“And you’re a liar,” I snap, backing away from him. “You say you don’t care about what you do—you say you don’t care about other people and what you’ve done to them but I don’t believe it. I think you’re hiding. I think the real you is hiding underneath all of the destruction and I think you’re better than this life you’ve chosen for yourself. I think you can change. I think you could be different. And I feel sorry for you!”
These words these stupid stupid words they won’t stop spilling from my mouth.
“I’m sorry for your horrible childhood. I’m sorry you have such a miserable, worthless father and I’m sorry no one ever took a chance on you. I’m sorry for the terrible decisions you’ve made. I’m sorry that you feel trapped by them, that you think of yourself as a monster who can’t be changed. But most of all,” I tell him, “most of all I’m sorry that you have no mercy for yourself!”
Warner flinches like I’ve slapped him in the face.
The silence between us has slaughtered a thousand innocent seconds and when he finally speaks his voice is barely audible, raw with disbelief.
“You pity me.”
My breath catches. My resolve wavers.
“You think I’m some kind of broken project you can repair.”
“No—I didn’t—”
“You have no idea what I’ve done!” His words are furious as he steps forward. “You have no idea what I’ve seen, what I’ve had to be a part of. You have no idea what I’m capable of or how much mercy I deserve. I know my own heart,” he snaps. “I know who I am. Don’t you dare pity me!”
Oh my legs are definitely not working.
“I thought you could love me for me,” he says. “I thought you would be the one person in this godforsaken world who would accept me as I am! I thought you, of all people, would understand.” His face is right in front of mine when he says, “I was wrong. I was so horribly, horribly wrong.”
He backs away. He grabs his shirt and he turns to leave and I should let him go, I should let him walk out the door and out of my life but I can’t, I catch his arm, I pull him back and I say, “Please—that’s not what I meant—”
He spins around and he says, “I do not want your sympathy!”
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you—”
“The truth,” he says, “is a painful reminder of why I prefer to live among the lies.”
I can’t stomach the look in his eyes, the wretched, awful pain he’s making no effort to conceal. I don’t know what to say to make this right. I don’t know how to take my words back.
I know I don’t want him to leave.
Not like this.
He looks as if he might speak; he changes his mind. He takes a tight breath, presses his lips together as if to stop the words from escaping and I’m about to say something, I’m about to try again when he pulls in a shaky breath, when he says, “Good-bye, Juliette.”
And I don’t know why it’s killing me, I can’t understand my sudden anxiety and I need to know, I have to say it, I have to ask the question that isn’t a question and I say “I won’t see you again.”
I watch him struggle to find the words, I watch him turn to me and turn away and for one split second I see what’s happened, I see the difference in his eyes, the shine of emotion I never would’ve dreamed him capable of and I know, I understand why he won’t look at me and I can’t believe it. I want to fall to the floor as he fights himself, fights to speak, fights to swallow back the tremor in his voice when he says, “I certainly hope not.”
And that’s it.
He walks out.
I’m split clean in half and he’s gone.
He’s gone forever.
SIXTY-THREE
Breakfast is an ordeal.
Warner has disappeared and he’s left a trail of chaos in his wake.
No one knows how he escaped, how he managed to get out of his room and find his way out of here and everyone is blaming Castle. Everyone is saying he was stupid to trust Warner, to give him a chance, to believe he might have changed.
Angry is an insult to the level of aggression in here right now.
But I’m not going to be the one to tell everyone that Warner was already out of his room last night. I’m not going to be the one to tell them that he probably didn’t have to do much to find the exit. I won’t explain to them that he’s not an idiot.
I’m sure he figured it out easily enough. I’m sure he found a way to get past the guards.
Now everyone is ready to fight, but for all the wrong reasons. They want to murder Warner: first for all he’s done; second for betraying their trust. More frightening still, everyone is worried that he’ll give away all of our most sensitive information. I have no idea what Warner managed to discover about this place before he left, but nothing that happens now can possibly be good.
No one has even touched their breakfasts.
We’re all dressed, armed, ready to face what could be an almost instant death, and I’m feeling little more than entirely numb. I didn’t sleep at all last night, my heart and mind plagued and conflicted and I can’t feel my limbs, I can’t taste the food I’m not eating and I can’t see straight, I can’t focus on the things I’m supposed to be hearing. All I can think about are all the casualties and Warner’s lips on my neck, his hands on my body, the pain and passion in his eyes and the many possible ways I could die today. I can only think about Warner touching me, kissing me, torturing me with his heart and Adam sitting beside me, not knowing what I’ve done.
It probably won’t even matter after today.
Maybe I’ll be killed and maybe all the agony of these past 17 years will have been for naught. Maybe I’ll just fall right off the face of the Earth, gone forever, and all of my adolescent angst will have been a ridiculous afterthought, a laughable memory.
But maybe I’ll survive.
Maybe I’ll survive and I’ll have to face the consequences of my actions. I’ll have to stop lying to myself; I’ll have to actually make a decision.
I have to face the fact that I’m battling feelings for someone who has no qualms about putting a bullet in another man’s head. I have to consider the possibility that I might really be turning into a monster. A horrible, selfish creature who cares only about herself.
Maybe Warner was right all along.
Maybe he and I really are perfect for each other.
Just about everyone has filed out of the dining hall. People are saying last-minute good-byes to the old and the young ones they’re leaving behind. James and Adam had a lengthy good-bye just this morning. Adam and I have to head out in about 10 minutes.
“Well damn. Who died?”
I spin around at the sound of his voice. Kenji is up. He’s in this room. He’s standing next to our table and he looks like he’s about to fall right over but he’s awake. He’s alive.
He’s breathing.
“Holy crap.” Adam is gaping. “Holy shit.”
“Good to see you too, Kent.” Kenji grins a crooked grin. He nods at me. “You ready to kick some ass today?”
I tackle him.
“WHOA—hey—thank you, yeah—that’s—uh—” He clears his throat. Tries to shift away from me and I flinch, pull back. I’m covered everywhere except for my face; I’m wearing my gloves and my reinforced knuckles, and my suit is zipped up to my neck. Kenji never usually shies away from me.
“Hey, uh, maybe you should hold off on touching me for a little while, yeah?” Kenji tries to smile, tries to make it sound like he’s joking, but I feel the weight of his words, the tension and the sliver of fear he’s trying so hard to hide. “I’m not too steady on my feet just yet.”
I feel the blood rush out of me, leaving me weak in the knees and needing to sit down.
“It wasn’t her,” Adam says. “You know she didn’t even touch you.”
“I don’t know that, actually,” Kenji says. “And it’s not like I’m blaming her—I’m just saying maybe she’s projecting and doesn’t know i
t, okay? Because last I checked, I don’t think we have any other explanations for what happened last night. It sure as hell wasn’t you,” he says to Adam, “and shit, for all we know, Warner being able to touch Juliette could just be a fluke. We don’t know anything about him yet.” A pause. He looks around. “Right? Unless Warner pulled some kind of magical rabbit out of his ass while I was busy being dead last night?”
Adam scowls. I don’t say a word.
“Right,” Kenji says. “That’s what I thought. So. I think it’s best if, unless absolutely necessary, I stay away.” He turns to me. “Right? No offense, right? I mean, I did nearly just die. I think you could cut me some slack.”
I can hardly hear my own voice when I say, “Yeah, of course.” I try to laugh. I try to figure out why I’m not telling them about Warner. Why I’m still protecting him. Probably because I’m just as guilty as he is.
“So anyway,” Kenji says. “When are we leaving?”
“You’re insane,” Adam tells him. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Bullshit I’m not.”
“You can barely stand up on your own!” Adam says.
And he’s right. Kenji is clearly leaning on the table for support.
“I’d rather die out there than sit in here like some kind of idiot.”
“Kenji—”
“Hey,” Kenji says, cutting me off. “So I heard through the very loud grapevine that Warner got his ass the hell out of here last night. What’s that about?”
Adam makes a strange sound. It’s not quite a laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Who even knows. I never thought it was a good idea to keep him hostage here. It was an even stupider idea to trust him.”
“So first you insult my idea, and then you insult Castle’s, huh?” Kenji’s eyebrow is cocked.
“They were bad calls,” Adam says. “Bad ideas. Now we have to pay for it.”
“Well how was I supposed to know Anderson would be so willing to let his own son rot in hell?”
Adam flinches and Kenji backpedals.
“Oh, hey—I’m sorry, man—I didn’t mean to say it like that—”
“Forget it.” Adam cuts him off. His face is suddenly hard, suddenly cold, closed off. “Maybe you should get back to the medical wing. We’re leaving soon.”
“I’m not going anywhere but out of here.”
“Kenji, please—”
“Nope.”
“You’re being unreasonable. This isn’t a joke,” I tell him. “People are going to die today.”
But he laughs at me. Looks at me like I’ve said something obliquely entertaining. “I’m sorry, are you trying to teach me about the realities of war?” He shakes his head. “Are you forgetting that I was a soldier in Warner’s army? Do you have any idea how much crazy shit we’ve seen?” He gestures between himself and Adam. “I know exactly what to expect today. Warner was insane. If Anderson is even twice as bad as his son, then we are diving right into a bloodbath. I can’t leave you guys hanging like that.”
But I’m caught on one sentence. One word. I just want to ask. “Was he really that bad … ?”
“Who?” Kenji is staring at me.
“Warner. Was he really that ruthless?”
Kenji laughs out loud. Laughs louder. Doubles over. He’s practically wheezing when he says, “Ruthless? Juliette, the guy is sick. He’s an animal. I don’t think he even knows what it means to be human. If there’s a hell out there, I’m guessing it was designed especially for him.”
It’s so hard to pull this sword out of my stomach.
A rush of footsteps.
I turn around.
Everyone is supposed to exit the tunnels in a single-file line in an attempt to maintain order as we leave this underground world. Kenji and Adam and I are the only fighters who haven’t joined the group yet.
We all get to our feet.
“Hey—so, does Castle know what you’re doing?” Adam is looking at Kenji. “I don’t think he’d be okay with you going out there today.”
“Castle wants me to be happy,” Kenji says matter-of-factly. “And I won’t be happy if I stay here. I’ve got work to do. People to save. Ladies to impress. He’d respect that.”
“What about everyone else?” I ask him. “Everyone was so worried about you—have you even seen them yet? To at least tell them you’re okay?”
“Nah,” Kenji says. “They’d probably shit a brick if they knew I was going up. I thought it’d be safer to keep it quiet. I don’t want to freak anyone out. And Sonya and Sara—poor kids—they’re passed the hell out. It’s my fault they’re so exhausted, and they’re still talking about heading out today. They want to fight even though they’re going to have a lot of work to do once we’re done with Anderson’s army. I’ve been trying to convince them to stay here but they can be so damn stubborn. They need to save their strength,” he says, “and they’ve already wasted too much of it on me.”
“It’s not a waste—,” I try to tell him.
“Anywayyy,” Kenji says. “Can we please get going? I know you’re all about hunting down Anderson,” he says to Adam, “but personally? I would love to catch Warner. Put a bullet through that worthless piece of crap and be done with it.”
Something punches me in the gut so hard I’m afraid I’m actually going to be sick. I’m seeing spots, struggling to keep myself standing, fighting to ignore the image of Warner dead, his body crumpled in red.
“Hey—you okay?” Adam pulls me to the side. Takes a good look at my face.
“I’m okay,” I lie to him. Nod too many times. Shake my head once or twice. “I just didn’t get enough sleep last night, but I’ll be fine.”
He hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive,” I lie again. I pause. Grab his shirt. “Hey—just be careful out there, okay?”
He exhales a heavy breath. Nods once. “Yeah. You too.”
“Let’s go let’s go let’s go!” Kenji interrupts us. “Today is our day to die, ladies.”
Adam shoves him. A little.
“Oh, so now you’re abusing the crippled kid, huh?” Kenji takes a moment to steady himself before punching Adam in the arm. “Save your angst for the battlefield, bro. You’re going to need it.”
A shrill whistle sounds in the distance.
It’s time to go.
SIXTY-FOUR
It’s raining.
The world is weeping at our feet in anticipation of what we’re about to do.
We’re all supposed to split off into clusters, fighting in tight groups so we can’t all be killed at once. We don’t have enough people to fight offensively so we have to be stealthy. And though I feel a pang of guilt for admitting it, I’m so happy Kenji decided to come with us. We would’ve been weaker without him.
But we have to get out of the rain.
We’re already soaked through, and while Kenji and I are wearing suits that offer at least a modicum of protection against the natural elements, Adam is wearing nothing but crisp cotton basics, and I’m worried we won’t last long like this. All members of Omega Point have already scattered. The immediate area above the Point is still nothing but a barren stretch of land that leaves us vulnerable upon exiting.
Lucky for us, we have Kenji. The 3 of us are already invisible.
Anderson’s men aren’t far from here.
All we know is that ever since Anderson arrived, he’s been going out of his way to make a point about his power and the iron grip of The Reestablishment. Any voice of opposition, no matter how weak or feeble, no matter how unthreatening or innocuous, has been silenced. He’s angry that we’ve inspired rebellion and now he’s trying to make a statement. What he really wants is to destroy all of us.
The poor civilians are just caught in his friendly fire.
Gunshots.
We automatically move toward the sound echoing in the distance. We aren’t saying a word. We understand what we need to do and how we have to operate. Our only mission is to get as close as poss
ible to the devastation and then to take out as many of Anderson’s men as we can. We protect the innocent. We support our fellow Point men and women.
We try very hard not to die.
I can make out the compounds creeping closer in the distance, but the rain is making it difficult to see. All the colors are bleeding together, melting into the horizon, and I have to strain to discern what lies ahead of us. I instinctively touch the guns attached to the holsters on my back and I’m momentarily reminded of my last encounter with Anderson—my only encounter with the horrible, despicable man—and I wonder what’s happened to him. I wonder if maybe Adam was right when he said that Anderson might be severely wounded, that perhaps he’s still struggling to recuperate. I wonder if Anderson will make an appearance on the battlefield. I wonder if perhaps he’s too much of a coward to fight in his own wars.
The screams tell us we’re getting closer.
The world around us is a blurry landscape of blues and grays and mottled hues and the few trees still standing have a hundred shaky, quivering arms ripping through their trunks, reaching up to the sky as if in prayer, begging for relief from the tragedy they’ve been rooted in. It’s enough to make me feel sorry for the plants and animals forced to bear witness to what we’ve done.
They never asked for this.
Kenji guides us toward the outskirts of the compounds and we slip forward to stand flush against the wall of one of the little square houses, huddled under the extra bit of roof that, at least for a moment, grants us reprieve from the clenched fists falling from the sky.
Wind is gnawing at the windows, straining against the walls. Rain is popping against the roof like popcorn against a pane of glass.
The message from the sky is clear: we are pissed.
We are pissed and we will punish you and we will make you pay for the blood you spill so freely. We will not sit idly by, not anymore, not ever again. We will ruin you, is what the sky says to us.
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