by Anne Riley
Then voices explode around the room, confused and angry. Gareth lunges toward me and I scurry backward, bumping into a thick pair of legs. Hands come down on me from every direction and grab my wrists, my ankles, my shoulders. Gareth wraps his arms around my waist and jerks me toward him, but whoever’s got my right arm isn’t letting go. A man covered in scars glares down at me, his upper lip curled over his teeth like a dog. Gareth shouts at him and the man shouts back; neither of them wants to give me up. The others decide they want a piece of me too, and suddenly I’m being pulled left to right, front to back. It’s as if every Mortifer in the room has decided to collect a Rosie souvenir. Arm? Leg? Makes no difference, there’ll be plenty of pieces to go around.
They seemed obedient down in the lair before I Pulled, but now, they’re too greedy to heed instructions. I guess they haven’t had enough of the green liquid yet. Later, when they’re saturated with it and breathing it in the air, they’ll be fully submissive to Gareth’s commands.
I lash out, kicking and flailing with everything I’ve got. I catch someone’s kneecap with my heel and hear a satisfying crack followed by a scream. My elbow connects with Gareth’s eye and he goes down, losing his grip on me.
“Rosie!” Albert shouts from a few feet away. He punches a man in the mouth and ducks under a woman’s arms.
“Shoot him!” I yell at Albert, pointing toward Gareth.
He nods and tries to get a clear shot at Gareth, but there are too many people in the way and bullets are precious. I’m surrounded by Mortiferi, and there’s no way out.
I catch sight of Casey behind the bar. She’s scooping liquor bottles into one arm while holding the gun in her other hand. A couple of women block her path as she runs to the front door, so she slams the barrel of her gun into both of their skulls and they fall to the ground. Then she ducks as someone hurls a barstool at her head.
“They’re coming!” she shouts at me. Then she sidesteps a Mortifer who’s standing in front of the door and slips out into the night.
“Who’s coming?” I cry out just as Dan and Isaac burst through the front door. The look in their eyes is no less terrifying than the Mortiferi’s orange glow, and for the next few seconds I stand still, watching them work. The way they move seems almost choreographed, like some kind of lethal ballet. Dan leaps over the bar and hurls himself onto a cluster of Mortiferi. Isaac, more cautious in his movements, chooses one Mortifer at a time, administering a series of blows with surgical precision.
Isaac is about to break a chair over someone’s head when something stops him. He pauses mid-swing, listening intently. I recognize that look; someone’s talking over the coms. I put a finger in my ear, but there’s nothing there. Mine must have fallen out in the fight.
Isaac waves at me frantically. “Get over here! NOW!”
I dive toward him just as the window shatters and something lands in the crowd. A massive fireball erupts in the middle of the room. For a moment, I’m blinded by the burst of light. It fades to an orange-yellow as shrieks fill the air and flames lick the walls. A couple of beams catch fire, and smoke begins to crawl along the ceiling.
The Mortiferi are howling. Albert scoots along the perimeter of the room, coughing; thank God he wasn’t hurt. He vaults behind the bar to join Dan. Isaac and I run to the front door as he shouts into the collar of his shirt.
“Don’t throw another one! We’re coming out!”
We stumble onto the sidewalk. The bottom of Casey’s shirt is in tatters; strips of it lie on the concrete. She’s got three full bottles of liquor in front of her and she’s wedging a wad of fabric into one of them.
“The green liquid doesn’t burn,” I say, because that’s what all the Mortiferi were drinking out of the liquor bottles when they came out of the pub.
“I know.” She looks at me. “I found some real alcohol on the shelves, though. They gotta keep up appearances for the human customers.”
Customers like Paul. I should have remembered how he came home from this place smelling like rum.
“We’ll take the others to the hospital,” Isaac shouts as Albert and Dan burst through the door after us.
Dan and Isaac head for the back of the pub, where my unconscious brother and eleven others wait in the van. Albert stays out front with Casey and me. He puts his hands on his knees and coughs, wiping ash out of his watering eyes.
Casey holds her lighter under the fabric wick of her liquor bottle bomb until it catches, then shouts, “Out of the way, loves!”
Albert and I scramble down the sidewalk and cover our heads. A few Mortiferi have followed us outside. Two of them sprint down the street to safety, but the rest remain trapped in the inferno, screaming as the fire spreads around them.
Casey hurls the bomb into the doorway. It shatters on the doorframe and ignites on impact. The Mortiferi who were caught trying to escape dive to the ground, their clothes blazing. The front entrance is engulfed in flames within a minute.
The black van roars down the gravel driveway and screeches as it turns onto the road. I catch a glimpse of Isaac in the driver’s seat as they pass and a small weight lifts off my shoulders. Paul is going to the hospital. Please, God, let him be okay. I can’t handle it if all of this comes to nothing. If we can’t save him—if we can’t get help in time—
Breathe. Don’t lose it.
Another Mortifer is trying to climb out the left window. He’s got one leg over the windowsill when he looks up to see Casey lighting a bottle of rum. His eyes go wide, and he scrambles back into the building just before the bomb sails over his head. This time, the flames go all the way to the ceiling, which catches fire almost instantly.
The flames from the door spread to the windowsills, but a few more Mortiferi try to crawl through them anyway. They scream as the fire licks their flesh. Then they fall to the ground and limp away. Seconds later, the entire window is consumed and part of the roof falls in. There can’t be any survivors.
But then I see him.
Gareth Long appears in the window. He’s burned and bloody, but he’s alive. He tumbles headfirst over the windowsill and cries out when he hits the ground. He grabs his shoulder; it’s the same one Dan pulled out of its socket at the docks. It hangs uselessly from his side.
Casey picks up the last bottle. She lights the fabric tucked into the opening.
“Wait!” I shout, hurrying over to her. “I want to do it!”
The rage that boils inside me overflows. I grab the bottle out of Casey’s hand. The fabric has already caught; all I have to do is throw it.
I pull my arm back.
I just have to move my arm forward and let go.
Just throw it.
Gareth is writhing in pain on the sidewalk. His face is twisted into an agonized grimace and he clutches his arm to his torso.
He’s a murderer, I remind myself.
But he’s not a Mortifer. His soul is still intact.
I can’t do it.
I throw the bottle onto the roof. It shatters and erupts into flames. Another section of the ceiling crashes down.
“WHAT?” Casey shrieks. Sweat plasters her black hair to her face and her eyes are wild. “You’re going to let him live? He tried to kill your brother! He tried to kill all those other people! He did kill us! And you leave him alive?”
Gareth writhes on the ground. The air fills with his screams.
“He’s not one of them,” I say. “He’s still human. Plus, he obviously can’t hurt us right now.”
Albert puts a hand on her arm. “We don’t have to kill him, not like this. We’ll knock him out and take him to Roberts—”
“No!” She shakes him off and glares at me. “I thought you were going to kill him! After what he did—I can’t believe—”
She puts both hands on her head, blinking back tears. Then she wrenches her gun out of the waistband of her jeans.
“Casey,” I say carefully. “What are you doing?”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even
look me in the eye. Gareth Long’s screams jump an octave as she approaches him.
She stops a foot in front of him and kicks him hard in the stomach when he tries to get up. He doubles over and curls up on the sidewalk, covering his face with his good arm. She points the gun straight at his head.
“Casey, wait!” Albert says, reaching for her. “There’s no reason to kill him now. We’ll just turn him over to the police and let them deal with it.”
For a second, she hesitates.
Then she pulls the trigger.
THIRTY-NINE
IHARDLY FEEL THE STING OF THE CONCRETE AGAINST my knees as I hit the sidewalk and vomit into the gutter. Albert is shouting something behind me and I know I should get up, but I can’t. The only thing that keeps me anchored in sanity is knowing that my brother, along with the other people who were trapped inside bags, is on his way to the hospital with Dan and Isaac.
I have seen so many people get shot tonight, but seeing Casey shoot Gareth Long point-blank—
It was so fast.
His legs jerked so hard.
“Come on,” Albert says as he lifts me off the ground. His voice is muffled and suddenly I notice the high-pitched ringing in my ears. I can’t get my knees to support my weight. Albert laces an arm around my waist and starts walking me away from the burning pub. He keeps my back to Gareth, but it’s too late. The image of his last moment is burned into my mind.
“Where’s Casey?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from outside my body.
“She threw the gun into the fire and ran. I don’t know where she went.” His face is streaked with soot, and his arm trembles as he tries to support me.
I take a deep, shuddering breath. “So what do we do now?”
“There’s only one thing I can think of,” he says. “We call Roberts.”
“The policeman? Why? Shouldn’t we just go to the hospital?”
He shakes his head. “Think about it. We’re on camera breaking out of that holding cell. Casey shot a guard in the leg. Now we’ve burned down a pub, and while I’d like to say none of us left fingerprints on anything that didn’t burn, I can’t be sure.”
“So we’re in trouble, is what you’re saying.”
“Yes—especially Casey. Fortunately, though, she won’t be accused of shooting Gareth Long.”
I turn to him. “Why not?”
“I shoved his body through the window while you were throwing up,” he says. “He’ll just be one more charred corpse in the building. But for the other charges, we’re going to need some help.”
I press my lips together. “Roberts can’t be our only option. He’s the one who arrested us in the first place.”
“Only because he had to,” Albert points out. “And you heard what he said just before he left that room. He practically told us to break out. Do you think he would have said that if he didn’t want to help us?”
“Good point. You think he can really get us off the hook for all this?”
Albert shrugs. “If I tell him the truth, I think he’ll do everything he can. Roberts has known something was up with us for a while now. He’s dying for an explanation. If I give him one, and if he understands that we saved twelve innocent lives tonight, I think he’ll work a little police magic on our behalf.”
“Okay,” I say. “But how do we get in touch with him?”
He glances at my back pocket. “You’ve got your phone, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Look up Chandler Roberts. I bet he’s the only one in south London.”
I turn my phone on and search for him with shaky fingers. I keep punching in the wrong letters because my hands won’t cooperate, and my phone takes forever to pull anything up, but finally I find an entry in the white pages for a Chandler Roberts in Blackheath.
“Is this him?” I say, handing the phone to Albert.
He pushes the call button and puts the phone to his ear. “We’ll find out in a minute.”
ROBERTS FINDS US WALKING UP VICARS HILL. HE DRIVES past us at first, probably because our heads are down and we’re close to the trees. The sun has come up a little, but most of the street still lies cloaked in shadows, as if it’s reluctant to give up the night.
He stops his blue Citroën while we catch up to him.
“So,” he says, rolling down his window. “You break out of prison, shoot a guard, burn down a pub, and then you decide to call me for a lift?”
“Don’t tell me that’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard,” Albert says.
Roberts snorts. “Get in the car.”
We slide into the backseat and Roberts starts driving. “You said you needed to go to University Hospital?”
Albert nods. “Yeah.”
“And you’ll tell me everything on the way there? How you’re always in the right place at the right time? Why you’re able to save so many lives? What happened tonight at The Black Swan with that white-haired bloke?”
“That’s what we agreed to, isn’t it?” Albert says.
Roberts’s eyes narrow at us in the rearview mirror. “Then start talking.”
I stay quiet while Albert explains who he is and what he can do. Roberts remembers my grandfather from the news stories, so I contribute a little to that part of the conversation, but my nerves are strung too tightly for me to focus on anything but Paul. I stare out the window in a daze, thinking about how much I would appreciate the sunrise if I wasn’t on my way to the hospital.
An extended pause in the conversation brings my attention back to the car. Roberts has gone pale. I guess Albert held up his part of the deal.
“Do you really expect me to believe you can rewind time?” Roberts says with a scowl.
Albert shrugs. “I don’t really care if you believe it or not, mate. The bottom line is that everything we did tonight kept twelve people from having their souls permanently damaged. Or, if you choose not to believe that, it kept them from being recruited by terrorists. They’re all at the hospital if you need proof.”
The car falls silent. We slow down and Roberts puts on his blinker. When I look through Albert’s window, I see a sign for University Hospital, Lewisham.
“Is this it? Are we here?” I’m unbuckling my seatbelt and I’ve got my fingers on the door handle.
“This is it.” Roberts pulls into a parking space and turns the car off. “Go inside, Rosie. I’m going to keep Albert here for a few more minutes.”
I look at Albert. “Will you come find me when you’re done?”
“Of course.”
“Please don’t arrest him,” I say to Roberts.
He gives me a hint of a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Everything from the parking lot to Paul’s room is a blur. It’s an eerily similar feeling to walking up to Papa’s room with my family; I’m seeing things, but not registering them. I know I talked to a receptionist downstairs—I must have, because I’m wearing a visitor badge—but I don’t remember anything she said, except that Paul is in room 312. They don’t assign rooms to dead people, do they? I’m practically running by the time I turn onto Paul’s hallway.
The door to his room is slightly open, and I screech to a halt just outside it. Will he still be the same Paul? Did we get to him in time? What are the long-term effects of whatever filth they doped him with? Tears sting my eyes, but I take a deep breath and knock softly, then poke my head inside.
Isaac and Dan are sitting by the window. Their smiles tell me everything I need to know.
“He’s okay?” I rasp.
Dan stands up. “He’s sleeping right now, but he’s doing pretty well.”
Paul is hooked up to about a dozen machines, all of them pumping and dripping things into him. His face is a deathly shade of white, but the beeps of the heart monitor are rhythmic. I sit on the edge of the mattress and push his hair off his forehead. He groans and cracks an eye open.
“Hi,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay.” He licks his d
ry lips. “Rosie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to—”
“No, listen,” he says. “I don’t know what I did this time, but these guys told me you saved my life. And…”
I wrap my hand around his. “And?”
“Things are gonna be different now.” He’s mumbling, eyelids fluttering shut. “I promise.”
He’s asleep again in an instant, his breathing deep and even. I don’t realize how hard I’m crying until Dan and Isaac start patting my back and telling me he’s going to be okay. I lay my head on Isaac’s shoulder. He stiffens at first, but then wraps an arm around me. Dan mumbles, “It’s okay, Rosie, it’s okay, everything is okay,” as I cry.
There’s a hurried knock on the door and a nurse bustles in. “Hello, everyone,” she says quietly. Then she gives me a smile. “Are you family?”
I pull away from Isaac, wiping my nose. “Yeah. I’m his sister.”
She picks up his chart. “His blood work is at the lab. We haven’t been able to identify the drug in his system yet. Something obscure, maybe homemade.” Her expression darkens. “Whatever it is, it’s nasty. Good thing we got him when we did.”
She gives Isaac a significant look, and he puts a hand on my back. “They told us we would have to leave the room once you got here. Don’t want to overwhelm him with visitors.”
“Oh!” I put a hand on my back pocket. “I need to call my parents!”
“You’ll have to go down to the lobby,” the nurse says. “No mobiles allowed in this unit.”
The last thing I want to do is leave Paul alone.
“Take her downstairs,” the nurse says to Isaac. “I’ll stay here with him. Got to change out his fluids, anyway.”
We go down the elevator to the main lobby. My parents probably gave up trying to call me hours ago. I’m sure they’ve gone to the police, reported me missing, and sent out a search party.
My chest nearly caves in with guilt.
Isaac plants himself on a black leather sofa while I make a beeline to the farthest corner of the lobby. I dial Nana’s home number and squeeze my eyes shut when it connects.