“What?”
“Two. Brock, you have two irises.”
“Most people do.”
“In each eye.”
Two irises? That was impossible. That only happened right before—
The first wave of pain crashed into him. It would have dropped him to the floor if Meg hadn’t been right there to catch him.
He heard a loud crash in the hall, followed by a scream from his own lips at a sharp, unexpected agony in the center of his chest. He felt something pierce him, all the way through to his back.
“Dexter, help!” Meg yelled.
Brock clutched at his chest, reaching out for his brothers. All he found was darkness.
He looked down, trying to fight through the double-vision of trying to process input from the new pair of eyes forming inside his own. Blue light escaped between his fingers. When he took his hand away, a new scar glowed right above his heart.
“Someone died,” he said. “Oh shit, someone died!”
“What? Who?”
“I don’t know. The others go offline when—“ His muscles cramped, making him arc his back as he cried out again.
Meg helped him to the floor. “What do I do?”
“Check Dexter.” Brock curled up on his side, his body shaking as he tried to breathe through the pain.
Meg ran to the door. He heard her gasp, then run out into the hallway. In a few moments, she was back at his side.
“I can hear his heartbeat, but it’s faint,” she said. “I think he hit his head when he fell. And his eyes…”
“Are open. They look dead.” Brock grunted, his guts twisting. “One of them is.”
“But he’ll split, right? The replicant who died?”
“Don’t know.”
A loud cracking cut him off, his bones popping as they expanded. He tried not to scream, but failed.
“Vaughn! Eli!” Meg yelled.
He felt her pull his pajama pants off, and for a brief moment, was almost grateful she’d been through a split with DP. But he couldn’t wish this on anyone. Not splits and sure as hell not an emergence.
“Stomach,” he said.
“Oh God…” Meg stared at his abdomen, her eyes wide with terror. He could only imagine what she was seeing.
“Over. On stomach. Help.” Each word cost him, using energy he needed to save.
She grabbed his shoulders and waist and rolled him over. Her werewolf strength was really coming in handy. Drawing on what strength of his own he had left, he pulled himself up to all fours.
Meg supported him as best she could, one arm around his shoulders and another gripping his hip. He didn’t know how she was holding on to him with all the writhing and rippling he could feel under his skin.
Pressure and pain. Everywhere. His body was too full, muscles slipping over each other, bones sliding and cracking, pulling apart.
It wouldn’t be long now. He felt like he was going to explode. Maybe this time he would. He would almost welcome it. Anything to stop the pain.
But Meg was here. He didn’t want her to go through that. She couldn’t watch him die.
“Jonathan,” Brock gasped.
“Please, tell me how I can help.”
“Back of my head,” he said. “Grab my hair.”
He felt her fingers run over his scalp, her gentle touch a momentary reprieve. Then she firmly gripped a handful.
She gasped. “It’s changing.”
What was changing?
“It’s turning white,” she said.
Just another type of scar. He’d deal with it later. If he made it through this.
“Brock…”
“Pull,” he gasped.
Her hands were shaking, but she did. He screamed again, his vision cycling between blue, red, and black. His skull cracked, his brain on fire as he was pulled in two.
He leaned forward, but could see the wall opposite him as well as the floor. He couldn’t feel Meg’s touch anymore. She was holding on to Jonathan now.
At least the pain in Brock’s head had lessened. The rest of his body was another matter.
This part Brock knew. He grabbed the carpet and used it to help pull himself forward.
The pressure on his back, in his guts suddenly let up. He felt his body lift from the ground for a moment, then heard Meg say, “Sorry.”
He felt her doing something above him and dared to focus his attention through the other set of eyes—Jonathan’s eyes. She had moved between them and was holding Jonathan around his chest. She gently put her foot on Brock’s back, careful not to step on his spine.
Then she stood, pulling Jonathan with her.
Brock let out a final shriek as their hips and legs separated, a sound echoed by his newest brother. But then, the pain was gone. He’d never gone through a split so quickly.
He lay on the carpet, panting. Through both sets of eyes, he watched Meg gently help Jonathan to the floor.
She turned to Brock, eyes glowing painfully bright. Her cheeks were wet and her lashes clumped together, but she let out a laugh.
“You’re still here.” She leaned over and started kissing his face, his shoulders, his head, crying and laughing the whole time.
He wished he could feel her relief.
His vision was still flickering. Blue, red, black. Blue, red, black.
The blue, he was used to. The red had happened during the last split. The black… The black was new. And it was lasting longer with each cycle.
Brock managed to roll to his side. He could see himself through Jonathan’s eyes, his mind processing the data from both of their senses in a mental split-screen view.
There was a lot more white in Brock’s hair, but it was still mostly dark. As dark as the circles that shadowed Brock’s eyes.
His skin had an unhealthy gray pallor and waxy cast to it. Brock wasn’t nearly as gaunt as he’d been after the other splits, though. He looked like his brothers.
Jonathan… Jonathan didn’t.
He was bigger than the rest of them. Almost as big as Brock had been before the split. A side-effect of their methods for helping Brock put on weight? Or a complication from his latest split?
The same scars covered Jonathan’s body and face, but his hair was completely white. Jonathan ran his hand over his chest, staring down at the newest death mark.
“Can you hear me?” Brock projected.
“Understand… Not… Happening…” Jonathan’s thoughts were fractured, disjointed. “Who am I?”
“You are Jonathan. And I’m Brock.”
Jonathan cocked his head to the side. “Progenitor?”
“No. Brother.” Brock lifted his arm toward Jonathan, but his strength gave out.
Meg must have noticed what he was doing, because she took Jonathan’s hand and brought it to Brock’s, squeezing them lightly. She knelt between them, running her fingers through Brock’s hair. Her touch soothed him more than anything.
She reached out to Jonathan. He flinched away from her.
“She’ll help you,” Brock thought. “Trust her. I wish I could do more.”
He pulled his awareness back. The darkness was claiming him more, his hearing cutting out along with his vision.
He heard Meg say, “It’s okay. I’m a friend.”
As he forced his eyes open, she gently cupped Jonathan’s cheek. Jonathan’s lips parted and his eyes widened. Brock wasn’t sure what Jonathan was feeling. He couldn’t reach Jonathan anymore.
Which meant Jonathan’s split was about to happen.
“Help him,” Brock said.
Meg looked back to Brock. “I will.”
His eyes drifted shut, and he didn’t have the strength to open them again. He had to hold on long enough for Jonathan to split. Surely whoever had lost a replicant body had already completed theirs. He prayed they were all safe, getting to their stasis pods.
What was going to happen here, though? They didn’t have enough stasis pods for everyone. Brock was supposed to be in stasis b
efore he split. And they would have to take Tessa and Marcus out to put DP or Jonathan in.
Brock wasn’t ready to go. He wanted to stay, to help. He had to make sure everyone was taken care of. That they were safe.
Brock heard his dad’s voice.
“Dexter, can you hear me?” Dad sounded far away, but had to be out in the hall.
Everything was foggy. Brock felt like he was drifting outside of his body.
“Eli.” Meg’s voice was louder, desperate and close. “In here.”
“What…” Dad said. “Oh my God. What happened?”
Meg sounded wrecked. “He split.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Dad said.
Brock felt fingers at his throat above his pulse point. That had to be Dad.
“He wasn’t due to split for hours.” Dad continued his exam, hands flying over Brock’s body. “How long has it been?”
“Only minutes,” Meg said.
“And his brother?” Dad asked.
“Jonathan,” Meg said. “Is he supposed to look different?”
“He is what he is.”
“He hasn’t said anything yet. Is that normal?” she asked.
Dad’s touch disappeared. “Brock is stable. I’ll check on—”
An earsplitting screech reached Brock even through the haze surrounding him.
“No, Jonathan!” Meg yelled.
What the hell was happening? Brock wanted to open his eyes, to rise up and help the others, but he couldn’t.
“It’s all right,” Dad said. “I’m here to help. Jonathan, stop.”
When she spoke, it sounded like Meg was using her heightened strength—and reaching her limits. “He’s your dad.”
Jesus, what was Jonathan trying to do?
Another inhuman screech pierced Brock’s ears. He winced, and even that small movement exhausted him further.
“He’s splitting,” Dad said. “He needs help.”
“Stay back.” Meg spoke more firmly than Brock had ever heard. “He’ll hurt you.”
Brock’s heart picked up from its sluggish beat. His skin prickled.
He felt his dad hook his arms under Brock’s shoulders, dragging him across the room, just like the night of Brock’s first split. Dad held him, hugging him close to his chest, propped up against the wall, no doubt. But this time, Brock could feel warmth hit his shoulder.
Dad hadn’t cried the first time.
“Stay with me, son,” he whispered. “Christ, we’re going to need you to deal with this.”
There were more crashing sounds and shrieks. Meg was yelling.
No one would come to help her.
No one was left.
The room grew still. Brock couldn’t feel his dad’s arms around him anymore.
Blue, red, black. Blue, red, black…white.
Like the light he sometimes glimpsed when one of his brothers died.
“Brock? Brock?” Meg’s voice grew more agitated, but was also fading. “Please don’t go.”
Chapter Eighteen
Rows of beds. Soft beeps. The whoosh of machines breathing for everyone in the room.
Everyone except her.
Meg sat curled in a ball, hugging her knees tight to her chest. She was in the farthest corner from the door, not because she was scared, but because it was the closest spot to Brock’s bed.
From her spot on the floor, she could see the wires trailing down from the heads of everyone’s beds. Dexter, Porter, Jon, Nathan, and Brock’s.
The door to the infirmary opened.
“Meg?” Eli called. “Are you in here, honey?”
Fresh tears welled in her eyes at the endearment. She put her head on her knees and tried to cry quietly, hoping he would leave.
There was a small room right next to her with a bed for when any medical staff needed to sleep but wanted to be near their patients. She could crawl into it, but Eli would see the door open.
“I checked the footage and no one has been in or out since you left.” Vaughn’s voice. She didn’t catch his scent. He must be talking to Eli through his watch.
“She has to still be in there,” Vaughn said.
Eli’s footsteps sounded from the far side of the room, paused, then headed her direction. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes and nose. Eli saw her as he rounded the foot of Brock’s bed.
“Sweetie…” Eli walked over to her and squatted beside her, putting one arm over her shoulders.
“Did you find her?” Vaughn sounded strung out—and why wouldn’t he?
He’d been working nonstop for the last two days running everything, doing damage control, and trying to keep all the Blades calm when their leaders suddenly went missing.
“Yeah, she’s in the infirmary,” Eli said. “Looks like there’s a blind spot on the camera feed.”
“Great.” Vaughn sighed. “The only access route into the infirmary is covered. I’ll add tweaking the camera positions to my list so we have a better interior view, but it’s a low priority for now.”
Eli’s watch made a beeping sound that she knew meant Vaughn had ended their communication. He hadn’t even said goodbye or asked how Meg or the others were doing.
That was a bad sign. She needed to pull herself together. She needed to help.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes again. “You don’t need to check on me. You should focus on them.”
“There’s no need to be sorry. And I’ve already done all I can do for them.” Eli sat down beside her, keeping his arm around her shoulders.
“How are they?” she asked.
Maybe Brock’s vitals had changed. Maybe Eli had figured something out.
She knew before he said anything that her hopes were unfounded. The defeat in his tone was heart-breaking.
“Well, the younger boys are stable,” Eli said.
She loved how he talked about them, how he so obviously cared, even with as terrifying as Jon and Nathan had been during their split. If they hadn’t blacked out when Brock did, she wasn’t sure what would have happened.
The replicants were strong. Stronger than a normal human. And she was the only fighter they had left.
If Roy showed up, they were screwed.
“All of them are still unresponsive. Brock—” Eli paused for a moment, then cleared his throat before he went on. “Brock’s vitals are weakening. Vaughn is working with Damien to move the stasis pods from Europa since Zach’s only using the one.”
“I’m sorry about Carey,” Meg said.
“I haven’t given up on him yet. Or any of my boys. We’ll see what happens when Zach comes out of stasis and Brock is back on his feet. Zach will probably split, and then we’ll have Carey back.”
Eli spoke with such conviction, but there was an edge of tension to his tone. She wondered if he really believed they would ever figure out how to help Brock—or any of the others.
“Vaughn never told me what happened to Carey,” she said. “Just that Damien was really mad.”
Eli let out a puff of breath. “Mad doesn’t begin to cover it. Carey and Damien have always been close. When Brock’s split started and all the boys lost their link, they went catatonic. Carey and Damien were sparring…with swords.”
“Oh my God.”
Eli pulled his lower lip between his teeth, making his gray beard bristle out. He released it with a sigh.
“Hell of a thing,” Eli said. “Finding out about your best friend that way.”
Meg didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept silent. After a little while, Eli spoke again.
“We should have brought Damien in before now,” Eli said. “He’s a good man. People look up to him. He’s agreed not to tell the other Blades anything till he gets a chance to talk to us here, but how he takes this might make or break us going forward.”
The thought of Brock’s legacy being lost on top of everything else was just too much. She had to keep her focus on saving the man behind it.
“You’re still planning to put Brock in sta
sis?” she asked.
“Yeah. Vaughn’s working like crazy to try to get two more stasis pods built for Jon and Nathan before Damien gets here. “
“What about Tessa and Marcus?”
“We’ll figure out what to do with them when the pods are ready,” Eli said. “But we need to get Brock into one as soon as possible. It’ll be safest for him and everyone else if his brothers are in stasis before him. All Porter’s testing at least told us that.”
“What if Roy gets here first?”
Eli smiled at her. “We don’t even know he’ll come.”
“He’ll come.”
“Well, then he’s in for a surprise. Vaughn has the grounds wired up with all kinds of defenses. Roy won’t make it into the ranch. And if he does, it’ll be even worse for him. We’re safe here.”
She hoped Eli was right.
They sat leaning against the wall, staring at Brock’s still form on his bed.
After a moment, Meg said, “What was Brock’s mother like?”
Eli pondered her question before replying. “I didn’t know her that long, but she seemed sweet. She was concerned for her baby and only spoke of him through the delivery. Wanted us to name him ‘Brock’ after the hunter who was killed helping her get to us.”
Meg’s stomach sank, imagining that scene. But that hadn’t been what she wanted to know.
“I actually meant the other woman,” she said. “Your wife.”
“Oh.” Eli tensed. “She was…a hard woman. Strong and passionate.”
“I don’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“It’s okay. Just been a while since I spoke of her.” He was quiet for a bit, then said, “I was a county medical examiner when we met. I kept seeing her at crime scenes—this woman with dark red hair and piercing blue eyes.” He laughed softly. “A lot like Tessa’s.”
“Brock told me he started the Blades to show her that dwellers and humans can get along,” Meg said.
“I’m glad he’s admitting that now.” Eli let out a deeper laugh. “When he first named the Blades, he kept saying, ‘It’s pronounced Yah-nus, Dad. Like the Roman God with two faces.’ And he had a point about that fitting since Dexter and Porter are…what they are.”
“But you think he had another reason for the name?”
Eli smirked at her. “His mom’s name was Janice.”
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