This Splintered Silence

by Kayla Olson

  I ignored everything.

  I did stop by Control, hoping Vonn had finally made it out of dark space—but when I logged in to the private inbox and resumed my futile attempts at contact, I was met with more of the same: utter silence. We’ve got little more than a day before they storm our station, maybe less if our estimated calculations are off—there’s still time to stop the attack, but not much. I’ll have to go back in a few hours, try again.

  “So . . . um . . . ,” she says, snapping me back to this present moment. “What are you going to do?” She dips her head toward the balcony doors.

  I press my lips into a straight line. Undecided, I want to say—but I can’t even lie to Haven, who I’ve known forever, who would absolutely forgive me once all of this ends. How does anyone expect me to lie to our entire station, if I can’t breathe this one small dishonest word?

  When she meets my eyes again, the look on her face is sheer terror.

  “Whoa, Haven—are you okay?”

  Her irises are unearthly green in this light, shade upon shadow. “I don’t want to die, Linds. I don’t—” Her voice catches, and she shakes her head. “I want to live. I want to do great things, be great. Don’t you want that, too? Don’t you think our parents would want that—wouldn’t they want us to continue their legacy?” She presses her lips into a tight line, blinks up at the recessed spotlights in the ceiling to clear the shine in her eyes. “Don’t do this to us.”

  If we burn out there’ll really be nothing left of them, she doesn’t have to say. No one who remembers them. No legacy left behind.

  It’s enough to shake me. Enough to make my almost-lie—undecided—true. Because she’s right, none of our parents would wish us dead. They’d be heartbroken to see what’s happened here, what’s happening. The thought of letting my mother down, of what if the truth is just another mistake, is crushing.

  But I’m resolved to tell the truth, not just to the station, but to myself.

  No one who remembers them, no legacy left behind: those are lies, if I really break them down. Even if I die for this choice—possible self-sacrifice, me for my people—a legacy of integrity is the greatest thing I could offer. It’s certainly preferable to a life propped up by fear and lies. Sooner or later, that life would collapse.

  I smooth my hair down, adjust the pins. “No one wants to die, Haven.”

  She opens her mouth to speak, but it’s 10:01 and I have nothing left to say that she’ll want to hear. I open the balcony doors, step out to face the room.

  The noise dies down as soon as they see me: a half-here-half-not ghost with dark circles under her eyes, who ran her heart out in the middle of the night, who trusts no one but herself—and even then, only barely. Lindley Hamilton, a girl who’s closer to falling apart than they might’ve guessed before this moment.

  I look from face to face, take in the souls behind their eyes: Akello Regulus. Story Lutheborough, who helped me just yesterday before Haven collapsed. Yuki and Grace, Mikko and Dash, Siena Lawson. Eight-year-old River, standing arms crossed next to Leo. Evi and Elise. Natalin. Heath and Zesi, at the back of the room. So many, many others. There are seventy-eight of us in total, down from our original number of eighty-five station-born. The crowd looks thinner for it.

  Someone in this room poisoned at least six of the seven who are gone.

  Someone in this room is about to witness, firsthand, my refusal to bow to their threats.

  I hold my head high. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it all the way, with as much confidence as my mother would have shown.

  “I’ve called you here today,” I begin, my clear voice echoing from even the farthest wall, “because you deserve to know the truth. I wanted to”—I cut myself off before the word apologize slips out, not because I don’t mean it, but because it could undermine their impression of my leadership—“let you all know that the recent deaths on our station are not, in fact, due to viral mutation.”

  I take a deep breath, resist the urge to glance at Haven, who’s beside me on the balcony. If I were to look, I’d see a silent struggle, no doubt: public support masking private panic.

  “The deaths were . . . intentional. To be clear, someone has gone out of their way to make them look as if the virus is spreading, when in fact, that is not the case.”

  For one brief second, my words hang in the air—and then there’s an explosion of whispers as they go from zero to full-volume fast.

  “Are you trying to tell us someone killed them?” Akello’s deep, resonant voice cuts through the noise from the far end of the front row.

  “That is exactly—” I begin, but cut myself off. My voice alone isn’t enough to overpower them. I wait it out for half a minute before trying once more, and again: I’m not enough.

  And then, from the back of the crowd: “EVERYONE STOP TALKING!”

  Heath.

  I meet eyes with him as their voices die down, hope he hears my silent thank you loud and clear. A pinprick beam of hope pierces right through me: maybe I can trust him. If he’s trying to help me get the truth out, even though it means it puts him at risk, too—

  Maybe.

  “Yes,” I say, shifting my attention to Akello. “That is exactly what I’m trying to tell you.” The noise starts to swell again, but I quell it at once: “I’m telling you this so you’ll know how to protect yourselves. What to watch for, and—and what isn’t a factor.” I take a deep breath. Screw it: an apology can’t possibly undermine my own leadership more than my mistakes have. If anything, maybe it can save it.

  “I’m deeply sorry I’ve kept this information from you,” I go on. “It’s reached a tipping point now where it is no longer in anyone’s best interests to keep the truth private.” Except for those of us who are now explicit targets thanks to this confession, my conscience fires back. I shove it down. “There is currently no need for quarantine, no obvious resurgence of viral threat to your health—full disclosure, though, we are keeping a close eye out for a possible strain brought over from Nautilus, but haven’t seen any actual worrisome symptoms at this point. What I ask of you is this: be wary of your beverages. Don’t take your eyes off your drinks, not for one second. Don’t allow anyone to get a drink for you, or food, for that matter.” Probably good to add that in. With everyone aware of the threat, a smart killer would look for a less obvious approach. Telling people to keep a close eye on their drinks and food drastically reduces the likelihood of anyone ingesting belladonna—to pretty much zero, I’d guess.

  “Mostly,” I say as I scan the room, taking in as many faces as I can, “keep your eyes open. If you see anything suspicious, you’re under strict orders to report it to me at once. And if you do see something suspicious, take immediate action by yelling ‘Fire!’—you’ll draw more attention that way.” It’s a trick my mother taught me when I was young. I’ve never had to use it, never seen anyone have to use it. There’s a first for everything, I guess.

  “I’d open the floor up for questions, but I’m sorry to say I don’t have the answers you want just yet. Stay on guard, be vigilant. Don’t panic. I’ll report more when I can.” As soon as the words are out, I give a deep nod and retreat through the balcony doors, out into the quiet corridor.

  Haven follows.

  “We’re dead,” she says with bite. “I hope you know that.”

  I wish I knew for certain that I’ve done the right thing.

  I wish I could tell her she’s wrong.

  Truth is—right or wrong—it’s too late to go back.

  All we can do now is try to stay alive.

  58

  FUSION

  HAVEN WALKS AWAY without a second glance, and I’m alone.

  No one’s made it up to this deck yet. From the sound of the noise—which hasn’t let up since the doors closed at my back—everyone’s still in the mezzanine, like an audience waiting for an encore. Like if they’re loud enough, I’ll come back out: put on a good show, dance gracefully through their questions, tr
ick their eyes with a blinding spotlight that twists darkness into nothing more than an afterthought. Like if I say just the right thing, tell them exactly what they want to hear, they’ll feel better.

  I’m not here for that show, not anymore.

  I lean my back on the cool steel of the wall and sink down until I’m sitting on the floor. There are probably a thousand things I should be doing instead, but I hold myself still. Curl my knees into my chest. Rest my head. Listen to my own heartbeat.

  It’s a strange feeling, the urge I already have to check in on the others of our six, to make sure they’re not dead. I care so deeply for each of them—and yet.

  Love is complicated right now.

  What will it feel like when I figure out who our killer is? Will my love blink out, like it never happened at all—or is it possible I’ll experience an emotional paradox, where love and fury coexist? When a heart breaks, do the pieces just . . . crumble? Or do they fuse back together, all gnarled and deformed?

  “Mind if I sit?”

  I don’t have to look up to know it’s Heath who’s found me. “Go ahead,” I mumble into my knees.

  He sinks down beside me, so close my entire left side warms at his presence. I don’t shift away from him, not even slightly, not even with the small voice in my head saying trust no one. Minutes tick by, both of us silent and still in the small space of this alcove. Soon, the voice in my head quiets down. He is such a force of calm.

  “You’re brave, Linds,” he says. “You are so unbelievably brave.”

  Finally, I lift my head. Look up at him. “You really think so?”

  He nods, slowly. “I like to hope I would’ve done the same thing,” he says with a sad smile. “Don’t think I could’ve gone through with it, though.”

  “I get it,” I say. “We’re all afraid of dying, I think.”

  “I’m too afraid of you dying.”

  He looks deep into my eyes, and I take him in—how could I have ever questioned him, for even a single second? Heath never would’ve put me in this position. Heath is like me: he wants to bind people up, not break them.

  Before I know it, I’m closing the space between us, kissing him full on the mouth. I can’t help it—it’s overwhelming—it is almost certainly a mistake—

  But in this moment, it is everything to me to know I’m not alone.

  To know he sought me out to tell me this, to comfort me—even though I chose to put us all in the crosshairs—

  He kisses me back, with the same soft hunger. We fit perfectly, and it is perfectly thrilling, perfectly warm. He understands the risk I’ve taken. He forgives me for it. He admires me for it. If I can trust no one else, at least I know this: Heath is safe. And I am safe with him.

  We stay in the alcove, and we don’t watch the time. Today could be our last day alive, and everything is falling apart all around us, but this—this is good. At the very least, there is one good and true thing left. I plan to hold on to it for as long as I can.

  And I do—until Heath’s buzz screen starts vibrating like there’s no tomorrow. He pulls away, cheeks flushed. “Sorry,” he says, glancing at the display screen. “So sorry, but I’d better take it.” He holds it up for me to see: Leo’s calling.

  “Hey,” he says. “Yeah, no. Yeah.” He pauses, listens. Then, abruptly, he stands and starts pacing small circles in this tiny alcove. “Are you badly hurt?”

  At that, I sit straight up. “Wait, what? What happened?”

  “Yeah, she’s okay,” Heath says to Leo. “She’s right here.” There’s another brief pause; I try to eavesdrop, but it’s hard to make anything out. “Can you get to Medical? We’ll meet you there in five unless you need help.”

  Medical—that doesn’t sound good, not at all. On the upside, at least he doesn’t obviously need to be rolled there on our gurney. Or worse.

  “Okay, see you there—yeah, I’ll tell her. Be there in a few.”

  I’m on my feet and peppering him with questions before he’s even fully off the call. “What happened? Did someone—did someone try—”

  To murder him. Those are the words that won’t come out.

  We walk briskly together toward Medical. “No, not that,” Heath says. “I don’t think so, at least. A fight broke out near him, he said, and when he tried to stop it someone sliced at him with a razor blade.”

  Again with the razor blades. “Cameron and Mikko, like before?”

  Perhaps I’ve been too quick to rule out the possibility that our murderer could be someone outside our six. I don’t know how they would’ve secured top-secret intel from our private meeting last night, but is it outside the realm of possibility that someone could have? I have to admit it isn’t.

  Heath nods. “Yeah, both of them. Leo’s got the razor now, at least—managed to confiscate it after he got cut,” he says. “Well, technically, he said Akello confiscated it when he helped Leo break up the fight.”

  Bless Akello and his large, intimidating frame. Not that Leo’s small, by any means—he can handle himself. But when it comes to blade versus body, quick blood versus slow-blooming bruises, it’s not a fair fight.

  Heath and I arrive at Medical before Leo does. The room is spotless, just like I left it, all sparkle and shine. I pull out an array of surgical tools and my favorite silver tray, spread everything out in perfect order. The tray holds everything I could possibly need, from simple antibiotic cream to my stitches kit, with extra cloth on hand in case he won’t stop bleeding.

  Two minutes pass—then three—then six, and ten. Leo still hasn’t arrived.

  “He’ll be here,” Heath says behind me, closer than I realized. “He’s on his way, Linds.”

  He puts both hands on my shoulders, stilling my nerves. Gently, he turns me around to face him.

  “We should try buzzing him,” I say. “Have you tried—”

  “Linds. He’ll be here.” His eyes say it all: he did try buzzing him, yet here we are. He lets out a long exhale, pulls me in close. “I’ll try again if he’s not here in five, okay?”

  Five minutes. It’s nothing, compared to the millions of minutes that make up an entire lifetime—yet entire lifetimes can end in less time than that. One blink, one breath. One step too far.

  I rest my head on Heath’s chest, let him hold me together. For how close we were in the alcove, this is a different sort of closeness: the alcove was spark and flame and fire, but this? This is water. Cool and still, as close to peace as I can hope for on a day like today.

  “Thank you,” I say, so quietly my words get lost in the fabric of his shirt. My eyes flutter shut as he runs his hand over my hair, the rhythm soft and slow. “This . . . today . . . I needed it.”

  He breathes deeply, his chest rising underneath me. I hear his heartbeat pick up, feel him press a kiss lightly to the top of my head. “You’re not the only one,” he says. “I’ve missed you, Linds.” He waits a beat, then adds, “It’s been hard watching you push everyone away.”

  I press my lips shut. I can’t possibly tell him the real reason I’ve been keeping him—everyone—at arm’s length. He doesn’t seem to hold it against me that I explicitly, knowingly, purposefully defied that threat and, therefore, put our core six at risk . . . but even if he’s forgiven me that, would he ever be able to forget the depths of my suspicion? I pushed you away because I didn’t know if I could trust you—because you could’ve been the killer. It’s a betrayal of a different kind to believe someone capable of the horrendous things that have happened between our walls. It’s the sort of betrayal that cracks the foundation of a relationship forever.

  He can never know. He might understand—he would understand, I think, because he assumes the best in me even though I’ve been terrible at returning those feelings. But still. Understanding doesn’t make a person immune to pain.

  The doors slide open, and we break apart. Not quickly enough, I can tell—Leo saw enough to raise eyebrows—but he doesn’t comment. He holds up his left forearm, the back of which
is covered in a sickening amount of partially dried blood. “You can fix this, yeah?”

  I take a hard swallow, nod. “Yes,” I say, then clear my throat. “Sit on the table, okay? Okay.”

  Heath helps me clean Leo’s arm, and passes me everything I ask for. It’s a long slice, about five inches stretching from near his elbow most of the way down to his wrist. Fortunately, only the top inch or so is deep; the rest should close up quickly. Still, it’s going to be painful while it heals, not to mention debilitating—Leo’s left-handed.

  My work is quick: a few stitches to close the deepest part, antibiotic cream on the rest, white surgical tape wrapped protectively around most of his arm, making his light bronze skin look even darker in contrast.

  “There,” I say as Leo examines my work, twisting his arm to see it from all angles. It’s neat, precise. I’m proud to have managed such clean work on a day like today. “You’ll feel it for a couple of days, but it should heal pretty quickly.”

  He meets my eyes, finally, for the first time since walking in on us here, Heath and me, so close together. Leo’s eyes are deep brown, half-moons turned down at their corners, at once beautiful and hopeful and sad: it’s the same look he had when he came to my place to deliver the news about Jaako and Kerr—when he discovered Heath and me, together, our lips still pink from that first real kiss.

  I’m sorry, I want to say. But for what? Am I sorry for being so close with Heath—or am I only sorry Leo had to see it happen?

  I’m honestly not sure. Every kiss I’ve shared—with Heath and with Leo—felt real in the moment. Felt like everything.

  I should know by now that feelings are unreliable.

  My world tips on its axis: I am unreliable.

  “Thank you, Lindley.” Leo gives me a tight-lipped grin, eyes still every bit as bright. He looks away, slides down from the table, and my heart cracks: