by Everly Frost
Dad gave me a small smile. He held out a cup of liquid while Mom hovered behind him, grasping her cardigan around her as if she was cold.
The mug was full, but the clear liquid didn’t taste like anything, and it made me realize how thirsty I was. I handed the glass back to Dad and he nursed it in his hands.
“Okay.” He cleared his throat, chewing on his lip as if he wanted to say more. For a long moment, he stared into the bottom of the empty glass. Then he dropped beside the bed and took my hand, searching my eyes. His own were red from tears he wouldn’t shed in front of me. “Have a good sleep, moonbeam. We love you. Always remember that.”
I blinked, trying to focus through my own tears. He hadn’t called me that for years.
Mom knelt next to him and kissed my forehead, pressing her cheek to my skin, leaving damp tears behind. “We love you so much, Ava.”
I was so tired all of a sudden. Her words slurred in my ears.
She leaned over me and whispered, “Trust your instincts.” Then she said something else that sounded like, “Goodnight,” and I slipped back under the covers as they closed the door. My arms and legs were numb, as though they’d disconnected from me. Maybe my body wanted to belong to someone else, someone who was allowed to dance, someone who hadn’t watched her brother die.
I woke once, thinking that people crowded around me, blurry faces and vague voices, black-tinged at the edges. I’d only been asleep for a minute, but when I tried to open my eyes, the pressure of my eyelids bore down on me.
I surfaced long enough to see Mom’s shape, her blue cardigan. I made out Dad’s form, but there was something wrong with my room. It looked as if plants had grown up inside it, standing tall against the walls, swarming my parents. It reminded me of the people watching in the strange green room that had sprouted a rose and vines—the room my parents said was a hallucination. I tried to focus on the people now. One of them was right behind Mom. For a moment, there was a flash of gold before the other woman’s figure blurred again.
Mom’s voice was a whisper, a hush in my ears. “Isn’t there another way?”
There was a murmur from the person standing behind her, something I couldn’t make out.
Dad’s response was quiet. “We have no choice. We can’t let them use us.”
“But they’ll use Ava, instead.” Mom’s hand was pressed over her heart.
The other person drew closer, not so close I could make out her face, but her words were audible. “With you both, they could have an endless supply of mortal girls. The damage would last millennia. Far beyond what they could do with Ava alone.”
“Can’t we take her with us? Please!” Mom’s voice was like cracked china, breaking apart.
The other person shook her head, receding. “This is the only way.”
Mom gasped. Dad wrapped his arms around her, holding her upright. She said, “I can’t bear it. How will she survive?”
“I don’t know.” Then Dad sounded certain, strong for the first time. “But she’ll understand. I know she will.”
Mom sobbed. “I can’t do this—”
Her blue cardigan blurred and her voice was sucked into a void. They were gone in a whir of movement, a vague memory.
I descended into darkness again.
A tap-tap at the window cut into my sleep. I squinted gritty eyes against the brightness shining into my bedroom. I’d forgotten to close the blind and the summer sun cast a painful glare onto my bed. I struggled to my feet, teetered my way across the carpet, and grabbed the cord. The tapping bird balked and took flight, soaring out over the street and up toward the sun.
I puzzled over how bright it was. It looked like midday out there. When I checked the alarm clock by the bed, it read 3:00 p.m. How could it be the afternoon already? I stumbled over to the door, headed across to the bathroom, and faltered down the stairs. Something squishy had replaced the bones in my legs. I grabbed the railing and tumbled down the last steps.
The first thing I noticed was Mom’s study opposite the bottom of the stairs.
No desk. No computer. No bookshelf. Just dents on the floor and marks on the walls where the furniture used to be. I forced myself to rush into the living area. Same thing there: no dining table, no couch, no coffee table. Just more empty space and indents. Turning left into the kitchen, I rushed around the table and threw open the cupboards. A few cans of food, pasta, spices, a couple pots and pans, they were still there, but all the kitchen appliances were gone, even the toaster. Mom hadn’t gone shopping for a few days and the fridge was half empty. I leaned against it, trying to draw breath.
“Mom? Dad?”
Then I realized what I needed to check. I ran from the kitchen, back past the stairs and Mom’s study, around the corner to the connecting door to the garage, sliding it open with my heart up near my voice box. The empty gray concrete garage glared at me and the contents of my stomach heaved. My legs were numb as I made it to the front window to see that Josh’s car was gone too. My head was going to split open.
Stumbling back to the kitchen, I finally focused on the charge card lying on the table. A note rested under it. Mom’s handwriting was a faint scribble: For food. I stared and stared at those two little words.
They’d packed up the house and left me behind. They’d taken everything with them except food and some plates. And me. I tried to remember waking up in the night and my room had been full of blurry shapes standing watch. People snatching my parents away, and now Mom and Dad were gone.
Then I realized, the night before, when Mom leaned in and gave me a kiss, she hadn’t said goodnight.
She’d said good-bye.
Chapter Eight
MY HEAD DROPPED to my hands. My temples pounded. I slid to the floor in front of the kitchen table, staring at the empty space around me.
The drink that my parents gave me before they said goodnight must have had something in it to make me sleep.
But … had they chosen to give it to me or had someone forced them?
They’d both been crying when they kissed me goodnight. They’d said they loved me and the looks on their faces told me they needed me to believe it.
They would never leave me willingly.
Someone must have taken them. Whoever it was could have been in our house when Mom and Dad gave me the drink. It could have been Reid or someone working with him. Maybe he arrived after I snuck out to the dance studio and threatened to hurt me if my parents didn’t do what he wanted. But, if it was Reid, I wondered why he would leave me behind and not take me too.
And why would he want my parents?
I tried to remember what I’d heard when I woke up in the night. Mom asked if I’d be okay. Dad said I’d understand. I tried to, desperately. Mom and Dad had two mortal children, despite being normal themselves. That made them different, and if they were different, then maybe people would think something was wrong with them too.
I gasped at a new thought: had the Bashers taken them? I was the very definition of weakness, so maybe they’d come for my parents as a way to get to me … but that didn’t make sense because, like Reid, there was no reason they would take my parents and leave me behind.
I rubbed my eyes with my hands, trying to make sense of it all. I had to get rid of the after-effects of whatever I’d taken and water was my best bet. I needed to flush it out of my body so I could think.
Determined to make myself move, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. My head swam like the bubbles from the aerator tap.
I didn’t know how much money my parents had left me or how long it would last and what would happen when I couldn’t buy food. Maybe Lucy would still let me waitress at the café under the dance studio. Except that my face was all over the news. I wondered if she would be afraid of me like everyone else.
The glass overfilled in my hand, water gushing over my knuckles. I gulped down the whole cup and filled it again.
After my second glass of water, I sat on the floor with
a third clutched in my hands. The decorative strip in the tiling above the stove was visible and I started counting the little tiles.
I told myself: By the time I get to the end of the row, I’ll be okay.
Bang! Bang!
I jumped so hard that my head hit the edge of the table. The sound echoed from the front of the house. It was the front door, thudding with the force of what sounded like someone trying to knock it down. I peered around the corner of the table, seeking the dining room window on the other side of the room.
The vertical blinds were only partly pulled and there was a flash of color and movement, followed by another. Quiet footsteps, lots of them, and I knew what they were doing. Surrounding the house.
I leaped to my feet, dumping the glass into the sink, crouching and desperately seeking a place to hide in a house emptied of furniture. The bare walls stared back at me. There was another flicker of movement and I ducked behind the table again, hoping beyond all hope that they hadn’t seen me. But I’d seen them.
Green uniforms and wasp drones.
The person at the front door shouted. “Ava Holland! It’s the Hazard Police! Open up for your safety!”
I gave myself two seconds to consider the risks. If they were really Hazard Police, and not operatives like Reid in disguise, then they could be there to protect me and take me somewhere safe. The reporters outside the recovery center, people on the air screen, even people who knew me like Ms. White were all scared of me—afraid of my mortality. They’d looked at me with disgust and fear, but I wondered if fear could turn to hatred and violence. Could they be so afraid that they’d try to hurt me? Was it that kind of hatred that fuelled the Bashers? The mere fact that I was different, that I could die, could cause people to not only shun me but to take their fear out on me.
But if Reid was among the Hazards outside my house, then they wouldn’t take me somewhere safe. Nowhere was safe with him. And right then, that threat was more real than the chance someone might attack me in the street.
The knocking stopped and there was more movement around the sides of the house.
My hiding place wouldn’t last long. The house was open-plan with wall-height windows at intervals along the dining and living room walls, and most of the blinds were open at an angle. Mom used to boast about how “light and airy” it was. It was the first thing visitors would say and Mom would gush about it, all “I know, don’t you just love it?”
If the men took the time to peer inside—if a drone stopped to assess the windows—they’d see me.
All that light was going to get me killed.
I tried to remember if I’d passed any open windows, but I’d stumbled straight down the stairs into the kitchen. I didn’t know about Mom’s study or any of the upstairs bedrooms.
All it would take was one open window and the drones would swarm inside.
It was now or never. I scooted along to the far end of the table and scrambled left around the corner, headed for the laundry, only a few feet away. It was tucked at the back of the house past the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom. It was the only place in the lower house with frosted glass windows—and a broom cupboard.
I slid around the corner, not daring to close the laundry door in case it banged behind me and attracted attention. The broom cupboard was in the far left corner another ten feet away. Just as I propelled myself toward it, there was movement outside, and I ducked and pressed myself against the laundry sink under the windows, right next to the back door. I told myself to stay calm. As long as they hadn’t seen me through the glass, I was safe.
I held my breath, waiting for a shout that would tell me I was discovered. I was about to crawl across the floor to the broom cupboard, I was already on my elbows, when I heard voices and I almost choked.
“Is this the only back door?” It was Reid. Cool and in control. He was using them to get to me. He’d take me back to the green room, back into the underground, and everyone could forget that my brother had died and get on with their lives, knowing they were safe, that my mortality couldn’t affect them anymore.
“Yes, sir. This is the only exit on this side of the house.”
“Break the window. But keep the drones back.”
“Sir?” Doubt and concern plagued the other officer’s voice. “Our orders are to bring Ava Holland in safely for her protection. I’m not sure that this is the best—”
“Your orders are to do what I say! Break the window. Now.”
The next moment, glass shattered and sprayed. I hadn’t made it anywhere near the broom cupboard and now I had no choice but to curl my head into my knees, protecting my face. Pieces of glass landed on my head and my shoulders, and wedged behind my back. They settled in my hair and between my neck and the collar of my polo shirt. I tried to shake them off and shuddered as they prickled my skin.
If the other officers thought they were there to help me, to take me somewhere safe, Reid knew the truth. He said, “The next one, too.”
There was a second crash, and another shower of glass shards, this time larger. They clattered and cracked against the cupboards against the far wall. Something dropped directly onto my neck, a late shard, and I bit my lip to stop from crying out as it stuck in my upper back. I stayed still for as long as I could bear. Outside, there was silence.
If I moved even an inch forward, I’d be outside the concealment of the laundry tub and he’d see me. Then the drones would come after me.
Reid sounded perplexed for the first time. “Guess she’s gone.”
I closed my eyes, hoping the officers would go away now. If they thought I was gone, then surely they would leave.
He continued. “Let’s check anyway. Break the door. Search the premises. If she’s here, I want her brought out. You, check the perimeter. I don’t want anyone disturbing us.”
Obedience this time. “Yes, sir.”
I jumped with the force of the door being kicked. It was followed by a loud crack. My head whipped upward to see the door handle hanging loose.
The bullet must have missed me by a sliver.
I had seconds to move if that. But with the now-gaping windows, it would take a miracle for the drones to miss me. And where would I go? The broom cupboard may as well have been a mile away because I’d have to get across the floor. Even if I tucked myself into the cupboards on this side of the room, I’d have to veer out into the open, and then they’d see me. That plan had only worked while the windows were intact.
I glanced upward and caught sight of the air duct in the ceiling. Again, I’d have to move into the open. Even if I made it up there, they’d follow me in and I’d be cornered with nowhere to go.
But up was the right way to go. I knew it was. The sky could protect me.
The men thought I was gone, and the drones would only go where they sent them. If I went in the least likely direction, there was a slim chance I’d be safe. Very slim, but it was the only option I had. I judged how fast I could get back through the door to the living area, past the kitchen and to the base of the stairs.
The door rattled again. It began opening, pushing glass in my direction.
I shot to my feet, head down, and catapulted through the door to the living room. Drones hummed as I made it through. They’d take a couple of seconds to assess any risk to the incoming Hazards. Seconds I could use.
Halfway through the living area, a flicker of movement at one of the windows made me leap behind the kitchen table. There was a guard standing to one side of the dining room window, but he seemed to have been placed there to survey the street because he kept looking out and around, rather than inward. Through the gaps in the blinds, I could see his wasp floating at the top right of the window. I plotted a path to the bottom of the stairway directly opposite Mom’s study.
The sound of crunching glass in the laundry told me the Hazards were inside the house. A wasp sailed through the laundry door, facing outward. As soon as it turned, it would see me.
I had to move. Now.
/> Ducking my head, I zipped through the galley kitchen and rushed around the corner to the base of the stairway. This time, I didn’t stop to hear whether I’d been spotted. I took the stairs two at a time, grateful that I was barefoot—until I saw the trail of blood spots I left behind.
My whole being sank to meet the smears on the floor. I vaguely registered the glass in my feet. The cuts in my arches and toes. I didn’t have time to check them. The humming drones drew closer, the sound rising and falling as though they were flying in and out of rooms, checking each one, and I hoped it would buy me precious seconds.
Making it to my room, I snatched up my sneakers. Then I ran over to the window ledge and placed my bloody fingers on it, hoping they’d think I’d gone down the fire escape, before I yanked the shoes onto my feet. Ignoring the pain and avoiding the blood spots, I raced back into the hallway.
The drones were flying up the stairwell and the Hazards would see the blood trail and know that I was in the house.
I ran right, tearing toward the retreat at the back that opened out onto the deck. Once there, I turned the lock on the sliding door and let it close, locking myself out. It wouldn’t delay them for long, but it would stop the drones for a moment, and even a second could make a difference.
The guttering at the corner of the house, at the edge of the deck, was attached to one of the steel pilings used to support both the deck and the roof over it. Josh and Aaron used to shimmy up there when they were in second grade, dangle their legs over the edge of the roof, and dare each other to jump.
I wasn’t even half sure that the pipe would hold my weight, but I’d rather fall to my death than let Reid take me in to run more tests.
Taking hold of the pipe, I levered up onto the balcony railing. Between the railing and the roof, there weren’t any other footholds or anything to push off. I’d have to use my legs and arms to wriggle the six feet upward. I couldn’t afford to have sweaty palms right now. I tried to calm myself, picturing myself in the dance studio, mimicking the climbing of stairs. It was an act, a dance move, something to carry out with strength and elegance, something I could control and achieve. Holding the image firmly in my mind, I forced my body upward. It was harder with sneakers on my feet, but I couldn’t afford to leave a blood trail.
