by J. L. Murray
“Viv,” she said.
Then the scalpel plunged into her chest.
Sia screamed at the pain as she woke. White light blazed behind her eyelids and the pain in her chest shot out to the rest of her body. She couldn’t stop screaming. Someone was doing something to her, something inside of her. She gasped for breath as she felt something warm flowing out over her ribs and neck.
“Something’s wrong,” a muffled voice was saying. “She’s alive. She shouldn’t be alive. I haven’t attached the heart yet. She doesn’t have a heart, how is she alive?”
“What are you saying?” said another voice. “I haven’t even injected the Revenant blood.”
“It’s as if she’s already got it. Someone’s given her our blood before. Or something more powerful.”
“Not ours,” said a deep, clear voice. Sia’s eyes shot open and she strained to listen. She knew that voice. Who was it? She struggled to focus. Someone bad. Someone she wanted to kill.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“It’s not our blood, it’s not clean,” said the voice. “It’s his. Joshua Flynn’s.”
“Joshua,” said Sia, immediately. She tried to sit up, but something was holding her down. She could feel the pain so completely that it was a part of her. She inhaled the smell of her own blood, she felt a heat like a furnace in her chest. And then she saw the glow coming from where they had cut her open. Her eyes slowly, painfully moved to the table holding the glass box. Where Mathilde’s heart had been. There was blood everywhere, sprayed on the doctors’ coats, the table, the floor. And the glass box was now filled with a murky, watery red liquid, something solid resting in the middle. Something solid and red and made of meat.
“You’ve taken my heart,” Sia said, her voice soft.
“What should I do?” the surgeon was asking. “This is all very irregular.” Sia moved her eyes to the man who was talking now. the familiar voice.
“Is it going to be successful?” said a voice. Conrad, Sia remembered. The monster president.
“Ambrose,” Sia said softly. “I’m going to turn you into a tree.”
“Yes, sir. But I don’t know what the effect—”
“Do it,” said Conrad.
“But, sir, the rebel isn’t like us.”
“He’s close enough,” said Conrad. “Do as I tell you.”
The heat in Sia’s chest was getting hotter. She looked around her and had an odd, familiar sensation. She could see a dust mote across the room, floating slowly down in front of the big, snow-covered window. She could see Viv, the human woman, the pulse jumping in her neck, sweat oozing from her skin. She could smell the tainted blood being pumped through every Rev’s body, the bags in their hands now empty. Even the surgeons had empty bags hanging from their sleeves.
“Say your last words,” Sia said to the surgeon who had his hands inside her. He started and looked at her face. He blinked hard.
“She’s healing on her own,” he said, looking at Sia’s face. “I’m not doing anything, the heart is just doing it on its own. What is this?” He frowned, and shook his head, as though trying to clear his head. The empty blood bag dangled from his sleeve.
“Try to relax,” Sia said, repeating his words back to him.
The Rev took his hand out of Sia’s chest, his hand going to his head, covering his head with Sia’s blood. His face twitched violently under the surgical mask and he took a step back.
“What are you doing?” said Conrad. “Finish her. It has to be clean, get back in there.”
Sia felt the heat in her chest spreading through her belly and arms and legs, finger and toes. The blood stopped pouring out of her, though her chest was still gaping open, making her bones feel cold. She could hear it all starting: the shouting, groaning, thumping. The first shrieks of realization. The surgeons stopped trying to cut into her as they stumbled backwards away from the operating theater. Sia was left alone with the pain that made it impossible to breathe, impossible to fathom. It was just in her, on her, all over her. It was so hot that she felt she would explode into flames. It rose up into her neck and face, and Sia could feel a strange transformation in her mouth.
She opened her jaw wide as the pain bloomed inside her lips. She screamed as she tasted blood and knives slid out from her gums. Her face was changing, shifting. She felt her bones grind together as her spine lengthened, her fingers stretched. She arched her back and the metal band around her waist snapped off and flew across the room. Sia couldn’t see for the pain, she couldn’t hear for the sound of her bones moving around inside her. Then they moved back, her spine shortened, her fingers shrank, her teeth and face returned to normal. Sia panted, sucking breath into her lungs.
She felt it happening again, her fingers becoming claws, her teeth shoving their way through the wounds they had just made in her gums, the bones in her face grinding, bone against bone. And still her heart burned in her chest, beating a tattoo inside her open rib cage. Sia screamed again and pulled one wrist free, the band hanging by a single screw, then the other. She looked at her clawed hands, holding them in front of her face. She was shifting back again, and Sia couldn’t do anything but sigh.
“Please,” she sobbed, “make it stop. Make it stop, make it stop.”
But as she began to turn again, she realized that no one could hear her. Through pain-addled eyes, as the teeth descended again from her gums, as her bones and face shifted to what she knew to be a Revenant, she saw that every other Rev in the room was on the floor, either unmoving or writhing in pain. When her face shifted again, she pulled her head free, with a raw grunt pulling the bands with her strong, long fingers off her ankles. She touched the wound in her chest, the metal contraption holding her ribs open. She pulled it out with a shriek that she felt shook the rafters.
She sat up, shivering over herself as she she shifted back to human.
“Somebody help me,” she said.
No one came. No one could. Many were dead now, and others were convulsing or screaming and clawing at their own heads. She stood on shaky legs, holding onto the metal table slick with blood. She began to change again and she braced herself this time, the pain starting to meld into one living thing inside of her, the pain in her bones and her mouth and her chest and her organs all melting into one long agony.
Sia pulled her dress back onto her shoulders, the front cut beyond repair, the blood soaking it so thoroughly that it was red instead of white. She was no longer wearing shoes and she could feel her own blood squishing between her toes. She screamed every time she shifted, and gasped every time she returned to human again. Sia felt something under her hand on the table and grasped it, bringing it to her face. Long and wood and sharp, she remembered making the stake in her room.
She carried it with her as she made her way slowly across the floor. She stepped around fallen Revs, stopping when the pain got worse, screaming when her body changed. Halfway across, someone grabbed her ankle. Sia looked down as her teeth came down again for what felt like the hundredth time. A Rev in a white coat. His surgical mask was hanging around his neck and Sia knew him. He was the Rev who had opened Mathilde.
“Tell me,” she said. “Did you pray? Did you pray like you told her to pray?”
“Please,” he gasped, clutching at his head.
Sia felt the stake in her hand and looked at it. Then she looked at the Rev on the floor, still clutching her leg.
“I told you to stop,” she said.
She kicked his hand away and hugged herself as she turned back to human. She closed her eyes. The pain in her chest was lessening, though she still felt consumed by fire. Her insides felt like charred meat. She looked down at the pitiful creature who had done this to her.
“No one can help you,” she said. “No one can help any of us.”
She drove the stake into his heart and moved back as branches slithered around him, swallowing him up, roots driving down into the floor, leaves touching the ceiling. He hadn’t even screamed.
Sia made her way to the door, watching it as she forced her legs to move, as she lumbered toward it by sheer will. She had to stop time and again as the pain became too much. She had no strength left and was only halfway across the ballroom floor when the doors opened. A woman stood there, silhouetted in the bright hall light. The gas lamps guttered.
“Mathilde?” Sia said, as her teeth slid out and she braced herself for the pain before her spine lengthened.
Someone was helping her up, pulling her to her feet. Sia looked to see the woman. The doctor.
“Your name is Viv,” she said.
“Good memory,” said the woman.
“You tainted their blood,” said Sia. “Why?”
“Do I really need a reason?” said Viv, half dragging, half helping Sia walk. “Wouldn’t anyone kill them if given half a chance?”
“You are very brave,” Sia gasped, her face shoving itself back to human. “No one else would have dared.”
Viv was quiet for a moment. “They took my son,” she said finally.
Sia felt herself draining away, but she remembered something.
“Did Conrad die?” she said.
“No,” Viv said, her voice hard.
“Then it was all for nothing,” said Sia. “They’re going to kill you.”
“Let’s just get you out,” said Viv as they reached the doors. Sia saw her staring at the hole in her chest.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Sia said, her eyes fluttering. “The heart. Mathilde will never leave me now.”
“How are you still alive?” said Viv.
“I have Hell inside of me,” she said.
Sia was barely awake as they emerged into the brightly-lit hall. The fluorescents buzzed overhead onto shining white floors covered with Revs, twitching and bent at unnatural angles. Sia forced her head up as she felt her teeth coming down again. Someone was standing in front of them and he walked toward them. A man. A human.
“Jesus Christ,” he said.
“Take her,” said Viv. “Please, Dez. Take her quickly. Get her safe. Don’t stop for anything.”
“Are you really going to save him?” he said.
“I’m going to try,” she said.
The man held her gently around her back. He was staring at her chest.
“Can you walk?” he said uncertainly.
Sia leaned into him, inhaling deeply. Something was coming awake in her. She stood and felt herself change. It wasn’t as painful this time. It was almost comforting. She reached out and took his shoulders in her hands.
“You smell so good,” said Sia. “I can see every vein in your body. You’re like a work of art.”
He stared at her and she stared back, and she felt so close that she could just slip inside his mind. Just touch every memory he ever had and bathe in his thoughts and feelings. She smiled around her sharp, sharp teeth.
“Desmond Paine,” she said. “I remember you.”
“What should I do?” he said. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” His eyes were strange, glassy, and Sia remembered Mathilde trying to touch Sia’s mind. This man was hers now. And she knew how to make the pain go away.
“Please tell me what to do. Mike told me to save you. You have to tell me how. I’ve forgotten. I’ve forgotten everything.”
Sia touched inside him and saw his mother’s face. She saw a lover, embracing him. She saw the old man, the journalist, who tried so hard to rescue her. She put a hand behind Desmond Paine’s neck.
“Come closer,” she said. “And let me save you.”
Thirty-Two
Mike felt cool hands on his face, but he couldn’t open his eyes. He was cold, so cold, but the hands on him felt soothing. There was a voice, saying his name and he tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Mike, goddammit, open your eyes, you son of a bitch!”
“Viv,” he slurred. He managed to flutter his eyes open, but for only a moment. The slap came like a gunshot waking him from a dead sleep.
“What the hell?” he said, looking around in a panic. It was dark, but he could make out a silhouette sitting next to him on the cot. Where was he? “Oh, Christ,” he moaned as the pain hit him.
“Relax,” said the silhouette. A gentle hand pushing him back down on the bed.
“Viv,” he said. “Is that you?”
“I gave you an antibiotic,” she said. “It wasn’t easy to find, you know. It’s expired, but not by much, so you probably won’t die from it.”
“That’s reassuring,” said Mike through gritted teeth.
“This is morphine,” she said, and he saw her holding up a shape that looked like a syringe. “It’ll help with the pain.”
“You have to get out of here,” he said.
“Shut up,” she said. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“They’re going to find you,” he said. “Viv, please.”
“No one’s going to find me,” she said in a strange voice. Mike’s eyes were adjusting to the darkness. Viv leaned over and he felt the needle and gasped. Then it was over and he felt a warmth run through his veins. It was funny, to imagine someone putting something into his veins rather than taking something from his veins.
“Why isn’t anyone going to find you?” he said slowly, his head going funny.
“Because I killed them all,” she said, giggling. “With blood. Imagine that, Mike. All it took was a little blood. And BOOM!” Mike jumped as her voice echoed in the cell. “They all fell down like the London Bridge. Did you play that game, Mike? When you were a child?”
“It doesn’t seem like I was ever a child,” said Mike, trying to make his mind work. The pain was ebbing away, replaced by a warm euphoria. He shook his head. He had to stay awake.
“They’re all dead,” said Viv. “They’re dead, Mike. It’s not over, but they’re dead.”
“Jesus,” said Mike. “All of them?”
“Everyone in that room. Except the one I wanted.”
“Who?”
“Conrad,” she said. Her voice had gone from giggling to sullen as she said his name. “I had to save you, Mike. I need to find Hunter, but I had to save you first.”
“Conrad,” said Mike, processing. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “He had the blood just like the rest of them, but it didn’t affect him. I don’t know why.”
“It killed the others?” said Mike. “The Revs?”
“Dead or convulsing on the floor. I saved Sia, Mike. I sent her off with Dez. Is that what you wanted?”
“Who the hell cares what I want?” he said. “I made my bed, Viv. Go. Save your son, if he’s alive.”
“I think he might be dead,” she said, and there was no emotion in her voice. “Or worse than dead.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t see what they did to her,” she said. “To Sia. I can’t…” Viv started to cry, deep, racking sobs. “I don’t think she’s okay.”
“Conrad walked away,” said Mike.
“He did. I already said that,” she said. “I cleaned your wounds while you were out. You’ll live, I think.”
“Viv,” he said.
“What?”
“I didn’t want to live.”
“You don’t get to choose,” she said. “You don’t get to die, Mike. You can’t leave me here like this. You can’t leave Dez and Sia, or any of us.”
“I don’t even know Sia,” he said.
“Neither do I,” she said and laughed. “And yet I risked everything to save her.”
“She’s special,” he said.
“I heard her play,” she said. “I heard her play and I wasn’t sorry for them any longer. I felt no guilt. Do no harm, Mike. I don’t know who I am any more.” She was talking fast, the words spilling out of her mouth in a panicky voice. She was breathing fast.
“Calm down,” Mike said. “Viv, you need to stop. Remember where you are, what you need to do. Your night isn’t over, honey.”
“Mike,
do you remember us? Do you think about me?”
Mike closed his eyes and felt them burning. A wave threatened to drag him to unconsciousness. He was having a hard time forming the words and felt himself laughing. He couldn’t lie to her if he wanted to, even if he’d been lying to himself. The laugh died in his chest and he felt tears coming on. Goddamn morphine, he thought.
“Viv, I never stopped thinking about you.”
He felt her cool hand slip into his hot good hand and he grasped it weakly.
“Mike, I think maybe I fell a little in love with you. I lost everything, but you just…you just did everything goddamn right. Why did you go and do that?”
“You’re mad at me because you love me?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “I didn’t want a friend, Mike. I wanted to lay down and die. But who can do that with someone like you watching. I couldn’t crash and burn like I’d planned. You made me want to fight.”
Mike forced his eyes to open. He was deeply stoned and had to work to stay awake.
“Genevieve,” he said. “I’m not worth it. I’m an old man.”
“You’re only five years older than me.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But not on the inside.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You said yourself,” he said. “The Revs are dead.”
“There will be more,” she said. “It was only such a small number.”
“The people, they’re going to rise up,” said Mike.
“It’s not enough, Mike,” said Viv. “It’ll never be enough.”
“You’re right about that,” said a voice. Mike was too far gone to look. But he recognized it. He’d heard it enough times on the television, the radio, recordings the Revs liked to play over loudspeakers everywhere.
Mike let go of Viv’s hand as she stood. He heard her screaming as a heavy metallic click echoed in the room. And as he drifted off into a drug-induced sleep, he heard another sound.
Conrad was laughing.
Thirty-Three
