by Tarah Benner
Roman’s door was ajar, and he was sitting bolt upright in bed. His face was drained of color, and Shriver was staring openmouthed, a glass bottle lying in shards at her feet.
“Shriver? What is it?”
She shook her head, completely speechless, and then removed her glasses and looked at the floor. “Come see for yourself.”
Carefully avoiding the broken glass, I stepped into the room to look at Roman. He was still bedridden and as pale as cauliflower, but at least he was awake. I didn’t know what had startled Shriver until I crossed to the bed and met his wary gaze.
Then I saw it.
The morning light was filtering through the bedroom window, throwing a column of light across one side of his face.
His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and a faint yellow tinge was spreading around the edges of his irises.
I did a double take, scanning his body for signs that his eyes betrayed him, but there was no denying it. His skin was glistening with cold sweat, and the wounds blotting his neck and chest were oozing yellow with infection.
Shriver had a hand to her mouth, so I said what she couldn’t. “You’re turning.”
Roman stared at me, but he didn’t look surprised. If anything, he was leveling a challenge with his gaze. It was as though he were saying, Come closer. You scared?
But then something happened that I had not been expecting. His face fell, and for the first time since I’d known him, Roman looked genuinely helpless. “How long do I have?”
I shook my head, turning to Shriver. “I don’t know.”
“It depends on how quickly the virus progresses,” she murmured.
“How long did it take Logan to get like that?” he snapped.
I swallowed, remembering how bad she had looked when he’d seen her at the Infinity Building. When I didn’t answer right away, Roman seized another bottle off the bedside table and hurled it across the room.
“How long?” he demanded.
I didn’t even flinch. The broken glass was nothing.
“Three days,” said Logan.
I whipped around to look at her. She was standing in the doorway wearing rolled boxer shorts and an oversized T-shirt, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Her expression was controlled, but I could feel the weight of her misery in the air.
“Shit,” Roman muttered, his voice hitching.
“Everyone’s different,” I said, looking to Shriver for help. “And Logan was off and on. One moment she would be okay . . . and then the next . . .”
“I’d be delirious,” she finished.
Roman’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Well, I hope I can at least take out a few more PMC before I go.”
I swallowed, thinking that was an odd thing to say. But we all knew that Logan would have gone full carrier if we hadn’t gotten our hands on the cure at World Corp, and it was unlikely we would be able to make the trip for Roman before it was too late.
“You should go,” I said suddenly, not wanting him to die. “Take a few men and drive north now. If you go before it gets any worse, you might be able to break in, kill Aryus, and take the cure.”
Even as I said it, I knew it was hopeless, but I felt desperate — out of control. I couldn’t lose anyone else.
“I’ll go with you,” said Logan quietly.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he growled.
I looked up in surprise.
“The fight is here. I’m going to kill as many PMC as I can before . . . before I change.”
I bent my head, willing my eyes to stop stinging. Roman was going to die, and he’d already accepted it.
“I’ll go . . . get something to clean this up,” said Shriver.
I followed her out into the hallway to give Roman and Logan some time alone. Only she truly understood what he was going through.
“How long does he have?” I whispered as soon as the door closed. “Really?”
Shriver hesitated. “With Logan, the virus progressed very quickly due to her weakened immune system. But with Roman . . . it could work more slowly.”
I let out a long, ragged breath. “How long, Shriver?”
“Two months at most. After that, the brain damage will be too much to bring him back. He might live, but he won’t ever be the same. Within a week, he’ll be stage two, like Mariah was. He’ll be violent, unpredictable, angry . . .”
“So basically himself,” I muttered.
“I should warn you,” said Shriver. “The longer this goes on, the harder it’s going to get. Logan was nothing. When he’s stage two, it will be a constant up and down. One day you might think he’s getting better, and the next hour he won’t know you.” She sighed. “They never get better — not on their own.”
“I know,” I said, thinking of my mother. Shriver didn’t have to tell me how hard it was to watch someone go through that.
I could hear the soft murmur of Logan’s voice through the door, and I felt a surge of affection for her unflagging strength. If anyone could help Roman come to terms with his fate without fear or self-pity, it was Logan.
I paced back and forth in her room, finally sinking down on her bed to wait for her. I expected her to return soon, but she and Roman had been talking longer than I’d ever heard Roman speak.
I couldn’t sit there soaking in despair any longer. I needed to talk to Amory.
I knew he wasn’t in his room or downstairs. Since Roman had been injured, Amory had taken over his nighttime carrier patrol in the woods, scanning the perimeter like a ghost in the trees.
I pulled on my boots and a coat and tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to rouse the rebels who were sprawled out on the living room couch and across the floor. These days, every available room was overflowing with people.
Slipping out the front door, I felt the cool morning dew stick to my skin, chilling me instantly. The sun was rising over the field, illuminating the glistening frost on the ground.
As I stepped off the porch, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Amory was standing in the middle of the front yard, looking at me as though he’d been waiting.
Something was wrong. He was standing stiffly, as though he had a rifle jabbed in his back, and he watched me cross the lawn to him with an uncharacteristic amount of dread.
I noticed the way his eyes shifted all around him and back to me, trying to warn me about something.
“Amory?”
He didn’t answer. His mouth was a tight line, and the planes of his face stood out like cut granite. There were bruises spreading along his jawline and over his eye, as though he’d been struck repeatedly with the butt of a gun.
When I was ten paces away, everything became clear. There was a bulky black vest strapped to Amory’s chest with wires snaking out around the pockets. Explosives.
On his chest, where there should have been an insignia, was a digital display. It was counting down from nine and a half minutes.
“Oh my god!” I whispered. “Amory?”
I stepped toward him, examining the vest. I wanted to reach out to hold him, but I was afraid to touch anything. I took a shaky breath, and Amory’s eyes widened. He was holding back his fear.
“What —”
“Go get Godfrey,” he murmured. “Quietly.”
I nodded and stumbled back inside, nearly falling over my own feet. I tripped up the stairs and staggered onto the landing.
I tried Godfrey’s door, but it was locked. I pounded on it, hot tears rushing to my eyes. A heavy lump in my throat was choking me, but I refused to cry.
“Haven?” Logan stuck her head out into the hall. “What is it?”
I didn’t answer but continued to pound on Godfrey’s door.
Finally I heard footsteps shuffling across the floorboards, and the door creaked open. He appeared, disheveled from sleep, irritation etched across his face.
“It’s Amory. You have to come,” I gasped.
He didn’t need any further explanation. He followed me downstairs a
nd out the door.
When he saw Amory standing in the yard with the explosives strapped to his chest, his face drained of color. He strode toward him, examining the vest with rapid precision.
Amory held out his arm. In his hand was a crumpled piece of white paper. When Godfrey took it, the silvery PMC insignia caught my eye. I read over Godfrey’s shoulder.
Your destruction is imminent. A small sacrifice can be your salvation, or all will meet their end.
“So if you let me die, they’ll save the rest,” croaked Amory.
“No,” Godfrey muttered. “They don’t mean you.” He gestured at Amory. “They mean this whole damn place.”
Godfrey turned to me. “I don’t want to risk moving him. Go in and evacuate the others. Bring them around the back, and keep them in the fields.”
I nodded, threw Amory one last look — hoping it conveyed everything I wanted to say to him — and tore off toward the house.
I banged on the front door and saw Logan standing in the makeshift office. By the tears swimming in her eyes, I knew she had seen everything from Roman’s window.
“Haven, what do we —” she blubbered.
I clamped a hand over her mouth to stop her blurting it out and pulled her into the corner. “Get everyone out the back. I don’t want to start a panic, but keep them in the fields.”
“Why Amory?”
I shook my head. “We don’t know. Just do it.”
Logan nodded, and I released her. I jumped over all the people sprawled around the living room and went out the back door toward the guest house.
I knocked frantically on the front door until someone came. It was Shriver.
“Get everyone out,” I breathed.
“What?” She was grumpy and muddled with fatigue.
“Evacuate everyone. Take them out into the field, and don’t go through the front yard. Do you understand?”
She nodded, looking stricken, and I left her without another word. I sprinted toward the barn and banged on the sliding door. The animals shifted nervously, as though they could smell the fear in my blood.
The door slid open, and I was startled to see Switch staring down at me.
“We need to get everyone out,” I breathed. “Evacuate to the fields.”
Switch turned his head, the carrier scars stretching along the back of his neck. “You heard her! Out!”
I heard the mumbles of people stirring from sleep.
“Get out!” yelled Switch. “Head to the field. Let’s go! Move it!”
People were scrambling up in the loft now, pulling on pants and coats and jumping down to the ground level.
“Stay out of the front yard,” I yelled over the noise.
The rebels poured out of the barn, and I was relieved to see the last stragglers leaving the main house and the rest running around the back of the guest house.
I crossed the yard to where Godfrey and Amory still stood. Godfrey’s large, dirty hands were moving deftly around the front of the vest, cutting with a tiny pair of sheers that looked as though they belonged to a toiletry kit.
He severed a wire, and I forgot how to breathe.
The display flickered, and the red countdown disappeared.
I let out a sigh of relief, but then the ground shuddered, and the farm erupted in a burst of flames.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A great wave of heat and pressure knocked me to the ground. It hit me with such force that the air left my lungs and I struggled to breathe.
My head hit something solid. There was another explosion. Then another.
I gasped for breath and peeled my eyes open, but everything was a blur of bright light.
I was dizzy and disoriented, and there was a strange ringing in my ears. Only one thought flashed through my head, and it was louder than anything else: Amory.
I looked around, my body still glued to the cold, wet grass. My vision began to adjust, and I realized the brightness was not my eyes playing tricks on me. We were surrounded by a ring of fire. The barn was in flames, and the blaze was spreading to the nearby trees. The main house was still standing, but the guest house was fully engulfed. People lay sprawled everywhere, but some were bleeding and screaming.
I struggled to my feet, my head still ringing. Someone next to me was trying to stand.
It was Amory.
A funny sob got caught in my throat when I saw him. He was alive. I wanted to grab him and squeeze him as hard as I could.
Amory tugged off the vest and threw it into the grass several yards away, meeting my gaze with a look of relief and bewilderment.
Godfrey was already standing again, his face to the sky as if he expected the fire to rain down from the clouds.
Then I saw what he saw. There was a white helicopter heading toward us with the PMC’s insignia emblazoned on the side. My heart thudded against my ribcage. They had learned from their last ground assault. Now they were coming for us from the air.
“Drop your weapon!” said a voice over the speaker of the helicopter. “Drop your weapon, and place your hands on your head.”
I realized Godfrey had a gun in his hand, and he was staring at the helicopter as though the officers were addressing him directly. A red rifle sight appeared on his forehead, and I realized they were.
“Drop your weapon!” said the voice again, this time more insistent.
Godfrey was staring up at them with a challenge in his eyes. He seemed unaware that two more red dots had appeared on his body: one on his chest and another on his forehead.
What did they want with Godfrey?
I glanced at Amory, who was frozen, staring at him.
No. We could not let them take Godfrey.
As I watched, a strange calm came over him. Everything slowed down.
Then Godfrey raised the gun and pressed the barrel to his temple.
I wanted to run to him — close the small distance between us and yank the gun away — but my feet were frozen in place. Godfrey would not be taken alive.
There was a long and complete silence, and then a shot shattered the stillness.
Godfrey stood upright for two long seconds, looking as though he’d surprised himself. Then he began to fall.
I felt a tug on my arm, barely aware it was still attached to my body.
Amory was pulling me away from the house — toward the wall of fire. There was a sharp chemical stink in the air, mixed with the tang of blood. Bodies lay everywhere, but we didn’t stop. I heard a strangled cry, not realizing it had come from me.
I was tripping after Amory, sobbing and gasping for air. My hair whipped around my face as the helicopter moved in our direction. I stumbled several times over bodies, debris, and who knew what else. I didn’t look down.
Hauling me into the trees, Amory slowed his pace slightly to avoid giving away our position. Once the fire and bodies disappeared, I realized what was happening. Amory was taking me away from the farm — away from the other rebels, Greyson, Logan, and Roman.
“No!” I gasped, stopping and yanking my arm out of his grip. “We have to go back for them!”
“It’s too dangerous,” he panted. “The PMC will shoot us down.”
“Amory! Are you insane?” We stood several feet apart now, and I realized I had raised my voice beyond what was safe. “This isn’t even an option.”
“They will get away,” he hissed. “We’ll find them . . . but we’re no good to anyone dead.”
He was right. If Greyson had been here now, he would have said the same thing. Even though every part of my body was screaming in protest, I had to admit I wasn’t thinking clearly.
I gave a shaky nod, and Amory grabbed my hand. We moved through the woods, half running, half falling over snarls of vegetation. Amory never released my hand.
From the direction we were moving, I knew we were making our way around the field through the woods. If the others had made it, this was our best chance of running into them.
I heard shots in the distance and
people screaming. I focused on running, wishing desperately I could shut my ears off. I didn’t know if we had shot at the PMC or if they were shooting down our people. Logan would have been able to tell from the sound of the shots.
Logan. If we never found her and the others, I didn’t know what I would do.
Up above, I heard the low hum of a helicopter. Instinctively, Amory and I threw ourselves onto the ground, rolling into the undergrowth and trying to conceal ourselves as the chopper passed over our heads. The trees around us shuddered in the heavy gust of air from the propeller blades, folding in on themselves so much I thought they would snap in half.
Then the chopper disappeared.
The silence that followed was chilling. I could no longer hear people screaming or the sound of the barn’s rafters cracking in the fire. The air was still heavy with the stench of burning wood and flesh.
After the chopper left, we picked ourselves up and kept walking. I didn’t know if it was fatigue, worry, or fear that had slowed Amory down, but I was glad. The slower we moved, the more likely we were to run into the others.
Suddenly I heard voices up ahead, and my heart sped up. We were too far off to distinguish the speakers, but I could tell they weren’t PMC. The voices were pitched lower, quiet and afraid.
Amory raised his hand, signaling a slow, quiet approach. We hunkered down and inched forward.
Up ahead, I could discern half a dozen figures crowded together in the shelter of two large maple trees.
“Can you make it?”
“Of course I can. I’m not an invalid.”
I recognized those voices.
Swallowing down a grin, I pulled out of Amory’s grip and charged through the trees.
“Haven!” Amory hissed.
“Stop right where you are!” said the female’s voice. Logan.
I froze, realizing she probably had a rifle trained on me. Stupid, I thought — sneaking up on them in the woods.
“Logan, it’s me,” I called, my voice registering my relief.
“Oh, thank god,” she cried.
I heard the crunch of dead leaves as Amory came up behind me.
I approached Logan and the others at a run, careening into her and throwing my arms around her neck. The lavender smell of her hair hit me, wrapping me up in a comforting embrace.