by Rich Larson
“Cover us,” Wyatt said. Bo felt him take the fleece from his hands, then he was gone and there was no time to respond anyway. Not with his Parasite writhing, frantic, and the static racing through every part of his body like lightning as he turned it on the next pod, the next, the next.
Sometimes they vanished whole; sometimes the burst was less concentrated, scoring ragged holes in their slick black flesh. In the corner of his eye he saw Gloom make for the machine, darting and weaving with Wyatt close behind. The pods weren’t coming for him anymore; they were jetting away, focused on Gloom or maybe on fleeing.
Bo kept at it, burst after burst, popping them out of the air. He was swaying where he stood, his Parasite nearly spent, his baton forgotten on the floor. He’d never used it like this, so much, so fast. Through the sheet of sweat in his eyes he saw Gloom and Wyatt disappear into a duct at the base of the machine.
One of his ears had popped and he didn’t hear the pod behind him until it was too late. As he turned all he could see through the blur was a hooked proboscis bearing down on him, ready to spear him through. Bo reached deep and flung out whatever static was left, his Parasite’s last gasp, and his eyes squeezed shut on instinct as—
He felt the proboscis slice through the air beside his head and heard it crunch against the floor. His eyes flew open to see the pod twist, curling reflexively around the hole Bo had punched straight through it. He rolled hard. Most of the pod’s bulk slammed into the floor, but its tail came down on Bo’s back, pinning him flat. It knocked the wind out of him and he gasped. His mouth fished open and shut as he waited for the next pod to come and finish him off.
The roaring in his ears subsided. He realized there were no more pods. All of them were gone or near to it, beached on the black metal floor, groaning and leaking their yellow fuel. Bo wriggled as far as he could, but his legs were still trapped. The pod’s gas was escaping, turning it heavy. His exhausted Parasite was the same, sitting like lead in his gut.
Bo lay flat against the floor as his heartbeat slowed to normal. He’d destroyed the pods. He’d gotten Gloom and Wyatt safely inside the machine. Were they with Lia yet? Was Gloom already taking the tubes out of her? He braced himself to try getting his legs free again, thinking there might be more pods on the way, coming back from the warehouse.
“Man, Bo, that was impressive.” Wyatt’s voice came from somewhere behind him. “Really fucking impressive.”
He stepped into view a few meters away and Bo’s heart leapt. Lia was draped over his shoulder, wrapped in the oversized fleece. She was unconscious but even from a distance he could see her eyelids fluttering. Bo wriggled again, desperate to see her up close, to feel her pulse and be sure.
Still stuck. He ran his tongue around his dust-dry mouth, preparing to tell Wyatt that he was trapped, that he needed a hand. Violet’s words came back to him. He shut his mouth and squirmed again, harder. He managed to loosen one leg. Barely.
Wyatt’s eyes zeroed in on his motion. “Gloom’s putting the new coordinates in,” he said. “Says to make sure the pods are all dead, then head back to the boat. He told me how to work the elevator.”
He set Lia down on the floor. Gently, but Bo didn’t like him touching her at all, didn’t like the smirking way he was looking at her. He knew Bo was stuck. Had to. Bo’s gaze was glued to his sister as Wyatt stalked through the downed pods, finishing them off with sharp savage up-and-downs using the end of the crowbar, driving it into their heads. She was so close. Lying there just a meter away, breathing slow but alive.
The chemical smell Bo remembered from the storage unit was wafting into the air strong enough to sting his nose and throat.
“Help me out,” he said. He licked his lips. “I’m stuck, help me out.”
Wyatt nodded, started toward him, then stopped at the sound of a low groan. Bo saw one of the downed pods moving behind Wyatt’s back. Its bright light flashed in the dark, scanning Wyatt up and down, turning him into a black silhouette. It moved again, rolling over so its damaged underside was exposed. Wyatt’s eyes narrowed. He turned to it.
The pod’s underbelly peeled open, and something pale and slimy slapped out onto the floor, something nearly human shaped, legless. Bo realized what it was just before she opened her red-pigmented mouth.
“Wyatt, my darling boy, my handsome boy, my darling boy, my handsome boy,” the unfinished othermother sang, crawling toward them, leaving a slick on the floor beneath her.
Bo saw shock scrawl itself across Wyatt’s face, saw Wyatt’s knuckles throb white as they clutched even tighter around his crowbar. He remembered that Wyatt had never been inside the warehouses. He had never been hunted by his othermother or even seen her.
“So you do remember,” Wyatt muttered. His expression shifted, a mixture of pride and fascination and, for some reason, relief. “Hey, Bo. You want to know why they put me in a hospital?” He asked it still looking at the othermother, transfixed.
Bo didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to be here, seeing this. He knew in his gut that it was dangerous to see this. The last time Wyatt had told him a secret, he’d been planning to cut him open. All Bo wanted was to get to his sister and get out. He gave up on the one leg and tried the other, jiggering it back and forth under the pod’s dead weight.
Wyatt glanced at him over his shoulder. “It’s because I saw this coming,” he said. “All of this.” He waved around with his taped-up hand, encompassing the othermother, the dead pods, the ship. “I saw it coming before anyone else did.”
“My darling boy, my handsome boy, Wyatt, Wyatt, Wyatt!”
Bo watched him walk over to the unfinished othermother, stopping by her head. One of her hands gripped weakly at his ankle but he kicked it away, staring down at her with pure loathing. He toed up like he was taking a golf swing; Bo wanted to look away but didn’t. The swing, the crack. Black fluid spattered up into the air and the othermother’s smashed-in skull flopped to the floor with a dull crunch. Her shrill voice cut quiet.
“The first othermother is the hardest, right?” Wyatt asked, looking down at the ruined face. “After that, it’s so easy.” He turned back to Bo. “They sent mine early. Before the ship came down. She looked right. She looked human.” He gave the othermother’s body a contemptuous glance. “Not like the cheap ones they keep churning out now.”
Nothing Wyatt was saying made sense. There had been no othermothers before the ship came down.
“We need to go,” Bo said. “We need to hurry. Remember?”
But Wyatt ignored him. “I knew she wasn’t my mother,” he said softly. “She couldn’t have been. A real mother wouldn’t have done the things she did to me. She was an othermother, and my real one, well. Who knows what they did with her, right? Maybe I never really had one.”
Bo realized he’d stopped kicking. He was paralyzed by knowing. He knew what Wyatt had done. There was only one way to become a Lost Boy.
“The first one is the hardest,” Wyatt said, walking toward him now with the crowbar dangling from his good hand. “It was tough. I admit that, right? But I knew, deep down, no matter what she said, no matter how convincing she was, that she wasn’t my mother. She wasn’t human. I did her in with a kitchen knife.”
Bo flinched as Wyatt dropped to a crouch right in front of him, resting the crowbar across his bony knees. His mouth was too dry to speak even if he’d wanted to, even if he’d thought Gloom could get out of the machine in time to help him. His Parasite was dead weight in his stomach like the pod was dead weight on his legs.
“I was confused for a while,” Wyatt said. “I’ll admit that too. No secrets between us, right, Bo? But then the ship came down, and everything made sense.” He straightened up, gripping the crowbar tight. “I can make the tough decisions. The ones other people won’t. I was meant to be here. Right here. Saving the world.” He hefted the crowbar. “I think you’ve done your part already.”
What kind of lies would he tell the others? What kind of lies would he tell Lia?
Bo felt his heart ripped out thinking about it, felt sick and furious. Made you a bit of a martyr. That was what Wyatt had said. That was what he would do again. Violet would never believe him, Bo knew that much, and that meant he would find a way to kill her too. He locked his eyes on Lia’s face and made one final thrashing bid to slip his legs free, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly.
Wyatt jammed the crowbar underneath the pod’s tail and pushed. The rubbery flesh levered up off Bo’s legs, freeing him. He was slow to slide out from underneath. He got to his feet, still stunned, nauseous. Wyatt let the tail drop down again, smacking the floor. The meaty noise echoed. All the pods were silent now. Dead.
Bo stumbled over to his sister. Her bare skin was cold and clammy against his, but she was alive. They were both alive.
“Let’s get moving,” Wyatt said. “Gloom can take care of himself.”
Bo nodded, still unable to speak. He slung Lia onto his back, gripping her arms around his neck. She was lighter than she should’ve been, fed through tubes for too long. But she was alive, and they were nearly out.
“Alright,” Bo said hoarsely. “I’m ready.”
31
Violet helped Jon lower the last sleeper to the floor of the elevator platform lengthwise beside the other two. All three were still unconscious, breathing deep and slow. Peaceful-looking, apart from the Parasites rippling hard in their abdomens. Violet used her sleeve to wipe a long strand of drool off the red-haired girl’s chin, then straightened up.
Her back and arms ached from the long crawl through the tunnel dragging the stretcher. Passing the kids up the metal ziggurat steps of the elevator hadn’t been easy either. It didn’t help that the entire time she’d been tensed, ready to fight or flee, ready for Jon and Bree to turn on her or for the simulation to dump her back in her kitchen.
But nothing had happened. Jon seemed like Jon and Bree, scowling, seemed like Bree. Despite Gloom’s warning, they’d made it here unscathed, with no whirlybirds trying to stop them. Now all they needed was for Bo and his sister and Gloom to show up. And Wyatt. Jon had explained that they’d brought a boat, that the ship had touched down in the harbor.
Violet was glad she wouldn’t be skydiving with Gloom even if Bo seemed to have survived it alright. She flopped down onto the platform, massaging her sore wrists.
Jon sat down beside her. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. His voice sounded deeper than it had just a week ago. It startled her a bit. She tried not to think about her own.
“Me too,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing. That felt real too.
Jon’s black brows knit together, more expression than she’d ever seen on his face except at night, when he was dreaming bad dreams and speaking his foreign language.
“I thought Wyatt killed you,” he said.
Bree, standing lookout, jerked her head up. She barked a laugh. “Why the fuck would you think that?” she demanded, not looking at Violet. “If she’d just stayed and taken the punishment, it would’ve been fine. Wyatt would’ve let her back.”
Jon just shook his head. He looked at Violet. “He touches everyone on the same arm,” he said.
Violet grimaced. “After tonight, we don’t have to worry about Wyatt,” she said. “We don’t need him.” She shot a hard look at Bree. “If you cared about Gilly, you’d get her the fuck away from him too.”
Bree opened her mouth, red with anger, but cut short at the sound of echoing footsteps. Violet bolted upright. Wyatt and Bo appeared from the dark at the end of the hall, and Bo was bent over with someone clinging to his back. His sister. Violet felt a rush of relief. As they came closer she saw that Bo was exhausted, his face drawn and paler than normal, and she knew he’d been using his Parasite. She still couldn’t blame him for wanting to carry Lia himself.
And exhausted as he looked, there was a brightness in his eyes, something close to a smile on his mouth not quite daring to show itself, not yet. Violet clambered down the platform to help him lift his sister up.
“Where’s Gloom?” she asked, keeping one eye on Wyatt even as she took Lia’s legs.
“Finishing in the machine,” Bo said. Worry flashed across his face. “He said to take the elevator up. Wait in the boat. He can climb it.”
“What happens if he doesn’t get out in time?” Violet demanded. “He’ll go through the door with the ship, right? To wherever the aliens are waiting.”
And maybe that was for the best. Violet remembered what she had seen in the simulation, the planet staining black with a spreading sea of motes, the ships fleeing. Maybe Gloom really was even more dangerous than they were.
“He’ll make it,” Wyatt said calmly, swinging himself up onto the platform. “Here.” He reached down and helped them lift Lia up. Bo followed, looking scared to be even a hand’s length apart from his sister now that they were together again. Violet felt a tiny churn of trepidation. Bo had his real family back, what was left of it, and whatever he’d said about her being his other sister, well, people forgot about things like that pretty fast.
She hauled herself back up onto the platform, ignoring Wyatt’s offered hand. He shrugged and gave his innocent white grin, but it looked a lot uglier with his face all bruised up and something dark drying spattered across his cheek. Violet shot Bo a glance, but Bo’s gaze was still glued to his sister. Wyatt stuck his good hand inside the broken-open panel.
They started to rise.
Getting back down to the boat was harder without Gloom. Bree went first, sliding down the curved hull, digging her heels in to slow herself. Then the rest of them made a human chain, Jon as the anchor, to pass the sleeping kids down one at a time. When it came time to pass Lia, Bo could barely make himself let go. He stretched as far as he possibly could, holding her under her armpits, then sucked in a deep breath and released. She slid the short distance to Bree, who grunted as she caught her. Bo didn’t breathe until Lia was lying in the bottom of the boat with the others.
Bree started turning them all on their sides, in case they started to vomit up the drugs in their systems, while Jon clambered down. He helped Violet next. She wasn’t touching the back of her neck anymore, but Bo could tell she was still on edge, tensed to breaking point. He didn’t blame her. She dropped down into the boat, and then it was only him and Wyatt crouched up on the hull. Bo threw a glance toward the dark mouth of the elevator shaft, hoping to see Gloom slithering through.
“He’ll make it,” Wyatt repeated.
But Bo worried as a shuddering vibration ran through the ship’s hull. The machine was warming up again. He judged the distance and slid down into the boat; Violet and Bree pulled him inside. He went to where Lia was stretched out and sat so he could cradle her head, so it wouldn’t bang against the slick floor of the yacht.
Violet was looking up at Wyatt, now starting to descend, and Bo could tell she wished they could push off without him. But they didn’t have a way to start the boat. They didn’t even have paddles. The realization hit him in the gut.
“Gloom pushed us here,” Bo said slowly. “We don’t have a key for the ignition.”
Violet’s eyes widened. She had that look on her face that meant he’d done something incredibly stupid, but all she said was:
“Fuck.”
Another vibration passed through the hull, rocking the boat. Bo gripped the edge with his free hand and his sister with the other. If Gloom didn’t make it out, none of them would. They would be pulled right through the door along with the ship.
Wyatt hopped inside, making the boat bob. Jon was leaned over the side looking at the propeller; Bree and Violet were trying to take the panel off the ignition, but Bo didn’t think even Elliot would know how to hotwire a boat engine. It was all on Gloom.
Bo knew he should be thinking, should be trying to find a solution, but he couldn’t stop looking down into his sister’s placid face. Whatever happened next, whether the door swallowed them up or not, they’d be together for it. He’d done that much. That wa
s something.
Lia’s eyes flicked open. Bo’s heart leapt in his chest, then his shout of joy strangled off.
They weren’t Lia’s eyes. They were flat gleaming black.
“I am sorry, Bo,” she said, in Gloom’s tinny voice. “The key has to remain inside the machine while the door opens. There was no other way.” Then she burst apart in his hands into cold black motes. They streamed around him like water, slipping through his fingers, and plunged over the side of the boat.
Bo was frozen, kneeling, his eyes still fixed where his sister’s face had been a moment before. Lia was not in the boat. She’d never been in the boat. She was still in the machine.
“No, no, no, no!”
It was the only word he could form. Wyatt had unclipped the anchor and the boat was moving, picking up speed as Gloom’s tendrils churned the dark water, carrying them away. He shot to his feet, not caring if he unbalanced the boat, not caring if he capsized it. He tried to dive over the side but hands caught him, pulled him back. He thought it was Wyatt and curled his fist but ended up hitting Jon instead.
“It could have been me,” Bo gasped. “I could have gone in the machine instead, if you told me, if I knew …”
Through the pounding in his head he heard Violet round on Wyatt, shouting, heard Wyatt’s voice answering back clear and cold.
“It was the only way. You heard Gloom. She had to stay in the machine for the door to open.”
Bo went slack in Jon’s arms, letting all his limbs go limp. Jon loosened his hold for half a second. It was all Bo needed to wrench free and hurl himself into the water. The cold hit him like concrete, smashed the breath out of him. He felt bubbles swirling around his face as he fought his way up to the surface and started, desperately, to swim. He could see the yellow light of the ship’s underbelly, see its dark crest emerging from the water. He pulled one stroke. Another.