What Blood Leaves Behind (The Poison Rose)
Page 31
What will happen now? Does Larkin really want to save me?
Without warning a thick internal fog creeps up on me. My mind fuzzes over. Every shred of strength in my body leaves me at once. Involuntarily, I sink to the ground, my back sliding against the Gravitron’s slanted metal side.
It’s hard to see, hazy, but I’m able to watch as Larkin gets to his feet, begins walking over to me. I stare at his boots as he takes each step. He doesn’t glide, doesn’t suddenly appear in front of me but walks like a normal person. Walks in boots that are creased and worn.
I’m afraid to look up at him, to raise my head and look him in the eyes. Those eyes—they will swallow me whole. If he is Larkin, he’s far too different now. I’m so afraid I won’t recognize him. And he won’t know me. Afraid that everything we shared is gone.
But you must look—must make sure it’s him.
I try to work up the courage and when I think I’ve found it I find that I can’t raise my head. It’s physically impossible. Black nothingness is closing in on me. My chin sags and I’m too weak to do anything but stare at the toes of those scuffed and battered boots.
He’s walked countless miles. He, too, has reached the fabled city to the north we sought for so long. And now we’re reunited. But what does it mean? Who is he now?
The dark engulfs me and I see nothing else.
Part Ten
Home
One
I hear his words first. “I think she’s waking up.”
Who said that?
“Larkin?” My voice is a croak.
“No, it’s Aiden.”
A hand squeezes mine tight. I’ve opened my eyes but they’re filmy, blurred like a projector out of focus. But I see the red hair, the pale, freckled face—Stace. “Larkin?” she whispers, confused.
Somebody holds a glass of water to my mouth, an articulated straw rubbing against my lips. “Sorry,” Aiden says. “But you should take a drink. If you can.”
I sip and he’s right—the water feels wonderful, soothes the dry ache in my throat. I reach a hand from under a blanket and touch the soft skin of my neck. It’s tender, bruised. “The Orphanage?” I ask.
The room I’m in doesn’t look familiar. There’s daylight shining through a tall window not far from me, faded green wallpaper all around, a silver-framed daguerreotype with the image of a stern-faced woman in ancient clothes hanging opposite the window.
“No, we’re not in the Orphanage,” Aiden says. “Somewhere better. Home.”
I try to push myself up but my head pounds. “Easy,” Aiden says. “Try sitting up a little and let me slip a pillow in behind you.” He laughs, then coughs a little. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”
He is handsome—a fine nose and mouth, dark eyes, soft brown hair that’s thick and crudely chopped off at the shoulder. But he looks haggard, bony and pale, like he’s the one that should be resting in bed.
I turn to Stace, can see her clearly now. CJ and Terry are here, too. They crowd in and we hug. It hurts a little but I’m happy to embrace all of them. I tell Stace, “Forget what I was saying when I woke up. I was dreaming.”
I want to get out of bed. I want to get a better look at my surroundings. I slide my legs from under the covers, let my feet hit the floor. I see that I’m dressed in a long flannel nightgown, something the woman in the picture on the wall might have worn. “You shouldn’t,” Aiden says. “You should sleep a little longer, then—”
“I want to see.”
I ignore him and push myself off the bed.
It’s a room in an old house, an upper story. There’s a bridge visible outside the window. The window and doorframes are made of worm-eaten wood the color of burnt toast, carved and tarnished. The bed has an antique brass bed frame, the mattress pitted and worn. But piled high with blankets, the bed is warm, comforting. Now that I’m standing, I feel the difference—cold, drafty air tickling the skin of my legs.
The others are watching me anxiously, as if they expect me to pitch over at any moment, fall face-forward on the floor. I make it over to the window where I can look at the bridge.
“Emily’s here, too,” Aiden says.
I turn to him. “Emily?”
“She’s okay. Just a flesh wound. But it must have hurt like hell. I’m trying to keep it from getting infected. Using the medicine you brought for me.”
“What is this place?”
“I found it a long time ago. It’s an old Victorian high above the river. It looks like no one has lived here since 1901. But it has great views. We can keep watch. Defend ourselves.”
Defend ourselves.
I will try to find a place where we don’t have to defend ourselves. Where we can let down our guard, live like people used to. Like the people in this house used to…
I turn back to the window. The view takes in a wide expanse of Raintree. It’s a clear day. The bridge I noticed before is painted blue, has four lanes sloping gently to the river’s west bank with a ridge of steep hills beyond it. If I look to the right, I can see the river’s steel-gray surface and the line of bridges that recede into the distance past the city’s center.
“It’s good here,” I say. “I like it.”
Aiden joins me at the window. He shuffles slowly, like each step requires an effort. “He brought you here,” he says softly. “Brought you and Emily. I’d never seen her before. Or him.”
“Him?”
“He said he knew you. Would protect you. That you were family.”
Larkin. Family.
Aiden glances back at the children. “He told us to leave the Orphanage, find a safe place. I didn’t want to trust one of them but I had no choice. I could hear their bikes—they were coming. I was too weak. The other children…”
“It’s all right, Aiden.” I take his hand. I look out the window, at the river, at the city.
Larkin brought me here, must have carried me in his arms—changed, altered Larkin. And he thinks that we’re still—
But that can’t be. We can never be together like we were.
We’re not equal. We’re two different species.
It’s what blood leaves behind—this hollow, empty world. A shell of a thing. Families scattered. Lovers torn apart.
But Larkin—
There might be a way, must be a way. A way to piece us all back together. A way to live like people used to, a way to remake the world. And if there is a way, I will find it.