The Isle

  In my bones, I feel the thousand microfissures, marrow rips marrow, then mends. I howl. Gravity does the rest, breaking and unbreaking. Reeling backward, the cuff tears from my wrist, and I fall to the concrete.

  I hurt, but nothing’s mangled. Nothing’s broken, just as Callum guessed. I cradle my arm as I stand, watching the purple disappear. The door to the next room is locked, but through the window, I see him.

  He’s laid out on the stretcher, back comfortably lifted. Can’t have him suffocating on a bloody lung, of course. He has the face of misshapen, molten steel.

  I pound the window with my good hand. I slam it until the glass cracks, splintering into my palm. My blood smears, shards fracture and fall. “How could you do it to me!”

  Through the broken window, the only answer I hear is a staggered, bubbling wheeze. He doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

  With the force of a dozen streaks of lightning hitting one lonely metal antenna, my entire life—every decision, every emotion—it becomes clear. I’ve had Voss in me all along—

  The beast made of teeth. The infernal hook in my heart that wouldn’t let go until I found a way to destroy the governor.

  The moment I almost let Callum die.

  Even my love for Aven, tainted. I’d never let her die if I could find a way to stop it . . . for her sake, but also for mine. I am selfish. I don’t want to be around if she’s not: She’s my one link to goodness. Without her, what would I become?

  I am my father’s daughter.

  “I was yours!” I scream, desperately forcing my voice through his drug haze. “Do you hear me? I am your daughter!”

  The machine that tracks his heart rate beeps faster now.

  I keep going. “That’s right! You hear me, don’t you! My own mother gave me up! The water you both drank? It’s in me—it’s in my blood! I’m different because of it. And I think she was afraid . . . of you. I think she was terrified of what you’d do to me if you found out. Do you understand, monster?”

  The words are hot, blackened volcanic vomit out of my mouth. In them are all the years I spent alone, fending for myself. Once in a while I’d wonder what it would be like, having parents who cared. Little did I know how lucky I was to grow up without them.

  The hook is back, deeper this time. I no longer want revenge for what he did to Aven, or anyone else he ever wronged.

  I want it for myself.

  The beeping is faster now, so I know I’m getting through. He makes a sound. He has no voice, can speak only in whispers.

  “You . . .”

  That one word drags on, like he can’t quite stop it. The vowel mixes with whatever air he’s got in his one good lung. I’m in his breath.

  “Me! Yes, me!”

  He’s watching now from under two weak eye slits. I don’t see remorse. A flash of something, maybe. Hope? He lifts a finger, tries to raise the rest of his hand. It wavers in the air for just a moment before it falls.

  “Help me,” I hear him say. “You could help me. Your blood.”

  I’m sick again, hurling freshwater and now bile, because there’s nothing left in my stomach to set free.

  “You could be the way.” Air hisses between his teeth. “You could save us all.”

  I scream one final time, spitting the last of my retching gut onto the floor. Footsteps echo outside the underground room. If I wanted to see remorse, I didn’t get it. Even after everything he’s put me through, Voss is who he is—he’d use me to the end if he could.

  Through gritted teeth and clenched jaw, I tell him, “Die,” and he does.

  The beeping flatlines. Becomes one solid shrieking horizon that doesn’t end. It extends forever in my head, and even when I press my hands up to my ears, desperate to drown it out, I can still hear. I’ll never stop hearing the noise, I realize.

  It’s in my very bones.

  43

  AVEN

  8:30 P.M., FRIDAY

  The blue star blanket carries Ren and Callum in slow motion, up to the night sky. Everywhere the net touched, I hurt. Curled like a snake in the bushes, I watch—unable to move. Tears race over the bridge of my nose. I let them. I have no other choice.

  In the ballroom, Chief Dunn gives his speech—I can hear him though the white double doors. Two black-gloved officers haul nets through the second-story window. One says, “Got ’em,” into his comm, just as my rigid body begins to wake up. I spasm, muscles threatening to give me away—

  A flashlight.

  It sets my hiding space aglow. Bright green leaves bristle at my ear. I close my eyes. One by one, my nerves come alive—now of all times. Holding my breath, I pretend I’m still paralyzed. My heart bangs so loud, someone must hear it. The beam traces a path right over my head, hitting the building’s brick facade behind me.

  It outlines the mansion . . . and then stretches away to scan the bank. I exhale. Long minutes pass. I have to get back inside. I won’t let them take her.

  Flipping onto my stomach, I pull off one shoe—a distraction, while I make a dash for the double doors. Shaking the glue from my muscles, I wind up my arm. I bite my lip, I squint . . . I aim for a ground-floor window about thirty feet to my left. My stubby fingers grip the loafer oddly, and I hope I can still hit such a close target.

  I hurl.

  It flies into the glass—I bolt for the doors.

  “There!” an officer patrolling the perimeter shouts. A dart cracks in the air as I touch the brass handle. Hissing, it misses me, connecting with the door frame instead.

  I gasp and stumble into the packed ballroom. Dunn’s faced away, talking into his comm. Hundreds of eyes turn. An officer posted at the door whips around. His eyes land on the dart still hissing in the wooden frame. “Hey!” he growls, and grabs my forearm. . . .

  I’m dragged closer, as he reaches for the handcuffs dangling from his hip belt. I try to yank myself free, but I’m nowhere near strong enough—I’m caught again.

  “That’s her . . . that’s Aven,” one prisoner blurts, echoed by a dozen others. A woman shaped like a speedmobile steps between me and the officer. “What did you give us?” she asks in a wiry voice, breaking his grip. She isn’t sure yet if I’m to be loved, or hated.

  I stumble away, mouth open. They deserve an answer—but I can’t give one right now. Choking back the lump in my throat, I drop to the floor and I duck between people’s legs like a coward. I crawl into the crowd until it swallows me whole. Behind, the guard chases. He doesn’t get very far. His black boots scuffle against the masses, prisoners falling to the side—the room’s packed too tight.

  He stops moving.

  Ter, where are you?

  I punch awkwardly into my comm, fingers hitting the wrong keys by accident. When he responds a moment later, I maneuver toward the kitchen, hiding behind my hair the whole way. I can’t look them in the eye.

  Ter wraps me in one of his famous bear hugs.

  I stiffen, my eyes watering. The lump is still there—I’m too shaken to hug him back.

  “What happened?”

  I can’t answer.

  He gives me another quick hug and points to one corner of the ballroom, where Sipu and Derek are waiting for us. Then he leads the way, offering me a handful of tiny triangular sandwiches he must have snuck from the kitchen.

  I turn them down. If I ate right now I’d only see it again later. He puts a few sandwiches in my hand anyway.

  “I commed Benny—he’s coming to get us. Where’s Ren? Did you find Callum?” Ter asks, but the ballroom abrubtly quiets.

  On the balcony, Chief Dunn has raised both his hands.

  “Men, women, and children of the UMI: My first order of business as acting governor isn’t going to be easy—what’s necessary never is.” He stops here. Half the people scowl, trusting nothing he says. The other half listen and wait before passing judgment. “One thing stands between us and a better way of life.”

  “Freshwater . . . ,” buzzes around the room, sp
reading like fire.

  “Are you thinking about a Second Appeal?” a lone reporter shouts as she maneuvers her long mic in between the banisters.

  Chief Dunn leans forward. He looks out at the crowd and nods.

  “We don’t know much about the cure you were given—illegally, I’d like to remind you all. Its regenerative side effect could last a few days, or a few weeks. We only know it’s not permanent. Now is the time to strike Upstate—to demand Magistrate Harcourt reopen the main aqueduct.”

  One prisoner scoffs so loudly that others turn to look at him. “Why should we fight for you?” he yells.

  Chief Dunn shakes his head. “Don’t fight for me—fight for yourselves. Are you going to stand there and deny that you’re the answer we’ve been waiting for? The drug you were given is nothing short of a miracle, and I want to use you. Our nation needs freshwater. I’m challenging you to use yourselves.”

  All the while he’s been talking, I’ve forgotten to breathe. Dizzy, I glance around the room. The people are listening, considering.

  “I’m not asking you to fight for free either. You’ll receive compensation, just like any other officer. Payment for service. Free attendance to any West Isle school of your choosing. A clean DI record,” he adds smoothly.

  As the prisoners haggle, negotiating Dunn’s terms—something else dawns on me. My stomach clenches, my vision blurs. The balcony shifts and retreats, until I realize it’s me, swaying back and forth. “No,” I whisper, sinking down to catch smooth, pale marble.

  Ter touches my back. “Aven, what is it?”

  I cradle my head in both hands, sure it’s about to fall off. “My fault,” I manage. “My idea . . . the water. If I’d listened to Ren, if I’d only waited . . .” I fold onto the floor, hiding my eyes.

  I’m still being jolted stiff by the net’s electric stars, shocked a hundred times in a hundred ways. Except, the shocks aren’t on my skin—they’re in the air.

  I gave Chief Dunn the perfect army. Gift-wrapped with a bow, hand-delivered to his doorstep.

  44

  REN

  9:00 P.M., FRIDAY

  “Dane!”

  Chief marches into the security room. He hears the monitor flatlining. He calls for the doctors, and a moment later, they appear. “Time of death.” My father’s body disappears in a flurry of white lab coats and gray hair.

  The inventory door swings open.

  “Chief,” I answer, hoarse from screaming.

  Hands square on his hips, Dunn finds me loose—and he don’t even care. He pulls a glass vial of dark, silty liquid from his breast pocket and holds it up to my face. “The spring, Dane—where is it!”

  Eyeing the contents, I can tell it’s not the serum Callum made. It doesn’t look like any of the vials I left for Derek either.

  “Was this . . . Voss’s?”

  His name is a bullet in my mouth.

  “Moment he was shot, he told me where to find it.”

  I say nothing, because I wouldn’t have saved Voss either.

  Chief shakes the vial like a snowglobe. As the silt sinks to the bottom, he whistles in sheer wonder. “Never actually thought anything of Voss’s search for fresh. Not until you found the spring. There was office talk, sure, about him actually thinking he’d found the Fountain of Youth, but he never said anything to me. I thought it was all silly gossip.”

  Chief shrugs and returns the vial to his pocket. Paces the room, anxious. Callum, still cuffed to the table, keeps out of his way.

  “No more games, Dane. I need the spring. I need it now.”

  I don’t understand—why now? When I don’t answer fast enough, he drags me into the security room. Points to one glass screen. “Look.”

  I choke. . . .

  What was a ballroom an hour ago is being turned into a military base. Lines of prisoners receive blue fatigues, while servants hand out food and water. “A Second Appeal?” I whisper, touching the pixilated screen in disbelief.

  “An opportunity, Dane. The plan’s been in the works for years.”

  “And they just agreed?”

  Chief Dunn brings his hand down against a table with a tinny smack. “Do you not see? The people need water!” he shouts, his eyes hard on mine.

  He’s not wrong, but . . . this ain’t the way.

  Digging my nails into my palms, I feel like a traitor. Chief is sending five hundred people like animals to the slaughter, just ’cause they’ve got the springwater in their systems. When it wears off, they’re dead.

  Is that on me?

  “We leave in two hours—with or without your help. I’ve already reappropriated millions to secure a high-speed barge from a city on the Mainland; it’s on its way as we speak. Every second I waste, the springwater loses its effectiveness. And just like last time, we’re vastly outnumbered—we only stand a chance if we can keep fighting.

  “Don’t you want to bring freshwater to the UMI?”

  I do—I do. . . . We deserve fresh as much as anyone, but . . .

  What happens after we win? There’s always gonna be another war to fight. If it ain’t for water, it’ll be for land. Or any other resource that catches our eye.

  “Don’t you want the UMI to be a great city again?”

  An immortal city . . .

  I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth so hard they just might turn to chalk. Voss is dead, but there’s another waiting in the wings. What would a man like Dunn do with limitless power?

  “Very well then,” he says, stepping closer. “I tried talking to you, but you won’t see reason.” Dunn lifts his cuffcomm to his mouth. “Backup requested in Security A immediately,” he says.

  I step away, ready to make a run for the door when two officers burst in.

  “Hold her.”

  They flank me, each grabbing an arm. I jerk away, trying to twist myself free, but then come the cuffs. With my wrists locked behind my back, I’ve got no power. I kick, but they force me down—I drop to my knees. Dunn braces himself against the wall. He lifts his leg. Looks at me. “Unless,” he spits, throwing his boot into my ribs, “you care to lead a team of my men there. Now.”

  My body becomes a fist, clenched against the force. I grunt and spit. Callum launches from his spot, yanked back, forgetting the cuffs.

  Dunn winds his leg again, this time striking it into my shoulder. His boot ricochets off my nose, bursting a vessel—fresh blood bubbles out my nostril.

  “You can stop this,” he says, using the sole of his shoe to lift my forehead. Metallic red smears up and down my face.

  I gasp. How can I stop this? I rack my mind for an answer, but all I feel is hate for the spring that’s destroyed as many lives as it’s saved. It shouldn’t be here, it was a mistake—a botanical error.

  Because it was given to people.

  Kitaneh once said the spring was a miracle and a curse—both. Now I understand. A miracle and a curse, because we are. Not even the Tètai were able to keep their hands clean; hiding the spring also ends in death.

  With Callum holding my gaze, I’m a botanical error too, I realize.

  I see in the twitch of his eyebrows, the slightest cock of his head—we’re hitting on the same answer.

  I could get rid of it. My blood could get rid of it forever.

  Friendship may be the closest thing to telepathy we’ve got on this earth. Callum, ever so slightly, nods. In that tiny, atomic motion, he tells me he understands.

  “Drop her.”

  The officers let go and I fall, dead weight on the concrete.

  “In one minute I’m going to walk back in through that door. I expect to hear only one answer, understood?” Chief Dunn waves his guards out of the room, leaving me bloodied, like I’ve already been to battle. The war hasn’t even begun. From across the room, Callum inches closer—as close as his handcuffs will let him.

  “Ren,” he says, hoarse with worry. “I know what you’re thinking. . . . I thought it too. I can’t stop you, I know. But I also can’t let you. F
or a hundred reasons, but only one that matters, scientifically.”

  I wrench myself away, spitting out the tang of fresh blood. “What do you mean?”

  “We don’t know if you have enough blood in your body for this to even work,” he says, pleading with his eyes.

  “Isn’t there some math magic you can do to find out?”

  Chief Dunn walks back in, and Callum nods from under the table. Right now, I’m getting a firsthand look at the distance between the head and the heart. He understands why I need to do this, and he’s hoping science can save me.

  Funny, because science got me here.

  Chief Dunn steps closer. “You ready to take a field trip, Dane?” He raises his leg a third time, waiting for my answer.

  I am my mother’s daughter. In the eleventh hour, I will make amends; I will right Governor Voss’s wrongs.

  I am also my father’s daughter. A man who betrayed. His love, his people. His own humanity. Humanity itself.

  Cool in the shadow of my own terrible greatness, I say, “Yes . . . I’ll take you.”

  45

  AVEN

  9:15 P.M., FRIDAY

  Like a fairy tale told backward, the ballroom transforms into Blues’ barracks. Prisoners in fatigues line up to have their necks tattooed with Division Interial identification codes. Chief Dunn’s abandoned his pulpit and left the captain in charge of organizing the ranks.

  The ballroom is no longer safe.

  Me, Ter, Sipu, and Derek head for the kitchen, searching for a better place to hide until Benny arrives. We weave through servers rushing to clean pots or put away cheeses and fruit, when Derek nudges us into an empty pantry not much smaller than our apartment back at the ’Racks.

  I sit in silence under a row of imported tomato sauce tins.

  “You really blame yourself?” Ter asks, and I just hug my knees closer.

  I do.

  He lays his hand on my back. “Aven, you don’t control people’s choices. This war is not your fault,” he insists, but he doesn’t understand—his dad is wealthy. When you’re poor enough—everyone controls your choices. Dunn’s taking advantage of the prisoners. Prisoners that I put in his lap.