There’s no fancy panel to get into the cupboard. The doors unlock with a key she pulls from a hidden pocket and open to reveal shelf after shelf of vials, all perfectly stacked, all perfectly full.
She reaches in and takes a few. “This is all I can give you.”
The small vials are both weighty and far too small in my palm. “That’s it?”
“Be grateful for that much,” she snaps. “I’m risking everything to help you.”
It’s like I’m here within reach of the promised land and she’s refusing to let me enter. “Why help at all?”
Her gaze meets mine. “Why does it matter?”
“Unlike me, you’re not a prisoner here. If this is about Toby, you could go to him. There would be danger, certainly, but you have the run of the facility. It couldn’t be that hard to plan an escape.”
I hope. Because if she can’t get out, I don’t have a prayer of doing so.
Her eyes dart around the room, checking we’re truly alone. Although, if Davyd hadn’t neutralized the security systems I don’t think I’d be holding the treatment for the Lifer and Fishie rage problems in my hand. There would be alarms and officers rather than the quiet of the darkened laboratory.
“There are different kinds of captives,” she says eventually, her voice raw. “Not every prison is made of bars.”
I almost push harder for her story, but the torment pinching her features stops me. She’s helping my cause and the reasons are none of my business. Besides, time is short, and I am so, so close to having what I came here for.
The black metal cupboard might as well be a treasure chest with its array of clear vials all filled with the drug we need.
I change tack. “You have already helped so much and I’m grateful, I am, but please, can we have a few more? There are children in the camp.”
In truth there are not many and when I left I hadn’t heard of any of them showing unusual violence, but I’ll do anything to get my hands on as much of this stuff as I can.
Penny’s lips part and she exhales like my fist found her belly. She closes her eyes for a second and then reaches in and grabs more. “Take them,” she says, shoving them into my hands.
I have more than double the original amount. “Are you sure?”
She doesn’t meet my gaze, instead turning to lock the double doors with the key which she then tucks back into her top. “Take them.”
I do.
We go out the same way went in, but don’t head back toward the room. Only the throb of the air circulation systems breaks the silence. It’s as though nothing has happened. My nerves are humming, waiting for the shout of discovery or some kind of alarm, but we move along the hallways without seeing a single person.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
But my question is to Penny’s stiff back and she walks on without bothering to answer.
I should have realized we wouldn’t go back to the room. It’s not like I can slip these under the sheet and hope no one notices. There’s only one option now: escape.
The distant sound of an alarm shatters the pretense that everything is normal.
Running now, we round a bend and reach a dead end. I scan the walls, my breath coming in gasps, looking for any sign of a door. There’s none.
“Wait here,” Penny says. “Davyd will come.”
“What do I do until then? I can’t stand here in the open waiting to be discovered.”
“Sorry.” Regret strains her voice. “This is all I can do for you. Don’t ask me for more.” Then she’s turning away.
“Penny?”
She hesitates and glances back.
I mean to ask about when Davyd will come and his plans for escape and what is happening in the rest of the facility. It’s my priority. It has to be, considering I have my hands full of the serum. But when I open my mouth it’s a completely different question I find myself asking.
“What will happen to you now?”
Her eyes widen. I don’t blame her for her surprise. I haven’t exactly been friendly or showed concern for her up until now.
“Davyd said he’d try to scramble the lab entry records but he couldn’t be sure it could be done. I’ll go there now as though I suspect the alarm is part of a diversion to take the serum and hope my earlier entry is lost in the confusion.”
“It’s not much of a plan.”
“It’s enough. Don’t worry, I knew what I was doing when I let you into the lab.”
Her sacrifice adds to the weight of the vials in my hand. “You could come with me, to camp … to Toby.”
She blinks and I wonder if the sheen in her eyes is tears or a trick of the strip lighting. Her fingers cover her mouth. “I … I can’t, but if you see him, tell him …”
“Tell him what?”
She shakes her head. “Tell him nothing.”
Then she’s striding down along the hallway, and I’m calling thank you to her back, and she shows no sign of having heard.
When she’s out of sight, I lean against the wall, thinking if I press hard enough in my singlet and jeans, I can somehow blend into the unbroken white surface. For long seconds I’m alone and exposed.
Is it my imagination or is the air growing hazy? I sniff. Is that smoke?
Pride washes over me. He used my plan. My heart beats so loud I’m sure the sound of it alone is enough to bring Company officers running even over the muted alarm.
A door swishes open a few feet away. I grip one of the vials and lift it over my head, preparing to defend what I’ve sacrificed so much to gain. I don’t want to lose any of the serum, but it’s the only weapon I have.
I will fight.
Chapter Sixteen
[Samuai]
I stare at the spot where I thought I saw gray. Everything blurs, and I rub at my eyes to clear my vision. Did I imagine it?
No.
There it is again. Recognition snatches my breath; it’s a Company officer. He’s moving slowly through the rubble, stopping every few feet to make notes. Like someone checking on the outcome of a plan.
In my head, I replay the first rock fall, ignoring the road and the stone walls on either side. There was something gray against the skyline, camouflaged by the murky clouds beyond. Was there someone up on the top of the cliff?
An invisible fist wraps around my chest and squeezes. Did one of them start this? Did he start this?
A scream rips from my throat.
I don’t hear it, but the officer does. His head comes up, and his hand moves toward his hip.
Really? He’s picking through his handiwork, not even holding his weapon?
He deserves to die for that stupidity alone. I leave the pain of my body behind, close the distance between us, springing forward.
“You did this.” I’m shouting at him, although I can’t hear a word. Blaming him for Megs, for my ears, and for the constant pain in my head. “You did this.” I draw my lips back showing teeth.
His hands come up in front of his face and his jaw slackens. There’s fear in his eyes. Once I would have hesitated at the sight. Not today. Today, it drives me on.
“See what you have made, and weep,” I shriek, my throat clogging up.
I’m not crying, but I taste hot, salty tears on my cheeks. I’m close enough now to smell his panic. And it smells good. I throw myself, feel the bunch and stretch of muscles battered in the rock fall as I launch into the air, thick with rain and dust. He staggers back. His hand comes up. He’s found his weapon.
I don’t care. I register the truth of it, even as his finger moves on the trigger. I don’t care.
“Do it.” I’m yelling at him, myself, the Company. But he’s the only one listening.
Shoot me and end this now, but I will not stop.
He fires. The Company officer fires. Something whizzes over my head. A warning shot? I’m almost on him, ready to let the anger inside me have its way and he’s warning me. Laughter scra
pes at my throat as my hands wrap around his neck.
“Don’t,” he says.
I see his lips move and feel his breath on my face. It smells like apples. I close my eyes, ignoring the stab of a hundred apple memories. Of pies with mother and drinks with friends. Of my very favorite dessert. I tighten my hold.
His throat works, I can feel it beneath my fingers, but with my eyes closed I can’t tell what he says.
All I know is he’ll stop trying to speak soon and I will have killed him. And I won’t regret it because he’s Company and he’s done all of this. I won’t regret it.
I won’t …
But he’s not fighting back, and while I can’t hear him I can hear the voices of the past, and the people I love who I could never look in the eye again. Asher. Megs. Myself. Because he’s not fighting back.
I let go and fall to my knees. Head bowed, I wait there on the rocks for it to end. He might be Company and deserve whatever he gets, but I can’t do it. I can’t kill someone who isn’t fighting back.
He doesn’t run or fire or do any of the things I expect. Instead he hunkers down beside me and waits.
Minutes pass, finally I look up. Now I notice all the things I didn’t let myself notice before. Like the warm brown of his eyes and the tired lines in his dark skin and the hint of gray peppering his dark hair and stubble. His face is kind and I’m in no mood for kindness. Not from one of the Company.
“Why?” I beg. “Why didn’t you fight back?”
He says something, but thanks to the fading light and the shadow he’s standing in, I can’t guess what it is. His words are no more than an indistinct rumble over my breathing; an improvement on the silence, but not by much.
“I can’t hear you,” I admit.
He steps closer and angles his face to catch the remaining light. “You’re hurt.” He mouths the simple phrase carefully and points to my head.
I lift my hand to where he’s pointing toward the back of my skull. It’s open, bloody, raw. Flesh parts beneath my probing fingers, and I’m reminded of sticking my fingers into just cooked pudding. Only this is my head and there’s flesh and the bits that feel crunch must be bone.
I turn and vomit until my body heaves and nothing comes out.
His hands grip my shoulders, big and strong and keep me upright until I finish. I don’t know whether to thank him or run as fast as my wobbly legs will let me. In the end I do neither. Instead, I shake free, wipe my mouth and look him in the eye.
“What now?”
He swallows. “Come with me. Help.”
“New City?”
He shakes his head. “Closer. Help.”
Already whatever adrenaline has kept me going and the pain away, is fading. I don’t know whether it’s a product of my imagination or what, but now that I know it’s there I can feel the wound sucking my strength. The pounding in my head drowns out thought or feeling. I sway on my feet and he reaches out one thickly muscled arm to steady me.
He’s right, I need help.
“I’m not alone.” I think I say the words aloud, but I’m not sure. I stumble toward Megs. I’ll show him. The officer follows at first, but when we’re close to the unmoving girl in the shadows of the cliff he overtakes. He’s on his knees at her side by the time I reach them.
He looks up. “She’ll be okay.”
I don’t know how he knows, and I’m not completely sure that’s what he said, but I need to believe it. Because the alternative, that Megs could be dying, isn’t something I can consider right now. I’m taking hearing what I want to hear to the extreme.
The rain falls like sheets of water, soaking through my clothes and chilling my skin. I can’t control the shivers wracking my body. “Sh-shelter?”
I can only manage the one word but he gets the question and nods.
He lifts Megs in a swoop of arms so thick with muscle they stick out from his sides rather than hang straight down. Once upright, he cradles her like the last apple on a dying tree. Seeing it, the last of my wariness drains away. If he’s doing this to lure us into some Company trap then he’s succeeded. Remaining upright is hard enough; I can no longer fight.
We take a narrow trail up to higher ground. I fall behind, sometimes moving only at the tug of his hand on my wrist. Twice I forget who or where I am as the darkness and the rain muffle the world like a thick blanket. The wind picks up. I don’t flinch as drops of water spit into my face. I taste blood. Mine? It must be, the Company officer is several feet ahead. Perhaps my whole head has split open, a ripe melon busting with the weight of its own flesh. The growth sticking out at the back like a sign post, ‘Crazy Angry Person This Way.’
I laugh at the image and then swallow against a lump in my throat.
“I don’t understand,” I say to his back at one point. “Why are you helping us?” But he doesn’t glance back, and I keep putting one foot in front of the other. It’s all I can do.
I don’t know how long we stumble along the trail but it’s completely dark when we reach the small building mostly hidden from the trail by a thicket of trees. Waiting for me on the front step, his arms full of Megs, the officer jerks his head for me to open the door. I push and the heavy metal door moves in response. I imagine it squeaks as it swings, but I don’t know if the sound I’m hearing is real or in my head.
I hold it open and he strides through. I follow and collapse on a seat at a small wooden table. The room has a sink and bench on one side, and a door on the opposite wall. It’s bare but functional with a small fireplace in the corner.
The officer places Megs on a sofa a few feet away. Her legs jerk when he steps away and I see his lips move.
“Is she awake?” I ask.
Neither of them respond. That I can hear, anyway. I stand and try to move closer but the room spins. “Talk to me.”
The officer turns then. He simply nods and gestures for me to come over. It takes everything in me to close the few steps but when I do I see Megs, her eyes open, fear in them.
“He’s okay,” I say, despite having no idea if I’m speaking the truth.
“I’m so tired,” she says.
Now isn’t the time for long explanations so I don’t tell her I’m only understanding her because I’m staring at her lips. “Everything’s fine,” I say. I hope she can’t see the wound on my head. “You can rest.”
Her mouth curves and her eyelids flutter closed for a moment before opening. “Where are we?”
The officer steps in then. In clear simple words, he introduces himself as Cyril and explains that he carried her here after the rock fall. He says she’s suffered no damage beyond a few scratches and a knock to her head that caused her to be unconscious.
She stretches her arms up and rolls her shoulders. She’s about to try to stand when I place a hand on her knee. “Rest,” I say again.
“I hurt,” she says.
Cyril offers a while tablet. “Painkiller,” he explains simply, so I can understand. He hasn’t pointed out my hearing loss to Megs yet, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to worry her. Or think about the fact that the wound in my head doesn’t hurt at all.
When I hesitate he takes one himself to prove it’s safe.
With my encouragement, Megs swallows the tablet with a sip of water and settles back on the dark blue sofa. Cyril starts a fire and Megs watches the flames. As the room warms up, I help her remove her wet jacket but she refuses my offer to help her with her jeans. Cyril brings a blanket for Megs and some old jeans for me. I change in the corner. They’re wide in the waist and short in the leg but they’re dry. My shivering stops at last and I think I can feel my feet again.
I’m happy not to talk. It gives me time to process. To rub my fingers together next to my ear and realize I hear nothing. To shift the chair on the laminate floor and feel the vibration more than I hear the thud.
With Megs lost in the fire, Cyril cleans the wound in my head and wraps on a dirty old bandage. He tr
ies to give me a painkiller, but I refuse.
“It doesn’t really hurt.”
“It should.”
I shrug. Maybe in a few hours it will be agonizing, but right now the ache of my body and the pounding of my head remain in the realms of what I can handle. For the first time in a long time, I’m in control.
Cyril shares some bread and meat that he cooks over the fire. As soon as it begins to sizzle in the pan, my stomach clenches in hunger. Nothing has ever tasted as good as that rough sandwich. Roasted meat between slabs of fresh buttered bread. I eat until my gut aches from it.
Megs manages a little of the broth Cyril makes from the meat juices and water.
After we eat, I help him clean up as much as I can. Megs drifts off to sleep on the single mattress in the far corner of the room, and the comfortable rise and fall of her chest tells me it’s the best thing for her right now. I’m drying one of the old plates we ate off with what I think was a T-shirt when Cyril speaks. “I had a daughter.”
I’m not sure he means to speak to me. The only light comes from the flickering fire in the corner, but since I’m staring at him I can make out his words.
Sometimes I think I’m hearing more, but then it’s like the world laughs and turns the volume back down. I haven’t thought too much about the snatches of sound because I don’t want to get my hopes up. Chances are this isn’t permanent. I have to believe I’ll hear again.
“A daughter?” I say.
Cyril pours us each a mug of tea and sips at it as I finish the last of the dishes. Maybe I didn’t speak loud enough for him to hear.
But when I relax into the seat opposite and breathe in the steam from the herby liquid, he nods. He leans forward so he’s looking straight at me. “I helped you because I couldn’t help her.”
At least, that’s what I think he says. It’s the answer to the question I asked as I staggered behind him on the trail.
“What happened?” I ask the question although I know I’ll struggle to understand any answer longer than a few words.
But Cyril looks like a man who needs to talk, and after all he’s done for us, I want to give him what I can.
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