Fear My Mortality (5 page)

His hand covered mine, tugging at the knife, trying to make me let go, but I heaved at him, pushing as hard as I could. “Get away from me!”

When I opened my eyes, he was gone. The mirror-plated walls reflected only hundreds of me, back and forth, around and around, standing alone with the weapon in my hand, each drop making a larger puddle next to my black heels. A puddle that threatened to slide across Josh’s Basher uniform.

I had to get it off him. If anyone found him like this, they’d know what he was. They’d hold him responsible for the explosion at the ceremony and all that property damage. In the last year, I’d heard of only one other Basher being caught. He was tried for hate crimes against slow healers and sentenced to life in prison. If Josh lived … No, not
if
.
When
he came back to life, they’d lock him in solitary for the rest of his life for being a member of the gangs. He may as well be buried under rubble.

I snatched at the brown suit, using the knife to rip it at the seams, not caring whether he had other clothes underneath, but he did: his collared shirt and tie, black for Implosion, hiding the blood pooling across his heart. I ripped and tore the Basher uniform from his arms and legs and rolled it into a ball, running to the door and throwing it down the corridor.

Back inside the room, I slipped and buckled. Once kneeling on the splattered floor, I couldn’t get up again. I put my head into my hands, curled over my knees, and closed my eyes. I didn’t feel anything. Not the wet tiles, not my wild hair, not my empty, useless hands. I didn’t try to reach for the emergency intercom again. The lights in it were dead like my brother. Out of order. Like me.

I hated Josh.

I hated him for leaving me in his dust. I hated him for calling me a freak. Most of all, I hated him for being a Basher, for dragging me in there, for getting himself killed.

But he was my brother. And death was not a possibility. Not here. Not now. Not until we were hundreds of years old.

It must be a mistake. I glanced at him, thinking that any second now his arms and legs would start trembling—enter the pre-healing phase—like they should have already.

Running footsteps brought me to my feet, and a man I didn’t recognize raced into the room with a large pack slung across his back.

Relief surged through me. He’d brought the recovery dome. Now he’d bring Josh back.

“Out of the way, girl.” The man skidded to a stop beside Josh, dropping to the ground and swinging the giant pack off his back.

An oxygen mask came out, followed by an enormous needle filled with dark fluid that the man thumped into Josh’s chest and compressed. He spoke into his mouthpiece, calling for a full recovery transport. “We need it now.”

He shoved at Josh, half rolling him over, and ripped at the material across Josh’s right shoulder. Beneath his shirt, there was a section of puckered skin, white and warped, about an inch in diameter. The man paused and cursed at it. He cursed again, shaking his head.

Then he whipped into action, opening out his pack and throwing it upward so that it snapped mid-air into a rigid dome shape. It reminded me of one of those clear umbrellas that stockbrokers in suits always seemed to carry, except without a handle. He pulled it down to the ground so that it encircled Josh’s whole body. He tapped the console and the dome sealed itself to the floor.

“Stand back,” he said, and I obeyed.

Only then, I realized that Michael stood at the door. He hadn’t run after all. I’d expected him to be far away by then, but he’d come back with the medic.

He leaned against the archway as if he was waiting at a bus stop. Bored, uncaring, ignoring the gore adorning his chest and neck—a tattoo of death. I wondered, if I looked closer, whether I’d see signs of strain around his eyes, maybe a tight jaw, frozen shoulders, fear, and uncertainty hidden well.

The recovery dome flashed, spilling bolts of organic energy into Josh’s body, and I waited for him to respond. Any second now, my brother would gasp, the blood would stop flowing from his chest, and he’d come back to himself.

The dome was alive with electricity, jolting Josh’s body. The energy inside the dome reached out beyond the umbrella cover, making my skin prickle. I didn’t look at Michael again or watch the medic. The only important thing was Josh’s face. I waited for his eyelids to flutter, his mouth to draw in oxygen.

The man stood up. He lifted the microphone toward his mouth. He stopped, started to speak, and stopped again. Another curse left his lips and hung in the air. He ran his hand over his eyes and shut them for a moment.

He lifted the console in his hand, pressed a button, and the silver disco ball stopped spinning, the dimmer lights went up. He pressed something else. “Permission to turn off the recovery dome.”

Silence. Then, “Because he’s dead.” He put his hand over his eyes. “You heard me.”

“No.” This wasn’t happening. I contemplated Josh’s body as if it was far away, and not a real dead person. The first I’d ever seen.

“Miss?”

The man’s face blurred. I put my hand to my heart, checking that it was still beating. My brother … no …

“Miss?” When I didn’t answer, he looked to Michael.

“She’s Ava Holland.” Michael pointed at me and then at the ground. “That’s Josh Holland—her brother.”

The man’s shoulders were tense, his eyes blazing at Michael. “You’d better get home to your father before the Hazards get here.”

Michael hesitated and the man strode over to him, seized his arm, and said something I couldn’t hear. Michael met my eyes over the man’s shoulder. I tried to read his expression, but I couldn’t. He nodded and left the room through the corridor that I’d snuck in through.

The man came back to me. “Ava? I need you to listen very carefully. You need to get out of here. They’ll already be calling it in, and they won’t send the usual officers for this one, do you understand?”

I didn’t understand. Not at all. I tried to see his features: hazel eyes, round chin, a receding hairline and a braid halfway down his back—the same age as my dad—but they were all mashed together. I felt as though I needed to remember who he was, as though it was important, but all I wanted to do was slide to the ground and cover myself with darkness. “I’m not leaving my brother.”

If he heard me, he ignored me. “You need to get yourself to a recovery center. The nearest one is on Delaney Street, back through the tunnel. When you get there, tell them to call your parents, but don’t leave. Make sure they keep you there.”

I reached for Josh, wanting to shove the recovery dome away, wanting to stay with him. “I’m not leaving him here.”

The man shook me. “There’s nothing you can do for him.”

“But—”

His voice rose to a commanding shout, his eyes blazing at me. “Ava! Go! Now!”

My legs moved even though I didn’t want them to, obeying the man. I fled the Mirror Room, out through the walkway with a hundred doors, and shot out through the open panel. There was an open door at the end of the short corridor and when I ran through it, I found myself in the waiting room at the front of the Terminal. Lounge chairs had been ripped apart and one wall was blackened and cracked. I’d expected it to be swarming with people, but the place was deserted. They’d evacuated everyone already.

Only then, I realized I had no way of knowing where Mom and Dad were, how I’d even get to the recovery center. I turned to go back—I shouldn’t have left Josh—but the panel closed. I didn’t know how I was going to get anywhere, but the only way was forward, so I took off at a run toward the parking lot.

The car was still there. When I got to it, I banged on the window because I didn’t have keys. Or a phone. I couldn’t even call someone for help.

My hand went over my mouth. How was I going to tell Mom and Dad that Josh was dead? Not first death. Not second death. Final death. For the first time, tears burned behind my eyes, my shock turning to grief. I tried to gulp back the sob that choked my throat as I remembered his last words.

Little sister
…

I curled downward, trying to press the pain of losing him out of my body.

A screech around the corner of the parking lot made me jump and twist, flatten myself against the side of the car as a sleek blue sports car squealed to a halt in front of me. The engine revved and the window slid down.

“Get in,” Michael said.

I swiped at the tears in my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Looks like you aren’t going anywhere without me.” Michael leaned toward the passenger side window. He paused when he saw my face.

I glared, summoning all my will to stop my tears, pushing back against the heartache. “I’m not getting in a car with you.”

Michael left the engine running and jumped out of the car. He strode straight over to me but stopped before he touched me. “I know you have no reason to trust me right now, but you have to get out of here.”

I shook my head, scooting along the vehicle. “Get away from me.”

He moved to grab my shoulders. “Ava—”

I kicked him hard in the shin. I’d meant to kick him somewhere else, but I couldn’t get my knee up. He bent, reflexively, just a little bit, but it was enough for me to hit out with the palm of my hand, straight into his nose.

He backed away from me, holding one hand up and wiping his streaming eyes with the other. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Well, don’t. I don’t want you near me.” I should’ve grabbed the knife and brought it with me. I caught sight of someone moving at the other end of the lot. I shouted and waved my hands. “Hey! I need help!” I slid around the car, away from Michael. “Help me! Please!”

Whoever he was, he came at a run, and Michael backed away even further.

It was another man dressed in black, except this one had a shiny badge and a tranquilizer gun resting at his waist. The guard slowed to a jog, one hand on his weapon and the other held toward Michael. “Back off, son.”

Michael obeyed, taking wary glances between us.

“He’s trying to make me get in his car.”

“I can see that, miss.” But something on the guard’s face changed. “Michael Bradley?” There was a click and Michael squinted as a flashlight flooded his face. The guard lowered the torch. “What are you doing here, son?”

“Her car’s broken down. I was offering her a lift, but I guess she took it the wrong way.”

The guard relaxed and laughed. “Got a way with the girls, don’t you?”

Michael shrugged as the guard turned to me. “What’s your name?”

Before I had time to answer, he shone the flashlight in my face. “Wait a minute … ” I sensed another change in his stance as his voice became harsh. “Are you Ava Holland? You need to come with me.”

There was a clank of metal as he procured a pair of handcuffs and grabbed my arm.

He didn’t say anything else.

The light dropped, making a lazy swirl in the air around me and then a sharp plunge. I looked up from the human crumple on the ground to Michael standing behind him. He bent over the prone guard and shoved the tranquilizer gun back onto the man’s belt.

I stared at the guard and the glinting handcuffs. “I don’t understand. Why would he arrest me?”

Michael’s fists clenched. He swore several times. “Your brother just
died
. Here, in the Terminal, the worst place it could possibly happen. You can’t stay here. Not if you want to see daylight again. You just can’t.”

I stared at him. “What are you—?”

He said my name and his voice was loaded. Loaded with words he didn’t seem to want to say—or couldn’t. I could see his mind working over it, sifting through his thoughts. He said, “The Terminal isn’t just a games facility. My dad works here.”

“So?”

“He’s a scientist, Ava.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” I pursed my lips at him, running his words around my head. “That there are secret experiments going on here? That there are people lurking in basements creating potions or monsters or something?”

“I know you don’t believe me, but you need to leave.” He ran a hand through his hair and his voice lowered. “I just tranq’d a guard. I’m in it so deep … I don’t even know why I’m trying to help you.”

He strode over to the car, which was still purring in the middle of the parking lot, but he paused before he slid into the driver’s seat. “No. I do know.” He didn’t look at me as his voice became hoarse. “This is my fault. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be standing here and Josh wouldn’t be back there … I’m not going to force you to get into the car, but I really think you should get out of here.”

The guard began to stir.

“There are more where he came from,” Michael said.

I ran over to the car, but not the passenger side. “I’m driving.” I glared into his shocked face. “It’s the only way I’m getting in a car with you, Michael.” I poked his chest as hard as I could, right where he’d been stabbed, hoping it would hurt.

He didn’t even flinch. “Okay, if that’s what it’ll take … ”

He ran around to the passenger side as I slipped into the driver’s seat, scared out of my brain. A guard had just tried to arrest me, and Michael shot him. I couldn’t control the volume of my voice as I shouted. “Where’s the parking ticket? Unless you want me to drive straight through the boom gate, you’d better have paid already.”