of Ironwood.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Tommy
I’m awake, staring at a piece of paper that’s enlisted me back into active duty.
At the bottom is a signature where mine’s supposed to be. The “L” is loopy and deliberate, the “I” less sure, and the rest of Liza’s name is rushed, shaky.
I glance down, then up, then down again, my deep anger obvious. Liza swallows and at first averts her eyes before the guilt-filled blue roves over my place on the bed, stalls at the metal parts, then snakes up my body until she’s frowning at my arm limp by my side—more metal; not my arm. She finally meets my glare, and like always, she steadies and stays ready to face whatever.
I will her to understand my rising venom.
“I’m sorry—” she says, and I slap the paper down, cutting her off.
Nolan steps forward, barely holding back a grin of victory. “Hatter. We’ll give you time to heal, we’ll give you anything you need, but the choice has been made. Best let’s all deal with it.”
I scoff. “Let’s? ‘Let’s’ implies that we did this together, as a team. You did this. And her. You all schemed while I was forced into a coma.”