by Casey Hays
“We make a pretty good team,” Liza smiles. She drapes her arm around Sophia’s shoulders and squeezes. “Good work, Justin. We knew you had it in you.”
Justin blows air out of his lungs and runs his hand up the side of his face. “Yeah.”
I sink onto the edge of the bed, my hand on Ian’s forearm. A moment of silence. I reach up, take hold of Justin’s hand, squeeze once.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He smiles with a slight nod, sweeps his eyes over his sleeping friend, and leaves the room. The others follow him out.
I lean over, kiss Ian’s warm forehead, and breathe a sigh of utter relief.
Justin sits at the table, one of the towels spread before him. Liza and Sophia are with him, and I slip quietly into the room and stand behind them.
The towel is covered in the white, gooey liquid. It sits in thick clumps among the pattern of the fabric. A few bubbles pop occasionally, but the liquid appears to be dissolving ever so slowly. Or dying. Or something of that nature.
The white liquid is not the most interesting aspect of this towel. What catches my eye more profoundly is the blue color weaving itself through the goo. I lean in.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing.
“Serum,” Justin answers.
I step back, stunned, and I stare at the liquid. It’s the most beautiful shade of blue, deep and crystalline all at once. I’d always pictured the Serum to be black and bold and menacing. But this? This is the color of Ian’s eyes. Something this beautiful is the cause of so much trouble?
Justin pokes at the white liquid with a spoon. It gives off a bubbling hiss, and the blue liquid runs, forming a circular pattern around the white clumps.
“Some of it was extracted with the infection,” he explains.
Liza shakes her head. “It’s amazing. I’ve never seen how the Serum works, but… this is too cool.”
Next to her, Sophia curiously watches the liquids dance with each other.
“What is it doing?” she asks. I take the chair next to Justin. We all watch together.
“Fighting,” he answers. “This is what kept Ian alive. The Serum was fighting—preserving him—just like it was designed to do.” He falls back against his chair, a look of awe on his face. “It looks like the Serum held the invading liquid back, which is why it was still at the entry point only and hadn’t made much progress into Ian’s body.”
“Too cool,” Liza breathes the words with a hint of admiration. “How long do you think it could have held out?”
“I don’t know,” Justin shrugs. “It was moving inward. I had to dig pretty deep into his chest. The fact that some of the Serum was extracted means it was learning how to break down the Serum’s defenses.” He looks at his cousin. “If this had been a full out bullet wound instead of a graze, there’s no way he would have survived it.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, and her eyes turn sad. “Like Jenny.”
Justin simply nods.
“Can you tell what the white liquid is?” I ask. Justin leans in again.
“A nuisance for one.” He tosses me a smile. “But no. I can’t tell at all. This is something my dad or Penelope needs to take a look at.”
“Can we save this stuff?” Liza asks.
“Maybe. I’m not sure. It seems to be dissolving some.”
“Or maybe the Serum is killing it,” I suggest.
Justin simply looks at me; Liza raises a brow, and their eyes meet across the table. “Penelope told Ian there are tiny robots in the Serum,” I tell them. “They constantly repair your bodies.”
They both stare at me as if I’ve grown a second head. I simply shrug. Liza finally finds her voice, eyebrows raised.
“We’re full of tiny machines?”
Justin leans over the towel again, pokes at the liquid with the spoon.
"I guess . . . it’s not implausible. It actually…” His voice trails, and his eyes suddenly light with a thought.
“What is it?” I ask.
He creases his brow. “I wonder . . .” He pushes the liquid around. “Maybe these Eden-killers have the same technology.”
“So . . . a bot war?” Liza’s eyes widen at the thought, but then she breaks into a wide smile. “Really? Now that would be . . . awesome. Especially if we’re the bots.” She glances at me. “I read that those were popular once. Before the Fall, of course.”
Justin stands, rummages through the pantry until he finds a small plastic box with a lid. He takes all the gooey towels from the sink and stores them inside. He lifts the towel from the table, folds it carefully, and adds it to the pile.
“We’ll see how long this stuff sticks around. I want Penelope to see it.”
“You think she’s coming back?” Sophia’s voice is hopeful.
Justin’s eyes wander toward the window where slivers of water race each other down the glass.
“I hope so,” he says quietly. He drops his hands onto her shoulders. “I sure hope so.”
The day drags past us; Ian sleeps. I manage to get him to take some water, and his eyes flutter open briefly when he swallows. But still, he sleeps. When I ask Justin about it, he says the Serum is keeping him under, which is common for a healing after a mass trauma.
“When Max fell out of a window last year,” he reminds me. “He was out for a couple days. The more damage, the longer it takes to heal.” He squints at me, thinking. “Of course, Max had only shifted that morning.”
His pocketknife is clean of Ian’s blood, and he busies himself carving into a small piece of wood from his pack. But at the worried look on my face, he stops whittling and lays a gentle hand on my arm.
“Ian shifted months ago, Kate. He’s stronger than Max was. He’ll be awake soon.”
His words give me little comfort. And frankly, I don’t understand why there isn’t instant recovery. It seems pertinent in the midst of a battle. Especially if you’ve been designed to be an indestructible soldier. Apparently Eden’s project is flawed.
I think of Ava then—a seven year old soldier. Being forced to kill devastated Ian. How will a little girl handle something so volatile?
I don’t like to think what it could mean.
The rain doesn’t end. Water eases in under the outside doors; we have no way of preventing it. Soon, most of the floors are covered with an inch of water.
“We can’t stay here much longer if this keeps up,” Liza informs Justin.
Justin nods. “Let’s give Ian another hour.”
I return to his side to wait. By nightfall, he still hasn’t awakened. I climb up into the bed and cuddle up close to him. And when, still unconscious, he wraps an arm around me, pulling me close, I finally allow myself to believe he’s out of danger.
I snuggle down and drift off to sleep in his arms.
“Kate.”
My name comes to me in a familiar whisper, and in my sleep I reach for it, longing to take hold of it. It lingers on the edges of consciousness, and with it a warm embrace envelops me. I open my eyes.
In the dim room, lit only by the small amount of cloudy light coming from the kitchen, I stare into Ian’s eyes.
“Hi.” I breathe out my smile and raise up on an elbow. Ian squeezes me to him again.
“Hey there.”
“How do you feel?” I ask.
“I feel . . . fantastic.” He raises his hand, shows me his finger. “Check it out. A miracle happened while I was sleeping.”
I smile again, rest my chin on his chest so that I can see into his eyes.
“That would be Justin.”
He lifts his head. “Justin’s here?”
I nod. “He got here just in time to save you.”
“How?”
“He cut you open.”
His head falls against the pillow. He stares at his hand, thinking a moment.
“No. It was still a miracle,” he says. “He just used Justin to do it.”
“I know,” I smile.
Ian stares at the ceiling. �
�Yeshua,” he whispers, and surprised, I raise my head to look at him. A smile sneaks into place on his lips.
He pushes me up until we’re both sitting. Shirtless and shoeless, he swings his legs around me and stands. His bare feet disappear beneath a mass of standing water. I stare at the rising flood in disbelief.
“What in the world?” He looks at me.
“I guess I should tell you . . . it’s raining.” I shrug. “A lot.”
“No kidding?” He tosses me a smile over his shoulder and sloshes through the water to the kitchen. I rise up on my knees, studying the water. It swirls around the legs of the beds in reaction to Ian’s movements. Tentatively, I lower my toes; it’s so cold, and I pull back my feet.
“Ian?”
No answer. Another hesitant minute, and I hold my breath and slide from the bed. The water covers my ankles. I lift my skirt and wade through the kitchen.
Ian is in the flooded living room with the others. Liza and Sophia crowd at the window, peeking through a crack in the curtains, and my curiosity flutters only slightly before I see the smile lighting Justin’s face.
“That sucker on your chest gave me hell,” he says, punching Ian in the arm affectionately. Ian’s tattoo ripples as he pulls back with a laugh and plants his hand on his bare chest. Justin shakes his head, hands on his hips.
“Well thanks for not giving up. I haven’t felt this good in days.”
“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to do it again. Just . . . run faster, dude.”
They both laugh, and my heart soars at the duel sound of it. Another second, and Justin yanks Ian into his embrace, quickly lets go. He nods toward the wall.
“I brought your bow.”
Ian’s face transforms. He takes up the bow, runs his fingers along the smooth curve of wood.
“Thanks,” he whispers. Justin simply nods.
“Hey . . . guys?” Liza keeps her eyes on the window as her voice rises. “You need to come see this.”
Sophia moves to the other window and pulls back the curtain. I slosh through the water to join her. It takes one look for my jaw to drop. With a quick breath, I ease back, make eye contact with Ian. Concerned, he moves to Liza’s window and squints through the rainwater clouding the glass.
“What the . . .”
Any fear of being seen leaves him as he pulls the curtain wide open. Justin moves in, and we all stare at the scene unfolding outside.
The Vortex soldiers wade through waist deep water, packs on their backs, their guns raised above their heads to avoid submerging them. The rain beats at them, but they forge on like one black beast, moving slowly past the houses on their way up the street.
“Where are they going?” I ask. Sophia, taking Ian’s lead, pulls our curtain completely open and presses her nose as close to the window as she can manage to see more clearly through the squiggling water.
“The rain has them spooked,” Liza exclaims. She eyes Justin. “They must be heading to higher ground? Something we should be thinking about doing ourselves, don’t you think?”
Justin nods. “They’re moving north.” He purses his lips. “The only good thing about that is it’s in the opposite direction of Eden.”
Ian crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes on the passing soldiers. “This could be our chance to get to the clinic.”
We go silent, our eyes drifting back and forth between each other as the impact of his words touches each of us individually. Sophia takes a watery step and grabs Justin’s hand.
“Can we? Can we go find them?”
He smiles down at her. “We’re sure going to try.”
A sigh of relief escapes her. I pull my attention back to the window. One of the soldiers turns his head, looks right at us.
“Whoa!” Liza leans back, ducking slightly, and shoots me an excited glance. “I guess they caught us.”
The soldier turns away, too busy concentrating on keeping his footing with his tired arms outstretched above his head to care about us. He readjusts his upraised rifle to his right hand and lowers his left arm to give himself a bit of a reprieve. And he marches along with the throng.
The line of soldiers seems never ending—the number far greater than Ian anticipated—and the only comforting thought at seeing them is in their departure. Liza turns away from the window, hands on hips.
“So what’s our plan?”
Justin and Ian exchange a glance before he replies.
“Ian and I will go to the clinic while you all pack up.” He addresses Ian. “Our best option is Scarlet Forest. Our people are there.” He nods toward Sophia. “Thomas is there. We can give an update and regroup.”
Ian nods. “Sounds like the best plan, as long as it’s not flooding there, too.”
“True. It wasn’t raining when we left. Hopefully, it still isn’t.”
Liza claps her hands together. “Okay. Let’s get moving, then. But first things first.” She holds out her hands, palms up, and huffs with false exasperation. “Ian, dude . . . put on a shirt.”
With a quick glance at me, he shakes his head. I smile, and raise my brow with a shrug.
Honestly, Liza is a breath of fresh air in the middle of the gloom, and I’m glad for it.
Chapter 26
I
stand in the middle of the children’s room, the book of scriptures dangling from my fingers. My heart pounds a steady beat. I haven’t been back . . . not since Ian found Claudia bruised and beaten with the freshness of her assault still sticky on her skin as she huddled against the far wall. The image pierces me, and I involuntarily close my eyes as a shiver creeps up my spine. I take a timid step, leave a wet footprint behind.
The waters have not made their way up the entirety of the corridor, so this room—the one that could use a good flooding—is the driest place in the house. I wiggle my cold toes against the wood floor.
Liza scrubbed it to the best of her ability. She covered the stain left by Michael’s blood with a square rug, but still the dark evidence peeks out from beneath one corner. I study it, listen to its call for justice. My eyes skitter to the spot against the wall where Claudia sat cradling Michael in her arms. I see it all in my memory. My heart thuds harder.
I set the book down on the table.
There’s nothing for me in this room other than a dry floor, and I’m unsure if that’s the only reason I’ve come. I move to the window, pull the curtains wide for the first time. The rain falls heavy, and the last of a few straggling soldiers moves past. I watch them struggle, a bitterness lining my heart. Perhaps all of them will drown.
I regret the malicious thought immediately. All of these soldiers can’t be monsters. Claudia’s words echo through my mind. Love your enemies. I wonder how well she’s holding to that command.
“Hey.”
Ian gives the door a soft rap. I toss him a weak smile over my shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I nod.
He tosses his eyes across the room hesitantly and comes up behind me, slipping his arms around my shoulders. I lean my back against him, my eyes on the scenery outside the window. After a moment, I sigh.
“This room . . .”
He squeezes me, his chin resting on the top of my head.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m trying really hard not to remember what I did in this room.”
I twist in his embrace, wrap my arms around his waist.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. He leans forward, touches his forehead to mine, his eyes closed. “You said you couldn’t control it. Every time, you’ve said that.”
He nods. “There’s something in me, Kate. Something that takes over when I feel threatened. Like a switch is flipped. I don’t like it.” He’s thoughtful. “It’s been this way since I shifted, but now that I know why . . .” His eyes light with a cold fear, and he pulls back. “I’m scared. What if it happens again? What if I hurt someone innocent?”
I swallow, wishing I didn’t have to say it. “It might happen again. I
t’s likely to.”
We absorb this together because we can’t deny it.
“I don’t have the strength to fight it.”
I hear the tortured sound in his voice, and my arms tighten around him.
“Remember when we were in the cellar, and we read that scripture? Yeshua said ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”
He nods. “I remember.”
“Perhaps you could find some comfort there.”
He bites his lip.
“Perhaps,” he answers, a smile teasing his mouth. But his features quickly clear. “I’ve been thinking about some things. Well, more like things have been nagging me.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Just stuff,” he shrugs. “Stuff Penelope and Aaron have said that I didn’t want to believe. Stuff I didn’t want to hear. And then Claudia . . .” He pauses, tensing. “When I was unconscious, something—something happened.”
I study him, waiting.
“I think—someone was with me. And I don’t mean you or Justin or any other person. It was someone else. A presence.” He pauses, his expression grim. “A darkness.”
I lean away, my eyes wide. “What was it?”
He frowns. “I don’t know.”
“It wasn’t Yeshua,” I say with confidence.
“It wasn’t.” He creases his brow. “No. I’m sure it wasn’t.”
A beat.
“I think he’s everywhere,” I say. I reach around Ian and lift the Scriptures from the table, shuffle the edges of the pages with my thumb, open it to one section. Our eyes focus on it together. “I’m beginning to believe what it says. Yeshua died for me. My heart knows it. Yet . . . why would a stranger do that for me—thousands of years before I was born?”
My hand glides to my chest, and my heartbeat thrums against my fingertips. Ian purses his lips.
“I’ve been thinking about that, too. About why we do things, I mean.”
I crease my brow, puzzled. He takes hold of my hand, tangles his fingers with mine, our palms pressed together.