Everlife Trilogy Complete Collection: Firstlife ; Lifeblood ; Everlife

by Gena Showalter

  She zooms in on it, and I stay right on her heels, different sounds floating to me. Toppling furniture. Falling tools. Footsteps. My aunt’s shed is being ransacked.

  Pearl’s orders, I’m sure.

  As we come out the other side of the crawl space, I dig through the pack, searching for a weapon. I find a cell phone, bandages, a bottle of water, protein bars, a change of clothes, a pair of shoes in my size and a gun with a clip of ammo—yes! I sheath the gun at my waist and stuff the clip in my pocket. The effort pulls at my newest wound, a warm cascade of blood trickling down my leg.

  We’ve entered another black hole. I press my palm against the wall, hoping—yes! A soft glow saves me from curling into a ball and sobbing. We’re not in a room this time, but a narrow tunnel. I straighten to full height and race forward, still following after my aunt. The more ground we gain, the shorter the roof gets, and soon we’re both hunched over.

  She giggles again, and I groan. No Loony Lina. Please, please, no Loony Lina. Not now.

  A quiet squeak is the only warning I have before three rats dart in our direction. While she waves at the things, I have to bite my fist to silence a scream as they pass me. Then I have to concentrate on bladder control as I wonder what they were running from.

  Can’t stop. Have to keep going.

  The tunnel twists and turns for miles, surely. The water level rises to our ankles. And it reeks. Oh, zero, it freaking reeks. I gag when a dead frog floats past me. Are there now different strains of bacteria and other microscopic beings crawling all over my skin?

  I kind of wish I’d stayed in that shed to fight to the death.

  If I’m splashing around in used toilet water, I might kill myself.

  Finally the water thins and the tunnel expands, allowing us to stretch to our full heights once again. When we reach a dead end, I laugh without humor. Oh, irony, you nasty whore. You’ve struck again.

  Wait! There’s another crawl space in the corner. Aunt Lina shimmies through and again I’m right on her tail. We enter another four-by-four room with stairs that lead to a drain in the ceiling…and another drain. She climbs up, up…and reaches for another drain/dial thing.

  She turns her wrist to the right, the left, then the right again and the drain turns with her. Success! A new crawl through opens up.

  “Why do you have this passage?” I whisper. “How?”

  “Always knew we’d need it,” she says. “Knew where to live, knew when and how to dig into tunnels that already existed. They go all over the city. Troikans built them centuries ago!”

  So how does she, a Myriad loyalist, know about them?

  She disappears over the top. I climb the ladder. My biceps strain and my calves burn as I hoist myself into a bathroom—with three people inside.

  I reach for the gun even as I take stock. Two males, one female. One of the men is asleep on top of the woman, who is also asleep. Both are covered in dried vomit. The third occupant is slumped against the wall and watching me through slitted lids. He doesn’t appear worried (or interested) by our sudden appearance or my gun. There are empty syringes all over the floor, and a tourniquet is still tied to the watcher’s arm. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth.

  No question, this is a drug house. I sheath the gun as Aunt Lina turns the drain, ensuring the cement closes and no one can crawl through.

  “Change,” she says, and starts stripping. There’s a pile of clothes already waiting for her.

  Right. We’ll draw far too much attention in our fecal-is-the-new-black outfits.

  We toss our soiled garments in the trash and shimmy into the clean clothes, mine coming from the pack. I’m unconcerned by my audience, certain Drool Man won’t remember us, anyway—if he even knows we’re here. As we head for the door, I notice the numbers painted all over the walls, different math problems written over and over again, every single one equaling ten. This can’t be a coincidence.

  “Come on.” Lina tugs me to the door. She turns the knob and we enter a hallway. The lights are switched off, the space dim, but I can see multiple people sitting or lying throughout. Smoke wafts through the air, tickling my nose. I hold my breath as long as I can, preferring to leave sober. No one attacks us, at least.

  I quicken my step, uneasy, and find the living room, the way out. There are more people here, some lucid, most snoring. Aunt Lina doesn’t head for the front door but picks up a paintbrush from the floor, throwing fuel on my unease. She moves to the wall to trace the tip of the brush along one of the math problems, which equals ten.

  “Lina,” I say softly.

  “You died.” Her voice is higher, making her sound as if she’s around five years old. Dang it! Not now! “I was sad.”

  Determined, I walk over and clasp onto her wrist. “Lina,” I say as gently as I’m able. “We need to leave.”

  “You died.” She faces me, but her eyes stare at nothing. “I was sad.”

  “I’m alive. I’m here, and I want to leave this place with you.”

  “You died,” she repeats, and I’m not sure she’s talking to me or to herself. “I killed you. I’m sorry.” Then she slams the tip of her paintbrush into my jugular.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Just because you can’t see us, doesn’t mean we’re not there.”

  —Troika

  At first, I’m too shocked to react. And I think my adrenaline is too high, whatever drugs Aunt Lina used on me still numbing me. But the “this can’t be happening, I don’t feel a thing” sensation doesn’t last long.

  My neck is suddenly on fire.

  Pain shoots through me, buckling my knees. Loony Lina maneuvers me to the ground while I gasp for breath I can’t catch.

  “You sang it. Don’t you remember? You sang it, and you saved them.”

  My wild gaze circles the room. Help me!

  She sings, “Ten’s tears fall, and I call. Nine hundred trees, but only one is for me. Eight times eight times eight they fly, whatever you do, don’t stay dry. Seven ladies dancing, ignore their sweet romancing. Six seconds to hide, up, up, and you’ll survive. Five times four times three, and that is where he’ll be. Two I’ll save, I’ll be brave, brave, brave. The one I adore, I’ll come back for.”

  As she sings, she smooths the hair from my face, gentle, so gentle. Such a contrast to the horror she just visited upon me.

  I don’t… I can’t… I can’t speak. Can’t breathe.

  Still she sings. “Ten’s tears fall, and I call. Nine hundred trees, but only one is for me.”

  Suddenly I’m falling…falling…landing with a thud on the forest floor. Air leaves my lungs in a white-hot burst, making me dizzy, but I scramble to my feet and, blinking rapidly, scan my newest surroundings.

  Welcome back to the Realm of Many Ends.

  The gnarled trees sigh happily. The toothy plants grin, as if eyeing me with mental forks and knives. The ember-bugs sting me, and I yelp. Today the sky isn’t quite so dark, but that isn’t exactly a good thing. There are thick yellow clouds in the sky, undulating violently.

  I’m stuck this time, aren’t I? Twice before, my body has died, and my spirit has come to this realm, but both times, the boys were there to save me. Today, I’m on my own.

  Now I’ll be forever separated from my mother…forever separated from my brother…forever separated from Killian and Archer. Tears of frustration spill down my cheeks. My hand trembles as I wipe the drops away and—

  Ten’s tears fall, and I call.

  The words hit me like lightning. The song Loony Lina sang as I died. Could it be… No, no, surely not…but maybe…a survival guide?

  You sang it. Don’t you remember? You sang it, and you saved them.

  Them? The other kids?

  Ten’s tears fall, and I call.

  “Hello?
” I call. “Is anyone out there?”

  Silence greets me. Maybe I’m wrong, but…

  “Hello?” I repeat a little louder.

  A few yards away, bushes slap together. I tense, wondering if I’ve just summoned the worst of the worst, until a girl shouts, “Where are you?”

  “This way!” The song is a blueprint to our salvation. It must be. “Follow the sound of my voice.”

  I talk and talk and talk about nothing and finally she steps from the shadows. I recognize her pale braided bun—Kayla!—and race forward.

  “Stop,” she screams, and I immediately obey. “Move to the right.”

  I do, avoiding a shimmery pocket of air. A pocket that stands upright like a nearly imperceptible doorway. “Thank you.”

  The moment I reach her, the peace-seeking activist draws back her hand to slap me. The blow is weak, because she is weak, but it still manages to turn my head.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, hoping you’d come back.” She glares at me. “My brother was captured because of you.”

  Okay. Should have seen that coming. I rub the corner of my lip. “I’m sorry. I tried to distract the beast. Tried to help you guys.”

  “Well, you didn’t.” She withers, wrapping her arms around her middle. “How did you manage to escape? A flash of light radiated from you, and boom, you were gone.”

  “My body was resuscitated.” Now. The chitchat will have to wait. Nine hundred trees, but only one is for me. “I’m looking for a special tree. One that won’t hurt us.”

  “How did you—Never mind. This way.” She jogs off and I follow, sticking close to her heels, ducking when she ducks, jumping when she jumps. Limbs reach for us, plants bite at us, but none are able to catch us.

  “How do you know where you’re going?” I ask.

  “The land is a maze filled with hundreds of invisible doorways that lead back to where you started—or into a trap. You either learn to navigate or you become bait for the animals. You don’t want to be bait. Your screams will join all the others as your organs are eaten…regrown…and eaten again.”

  Many Ends…

  As we continue to run, I pick up the pattern in her actions. There’s always a pattern, nothing by chance. Eight steps, duck. Nine steps, jump. Ten steps, turn. Eleven steps, turn. Twelve steps—

  This is a count up, I realize. As if I’m gaining more time the farther I go. And if I were to turn and head in the opposite direction—twelve steps duck, eleven steps jump, ten steps turn, nine steps turn, eight steps duck—it would be a countdown. Time running out.

  Symbolic?

  Boom!

  The ground shakes, but I’m used to it and manage to stay on my feet. The trees and foliage shrink away from us, and in the distance, the mushroom cloud rises.

  “Hurry!” Kayla pants. “The birds always know when fresh meat has arrived.”

  The first tingles of dread arise. One step, five, eight and spin. A loud gaggle of squawks cuts through the smoky air.

  “How much farther?” I’m wheezing now.

  “Almost…there.” She’s wheezing worse.

  Eight times eight times eight they fly, whatever you do, don’t stay dry.

  One of the birds swoops down, its claws open, ready to latch on to Kayla. As I dive on her, knocking her out of the way, the tips of those claws scrape my back and I cry out. When we land, we roll forward. Up ahead, there’s an anthill and a swarm of ember-bugs. We’re going to end up in one or the other, because this is freaking Many Ends, and there’s no escaping an opportunity for pain.

  An-n-nd the anthill wins.

  The little beasties have upraised eyes, like alligators, yet they have the belly and stinger of a bumblebee and the legs of a cricket. And if the drool dripping from their fangs—because yes, we can add vampire to the mix—means anything, Ten is on the dinner menu.

  They converge on me en masse, crawling all over me, biting me. Screaming, I bat at my face, my arms. Kayla’s screams soon blend with mine. We’re being eaten alive, and we can’t go on like this. It’s too much, but the sad thing is, it won’t kill us.

  An ember-bug joins the party, stinging me, blistering me, but also killing some of the ants. An idea hits me. It’s horrible. It’s going to get me hurt. But I’ll recover. Maybe.

  I throw myself into the swarm of ember-bugs. They sting me repeatedly, and I’m pretty sure my skin is melting off, but the ants are dying, too, so I consider it a win. Though my eyes are so swollen that I’m nearing total blindness, I’m able to find Kayla through her screams and throw myself at her. Our limbs tangle, the ember-bugs attacking her, as well.

  When the last of the ants are killed, I tighten my grip on Kayla and roll over the grass, rocks cutting into exposed muscle but also smashing the ember-bugs. By the time we still, I’m leaking so much Lifeblood I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to stand.

  “Almost…there,” Kayla gasps. Her eyes and lips are as swollen as mine, and there are puncture marks all over her face, neck and arms. She manages to climb to all fours. “This way.”

  Squawks sound from the sky. The birds must be circling us. We’re easy pickings.

  I grit my teeth and climb to all fours, as well. Dizziness nearly topples me as I make my way forward, staying behind her through touch alone, my fingers brushing her foot every time I extend my arm.

  Finally, blessedly, she stops. “Eat,” she says, placing something in my hand.

  I don’t take the time to study it—why even try? My eyes are still too swollen to see more than shadows. I just stuff the thing—a leaf?—into my mouth and chew with what little strength I have left. The moment I swallow, however, that “little” strength multiplies.

  My swelling goes down, and skin begins to grow over my muscles.

  I realize I’m under a Wisteria tree. The largest I’ve ever seen, with a trunk the size of a freaking house. The flowers are magnificent, some deep violet, some soft pink and some snow-white, all thick and lush, absolutely perfect, hanging from the branches like clusters of grapes.

  I stand and pull Kayla to her feet. The sweet scent of sugarcane permeates everything here.

  “Eat,” she repeats, plucking a handful of petals and stuffing them in her mouth. Soon after she swallows, the rest of the punctures fade from her skin.

  I eat a handful of petals myself, the taste as sweet as the smell, something I hadn’t noticed while I was in so much pain. I swallow, and my skin begins to tingle, my blood to heat. This is how she and the others survived so long, no doubt about it. But…how is the tree here, in such a desolate place?

  “The birds don’t come near us when we’re in this shade,” she says. “I don’t know why. I only know this is the center of the realm.”

  “How many other spirits are here?”

  “Thousands. Millions. I’m not sure. The birds carry them to the mountains. If you want to know how many others are safe, like us, the answer fluctuates as newcomers arrive, but right now there are only two others. Reed and a man I’ve seen in the forest. He runs from us.”

  “Kayla?” Reed steps around a car-size branch. When his gaze finds me, it narrows. “You came back.”

  “Unfortunately.” And now I’d like to find a way out.

  You saved them.

  How?

  Eight times eight times eight they fly, whatever you do, don’t stay dry.

  “Last time I was here, you told me there’s a lake,” I say.

  Reed’s smile is cold as he waves his hand in the direction he just came from. “It’s just outside the shade, but the moment you reach the shore, the birds will descend.”

  “Even if I jump in?” Don’t stay dry…

  His laugh has a very sharp edge. “No. The birds won’t get you if you jump in, but something else will. Everyone who’s ever touched
a drop of that water has been sucked into its depths—and come out in pieces.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “If at first you don’t succeed, kill your opponent.”

  —Myriad

  I stand at the edge of the shade, my pockets full of leaves from the tree, Kayla and Reed beside me. The birds know what I’m planning. They must. They circle overhead, waiting to dive—to attack—the second I move.

  Kayla gives herself a hug. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Seven ladies dancing, ignore their sweet romancing. “There’s a difference between wanting to do something and knowing I need to do it.”

  “Okay. Why do you need to do this?” Reed demands.

  “I think it’s the way out.” I opt for honesty rather than evasion. As much as I don’t want to get their hopes up, I do want to get their hopes up. Hope empowers. It’s the reason we wake and the reason we rise. The reason we keep moving forward. “If you could leave, and choose one of the realms—”

  “Yes,” they say in unison.

  “No longer interested in peace?” I ask.

  “Peace will always be my first priority, but I know I can’t achieve it here,” Kayla says.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her she’ll never achieve it. Troika and Myriad will never call a truce, and their battles will always spill into the Land of the Harvest.

  Reed frowns at me. “Tell me you have a plan to survive whatever’s in the water.”

  “I do. I’m going to figure it out when I get there.”

  He rubs the back of his neck.

  “What do I have to lose? My life? Been there, done that.” But what happens next? I don’t believe in Fusion, not anymore. Not for anyone. But I’m in Many Ends. I don’t think I’ll get to enter into the Rest.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Reed grumbles, “but I’m coming with you.”

  Kayla moans. “I knew you’d insist.”