by Casey Hays
But it takes only a few seconds for the warmth to turn on me. The song becomes a scream in my head. It sears my skin. Still, I hold steady, gauging how much heat I can tolerate as the skin curls back exposing the raw flesh underneath, and then the bone. I clench my teeth as the cartilage turns an ashy gray and begins to melt. I suck in a breath and keep my hand in place a second longer. Two seconds. Three . . .
Finally, I pull back with a sharp hiss. The wound screams, gaping and unreal, and all of my concentration is leveled toward this pain. For a minute, I can think of nothing else. It’s an effective distraction.
My lungs tremble, but my body doesn’t fail me. The muscle regenerates, the cartilage regrows, and the bubbling flesh works itself back together one layer at a time until the surface is as smooth and pink and painless as before.
I sigh. I’m not fooled. I see the sirens for the monsters they are. But it doesn’t matter. I reach again towards the scorching heat anyway.
I’m saved from a third round of torture when the door behind me creaks open. I’m on my feet; the chair scratches roughly against the wooden floor. I catch it just before it topples over.
Penelope and the other woman come out of the room talking in low voices, their heads close together. I strain to hear them. The waiting—the not knowing—it’s killing me. Good or bad, I have to know something, and I’m tempted to scream at them. It’s not fair to keep me in suspense. But I don’t scream. I keep silent until Penelope shows the woman out. She turns and slumps against the closed door, her hand still on the knob.
“How is she?”
My voice is hoarse with disuse, and the grating sound of it tumbles me backwards in time. Back to the moment Kate disappeared over the edge of the cliff. I screamed her name until my throat was raw. As if screaming it out at the top of my lungs would somehow suspend her fall in midair. I clench and unclench my fists.
Penelope frowns and a crease appears just between her brows. I brace myself.
“She’s lost a lot of blood.” A pause. “But she’s stable. For now.” She pushes away from the door. “Rebecca gave her what blood she could spare. I managed to remove some of the shrapnel from her chest, mostly what had festered to the surface. It’s dangerous to go any further at this point.”
She cups her hands, brings them to her pursed lips.
“The underlying pieces are sticky, you see? Removing them is about as easy at removing wet glue. I’m doing my best, but I have to be honest; I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
The enormous lump in my throat threatens to suffocate me. She doesn’t have to explain. I understand perfectly.
“Those soldiers out there?” I jab a finger toward the window with gritted teeth. “They did this to her.”
Penelope shows no surprise. She moves to the table, fumbles with some matches, lights a second candle.
“We’ve heard rumors,” she answers. “Kate’s wounds are consistent with their weapons.”
I run a blood-stained hand nervously down the front of my jeans. “What rumors?”
“The same ones we’ve been hearing for months. An army. Technology. The kind that existed prior to the Fall.” The candle shimmers in her hand, casting a ghastly glow over her face. “Obviously, they aren’t rumors after all.”
“You’re talking about Eden-killers, aren’t you?”
She sets the candle on an end table next to an old, brown recliner positioned under the window.
“Eden-killers,” she replies with a sad smile. “Who would have guessed those two words would ever be used in the same sentence?”
She sinks into the chair, and weariness flashes across her face. Her bloody apron and gloves are gone. Like Justin, her hair is jet black, but in the candlelight, a lone strand of silver hair frames her face. For a second, she looks exactly like Doc.
“Are they the Set-Typhon, then?”
Her eyes meet mine in surprise.
“No.”
“Who are they?”
“The Vortex. They come from much farther north than the Set-Typhon clan. In comparison, the Typhons are lambs.”
“I’m not so sure about that. One of them stabbed me.”
She blinks. “Are you sure?”
I purse my lips. “Well, I didn’t exactly see who threw the knife. But it had their insignia on it.”
“Hmmm… I’m not sure that’s foolhardy proof.”
I contemplate this. We’d all been convinced of the Set-Typhon once Justin told his story. But now, the Vortex makes sense, too. A lot of sense considering the siege on Eden.
Penelope parts the curtain, peers out of a small opening.
“Is Kate going to be okay?” I ask.
She frowns. The curtain falls back into place.
“That fall didn’t help her any. She has a concussion, at least one broken rib. And I can’t be certain without a CT, but I think her liver is lacerated.”
Her words are an avalanche crashing on my head. “What?”
She sighs, rubs her temples. “Upon initial examination, I’ve found her to have stiffness on the right side of her abdomen. Swelling. These are typical signs.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have to monitor her closely for the next couple of days. Usually, the liver heals on its own.”
And if it doesn’t?”
“If it doesn’t, I’ll have to perform surgery to stop the bleeding.” She pauses a long moment before adding, “And pray that it works.”
I feel myself giving in to the flood of fear that I’ve tried to stave off all night without much success. I can’t keep kidding myself. Kate is seriously injured. I have to face the possibility that I could lose her.
Problem is, I can’t face it. I can’t.
“Why wouldn’t it work?” I feel the flood rise another inch higher.
“Any number of reasons, Ian. No clinic. Limited equipment.” She gives her head a small shake. “And I’ve never performed even a small surgery without my brother by my side. I’m not a surgeon.”
A hollow pit in my stomach makes me suddenly nauseous. My knees feel weak, and I lower myself into the chair I’ve sat in all night long.
“Then how will you help her if it comes to that?”
She tilts her head. “I serve a mighty God. He is always by my side, and I will trust that he’ll guide my hand.”
“That’s it?”
She nods. “It’s enough.”
I’m dumbfounded. How is this supposed to save Kate? I open my mouth to say so, but Penelope raises her hand, cautioning me.
“Ian, take a breath. One step at a time. We aren’t to that point yet, and we may never be. The liver could heal.”
I look away, stare at my hands, my eyes dancing back and forth from one palm to the other.
“You probably need to get word to her family,” Penelope says gently.
I meet her eyes as the words jolt me.
“She has no family,” I whisper.
Penelope tilts her head, confused. “None?”
I shake my head. A fury suddenly rises with the tidal wave inside me. I slam my hand against the table.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you know?” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and bite hard enough to draw blood. “We were going to bring the girls to you, and they were supposed to be safe here, and—”
“Wait.” She cuts me off with a raise of her finger. “Wait a minute. What do you mean by ‘girls’?”
I deliberately avoid her eyes. “Justin is bringing someone else. A girl named Diana.”
Penelope raises a brow. “Diana?”
“She’s Kate’s friend. I guess I should have mentioned that before, but . . .”
I shrug apologetically.
“Right,” Penelope nods. “You had other things on your mind.”
She tugs a couple times on a stray piece of hair hanging in her face before shoving it behind her ear and clasping her hands tightly.
“Diana’s pregnant, by the way,�
� I add with a grimace.
She freezes. And then she sighs.
“Well, you come loaded with surprises, don’t you?” She smiles with a shake of her head, and her silvery eyes glisten in the candlelight. I peer at her.
“You’re not mad?”
“Of course not. What good would that do? I welcome whomever God sends my way, friend or enemy.”
I study her, surprised by this answer. Justin has never said much about his aunt other than to say she’s odd. He’s not one to give his opinion about his own family, especially if the view is less than becoming. Penelope did, after all, leave a negative mark on the Phillips’ family name. But Justin made one thing very clear, which is why we all agreed on Jordan: Penelope would never turn away people in need. And he was right.
The rumor that floated around Eden when I was a kid was that Penelope Phillips was a quack who gave up everything for some notion of peace with an Outsider. She turned her back on her people—on who she was—making herself a disgrace that her family hoped to forget.
Her choice ostracized her from Eden forever, and from her family for a time, too. She left, and they let her—because Eden isn’t a prison. She never once tried to come back. I can’t decide if that makes her weak or brave. Either way, the strength of Eden runs in her blood.
But I see something else. Something deeper. Something in her silver eyes that is full and warm and flows out of her until I can almost feel it in my bones when she looks at me. Maybe she did find peace here.
I try to see the crazy, fanatical Outsider in her, but I can’t. All I see is a good woman who is trying with all her might to save my girl. It may not be enough to redeem her in some eyes, but it’s enough for me. I couldn’t care less if she chose the life of an Outsider.
Besides, how can I judge her when I fell in love with one myself?
“Can I see Kate?”
I pose the question with a lot of desperation and a small bit of reservation. Penelope assesses me, and I grow nervous, afraid she’s going to refuse. Afraid she might say “yes.”
“I have to be honest with you.” Her lips straighten into a tight, concerned line. She picks up a book from the table, holds it loosely between pressed hands. “She’s barely hanging on. It won’t be easy for you to see her. But if you think you can handle it, I’m not going to stop you.”
The sudden catch in my chest prevents me from responding. My mind reels, attempting to take me to places I don’t want to go. Dark places where there is no hope, and Kate is out of reach. I eye the door to her room, and I’m afraid. But I shove hard at the fear clinging to my ribcage. Fear can’t win. Not ever. I have to be strong for her.
Penelope looks for a breach in my fortitude—for something that will crack wide open like a chasm that can never be sealed if I lay eyes on Kate in her fragile condition. I can’t let her see it, and she’ll find it if she searches hard enough. Any moment, I could splinter right where I’m standing. Me. Big guy from Eden, and I’m worse than weak when it comes to the thought of living without this one girl. It’s unbearable. I look away.
“She isn’t awake.” Penelope clarifies. “And she won’t be for a while. I’ve given her something to keep her under. A pretty strong sedative to help stabilize her and keep her still while she heals.” She studies me a moment, and her voice takes on a new tenderness. “But... you should go in to her.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
I make a move toward the door before I can change my mind, but on an afterthought, I stop. I face her. The book is open in her lap. She moves the candle closer.
“Thank you,” I say, and she looks up. “For what you’re doing. I know you don’t know us, so . . . thank you.”
It’s all I can manage. She smiles.
“You’re welcome, Ian.”
Aaron is with Kate when I slip into the dim room. He rinses medical instruments under steaming water he pours from a pitcher. It cascades over the shiny metal and splatters into a plastic tub below. Beside it sits another tub full of water turned rusty with Kate’s blood. Aaron deposits the clean instruments into a third tub. He glances at me where I stand awkwardly beside the door.
“Hi, there.” His smile is grave but warm, and his eyes are full of sympathy. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Aaron.” He holds up a gloved hand. “I’d shake your hand, but…”
“No problem.”
“How are you holding up?”
I shrug. “I’m . . . all right. Doesn’t really matter how I am though.”
He gives a sympathetic nod. “Well, it kind of does.”
I shift my feet, shove my hands deep into my pockets, and dig the toe of my shoe into the wood floor. His hair is completely gray and fine lines run the length of his bronzed face. He pulls off his rubber gloves, dries the last of the instruments with the cloth flung over his shoulder, and lays them carefully on top of a metal rolling table pushed up against the wall.
“Penelope has made her comfortable,” he says, shifting toward the bed. “Now we wait.”
I don’t say anything. He hands me a clean cloth, nods toward a pitcher.
“There’s water here to clean your hands.” He picks up the tub of bloody water. His biceps tense with strength—the strong arms of a blacksmith. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
After he goes, I stand perfectly still in the center of the room next the metal rolling table, the cloth clenched in my hands. I watch Kate, look for the rise and fall of her chest until I see it. It’s slight, but it’s there.
One part of my brain urges me not to move. It convinces me she’ll stop breathing if I do, and the stark fear holds me in my spot long enough for the other side of my brain to contest this logic. It screams its warning, insisting that I go to her before it’s too late. Before the last drip-drop of her blood squeezes through the passages of her heart and stills for all time. That is what’s going to happen. It is, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Just like Tabitha. I couldn’t save her. I can’t save Kate. Ironically, I’m not strong enough for anybody.
My eyes sting, the lump in my throat swells, and I drop the cloth and stumble to her side.
An I.V. drip dangles above her on a metal rack. Penelope had hoped to take Kate to the clinic where she had access to better equipment and medication, but it was impossible. The soldiers took over the clinic, made it their home base. Penelope was lucky they allowed Aaron to bring the few things she did request.
I study Kate’s sleeping face. She’s still so beautiful, even though her bronzed skin has turned a dull shade of gray. She’s lost so much blood that I wonder if her body is capable of replenishing it even with the help of the transfusion. I run my thumb the length of her cheek.
“Sleeping beauty,” I whisper.
I sniffle, wiping at my nose. If only she were. Then the fix would be easy. I’d simply kiss her awake, and everything would be fine. Just like before.
My heart thuds one heavy beat.
Her shoulders are bare, and thick, white bandaging encircles her chest area. Another bandage winds around her head. She’s so still. I trace her eyebrow gently. What I would give to see some chocolate right now. Just one small wink. There’s not a price too high.
Open your eyes, Kate!
I tuck the blanket more closely around her and sit in a chair that hugs the edge of her bed.
“Hi, Kate.” I choke on her name, and I clear my throat to start again. “I—I hope you can hear me. I just . . . I need you to know that I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here while you sleep . . . and I’ll be here when you wake up.”
The tears well up. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“You know I’ll always be here, right?”
I take her hand, clasping it in both of mine. I turn it—palm side up—and run my thumb across the scar on her wrist. The faint beating of her pulse answers my touch. Too faint. One tear drops, splattering across her skin in a wet starburst.
“Just . . . please come back to me, okay?” I can’
t staunch the tears any longer. They’re a rainstorm pouring out of me until I’m sniffling uncontrollably. I take in a sobbing breath and whisper, “Please . . . don’t—don’t leave me. Don’t leave . . .”
The day has been hard. I kept it together long enough to get Kate help, but I’m done. I’ve reached my limit.
I lean my elbows against the bed, press her hand to my forehead, and sob like a baby.
I don’t care who knows it.
Chapter 2
M
y dream isn’t a dream; it’s a memory.
The water is cold. Kate’s skin is even colder. She doesn’t shiver; she doesn’t move at all. I tuck her under my arm, her face just above the water, and I tow her up to the opposite embankment. The blood spills out of her, mingling with the water droplets on her skin, turning the grass pink. I gather her to me.
“Kate! Kate, hold on!”
I lift her blouse. Two holes ooze red. I peel off my shirt, and ripping it lengthwise, I wrap it around her chest, tight. One thought races through my mind—I have to staunch the bleeding. Stop the bleeding, and she might have a chance.
I run. I run like I’ve never run before. I push myself to exertion, and she is so limp, just hanging against my chest. Her hair—matted with blood—scratches at my cheek, a constant reminder that it is up to me. This time, it really is up to me to save her life.
I nestle her against me, try to keep her warm. My heartbeat is a bomb, ticking off the minutes, counting down the seconds I have left before she dies in my arms. Tabitha won’t leave me alone. I can hear her crying, invading my mind—her tiny breaths haunting me in Kate’s own shallow, wheezing sounds. Reminding me that I failed her, too.
I’m crazy with fear.
Kate stops breathing. She tugs in an aching gasp, releases it, and . . . nothing more.
Panic! I crash to my knees. I shake her, scream at her, but finally, I do what has to be done—use the CPR emergency training Jones taught us. Breath chokes its way back into her lungs, her eyes flutter open for a split second, and I swallow a sob as tears rush in.