“Down the drain,” I type into my comm—our cheesy code for things going off without a hitch—and I send the message off to Callum.
Ducking myself under the basin and freezing, I strain my ears to listen for more footsteps. I need to know where not to step. Except, I hear nothing.
The serum gurgles down the pipe. Stops right before the next valve.
There it’ll wait till the attendant gets here. Twelve minutes from now.
I’ve gotta get out. But it occurs to me—if Derek came up from the opposite side of the room, my only exit is probably there too. I can’t let him see me.
I have to leave. Now.
Crouching under the arm, I shuffle to the tank’s wall. My back hugs it close, but doesn’t touch. One brush up against the metal cylinder and it’ll squeak. Keeping my footsteps light underneath me, I follow the base. When I pause, listen, I think I hear the scuffle of footsteps, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. I keep rounding the base, until I have the exit sign in sight.
I don’t wait—I make a run for it. My soles scrape the concrete floor as I close the distance. With my nerves amped and roaring, pushing me to the door, only one question takes over my mind: Would he hurt me?
46
9:51 P.M., SUNDAY
My feet fly down one flight and then another, rounding each corner with a jump. He’s behind me, barreling down the stairwell. I don’t stop on the fifth floor, or the fourth, or the third. But when I hit the second floor, Aven’s floor, that’s when I pause—I have to see her.
Checking my cuffcomm, I’ve still got nine minutes till rations go out. Probably a few more before someone stops by to change her IV. Which means she won’t be awake. . . .
That pause is all the time it takes for Derek to catch up. He slams against my back. The momentum hurtles me into the metal door, and an ache, sharp and hot, spreads down my arm. “Damn you—” I bite my lip to keep from whimpering.
Derek pulls away. Props himself against the wall as I slide to the floor, slack-muscled.
“It’s you,” he whispers. “I thought it was you. But you look so . . . different.” He eyes my not-hair, kneeling in front of me. Makes like he’s about to touch my shoulder. “Kitaneh . . . the crash?”
“Don’t,” I snap, recoiling, like he’s made of pure fire. “I know what you did to my Rimbo. And I know about Kitaneh. And I know about you. You don’t get to touch me.”
The way his face contorts, you’d think I was the one made of fire. That he’d just been burned. Derek closes his eyes, turns away. “What happened to your Rimbo—it was an accident. . . .”
“What? That I survived?”
He shakes his head and collapses down onto the stairs, keeping his back to me. I don’t like it. I may not want him touching me, but I do deserve to see his face right now.
“You were supposed to see the malfunction before the race. You weren’t supposed to race at all,” he murmurs.
“Look at me.” Angry echoes of my words travel up and down the stairwell. “Tell me to my face why I almost died because of you.”
Derek shifts uncomfortably. With his back up against the wall, he says, “My brother and his wife live on the Isle. They learned what that doctor Callum was up to. They informed us. I never wanted you hurt. . . . And I certainly never wanted you dead.”
I exhale, realizing I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. What he’s said . . . maybe I should feel comforted by it. He didn’t want me dead, after all.
It’s just the other hundreds of sick people he’d see murdered.
Not quite enough, I’m afraid.
“Your brother and his wife,” I start. I’m remembering the photo album—there were six of them. “Are they . . . are they like you?”
“You mean are they still alive after too many years? Yes. They are.”
Now he looks at me, and I wonder how his eyes can seem so damned soft while he’s telling me these things. I’m suddenly very aware of my weakness.
“And what about your wife?”
I can hear him swallow. The muscles in his throat tense up, and he looks away. “What about her?” he asks. Each word drags, ending and beginning like some far-off thunder.
Forget this. I shouldn’t be here, drilling Derek about his epically eternal love life.
Not with Aven so close, about to wake up.
I don’t wait for him to answer—don’t even want to hear it. I lift myself up from the linoleum and reach for the door to the second floor.
Before I have a chance to turn the knob, he spits out, “How are you going to get those patients follow-up doses? Most of them will need more. Did you think of that?”
“Callum . . . He developed a serum so that it requires only one dose,” I tell Derek, pushing myself through the door just in time to hear him say, “That’s not possible,” in a whisper.
I can sense his awe as he steps closer. “We’ve tried. There’s no substance in existence that allows it. . . .”
I exist.
I make for Aven’s room.
“Ren, wait!” he calls after, but I don’t hear any more—
I’m already gone, rushing down the corridor.
He follows. And when I pause a few feet from her door, he’s only steps behind me. I feel him reach for me, and I also feel him stop. His palm hovers over my shoulder before he pulls it away. “Go inside,” he says softly.
I turn around—
He says it like he’s been to see her.
I turn the handle and walk in, every atom in the room feeling different to me than the last time I was here. Good different. Even the smell.
Flowers. Real, live flowers. Must’ve been expensive, too. Yellower than Aven’s hair, shaped like cups on six-petaled saucers. Soil grown probably from a rooftop hothouse in one of the northern quads, where fewer people live. They sit on her night table in a pretty, red-painted pot, roots and all, smelling too delicious; I want to eat them like food. Who . . . ?
“Renny?”
I snap my head toward the bed, and watch, no words, as Aven looks at me from her pillow, pale as the linens she’s been sleeping on. She squints her eyes to see better. Using her elbows, she props herself up. Squints some more.
“That you?”
She’s awake.
She’s awake, she’s awake—I blink a hundred times, and each time it’s true—she’s awake. She shouldn’t be, not yet, not for another three minutes, but she is. I had no time to expect this moment. It’s as though the world, broken into bits around me, has suddenly pieced itself together again.
“It’s me, Feathers. It’s me,” I say, hushed, and run to her bedside. Lean over her. Run my hand across her forehead, pale and bluish under the harsh light. Then her white-blond hair. She looks up at me with eyes that have never seemed so hazel. They’re the color of the canals on a good day, sunlit and golden-green.
“Where’d your hair go?” she asks, rubbing her eyes at me like I’m an alien. Then, her face softens, and she lies back in bed. “You’re still so pretty.”
I laugh, and choke down a sob, new water at my eyes. Good water.
Only a few times before has my heart not felt like it fit in my body. Like it belonged in a bigger body, a giant’s, maybe. One with a rib cage that had more compartment space to it. It’s a strange feeling of feeling too much. Wanting to cram it all in and then make room for some more.
“You’re just saying that,” I mumble, and I kiss her knuckles over and over again. “You, on the other hand. Even in a hospital bed, look at you. Blooming prettier than those flowers.” I nod in their direction, all trumpety and yellow.
“Aren’t they wonderful? Derek brought them,” she says, grinning, pointing back at him.
Derek was here . . . when she woke up? And here I’d forgotten he was even in the room.
“He was here when I woke up! They were the first things I opened my eyes to.”
I can land on a possible explanation, but it makes no sense. If he wouldn’t give the wa
ter to anyone else . . .
“Did he give you a medicine, Aven?” I ask, and look back at him standing by the door. He’s running a hand through his curls, now he’s avoiding my eyes.
Aven nods. Bites her lip. “I think he likes you,” she whispers, and winks.
I don’t know what to say to that. With all my cells, I want to hate him. I do hate him. My heart wants something entirely different. But this still isn’t enough.
Just as I think the question, Why—? Aven opens her mouth with an answer.
“He thought you were dead, Renny. He said he was going to miss you, and that since you told him I was your favorite part of life—which I thought was very silly—he wanted to get to know me. Like he was getting to know you, through me.”
I don’t know what to think anymore, but I’m happy. Happier than I’ve ever been, maybe in my whole life.
Our microscopic futures . . . they’re ours again.
“I can’t stay,” I tell Aven, looking down. “But I’m coming back tonight. After I’m done, I’m coming for you. I’ll sneak in. I’d take you with me now, but you’re still too weak.” I pause, and take her hand in mine. “I’m about to do something big . . . something almost impossible.”
I want her to know the rest—the governor’s plan, and what we’re doing to stop it—but I gotta leave before the attendants realize I broke in. The hospital will go on lockdown and I’ll never get out.
Aven nods like she understands. “If you say it’s impossible, it must be hard.” Reaching for the necklace dangling against the bed, she notices the second penny. “Where’d you get this one?” she asks. Then she looks up at me, grinning all the way to her eyes again. “Is it from another boy?”
I open her palm and laugh into it, kissing her lifeline.
“It is.”
Aven eyes Derek still standing by the door. “I bet he’s not cuter than that one.”
Oh my goodness. My sister . . . who is she?
I can’t wait to find out.
“You still wear this,” she mumbles to herself, touching the penny she gave me. When she looks up, she sighs. “And I’m still holding you to your promise. If I’m going to be healthy soon, you’d better stick around long enough to see it.”
Without hesitation, “I promise. No dying allowed,” and I stand up. Head for the door.
All the way there, I battle a fear so old, it’s beginning to feel like a friend. That someday, the only promise I ever make might become one I can’t keep.
47
10:00 P.M., SUNDAY
“We need to leave. Now,” I say to Derek in the HBNC hallway.
He grabs my wrist, turns for the stairwell we just came from, but I pause. Any minute now, rations will go out. If more patients wake up as fast as Aven did, the nurses will put it together that the water in the HBNC wing might’ve been tampered with. And the first place they’ll look for the culprit is the stairwell leading to the western water tank.
“No . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I shake my head, looking toward the entry doors.
“And you think that’s a better one?” he scoffs. “Nuh-uh. We’re taking the stairwell.” He tugs me in the opposite direction.
“Derek—you’re gonna have to trust me on this one. You can’t catch the virus, right?”
“No . . .” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Okay. Well—I have a secret. Neither can I.” I spin on my heel and start down the corridor. Hearing no footsteps behind, I turn around to find Derek standing there, looking like I bludgeoned him with a hammer. “I’m going through the other ward,” I call back. “You can come or not. Your choice.”
He jogs to me, in a daze, and we keep on going straight, since I’m the one in the scrubs.
Together, we exit the noncontagious ward, crossing from one end to the other. At the red double doors, I glance around, making sure no one sees us. One hand to the lettering that reads “Contagious,” one hand on the handle, I swing the doors open and usher Derek in behind me.
Then, we run.
Through the corridor. Past the glass and the patients behind plastic. Past the girl who looks like Aven. Down the stairwell.
At the staff exit, I shove open the door. Too much moonlight waits there, like a spotlight.
I’m sent careening onto the narrows, unready for a night without cover.
“Follow me,” I say, pulling Derek toward Mad Ave.
I want to get the hell out of here—I’m meeting with the other racers in thirty minutes—but first, I need to know where Derek stands. What kind of person he is.
Would he try to stop me if he knew what we were planning?
We sprint through the narrows, me in front, mulling over that question. But there’s only one thread to pull that could unknot the others—Aven.
I slow down. Tug that first thread. “Why save her,” I ask, panting, “and not the others?”
But Derek doesn’t answer. His eyes are someplace else, tracing the curve of my scalp. I look away, embarrassed. “What? You ain’t never seen a head before?”
He tears his gaze away, shakes off whatever feelings he had about me and my new do.
“Ren . . . that water,” he begins, no louder than the waves splashing back and forth beneath our feet. “You saw the album. You know it’s not just a cure. As soon as you turn it into one, the spring’s other . . . properties . . . are in danger of being exposed, too.”
“Immortality, Derek.” I watch him, shifting and pacing along the narrows. “Call it what it is.”
“Fine. Immortality, then,” he says, and meets my eyes. “You found a way to make a cure with one dose. . . . I don’t know how, but I believe you. And that’s good. It doesn’t change the facts, though—everyone will want it. First the water will be a cure, but once the people are healthy, it won’t stop there. There will be wars. More people will die fighting for the water than it could ever save.”
“Maybe that was a good reason to keep it hidden in the past, but with Callum’s serum . . . things are different, right? And it’d just be the Ward—you could help me get it out before the squadrons fly through.”
“We follow rules, Ren. Rules that don’t change on a case-by-case basis. Even when . . . feelings . . . are involved. Any one of us breaks those rules, our life is forfeited. Drinking the water may keep us from aging, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t ways for us to die.
“Kitaneh and the others—they’ll find out what happened here tonight,” he says, pointing back to Ward Hope, “and they will come after you.”
“And you’ll let them.”
He smacks his palm against the brick siding. “The Minetta must stay guarded! Life doesn’t exist without death. We protect one, we’re also protecting the other.”
Nodding, “Oh, I get it now,” I say coolly. “You’ll kill to protect life. Makes perfect sense. Then why save Aven? Why not just let her die with the rest of them?”
“Ren . . .” he begins. Then he loosens, defeated, and it’s as though he can hardly hold himself up. “I thought you were dead. And I’d only just begun to know you. To see you. Not the you that everyone else knows—but who you are when you’re alone. You’re not who I thought you were—you’re even . . . better.”
Right before my eyes, my heart undoes itself—I lean back against the brick. Under my feet, the narrows buck and sway and I tilt with them. “What are you saying?”
“I know what you saw. You saw the photos . . . but they’re not what you think.”
I look to his hand but see no wedding ring. He’s never worn it in public, if he wears it at all.
“Kitaneh and I . . . we were married as part of a contract,” Derek continues. “That’s how things were done in the early days. It’s a longer story. One for another time. But my point . . . When you kissed me, for the first time in ages—I felt something like love.”
He falls into me then, head hung low, and catches the wall. “I’m not saying you love me. But . . . you love the right people.
I see that with Aven. And I thought that if you ever could, if you ever thought I was worth it—maybe it could be true. That I could be worth it.”
I’m caught, bridged between both his arms. Frozen, listening as he tells me these things I never could’ve imagined he’d say. I want to reach for him. I don’t let myself—nothing’s changed; I still don’t understand him—but in my mind, my hand is coiling itself in his bright hair. Next thing I know, it’s no longer in my mind. I’m touching his scalp, tracing my fingers down his nape. His hair bristles.
His breath stops short; I like hearing that—No. Dropping my hand quickly, I fold my arms behind my back. I don’t want to touch him. It just adds fuel to my weakness.
Derek’s brown eyes hold me to the wall. “Ren, you live harder . . . you love harder than anyone I’ve met. I wanted to earn it. And then I thought you were gone, and that it was too late. For me. For me to love you back,” he says. He drops his forehead against me so it’s cradled by my neck.
My tongue is blank. In my mouth, no words. The thoughts I had—all stunned away. I vaguely recall not wanting this—him, but all I’m left with are my vertebrae—each one a trigger, counting down to closer.
“Saving Aven was like saving a part of you. The part that you loved the most. The part I wanted to get to know,” he breathes, shaky.
Word by word, I’m unfolded. I wish my heart were made of paper, so I could write each one down where it belongs. As he traces his nose up the line of my neck, all the way to my ear, I know my heart will never be paper. Paper’s way too quiet. Bullet rounds, maybe. Rapid-fire.
Then, he pulls away. He searches my face. Eyes my mouth, thirsty. Like he’s never had a drop in his life. Leans in. With only millimeters to go, he stops. Miles and miles of millimeters, charged, electric power lines—“I don’t want the same regret twice.”
His lips are on mine, slow at first, hesitant, almost a tremble to them. Like he’s afraid. A moment later, he’s not. He’s the tide under a megawatt moon and this kiss is the ocean. Surge, then rush. No end to it.
The Ward Page 31
