by Tahereh Mafi
“We’re going to need everyone to clear the room,” someone says suddenly. Loudly. “We need to begin running tests immediately.”
The girls, I realize. It’s the girls. They’re here. They’re trying to get him away from me, trying to get him to break away from me. But Warner’s arms are like steel bands around my body.
He refuses.
“Not yet,” he says urgently. “Not just yet.”
And for some reason they listen.
Maybe they see something in him, see something in his face, in his features. Maybe they see what I see from this disjointed, foggy perspective. The desperation in his expression, the anguish carved into his features, the way he looks at me, like he might die if I do.
Tentatively, I reach up, touch my fingers to his face. His skin is smooth and cold. Porcelain. He doesn’t seem real.
“What’s wrong?” I say. “What happened?”
Impossibly, Warner goes paler. He shakes his head and presses his face to my cheek. “Please,” he whispers. “Come back to me, love.”
“Aaron?”
I hear the small hitch in his breath. The hesitation. It’s the first time I’ve used his name so casually.
“Yes?”
“I want you to know,” I tell him, “that I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“What?” He startles.
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I say. “And I don’t think you’re a psychopath. I don’t think you’re a heartless murderer. I don’t care what anyone else says about you. I think you’re a good person.”
Warner is blinking fast now. I can hear him breathing.
In and out.
Unevenly.
A flash of stunning, searing pain, and my body goes suddenly slack. I see the glint of metal. I feel the burn of the syringe. My head begins to swim and all the sounds begin to melt together.
“Come on, son,” Castle says, his voice expanding, slowing down, “I know this is hard, but we need you to step back. We have t—”
An abrupt, violent sound gives me a sudden moment of clarity.
A man I don’t recognize is at the door, one hand on the doorframe, gasping for breath. “They’re here,” he says. “They’ve found us. They’re here. Jenna is dead.”
KENJI
The guy gasping at the doorframe is still finishing his sentence when everyone jumps into action. Nouria and Sam rush past him into the hall, shouting orders and commands—something about initiating protocol for System Z, something about gathering the children, the elderly, and the sick. Sonya and Sara press something into Warner’s hands, glance one last time at J’s limp, unconscious figure, and chase Nouria and Sam out the door.
Castle crouches to the ground, closing his eyes as he flattens his hands against the floor, listening. Feeling.
“Eleven—no twelve, bodies. About five hundred feet out. I’d guess we have about two minutes before they reach us. I’ll do my best to slow them down until we can clear out of here.” He looks up. “Mr. Ibrahim?”
I don’t even realize Haider is here with us until he says, “That’s more than enough time.”
He stalks across the room to the wall opposite Juliette’s bed, running his hands along the smooth surface, ripping down picture frames and monitors as he goes. Glass and wood shatter in a heap on the floor. Nazeera gasps, goes suddenly still. I turn, terrified, to face her and she says—
“I need to tell Stephan.”
She dashes out the door.
Warner is unhooking Juliette from the bed, removing her needles, bandaging her wounds. Once she’s free, he wraps her sleeping body in the soft blue robe hanging nearby, and at nearly the exact same moment, I hear the telltale ticking of a bomb.
I glance back, at the wall where Haider still stands. Two carefully spaced explosives are now affixed to the plaster, and I hardly even have time to digest this before Haider bellows at us to move out into the hall. Warner is already halfway out the door, holding the carefully wrapped bundle of J in his arms. I hear Castle’s voice—a sudden cry—and my own body is lifted and thrown out the door, too.
The room explodes.
The walls shake so hard it rattles my teeth, but when the tremors settle, I rush back into the room.
Haider blew off a single wall.
A perfect, exact rectangle of wall. Gone. I didn’t even know such a feat was possible. Pieces of brick and wood and drywall are scattered on the open ground beyond J’s room, and cold night winds rush in, slapping me awake. The moon is excessively full and bright tonight, a spotlight shining directly into my eyes.
I’m stunned.
Haider explains without prompting: “The hospital is too big, too complicated—we needed an efficient exit. The Reestablishment won’t care about collateral damage when they come for us—in fact, they might be craving it—but if we’re to have any hope of sparing innocent lives, we have to remove ourselves as far from the central buildings and common spaces as possible. Now move out,” he shouts. “Let’s go.”
But I’m reeling.
I blink at Haider, still recovering from the blast, the lingering whisper of whiskey in my brain, and now this:
Proof that Haider Ibrahim has a conscience.
He and Warner stalk past me, through the open wall, and start running into the gleaming woods, Warner with J in his arms. Neither of them bothers to explain what they’re thinking. Where they’re going. What the hell is going to happen next.
Well, actually, I think that last part is obvious.
What’s going to happen next is that Anderson is going to show up and try to murder us.
Castle and I lock eyes—we’re the last people still standing in what remains of J’s hospital room—and we chase after Warner and Haider toward a clearing at the far end of the Sanctuary, as far away from the tents as possible. At one point Warner breaks off from our group, disappearing down a path so dark I can’t see the end of it. When I move to follow, Haider barks at me to leave him alone. I don’t know what Warner does with Juliette, but when he rejoins us, she’s no longer in his arms. He says something, briefly, to Haider, but it sounds like French. Not Arabic. French.
Whatever. I don’t have time to think about it.
It’s already been five minutes, by my estimate. Five minutes, which means they should be here any second now. There are twelve bodies incoming. There are only four of us here.
Me, Haider, Castle, Warner.
I’m freezing.
We’re standing quietly in the darkness, waiting for death, and the individual seconds seem to tick by with excruciating slowness. The smell of wet earth and decaying vegetation fills my head and I look down, feeling but not seeing the thick pile of leaves underfoot. They’re soft and slightly damp, rustling a little when I shift my weight.
I try not to move.
Every sound unnerves me. A sudden shudder of branches. An innocent breeze. My own ragged breaths.
It’s too dark.
Even the bright, robust moon isn’t enough to properly penetrate these woods. I don’t know how we’re going to fight anyone if we can’t see what’s coming. The light is uneven, scattering through branches, shattering across the soft earth. I look down, examining a narrow shaft of light illuminating the tops of my boots, and watch as a spider scuttles up and around the obstacle of my feet.
My heart is pounding.
There’s no time. If only we had more time.
It’s all I can think. Over and over again. They caught us off guard, we weren’t prepared, it didn’t have to go down like this. My head is spinning with what-ifs and maybes and it could’ve beens even as I face down the reality right in front of me. Even as I stare straight into the black hole devouring my future, I can’t help but wonder if we could’ve done this differently.
The seconds build. Minutes pass.
Nothing.
The rapid beating of my heart slows into a sick stutter of dread. I’ve lost perspective—my sense of time is warped in the dark—but I swear it feels li
ke we’ve been here for too long.
“Something is wrong,” Warner says.
I hear a sharp intake of breath. Haider.
Warner says softly, “We miscalculated.”
“No,” Castle cries.
That’s when I hear the screams.
We run without hesitation, all four of us, hurtling ourselves toward the sounds. We tear through branches, sprain ankles on overgrown roots, propel ourselves into the darkness with the force of pure, undiluted panic. Rage.
Sobs rend the sky. Violent cries echo into the distance. Inarticulate voices, guttural moans, goose bumps rising along my flesh. We are sprinting toward death.
I know we’re close when I see the light.
Nouria.
She’s cast an ethereal glow above the scene, bringing the remains of a battlefield into sharp focus.
We slow down.
Time seems to expand, fracturing apart as I bear witness to a massacre. Anderson and his men made a detour. We hoped they’d come straight for Warner, straight for Juliette. We hoped. We tried. We took a gamble.
We bet wrong.
And we know The Reestablishment well enough to understand that they were punishing these innocent people for harboring us. Slaughtering entire families for providing us aid and relief. Nausea hits me with the force of a blade, stunning me, knocking me sideways. I slump against a tree. I can feel my mind disconnecting, threatening unconsciousness, and somehow I force myself not to pass out from horror. Terror. Heartbreak.
I keep my eyes open.
Sam and Nouria are on their knees, holding broken, bleeding bodies close to their chests, their tortured cries piercing the strange half night. Castle stands beside me, his body slack. I hear his half-choked sob.
We knew it was possible—Haider said they might do this—but somehow I still can’t believe my eyes. I desperately want this to be a nightmare. I would cut off my right arm for a nightmare. But reality persists.
The Sanctuary is little more than a graveyard.
Unarmed men and women mowed down. From where I’m standing I count six children, dead. Eyes open, mouths agape, fresh blood still dripping down limp bodies. Ian is on his knees, vomiting. Winston stumbles backward, hits a tree. His glasses slide down his face and he only remembers to catch them at the last moment. Only the supreme kids still seem to have their heads on straight, and there’s something about that realization that strikes fear into my heart. Nazeera, Haider, Warner, Stephan. They walk calmly through the wreckage, faces unchanged and solemn. I don’t know what they’ve seen—what they’ve been a part of—that makes them able to stand here, still relatively cool in the face of so much human devastation, and I don’t think I want to know.
I offer Castle my hand and he takes it, steadies himself. We exchange a single glance before diving into the fray.
Anderson is easy to spot, standing tall in the midst of hell, but hard to reach. His Supreme Guard swarms us, weapons drawn. Still, we move closer. No matter what comes next, we fight to the death. That was always the plan, from the first. And it’s what we’ll do now.
Round two.
The still-living fighters on the field straighten at our approach, at the scene forming, and steal glances at one another. We’re surrounded by firepower, that’s true, but nearly everyone here has a supernatural gift. There’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to put up a fight. A crowd gathers slowly around us—half Sanctuary, half Point—hale bodies breaking away from the wreckage to form a new battalion. I feel the fresh hope moving through the air. The tantalizing maybe. Carefully, I pull free a gun from my side holster.
And just as I’m about to make a move—
“Don’t.”
Anderson’s voice is loud. Clear. He breaks through his wall of soldiers, stalking toward us casually, looking as polished as always. I don’t understand, at first, why so many people gasp at his approach. I don’t see it. I don’t notice the body he’s dragging with him, and when I finally notice the body, I don’t recognize it. Not right away.
It’s not until Anderson jerks the small figure upright, nudging his head back with a gun, that I feel the blood exit my heart. Anderson presses the gun to James’s throat, and my knees nearly give out.
“This is very simple,” Anderson says. “You will hand over the girl, and in return, I won’t execute the boy.”
We’re all frozen.
“I should clarify, however, that this is not an exchange. I’m not offering to return him to you. I’m only offering not to murder him here, on the spot. But if you hand over the girl now, without a fight, I will consider letting most of you disappear into the shadows.”
“Most of us?” I say.
Anderson’s eyes glance off my face and the faces of several others. “Yes, most of you,” he says, his gaze lingering on Haider. “Your father is very disappointed in you, young man.”
A single gunshot explodes without warning, ripping open a hole in Anderson’s throat. He grabs at his neck and falls, with a choked cry, on one knee, looking around for his assailant.
Nazeera.
She materializes in front of him just in time to jump up, into the sky. The supreme soldiers start shooting upward, releasing round after round with impunity, and though I’m terrified for Nazeera, I realize she took that risk for me. For James.
We’ll do our best, she’d said. I didn’t realize her best included risking her life for that kid. For me. God, I fucking love her.
I go invisible.
Anderson is struggling to stanch the flow of blood at his throat while keeping his grip on James, who appears to be unconscious.
Two guards remain at his side.
I fire two shots.
They both go down, crying out and clutching limbs, and Anderson nearly roars. He starts clawing at the air in front of him, then fumbles for his gun with one red hand, blood still seeping from his lips. I take that opportunity to punch him in the face.
He rears back, more surprised than injured, but Brendan moves in quickly, clapping his hands together to create a twisting, crackling bolt of electricity he wraps around Anderson’s legs, temporarily paralyzing him.
Anderson drops James.
I catch him before he hits the floor, and bolt toward Lily, who’s waiting just outside of Nouria’s ring of light. I unload his unconscious body into her arms and Brendan builds an electric shield around their bodies. A beat later, they’re gone.
Relief floods through me.
Too quickly. It unsteadies me. My invisibility falters for less than a second, and in less than a second I’m attacked from behind.
I hit the ground, hard, air leaving my lungs. I struggle to flip over, to stand up, but a supreme soldier is already pointing a rifle at my face. He shoots.
Castle comes out of nowhere, knocking the soldier off his feet, stopping the bullets with a single gesture. He redirects the ammunition meant for my body, and I don’t even realize what’s happened until I see the dude drop to his knees. He’s a human sieve, bleeding out the last of his life right in front of me, and it all feels suddenly surreal.
I drag myself up, my head pounding in my throat. Castle is already moving, ripping a tree from its roots as he goes. Stephan is using his superstrength to pummel as many soldiers as he can, but they won’t stop shooting, and he’s moving slowly, blood staining nearly every inch of his clothing. I watch him sway. I run toward him, try to shout a warning, but my voice gets lost in the din, and my legs won’t move fast enough. Another soldier charges at him, unloading rounds, and this time, I scream.
Haider comes running.
He dives in front of his friend with a cry, knocking Stephan to the ground, protecting his body with his own, throwing something into the air as he goes.
It explodes.
I’m thrown backward, my skull ringing. I lift my head, delirious, and spot Nazeera and Warner, each locked in hand-to-hand combat. I hear a bloodcurdling scream and force myself up, toward the sound.
It’s Sam.
&nb
sp; Nouria beats me to her, falling to her knees to lift her wife’s body off the ground. She wraps blinding bands of light around the two of them, the protective spirals so bright they’re excruciating to look at. A nearby soldier throws his arm over his eyes as he shoots, crying out and holding steady even as the force of Nouria’s light begins to melt the flesh off his hands.
I put a bullet through his teeth.
Five more guards appear out of nowhere, coming at me from all sides, and for half a second I can’t help but be surprised. Castle said there were only twelve bodies, two of which belonged to Anderson and James, and I thought we’d taken out at least several of the others by now. I glance around the battlefield, at the dozens of soldiers still actively attacking our team, and then back again, at the five heading my way.
My head swims with confusion.
And then, when they all begin to shoot—terror.
I go invisible, stealing through the single foot of space between two of them, turning back just long enough to open fire. A couple of my shots find their marks; the others are wasted. I reload the clip, tossing the now-empty one to the ground, and just as I’m about to shoot again, I hear her voice.
“Hang on,” she whispers.
Nazeera wraps her arms around my waist and jumps.
Up.
A bullet whizzes past my calf. I feel the burn as it grazes skin, but the night sky is cool and bracing, and I allow myself to take a steadying breath, to close my eyes for a full and complete second. Up here, the screams are muted, the blood could be water, the screams could be laughter.
The dream lasts for only a moment.
Our feet touch the ground again and my ears refill with the sounds of war. I squeeze Nazeera’s hand by way of thanks, and we split up. I charge toward a group of men and women I only vaguely recognize—people from the Sanctuary—and throw myself into the bloodshed, urging one of the injured fighters to pull back and take shelter. I’m soon lost in the motions of battle, defending and attacking, guns firing. Guttural moaning. I don’t even think to look up until I feel the ground shake beneath my feet.
Castle.
His arms are pointed upward, toward a nearby building. The structure begins to shake violently, nails flying, windows shuddering. A cluster of supreme guards reaches for their guns but stop short at the sound of Anderson’s voice. I can’t hear what he says, but he seems to be nearly himself again, and his command appears to be shocking enough to inspire a moment of hesitation in his soldiers. For no reason I can fathom, the guards I’d been fighting suddenly slink away.
