Cheating Death

by April White

  We also had no idea how this was going to work. Based on both Tom’s and my experiences trying to Clock to a place we already were, the theory was that if I directed us to the moment Ringo had tackled Tom and sent him through the spiral, and Tom held that same moment in his mind, he would be spit out, for lack of a more technical term, at the moment he disappeared. The part none of us could guess at was what would happen to me and Ringo.

  As I saw it, there were a couple of possibilities. One was that we would hit the platform the moment after we left it. That would be fine if Tom managed to disarm George before he shot the V-1 rocket and armed it to explode. If the bomb went off again just like it had the first time, we’d Clock into an explosion. Which would suck.

  Another possibility was that we’d get shot out on the wrong time stream after we left 1944 to go forward. And the third possibility, always a favorite, was that we’d just get lost between times, never to emerge again.

  What we mostly realized as we talked through all the possible scenarios was that this job was dangerous for all of us, and in the absence of hazard pay, or fame and fortune and everything that goes with it, we’d have to acknowledge to each other that this sucked, but no matter what happened, we would know what being heroic felt like.

  I had already traced three of the five spirals on the bridge support, and both guys had a hand gripped on my belt – one on either side – when I turned quickly and kissed each one on the cheek. “Love you guys.” I really meant it. Even for Tom.

  Ringo recovered first. “We’ll get through this,” he said with determination.

  “Thank you,” Tom finally said, quietly.

  And then we Clocked.

  Archer – Present Day

  Tam and I had been surviving on the one meal a day they left for him. The Mongers still thought I was a Vampire and seemed to hope that I would start feasting on my cell mate when I got hungry enough. The truth was that the idea of ever tasting blood again was enough to make me a vegetarian.

  But we were weak. The lack of food was a big part of it, but I was also still healing from a gunshot wound that fortunately didn’t seem to have festered, and neither of us had moved more than our twenty by twenty cell would allow. At least our captors understood that a dehydrated human would make a poor source of blood for a Vampire and had regularly refilled a bucket with water in one corner. There was a drain in the opposite corner, and we had figured out the cell must have housed animals at one time. That explained the vague smells that still lingered in the air, and the clump of moldy straw we’d found. The drain was useful for our waste, though it did little to cover the rank odor that we lived in.

  We had lost all sense of day or night, and Tam had taken to checking the time and date whenever he connected with Ava. She kept a calendar on her phone and would show him that, as well as whatever notes she had taken about things that were happening. For people who communicated only via images, it was surprisingly effective.

  That was how I knew it was a Tuesday morning the next time they opened the cell. Tam and I had discussed all the various options for getting out, from surprising our captors with an attack, to playing daytime-dead. Ultimately, because I was still fairly weak, I thought a variation on the second option might yield the most interesting information. Walters’ presumption that I was still a Vampire was the key to such a feeble plan, and I sincerely hoped that his arrogance made him as resistant to new thought as I needed him to be.

  Three Monger bodyguards entered the cell with guns and torches drawn. I immediately played dead, and Tam knew not to resist them in any way.

  “What are you doing?” Tam asked. I could hear the fear in his voice wasn’t entirely feigned.

  “Taking the Sucker for a little stroll. What do you care?” one of the Mongers said.

  “Good. Keep him, why don’t you? He gives me the creeps.” I was proud of Tam for that.

  A comically evil chuckle from a gruff-voiced Monger, “What? You don’t fancy being the main course? Yeah, we’ll see what we can do about that.”

  Two of the men grabbed my arms, while the third one presumably kept his gun trained on Tam. It was amazingly difficult to make my body go completely limp when I would have cheerfully fought with and beaten the men holding me if I had still had my Vampire health. They half-carried, half-dragged me from the cell as though I were a drunk they’d found passed out in the street. There was a feeling of powerlessness in my mortality that I hadn’t expected, and I wondered if all men felt this or if I was particularly susceptible due to my change in status. It bore consideration at a time when I wasn’t being unceremoniously bumped and jostled to an unknown destination.

  “They really do go out cold, don’t they?” This Monger sounded younger than the others. He gripped me under my right shoulder, and it was just tentative enough that I sensed his fear of me.

  The Monger at my left shoulder was the gruff one who had threatened Tam. His grip was much harder than it needed to be, and he suddenly pinched the tender skin under my bicep. It was everything I could do not to hurl a punch.

  “You could probably cut his throat and he wouldn’t react,” the gruff one said. I could hear the cruelty in his tone, and I thought the younger one could too, because he shivered.

  “You wouldn’t want to get his blood on you though. That’s what the boss said. If there was blood we had to stay away because it’s so contagious.”

  “You ever think about why the boss is keeping him?” the gruff one asked.

  “We’re not paid to think,” the one who wasn’t part of the carry team said. He was behind the other two, which meant he could see my face, though the beam of his torch wasn’t trained on me.

  “Seriously, though. Why keep a highly contagious Sucker unless you want his blood for something?” The gruff one was spinning conspiracy theories, but it was something I’d considered as well.

  “You think he wants to weaponize it?” the young one asked.

  “No. That would be stupid. Why turn people into something you can’t kill? Nah, I think it might be the opposite – make an army of soldiers who can’t die.” For all his nastiness, the gruff one wasn’t a complete idiot.

  “Shut up, both of you,” said the one at the rear.

  “But what if the soldiers didn’t want to be Suckers? Or what if they turned on him after they were infected? No one can control Vamps – they’re too strong.” The young one’s fear made him tremble.

  “Or what if …” the gruff one spoke in low tones meant only for the young one, “he wants the blood so he can be immortal. I was there when that kid jumped him after the bombing down at Holborn. I heard what he said to him right before. He said he never expected a bastard bloodsucker to become so useful to him. ‘Course after that he told us to shoot the kid, because he was a terrorist after all …” The gruff voice faded, as if he wasn’t quite sure about the terrorist part of his own statement.

  My mind raced furiously. Walters had said Tom was part of his plan, but he was now keeping me on ice, so to speak, in an underground cell. Could he be planning to infect himself? That seemed ridiculous considering the limitations of daylight and sustenance a Vampire necessarily had, but until I understood Walters’ plan, I had to consider even the most ludicrous options.

  We turned a corner and a door slammed open. “What the hell?” Seth Walters’ voice sent a surge of anger through me, and I had to force every muscle in my body to remain utterly limp.

  “Sorry, sir. You said to bring him right away.”

  His sigh of frustration made me absurdly happy. “Fine. Put it on the table and strap it down.”

  It? Charming.

  “Who is that?” a feminine voice asked. I’d heard the voice before.

  The men heaved me onto a metal table. I did not want to be strapped down, but in my current physical condition, I doubted I could prevail against three armed Mongers. The powerless feeling was magnified as the men strapped both wrists and ankles with zip ties.

  “Nothing that con
cerns you, niece.”

  Walters’ niece, Raven. I could sense her eyes on me, and her hesitation. She couldn’t know who I was, as she’d never seen me in person, but perhaps she’d heard of me.

  The gruff Monger finished with the last zip tie and then flicked my nose like a schoolyard bully as he walked away. Raven gasped, and that surprised me more than the flick did. Sympathy from a Monger? That was new.

  The door closed, but the silence remained. Walters finally broke it with impatience. “Finish what you wanted to say. He can’t hear you.”

  She hesitated a moment longer, then finally took a breath. “I’m not going back to that school.”

  “It wasn’t a request, Raven.” Walters sounded angry. There was a knock at the door, and his voice was aggressive and frustrated. “Come!”

  The door opened, and Walters’ tone became businesslike. “You brought everything you need?”

  “Yes, sir,” a man’s voice said.

  “Good. I need two liters. See that you don’t contaminate it.”

  “Sir, one unit – half a liter – is the usual donation. He probably only has five or six liters in him.”

  “I said two liters.” Walters didn’t wait for confirmation. “Jaeger, stay in here with the doctor. I’m going to walk my niece out.”

  I heard Jaeger enter, but Raven wasn’t finished. “You can’t make me go back, Seth.”

  “Can’t I?” he sneered. “I know about your mongrel boyfriend. I could have taken him twice, but I was hoping you’d come to your senses before I had to.” He paused to let that sink in, and I thought I heard a tiny intake of breath from Raven. He continued with even more menace. “If you go back there with him, they’ll let you in to save his life. And be very clear, Raven. If you get into that school and do exactly as I tell you, you will be saving his life.”

  He must have taken her arm, because they moved toward the door. She was so angry her voice choked back tears. “Mother won’t let you do this!” she snarled at him.

  Walters’ voice was saccharine. “My sister-in-law brought this on herself when she left St. Brigid’s, and in fact, she’ll do exactly as I say. You all will.” His voice cut off when he kicked the door shut behind him, but not before I heard him mutter, “One way or another.”

  A band tightened around my upper arm, and I felt the doctor tap inside my elbow. “Two pints is too much,” the doctor said to Jaeger.

  “Do what the boss said,” he answered in a bored voice.

  The needle went in, and I wondered idly if Walters would actually test my blood before he used it.

  Saira – Ghost Station, 1944

  I knew the moment Tom left my side. I couldn’t feel it, because between robbed me of all physical sensation beyond cold, but there was a moment when he was just gone.

  And then we landed.

  Underground, on the platform, with the smell of metal and dust and blood filling the air.

  I was on my knees, and I was afraid to open my eyes. And then opening them was worse than anything I could have imagined.

  Tom lay on his back in front of me. His eyes were so very afraid as he stared up at the ceiling.

  “Tom!” I cried out. His chest was covered in blood. There was so much of it that I couldn’t tell where he’d been shot. A bloody bubble burst at his lips as his eyes found mine and he tried to speak.

  “Oh God, Tom,” I sobbed. I tried to gather him to myself, but Ringo knelt down next to me and shouted my name.

  “Saira!” I guessed he’d been doing that a couple of times already, because his tone was frantic. I looked up into his face and focused on his eyes.

  “Take him to Shaw!”

  Mr. Shaw. Mr. Shaw was a doctor and he could do something. I reached back for the wall and blindly traced the spiral we’d come through, while the other hand clutched Tom’s arm through the bloody remains of his shirt. As the spiral pulled me through it, I looked up.

  Archer was on the platform. He knelt on George Walters’ chest while Ringo stood over them with a gun trained at Walters’ head. His eyes found mine.

  “I’ll come back,” I whispered, or maybe screamed, before everything was gone.

  Saira – Present Day

  Mr. Shaw. Go to Mr. Shaw. I didn’t have a location in my head when I Clocked with Tom, I had a man. And when I landed in a room with no portal, that man stood at a microscope in front of me.

  “Mr. Shaw.” I didn’t know if it was my words or my sudden appearance that made him jump, but he was beside us in an instant.

  “Good God! Is that Tom?”

  “He’s been shot.” My voice was strangled through sobs and gasps. Tom was unresponsive, and Mr. Shaw had to peel my grip off him.

  I suddenly saw in my mind exactly how it had happened. The memory of Tom throwing himself in front of the hailstorm of bullets from George Walters’ gun flooded my brain.

  “I can see that,” Shaw growled. “He’s still infected?”

  “Yes, but he wants the cure.” I tried to lift Tom up onto the table, but couldn’t do it by myself. Shaw was putting on latex gloves, and I registered that I’d brought Tom to Mr. Shaw’s laboratory at school.

  “Wash your hands, Saira,” he said sharply to me, pointing to the sink in the corner. His tone of voice broke through my single-minded focus on Tom, and I obeyed. By the time my hands were clean, Mr. Shaw had lifted Tom up to his work table and torn through Tom’s shirt. Tom’s chest was a ruin of stab and gunshot wounds, and everything seemed to bleed at once.

  I swallowed a sob and looked at Mr. Shaw. “What can I do?”

  “Up on the high shelf there are vials. Blue plungers on the syringes. Bring me one.” He was all business until he roared, “CONNOR!”

  I jumped at the fierce command in his voice and found the vials he meant. I pulled one out of the rack and brought it to Shaw.

  “Glove up, buttercup. You’re not immune.” His voice made him sound half-Bear, and I reacted instantly to his direction.

  Connor came racing into the room, out of breath and concerned. His eyes went wide at the sight of me. “Saira?” There was so much wonder, awe, and concern wrapped up in his voice that I would have hugged him if I wasn’t so afraid for Tom. Then Connor saw him on the table and practically pushed me out of the way in his hurry to get gloves on. “He’s still infected?” Connor asked me, breathless.

  “Yes, he’s still infected!” Mr. Shaw roared. “Bring that vial here and do it!”

  Connor plucked the vial out of my hands and took it to Tom. Mr. Shaw had a pair of bullet forceps in hand and was digging into one of the holes in Tom’s chest. I knew they were bullet forceps because he yelled at Connor to get the other pair from his kit.

  Connor called to me, too intent on injecting the contents of the vial into Tom’s arm. “Saira, the kit is in the cabinet. It’s like a tool box, only cleaner.”

  He finished plunging the substance into Tom’s vein and then dropped the used needle into a biohazard bin. Suddenly, Tom began to convulse on the table.

  “Damn it! Connor, get over here and hold him down!” Shaw growled.

  “He’s bleeding out. It’s too much,” said Connor.

  “It’s the damn cure. I don’t know how Devereux survived it, injured as he was.”

  Wait, what?

  “Archer? Archer’s here???” I screeched.

  “No, he’s not here. Damn it, Connor, hold him!” Shaw pulled a mangled bit of lead from the hole in Tom’s chest and dropped it into a metal tin. The plunking noise was somehow louder than anything else in the room.

  “Where is he?” I was close to panic, and whatever hold I had left on sanity or control felt wafer-thin. The tremors in my body felt like a greyhound dog waiting for the gate to lift so it could run. I needed to run – to Archer – more than I’d ever needed anything in my life.

  “Walters has him. Get my suture kit! There, in the box.” Shaw was focused on the freely bleeding wound in Tom’s chest, and he was all business, with no room for anything b
ut saving Tom’s life. The convulsions were slowing down, but the blood seemed to be pouring from Tom’s body.

  Seth Walters had my husband. My hands fisted and I took a breath to fight down the Cat who wanted to claw her way out of my skin.

  “He’s going to die from blood loss if we don’t get him some now!” Shaw snarled.

  “Take mine,” I said, ripping off my jacket. It was something to distract me from every instinct I had to race out of there. I needed to think, and to have a better plan than just the blind need to find him.

  “You’ll kill Tom. No Descendant can survive blood from another Family,” Shaw said as he swabbed the hole with gauze.

  “We don’t have any ungifteds here at school. Would a pure Seer work? Maybe Adam? They’re related,” Connor said. He was putting pressure on some of the other bleeds while Shaw took the suture kit from my hands and threaded the needle.

  “We just don’t know what mixed-bloods can handle,” Shaw said. Then he blinked and looked up, as if suddenly aware of something. “Ringo. Get him! He’s a universal donor.”

  Connor looked at me with some mix of fear and expectation on his face. I shot Tom one last quick glance, then nodded. This was something I could do. “I need to draw a spiral here.”

  Shaw growled at me. “Classroom next door. Go!”

  I raced out of the laboratory and into the empty science classroom next door. I went straight to the chalkboard and drew the fastest spiral of my life. Three words pounded in my brain like a heartbeat. Archer is alive. Archer is alive. I focused my brain on the scene I’d just left behind on the ghost station platform. Archer had subdued George Walters while Ringo covered him with a gun.