Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  I expect bright lights, or cheering to echo from some secret place. Something. Anything! But nothing happens.

  Archer cups Clay by the nape and pulls him close for a bro-hug, the two patting each other on the back.

  “Welcome to the family, my friend,” Archer says.

  “Thank you.” There are tears in Clay’s eyes as he smiles up at the Laborer, and I’m almost knocked over.

  This. This is what I was waiting for. The moment is so…momentous. I hadn’t known the heavy weight Clay used to carry on his shoulders until just this second—because it’s gone, the weight is gone. His head is higher, his shoulders no longer hunched but squared and proud. Contentedness radiates from him, as if he’s shed years of fatigue.

  I want that. I want that so badly.

  “In Troika,” Archer says, “you’ll be rewarded for your deeds in this life. I’m not saying your deeds affect the benefits you receive while you’re here, only that the sacrifices you make for us will never be forgotten.”

  “What kind of rewards?” Sloan rubs her hands together, suddenly intrigued. “We talking jewels? Cash? Gold?”

  The scent of heather drifts on the wind, and in unison Archer and I stiffen. Oh…zero! “I’m pushing the pause button on this conversation. We’ve got to go.”

  “She’s right.” Archer disables the wall of jellyair.

  We follow him back into the frigid cold. We run and run and run, sunlight glistening off the ice at our feet. My wheezing returns, only it’s a thousand times worse, the burn in my lungs soon competing with the one in my thighs.

  “Changed my mind…need another break.”

  A light erupts from Archer’s wrist. He doesn’t slow as his fingers dance through it, typing, typing. Up ahead, a blue beam shoots from the sky and slams into the ground, leaving something behind when it fades.

  Archer grabs that something as he runs past it. “Here.” He tosses each of us a length of rope. “Knot them around your waist. You’re going to need them.”

  I don’t ask questions. As I run, I do as commanded.

  A new noise erupts behind us—a howl of rage. A war cry?

  Something dark whizzes past me and slams into Archer. The Laborer is thrown into the side of the mountain with so much force there’s a vibration at my feet. When he lands in a tangle of punching fists and kicking feet, I catch a glimpse of dark hair and an arm sleeved with intricate tattoos.

  Killian found us.

  I slide to a stop, grabbing hold of Clay and Sloan as they do the same. Together we stand or together we fall.

  “I’m going to kill you.” Killian delivers a viscous jab, jab to Archer’s nose. “You had no right—”

  “I had every right!” Archer ducks, avoiding the next round of fury. He lands three punches to Killian’s side. “She doesn’t want you.”

  “She doesn’t know what she wants.”

  She, meaning me. My stomach twists.

  “I won’t let you hurt her the way you hurt Dior,” Archer says through gritted teeth.

  Dior?

  “By the time I finished with your darling,” Killian says, his tone nothing but silk and heat, and yet I pick up the underlying note of his rage, “she was begging me for more.”

  That rage…over a girl… Killian is doing his best to hide his feelings, but he’s failing.

  He loved Dior, didn’t he?

  Mind scramble!

  The vicious fight rages on, the boys hitting rocks and razor-sharp ice as well as each other. I cringe as flesh is torn from both Shells, every tattered piece shimmering with diamond dust. Lifeblood, Archer called it.

  “Let’s not wait around to crown the winner.” Sloan pulls on my arm.

  “I can’t leave. I have to help Archer.” Clay is already moving forward. “He’s family!”

  I don’t understand the bond he feels so quickly. “Clay—”

  Boom!

  The explosion echoes from the sky, and again, it sounds as if fireworks have been unleashed. A battle is happening up there at the same time one is happening down here. Maybe… Archer’s friends are throwing down with Killian’s? Is that how it works?

  “Wait.” I tighten my grip on Clay’s wrist to hold him in place. If we get in the middle of two savage animals intent on killing each other, we won’t be walking away—we’ll be crawling. And that’s if we’re lucky. And…and…

  Are the vibrations at my feet getting stronger?

  “How many times did we sit on the sidelines and do nothing when other inmates needed us?” Clay’s eyes beseech me. “I can’t sit on the sidelines anymore.” He pulls from my clasp as Sloan gives me another tug.

  The counterforce sends me careening. I don’t mean to, but I take her to the ground with me. The impact is jarring, and even maybe knocks a little sense into me. Clay is right. No more sitting on the sidelines. If I can help Archer and Killian, I have to help them—before they send each other into Second-death.

  As I stand, another loud boom echoes from above. I look up and realize this one didn’t come from the sky but the mountain, heralding the beginning of an avalanche. The sky is nothing but snow, ice and rock—and falling straight for us.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Without an end, you cannot have a new beginning.”

  —Myriad

  Life is all about the numbers.

  Today those numbers are the seconds we have to reach safety. The tons about to crash down upon us. The feet/yards/miles we’re about to fall, unable to stop ourselves.

  “Come on.” I grab the end of Sloan’s rope and run as fast as I can. She isn’t prepared, and I have to drag her behind me. When I reach Clay, I grab his rope and drag him, too. We aren’t yet connected, but I try to remedy that as I run; I’m shaking too badly. “Archer! Killian! Come on!”

  Numbers never lie, and the center of a mass like this is always heaviest, so that’s where the avalanche will move the fastest and hit the hardest. If we can get far enough to the side, we can maybe, hopefully, avoid being buried.

  I glance up. Zero! We’re not going to get far enough to the side.

  There are no trees nearby to act as an anchor for our ropes. Not that we’d have time to tie ourselves to the trunks. What should we do next? Brace?

  The rumble of snow grows louder until I’d swear a freight train is hidden beneath the flakes. Yes. Brace. I recall a book I read and shout, “If you’re swept away, start swimming uphill as soon as you can.” The longer we’re buried, the harder movement will be. “Don’t stop until—”

  Impact!

  I’m thrown down, down, down by what seems to be ten thousand pounds of snow. I grip the ropes with all my strength as I tumble around like clothes in a dryer. Common sense tells me to keep a hand in front of my face—I might need to dig a tunnel to breathe—while keeping the other lifted above my head to help with disorientation. But I have a choice, always a choice. Help myself or help my friends by maintaining my grip on their ropes.

  I maintain my grip.

  When finally I stop, snow and debris are piled on top of me. I try to catch my breath but there’s not enough oxygen. Desperate, trying not to panic, I thrash with my legs, propelling up…up…

  Am I going the right way?

  Does it matter? If I’m buried under a foot or more, I won’t make it to the top on my own. That’s just fact.

  What seems an eternity later—yes!—I break the surface and suck back as much air as my lungs can handle. I’m frantic as I scan the sea of white, seeing no sign of the others. “Clay! Sloan!” No response. “Archer! Killian!” Again, no response.

  I tug one rope, then the other, and realize the two are on top of the snow, both facing the same direction. I use the lengths to fight my way through the rest of the deluge…

  “Ten!
” Clay calls, beyond frantic. “Help me. You have to help me.”

  I lumber to my feet and follow the sound of his voice…skidding to a halt when I reach the edge of a cliff. Hanks of snow and rock fall over…and just keep falling.

  “Ten!” He’s clinging to a tree that’s been knocked over the edge, the roots the only thing keeping it in place.

  “I’ve got you.” I dig in my heels and try to pull him up with the rope. “Don’t worry.”

  “Ten… Ten…”

  A whimper at my right. I turn my head and see Sloan, and I almost lose my breakfast. She’s hanging over the same cliff, and like Clay, she’s white-knuckling a tree branch with every bit of strength she possesses.

  “Pleeease. Help me.”

  My panic returns with a vengeance. I won’t be able to pull them up at the same time. They’re simply too heavy. I have to pick one and pray the other holds on just a little longer.

  Another hated choice. A sob lodges in my throat, constricting my airway.

  I love Clay. We’ve laughed together, and we’ve cried together. He’s kind, honest and, as he just proved today, willing to help when needed. I can picture him at my seaside home, surfing alongside me.

  Sloan, on the other hand, has been a thorn in my side for a little over a year. She’s a pain in every sense of the word. She’s irritating and combative, and I can’t imagine ever trusting her at my back.

  But Clay now knows where he’s going when he dies. Sloan will wind up in Many Ends.

  “I’m so sorry, Clay. I’ll pull you up next, okay? Just hang on. Hang on!” I release his rope, hating myself, and grip Sloan’s with both hands. As my feet slip, I look around—everywhere but at Clay. There are no boulders or rooted trees within reach, which means I can’t anchor myself. Okay. All right. Can’t be helped.

  “Ten,” she cries.

  “Let go of the branch,” I shout at her. “Please.”

  “No, no—”

  “Do it! I can’t pull you up if you’re clasping the tree.” A tree that is teetering. “Sloan! I’ve got you, promise. Just let go!”

  “I can’t,” she says as she weeps.

  “You must. Help me help you.”

  She only weeps harder.

  Rage joins my deluge of emotions. “At the count of three, I’m helping Clay. One. Two.”

  She lets go, giving me the full brunt of her weight. My feet slip closer to the edge, leaving me unable to balance. I crash to my butt and slide faster. A terrified yelp escapes her.

  Come on, come on. I dig my boots as deep into the snow and ice as I can, managing to stop my momentum and pull with all my might. I gain an inch…then another…she can’t weigh more than one hundred and twenty pounds, but my shoulders burn and shake as if they’re lugging a couple of tons. Muscles I didn’t know I had spasm.

  Survival instinct demands I release her and save myself, but I just keeping pulling…pulling…

  Just a little farther…

  So close to assisting Clay…

  When the tops of her hands reached the edge of the cliff, I grit out, “Grab the side and climb up.”

  As soon as her grip is steadyish, she kicks up a leg. A few seconds later—an eternity—the top of her body clears the side.

  “Hurry! Please.” Mist dances in front of my face as I pant, and tears well in my eyes. I glance at Clay as snow topples over the cliff edge. He is desperately trying to inch his way along the tree trunk—a tree trunk that teeters a little more with his every action.

  “Ten.” Clay’s panic is worse than mine. “Please.”

  “Sloan,” I plead. “Come on!”

  Her arms shake and strain as she claws the rest of the way, finally safe. Thank the Firstking! I release her rope and reach for Clay’s, the movement sending another mound of snow over the edge. He’s close enough now that it hits him right in the face…and it’s strong enough to knock him loose.

  “No!” I dive down, my arm extended. I’ll catch him, I have to catch him, but something latches on my ankles, keeping me from going over the edge as I encounter air, only air. “Clay!”

  He shrieks as he falls…falls…and the sound rips me up inside, but it’s better than the terrible silence that comes next. No. No, no, no. He’s not—he can’t be—but I see him. He landed on another plateau, and he’s unmoving, a crimson pool growing around his oddly contorted body.

  Horror overwhelms me. I just found him, and now he’s gone?

  Sloan pulls me up. “We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.” She bands her arm around me, forcing me to stand. “Move with me!”

  Now she’s in a hurry? I fight to remain in place. I can’t leave Clay. I just…can’t.

  From the time he lost his grip on the branch to the time he hit the bottom of the mountain—roughly eight seconds. If I’d had two more, if I’d let go of Sloan just a little sooner, I could have caught his hand.

  Two. Seconds. That’s all I needed.

  She slaps me across the face. “Ten!”

  I taste the copper tang of blood, but I don’t care. He’s down there. My friend is down there. He deserves so much better.

  “You listen to me.” She grips my shoulders and shakes me. “I’ll drag you kicking and screaming if I must, but we’re leaving. You saved my life. Now I’m saving yours.”

  I saved her, but I didn’t save Clay. There’s nothing I can do to bring him back. But her words have the desired effect. Finally I allow her to lead me away. Dead, I’m no good to Clay.

  “We’re going to be okay,” she says through chattering teeth. “After what you did for me, I’m basically your bitch for life. I’ll get you out of here even if I have to sleep with a bunch of sexy guys to do it. I know, I know. I’m a giver.”

  As I go numb, I lose track of time. I know we descend the mountain. I know Archer joins us when we stop to rest, but not Killian. Archer explains we’re hidden from the ML, but I don’t respond. I don’t care. I know we stop a second time so Sloan and I can eat, but I don’t know where we are or what I put in my stomach.

  “—going to be okay?” Sloan asks.

  “She’s strong,” Archer replies.

  Strong? Me? I’m not. I’m the weak link. I let my friend die—but I’m not the only one to blame.

  Flames of wrath spark, melting some of the numbness.

  “You didn’t save Clay.” I shake my head, blink and meet Archer’s copper gaze head-on. Melting… “You promised to be there for him, to be his family, his brother, to help him when he needed you. Well, he needed you!”

  Archer flinches. His Shell is damaged, but nothing like before, the flesh—or whatever it is—once again in the process of weaving back together. “I can do a lot of things, Ten, but I can’t be everywhere at once, and I can’t override free will.”

  Melting…gone! “Are you saying Clay chose to die? I assure you, he didn’t. He begged me to save him.” He begged me, and I failed him. My tears return, my chin trembling.

  “He begged you, but didn’t ask me.”

  I’m about to punch him when he adds, “I’m saying this is my fault, not the fault of my realm. I was told Killian neared, and I wasn’t to engage. I disobeyed, and my new brother died because of it. I’m saying I chose to engage my enemy rather than call for reinforcements, a fact that will haunt me for the rest of my days. A mistake I’ll never make again. I’m saying you had two options, and you did the right thing.”

  “I let my friend die,” I say slowly, softly. “That will never be the right thing.”

  “He’s not in any pain. He’s happy, preparing for his homecoming.”

  I try to picture Clay smiling. I just see him lying in a pool of his own blood.

  “I would have found myself in Many Ends,” Sloan says, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Have you ever…visite
d?”

  We’re seated inside another four-by-four square, but I take no comfort in the warmth. I deserve the cold.

  “No. I’ve tried,” Archer tells her. “We hear the screams of the people inside, and we’ve even attempted to follow spirits through the veil, but we’re always blocked.”

  Sloan shudders, and maybe she even rethinks her no-realm stance.

  “If there’s a way for one to enter,” I say, my tone now hollowed out, “there’s a way for others to enter.”

  “You would think so, yes.” He stands, lifts his hand, the star in his palm glowing. He types inside the light, saying, “Come. We have four more miles to traverse.”

  The walls around us fade, and the cold sweeps in.

  We remain silent as we hike, and I’m glad. My mind is churning. Like Sloan, I’m one of the Unsigned. If I die right now, I’ll end up in Many Ends, most likely exchanging one torturous existence for another. But…

  Maybe that’s better than the alternative.

  Archer failed to rescue Clay. Strike one, Troika.

  Killian’s actions led to the avalanche that put Clay in danger in the first place. Strike one, Myriad.

  My parents. Enough said. Strike two, Myriad.

  Rules that prevent TLs from saving a human life without being asked. Strike two, Troika.

  We make it to the little town Archer mentioned about two hours after sunset. Heaters mounted to the tops of silver poles line the streets and illuminate our path with a soft red glow. Golden light shines from a multitude of box-shaped buildings carved into the side of the mountain. Every building is connected through some type of tunnel. There are no windows, no real personality.

  Archer stops as the light in his hand flares. He moves into a shadowed corner to type.

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  “Responding to a message from my leader.”

  Jellyair creation…communication between Earth and a realm. What else can the device do?

  “I have to make him understand…”

  Archer’s frustration is clear, and I’m suddenly glad the cell phone implanted behind my ear was deactivated the day I arrived at Prynne. Vans hoped to make me feel isolated. Trapped. His mistake. If I can’t be reached, I can’t be tracked or ordered around.