“What decision?” I ask.
“She chose you. And I chose the one with the best heart,” he says, and when he shifts in front of the hospital window, I see shadows over his shoulders. Black shadows the shape of sparrow wings, narrower at the tips. I blink, and they’re gone.
He goes on. “The heart is the most important part of choosing the apex. Others disagree, but I am certain in this. The heart, it is essential. An apex without a good heart makes a poor channel. The heart must be steadfast and true. Only then is it undefeatable.”
I bravely blink again, but he doesn’t disappear. He remains fixed against the white cinder block wall, arms folded over his chest as if he has all the time in the world.
“Where is she?” I ask. On cue, my imagination produces an extensive list of all the terrible things that could’ve happened to Jesse since she’s disappeared.
“You are her tether to this world. I will need your help.”
He uncrosses his arms and walks toward me. He places one polished shoe deliberately in front of the other. “It’s not too late to save her. To save you all.”
Hope springs in my chest. “Tell me where she is, and I’ll try.” God help us, I’ll try with everything I have.
Gabriel stops in front of me. He tilts his chin down and considers my face. He lifts a pale hand and extends one index finger. I can hear Jesse saying E.T. phone home, but I’m too afraid to let the laugh surface.
He places his finger against my temple. The second his smooth, cool skin makes contact with mine, I see Jesse’s face.
She’s so clear I can count her eyelashes. Her dark hair is spread over the snow. Her face is pale except for the red flush to her cheeks. With her eyes closed, she lays cocooned in her shield with her hands at her side. She looks like a cursed princess in a fairytale.
She’s dreaming.
And I know exactly where she is. 63.5°S 138.0°E.
My eyes fly open to find him still standing there.
Hurry, he whispers through my mind. His eyes are dark blue. It reminds me of a summer sky at midnight, complete with a halo around his moon pupils. If you are not there when the gate opens, all will be lost.
Nikki’s voice breaks the spell. “Good news: Maisie lives. The doctors insist she’ll make it. Bad news: She’s asking about Jesse. I wasn’t sure how much you wanted to tell her. Jeremiah is right behind me. He’s dealing with all this shit hitting the fan, but will meet us here once he’s done making calls.”
I spin twice, hoping to see him in the corner or behind a chair, but he’s truly gone. It’s only Nikki, Gloria, and me in the hospital room.
“What’s happening?” Nikki arches an eyebrow. She stands in the doorway with two steaming Styrofoam cups. “And what’s on your face? It looks like pencil smudges.”
I don’t answer her. I grab my coat off the back of the bedside chair and Gloria’s sketchbook.
“I have to get to Antarctica. I have to get there now!”
Nikki arches an eyebrow. “What?”
I’m already running down the hospital hallway, dodging wheelchairs and staff. I’m determined not to waste the precious time we have left. I have to call Gideon. Or maybe I can get ahold of Jeremiah. Someone with an aircraft. I’ll accept a ride from anyone.
I dodge nurses pushing wheelchairs and doctors with metal clipboards. I duck around a man with a bouquet of roses propped in the corner of one elbow as he asks the nurse behind the desk where the maternity ward is.
Someone yells for me to stop running. I don’t.
I reach the elevator and mash the plastic button, five or six times even after the orange triangle pointing down illuminates.
The silver doors open and a flood of people step off, splintering off as they head for different hallways.
Jeremiah steps to the side to get out of the way. He arches an eyebrow at the sight of me.
“I know where Jesse is,” I blurt, turning back as my name is called. Nikki is trying to navigate the chaotic corridor with the two coffees still in her hands. She holds them high over her head the way coeds hold red cups at a party.
I recite the coordinates that Gabriel planted so clearly in my mind. “63.5°S 138.0°E.”
He tilts his head. “That’s the South Magnetic Pole. How do you know that’s where she is?”
I want to shove him back onto the elevator, mash more buttons and get onto the nearest plane. Who knows how long it will take us to reach the South Pole?
“She didn’t tell me she was going there. Gabriel did.”
Jeremiah’s eyes widen behind his turtle shell spectacles. His fingers fly up to the collar of his shirt and he adjusts it as if it’s choking him. “You saw Gabriel? With your own eyes? And he spoke to you?”
Nikki catches up to us. “Seriously, what is going on?”
She forces me to take one of the coffee cups.
I huff but take the cup. “I can explain on the way, but we need to get there as soon as possible. Do you understand?”
Jeremiah isn’t even looking at me. His gaze is fixed on something opposite the elevator.
A collection of twenty or so eggshell plastic chairs sit off to the right of the service desk. Over the mostly empty seats, pinned to the far wall, is the flat screen television hovering over an unkempt magazine rack, with battered issues of Good Housekeeping and Golf Pro jutting from its wire embrace.
I’m a second away from throwing this coffee in his face.
“Hello? I need you to take me to her. I need to reach her before…” Before what exactly? Gabriel said before the gate opens…but I don’t know what that means.
“Turn that up,” Jeremiah calls, pointing at the television. The nurse looks up and glares at him. I don’t blame her. I’m sure she has more important things to do than turn up a television for a man. She doesn’t oblige him.
It’s an old man leaning heavily on a cane who pushes the volume button dutifully.
A female announcer with bleached and coiffed hair says, “—at least three dead in the blaze. Because of the isolated location of this incident, we do not yet have all the details. More as this story develops.”
The squat concrete building is in a landscape of snow flames, the black smoke looking all the blacker for its tundra surroundings. A sinking feeling overtakes my limbs.
“Shit,” Jeremiah says. “We missed it. Tamsin.”
“On it,” Nikki says.
She’s set her coffee cup on the nurse’s station and is scrolling through her phone frantically. I’m already doing the math in my head. How long ago had I seen Jesse? How long ago did she come before Gabriel? Thirty minutes? An hour maybe. Tops.
I remember the tears in her eyes shining brightly under the hospital fluorescents. I have to. Al, I have to. Have to what? Surely Jesse couldn’t cause too much damage in an hour, right?
My stomach only twists harder.
“Found it,” Nikki says, after only thirty seconds of searching. She reads the news report aloud. “An explosion has rocked the South Pole research station today, killing five and injuring at least a dozen more.”
My heart pounds so hard I feel woozy from it. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.
“It is unclear if the explosion is the result of equipment malfunction or malintent. Shortly before the explosion, researcher Tom Duchovny tried to make contact with the proper authorities but was cut off before providing the clear details of the situation. It seems the explosion has damaged equipment and disrupted communication, severely limiting communication between the remote research facility and officials. Fortunately, research center staff is limited during winter from February to October, as the majority of occupants return to warmer climates. However, this also means the 45 remaining staff are without aid until assistance can arrive. This does not bode well for those injured in the blast.”
“We have to hurry,” I say again, finally seeing the dawning realization in their eyes. “I need to get to her before anything else happens.”
Nikki
looks up from her phone, her face pallid in its ghostly light. “We’re too late for that.”
Chapter 2
Jesse
Nighttime waters, warm and enveloping, wash over me.
Given how much my stiff body aches, it feels nice. The last two days have been hell. Rachel died. Caldwell died. Georgia died. Maisie almost died. Even Gloria might be dead, though she seemed to be hanging on in that hospital bed, with all those cords and wires sticking out of her like puppet strings.
And here I am. I just don’t get why.
The way we’ve been dropping like flies, it doesn’t make any sense to me. I should be dead with the rest of them. I should’ve never been the last partis standing. Any one of the other partis would’ve made more sense.
Yet here I am.
Wait—where is here exactly?
“Gabriel?” I whisper, and even as I float through the spongy dark of this comforting black, my voice works fine.
Open your eyes, he says.
I open my eyes and see—white. White snow and a blue sky as far as the eye can see. There’s also a fuzzy, blinding orb just above the horizon. The sun?
“Where the hell are we?” I ask. “The North Pole? Is that the last partis test? To meet Santa?” Because I haven’t believed in Santa for years, and even if I did, I’m sure he wouldn’t give me anything but coal and a swift kick in the ass. Killing people, including one’s own father, has probably etched my name on the naughty list, permanently.
“We are at the convergence point,” Gabriel says.
I sure as hell don’t see anything converging. There’s only ice, snow, and that soft blue sky.
If I’d known this was a hurry-up-and-wait deal, I would’ve spent more time with Ally—more time saying goodbye. More time saying I’m sorry…
My breath hitches.
I don’t even know what that apology would sound like. I’m sorry that I have a stupid neurological disease that makes me weird. I’m sorry that my father was a homicidal maniac who tried to take over the world. I’m sorry that I killed people to protect us—I’m sorry that I’m not as sorry about any of that as I should be.
It’s probably for the best I didn’t know I had more time. Who knows what pathetic things I might have said?
I look down at my hands. There’s dried blood in the folds of my knuckles. My forearm has a big, ugly, black bruise on it, a defensive bruise from when I raised my arm to protect my head. A blow to the head is the one way to kill me. Or at least it was.
I say, “I’m cold, but not as cold as I should be here in Winter Wonderland.”
“Your powers will protect you from the elements,” Gabriel says. I turn to look at him then. His long black hair hangs around his face. His green eyes are as bright as ever. His long, slender hands are hidden in the front pockets of his dress pants, even the wrists covered by the long black lapel. The wind ruffles those locks and pulls black feathers from his wings. Angel problems.
“Which power? My shield? The inner fire?”
He considers this question thoughtfully. “All. Yet a coat would be a necessary precaution. I can never be quite sure how fragile your body is.”
Fair enough. And why would he? I’ve gotten myself killed so many times, it would be hard for him to know how a little temperature damage might affect me.
“But we cannot leave the convergence point for long.”
I look in all directions and see nada. “Uh, nearest coat?”
I’m not sure this even matters since I can teleport anywhere at any time with just a thought and a prayer—a prayer, because I’m still a bit clumsy about it.
He steps toward me, and as I open my eyes to receive him, I’m already feeling the world shift. That uneven tilt of it folding in half and plopping me down somewhere else. I take a step so I don’t fall, and my heel comes down, not on a frozen ice shelf, but poured concrete.
The first noticeable difference is the temperature shift. I’m no longer outside and at the mercy of the elements. Now I stand in a cement hallway. A heated hallway. Ah, good ol’ fashioned temperature regulation. Civilization at its finest.
I reach up and brush fallen hair from my face, and lights blink on. One after another as if they are instructing me to move forward. Motion sensors? That seems fancy.
I give Gabriel a wary look. “Where are we?”
The only response is the slow pivot of a metal hinge. I look up. Cameras rotate on their pedestals, craning their mechanical necks my way.
Heavy boots thump against the cement.
“Hide!” I hiss. I’m commanding Gabriel to hide me even though I know it’s up to me to move heaven and Earth. I’m the one with the teleportation power now. I’m the one who murdered her own father to get it.
It’s more than that, a wiser, more compassionate voice says. You killed him to save the people you love.
A man appears. And he has a gun.
“Who the hell are you?” he asks. He has a thick beard that’s as white as the hair on the top of his head.
“Santa?” I don’t think it’s really Santa. After all, why would Santa have a gun? And maybe a gun isn’t the right word for it. Harpoon? Does Santa hunt polar bears? That seems very non-benevolent-jolly-good-fellow of him.
The man’s face pinches in confusion. Two shocked, snowy caterpillars, which I’m pretty sure are serving as his eyebrows, scrunch together. “Wait. Aren’t you…?”
My heart kicks in my chest. Right. My face is plastered all over the news along with Rachel’s, Gloria’s, and Ally’s, because we’re being blamed for Maisie’s kidnapping and the destruction of Chicago—which, by the way, was totally Caldwell’s fault. He’s the one that blew it up! And he’s dead, so it’s not like he can confess anytime soon.
I flash a nervous grin. “I’m not a terrorist. Look at me. Do I look like a terrorist?”
I wince. Gee-zus. Way to go, Jess. Let’s just make this racist while we’re at it.
“I mean, not that terrorists look a certain way or anything,” I say. “White people can be terrorists. Women can be terrorists. So I guess I could look like a terrorist.”
The disgruntled, white caterpillars only writhe in confusion.
“Rick, what’s the problem?” someone calls. Over his shoulder, another guy appears. This one is young, maybe late twenties with a silver thermos in one hand and the other in the front pocket of his lab coat. This kid sees me, and his brunette eyebrows shoot up and his mouth rounds with surprise. “Whoa, it’s her!”
Shit. My notoriety has reached the South Pole. I must be bigger than the Backstreet Boys now. I’m not sure if I should be flattered or super annoyed.
Santa’s finger twitches on the trigger, and the harpoon releases with a sklunk-spoosh, whistling through the air toward me. Several things happen at once.
I stumble back, and in doing so, I disappear. The familiar squeeze of darkness as the world shifts forces the air out of me. When my foot comes down on concrete in a black room, more motion lights click on, responding to my arrival.
I suck in air only to spit it out again. “Can you believe that?!” I scoff, indignant. “He tried to harpoon me. Harpoon me! Never in my life has someone tried to harpoon me! And people try to kill me all the time!”
“Jesse,” Gabriel says. He stands beside me, his face alight with a soft pulsing purple. As the light dances over the angles and planes of his face, I realize I’ve not only teleported from the harpoon’s path, but I also erected my shield. I could have just done one or the other, but I guess both work in a panic.
“Seriously, who harpoons a lady? A lady!” Okay, I’m stretching the lady part here. I wouldn’t even call myself a lady. But a harpoon! Really? Really?
“Jesse,” Gabriel tries again.
The rising concern in his voice breaks the spell of my indignation and surprise. I put down my obsession over almost being harpooned to death. “What now?”
“Your shield is causing interference to this primitive equipment.”
I look around. Floor to ceiling computers, a forest of blinking knobs and dials and touch screens don’t look primitive to me. They looks fancy. And expensive. And if it breaks, no doubt that’ll be added to the long list of things that I’ve done to piss someone off.
“Now, now, just because someone tried to harpoon me—” I kind of love this word, harpoon “—doesn’t mean we should make fun of their toys,” I say.
A strange, acrid smell stings my nose. I stick out my tongue and pinch my nose shut. “Blech! What is that?”
“Your shield—”
“My shield does not stink! It’s never stunk before!”
One of the machines closest to me sparks. Thick plumes of gray smoke seep up between the panels. Oh, maybe not my shield itself, maybe where my shield is rubbing against the machines.
Another machine sparks fire, and more smoke leaps toward the ceiling.
“Oh,” I say, the situation dawning on me. I turn and my shield turns with me. The purple field barely brushes the surface of the machine, but the metal hisses and crackles. Screws leap from their holes and zing across the room. “Oh, I see. They don’t like that.”
The door flies open, revealing harpoon-wielding Santa and his thermos-clutching elf. It looks like three others are right behind them.
This must be evil Santa. If good Santa is at the North Pole, here’s his evil Santa twin at the South Pole. And he has a posse. That’s fine. I have an angel.
“What did you do?” Santa asks. The caterpillars writhe.
“Look, I know this looks bad,” I say. “But it was an accident. I didn’t know it was gonna do that.”
“The terrorist is destroying SOSHA!”
“I am not! I’m just standing here!” I yell. “I’m not destroying anyone!” I blink. Who the hell is Sasha?
A horrible sound crackles behind me, and I turn in time to see one of the panels rip off the face of the machine. Without thinking, I jump. The world squeezes me through one of its tight and unseen places before spitting me out again on the snowy tundra.
Dying Day Page 3