“It’s them,” I hear one man say as four men approach.
Darian stumbles in front of me. “W—who are you?” he slurs.
“It’s okay, man,” the guy in blue says. “You made it! We’re from the Awakened. We’ve been in communication with Jameson. We’ve been expecting you guys.”
Darian’s shoulders slouch in what I take to be relief as he expels a huge sigh. “Call me Dragon. My girl…” he says. “Please help her.”
My wobbly legs give out and I’m on my knees again. One guy kneels beside me, tilts my head back a little, and pours water from a canteen against my lips. I take a mouthful, but shove it away. It’s not water I want, but sleep I need.
“We better hurry,” he says, then slings me over his shoulder.
Then he’s running, my body bouncing up and down against his as he dashes off, another guy flanking us. And, despite the rough bouncing and dust flicking into my face, I rotate between the feelings of dozing off and the zapping of pain—until my body starts convulsing in spasms.
I always wondered what would eventually happen if our bodies were deprived of sleep for too long, when they didn’t allow sleep to come.
And now I know.
It’s death.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I’m coughing and retching. My surroundings blur into odd sounds and glimpses of rock, brush, and debris under the sporadic glow of the flashlight as it illuminates a path.
The men carrying me are grunting and groaning as they both heave me up the red mountain, pulling on ropes. My head slumps, then jolts, and my body convulses in a seizure.
When I open my eyes again—I’m shocked I’m still breathing—another man climbs over the top of the rock that looks like a giant cavern. I’m being passed from one man to another.
Darian’s voice mumbles something incoherent from behind me, and my head spins with the blur of colored clothing in the darkness. The guys’ chattering becomes a cacophony of sounds that pulsates against my head like a jackhammer.
Ropes and straps swirl around me, along with clicking sounds, as I’m strapped to one man’s back. Then the sudden rush of wind, the smell of something musty, and the trickling of water piques my senses. I’m vaguely aware that we’re rappelling over the cliff into the deep, dark cavern.
Fast.
We reach the bottom with a splash. Sprays of cool water dampen my face. The blond man unties me while several others rush out of nowhere to help steady me on my feet. Something cool wets my legs and I realize we’re standing in water about two feet deep.
Spread out as far as I can see are cave walls filled with stalactites and stalagmites, and damp air surrounds us.
More splashes and Darian and his two guides land close by. Darian’s face is pale, sickly, and it takes everything in me to force a weak smile at him.
An old gray-haired woman—older than I’ve ever seen before—wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice echoing against the cave walls. My eyes widen at the wrinkles that cover every inch of her face like a grid.
Her eyes crinkle at the edges as she smiles. “You’ve not seen an old lady like me before, I’m sure…except maybe in pictures,” she says with a laugh, then adds firmly, “Nobody is gonna terminate me.”
Her words sink into my brain, reminding me of how my parents were terminated so young—and how much was taken away from them.
It’s that thought that does me in. Instantly, my mother’s image flashes in front of me, the crimson blood defacing her white dress, the look of death washing over her. I picture my father lying next to her in a pool of his own blood.
I have no family.
I am alone.
My dad’s nickname for me, sweet face, rings in my ears, as though it too echoes off the cave walls…and my heart breaks all over again.
I fall to my knees in a wave of exhaustion, strain, and nausea, and start convulsing again.
“No!” Darian yells.
His scream bounces off the cave walls over and over…and over.
When I open my eyes, I’m in a small, stone room. I’m stretched out on a cot that’s pressed up against a rock wall. A red-and-black checkered quilt has been placed over me. Another black blanket is pinned over a carved-out door in the middle of a cave wall.
I suddenly remember rappelling over a cliff into a cave. I try to sit up, but my head pounds, so I lie back down. IV tubing, connected to a vein in my hand, leads to a bag of clear solution on a rudimentary pole.
I notice Darian slouched in a bean bag sort of chair in the corner of the room.
“Darian,” I whisper, unsure if anybody is outside the door listening.
He doesn’t budge.
My gaze falls to the soft rise and fall of his chest, the expression of ease on his face, and the way his hand hangs limp over the chair.
And I realize he’s sleeping…without the Dreamscape.
Without the Dreamscape!
Then, like a memory, other thoughts rush into my head—images of my mom and dad pushing me on a swing when I was little, feeding me ice cream, and singing me a lullaby. Tears spring to my eyes with a mixture of happiness and grief.
But something else.
The memories feel so real…tangible—like they just happened and I realize the images were dreams—that I had a real dream.
My eyes widen as my gaze drops to my right wrist. A small incision is stitched there, marring the swirl of the number six.
“It’s gone,” Darian says.
Startled by his voice, I look up into Darian’s bright blue eyes. He’s standing over my cot. I must have been so deep in my thoughts that I didn’t hear him stir.
He kneels beside my bed, lifts my wrist, and kisses my palm. “They removed our sensors as soon as we arrived. You’ve been sleeping for over twenty-four hours now.”
I sit up, swing my legs around the side of the cot, and lean my back against the rock wall. Its cool surface feels great against the back of my head. “Well, that explains why I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus,” I say, laughing. Then, in a more serious tone, I add, “What are these people like…I mean, is it okay here?”
Darian nods. “It seems like it.” He shifts in-between my legs so that his hips lean against the frame of the cot. He places one hand on my knee and he rubs my cheek with the other. “Most importantly, we’re free.”
A small smile works its way across my cheeks. I like the sound of that word. “Free,” I repeat, trying it out on my tongue. “Hey! I think I had my first real dream.” I gaze over his shoulder. “It was nice, actually. I got to see my parents again.”
“That is nice. I dreamed about eating a huge steak,” he jokes.
“Darian…” I say. “Do you think real nightmares are as bad as the ones in the Terrorscape?” I chew the corner of my lip, inwardly worrying about seeing that crazy clown.
He scrunches his eyebrows and shakes his head. “I definitely doubt it, sunshine. But I plan on asking for a double-sized cot just in case.” His lips tilt up into a wicked smirk. “That way, if you have any sort of nightmare, I’ll wake you up with kisses that will make you forget all about it—trust me on that one.” He gives me a wolfish grin and leans in, dropping a quick kiss on my mouth before coaxing my lips apart with his tongue and pressing his lips more forcefully against mine. My skin crackles under his touch and my senses come alive. Heart fluttering, I sigh into him as the weight of the last few days sloughs off me.
He leans back and runs his hand over the top of his head…and my eyes fall to the smoky tattoo of the number one on his wrist. Although the incision that runs through it is evidence that his sensor has been taken out, the tattoo still bothers me.
“I think we should get our tattoos removed,” I say, running a finger over his number. “You’re not a One, and I’m not a Six. I want to forget all about the numbering law.” I tilt my head and quirk a brow. “We’ll die whenever it’s meant to be, right?”
He nods and grins. “When you’re old
and decrepit and I’ve gotta hand-feed you?”
I sock him lightly in the arm. “Watch it. And hey, you don’t have to wait until I’m old to hand-feed me, you know. I like the sound of you hand-feeding me anytime.”
Darian laughs, then his face grows serious. “I’ve been thinking about the whole tattoo thing, too. Since they burned down the Dungeon, I think we should get these numbers removed, and get matching tattoos of our initials. You know…just like we had on the doorway of the tree house. It’ll be in memory of that place and of the times we spent there—and, well…” Darian smiles and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “It’ll be for us.”
I think of the engraving of the two entwined letter D’s that we painstakingly carved into the wood on the tree house door. “I love that idea,” I say, and I mean it. The thought of never having to see the numbered tattoos again is amazing. Even better is the idea of it being replaced with such a fond memory. “Let’s do it.”
“Awesome,” he says, then smirks. “Hopefully the kid who does the tats here won’t maim us.”
When he mentions the word kid, I instantly think about my sister and the other children like Jax that The Protectorate call the Unwanted.
I scoot around Darian and jump to my feet. “Did you ask about Sophia?”
Darian’s face turns solemn and he stands up, shaking his head, but says nothing.
“Darian?” Panic claws at my chest, terrified of what he’s going to say.
He sidesteps me and walks over to the door. He places an arm against the doorframe, and pauses with a sigh. “I’ll be right back, Rae…” He pushes aside the black blanket and leaves.
“Darian!” I shriek, left staring at the empty walls in shock. I rush to the doorway and just as I’m about to pull open the blanket and peer out, I hear giggling outside.
And, before I can process what’s happening, a little girl steps in. She has a bright smile and long, black hair—hair so black it almost looks blue. And it’s that hair that makes me recognize her. It’s the same hair that’s been flashing in my mind.
“Desiree!” her little voice squeals as she hurries over to me. She wraps her arms around my waist and leans back and gazes up into my face with a giant, toothy smile. Tears glisten in her green eyes.
I don’t tell her that I don’t really remember her. I don’t tell her that The Protectorate stole all of those memories from me about two years ago. I make up my mind that she can fill me in about all of those things over time.
And that her memories will become ours.
She searches my face for some response and I open my mouth to speak, but my throat burns. I look to Darian. He winks and his face lights up with a huge smile.
I shake my head, smiling, then drop my gaze back to the little girl standing in front of me.
I’m not alone after all.
I have Darian, who has become so much more than an amazing childhood friend, and who has grown into something much more than I can put into words. And now, I also have family—a sister—my sister who was long forgotten and out of reach…stolen.
But she’s alive.
I reach my hand out and run it over her beautiful dark hair, wait for my shock to lessen, then try to find my voice again.
“Sophia…I found you.”
She presses the side of her face against my stomach and squeezes her arms that are still entwined around me like a boa constrictor.
I look at Darian, bug-eyed, hardly believing Sophia is here. “H—how?”
“A band of The Awakened managed to hijack one of their transport vehicles and rescue a few of the Unwant—um, some of the kids,” he corrects himself.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Sophia says, thankfully not noticing, or purposefully ignoring, his mistake. But her next words make the relief of the moment disappear in a wave of nausea. “Desiree,” she says in a soft voice. She sniffles, a tiny sound like she’s trying to hide her fear and be brave. “They said you’ll stop them from taking Madison’s heart. She’s still back in their compound. You have to stop them, Desiree, you have to.” As she says it, her little face grows fierce with determination. “She’s not even sick. Not one bit. They just wanna kill her because she’s a match for Prime Minister Vega’s grandson.”
Horror clogs my throat as I stare up into Darian’s startled gaze. Apparently, Sophia’s bombshell about using the Unwanted as a spare-parts reservoir is news to him, too.
Darian and I barely managed to escape with our lives, but as I run shaky fingers through Sophia’s hair, I feel as if I’ve been socked in the stomach. We’ve only begun to lift the veil of The Protectorate. And it feels like we’re opening Pandora’s Box.
Acknowledgments
First of all, thank you to all of the readers and book bloggers. Without your love of books, none of this would be possible. Keep on being awesome!
A huge thank-you to my amazing editor, Liz Pelletier. Thank you for believing in this book before it was even finished and for helping to make my dreams come true. You’re truly special for everything you do. Also, thank you to everyone at Entangled, those who had eyes on this book, and everyone in general. It really is an incredible team of awesome.
Of course a massive thank-you goes out to my fabulous critique partners: Rachel Harris, Trisha Wolfe, and Brenda Drake. Your insights and eyes on my pages were invaluable. Our journey together over the years has been a wild ride. Love you guys.
To my family, I love you all. Thanks for putting up with my obsession with words and stories that dance through my head.
And to sunny skies, beaches, and popcorn…just because.
About the Author
Shannon Duffy is a middle grade and young adult author. Born and raised in the scenic province of Newfoundland, she currently lives in beautiful Ontario. She also spends as much time as possible in Florida, which is her home away from home. If she’s not hanging out with her family, she’s writing or reading, working out, shopping, or trolling a beach somewhere tropical. Visit her at www.shannonduffylit.com.
Check out more of Entangled Teen’s hottest reads…
Deviate
by Tracy Clark
As Cora Sandoval flees the Arrazi who destroyed her family, she must also accept one bitter betrayal. Finn Doyle—the Irish boy who has both a piece of Cora’s heart and soul—is Arrazi. On the verge of extinction and sought by those who would either consume or destroy them, Cora and the remaining Scintilla survivors must solve the mystery of The Light Key. But Cora has her own agenda. She will have her vengeance...even if it destroys her heart.
Atlantis Rising
by Gloria Craw
I am an expert at being invisible. But while I live amongst you, I am not the same. So I hide in plain sight, wearing drab clothes and thick glasses and trying to be invisible. I knew I wasn’t alone. But now there is Ian Palmer—and he, too, is different. Now I have been seen. And more terrifying still, I am wanted...by those who would destroy everything and everyone I love.
The Book of Ivy
by Amy Engel
What would you kill for?
After a brutal nuclear war, the United States was left decimated. A small group of survivors eventually banded together. My name is Ivy Westfall, and my mission is simple: to kill the president’s son—my soon-to-be husband—and return the Westfall family to power. But Bishop Lattimer isn’t the cruel, heartless boy my family warned me to expect. But there is no escape from my fate. Bishop must die. And I must be the one to kill him…
Awakening Page 27