Dying Breath

by Kory M. Shrum

  I hope there’s enough of Gabriel left to answer me. It’s my fear of what this death is going to do to me that’s holding me back.

  I’m brave enough to kill someone who threatens my friends. But Caldwell isn’t just anybody. If I kill Caldwell, I’ll absorb all his powers. His mind reading, his teleportation, his control over the earth and water. Not to mention the gift of darkness he took from Liza when he murdered her. That’s five abilities in all. Add that to the powers I already have: Jason’s healing, my control of fire, and by proxy electricity, and Monroe’s power over the air that I shared with Maisie.

  Why the hell am I counting them? Why am I doing this obsessive compulsive, let’s count it all out thing? Is it going to change anything? Somehow lessen the effects?

  No.

  That’s a lot of power coursing through a single person. I’m going to go from 2.5 abilities to 7. There’s no way I’m not going to be insane when I wake up.

  If I wake up.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” I ask him again. In the past, I feared being confined to an asylum, eating mashed bananas for the rest of my days.

  Now my fear is no asylum can hold me. There would be no place on Earth strong enough to would make sure the people I love stay safe.

  From me.

  I will be with you, Gabriel says. I will be with you until the very end.

  I snort. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

  I exhale and steady my hand against Caldwell’s throat. With the other hand, I press the blade down harder and the skin dividing the nostrils starts to split.

  Whatever happens, I beg Gabriel as Caldwell’s flesh begins to give. Don’t let me hurt them. If I’m not myself just keep me far away from them.

  Ally. Maisie. Gloria. Gideon.

  I have coffee for you, baby. The feel of Ally’s lips brushing mine. A beautiful dream. A beautiful dream that I can take with me.

  Don’t let me be the reason for their death. Or even an ounce of their suffering.

  Warm blood washes over my knuckles. Caldwell’s eyes fly open. They’re the same hazel green as my father’s.

  His lips pull back in a hissing snarl and both of his hands clamp down on the hand holding the knife. I only push harder and more warm blood soaks my grip. His eyes widen, and his eyebrows arch.

  He sits up, slamming me into the wall. My head echoes and my grip on the knife weakens. It drops through the crack between the bed and the wall.

  Fuck.

  “You just won’t die, will you? Like a fucking cockroach. Every time I turn around there you are.”

  His forearms are corded with his efforts. A vein in his forehead bulges as he squeezes harder. The tendons in my neck burn.

  I can’t open my mouth. I can’t breathe. I must resort to insulting him telepathically. I was just thinking the same thing about you.

  “You have so much fucking power and you don’t know what to do with it. I would have made your death easy. You think you know what’s best for this world? Do you think you grasp the situation or have the nerve to do what has to be done? Never. You’re a child. A stupid child who doesn’t know when enough is enough.”

  He shoves himself into my mind. A wall of fear and pain washes over me.

  Jesse, Gabriel calls to me. I feel him reaching inside me, turning up my own juice. My body thrums with it. I’m going to pass out in seconds and he knows it.

  He sneers. “Die already and let me handle the rest.”

  I throw my weight against him, pushing him upright away from the wall. I cast my shield, enveloping us both, pinning us to this time and place. I ignite.

  Flames leap up his arms and neck. It scorches his hair and eyebrows. He’s screaming, trying to jump away or extinguish himself. I tighten the shield. I draw our bodies closer and burn even harder.

  “You don’t understand what you’re doing,” he cries out.

  “Just die already,” I tell him. “And let me handle the rest.”

  I plunge my thumbs into his eyes, searching for the brain matter I must destroy in order for this to really be over.

  The warm tissue under my nails is the last thing I feel before we’re both consumed in blue flames.

  Chapter 19

  Maisie

  I’m running so hard I have a cramp in my side. Sam’s long legs are made for athletics. I have half his height and even less of his speed. He could run a whole lap around this town in the time it would take me to finish my warm up stretches.

  I finally recognize Sam’s street. He pauses in the middle of the road to look back at me.

  “Coming,” I pant. “Right behind you.” A hundred yards or so.

  Sam freezes the way bunny rabbits freeze when they catch me walking Winnie Pug. Ears up. Nose twitching. Ready to run like hell at the slightest hint of chase.

  So I freeze too. “What’s wrong?”

  I look up at the sky and see the helicopter. The advantage of a barren landscape is we can see the helicopter long before it arrives. Nothing blocks out the sound of its whirling blades.

  Despite the distance, it’ll be here in no time. Ten minutes tops.

  But Sam isn’t looking at the sky. He’s fixated on the road in front of him.

  In the middle of the road is my mom. She’s dragging herself through the dirt toward Sam’s house. A bloody trail follows her in the sand.

  “Mom?”

  She reaches out her arm again and uses it to drag herself another inch or so. Her arm is shaking from her efforts. She cradles the other arm against her body.

  “Mom!”

  Sam reaches her before I do, and turns her over gently. As soon she sees him, she shoves him away. But not with her hands, with her mind. The power she absorbed from Rachel flares to life and lashes out. Sam’s struck, thrown through the air as if hit by a massive fist. His body arches back comically as he sails.

  “Mom! Stop! He’s a friend! He wants to help!”

  I sound stupid and desperate, but I’m not above begging for Sam’s life.

  Mom groans and I kneel beside her, but I can’t take my eyes off Sam. He hits the dirt and falls into a fit of coughing on impact. He doesn’t look seriously hurt, though. He’s opening and closing a fist and he can pull himself up to standing. Mostly okay then.

  Mom’s face is red with her efforts.

  “Mom?” I touch her cheeks. They’re hot. “Mom, what happened?”

  She’s bleeding from her shoulder and side. She’s been shot. Is that why she’s cradling her arm against her body?

  Mom’s hand grabs mine and squeezes so hard I cry out. “Go! Stop her before she gets your father.”

  I look up at Sam’s house and dread washes over me.

  Is Jesse in there? Now? Ready to kill Dad?

  She’s supposed to wait for me. We’re going to share the power so it doesn’t overwhelm either of us and make us insane like it did Rachel. That was the plan.

  “She’s going to bleed to death.” Sam’s impossibly large eyes are fixed on Mom. He’s never seen something like this. Jesse’s firebombing. A person bleeding to death, or even someone being shot. Or maybe he’s surprised to be tossed through the air by a woman who didn’t lay a finger on him.

  Shock runs through me. There are people out there, people like Sam, who go their whole lives without seeing the things I’ve seen. They never believe this stuff is real. Never encounter it. I can’t imagine what that must be like.

  Anger rises in me. I want that kind of blindness.

  Sam saw his dad’s body though. That’s something of an education.

  “She’ll live,” I tell him, my anger softening. I’m looking at the house again.

  Has Jesse already done it? Is she already dead?

  “Leave her.” Sam’s voice rises. His anger matches my own. For a second, I’m confused. Then I realize Sam’s finally face-to-face with his father’s murderer. Of course, he’d be pissed once he processed his surprise.

  “Help me move her over here.” I grab her wounded arm. Sh
e cries out when I start to drag her out of the road. “You’re going to get run over.”

  Sam looks at me.

  “Sam, please.” I beg him. I can’t drag Mom by myself. “She’s my mom.”

  His jaw works furiously, but he bends down and grabs her arm like I do.

  With a final hoist, we get her back up against a fence.

  “Eric!” she screams. “Eric!” Her blue eyes are unfocused. Pain will do that do a person. Mental and physical, and it looks like she has both in spades. “I’m coming!”

  She turns her head toward Sam’s house without seeing it.

  I turn too. Sam’s open gate slaps against the wood, caught in a soft breeze.

  Please don’t let her turn into Rachel. Azrael, please.

  I’m begging Azrael for a promise she can’t make.

  Rachel traveled with us for months. She was grumpy and dramatic but nothing about her screamed “escaped mental patient.” Even the fact she was literally a person who left the mental hospital without permission.

  In New York, Rachel killed a girl and absorbed her partis power. She wanted to be strong enough to fight Dad. But this strength came with an awful price tag.

  I was the second partis Rachel tried to kill. Probably because I’m the weakest in our group. When we confronted Rachel in the military base, she fought Jesse trying to get to me. Thankfully, Jesse protected me inside her shield. But Rachel was like some crazy animal, foaming at the mouth, whose only goal was to get her jaws around my throat. She’s the reason I had to wrap my ankle. And she would have torn me apart, devouring my power too, if not for Jesse.

  It’s stupid relying on her. Why does it matter if my sister has a cool shield? I should be stronger. I should be more able to defend myself. But I’ve never been good at protecting myself. The scars on my thighs are proof enough.

  My mind flutters back to Jesse. If Rachel lost it when she absorbed one more power, how in the world is Jesse going to overcome all the juice coursing through Dad?

  Wait, Jesse! I try to shout to her through our connection. If she’s in the house now, sizing Dad up—please wait! I’m here!

  “Don’t move!” I shout to Mom.

  Mom’s hand reaches out and seizes my forearm.

  “Mom, we can’t carry you! Do you want me to stop her or not?”

  Her nails bite into my forearm. She doesn’t believe me, doesn’t think I’ll stop Jesse from killing him. And she’s right. But I have a very good reason for Jesse to wait. I don’t want Jesse to do it without me, to take on all the madness alone. Nor do I want her to do it with a helicopter full of men loyal to my father bearing down on us.

  If Jesse dies absorbing his powers, she’ll be defenseless. They’ll put a bullet in her head the first chance they get.

  “Please,” I beg and try to tug away. I’m going to have to pry her fingers off one by one. And Sam, sweaty and red-faced, looks ready to help me.

  Mom lets go.

  I run. Without looking back to see if Sam follows, I sprint for the house. Okay, sprint is an exaggeration given my pitiful ankle. I’m surprised the bandage I used to wrap it is still holding up.

  Sam catches up to me like it’s nothing, and like a total showoff, vaults over his fence. He tucks his legs to one side and using the ledge as a balance beam, launches himself over. I run through the open gate after him.

  I slow at the sight of the front door partially ajar.

  “Jesse?”

  The sound of helicopter blades grows louder, and my heart kick starts into action.

  I tiptoe through the kitchen and stop dead in the living room.

  Ice cubes slide into my stomach and melt there. My heart’s rhythm wobbles. The hairs on my neck rise. Sam bumps into my back and apologizes.

  I don’t move, stuck in the entryway to his house. He says, “What’s wrong?”

  Blue light flashes from Sam’s bedroom.

  And the ice in my stomach solidifies.

  How do I tell Sam we’re too late? How does one casually mention I’m waiting to see if my sister explodes from his bedroom like some horror movie beast to rip our heads off?

  Then I blink, the shock dissipating.

  No. She would die first. Reboot. Her brain and body would adjust to the powers they’ve absorbed.

  I creep to Sam’s bedroom and peek inside.

  My stomach bucks.

  His bed is covered in black ash. It coats his pillows and coverlet. It’s splashed up onto the wall like a mini volcanic eruption. The powdery black stuff covers his desk and window too in a fine layer.

  I walk to the side of the bed and put my hand in it. By it, I mean one of the highest mounds. One of three or four heaps resting on top of Sam’s bed.

  I barely touch it with my fingers. It’s soft. Like baby powder.

  I sink my fingers into the powder harder and harder until the compacted ash is hard enough to withstand my pressure.

  Jesse lies in the ash. It coats her face and nostrils. It’s weird how still she is. Every muscle is unmoving.

  “She’s dead,” Sam says.

  “Yeah.” I don’t look at him. I can’t help but rub my fingers together. “That’s what happens. If we kill another person like us and take their power by force, they burn up. Then we die as that juice integrates with what we’ve already got. She’ll come back.”

  Unless you’re like Monroe. And you’re kind enough to give your power away. Then you don’t burn up like flash paper.

  “She’s a zombie?” he asks. “No, wait. I’m sorry. Sorry, that’s not the right word, it’s…um…”

  “Necronite,” I remind him, knowing he’s spoken volumes about his small town and their views of people like me. They don’t even know our proper name, only the bad one. Zombie. The derogatory term for NRD-positive people like me. “And yeah, she’s got NRD. So do I. We all do.”

  “You all have superpowers too?” he asks. He can’t hide his shock.

  “No, that’s different,” I say. I don’t want to explain the partis to him or the angels or how weird this gets. If he struggles with the idea of my neurological disorder, the rest would be way too much for him.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  I can’t look away from Dad’s remains. I lift my fingers out of the ash, and my fingertips are black.

  Is he really gone?

  “You’re free.” I feel Azrael beside me before I can see her. A cold shadow at my side. Then dove gray feathers with their blue jay tips bloom in the corner of my eye. I don’t turn my head to look at her. Not in front of Sam anyway. “He will never hurt you again.”

  “I’m free,” I whisper. I bring my ash coated fingers up to my cheeks and drag them across.

  My cheeks are wet.

  Free. With my father’s ashes on my cheeks like war paint.

  I turn toward Sam, and if I look ridiculous with ash on my tear-stained face, he’s nice enough not to make fun of me.

  I kneel beside Jesse.

  I place a hand on either side of her face. Her freckles are brighter than usual. We’re getting so much sun out here in the desert. There’s a smudge on her face where I touched the skin.

  You’re free too. She is, from Dad at least. But the war isn’t over for any of us yet.

  Burn scars on both sides of her face look like melted wax paper, but they’re evaporating before our eyes. I was going to use my breath to wake her up, hurry her along. But I’m not sure I need to.

  And when she wakes up, what’s left?

  To murder Mom?

  Me?

  “Have faith in her,” Azrael says. Her voice is as steady as always. “Gabriel is seldom wrong.”

  If only I could be as confident. Even with both my hands blackened in his remains, I can’t believe I’m free of Dad. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the next horrible thing—because there’s always another horrible thing—to happen.

  “He serves her well.”

  Who? Gabriel? I ask.

  Azrael hasn’t told
me much about him, only that he isn’t one of the bad angels.

  I bend down and place my mouth near Jesse’s nose. First, I kiss it and find the tip cold. The ash is bitter on my tongue.

  Then I blow into her nose, dragging the air across the embers inside me and sparking life again. Sam’s watching with intense curiosity but he’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

  When it’s done, I sit back, dizzy.

  “Now what?” Sam says. His eyes are huge and he keeps bouncing his knee, an obvious nervous tick, but at least he isn’t screaming and running away.

  The sound of blades whirling grows louder.

  Our wide eyes meet over my sister’s body.

  “Help me,” I say, already trying to lift Jesse up by the arms.

  Sam leaps to his feet. “Help you do what?”

  “Hide.”

  Chapter 20

  Jesse

  I’m drowning in a lake of fire.

  Intense pressure crushes my chest. I can’t breathe. I keep trying to draw air into my lungs, but they won’t fill, won’t expand.

  My chest, neck, and guts burn. I keep trying to step out of the fire but I can’t.

  Gabriel!

  I’m here.

  Do something, for fuck’s sake! I’m not above begging. Some people might think it’s weak, asking for help. But I’m sure these people were not suffocating while their body was burned alive. So they can bite me. Please!

  Cool hands wrap around my stomach. My bare stomach. I must be naked or somehow able to feel skin on skin through my clothes. Gabriel’s arms enclose me. His chin tucks into the corner of my neck. The whole of his body conforms to my back and legs. The scent of rain washes over me.

  His cold skin lessens the heat rolling through me, through the black fire killing me. Or keeping me dead. It’s hard to tell what’s going on. This place has a dreamlike quality to it. A disconnect with time.

  Wings envelop me, fully cocooning me against the warm man holding me.

  Are you ready? he asks.

  For what?

  Before I can answer, another spark of fire explodes inside me. My back arches—if I can call it my back. I understand on some level I’m dead right now. Some part of me is in a house in Arizona, lying dead in Caldwell’s incinerated remains. But my body is only part of me. The rest is here, submerged in the lake of black fire. Engulfed in pain unlike anything I could have imagined.