Eclipse the Flame

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Eclipse the Flame Page 24

by Ingrid Seymour


  As I work on the next screw, my vision tunnels.

  I blink, shake my head, and wait for it to pass. The same thing happens as I try again. I frown at the familiarity of the feeling, and it takes me a moment to realize what the eerie sensation is. This is exactly what I felt the night I helped James open the lock to the cryobank.

  One meditation session with Aydan and already there are benefits? I press the back of my hand to my mouth, pondering. If only …

  I remove the pliers and, this time, allow my senses to take me wherever they want. My body tingles. Again, my vision focuses and I can almost see the screw, turning, slowly making its way out of its threads. I nearly feel myself twisting, but only at the edges, not entirely.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” I murmur.

  I swallow the sharp curse that springs to my lips. These freaking abilities are frustrating. I can stop bullets, but not release a miserable screw. The meditation session seems to have helped, but it’s hardly enough. I close myself and take out all the screws the hard way. By the time I finish, my forehead is slick with sweat and I’m as jumpy as a damn Mexican bean. At least, I didn’t drop anymore of the screws inside the room.

  I ease the vent off and pull it in, grinding my teeth at the scraping sound of metal. I wait for a moment, imagining stomping boots and angry voices outside the closed door. No one comes.

  The vent is so narrow that my only option is to slither out of the hole. Head first, I squirm and wriggle until I’m expelled like a piece of waste. It’s a seven-foot drop. I break the fall with my hands at the same time that I tuck my head in. As I hit the floor after tumbling like a weed, my ribs scream in pain. I grab my side, nursing it, grateful that Tusks’s steel toe boots didn’t split me in two.

  I crouch, glad Elliot’s office has no windows. The only light in the room is the yellow bulb inside the terrarium. The large black scorpion skitters over the sand and presses its pincers to the glass. On top of the glass tank, there’s a mesh basket filled with chirping crickets, ready to be devoured alive. A shiver runs down my spine. I feel like one of the poor bastards, just waiting and waiting to be discovered, plucked and fed to a hungry monster. Because isn’t that the way this new Eklyptor world works?

  Eat or be eaten.

  For so long we’ve tried to be civilized, to help the weak, nurturing the young and comforting the old. And here we are, back to square zero, reminded of the first lesson in survival: the strong take the spoils.

  And it’s hard to accept that we aren’t strong after all, even if we thought ourselves indestructible and all-knowing. The truth is: our ways only made us weak, easy prey to those who understand how nature works, those who care nothing for helpless creatures that can only chirp and twitch all the way to the dinner table while the mighty scorpion waits for its terribly fresh meal.

  I get the urge to snatch Elliot’s pet and crush it under my boot. I imagine the crunch it would make, the way its guts would stain the carpet, and Elliot’s expression at discovering his little pet turned into pulp. I smile a twisted smile.

  A slight shuffle by the door catches my attention. I hold my breath, heart beating in my throat. Two shadows shift under the door. I look back toward the vent. Crap! I have no time to climb back and replace the cover. And even if I did, the buzzing will give me away as soon as they come in.

  I’m dead. Dead.

  A key slides into the lock. From my crouching position, I shuffle to the side like a monkey, hands and feet maneuvering me behind a leather armchair in the corner. I curl into a ball, back against the wall, thighs pressed to my chest.

  I fumble through my mind, imagining flips and switches in all sizes. I turn them all off with a giant hand that is clumsy with fear. I don’t sense anyone, but I have no idea if they can sense me. God, please. This is a two-way street. If I can block one side, I should be able to shut the other one, too.

  My mouth is at the brink of letting out a desperate scream when the door opens. The lights come on. Someone walks in the room. My eyes flick toward the vent again, the wide-open escape route that can give me away as easily as the buzzing.

  Don’t Don’t Don’t—the chant of a dead person.

  Even though the shadows are barely there, my thoughts jump in all directions as my heart speeds up. I hold my breath, wish I could also hold my heart to stop it from thumping so loud.

  Elliot, I assume, sits at the desk, picks up the phone, dials.

  I’m frozen, disbelieving that I’m still here and he hasn’t sounded the alarm. Did I block my signal? I must have. That’s the only explanation. Unless … unless he’s being cruel, letting me believe I’m getting away with murder.

  “Hello.”

  Yes, it’s Elliot, his cool, commanding voice is unmistakable. He barks several orders, demanding more updates on the situation, whatever that is. He makes two more calls, sounding unhappy with everyone, then slams the phone down.

  A drop of sweat slides down my temple. If he discovers me, I’m done for. Does he really not know I’m here?

  There’s silence for a long moment.

  He’s sensed me, seen my boots. He’s laughing inwardly, thinking of the most theatrical way to let me know how screwed I am.

  Elliot heaves a heavy sigh, then dials another number. I press my knuckles to my lips and squeeze my eyes till they hurt.

  Calm down, Marci. You did it. He can’t sense you. He can’t.

  “Mrs. Zara Hailstone, please,” Elliot says.

  My eyes spring open.

  “Elliot Whitehouse, returning her call.”

  I lean slowly toward the edge of the couch, peek with one eye. Elliot’s high-back executive chair faces the wall opposite mine. All I see is his arm resting on the desk. A cufflink twinkles in the light as he drums his fingers.

  “Mrs. Hailstone,” he says, diplomacy dripping from his refined British accent. “I understand you have a proposition for me. I’m all ears.”

  A proposition? Super hearing would be nice right about now. This can’t be good.

  Elliot stops drumming his finger and begins to trace lazy circles on the desk.

  “You have my attention,” he says, sounding extremely interested in whatever Zara has just told him. A pause.

  “I understand. I suggest a meeting, then. Here. And to prove my good faith, I promise full disclosure and cease of hostilities until the meeting takes place. Does that sound fair?”

  Elliot’s chair swivels. I pull back and hold myself tighter than before.

  “Excellent. I will work out a date and let you know. Until then.” He sets down the phone and stands.

  His steps are muffled by the thick carpet, but he sounds like he’s headed for the door. Suddenly, he stops, clears his throat. He’s close enough I can hear his breaths. I put a hand over my nose and mouth and don’t breathe. Of course asphyxia might be useless because he already knows I’m here, because the buzzing gave me away the minute he stepped into the office, because he’s just playing a vicious cat and mouse game with me.

  “Are you hungry?”

  The sudden sound of his voice startles me. He moves away, toward the terrarium to feed his pet. He talks to it in strange hisses that make the primal side of me shiver.

  When he leaves, turning off the light and closing the door behind him, I stay frozen, unable to move. Minutes ticks by.

  Get up. He didn’t sense you. He really didn’t. Get up!

  I only have fifteen minutes before Lyra gets back from dinner. And I have no doubt she’ll check on me then. I have to get moving. There’s no time for relief or shock. I have to do what I came here to do before the door opens again and some giant hand pinches me out of the room and throws me into the gaping mouth of some hungry beast.

  And, even as my legs tremble under me, I get to work.

  Chapter 45

  When Lyra marches into the barracks, I’m curled up in my bed, holding my middle and facing the wall. I’ve pulled the covers over my head, intentionally trying to look like a lump.


  “Azrael,” she yells.

  I don’t move, don’t even breathe.

  “That little …” She grabs the cover and yanks it off.

  “Hey!” I exclaim, wincing and moaning as I hold my ribs. The pain isn’t nearly that bad anymore, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I was trying to sleep. I was almost out. Ow. Ow. Ow.”

  She grunts and marches out, leaving the cover on the floor.

  “Could use my cover back. They keep it too damn cold in here. Too damn cold!”

  I sit up and pick up my blanket. Several Eklyptors are turning in for the night. Crashing on their beds, looking exhausted. Down toward the door, Lamia is changing, her vicious eyes casting glances my way. Her long tail springs out of a hole in the back of her pants. She wears a long braid that makes it look as if she actually has two tails. They swing in unison as she moves around getting her bed ready. When she sits to take off her shoes, her tail beats the pillow, fluffing it. I stare at her additional extremity, fascination and disgust clashing in my gut. Her upper lip curls. I avert my eyes toward a woman as tough-looking as Lamia. Except for Onyx and I, everyone here resembles a soldier.

  Once more, I find myself wondering how much longer it’ll be before they get rid of me. I should probably take Onyx up on her offer to work in the kitchen; maybe I could even slip rat poison in the soup while I’m at it.

  I’m not ready to leave yet, and when I am, it’ll be on my own terms, and not before I’ve done all the damage I can, which includes stealing whatever information Elliot keeps in the server under his desk.

  Before I left his office, I plugged a thumb drive to a USB port in the back of the computer. When he logs back in, a little program will run and capture every keystroke he makes, including his password. After that, getting in will be a breeze.

  So for now, I may as well try to sleep and dream that my hack will help save the world somehow. I close my eyes, imagining life before The Takeover, willing things to fold into a shape I recognize. Beyond my closed lids, I see my room. I pretend I hear the cooling fans of my computer humming. I think my alarm clock is set for 5:30 in the morning and I’ll get up and go to the dojo for early practice. After that, there’ll be school, and I’ll suffer through that with dignity, trying not to slobber on my books as I nod off. When school finally lets out, I’ll hop on my bike and drive to Millennium Arcade where Xave … where Xave …

  My eyes spring open as I snap back into my detestable reality, while my past is obscured by a thick fog. Peaceful sleep fails me once more. There are no good dreams—only nightmares all around.

  * * *

  When I get up in the morning, I stretch, testing my ribs. The pain is practically gone. I talk to Onyx before she leaves to guide her troops in the preparation of breakfast. I tell her I want that job in the kitchen, washing dishes, cutting vegetables, whatever. I tell her my ribs should feel better by tomorrow and I can start then. She’s delighted. No one treats her with any respect or friendliness. The fact that I do seems to make her happy. I think that’s why she wants me around.

  As soon as the barracks are empty, I check my sleeper hack. So far, there’s been no activity, but it’s early. Someone will surely log in after breakfast. I wait all morning, compulsively checking for signs of life on the server. Nothing.

  I pace in front of my bed, biting my nails and going stir crazy. I try Aydan a few times, hoping for a chat, but there are no signs of him. Just when I think I might lose it, Elliot logs in and, just like that, I get his password. A warm feeling spreads inside of me: overdue satisfaction of an exquisite vintage.

  “I got you, now,” I say under my breath.

  He doesn’t stay logged in very long, but he gave me all I needed.

  After an hour perusing files, emails and schedules, I understand why they took extra measures to secure this information. This is what I’ve been hoping for. This is enough to show James and the others that I’m worth a second chance, that I can help them make a difference in this fight.

  I download every last bit of data, the warm feeling inside of me spreading to every corner of my body. I think if I were to lie down right now, I would finally sleep the way a person with a clear conscious sleeps. I might even start to believe I deserve that kind of peace.

  * * *

  I’m dying to see Aydan, to deliver into his hands what I’ve found, but I can’t. I can’t leave. Not with Lyra breathing down my back the way she’s been doing. So I put out a signal for him, ask him to connect at lunch or dinner—as soon as he can. I think of my stolen phone still hidden in the fire hose case, probably out of charge. I wish I could text him, but I can’t risk anyone seeing me with it and hiding for more than a few minutes to charge the thing and text isn’t possible, not with Ms. Pussy Cat checking on me when I least expect it. Here, out in the open, pretending to play silly video games, is my safest bet.

  So I wait and wait again, going even crazier than I was going earlier, itching to tell someone that we can tip the scales in this fight, that one sixteen-year-old girl that wasn’t strong enough when it counted most can fight a little harder and still make a difference, that maybe they shouldn’t give up on her. Not just yet.

  Aydan doesn’t contact me until dinner. When he comes online, I feel like tearing into him, demanding what took him so long, as if he didn’t have anything better to do than sit there waiting for me to solve the world’s problems with my flawless hacking skills. Instead, I find myself wondering where he’s been, what he’s been eating, what fears keep him up at night.

  $Dr. V> Is everything okay?

  $Warrior> I got in the server, found something huge. I need to see James

  $Dr. V> I don’t think that’s a good idea

  $Warrior> This is big, Aydan

  $Dr. V> Whatever it is, I can get it to him

  $Warrior> I’m sorry, but I will only give this to him

  $Dr. V> You don’t trust me?

  $Warrior> I do trust you, but that isn’t the problem

  $Dr. V> What then?

  $Warrior> James doesn’t trust ME. I plan to change that. I can help IgNiTe from the inside. He needs to see that.

  $Dr. V> I’ll try, but I can’t promise you anything

  $Warrior> I know

  Again, I have to wait. At first, I thought I’d just give this to Aydan. I know it’s reckless to make demands, to leave when I’m being watched so closely, but James and the others have to know I’m with them. They have to know I’m trying to make up for my mistakes. They have to understand I’m still one of them.

  A human who thought herself strong and, in doing so, made an irreversible mistake, one she will take to her grave, even as she dies fighting to erase it.

  Chapter 46

  They wait for me under the cover of shadow. The gasification towers loom behind them, relics from a past that seems more distant every time I come. The tip of a cigar glows bright as James takes it to his lips. They stand shoulder to shoulder. James, muscular and bald-headed. Aydan, lean, with a full head of black hair as thick as the night. A large Harley is parked to the side, ticking as the engine cools off. The night is cloudy. A humid breeze makes the air feel thick, like a wet wall.

  I walk in their direction with firm steps, even though my knees feel like rubber. My heart races. I curse my need for this man’s approval. I curse the fact that I ever met him, that I ever let him down.

  About five paces away, I stop, head buzzing. James drops his cigar on the ground and steps on it. A cloud of smoke whirls around him. An awful burnt vanilla smell wafts through the air. He once told me he smoked to keep his monsters under control, even if it is a hideous habit that might one day kill him.

  I wait for them to say something. Aydan nods, but that’s all.

  “Hello, James,” I say.

  His only response is a narrow-eyed look.

  All the explanations I’ve ever imagined telling him crowd next to each other inside my mouth, but I know they’re all unnecessary excuses. He will make up his own mind abou
t me. He will believe I’m in control or he will not. Either way, he might still blame me for my recklessness or for my weakness, for the death of his friend. I have no idea which way it’ll go. What I do know is that nothing I tell him will make a difference.

  “I assume Aydan has explained my situation,” I say.

  James gives Aydan a sideways glance. “He has.”

  I put my hand in my pocket. James tenses, his eyes sharp, attentive to my every move. I’ve brought them a new thumb drive loaded with a large database full of names and addresses. My fingers play with the small device, rolling it end over end, but I don’t pull it out. Not yet.

  “I’ve gained access to Elliot’s private network, and I’ve found some information that I think can be key in our fight against his faction.”

  The word “our” feels sour in my mouth. Every human resisting the Eklyptors shares the same struggles, so, in that sense it is “our” fight. But I’m not part of James’s team. And that is the “our” I am referring to—a possessive adjective I can’t use without his permission.

  “Get to the point,” James says curtly.

  “Yes, of course.” I pull my hand out of my pocket, the thumb drive between my fingers. “I have a list of every reproductively capable Eklyptor in Elliot’s faction.”

  I let that sink in. A million thoughts seem to pass behind James’s eyes, all revealed by a tightening of his expression and a slight twitching of his upper lip. He exchanges a loaded look with Aydan. They understand better than anyone what this can mean.

  “I have their names and addresses,” I continue. “Most of them stay together under Elliot’s protection. Here, in Seattle, there are about twenty safe houses, and it’s the same elsewhere. Proportionally to Eklyptor numbers, the reproductively capable are not as many as I had imagined. If we strike, if we take them out, they wouldn’t be able to infect anyone else. We would slow down their progress. Then it would just become a matter of fighting and winning. Of body count. If they can’t turn anymore of us, they become a fixed number. Their armies would stop growing.

 

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