'I can't – ' I don't hear the end of her sentence as she's dragged down again. I manage to fight the wave and stay above, hauling Lorna back up to tread water by my side. Glancing up, I realise that the sky is turning paler up ahead, the clouds thinning out.
'It's almost passed!' I yell, grabbing her cheeks and forcing her to stare at me rather than the wave I know is coming. 'It's almost over! Just hold on!'
Lorna nods and takes a deep breath, anticipating the next wave. She seems to have found some stored strength as she kicks back to the surface without my help, her wound trailing blood.
Five more waves crash before the waters begin to calm and the thunder stops rippling above us. The sun peeks out from behind a fluffy white cloud, its rays sparkling on the surface of the ocean. There's still not a scrap of land in sight, but at least the storm is over.
'We made it!' I grin at Lorna, who smiles weakly, looking exhausted. 'I know you're tired but the worst is over now,' I tell her, hoping my words are true. 'I can swim faster now there's no resistance.'
She jumps on my back again and we resume our former positions, my head below the water cutting cleanly through it. After forty minutes or so, I feel Lorna's weight begin to sag on my back and I emerge to find her eyes drooping, her head lolling on one side.
'Lorna?' I shake her, hoping to wake her from an exhausted sleep, but she merely grunts, her eyes still half-closed. The sun beats down heavily, creating an uncomfortable warmth. It's only then that I realise how red Lorna's pale skin has become, how chapped her white lips look, how dry her skin appears.
She's dehydrating fast, with the heat of the sun and the salt she's already swallowed creating a dangerous situation. I slide her off my back and support her with one arm, using my other hand to prise apart her eyelids. The whites of her eyes are yellow and her pupils roll back in her head.
'Lorna?!' I shriek above the calls of the seagulls. She doesn't even grunt this time, letting her head fall backwards. I hold her tightly and glance around, stretching my vision as far as it will go, hunting for the tiniest shadow of land on the horizon. There's nothing.
'Lorna, please wake up!' I shake her violently, but her head merely jerks lazily. It's clear that she isn't going to wake, and I'm wasting time. I hoist her onto my back and tear through the ocean as fast as I can, checking every now and again that Lorna's face is still above water. I try not to glance at her too often; the sight of her eerie expression scares me. I had been ready to lose her in the midst of that storm, I'd almost resigned myself to it. But when she pulled through and we made it out, I thought we had won.
Minutes turn into an hour as I dart through the waves, and for what feels like the hundredth time, I poke my head above the surface and turn full circle, squinting against the sunlight though I can see perfectly. 'Lorna!' I gasp, shaking her, though she still doesn't rouse. 'Lorna, I think I see something!'
I press on towards the small shadow resting on the horizon, a tiny dark mass amidst the blue of the ocean. I wonder silently whether mirages still occur to Immortals. Can I witness a hallucination through sheer desperation? But as I swim closer, the darkness begins to grow larger and take shape before my eyes. A long coastline stretching thousands of feet, with nothing but green land beyond.
'Lorna!' I shriek with delight, moving faster and more confidently. 'There's land! Lorna, can you hear me? There's land!' The water close to the land is calm and gentle, lapping soothingly at my temples. It's crystal clear and sparkling beneath the hot sun and seems to guide us towards the shore. It's not long before my toes touch the soft sand, sinking pleasantly beneath it and I hurry onto the dry, deserted beach.
Lorna is much heavier out of the water and I drop her down onto the sand, kneeling beside her, casting a shadow across her burned skin.
'Lorna!' I shake her, slapping her face. The sting alone should be enough to wake her, but her eyes don't even flicker. I press two fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse, but there's no comforting thump against my fingertips. Panic rises in my chest as I listen for her heartbeat, a familiar sound to me now – it's there, but it's growing fainter by the second and her chest is still. I try CPR though I don't know what I'm doing, pinching her nose and holding my mouth over hers. Surely it doesn't matter that I'm Immortal? I breathe the same air though I don't process the oxygen. I push it into her lungs, hearing them expand, waiting for them to take over and do it for themselves. What about chest compressions? I vaguely know how to do them but is it safe if her heart is still beating? Is it still beating? I can't hear it any more.
'Lorna?' My own voice alarms me, the animalistic, strangled sound that falls from my lips. I can't cry with my eyes so my voice takes over, letting out a carnal shriek. 'But we've made it!' I yell, scrabbling desperately at her chest. 'This isn't fair, we made it! Lorna wake up! Wake up!' I slap her again, hard, causing her nose to bleed. She doesn't even flinch.
The incoming tide touches my toes, tickling the soles of my feet, but I barely feel it. I barely feel anything any more. The urgent fight I had in me, to escape the Institute, to save Lorna, to save myself, has died out, and a cold emptiness has replaced it.
I have failed.
Chapter Two
Eve.
Seagulls caw above my head as I lay beside Lorna on the burning sand, as if they're mocking me; laughing at my inability to save a mere human's life, despite my superiority. I'm tempted to stay here with her, close my eyes and wait for Sir Alec or the Auctoritas to find me, but she wouldn't want that. I'm burdened forever more by Lorna's wants, stuck with a constant need to provide them for her, even though she's no longer here. The tide is coming in fast, splashing over my knees. If only I'd have thought to bring water with us, maybe Lorna would have been spared. Unlikely, but maybe. Water, washing the dry sand off my thighs. Water, lapping quietly against the land. Water. Water.
Water!
I sit up abruptly, jerking my head. There are cliffs behind me, and at their base, small rock pools. Is rock pool water fresh? Is it possible that it could have been filtered by the cliffs? Or collected rain from the storm?
Unceremoniously, I grab Lorna's arms, dragging her over to the cliff-side. I reach into one of the pools, cupping my hands as tightly as I can, and toss the cold water onto her face, splashing her a few times before gingerly tasting it with the tip of my tongue to make sure it's fresh. Prising open her cracked, blistered lips, I tip it down her throat, holding her nose to make her swallow.
'Wake up, Lorna!' I demand, barking so loud that even the seagulls flap off. A few feet away I spy a large, shiny shell, half buried in the sand and I grab it, using it as an awkward beaker. Very carefully, I place my palms flat on her chest and, using less than an eighth of my strength, I press down, counting as I go.
'Wake up!' I slap her again, and this time, her chest puffs out with a guttural noise as she takes a huge breath. 'Lorna? Lorna?' I shriek hysterically, dancing around her limp frame almost comically.
'More.' Her voice is raspy and quiet, but it's definitely hers. She doesn't open her eyes as I pour more water into her mouth via the shell, and she splutters a few times, spewing it out. Finally, her green eyes flicker open.
'Oh my God!' I scream, falling back onto the sand. 'I thought you were dead. You were dead!'
'My skin. It's burning.' She croaks, trying to sit up and failing.
'I know,' I jump up, soothing her. 'It's really badly burnt but I don't have anything for it right now. I'll get you something, we'll fix it, I promise.' Uncharacteristically, I hug her to me, hearing her fragile heartbeat back inside her chest.
'We made it.' She whispers, resting her head against the rock. 'I need to rest.' She closes her eyes again, rearranging her limbs stiffly to make herself more comfortable.
'We can't, Lorna. I'm sorry,' I shake my head. 'We need to keep moving. This might be the closest land to the Institute. It could be the first place they'll look.'
'My leg.' She grumbles. I start, jumping backwards to peer at the gash
in her calf. In my relief, I'd forgotten all about it, and now I wish she hadn't reminded me. The blood isn't gushing any more, but has congealed quickly in the heat and is brown and dirty. I'm ninety-nine percent sure the wound is infected but there's nothing I can do about it right now.
'It's not bleeding any more,' I tell her truthfully. 'The best thing for it is clean air, but let's cover it loosely so it doesn't get any dirtier.' I rip off a shred of my damp shirt and tie it around her leg. She winces in pain but doesn't protest. 'Let's go.' I stand up, scooping her into my arms, careful not to scratch her poor, red skin. She's much heavier than before, and it's awkward carrying her in front instead of on my back, but I don't complain. I'd carry her clean across the world rather than leave her dead on that beach, as I thought I would have to.
Above the cliffs, the land is craggy and wooded with luscious green trees and dark brown earth underfoot. In the distance, tall mountains rise out of the ground and beyond the woodland lies a beautiful flowered meadow. There's not another soul for miles around and I send a begrudging, silent thanks to Caruso Bejarano – the Auctorita who commissioned the Institutes – for choosing such a remote location. 'How are you holding up?' I ask Lorna, who's cradled like a baby in my arms.
'Having a wonderful time,' She mumbles, wincing with every step. 'What now?'
'Well,' I sigh, batting tall white flowers out of my way. 'We need to find the nearest city which,' I glance around. 'To be honest is probably miles away.'
Lorna mutters something unintelligible but I catch one word that resembles English. 'Thailand.'
'To get to Thailand, we need passports,' I remind her. I'm not sure she's really listening but something tells me it would be dangerous for her to fall asleep, so I keep talking. 'We can buy them, but not from here. We need a city. Somewhere housing the kinds of people who deal in illegal passports, do you understand?' I shake her a little and settle with her grunt of response.
The meadows seem to stretch on forever, separated only by sparse woodland. I've long since given up trying to coax a response out of Lorna when I spot a narrow road, winding a path through the trees up ahead. It's not a proper tarmac road, just a dusty dirt trail littered with pot holes, but there are fresh tyre tracks in the earth and the crunch of mud beneath my boots is music to my ears. I walk for another two or three miles without happening upon a single car. We pass one rusty sign but the letters are so faded I can't make them out. The road veers off to the right and up ahead I spot the unmistakable sparkle of the sun on water's surface. I trudge down to the small lake and lay Lorna out on the patchy grass, splashing her face with water from my cupped hands. She stirs with a moan and opens her mouth, allowing me to wet her chapped lips and parched tongue. After she's drunk, we journey on, sticking to the road no matter how narrow or endless it seems.
Eventually, I spot four perfectly tended fields in the distance, bright green plants sprouting in uniform rows along the earth. I may be from concrete-clad London, but I recognise a farm when I see one.
It might not be such a great idea, happening upon an unsuspecting human farmer with an injured young woman and no believable explanation, but Lorna can't survive much longer and her injury is looking worse by the minute.
I spot the farmhouse when I'm still a few hundred feet away. The farm itself sits in the centre of a low dip, surrounded by the tended fields and unowned land. I can't see any movement in the surrounding areas, save the gentle swaying of the trees, but the house has a definite lived-in appearance, only confirmed by the presence of a Jeep in the drive. The humble wooden porch is bare, save an old rickety chair, but the chipped screen door is open and I can hear laughter from inside.
I round the dirt track, past a clump of trees, into full view of the house. Within seconds, three figures appear through the doorway, one around my size, the other two much smaller. Lorna is limp in my arms and for a moment, I'm glad she's not awake. I need this to be a smooth exchange and in her state of delirium, who knows what she'd accidentally say.
The woman climbs down the two wide steps leading onto the lawn, squinting towards us in the sunlight. She's drying her hands on a brown rag and debating how much closer she should get when her dark eyes travel to Lorna's pathetic frame and she turns to her children, shooing them back inside.
I suddenly remember that I'm supposed to be a human. 'Please, help!' I call, pretending to struggle under Lorna's weight. The woman hesitates a moment before striding forward, tucking the rag into her belt and coming swiftly to my aid.
'What happened?' She asks, sliding her arms underneath Lorna's legs and helping to support her.
'We were out sailing,' I lie, spinning the story as vaguely as possible. 'A storm hit. We barely made it to shore. She cut her leg on a rock.' I pretend to pant, wiping away invisible sweat on my brow.
'Oh, the poor thing,' The woman clucks, travelling backwards up the steps and onto the porch. 'Bring her inside out of the sun.'
It's dark inside the little house, the small square windows inadequate at providing light, but it's colourfully decorated with woven rugs to cover the bare wood floor and home-made tapestries adorning the faded walls. The woman helps me lay Lorna on a small brown sofa, propped up by lumpy cushions, before peering at the gaping wound in her calf. 'Has this been stitched?' She frowns, tenderly running her finger along the edge of the cut. My mind races to come up with an explanation.
'Yes, it was bleeding so badly. I tried to use what I had at hand which was virtually nothing.' I bite my lip in an imitation of worry as the woman studies me closely, her brown eyes taking in my ragged appearance. After a few moments, she seems to come to a decision, slapping her palms on her thighs and nodding briskly.
'Well, it looks infected. We'll need to see to it before it gets any worse. I'll fetch my first aid kit. You two – ' She snaps her fingers at the children I'd forgotten about. They're standing by the front door staring at me, their little feet bare on the wooden slats. 'Close your mouths and come and help.' She bustles out of the room, gently prodding the eldest child between his shoulder blades. He follows her obediently, but the smaller one, who can't be older than two, doesn't move an inch. His big dark eyes are focussed on mine, a small crease of concentration between his brows. He takes a tentative step forward, watching me closely, as though I might strike. When he decides it's safe, he toddles over to the sofa and stares down at Lorna's unconscious face. His eyes travel to the ugly wound in her leg and he points a chubby finger.
'Hurt.'
'Yes,' I nod at him. 'She's hurt.'
He considers this a moment, nodding his head thoughtfully, then scoots along to the other end of the sofa and leans in towards Lorna's leg. He puckers his lips and makes a loud kissing noise, not quite touching the wound. 'Better.' He says. Despite myself, I smile.
'Better.'
'Kauri!' The woman, who has reappeared at the door, snaps at the little boy. 'Come away from the girl!' The boy hops obediently over to his mother, who has in her arms a small white tin and a bowl. The other boy, who looks around four, carries a glass of water, wobbling precariously in his little hands. 'Tama, go on.' The woman nudges him forward. He approaches me shyly and hands me the glass.
'Thank you.' I smile at him, pretending to take a sip before setting it on the small coffee table beside me.
'The wound is deep,' The woman tuts, setting her supplies down and taking another gander at Lorna. 'But I've stitched worse. As for the infection, I keep a stash of antibiotics and there's nothing quite like salt water for cleaning.'
She gets to work, first dabbing the dried and congealed blood with a clean white cloth, then tackling the stitches, her fingers working deftly with the thin thread. It's fascinating to watch her; after her initial hesitation at seeing two bedraggled women on her doorstep, she's morphed into Florence Nightingale, not even flinching when ugly brown slime oozes out of Lorna's flesh. She catches me staring and smiles. 'When you live so far away from civilisation, you're forced to learn this sort of thing.' I nod, pr
etending to take another sip of water. 'Where did you set sail from?' She asks, fixing me with a hard stare.
'Oh, um – ' I hesitate. 'A way south of here. I can't remember the name of the town.'
She doesn't look convinced, but she nods all the same and doesn't pursue her line of questioning, for which I'm grateful. I watch her pull the neat stitches together and tie them off before sewing a few more for the holes my fingernails made. She bandages Lorna's calf carefully in clean white cloth before opening the metal tin and selecting some tablets. She pops a few out of their blister packs and asks me to prop Lorna's head up whilst she tips some water into her mouth to help the pills go down.
'She's very burnt,' She observes, touching Lorna's skin delicately, her fingertips leaving stark, white prints. Her eyes slide over to my pristine, pale pallor. 'Yet you're not.'
'I was under the shade of the sail, steering,' I explain quickly. 'She was at the back of the boat.'
She narrows her eyes but doesn't say anything, feeling Lorna's forehead. 'She's warm. I'll get a cold compress and some lotion for her skin.' She heads back into the kitchen, leaving me with the gaping children.
'You're very pretty.' The eldest one whispers, staring at his toes instead of at me. His comment takes me aback – I'm not used to being called pretty – before I remember I'm Immortal and to him, I must look positively ethereal.
'Thank you,' I try to smile warmly. I rack my brains for a topic of conversation. I'm not used to children; there weren't any in my family, and I'm not sure how exactly to address them. 'What's your name?' I ask, even though I've heard them already.
The Gray Institute_Rebels' Hell Page 2