Dying Breath

by Kory M. Shrum

  He pulls me into the house. My sneakers squeal on the linoleum as he drags me up to full height. “Which room?”

  I point at Sam’s bedroom. No point in trying to lie now.

  Perry drags me into the room, his fingers digging into my upper arm. He has to turn his body and duck his head to get through the doorway. As he crosses the threshold, he finally lets go of me.

  The second time around, it looks worse.

  The wall behind Sam’s bed is scorched black. His bed is soaked in ash, and particles of it hang in the air above the bed, dancing in the light coming through the window. It’s like a chimney exploded, vomiting soot all over everything.

  And there’s the blood. A spray across the wall. A destroyed pillow. The pillowcase could work as a Trick ‘r Treat sack, but not much else.

  “He’s dead.” Perry’s mouth falls open.

  “I wasn’t lying!” Because I didn’t have a choice.

  He surveys the grimy room for several heartbeats more. I’m counting by heartbeats because mine are pounding in my ears. I’m praying he doesn’t see all the footprints. Mine and Sam’s and the mark we left in the soot when we dragged her away. All the evidence is right there.

  “Where are her friends?” Perry glares at me. “The nigger psychic. The raghead. The little blond bitch. Where are they?”

  I can’t speak. My mouth hangs open. I’ve never heard Perry use language like that before.

  He nudges me hard and I fall back a step.

  “Spill it. Where are they?” He points at the tracks. “They helped her get away.”

  “You can’t talk about people that way.” My face burns. “You can’t even think about them that way!”

  “Donovan,” Perry says, turning back toward the door. Until he does it, I don’t realize there’s another guard so close. “Send Black Hawk Four to the military base.”

  “No!” I scream.

  He smiles.

  “She’s not there!”

  “If they’re at the base, then who helped her get away?” he asks, with an arched eyebrow.

  I don’t say anything. Hot tears fill my eyes and spill over my cheeks. Here I am again, choosing. Choosing between people I love. If I don’t give up Jesse, they’ll go to the military base and find Gloria, Ally, and Gideon.

  If they’re even awake, they’re weak. They can’t possibly win against another attack so soon after the battle they just endured. Jesse isn’t there to protect them. And she might not be there in time.

  Give up Jesse or let the others die?

  Don’t give up Jesse and watch her kill my mother.

  “Did you hide her?” Perry asks.

  “No.”

  It’s the only word I have. It’s small and pathetic, but it’s all I got.

  “No.”

  Perry knocks me back. Azrael’s there. She places a hand on my shoulder to steady me as I face Perry.

  He speaks without blinking. “Donovan?”

  “Yeah, boss.”

  “Send the Hawk in.”

  “Sure thing.” Donovan gives the order. “That it?”

  “No.” His word is a mockery of my own refusal. “Search this place.”

  Chapter 23

  Maisie

  Perry grabs me by the arm again, and I grit my teeth. I don’t want to cry out like a baby, but he’s holding on to me so hard. The skin under his fingers is ghost white where he’s squeezing, and the surrounding parts turn redder by the second.

  Guards flood Sam’s room. They tear clothes out of his closet, flip his mattress. When they realize Jesse isn’t in here, they start tearing apart the living room. Something hits the ground, a large piece of furniture probably, and the whole house shakes. I hear something break and pinch my eyes closed. It’s hard to listen to, them tearing apart every room of Sam’s house.

  I bite down on my hysteria. I want to scream at them. Throw myself at them.

  But what good will that do?

  I’m so sorry, I think at Sam, like he can hear me. This is probably the worst day of his life. His dad died, his house is ransacked, and all because I came to his town with all my bullshit.

  Tears sting the corners of my eyes.

  The first round of “Clear” rings through the house as men continue to search and continue to find nothing.

  “I told you,” I say through gritted teeth. “She’s not here.”

  As if the sound of my voice infuriates him, he pulls me forward, dragging me through the door, through the living room—which looks absolutely demolished—and out the front door. I can’t walk as fast as him. I trip, but Perry keeps hauling me forward.

  There’s nothing in the road. No bodies. They’ve already begun to clean up the cops’ bodies. Good. The sooner we get out of this town, the better Sam and all his friends and family will be.

  Perry drags me over the sand toward a helicopter. It sits in the middle of a wide-open area. A few boulders and dry trees litter the landscape, but that’s it. It’s probably why they landed there, a nice big open space to put a military helicopter.

  As we get closer, I can see through the open doors.

  Mom’s lying there. They’d put her on a blue tarp, her hair spread around her head like one of the mosaic saints common in Dad’s cathedrals. Someone has removed her shirt and cleaned the wounds on her arms. The black stitches are thin and they’re shiny like plastic.

  Perry shoves me toward the helicopter, and I slide on the sand. My hands fly out in front of me to catch myself. I grab onto the lip of the doorframe before I face plant it.

  “Do your thing,” he says. Only it doesn’t sound like a polite suggestion or request. He’s talking to me the way he talks to the other guards.

  “My thing?” I ask, pivoting to face him.

  He puffs out his cheeks and huffs, in and out, in and out. He looks like he’s preparing to give birth. “Your freak thing. Do it.”

  “You’ve never been mean before, Perry.” I frown at him.

  “Did you think we’d still be friends after you ran off with your sister and got your mother killed?”

  I don’t immediately hop up into the helicopter and blow into Mom’s nose, so he nudges me with the butt of his gun.

  “They’re monsters,” I say.

  “You chose your side. Live with it.”

  Is that how he sees this? That escaping the tower where Dad forced me to await my execution was a betrayal? Do prison guards feel betrayed when an inmate runs for their lives?

  “If you don’t get into that helicopter and revive your mother, I’m going to show you a real monster,” he says. Perry snarls and snaps his teeth at me to make his point.

  I pull myself up into the helicopter and scoot across the floor to Mom.

  I reach down and brush a lock of blond hair off her face.

  I don’t want her to wake up.

  I don’t want her to know Dad’s dead because I can only imagine what she’ll do next. She wasn’t the most emotionally stable person before his death, and this is going to send her right over the edge.

  “Hurry up.” Perry glances around at the town and encroaching desert.

  He’s looking for Jesse. He thinks she’ll come back any second and that’s why he wants Mom awake. Mom’s abilities are his only chance to get out of the desert alive. But he’s a fool if he thinks Mom will protect him.

  I don’t see a way around it, so I bend down like I’m going to kiss Mom on the nose. I draw breath, ready to reignite her life and set the clock in motion.

  Or I could pretend to do it…

  Before I decide on my plan of action, Mom’s eyes fly open.

  She blinks once, then twice like a sleepy kid. She jolts upright so fast I sit back before I get head-butted.

  After a confused stare at her bra and bare arm, her gaze goes to Perry. Perry stands at attention, his back straight and gun in position.

  “Mrs. Caldwell,” he says, and the only thing missing is the salute.

  “Where is he?” she asks.
>
  Perry doesn’t speak. He only licks his lips.

  “Is he dead?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, his voice soft. That’s the Perry I know. The sweet one. The kind one. The one who followed me down the sidewalk in Millennium Park, trying to keep my handlebars straight because I wanted to ride without training wheels. Perry who always brought me a little something from his assignments. A plastic pony. An apple shaped eraser. A Chinese finger trap.

  I’ve known him all my life. Could two months away from him change everything?

  All because I went with Jesse? Because I chose to protect myself instead of be murdered? What kind of friend is he if he expected me to stay behind?

  Mom’s face screws up. She hiccups once, and then the floodgates burst. Tears stream down her cheeks. A low cry snowballs into a full-body screech. Her whole frame shakes. She grabs fistfuls of her own hair and pulls until strands rip free.

  I’m shoved out of the helicopter as if by a giant invisible hand. I hit the ground and the air is knocked out of me. I skid across the desert floor, inhaling sand.

  I choke and spit, unable to breathe.

  Mom did this. She used Rachel’s power to throw me out.

  This is all I’m able to process as I tumble along in the dirt. As I slide to a stop, the impact makes my back muscles seize. A coughing fit overtakes me. I push myself up on my knees and elbows. I try to spit out as much grit as I can. The dust in my eyes feels like sandpaper. They’re watering like crazy, but it isn’t clearing my vision fast enough. I can’t see.

  Between fat droplets, a menacing shadow pulls itself out of the helicopter.

  Mom.

  And her fury hits me like a tidal wave.

  Ready or not, here she comes.

  Chapter 24

  Jesse

  Jesse.

  Gabriel calls to me through the pulsing darkness. It contracts and relaxes like the warm body of a desert snake. To think the darkness is a void, an empty space, is so wrong. If it were, then what’s sliding against me, squeezing me, then releasing me? I keep my eyes pinched shut because I don’t want to know the answer to that question.

  Jesse, let me in.

  So we’re back to this again.

  And here I thought I’d made progress. I’ve grown into my powers. I can use the firebombs and shields with mere thoughts. When Monroe died, I’d shared his control over air with Maisie. No fuss.

  No kicking. No screaming.

  What are you afraid of? Gabriel whispers in the dark.

  His breath slides across my cheek and a part of me realizes he is the darkness in this place. And if I open my eyes, I might see him for exactly what he is. Enormous. Serpentine. And as ancient as creation.

  You’re not an angel. And you’re not my imagination. You’re…

  …some gargantuan beast I can’t begin to fathom.

  Horror ices my skin. Panic spreads in my mind, pushing all rational thought against the walls I’ve constructed to make my existence small and manageable.

  Look at me.

  I can’t. I can’t open my eyes. The dark presses against me, ready to swallow me whole, and I can’t lose myself in the crushing madness. I can’t lose even the smallest part of myself, because I love a girl named Ally, and everything I do has the potential to hurt her.

  I can’t let her see me that way.

  If you want to save her, look at me.

  He’s getting better at his ultimatums. I open one eye.

  Gabriel’s standing there. On what is the question. We’re suspended in this pitch black place. There’s no above or below.

  I’m in his arms. If I can call them arms. Even with his human body, his pretty face, I can see right through it. The serpentine dark coils around me. It’s only given me something comprehensible to look at.

  I am your ally, he says. His lips are at my ear again and I smell the storm on him. Rain and lightning. And a sound like thunder rolling in the distance.

  I can feel my mind stretching to its limit. One wrong thought and it might rip at the seam.

  Like Rachel.

  In my memory, she sits on the floor of her living room. She’s taken a knife to both of her arms, let herself bleed all over the expensive carpet. She’s drawn unintelligible symbols which she claimed would keep the bad angels out, whatever that meant. The blood drying brown was meant to be a protective circle, but she’d gotten as much of the blood on herself as she had on the carpet.

  When she’d turned her wide vacant eyes on me, rocking and muttering through her shattered reality, I’d known she’d lost herself.

  Lost herself, because some—thing—like Gabriel had pushed itself inside her and broken her mind.

  Do not be afraid, Gabriel says, letting his lips kiss my neck. He kisses me again, and again, moving toward my ear until hot breath warms the tender lobe.

  I’m waiting to have my throat torn out.

  A cool breeze blows. As soon as it touches my skin, something sparks inside me. An ember glows. I feel Maisie. This wind smells and tastes like her—bubblegum and soda pop.

  I chose you for your strength. You will bend, not break.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.” I’m digging deep for humor. Anything I’ve got to help me feel more like myself. More like I’m in control of what’s going to happen.

  The heat inside me builds, chasing away the coldness enveloping me.

  I cannot hold the power for much longer, he says. You must accept me.

  It sounds dirty the way he’s saying it. It’s coming across as an eager but patient boyfriend, questing for his girlfriend’s virginity.

  Let me in, he whispers, kissing my ear. You are strong enough for this.

  “No!” A shrill scream slices the darkness in half. “No! Please!”

  Maisie.

  Heart wrenching sadness stabs through me. Anger. Fear.

  Please hurry, a boy whispers. Not Gabriel. I think she’s in trouble.

  Maisie needs me. As afraid as I might be of what’s going to happen to me, my fear for Maisie is greater. Giving myself a goal helps. I have some pressing task to complete and that urgency helps pull me out of the emotions engulfing me.

  I let go. As soon as I do, a current pulls me in all directions, weighing me down as I swim hard for the surface.

  My lungs swell to bursting, and the surface is still a million miles away. I thrash in darkness, unsure if I’m swimming toward salvation or my death.

  Slowly, inch by inch, I begin to rise.

  A sound vibrates the waters. It grows louder and louder, building in intensity until I can feel the rumble deep in my chest.

  At first I imagine a boat with a giant propeller. It’s too dark to see. A boat could roll right over my head, and spray my brains into the dark water. I wouldn’t know what hit me. It’s a horrifying prospect.

  This isn’t real.

  There’s no boat.

  There’s no dark water.

  Yet the vibration in my chest is real. It has the sharp taste of reality. It isn’t the cotton candy confectionary of dreams. And I’m about to find out what that vibration really is.

  Ready? Gabriel asks.

  Without waiting for an answer, Gabriel pulls me up.

  I break the surface, gasping for air.

  Chapter 25

  Maisie

  Mom steps into Sam’s bedroom, and at the sight of the scorched walls and clumps of black ash, she collapses to her knees.

  She bends forward, putting her hands in it. With her skin coated black, she rubs her fingers together, as if trying to figure out what it is. But she knows. The tears and shaking shoulders say it all.

  Her sobs grow louder, and Perry shifts uncomfortably behind me. He chose not to search with the others. I guess he wants to be near Mom in case Jesse shows up. But they’re both treating me like I’m the enemy.

  Her cries wind me.

  Mom has been through so much. She was taken from her home and imprisoned in a torture camp. How hard Mom and
Dad worked to be together, how hard he worked to free her from the camp, me sparking to life in Mom’s belly when she was trapped in that place, and the morbid truth that they’d given her a break from torture for nine months, only because the scientists wanted me. A baby, brand new, and a clean slate for experimentation with a neurological disorder they knew little about—NRD. Necronitic Regenerative Disorder. It gives me, and all zombies like me, the ability to die but not stay dead. As long as the brain isn’t damaged, we’ll keep on kicking.

  What would’ve happened to me if Dad hadn’t taken me out of the camp and hidden me in the adoption system? What kind of life would I have had?

  I shiver.

  Mom turns on me with her red face and tear-stained cheeks. “Why didn’t you protect him?”

  Perry’s hand squeezes my shoulder as if to warn me not to run.

  My stomach clenches. I’m ready for more abuse—either from her or Perry. I brace for it the best I can. Knowing it’s coming isn’t enough to keep my heart from racing.

  She pulls herself to standing, and grabs my forearms. She squeezes hard enough to leave bruises. I grit my teeth to keep from crying.

  She doesn’t let go. “You left him! How could you!”

  A cocktail of emotions flood through me.

  How can I be grateful to Dad for saving me, yet also relieved he’s dead? I pity Mom. I can’t imagine going through half of what she’s been through, but I’m mad at her. I’m mad she won’t work with Jesse, and that she won’t listen to us. I’m mad she took Dad’s side when she should have taken mine.

  We’re messed up. Our whole family is so messed up.

  If I survive this, which I won’t, I’m going to need therapy for years.

  Her fingernails rake my skin. “Where is she?”

  My heart’s running like a rabbit at the sight of a dog. Where is she? It’s a simple question. But it’s as loaded as a gun in a game of Russian Roulette. My answer will determine how much I suffer and if Jesse and Sam will suffer with me.

  Perry nudges me with the butt of his gun. His gun. My stomach rolls.

  “The boy,” Mom says. It’s an accusation. Through her grief, she’s replaying the last minutes of her life before she bled out.