by Teri Terry
“Yes, but he is immune, isn’t he?” Alex stares at me, and curiosity and intense desire to know ripple through his aura—but he’s not going to want to know this.
I sigh and flop into a chair.
“You know something,” he says.
“Maybe. I think I’ve worked out how the epidemic really spread.”
He sits opposite. “But you don’t want to tell me?”
“It’s not that, exactly. It’s just—well. You might not want to know, even though you think you do.”
“I couldn’t be any more intrigued. If it helps: I would always choose knowledge over ignorance, no matter what knowing may do.”
He says the words fiercely, as if he’s never said anything more true: I sense these words are the core of Alex, of who he is, in a way nothing else has ever been.
“All right, then: brace yourself. This may be a shock.”
He waits to hear what I may say, leaning forward. His blue eyes, intense, drawing the words from inside me, making me want to tell him. They’re a darker blue than mine, like maybe who he is is a darker version of me? I wouldn’t always choose knowledge if it would hurt—not so much me as other people, maybe. But I’ve always had this intense curiosity to know—to know everything—in the same way that he does. Did I get it from him? Did Callie have the same trait?
I unlook a little—just enough to focus more on his aura and less on the man.
Is an aura something you can inherit, like eye color? His is a lot like mine—if I hold my hand out next to his, both blaze with the colors of a rainbow.
But Callie doesn’t have an aura anymore. Doesn’t that mean what I’ve been thinking is impossible?
“Shay?” he prompts.
“It’s about your daughter—it’s about Callie.”
He’s startled. This is a topic he wasn’t expecting. “Go on,” he says.
“I hate to have to tell you this, Alex. She was at the facility on Shetland; she was one of their subjects. She was injected with antimatter and became ill, but she survived.”
His shock is absolute.
“Are you saying Callie is a survivor?” he says, and disbelief shimmers through him. “Do you know where she is?”
“She’s with Kai. Or, at least, she was. I expect she still is.”
He frowns. “There’s been no report of anyone traveling with Kai initially or—”
“No. There wouldn’t be.”
“What is it you’re not saying?”
“She was ‘cured’ in fire at the facility—that’s what they called it, but ‘murdered’ is more apt. I mean she was”—I swallow—“I’m sorry. It means she was incinerated. Burned in an intense fire to ash.”
“I don’t understand. How could you know all this? And how could she be with Kai if that is the case?”
“Some part of her wasn’t destroyed and survived the fire. At first I thought she was a ghost, but I don’t think that is quite right. I think it is Callie who is the carrier.”
I explain more. How Callie—a form of darkness only I could hear and see—traveled from Shetland to Aberdeen, then Edinburgh and Newcastle to find her mother and Kai. The more I say it out loud, the more I see how it explains the whole initial spread of the epidemic.
“And then Kai and Callie found me when I was ill,” I say. “It was what she told us that made us travel to Shetland—and everywhere we went, the epidemic followed. I thought it was me; that it had to be me. But it was when you told us about the outbreak at the air force base on the island that I realized the truth. And there was Glasgow and London: Kai—and therefore, Callie—were there. This confirms it.”
Alex asks question after question: about how I communicated with Callie, what she was like, what Kai made of it—why Kai believed me that she was there. What Callie could remember and what she couldn’t. I can see the scientist has taken over; he is gathering facts, analyzing them, sifting through them to feel for the truth.
And the questions he asks and the places they lead are opening channels of thought in my own mind, ones I want—need—to explore. There is something there just out of my reach.
And the whole time, Alex is screening places inside. Has he locked up his feelings about Callie and what she went through?
Then he asks me to leave him alone with his thoughts. He also asks me not to tell anyone about Callie, not until he can come to terms with what I’ve told him.
I readily agree. It’s his daughter; how could I not?
CHAPTER 12
I SHOULD SLEEP, BUT I CAN’T.
How can I, when now I know I’m not contagious and that Callie is?
Pain that is never far away is welling up inside. I want to run to Kai, to say I’m sorry for leaving him—that I had everything wrong…
As if he knows I need it just now, Chamberlain stirs and rubs his head against my hand until I pet him. I push the tears away. What about Callie? I’ve got to find them and find a way to tell her. Take her somewhere she can be happy where no one else will be infected. This is the only way to stop the epidemic.
There are so many unanswered questions that won’t leave me alone.
What is Callie? She can’t be just a dark cloud of antimatter: if she were, everything she came into contact with would go boom—not just people—and, as it happened, bit by bit she would cease to exist.
She was a survivor, like me: made of matter, with antimatter hidden away inside of her.
She was burned in a fire.
I try not to go back to how I nearly died in a fire, to remember the burning, the pain. I push it away.
Nothing could have survived the fire Callie was in. Her ashes were scooped up and taken away; she told us so. If nothing physical survived the fire, what is she?
She is more like…a form of energy. Most people can’t see it. It’s a dark energy, one that can only be seen by survivors.
But how could this dark energy make people sick and do it in exactly the same way as if they’ve been exposed to antimatter? Callie was always the same as far as I could tell, so whatever she did to make people sick, it didn’t change her.
Wait a minute: that sounds like a catalyst, something we learned about in chemistry. Catalysts speed up reactions without being changed themselves.
Maybe there is something in humans that can produce antimatter with the right catalyst. Then the antimatter makes them sick.
Huh. That’s easier than using a particle accelerator, isn’t it?
Anyhow, this idea is just plain over-the-top crazy. Why would humans evolve to have something built in, dormant inside them, that will wipe almost all of them out? It’s like they’ve been programmed to self-destruct.
Except for survivors, who get infected but don’t die. Why?
Like I told the others before, I keep thinking back to another time when matter won out over antimatter: the big bang. There must be a connection here, somehow; I just know it.
Maybe something shielded matter from antimatter after the big bang, like it shields antimatter inside survivors now. Something dark, like the barrier I sensed inside me…
Dark matter.
Maybe dark matter stopped the big bang from destroying the universe; likewise, dark matter keeps survivors alive. And if Callie is made of dark energy, maybe that is all that is left when matter, antimatter, and dark matter are destroyed.
Another thing on the list of things I don’t understand is this: when the air force facility was attacked, many survivors were killed—burned in Vigil’s fires. If more Callies were created, we’d have known it. I might have been beyond registering it after nearly dying, but the others would have been able to see and hear them. Why didn’t the same thing that happened to Callie happen to them? Was there something special about Callie—beyond just being a survivor—that made this happen to her and only her?
I frown and shak
e my aching head. I’m desperate to tell everyone what I’ve started to work out about all of this to see if they can help put the pieces together.
I consider going back downstairs, finding Alex and raising the others. But he’s just found out his daughter has died. He was shielding his emotions before; I need to leave him alone to deal with what happened to her.
It can wait until morning. I close my eyes and wrap my arms around Chamberlain. His rumbling purr lulls me to sleep at last.
CHAPTER 13
WHEN I GO DOWNSTAIRS IN THE MORNING, Alex isn’t at breakfast. Elena says that he left early—that he told her there was something he had to look into, that he’d be back tonight or tomorrow. That we should stay put and wait for him.
She hadn’t questioned him and seems puzzled when I ask her, where would we go anyway?
And where has he gone?
No one seems concerned that he’s not here, but he’s gone off without telling anyone about his daughter, that is clear. Maybe he doesn’t want to admit that she is the one who causes death everywhere she goes.
* * *
That afternoon we’re all off researching, reading, and thinking in our various corners, but I can’t concentrate. Something doesn’t feel right; there’s a vague sense of foreboding deep in my gut, and somehow it is wrapped up with Alex’s silence on something so crucial—and his absence.
Coming to terms with a loss in his own way and time I can understand, but when I was talking to him last night there seemed to be something more going on inside him. I don’t know what it was. What was he hiding?
But he can’t hide this: the mode of spread of the epidemic is too important not to share, and I can’t keep quiet on it any longer.
I cast around for Spike and hail him. Hi, can we talk?
Of course; I need a break. I’m in the summerhouse.
I head outside to the garden, Chamberlain at my feet. I haven’t gone into the summerhouse before. It’s old and looks like a good push would knock it over, but when I go through the door, I can see why Spike likes it here. He’s made a cozy nest in a corner, one that looks across the overgrown lawns to the house. It’s a good hideaway.
Spike moves a pile of books off the other chair for me, and I sit next to him. As soon as I do, Chamberlain jumps onto my lap, then turns and arranges himself so he’s watching the door, eyes wide open.
“Isn’t it time for you to be snoozing on a bed somewhere, Sir Cat?” Spike says, and scratches his ears, but Chamberlain’s attention stays fixed on the door.
“He’s jumpy today,” I say, realizing as I say it that he’s been shadowing me, wide-awake, ever since I got up this morning. “Maybe because I am.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I need to ask you something that might seem a bit random.”
“Go.”
“You know how you said you have a mask—how much do you think each of us can hide from each other?”
His eyes are thoughtful. “Are you wondering about Alex?”
I’m surprised. Does Spike have concerns about Alex too? And he doesn’t have Kai or my mum as reasons. “Yes. How’d you know?”
“I’ve been wondering about a few things. How he managed to keep that he was a survivor secret is beyond me. And he said he couldn’t tell us, but come on—telepathy, right? He could have told us. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to.”
“He must have been masking his aura then so we couldn’t tell he was a survivor—it looks completely different now,” I say. “But who’s to say he isn’t making it look different all the time?”
“What is it you’re worried about?”
“Easier to show you than tell you,” I say. We link minds, and I show him Callie.
I tell Spike all about her too; how she drew us to Shetland. That I’d told Alex about her last night—that he’d asked me to keep it to myself. But then he wasn’t here in the morning, and—without even quite knowing why—I wasn’t comfortable with keeping it to myself any longer.
Spike stares levelly back at me while I talk, taking it all in. He doesn’t have trouble believing me about Callie: how could he when our minds are linked as they are? I’m as open to him now as he is to me. He knows it is the truth.
Spike is about to say something, but whatever it is he stops and looks at the summerhouse door. Chamberlain digs his claws through my jeans and I wince.
Beatriz stands there, unsmiling.
“They’re here,” she says.
PART 6
VENERATION
To see the truth, you must be able to listen, and not just with your ears—with all of your senses.
—Xander, Multiverse Manifesto
CHAPTER 1
KAI
I’M STANDING ON THE ROCKY HILL above the burned-out remains of Shay’s last prison. Is she free now?
There were arguments within the group about what to do with the bodies of survivors we found in the trap—the ones not destroyed in their attackers’ fires. We decided we couldn’t leave them with the other dead. Sooner or later, the authorities will appear to see what has happened here; we don’t want to leave survivors’ bodies intact, not when they might experiment on them.
The ground is too hard and rocky to bury them, so pyres are all we can do—even though it seems somehow wrong to take bodies of these survivors and burn them, when that is what their enemies would do if they were still alive. And Patrick asked whether burning them might cause a change of form, make them like Callie.
In the end we decided no, it couldn’t happen, because they’re already dead.
But we had to hurry. We couldn’t be found in this place. They would either think we’re responsible, or realize most of us are survivors and lock us up.
Callie, Henry, and Amaya are watching to make sure that no one is coming, while below me the others stand by the pyre as it burns.
I needed to be away from them just now, and I think they needed their space from me so they could make their peace with what has happened, together—in a way they can’t if they’re including me. Before that I had to stay and help, lend my strength to what had to be done—to carrying the bodies to the pyre we’d made. It was too distressing for the others, as any contact with the dead had them reliving their last moments over and over again, so I took that task away from them.
But it has all been done now, and I’m restless.
Is Shay out there somewhere?
We didn’t find her body, or anyone who died who had seen her die. But there is no way to know where she went—no clues, nothing to follow. She could be literally anywhere.
Shay isn’t anyone else’s problem but mine; I know this. Patrick already said as much—that we’ve done what we could, and without a clear trail to follow, we need to make plans and move on to other things.
They need to move on to other things.
I can’t.
CHAPTER 2
CALLIE
SMOKE RISES INTO THE SKY and we’re no closer to finding Dr. 1, no closer to finding Shay. Kai stands above, alone. He seems more apart from everyone else now than ever.
Freja, JJ, Patrick, and Zohra are watching the bodies burn on the pyre. With the right fuel, they burn so easily. It doesn’t take long. We could leave now, but still they stand there and watch the flames. Even though they decided burning dead survivors wouldn’t make them like me, maybe they want to be sure before we go.
Then Freja glances around until her eyes find Kai above us on the hill. They rest on him there before she turns to JJ, to something he says, but they’re not broadcasting so I can’t hear. She walks away and JJ follows.
I do too. I’m not supposed to be here; I’m supposed to be watching the roads and the sky to make sure no one is coming, but Amaya and Henry can cover it. I’m tired of being excluded.
I slip next to Freja, by her side, i
n order to face JJ.
Ah, so our shadow has returned, he says.
I stick out my tongue and he chuckles.
Leave her alone, Freja says with some feeling.
Well, this was meant to be a private conversation, but whatever you prefer. You know I’m right, Freja. Don’t you?
She copies my earlier gesture.
He really laughs this time and shakes his head. Kai has to go on his quest. You can’t stop him.
What makes you think I want to?
Just a tickle of an idea.
Freja looks at him, then closer again, as if she’s had an idea of her own. You did actually see Shay, didn’t you? You didn’t just make that up to send him away?
Are you doubting my word? JJ is angry. I don’t think he lied, but Freja is wondering. Why would he? I don’t understand.
I wish I could see Shay again, like JJ did.
That’s when I realize: maybe…I can.
Show us, I say to JJ.
What? he says.
Show us what you saw.
JJ shrugs. Are you sure you want to see? He says this to Freja, not to me.
She hesitates, and then says yes.
His mind kind of bumps into ours, and we’re there—in JJ’s memory—back underground beside the two bodies. He pulls the suit open and touches the man’s shoulder, distaste running through him, and then we’re carried along with JJ to the dead man’s last thoughts.
It’s just a girl, not many yards away. A man behind her is pulling wires out of the wall by the door.
They’re trapped.
A slip of a girl, and I laugh when she faces us and straightens her shoulders.
“Stop!” she says, but her lips don’t move—she says it in my mind, and I do stop, afraid. She’s one of them—the ones we hunt.