by Jessica Gunn
Chelsea scoffed. “Act, that was no act.”
“You didn’t see Josh falter like I did.”
“Well, Mara did say she’d come to save us,” Chelsea added. “I don’t know what I believe, though.”
Dr. Gordon set the vial and needle in her hand aside and took off her gloves. She sat in a nearby rolling chair. “If they were really on the White City’s side, they would have said something. They know you and Sophia are super soldiers.”
“But not Weyland,” Chelsea said. “No one knew but us and the Captain.”
“It’s probably better this way,” I said. “When everything first happened, Captain Marks and I were attacked by two soldiers.”
“Atlanteans, you mean,” Chelsea said, glancing my way.
“No, they were super soldiers. They had more than one power for sure. And even dead, Weyland could feel their presence.”
Chelsea’s brows knotted together. “Why the hell would General Allen employ the very people he wants dead?”
“Because he knew we’d kill them to defend ourselves if they came in swinging,” said Weyland from the entrance to the room. “He knew they’d die in the attack and that it’d confuse the hell out of everyone here. The man scores again.”
Chelsea let her head roll back onto her shoulders. “I’m so done with this.”
I squeezed her good shoulder. “We all are.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. She turned to me, pierced me with her wild hazel eyes. “Done, done.”
I can’t sit by and let this shit keep happening over and over again, she said to me in her thoughts. The people we love, Trevor, they’re all targets for this asshole’s twisted agenda.
So what are you going to do? I asked.
I don’t know.
I walked Chelsea back to her quarters after Dr. Gordon discharged her. Dr. Gordon ordered her to sleep off the painkillers and other medicines she’d administered in case the White City had done more than draw blood. But even as we walked, Chelsea’s jittery, anxious steps said she wasn’t going to rest.
“We could watch a movie,” I suggested. “Or play more Mega Rush.”
We stepped into the Lift and she slammed the UP button. “Whatever you want.”
I reached for her hand, our fingers intertwining. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She smiled wryly. “Like you can’t tell.”
“I can’t, actually,” I said. “I don’t hear you all the time.” Besides, the Waterstar map—which she still somehow couldn’t see in my head—had overwhelmed everything again. So far, I’d managed walking and blinking through the haze, but I wasn’t sure how long the clarity would last for. Hopefully long enough for us to fall asleep.
Chelsea shrugged as the Lift ascended up a few decks. “I’m to that point of ‘this is all ridiculous.’”
I frowned. “Last time you said that you left for two weeks and came back drunk.” The words were out before I could stop them. The similarities between the first time SeaSat5 had been hijacked and now were too obvious to step around.
“This is different,” she said. “This wasn’t some random attack, this wasn’t an old family friend being an asshole.”
I cringed. That pretty much summed Thompson and his plan right up. “Because it was Josh?”
The Lift stopped and we got off. We walked the hallway to her quarters.
“This whole thing was a calculated attack. General Allen wanted us to kill those super soldiers, he wanted to out me and any others on board. He wanted you dead and this station under White City control. And he used my friends to do it.” Chelsea stopped walking. “Eric shot me. He didn’t blink, didn’t hesitate. Same with Josh and Weyland.”
“To keep up the act,” I offered weakly. I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to come to the guy’s defense. Except for right after we’d rescued SeaSat5. When he’d asked me to watch over Chelsea like he knew something terrible was going to happen. “It’s not like it was a serious wound, Chelsea. And if Mara was telling the truth about infiltrating the General’s people, about being here to save us…”
She held up her arm. “Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t explain why they attacked Weyland or left me behind unless they were being controlled somehow. And by having them come aboard and attack us, General Allen’s hoping we won’t trust them at all, no matter what defenses they might give. And I’m willing to bet he’s banking on us now not trusting Weyland either. He doesn’t want me to have faith in the other super soldiers, now that I know they’re out there. He’s going to take them away one by one before we even find them. And there’s not much I can do about that.”
“Even if we find all of the other super soldiers, who’s to say they’ll side with us against Atlantis?” I asked.
Chelsea shrugged, emitting a sigh. “I don’t know, Trevor. All I know is that there’s a reason our ancestors ran from Atlantis with their super soldier children in tow. They must have been hated or mistreated or isolated, and running was the only option they’d had left. That’s got to be enough to convince the others to join us, even if for safety alone. If it doesn’t, I don’t know what will.”
We started walking again. A comfortable but tense silence sat between us even as I closed the door to her room. We were fine, more than fine, but the rest of the station, the rest of the war, wasn’t.
I sat on the edge of Chelsea’s bed while she changed into yoga pants and a t-shirt. The bandage on her arm peeked out from beneath the sleeve. Just as she was about to join me on the bed to lie down for a while, her cell phone rang. She eyed her phone suspiciously. Normally we didn’t get much service here—or any, really. We must have been close enough to the surface with the Communications Buoy connected so people could talk to family back home.
“Are you going to pick it up?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said, not moving. “People don’t usually call me and I’m a little scared of who it might be.” Translation: she feared General Allen was issuing another direct threat.
I stood and flipped the phone upright, lighting up the home screen. “It’s Logan.”
Her gaze snapped up and she reached for the phone. “What? He never calls me.”
“Better answer then.”
“Yeah,” she said as she swiped her thumb across the screen. “Hey.”
Her face scrunched together as Logan spoke. I heard him, but couldn’t understand the words being said both due to the shitty service, his talking speed, and lack of volume. Her thoughts moved too fast to make any sense out of, but fear and dread pulsed from her mind into mine. My breath hitched. Something horrible had happened.
“Logan, slow down. What—oh my god.” Chelsea’s gaze flitted up to mine. “Oh my god. Logan. Wh—what happened?”
Panic spiked my system. She slapped a hand over her mouth as tears filled her eyes and spilled over. Her body shook. She reached for my hand, squeezing as if it was the last handhold on a cliff face.
Sarah. Oh god. Did something happen to Chelsea’s sister?
Chelsea stood abruptly, breaking our contact. “Logan—Logan, please slow down.” She raced around the room collecting items—her wallet, house keys, a sweatshirt with “Boston” written across the front for the cold New England air. Tears streamed down her face throughout the entire process, and her breaths came in short, hiccupped bursts. I could only sit there, waiting to find out what had happened. Her mind was a frenzy—a million thoughts zinging in and out of our shared connection. Far too many to process and pick out one or even a handful to understand.
“Logan, I’ll be right there, okay? Hang tight.” She paused. “I’ll explain later. Give me five minutes. Where are you?” Another pause. “Five minutes, I swear. No, don’t you worry about how. I. Will. Be. There.”
I wasn’t sure what she’d told her family and the band recently about how she was able to pop between SeaSat5 and Boston, but last I knew, they’d believed (or at least accepted), the helicopter ride cover story. I wasn’t sur
e Logan would believe it tonight.
Chelsea hung up and pulled her sweatshirt over her head, pausing to curse as she slipped her bad arm into the sleeve.
“Here,” I said, rushing to her side. “Let me help.”
We got the sweatshirt on okay, but she could barely speak.
I looked her in the eyes. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Sarah?”
Her mouth pressed into a hard line with all the words she wouldn’t let out. Then she broke, tears spilling down harder. “Logan’s brother. An accident.” She shook her head and pulled my hands off of her. “I have to go. Logan’s not okay. I’ve never heard him this upset, th-this distraught.”
She turned to teleport away, but I grabbed her hand. “Chelsea.”
She placed a hand on my cheek. “I know. I love you too, but this is something I have to do alone. He won’t want anyone else there right now. Especially if—” A choked sob cut her off. She finished the rest of the sentence in her head. Especially if this is another part of General Allen’s plan. Is no one safe from him?
I didn’t have an answer for that. The accident’s timing seemed coincidental, for sure, but assuming everything like this was an attack ordered by General Allen would be maddening.
“I’ll be back later, okay?” Chelsea said. “I promise.”
I swallowed hard. Even if Logan wanted someone else there, I wasn’t the best choice. I was pretty sure he still hated me. “Be careful of your arm. And your head. You’re still healing.”
She nodded. “I know. I will. Please let the Captain know.”
“You need to tell the Captain first—”
“No time, Trevor.” She frowned, tears streaming down her face. “Caden, Logan, Sarah… they mean more than everything here. I’m going. Please tell the Captain I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I swallowed hard, nodding. There was nothing I could do to stop her or calm her down. “I will. Go. I love you.”
Chelsea put on a brave face—for Logan, not me. “You too.”
And then she was gone.
21
Chelsea
Logan had been a mess when I’d gotten to the hospital hours ago. Now, after comforting him and watching from afar as Caden’s condition worsened, I paced the hospital hallways. They’d had to put him in a medically induced coma thanks to his injuries from the crash. He also had several broken bones and a nasty gash on the side of his head.
Caden, the small boy who used to tease Logan and me. Caden, who painted. Caden, who should be getting ready to graduate high school right now, not lying here in a hospital bed because some idiot couldn’t wait to text until he was parked or at home.
I ran my hand through my hair as I trailed around every floor in this hospital, needing a break from feeling utterly useless in the face of this. There was nothing I could do and the acceptance of that tore me apart to the very core of what I was: human.
And that was the rub, wasn’t it? I had all these powers, all these abilities to fight and damage and destroy, but I couldn’t heal. Couldn’t fix. Couldn’t piece Caden back together or convince Logan he’d be fine. I’d spent the last few years of my life living in this fantasy world of Atlantis and Lemuria, and now the White City. I’ve traveled through time itself. And what could I do to save a friend whose only mistake was driving at 6 p.m. on a Friday? Nothing.
What the hell use was I then?
None.
I balled my fists but didn’t throw any punches. Doing so wouldn’t make this hurt any less. It wouldn’t heal Caden’s body. Or his mind.
The worst part was—and I hated that my brain did this—all I could think about was Sarah. What if it had been her instead? What if she were the one lying there in that bed? Would I fight harder to find a magical solution?
Such a stupid game. Caden wasn’t Sarah. And although Weyland could come in and heal Caden, he was too busy recovering from injuries himself. Not to mention everyone else. And… at what point did using our powers become personal gain?
I wiped the tears away from my face and continued down the hall. I had to get out of here before I snapped or made any rash decisions. I had to go somewhere where I could manage these feelings, these memories, on top of everything else.
My head and wounded arm throbbed in time with my aching heart as I left the hospital behind me. Maybe I’d ask Weyland to heal Caden, but it wouldn’t be tonight.
I raised my hand as the bartender passed me by. “Another please.”
He eyed me wearily and shook his head. “Nine in an hour is enough, miss.”
Deflated, I glared. “Do I look drunk to you?”
I wasn’t, although it was quite possible I might be nearing the tipping point without pills. I refused to stoop that low, though, and hadn’t taken any of the pain medication Dr. Gordon had prescribed me for my arm. I did, in fact, enjoy the taste of whiskey. It burned enough on the way down that the placebo effect—in that I was starting to come to terms with all that’d happened—had done its job.
“No, you don’t,” said the bartender, a man in his early twenties, stocky with dark hair. He also had a significant lack of humor compared to the bartenders this place used to have in past. He was definitely the scrooge out of the bunch.
Not coming back here again.
I lifted my eyebrows and wiggled my fingers. “Then you can serve me another. I know how this works.” If I didn’t look drunk, I wasn’t drunk, and the bartenders only had to go by sight. Sure, I’d drank enough to put even the biggest guy on the “no more whiskey list,” but I. Wasn’t. Drunk.
The bartender’s jaw set hard, unwavering. Still, his eyes narrowed. “You’re cut off. Finish what you have and leave.” He walked down the other side of the bar to a pair of girls who were barely over the drinking age. They flashed him flirtatious smiles. He responded in kind, offering up free shots.
I rolled my eyes and shook out my shoulders, sending a pain splintering down my bad arm. Nine glasses of whiskey were barely enough to dull the pain and the memories in my head, but they’d gotten things started. They weren’t, however, enough to keep exhaustion from pulling me down. If anything, the whiskey had escalated it.
I didn’t want to go home and face my parents and my sister regarding Caden, and I didn’t want to go back to SeaSat5 to Trevor and the crew. Sophia would feel my return to TAO’s headquarters and I didn’t want to talk to her, either, so that was also a no-go. I could—arguably should—go back to the hospital, and I wanted to, but I also didn’t want to be anywhere at all. Not even the thought of curling up in Trevor’s arms was enough to make me move from this barstool in this downtown dive bar. I wanted to cease being—being relied on, existing, mattering to a war or to someone else—for a few hours. That was all.
For the hundredth time since I’d left SeaSat5, my pocket buzzed. Another missed call. Probably from Trevor. Probably to be repeated soon. He ran like clockwork when he wanted. I felt bad for not answering, but dammit if this all wasn’t too much.
“Guess I have to find a new bar,” a woman said. A flash of platinum blonde hair accompanied the voice as she took a seat next to me. The dim lights from above reflected off of the updo. I recognized her without looking. Lexi’s hair blinded me each and every time I ran into her.
Fantastic. Lexi was one of my least favorite people on the planet.
I didn’t have the energy left to do anything but take the last swig of whiskey in my glass. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to Lexi, my ex-best friend, or be berated by her, or see her dumb tattoo that irked me on sight, but it wasn’t enough to make me get up and leave. Or to push her off her barstool.
“You look like shit,” she said offhandedly.
Well, there went my want to stay here. I set my glass down and went to stand. “Thanks.”
Lexi simultaneously flagged down the bartender and put a hand on my forearm, causing every muscle to clench. Good thing I wasn’t drunk. If I hadn’t been in control, I might’ve dropped Lexi where she stood. But she
wasn’t a threat, and even my super soldier half knew that.
The bartender stopped in front of us with raised eyebrows.
“Two of whatever she was drinking,” Lexi said, adding extra swaying power by leaning over the counter and letting her breasts basically fall out of her shirt. She must have seen the way the bartender told me to get the hell out.
He didn’t move to fill the order.
“It’s for me.” Lexi pulled twenty bucks out of her pocket and laid it on the counter. He took the money and filled the drinks. The bartender set them in front of her before finally leaving us be.
Lexi pushed one of the glasses to me and pressed the other to her lips without speaking a word. Her face wrinkled and bunched as the liquid graced her tongue. “Gross. What is this?”
I didn’t take the other glass. She’d probably poisoned it somehow without my looking. “Whiskey.”
“Drink yours because I doubt I’ll be able to finish this.”
I chuckled. Enough with this day already. “You bought me a drink? Why?”
Lexi set the glass back onto the counter and swiveled her barstool to face me. “I’ve been watching you for the last twenty minutes. You look like shit, Chelsea, and the bartender didn’t seem like he was willing to give you another round.”
I scrubbed my face with both hands. I couldn’t handle this Lexi replacement bot that’d taken over the same person who—not a year and a half ago—slapped me in front of the paparazzi for money. I laughed. This was beyond ridiculous.
“What’s so funny?” Lexi asked, her head tilted to the side like a dog that couldn’t figure out what you’d said.
Fingers squeezing the bridge of my nose, I shook my head. “This. Everything. You buying me a drink. The last forty-eight hours of my life.” I paused long enough to stop shaking my head and put my hand down onto the countertop. “I have no clue what’s happening anymore.” I hauled up the glass of whiskey Lexi had bought me and downed half of it.
Lexi scooted her stool over an inch. “That guy screw you over again?”
