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Evan Burl and the Falling, Vol. 1-2

Page 41

by Justin Blaney

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Evan

  Friday

  5:49 pm

  5 hours until the falling

  My Father faded. No, he melted; like a water painting in the rain. The lines between where he began and where he ended blurred until parts of him became unrecognizable. The blade that pierced his chest turned to dripping globs of molten chrome until it had all seeped into the mountain of debris we stood on.

  His face remained last, confusion and regret written in the lines on his forehead. His jaw stuttered, but no more words came. Then he was gone.

  "I live on in you." His words made me warm and cold in waves. And his accent? The same as Henri's. Mazol and Yesler appeared at a door.

  "It's too late," I said. "He's gone."

  "You stay where you are gimp," Yesler said. He and Mazol climbed the mound.

  Henri followed behind them, her fingers twitching on the satchel at her side. "Just do what they say and everything will be alright."

  I lifted my hand.

  "Don't move." Yesler snagging Henri from behind, pressed a razor to her skin. She fought him. I stretched my fingers; the shiv flew from Yesler's hand into mine. I pointed it at Yesler. He put his hands into the air. Henri stumbled back.

  "Here's what's gonna happen," I said. "I want to know what's been happening to the Roslings. I want the skull. I want the Spider. I want whatever you were going to get for my Father—the ember. And I want it now."

  I like this new you.

  Mazol glanced at Henri.

  The steel lifted from my hand, floating point first toward him. "I don't have much practice; I don't know if I'll be able to stop it."

  He looked at Henri again. She fumbled with the satchel, slipping something out. I lost my concentration on the knife; it fell at Mazol's feet with a clank. Lunging, he twisted me by the ear. "I don't take no orders from no gimp."

  I tried to push him away but couldn't think straight. A pendent hung from Mazol's neck. I'd never seen it before: a mechanized girl with burning red eyes. I imagined her staring at me, eating up my sapience, like the cage. A rubric made for protecting its wearer from the attack of people like me. I swung at Mazol. Missed. An oil-soaked beam rose into the air and exploded. I shielded my face from the splinters.

  Mazol whispered in my ear. "She's going to get you."

  "Shut up."

  "She'll stab you in the back."

  "She'd never..." But I felt only half as convinced of Henri's innocence as I sounded. I watched Henri, searching for signs of her guilt. Could she hurt me? Could she have hurt the Roslings? She stood next to Yesler, in her hand the object she had pulled from her satchel: a syringe, filled with murky dusk. She put a single finger to her lips, tested the plunger with her thumb. Three drops fell from the tip. Henri was going to stick Mazol in the back. She would prove her love for me, just as Mazol was trying to convince me of her guilt.

  She raised the syringe above her head. Yesler tried to grab it from her. She pushed him off, more easily than I thought possible. Mazol didn't see; his eyes were locked on me. I had distrusted Henri—even if only for a moment. But it was more than that. I'd accused her of turning on me, of siding with Mazol. I'd even, if I was honest with myself deep down, accused her of murdering the Roslings. I had wanted it to be anyone but me. Even if that meant my best friend took my place.

  I held my breath as her hand fell. Yesler lunged at her. They both fell toward me as the syringe came down in an arc.

  Mazol turned. "No!"

  But she didn't stab Mazol. She reached past him. Her eyes never left me. The tip of the needle plunged deep into the muscle between my shoulder and neck. Yesler grinned. Blood oozed from his cracked lips, dripping down the white mask. I staggered backward and grasped for the syringe. It fell, bursting at my feet. Someone screamed.

  I fell next to Claire, my body sprawled in the puddle of my father.

  Thank You

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