Clover

by Lisa Jade

  “Nate! What happened?”

  He glances back, momentarily confused; he didn’t realise I was here, too.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. But the others…”

  He bangs on the doorframe.

  “Hey! Is anyone in there?”

  A moment’s silence makes us both hold our breath.

  “We’re here,” comes the muffled reply, “Noah, Nate? Are you okay?”

  “Yes!” I shout, stepping up to the rubble wall, “is anyone hurt?”

  There’s a scuffling sound, followed by a pained yelp.

  “Guys?”

  “I-it’s fine,” Jensen barks, though it’s clear it’s not. I recognise his yelp from that night in the city. He’s hurt. How badly, I don’t know. But I can feel my fear flickering into panic.

  “Everything’s fine,” Jay shouts, “you two will have to use the service duct to reach us. Meet us at Jensen’s. You know the way?”

  I swallow hard. I know the tunnel. It doesn’t connect directly, instead going under Jensen’s room and up the other side. Even here it’s used as a service duct; dark and cold and frightening. Not to mention, across the other side of the Atrium. My skin crawls.

  “Is there any other way?”

  “No! Hurry, before they see you!”

  He’s right. Whoever set off the explosion is still here somewhere – and for all we know, they could be aiming a gun at us right now. I grit my teeth and motion for Nate to follow.

  The heart of the Atrium is a disaster. Guards litter the place, many struggling with members of the Clover. I’m surprised and pleased to see them fighting back so well – I’d worried that they might roll over and surrender when faced with the consequences of their crimes.

  I form a mental map of where we need to go. Down the steps, across the gardens. A short sprint, but if we stumble across a number of Guards, we may find ourselves in trouble. I step forward and promptly slip on something wet. When I look down, I spy a long, thin string of blood across the tiled floor. Like someone was wounded and running. Suddenly, I feel a little sick.

  “Come on,” says Nate, and his hand locks around my arm. He doesn’t seem quite as frightened as I am. Instead, his expression is hard. He knows what to do – and suddenly, I feel he’ll do anything to get us there.

  But then we reach the top of the steps, and are met by several heavy-set Guards. They round on us with malice in their eyes and batons clutched in their hands – and even as I punch the first one aside, I worry that there are simply too many. One Guard armed with a shock baton is dangerous enough. This many, even in an open area, are too many to handle.

  Nate’s wrestling with holding off two Guards at once. How he’s doing that, I’ll never know. But as I round on the next one alone, that familiar sensation is back. Adrenaline. It pumps through my veins and makes everything seem fast and slow at the same time.

  The Guard looks me up and down, a sneer playing on her lips. She’s never seen anyone quite like me before – but that’s not about to stop her. She swings wildly towards me and I jump aside, trying to sweep her legs out from under her. But I’m not as graceful as Jay and the motion is sloppy at best. She leaps away and I’m forced to throw my weight at her.

  For a brief moment, I’m certain we’ve both fallen. The steps are right there, after all. But when I open my eyes, it’s just me still standing at the top. The Guard is sprawled across the bottom of the steps, groaning. Satisfaction briefly fills me.

  Nate is finally free, too, though he’s only been able to push the two Guards aside. He cries for me to head down the steps, presumably to help clear that area while he keeps watch.

  My feet hit the bottom of the steps and I’m face to face with a Guard who looks, frankly, like he couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag. A long, narrow face seems to taunt me. I take a step forward with the intent of pushing him aside – but then he catches my wrist and throws me back towards an open doorway. Something beeps just behind me, and I catch sight of a sly grin before that door explodes, too.

  Immediately, I consider myself lucky to be alive. Even though I’m surrounded by rubble and pinned by a particularly large chunk of rebar, at least nothing hurts. Except my chest, where the rebar is pushing down and making it hard to breathe. I briefly wonder what that ringing sound is, then realise it’s just my head reeling from the shock.

  I turn my head as best I can. Nate is standing across the Atrium, his face a picture of horror. His normally-jovial attitude vanishes altogether as he races towards me, my name echoing from his mouth.

  He throws a punch at the skinny Guard, sending him cowering to the ground. Not so much of a tough guy when he has to do the fighting himself.

  “Noah, you okay?”

  There’s untold pain in his eyes, but I can’t tell why. He seemed so fearless just a moment ago.

  “I’m alright. I can’t… move this thing, though.”

  I push on the rebar as best I can. It doesn’t budge. He grits his teeth, conflict in his eyes. Is he thinking of leaving me here? But then he shakes his head sharply, takes a deep breath, and grips the rebar with both hands.

  “You’ll have to help me,” he says, “push from below.”

  It takes a minute or so to push the rebar off, and as soon as it moves, I can breathe easily again. Amazingly, I’m unharmed. The only pain is a mild ache in my chest. Nate drags me upright and pushes on, nudging me ahead as we run. As we head into the garden, it’s surprisingly empty. Perhaps they don’t know this place is here. But that deafening chaos is still there, still raging in our ears. Still, I can see the entrance.

  “We’re almost there!”

  I glance back, hoping to exchange a joyful glance with Nate – but he’s not there. No, he’s a little further back, lying in a heap on the grass of the Clover’s memorial garden. Even from here, I can tell his breathing is laboured. He clutches at his torso; and as I near, I see why.

  There’s a clean bullet wound through Nate’s stomach. Blood streams from it and mixes into the grass, more blood than I’ve ever seen come out of one person. It sends panic flashing through me.

  “Nate!”

  As I collapse next to him he falls into my shoulder, agony contorting his features into something unrecognisable. When did he get shot? I didn’t see any guns. Was it when I was pinned? Did the ringing disguise the sound?

  The wound must be agony, and yet he fights to keep his face straight as I stare down at him.

  “It’s okay,” he lies, “really, it’s… it’s fine.”

  “It is not.”

  I feel like I should say something more; to comfort him, to ease his pain. But instead, I’m just frightened. I don’t know how badly he’s hurt or how to begin treating it. This isn’t a bullet graze like the one in my side. This is a direct hit deep into his core. Grief mingles with the panic as I realise he might die.

  The thought is too painful to stand.

  “Come on. We need to get to the others. Put your arm around me.”

  I try to lift him, to toss him over one shoulder like I did with Jensen when he was hurt. But Nate’s far too big and his injuries are far too deep. When I move him, he just cries out in pain.

  “Please, Nate. Just try. The others, they’re waiting for us.”

  I’m pleading now, clutching his hand tightly in mine. I always forget how large his hands are; but right now he seems so small, curled up against me. His eyes plead with me, but he doesn’t seem afraid. Just pained. My stomach churns.

  I can’t carry him. What do I do now? Tears fill my eyes as I consider the logical option. Leaving him here. He’s probably going to die. Moving that rebar would have been difficult enough even without such injuries – and now, it’s that much worse. If I’m being purely logical, I should run ahead. Leave him here and hope he bleeds out before the Guards find him. But of course, I can’t. Forget for a moment that the others would hate me for it. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I left now.

  “M-maybe I can fi
nd something to carry you on. A pallet, or something. There’s bound to be something… hold on while I look, okay?”

  But then I look down, and my blood runs cold. Nate’s eyes have slipped shut. His hand feels cooler under my touch, too. The pain has faded from his face; he looks terrifyingly calm.

  No. No!

  I grab his shoulders and suddenly I’m screaming, but my cries are lost in the discord filling the Atrium. I feel sick and terrified and angry, and Nate is dead and even though I shake him he’s not moving and the screaming means nothing because nobody’s coming to help.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I step into the service duct with a heavy heart.

  Here, the endless chaos of the Atrium falls away. Now it’s replaced by unnerving silence that’s punctuated only by the occasional thud overhead. I stretch out a hand in front of myself, but see nothing. It’s too dark. I wish I had Atlas to light the way – but I sent it ahead with the others.

  You’d think that, after everything, I’d be happy to be away from the Guards. That I’d steal this moment to myself in an effort to remain calm. I’d have thought so too; but instead, my blood runs cold. Because Nate is still outside, motionless in the grass. Because I couldn’t save him – but I’m still dimly aware that I need to save myself. Even if I no longer feel I deserve it.

  I turn a corner and freeze.

  Wirrow stands in the service duct, his eyes searching in the shadows. There’s something purposeful about his movements, and though he’s barely lit by the torch on his belt, I can see fury in his eyes. Nasty scratches cover his face and arms. When he sneers, several teeth are missing.

  Why is he here? I’d known he would try to come after us – he would chase us to the ends of the Earth if he could. It makes sense he’d come to Thorne. But why here? Why in this tunnel, right where I am? Why so close that I can smell his putrid body odour?

  His eyes snap towards me, and those thin lips twist into a sickening grin.

  “I thought I’d find you here, Girlie.”

  I curl my hands into fists, then loosen them. Don’t turn to violence. Not yet. Grief builds in my chest, but I swallow it back. Time for a little bravado.

  “I’m surprised you tracked me down,” I say lightly, “though I must ask you to stop calling me Girlie.”

  “You’re right. Noah, isn’t it? I remember that boy saying your name. Before his punishment.”

  He’s doing his utmost to remind me of his actions, of what he can do – what he will do – to cement his legacy within the Guard.

  “How did you find me?”

  He walks forward, every step slow and menacing. I do my best to look indifferent as he nears.

  “Followed the kid’s tracker.”

  “I know that. I mean, how did you find me here?”

  “I figured you’d come to the darkest, dirtiest hole there was. Something about Mill workers always sends them to the best hiding spot.”

  That explains it. I suppose I should be happy; he didn’t track me down. He just took a guess that happened to pay off. Lucky bastard.

  I back up as he reaches me, swallowing hard. After our last encounter, I’d been sure he wouldn’t frighten me. When I consider all the chaos I’ve seen in the last few months, all the fear I’ve felt even in the last few minutes, this one man shouldn’t unnerve me. But he does.

  It’s not the ferocity in his eyes that does it. I’ve seen that before; all the Guards regard me with a similar sense of disgust and hatred. I don’t care about that. If this were anyone else, I’d be fighting him already. If it were anyone else, I’d have put an end to this back at the Mill.

  But it’s not just any faceless Guard. It’s Wirrow.

  He’s always been there, a constant presence for as long back as I can remember. For many years I’d felt nothing but respect and admiration for him – and even now I know he’s the enemy, my instinct is to lower my head and obey.

  So it takes all my strength to raise my head and look him in the eye. My back promptly hits the wall.

  “I’m not coming back with you.”

  He lets out a laugh, but there’s no real humour in it. It’s mirthless and hateful and full of contempt. When he smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “I’m not here to bring you back.”

  He reaches behind himself now, pulling out a long, thin device that I instantly recognise as one of the city Guard’s shock batons. It’s sleeker and glossier than the clunky ones he must be used to, but there’s delight in his eyes as he turns it over in his hands.

  “Once the Guard found out what this place was, they declared a state of emergency. Their weapons network was increased to max. Every single baton in Thorne is set to a lethal level. That means that with just one touch of this…”

  He flicks a button and the body of the baton crackles. Several jolts of electricity jump from its surface, lighting up the darkness between us. My heart races.

  “It’s over.”

  For a moment, I can’t breathe. Terror threatens to overwhelm me; I try to take a step back, but the wall’s still there, blocking my path. Wirrow meets my eyes, beady black meeting dusty blue – rage and hatred meeting fear. I bite my lip, and a moment later something warm streams down my chin.

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  The day Kane attacked him, I remember measuring Wirrow up. I remember thinking I could probably pin him, or at least throw him down for long enough to run. But that was before. Before this rivalry, before the horrors between us. Brute force won’t work. I give him the once-over, looking for weaknesses. Just like Jay told me. A trick knee, a weak ankle. Anything that might grant me even a split-second advantage. Nothing. He’s just a wall of muscle and fury, and I don’t know if I can win.

  Still, I curl my hand into a fist and take aim at his jaw. I have to try. If he kills me here, at least I’ll have given it my all. Nobody can criticise me for that.

  He clicks his tongue just as I pull my arm back.

  “Don’t get cocky.”

  I try to land the blow, but he’s fast. Much faster than me. He snatches at my arm and pulls it, sending a jolt of pain down my shoulder. I yelp, but it doesn’t stop him; he whips around and throws me hard against the metal wall. Pain explodes across my face and the world turns black.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “Noah!”

  Dimly, I become aware of someone shouting. The voice is strangely familiar, but I can’t place it.

  As feeling returns to my body, I realise I’m on the floor. There’s a lock of hair covering my eyes. I take a long, slow breath, inhaling the scent of blood.

  “Noah, wake up!”

  A hand finds my shoulder, shakes me; and my body finally starts to wake up. Pain blossoms across my head again, pulsing in my brain. I groan, The voice comes again.

  “Come on… please.”

  It takes an immense amount of strength to force my eyes open. The speaker is kneeling next to me, their face overcome with worry. That’s why I recognise the voice. Of course.

  Jay’s eyes are filled with panic. Figures move behind him, standing, watching. Everyone sounds a little breathless. I wonder what happened.

  Hands find me, help me to sit up, but the world still spins.

  “Are you okay?” my brother asks, and his voice is warm and familiar and wonderful. I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder. It feels safe here. The spinning slows.

  “W-what happened?” I eventually manage.

  “We heard a crash,” comes the reply, “it had been too long so we knew something had happened. When we got here, we saw you… and him…”

  He grits his teeth at that last part, hatred seeping through. I let out a long breath. I suppose he’s angry. Seeing me unconscious and Wirrow looming nearby must have been a shock – especially as he’d been so sure the service tunnel would be clear. For a brief moment, I’m certain he’s going to be mad. But then arms loop around me, pulling me into a protective embrace.

  “Let’s ge
t you into Jensen’s room. We need to clean you up.”

  We stand, him still supporting my weight – but as we turn towards the end of the tunnel, I stop. Kane stands with his back to us. His hand clutches a stolen shock baton, and his shoulders are hunched with barely-held rage. But what draws my eye more is the darkened heap in front of him. It’s disgustingly familiar; a pale, bloody hand catches the light. I step forward and place a shaky hand on Kane’s back.

  “D-did you…”

  “I’m sorry.”

  For once, there’s no edge in his voice, no sarcasm, no attitude. He gazes at Wirrow’s prone form with sadness in his eyes.

  “Back at the Mill, you didn’t do it. I know you think it’s wrong.”

  I wait for the world to stop spinning to reply.

  “He didn’t leave much choice. I get it. I’ve done the same thing. I just…”

  He turns to me, and in his eyes I see my own regret mirrored back at me. All the feelings I’ve bottled up since the incident with the helicopters come rushing to the surface. Remembering what I did. Wishing I hadn’t had to do it. Knowing I had no choice. Kane stares.

  “Just what?”

  “I just… I thought you hated me.”

  He blinks.

  “I never said that.”

  “But after what happened…”

  “Being mad at you is one thing,” he mutters, “letting that bastard kill you is another. You really think I’d sink so low?”

  My hand tightens on his back.

  “Of course not.”

  Pan, Jensen and the others are already in his room when we step inside; Pan gasps when she sees me, waving for me to sit down. I briefly wonder why; the initial dizziness is now fading, and though I’m still unsteady on my feet, I’m not too badly hurt. I’m more concerned about Jensen, who’s sitting in a heap on the corner of the bed, clutching a bloody leg. He looks nothing short of traumatised.

  But then Pan presses a towel to my cheek, and it comes away red.