by Tracey Ward
I dart toward them, kicking the closest guard hard in the knee as I move past him. He shouts in pain, going down hard and fast. It won't distract him for long but it should buy me all the time I need. The second guard turns immediately with gun raised, but it's too late. I’m too fast.
Faster than I’ve ever been or ever should be.
I grab the top of the barrel, twisting and pulling it up and away from me as I do. There's a loud pop that echoes in the cavernous space as his index finger gives way to the pressure. Broken or dislocated, he won’t be using it to pull that trigger again anytime soon.
He howls in agony as his grip falters for a brief second, giving me the opening I need. I rip the gun from his hand, then smack him with the butt. He drops to the ground, stunned.
I round on the first guard just in time to see him attempt to stand and fall flat on his face, his gun dropped too far away to be of use and his leg too damaged to hold his weight. He’s no longer a threat.
The entire encounter took less than six seconds.
“Alex,” I call over my shoulder, the gun I’ve just stolen in my hand and pointed at the men groaning on the ground. “It’s clear.”
I hear the passenger door to the Jeep open then snap shut.
“What are we going to do with them?” she asks wearily.
“Do we have any rope in that Jeep?”
“Let me check.”
It takes her forever. I know she’s moving slowly because she’s exhausted and injured so I keep my cool. I don’t say anything. My hand holding the gun is rock steady, my palms completely dry.
“There’s some jumper cables,” Alex finally calls to me, “but nothing else.”
“Those won’t work.”
I take a step forward, taking aim.
“Nick, no!!!” she screams.
I fire two quick shots: one into each of the guards. The echo of the gunfire bounces around the space, mixing with Alex’s scream, reliving the moment over and over and over again. Then it’s overtaken by something else—by shouts of pain and groans through gritted teeth.
I turn around to find Alex standing close, as though she had run forward to stop me. Her eyes are huge and her hand is clamped over her mouth, muffling her words.
“Are—are they…?” Alex asks hesitantly.
I wrap my arm around her waist to help her walk quickly toward the building entrance—the one shaped like a Jabberwocky. Alex looks down nervously at the writhing, groaning men as we pass.
“I shot them each in the leg,” I explain. “I don’t want them following us.”
She trips as we struggle over rubble and debris to enter the first long hallway, but she doesn’t say a word.
I pull her through the decimated building to the first hospital room I can find. There are carts knocked over, boxes of supplies burst open and tossed around the room. Gauze and sheets hang from jagged cinderblocks and bent bits of rebar like a badly TPed lawn, but none of that matters. What matters is the locked supply closet still standing in the corner. Locked means valuable—probably painkillers.
It also means I don’t have a key.
I push Alex gently down until she’s resting on a collapsed gurney. “Stay here. Sit tight.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find supplies to take care of your shoulder and hands.”
“He’s a doctor. There will be medical supplies in his office.”
“Calm down. We’ll get in there eventually.”
“See you say that, but I don’t know if I believe it.”
“If we can squeeze it in between patching you up and not dying, we will absolutely hunt down the hypothetical files.”
“Or we could split up and get it all done at once.” She goes to stand. “You go find supplies. I’ll go to the office.”
I subtly step in her way, blocking her path out of the room. “Sit down.”
“You’re bossy when you’re in PJ mode,” she teases, smiling sweetly.
I’m not falling for it.
“And you’re stubborn. All the time.”
“Pot,” she says touching her chest. She puts her palm on my chest. “Kettle.”
“You’re leaning on me. You know that, right?”
She sighs, lowering her head. “I need to sit down.”
“Are you dizzy?”
“Little bit.”
“Just wait for me,” I insist firmly. “I’ll be two seconds.”
She nods vaguely, her eyes on the floor. “I’ll start counting in three…two…”
“Alex.”
“I’ll wait,” she promises.
I don’t believe it—not for a second—but I don’t have a choice. All I can do is hurry. Shouldn’t be hard to outrun her right now.
After weaving through the twists and turns of the maze that is this clinic, I find a room that’s still intact and has some med supplies left. The cabinet in here is already busted open, and I stash extra viles of the good stuff—painkillers and antibiotics—into my pockets, because if being a medic has taught me anything, it’s stock up. Never assume you have enough. Once I’ve got what I need to clean and bandage her wounds, I head back to the room I stashed Alex in.
Even though I’m fast, I’m not fast enough. When I get back, she’s gone.
I drop the bandages filling my arms and immediately whip the gun from my belt. I walk briskly down the hall, heading for the office I remember all too well.
I’m cursing the whole way.
Chapter Two
Alex
I should have waited for him, I know that. I should listen to him, I know that too. So why am I shuffling down a jacked-up hallway, bouncing off walls and moaning in fatigue and pain?
Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.
I also can’t let this go. There are more of us out there, more people who are suffering from conditions like mine with no help or hope of ever getting a handle on it, and how would I be expected to sleep at night if I didn’t at least try to find them? To help them if I can?
When I think about it, it’s not as noble as it seems. My motives are to help people, sure, but Nick and I are people too, and I know we can’t fight this thing alone. I can’t control what I do, and I wonder if one of them couldn’t help me with that—or at least help Nick not die. These people will hunt us for the rest of our lives—our short, scared, scrambled lives—and I want more than that. Better. Better for me, and most of all, better for Nick.
When I find the office door still intact, I nearly cry with relief. Luckily I’m too spent to manage it, so instead I push my way inside and nearly fall on my face when I get there. The room is completely black. I flick the switch by the door up and down but nothing happens. I’m stepping into the room to head for the desk, thinking of the Tiffany lamp I know is there, but I pause when I remember I broke it.
“Great,” I whisper, annoyed with myself.
I sense movement to my right, feel the cold, hard press of metal against my cheek, see the shadowy form of a tall figure out of the corner of my eye emerging from behind the door, and I’m annoyed with myself for so much more.
Just wait for me, he said.
I’ll be two seconds, he said.
I need to start listening to him. If I survive this moment, I swear to myself I will.
“I’m surprised, Alex,” Liam says quietly, his voice all the more menacing with its calm casualness. He pushes against my face with the gun, digging it painfully into my skin and shoving me into the room. I stumble forward on shaking legs as my body breaks out in a clammy sweat. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”
My eyes sweep the dark room. They’re beginning to adjust but there’s nothing nearby I can use to defend myself. Besides, even on my best day I’m not faster than a bullet. I’m not sure if Liam has what it takes to shoot me, but I’m not interested in finding out either.
“I hadn’t planned on it,” I reply nervously.
“Then why did you?”
“Why haven’t you lef
t? Daddy left you behind, didn’t he?”
Silence.
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
“Did you just wake up?” I push. “Found yourself alone and afraid in the dark?”
“I’m not alone any longer, am I?”
I clench my hands, the sweat on my palms feeling feverishly hot. “I’m not really into hanging out right now.”
“Why’d you come back?” he insists.
“How exactly would I leave, Liam?”
“Slip.”
“You Slip! I can’t control it, now, can I?”
“Such a waste of raw talent.”
I move to turn around so I can face him and maybe punch him in the eye, forgetting completely about the gun—that is until the light from the hall glints off the barrel as he raises it to remind me.
“Don’t,” he commands.
I listen.
I grit my teeth, eating my anger. “You’re a waste of a man,” I tell him bitterly.
“Maybe. But at least I wasn’t stupid enough to walk right back into captivity.”
I hear his clothes move as he takes a step toward me. The light in the room changes gradually as his body blots out part of the hallway light. Then in a flash it goes out almost entirely. I hear a surprised grunt, a hard smack! and then the light returns, all before I can turn around.
There in the darkness beside the doorway is Nick. He’s pointing a gun down at Liam who, lies perfectly still, staring up at him in shock.
“No,” Nick tells him, his voice deep and creepy calm. “Stupid was thinking she came back alone.”
Liam licks at his lip, wincing as he no doubt comes back with the bitter copper tang of blood. “You two are simply inseparable, aren’t you?”
“Why is he still here?” Nick asks me, ignoring Liam. “Why didn’t he leave with his dad?”
“Because his dad left him behind.”
Nick smirks at Liam. “Really? That make you mad?”
“It’s hardly the surprise you both make it out to be. If you’ll recall, I don’t need conventional means of transportation.”
“That’s right,” Nick muses, “you can Slip on command. So tell me something: why haven’t you done it yet?”
I’m eager to hear his answer. He couldn’t have just woken up. He was hiding in the shadows with a gun in his hand. He was prepared. But what was he waiting for?
“I have unfinished business to attend to,” he answers evasively.
“Really? And is that business worth having a gun in your face? Because I’ll be honest with you, if I was looking at what you’re looking at right now I’d Slip myself right out of this room.”
Liam doesn’t answer. He stares back at Nick with angry eyes and a tightness in his body that I’ve never seen before. He’s nervous, scared, freaked out, and – holy crap, he can’t Slip.
“You can’t do it, can you?” I ask.
I’m weirdly excited by the idea. By the fact that this stupid, raw, crazy power isn’t always on demand, even for the people who think they own it. It makes me feel less like a loser for not being able to use it right.
Liam casts me a sharp look before turning back to Nick. He answers me, but he talks to the gun. “When I taught you mediation, that wasn’t a lie. It helps—or at least it should have, if you’d bothered to take it seriously for a single second. Stress, anger, frustration—it all hinders a move. You have to focus inside yourself. You have to be calm.”
“And you’re pissing yourself right now.”
“Not an entirely accurate summation, but yes,” he answers grudgingly. “I’m not the least bit comfortable at the moment. I don’t care for pistols.”
“You didn’t mind it when you had it against my head.”
“The safety was on.”
“It’s off now,” Nick assures him.
Liam eyes him warily, concern etched deeply into his handsome face.
“What do you want?” he asks, his words clipped.
“Information on the other patients,” I tell him. “I want a list. I want names and addresses.”
Nick shakes his head silently. I give him a questioning look but he only shakes his head again, his face impassive.
“Why?” Liam asks curiously. “What could you possibly plan to do with that information?”
“I want to help them.”
He chuckles. “You can’t even help yourself.”
“What do you care?! Just tell me where the files are and we’ll let you go.”
Nick shakes his head again.
I ignore him.
Liam sits silently for close to a minute. I count it out but I also wait it out, because that’s what knowing Nick has taught me—patience.
“Black safe in the closet,” he says finally, his tone dead.
I eagerly move to step around him but Nick holds up his free hand.
“Stop. Wait.”
“What?”
“Stay there. I got this.”
I gesture to the gun. “You’re kind of busy.”
“And you’re kind of clumsy right now, and he’s faster than you. I don’t want you anywhere near him. Sit down behind the desk.”
I don’t argue, because I’ve already ignored his warnings today and it got us both in trouble. Well, me more than him. Pretty much only me.
He’s right: he’s got this.
“You. Up,” Nick commands Liam. “You’re opening the safe.”
Liam feigns helplessness. “You need more than the passcode. It requires a key as well—one I don’t have.”
“He’s lying,” I groan as I slow-roll my way around the desk. “He has a set on his belt loop on the right-hand side. He always does. I guarantee it has a key to the safe.”
“Feeling sluggish, eh?” Liam mocks.
“You don’t get tired from pulling living creatures out of dreams?” I ask as I fall into the cushy chair behind the desk. “Oh, wait. That’s right: you can’t do that, can you? You also can’t Slip anywhere you haven’t been. That must be limiting.”
He sneers at me. “Not as much as other things. How’s Russia this time of year, anyway?”
I want to slap him for putting the thought in my head. I try very hard not to think about certain places—anywhere that’s been extremely dangerous or horrifying for me. Russia is, hands down, the worst of the worst experiences I’ve ever had—something Liam knows. Dropping that bomb in my brain is a pretty low blow.
“Open it,” Nick demands.
Liam takes his sweet, meandering time getting over to the closet. Once inside, he plays with his keys for a while before finally inserting one into the lock. It’s there that he pauses.
“If I open this,” he says slowly over his shoulder, “can we strike a bargain?”
I laugh in disbelief. “Not a chance. You’re shifty as hell and I don’t trust you.”
“What kind of bargain?” Nick asks, surprising me.
Liam turns to face him, holding up the silver key. It glints in the low light from the hall. “You can have the files on one condition—I get to keep one.”
“Which one?” I ask curiously.
“Telling you its contents would defeat the purpose of my confiscating it, now wouldn’t it?”
“Deal,” Nick agrees.
“What?” I cry incredulously. “No. No deal. Not with him.”
“You want those files? This is how we get them.”
“I want more than the files from him,” I reply hotly.
Liam feigns shock. “Alex, really, love. With him watching?”
“Shut up. I want to be able to Slip on command.”
He snorts, dropping the act. “Perhaps you should have paid attention during lessons.”
“How did you learn to control it? Your dad said you mastered it within a year when you were just a kid. How is that possible?”
“I’m far more contained than you are.”
“That’s not it. The difference between us is your dad. You had him hooking you up to electrodes and s
tudying your stool. He helped you, didn’t he? He found a way to help you learn.”
“He’s not the patient type,” Nick adds. “He would have wanted results immediately to prove himself a success. He wouldn’t have waited for you to train to do it.”
“He would have gone immediately to what he knows: science.”
“Medicine.”
“He made an injection. One that can force a Slip. You have injections to keep me from doing it. If you can stop it, you can force it.”
“He gave you training wheels, didn’t he?”
Liam scowls at Nick. I know what that is. It’s the condescending tone, the same tone Liam’s dad takes with him, and he absolutely hates it. Somehow, I think Nick already knew that. Maybe it’s a guy thing.
“He gave me an addiction is what he gave me,” Liam replies scathingly. “Ten years old and I was addicted to the feeling of the move. I begged him for injections, I pleaded for the chance to feel that rush. He never denied me. He let me go time and time again for nearly a year. Eventually it took its toll.”
“You started getting sick?” I ask.
“Terribly. So he took it away.”
Nick’s brow pinches. “He detoxed you by making you go cold turkey?”
“Yes. It was agony, but I was still addicted. I started moving in my sleep, my body seeking the fix. I was too weak to go far. It was always the living room or the barn. It was a taste of what I needed, but it wasn’t enough. I began to focus. I would seek out that feeling in the daylight. I would remember it, strive for it, and eventually I found it.”
“You Slipped on your own. On purpose,” I breathe, awed by the very idea of that moment. I can’t imagine what that would feel like—the sheer joy.
He hangs his head, the stark light of the room cutting his face in half and softening his features. He looks different to me. He sounds different. He’s part Liam from our breakfasts at the table in the odd kitchen and part Liam with the hidden agendas and the gun to my head. He’s beautiful and dark, damaged and dangerous.
“I did,” he answers softly, his eyes on the floor. “I did, and I was so proud of myself. I ran to my father and told him immediately. I did it again to show him. I moved to the barn, this time on purpose. On my terms. He was impressed. He asked me to go farther. Then farther. Then farther still. Eventually he had me at the end of the road, three miles from our home. Still he told me to push myself further.”