by Katie French
Auntie shuffles over and peers at Mike, who has stopped twitching, and then she works her way around the other men lying at odd angles on the floor. I hear her bare feet squish through the blood, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She trails red footprints over to where the last man, the one I punched, is lying, moaning.
“This one’s still fresh,” she says, looking up at me with her one good eye.
I drop my shirt and tuck it back into my pants to keep Peanut covered. Walking over, I look at the man. Groaning and clutching his face, he rolls over and looks up at me from one squinted eye. “You bwoke my nose.”
I reach down, draw up the shotgun. “You want me to fix it for you?”
He holds out one hand, trying to wave me off. “Don’t! I won’t fight anymore. I just want to go home.” Tears pool in his eyes, and he cups his bloody face in his palms. “Please.”
I lower the shotgun. “Stop crying. I’m not going to shoot you.”
Shuffling footsteps draw my attention to the far end of the room. Corra limps down the walkway between the bunks, clutching her head. There’s no blood, no holes, so I guess she survived. She looks up at me. “Subject Nine. Is she—?”
I cut her off. “Peanut is fine. Is Bran dead?”
“See for yourself,” she says, squinting at me.
“Watch him,” I say to Corra, nodding at the man quietly crying on the concrete.
When I look back at Auntie, she stands and joins me as we walk to where Bran’s boot protrudes from behind a bunk. I keep the shotgun just in case.
What will Auntie do if she sees this man she once loved, regained, and then lost in the span of a few days? I think of how I would feel if this were Clay on the ground, and something inside stabs my gut like a shard of glass.
Clay? Where are you?
We walk over to Bran’s body. He looks awful. A four-foot blood halo rings his dead body. His open eyes stare.
I put an arm around Auntie.
She looks down for a long time. When she leans forward, I think she’ll wipe his cheeks clean or take one of his hands. Instead, she spits on his face.
“Auntie!”
“That’s what he gets for jilting me.” She turns, pulling me with her. “Let the dogs have him for all I care.”
Shuffling back down the aisle, I shake my head. “Heaven help the man who crosses you.”
“Heaven better help him,” she murmurs before coughing deeply.
“We need to get you out of here,” I say, letting her lean on my arm. “You look like half the dome fell on your head.”
“Damn near did. Luckily, that bastard Mike pulled me out of the ruble. Wasn’t lookin’ for me, but his men. Saved my damn life, I reckon.”
“And I shot him.” Chills creep down my spine. I didn’t know Mike. It was self-defense. Still, I stop short of the bunk where he and his men lie, letting the bed shield him from my view.
Corra finishes tying up Mike’s guard. “This one surrendered. He says there aren’t many more men still alive in the building. We can probably ferret them out with a sweep through the remaining corridors.”
I shake my head, sagging onto the bunk. “I’m done killing, Corra. I’ve got my aunt. We need rest, and then we need to get out of here. That is, unless your satellite link still works.”
She winces. “Probably not, I’m afraid. That bomb blew up our main power and the server with all our data. It would be a miracle.” She looks down at me, her face sad. “Sorry.”
I blow out a sad breath. “Figured as much. They could be anywhere by now.”
Beneath my shirt, Peanut is trembling like crazy. “It’s okay, Peanut,” I say, patting her. “The bad men are gone.”
Corra leans down, concern on her face. “Riley, how long has she been shaking like this?”
“I don’t know. A few minutes. Is she okay?”
Corra looks up at me, her face awash in panic. “She needs medicine. Bring her.”
I glance at Auntie. “Stay here.”
Auntie lowers herself down on a bunk, pulling the sawed-off shotgun into her lap. “Can do.”
“Riley, come on!” Corra yells.
Clutching Peanut, I run after Corra through the dormitory, out the door, and down a series of hallways. Corra finds one way blocked, circles around, and heads down another. Finally, we reach the door she wants, and she starts pounding in codes.
I try to soothe the baby, but she’s trembling like crazy. Her body is slick with sweat where it touches mine. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“Shit!” Corra says, slamming her fist into the nonresponsive keyboard. “The power’s out.” Digging in her pockets, she produces a ring of keys and starts fitting them into a panel beneath the keypad. When she finds the right key and turns it, I hear the lock inside disengage. Corra yanks it open. “Hurry,” she says in a panic. “Bring her in.”
We enter a small, dark room. The emergency lights in the hallway are the only illumination, making everything gray and shadowed. My eyes scan different shapes, trying to figure out what they are—a rectangle here, a square there. Corra barrels in. Doors squeak open and things clatter to the floor as she digs through items and tosses them behind her. “Where are the goddamned syringes?”
“What should I do?” I feel helpless. I pull my shirt up and have to catch Peanut as she nearly tumbles to the floor. Cradling her in my arms, I stare down at her tiny face, brushing the matted hair away. Her lips twitch and her eyes are closed. “Corra, is she going to be okay?” I hear the panic in my own voice.
Corra fiddles with something. I walk over, carrying Peanut. “What is that?”
“It’ll help.” She pulls the cap off a needle with her teeth. “Hold her steady.” Corra grabs one of Peanut’s thighs and plunges the syringe in.
Peanut comes awake in my arms, shrieking and clawing.
“What’re you doing?” I try to grab ahold of Peanut, but she clambers over my shoulders, down my back, and into a dark corner.
“Grab her!” Corra shouts.
I whirl around and search the room’s dark interior. Corra closes the door, making it even darker. Now, the only light comes in a tiny window high up on the door.
“Peanut,” I whisper. “It’s okay. Come on out.”
I feel hands on my legs and then a body scrambling up. She worms her way up until I’m holding her in my arms again. In the dim light, the shine of her eyes is the only thing visible.
“It’s okay. We did that to make you feel better.” I look at Corra. “Right?”
She comes toward me and inspects Peanut. “We’ll need to keep an eye on her. Insulin shock is nothing to mess around with.”
“What’s insulin shock?”
Leaning against a wall, Corra sighs. “These creatures aren’t perfect. The gene pool we had to work with was not very diverse, so some of them carried abnormalities passed from one generation to the next. This one was breastfed, so Peanut was probably getting her perfect diet from her mother. Without the milk, she’ll need regular food, but she will have trouble with breaking down the sugars. It’s like diabetes. And because her growth is advanced, so is the disease.” She shakes her head. “Peanut. Now you even have me calling her that. Dennis will flip.”
So much of Corra’s talk goes over my head. I run a hand down Peanut’s coarse hair. She looks up at me as if I can protect her. “Will that shot you gave her fix her?”
“There’s no cure, but it can be treated. Peanut can live a pretty healthy life as long as she’s here with me. We have enough insulin to last for a while, and we have a contact that can get us more. Thank god those Free Colonies lunatics didn’t get a hold of her.”
Rocking Peanut, I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat. No matter how much I was denying it, part of me thought I might take her with me. Now I know that isn’t possible. For her to live, she needs to stay here.
And I have to leave.
“Here. Maybe you should take her.” I try to hand Peanut over, but the minute Peanut
realizes what I’m doing, she scrambles back into my arms and clings to my body. It takes Corra and me both to pry her off.
By then, Peanut is making “mo, mo, mo” noises and reaching for me.
I turn away, the shard in my throat sharp enough to cut me wide open. “I’d… better go check on Auntie.”
Corra nods, carrying the shrieking Peanut to a small cage in the back of the room. When she forces her in and shuts the door with a clang, it’s all I can do not to run back and claw the door open.
As I walk out, she calls, “Mo, mo, mo!” Her cries shred my heart into pieces. But I don’t look back. I can’t. She isn’t mine. I can’t help her.
I run back to the dormitory, wiping away tears.
As I bang in the door, Auntie lurches up and levels the shotgun at me. “One false move… Oh. It’s you.” She drops the gun. “Next time, give an old lady some warning.”
I take her hand. “Let’s go. We should leave. There’s nothing for us here.”
She peers at me skeptically. Somehow, with one eye, she sees more than most people do with two. “What’s going on?”
I gesture around the room. “This place is a graveyard. Not to mention that Bran’s Free Colony minions might notice he’s gone. Or Nessa might have seen the explosion and be sending her troops in right now.” I put my hands on the upper bunk’s metal frame and lean into it. I’m so tired, but we have to keep going.
“We should just leave,” I say, with my forehead pressed to the top mattress. “Go find Doc. He’s not back yet, is he?”
She shakes her head. “You’re exhausted. I’m exhausted. Doc will find us here. And we wouldn’t get ten miles down the road before crashing. We need to sleep.” She stares hard into my face. “Why leave now?”
I pull my hand away from her, fighting tears. “Look. Not everything has some deep reason, okay? I just want to go. I need to go.”
I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll go get Peanut and things will go badly for all of us. Peanut isn’t mine. And maybe all of this has been a sign that I can be a mother when the time comes. I think of the child I suspect is growing inside me. Clay’s child. Maybe that’s all I’ll have of him. His baby. Our baby can give me a reason to live again.
But first, I have to get away from this goddamned compound.
I help Auntie shuffle to the door. “Can you ask Corra if we can take one of her solar cars?”
She grumbles something, but slides through the door and limps down the hall. When it closes behind her, I sag onto one of the bunks and put my head in my hands.
When the door on the far side of the room yanks open a minute later, I start talking before I look up. “Corra’s down the hall. Head right and—”
It isn’t Auntie in the door. A man’s figure stands in the shadowed entryway. My eyes flick to the shotgun on the bunk about ten feet away and then up to the man in the doorway. In the dim light, I size him up—covered in grime and ash, tall, broad shoulders, young, and dangerous.
Shit. I ready myself for the figure striding in.
He steps into the light, and my heart drops into my shoes. I can’t speak. I can’t move. I just stare, my heart slamming in my chest, my throat dry. It can’t be. It has to be a dream. “Oh my god…”
“Riley,” he says.
The spell breaks. With tears running down my face, I sprint down the aisle and fling myself into Clay’s arms.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Clay
Oh God. I remember her.
She turns around and my eyes lock on her face.
Those lips. Those eyes. The curve of her neck as it smoothes out into her creamy white shoulder. I look at her hands with long, slender fingers. I know those fingers. Her hair is short, not like I remember it, but those eyes.
“Oh my god…”
She studies my face as if she isn’t sure. Her mouth drops open. I wonder if I’m mistaken. If I’ve made all this up. Made her up. Even now.
“Riley,” I say, testing the word on my lips.
She dashes across the room, arms wide, and slams her body into mine. Hipbones wedge against my legs, arms wrap around my neck.
I’m too stunned to do much else than touch her. Let my hands run along her shoulders and grip her back. Feel the solidness of her. I need to know that this is real, that she is real.
“Riley?” I whisper. “You’re Riley.”
She pulls back so she can look at me. Her eyes glisten, but the smile on her face is all I need. “I’m Riley,” she breathes. “Clay. Oh God. You’re here. You’re alive.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
Placing her hands on either side of my face, she draws my mouth down to hers.
The kiss is a riptide, pullin’ me out into deep water. The softness of her lips, the wetness of her mouth drowns me. When she opens her mouth and pulls me closer, I taste her. I groan and wrap my hand around the back of her neck. I kiss her chin, her throat, her collarbone. Mouth and tongue. Lips and hands. There’s never been such longin’. Such want. She’s here. She’s real.
“Clay,” she asks, still grippin’ the sides of my face, “where’s Ethan?”
I smile. “He’s okay. He’s just outside.”
Relief floods her face. “You took care of him. I knew you would. I can’t believe I’ve found you.”
I pull her to me, nestle my face into her neck, and smell her scent. “I won’t let anything separate us again.”
I expect her to agree, to pull me in, but instead, she goes rigid in my arms.
“Riley,” I say, nuzzlin’ my nose under her earlobe. “It’s so good to have you back.”
“Clay.” Her voice is strained. Like she’s hurt.
I pull back, a dread comin’ over me.
She looks down at her abdomen. When I see the blood, I still can’t believe my eyes. A blade tip has appeared through the skin of her stomach.
“What—?” I don’t understand. I whip my head up.
From the far corner, an old woman lets out a scream. “What have you done?”
Holding Riley, I look behind her. Hank stands at her back with his hand on a knife buried to the hilt in her flesh.
He was the sound I heard in the entryway. The presence I felt, but didn’t check out. He followed me here.
And he found the one thing I care about most in the world.
She falls on me, boneless. I catch her, easing her to the ground.
Jesus, no. How can this be happening?
The old woman comes in the far door and screams. “Oh, God. Riley!”
My eyes travel up to the figure slowly backin’ toward the door on this side, blood on his hands.
“Hank!” I start toward him, but Riley is in my arms.
The coward bolts out the door.
I’m gonna kill him.
I lay Riley on her side, careful with the knife. Oh Christ. The old woman grabs blankets, using one to cover Riley. “What can I do?” I ask, feelin’ helpless.
The old woman with the eye patch looks up at me. “You can kill the son of a bitch who did this.”
“I can’t leave her.”
“I have her.” She grips my arm harder than I’d have thought possible. “Make sure that bastard doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
My heart poundin’, I stand up. Red splashes across my vision until all I can hear is the awful thud of my heart. All I can see is Hank.
Hank.
His impish face was plastered with glee when he stabbed her. He followed me, thinkin’ he’d take me on, but saw his chance and went after Riley instead. Coward.
I run, slammin’ into the door. It thwacks open, hittin’ the back wall with a thud. In the dead silence of the compound, I hear him runnin’ and am on him in under a minute. He looks over his shoulder, sees me, and picks up the pace.
He looks like a devil in this red light.
And devils belong in hell.
I sprint, my gun in my hand. But shootin’ him in the back would be too quick. The bastard deserves somethin’
slow. I run until I’m right behind, raise the gun, and smash it down on his skull.
He goes flyin’ headfirst to the floor and rolls before comin’ to a stop with his legs splayed up against the hallway wall. Blood gushes from the top of his head, wettin’ his already-dark hair. I stand over him and aim at his ugly face.
“No, Clay. No!” he squeals, blinkin’ blood out of his eyes. He holds his hands up, squirmin’.
“Beg for your life,” I say, thumbin’ down the safety.
“Please, please. Don’t kill me. Mike is all I have. You were gonna take him. But you can have the job. I’ll leave. We’ll find Mike. He’ll reward you. He’s here somewhere—”
“Mike’s dead.”
He squeals like a piglet bein’ torn from his mother. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Okay, okay. I have money. Back at home. If you let me go, I’ll take you there.”
“You think I care about money?” I say.
“She’s probably not dead yet. You should go back and help her.”
I grit my teeth. “Not dead yet, you son of a bitch! Yet!”
“She’s not dead! Not dead!” He pinches his ugly face and covers his head.
“What do you care about, Hank?” I ask through my teeth. “Tell me so I can take it from you.”
Hank squints at me as blood runs from the cut into his eye. “I… I… cared about Mike. He’s dead, so we’re even, right?”
“You care only about yourself,” I say coldly, and then I pull the trigger.
The shot is clean, right to the heart. Hank lurches once and is gone before the blood begins to seep through his shirt. Too clean of an endin’ for such a vile thing. But I ain’t got time.
With the gun still smokin’, I turn and run back for Riley.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Clay
I sprint like mad and get back to the dorm in seconds. I plow through the door and run to where she lies on the floor with the old woman hovering over her. Riley’s eyes are closed. Her face is pale.
I kneel down and inspect the wound, then the woman who’s applyin’ pressure to it. “How is she?”
