The Last Girl (The Dominion Trilogy Book 1)

by Joe Hart

  “I can fix that,” Lee says. There is soft clinking and then he’s holding a glass brimming with water. A plastic straw pokes from the top. He helps her shift closer to the edge of the bed and holds the glass and straw steady. She drinks, sucking the water down greedily. It is so cold, images of frosted steel tumble through her mind. She downs half the glass before Lee draws it away.

  “Hey, I wasn’t done yet,” she says.

  “You’ll make yourself sick if you drink too much.”

  “I feel fine.” She rolls to her back and winces at the flash of pain that recedes like fluttering lightning through clouds.

  “Yeah, it looks like it.”

  She studies him in the dim light. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you.”

  “You’re going to get caught.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s exercise hour. Dad’s sleeping. The doctors checked in on you fifteen minutes ago. No one’s around.”

  “They’ll see you on the cameras.”

  “Not with Becker working. He’s not as observant as everyone thinks he is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” He shifts in his seat, and reaches out to grasp her hand. His palm is so warm. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “You knew where I was.”

  “Yeah, but no one’s ever been in the box that long.”

  She sees the swaying, red eyes in the darkness and shivers. “I made it.”

  “I know.” Lee chews his lower lip. “I’m sorry. For what I said the other night. I’ve been thinking a lot and . . .” He lets his voice trail off before shooting a look at the partially open door.

  “And?”

  “And, you’re right. There’s . . .” He sighs. “. . . there’s something wrong. I can feel it too.”

  “You’re just realizing it now?”

  “No. I’ve always felt it. That’s why I got so upset the other night in your room. You said what’s been in the back of my mind for a long time. I just never wanted to admit it.” He rubs the back of her hand with his thumb and it causes a pleasurable flow of gooseflesh to shimmy up her arm. “I spoke with the Director.”

  Zoey’s eyes open wide. “You did?”

  “Yeah. He granted me an audience yesterday. I asked him to let you out early.”

  Zoey laughs. “That went well.”

  Lee smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness. “I got a five-minute lecture on discipline and how contraband is dangerous. Then he told me that Dellert was petitioning to have you executed.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. His face is pretty tore up. He said that you were a menace to the ARC and all within it. Of course the Director said that your punishment was sufficient, but Dellert wasn’t happy about it.” Lee plays with the corner of her blanket, worrying it between his fingers.

  “But that’s not all you asked the Director, was it?” Zoey says.

  “No. I asked him about Dad and me accompanying you to the safe zone. He did exactly what you said he would. He told me it was against protocol to release a Cleric or any other unauthorized personnel into the zone. Said it was a quarantine risk, whatever that means.”

  “Did you really expect anything different?”

  “No. I guess not.”

  The weariness she’s felt for the last few days is gradually lifting. The idea that’s been growing ever more vivid in her subconscious is blooming into the brightness of reality. She feels it materialize even more with Lee’s confession.

  “I want to escape,” she whispers, so quietly the sound barely carries across the short distance between them.

  Lee blinks, and she worries that he’ll recoil like last time, but after a long moment he nods. He starts to say something and falters before trying again. “Our choices can break us, Zoey.”

  She grasps his hand tighter. “They can set us free, too.”

  Something changes in Lee’s eyes, and he swallows. His lips tremble, and she’s about to ask him what’s wrong when he leans forward and kisses her.

  It’s so unexpected she doesn’t know what to do. His lips are warmer than his hands, softer, so gentle. Heat rolls outward from her chest to her extremities in a deliciously soft wave. Her eyes are as wide open as his are tightly shut, so she is the one who sees movement outside the door a split second before it is pushed inward.

  Simon stands outlined in the doorway.

  “Lee.” His name sounds like a curse coming from his father. Lee snaps away from her as if thrown, dropping her hand and standing straight up. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I . . . I had to see Zoey.”

  Simon says nothing else. He moves with a frightening fluidity. And though Lee is strong, his father slings him into the hallway as if he weighs nothing. The door shuts behind them, and silence invades the room.

  Zoey doesn’t realize she’s sitting up until the pain begins to pound through her back. A dizzying sense of falling washes over her.

  She’s going back in the box.

  Simon saw them kissing. He saw them. Oh God, oh God, who’s the closest woman to her right now? It’s exercise hour, and she’s on the fourth floor. It could be anyone, it could be . . .

  No. No. Nononononono. Lily isn’t at exercise hour. She’s most likely in the next room recovering. Or she could be in her own quarters on the floor below, but either way the girl is the closest in proximity to her.

  “No,” Zoey breathes. Lily can’t go back in the box. She can’t. The room tilts and stretches around her. The building begins a slow turn as vertigo runs sickening tendrils through her head. Lily won’t survive another moment in that hellhole of a room. Her screams were enough to tell her so.

  They have to get out now. Or die trying.

  The enormity of her decision nearly crushes her, but she slides to the edge of the bed and swings her feet to the floor. She’s still wearing her soiled clothes, and she can smell herself. She pads to the door, moving on rusted joints. How, how, how to do it? How can she get them both out? She’ll have to search the infirmary first, find Lily. Then . . . then what? Then take a doctor or guard by surprise. Get a weapon, force them to open doors and . . . and go where?

  But she knows where.

  Zoey swallows, searching the room for some kind of weapon. The cabinet in the corner only reveals more blankets and several wispy medical gowns. There’s got to be something here. She picks up the chair Lee had been resting on, forcing away the protestations of her back and legs. No, it’s too heavy. Something else. She’ll have to find it outside the room.

  She makes it to the door and is about to turn the handle when footsteps close in and stop outside. She leaps back as the door is pushed open. Simon stands there, startled at seeing her out of bed.

  “Zoey, what are you doing?”

  “What are you going to do?” she asks. Her hands are clenched into fists, and though she feels like she could faint at any time, she’s willing to fight.

  “Do? What do you mean?”

  “What did you do with Lee?”

  Simon sighs, glancing over his shoulder before shutting the door. “He’s in his room, and you are forbidden from seeing one another.”

  A part of her crushes in on itself. “What are you going to do?” she repeats.

  “If you mean, am I going to send you back to the box, the answer is no,” he says, staying close to the door while speaking in a low voice. “No one saw Lee come here.”

  Zoey sags with relief and steadies herself on the bed frame. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. You should be ashamed of yourself. I thought you were smarter than this.”

  She slowly lowers herself into the chair she’d considered using as a weapon minutes ago. “He just came to visit me.”

  “It is forbidden.” Simon enunciates each word. “If I had been someone else, there would be worse punishment than the box again. And think of Lily. Are you so selfish that you’ve forgotten her?”

 
Zoey fixes him with a cold stare. “No. I haven’t.”

  Simon heaves out another sigh and seems to deflate with it. “Get back into bed. We’re going to pretend what I saw never happened, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You need rest.”

  Zoey stands and pauses by the bed, the promise of escape still singing in her blood even with Simon’s reassurances. “Where is Lily?”

  “She’s in her room.”

  “You said she’s okay?”

  He hesitates. “Yes.”

  “How long was she in the box? Did they let her out early?”

  “They let her out after ten hours.”

  “They did?”

  “Yes.”

  The slight relief she feels goes cold when she sees Simon won’t look at her. “Why? Why did they let her out so early? Simon?” She comes closer to him and he finally glances up.

  “She started to hurt herself and wouldn’t stop.”

  Zoey pushes past him and hurls the door open. She ignores the pain looping through her back and legs even as a gray mist settles at the corners of her vision.

  “Zoey, stop,” Simon says, grasping her arm. She yanks away, heading toward the door.

  “Take me to her.”

  “Zoey—”

  “Take me to her, Simon.” She stands beside the door, waiting, not looking back. Just when she thinks he won’t let her through, he comes forward and scans his bracelet. She hurries through the door and down the hallway, grimacing as she trundles down the stairs, her legs screaming. In a few moments she’s within sight of Lily’s door. Steven sits on a chair beside it, staring at his hands. He glances up in astonishment as she approaches.

  “Open it,” she says.

  “What’s the—”

  “Do it. Right now.” There must be something in her voice or expression that speaks to him past her words, because he rises and scans his bracelet.

  The setting sun is still above the ARC’s wall, and it floods the room with thick afternoon light. It covers the floor, the desk cluttered with wax markers, as well as the bed and the girl sitting upon it. Zoey stops short at the sight, her hand coming to her mouth as tears blur her vision.

  Lily’s hair is gone. It has been shaved away almost down to the scalp. There are angry, red patches, partially scabbed over in several places peeking through the soft down of hair that is left. Lily rocks slowly forward and back.

  Zoey moves, as if in a dream, around the end of the bed and catches sight of Lily’s face. The girl’s cheeks are welted and scratched in downward lines. Her forehead is swollen and purple around a bandage that hangs precariously from her skin below several black-threaded stitches. Zoey softly puts the bandage back in place.

  “She started banging her head on the floor and pulling her hair out,” Steven says. “They had to cut it all off so she’d stop.”

  “Get out,” Zoey hisses, dropping to her knees at Lily’s bedside.

  “That’s—”

  “Get out!”

  The Cleric’s face mottles, and he blinks before turning to the door. “I’m keeping it partially open,” he mumbles and then is gone. Zoey scoots closer to Lily, but the girl’s eyes are unfocused, seeing far beyond the walls of the room.

  “Lily? Look at me.” Nothing. “Lily, it’s Zee.” Zoey touches one of Lily’s hands but she draws it away, her eyelids flutter. She continues to rock.

  A tremble begins within Zoey, starting at her core and works itself outward. It is pure, undiluted hatred. It is murderous rage and a knowledge that she would tear the ones responsible apart with her hands if they were within reach. She swallows the hard knot of rage that’s lodged in her throat and looks around the room. Nothing of comfort, nothing beautiful. Zoey stares at the floor where Lily’s feet rest. There is a thin layer of dust on the concrete. She swipes at the remaining tears in her eyes and uses the moisture to draw a smiling face on the floor.

  “Look at her, she’s so happy,” Zoey says. She points at the drawing but doesn’t look up at Lily. “Now let’s give her some hair and a dress.” She dabs at her eyes again and traces a wave of hair around the figure’s head before adding arms, legs, and a triangular dress. “There. She’s very pretty, just like you, Lily.” Zoey glances up and sees Lily has stopped rocking. Her eyes flick to the drawing before glazing over once again.

  “Hmm,” Zoey says loudly. “I wonder what we should name her. Hmm, maybe her name should start with an . . .” She lets the last word draw out. “. . . L!” She draws a large, capital L above the figure. “Let’s see. I’m not sure what should come next. Wait, I think I’m getting it. Yep, it’s an I!” She draws the letter beside the first. “But I’m not sure what comes after that. Hmm, what would be a good letter after the I?”

  There is a timid smile on Lily’s face and her eyes are locked on the letters above the drawing. Her mouth works silently, and Zoey sees her tongue appear between her teeth.

  “What did you say? I thought you said something.”

  Lily smiles a little more, glancing at Zoey. “L,” she whispers.

  “L? You want L after the I? Okay. That looks familiar. I wonder where I’ve seen that before? But it’s not done yet, is it?” Lily shakes her head, her smile broadening. “Do you know what the last letter is?” Lily nods. “Then come down here and draw it.”

  Lily hesitates but then slides off the bed. Zoey’s throat tightens again at seeing how carefully she moves, how much pain she’s in. The girl leans over the drawing and traces a lopsided Y at the end before snatching her hand back as if she’s done something wrong. She gives Zoey a wide-eyed look. Can you believe I did it!

  “Well, that says . . . wait, what does that say?” Zoey asks.

  “Lily!” Lily laughs and rocks happily, staring down at the figure in the dust.

  “You’re right, you got it, Lily.” Zoey slides closer to her and gently puts an arm around her. “You got it, and you’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.”

  “Kay.”

  Zoey’s vision blurs again and she turns her face away. “I’m so sorry, Lily. It’s my fault, my fault.” She sniffles, continuing to rub the girl’s back. “Everything’s going to be okay now. Everything will be all right.”

  “Aaa rye,” Lily repeats.

  Zoey lowers her voice to a whisper. “I’ll make everything right very soon.”

  9

  When Zoey steps into her room, she sees that the blood has been cleaned from the floor and everything is back in its place.

  There is no sign of the struggle that occurred. Zoey strides to the window and stands on her chair. The loose pane of glass has been repositioned, and a new bead of bonding compound has been applied. She rubs her nail against it. It’s as solid as steel.

  She climbs down and replaces the chair. The numbers on the calendar churn and change. They seem to speak in their own language, repeating the same word over and over. Soon, soon, soon.

  Zoey readies herself for bed, planning on getting some sleep before the night closes in. There will be much to think about before the sun rises tomorrow. She’s returning to the bed when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” she says. The door clacks and swings inward, revealing the slender shape of Assistant Carter framed there. He wears one of his suits as usual, an ugly brown color, along with a cream-and-red-striped tie that hangs down past his belt buckle.

  “Zoey. I hope I’m not intruding.”

  Her stomach twists, writhing on itself. “Of course not. Come in.”

  Carter steps inside stiffly, like he’s made out of glass, and the Redeye that Simon struggled with looms behind him.

  “No, I don’t want him in here,” Zoey says before she can stop herself.

  Carter blinks, a shallow smile growing on his weaselly face. “I apologize, Zoey, but he is my personal bodyguard and must come with me everywhere.” He sees her discomfort, and she can tell he enjoys it. “Please sit,” he says, gesturing toward the bed. She perches on th
e bed’s far edge and Carter rests in the chair at her desk. He studies her and though she tries to keep her gaze level and calm, his eyes feel like greasy, probing fingers on her skin. She finally looks away. “How are you faring now that your punishment is finished?” he asks in a softly venomous voice.

  “I’m doing very well, thank you.”

  Carter’s eyebrows rise. “That’s good to hear, but surprising I must say, considering the amount of time you spent inside the chamber.”

  She shrugs. “I earned it.”

  “Indeed.” Carter studies her before inhaling sharply. “Pain is an unfortunate necessity in life. It shapes us, defines us, helps us learn.” She thinks of Lily’s torn scalp and wants not just to hurt him then, but to destroy him, end him where he smugly sits. “What did you learn during your time in the dark, Zoey?”

  “I learned that it is important to follow the rules.”

  “It is. The rules are more critical than you can fathom, especially in a place such as this.” He gestures to the walls. “They help the system function, and they keep people alive.” Carter tips his head to the side. “Where did you get them, Zoey?”

  “What?”

  “The books and the chewing gum.”

  “I found the books where they were in the alcove. The gum was in the bathroom on the first floor.”

  Carter sits forward, his smile growing wider than it possibly should on his narrow face. “Lies.” She holds his sickening gaze until he leans back in his chair and begins to inspect the fading light that coats the inner curve of the outside wall. “You’ve been witnessed being insubordinate to several Clerics recently. This is unacceptable, Zoey. It would be tragic if you were to continue your current, shall we say, defiant behaviors as they would inevitably lead to more punishment.”

  “I forgot to tell you what else I learned in the box,” Zoey says, rage simmering beneath every inch of her skin.

  “And what was that?” Carter asks.

  “I learned that I’m not afraid of the dark.”

  His grin falters before returning stronger than before. “That’s admirable, Zoey, it truly is. But when I mention punishment, I’m not talking about your own.”

  Any satisfaction that she felt in their brief exchange evaporates. He sees it in her eyes and nods.