Fear My Mortality (6 page)

He flicked me the small plastic square. I shoved the car into first gear and compressed the pedal, zipping forward and around the curve, praying there weren’t any cars coming in the opposite direction or we’d all be totaled. Finally on the lower floor, I zoomed toward the boom gate and passed the ticket over the reader. I accelerated out of the parking lot and down the road, slipping the car into fourth gear. “How do we get out of here?”

He stared at me as if he was the one in shock. “Um. Left up here. Watch out! That was a stop sign, Ava. Who taught you how to drive?”

I bit my lip. “Josh did.”

He didn’t say anything and I asked, “You’re directing me to the recovery center right?” It was all clicking into place. The images flashed through my mind. “That man—whoever he was—back in the Mirror Room. He told you to take me, didn’t he?”

“Neil Cheyne. He’s my godfather. And yeah, he told me to take you somewhere safe. Somewhere away from the Terminal. He said … ” Michael turned his face away. “He said it was the least I could do.”

We twisted and turned our way out of the Terminal Precinct and entered the tunnel. The headlights from another car jabbed my eyes. I tried to blink away the black spots left behind. I tried to forget about my brother’s body. I’d left that behind too.

Josh had been trying to convince Mom and Dad to let him fight at the Terminal for as long as I could remember. But when I’d watched him fight Michael, it was as if he’d been there before—or somewhere like it. There’d never been any self-defense classes or martial arts lessons or anything like that. Josh played soccer and video games and drove his car like a lunatic, nothing else.

Except for all the times he disappeared.

I ran a hand over my eyes and then clenched it around the steering wheel.

Michael said, “You need to be in the right-hand lane.”

“What?”

“The Delaney Street exit is on the right. You’ll miss it if you aren’t in the right lane.”

Hysteria set in. “My brother just died and we’re talking about lanes.” I choked on a sob. “Do you know what the stupidest thing is?” I glanced at him, his face flickering as the tunnel lights whizzed past. “I always wanted to drive one of these cars.”

I started to cry, even though it was a dangerous thing to do. Crying while driving. I tried to sniff the tears back. I blinked hard as my vision blurred. I expected him to shout at me, tell me to pull myself together, but he stared through the windscreen at the passing lights as if he didn’t care anymore.

He said, “Why did Josh die? He was at Implosion last year. He healed almost as fast as me. The Bashers only want the strongest. If he was one of them, how could he die?”

Michael’s words traveled around and around my head, spinning in their own little hurricane, all tangled in with my own confusion and sadness. And anger. I said, “I bet they tried to recruit you, too.”

Michael’s jaw ticked. A flash of rage was quickly replaced by an expression that reminded me of something ripped apart. “I’d never join them.”

But Josh had. I wondered if I would ever know why. Our parents had never made a big deal about healing and they’d never taught us to hate people who didn’t heal fast. Josh had never said or done anything to make me believe that he would ever try to hurt anyone or take part in destroying homes and workplaces. In fact, I remembered when we were kids and Josh had come to the defense of a boy others were teasing because he’d cut his leg and he didn’t heal for a whole minute. Disappear on me, yes. Hate, no.

Through my tears, the Delaney Street exit loomed up ahead. I thought about driving on. Just driving and driving until we left Dell city and ran out of gas and ended up in the middle of nowhere. I wondered if everything would make sense once we got to the end of that road.

Instead, I turned the wheel and took the exit. A big blue sign announced the recovery center with arrows to the entrance. I pulled the car to a halt in front of the wide doors and stared straight ahead as the silence enveloped me. I spoke to the windscreen and didn’t look at Michael. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

He didn’t say anything.

I jumped out of the car and rushed away into the bright lights.

The recovery nurse told me to wiggle my fingers. “All right. That looks fine. Show me the cuts again.”

I turned my wrists up.

“I’m going to turn off the lights to have a look. Okay?”

I nodded. She pulled the blinds and the room went dark before she flicked on the ultra-violet overhead lights and examined my arms.

Turning the light back on, she pursed her lips at me. “You’re a slow healer.”

On another night, I would have flinched at the insult.

A small smile touched her face, as though she hadn’t meant to be so harsh. “Well, you’ve certainly got quite a bit of blood on you, so I’m sure I’m just seeing the final closing of a deeper wound.”

I sniffed, blinked. There was a hot well of water behind my eyes, but I was determined not to cry.

She patted my arm in an awkward gesture. “You’ve been through a lot. Those Bashers have enough to answer for, let alone ruining Implosion for you.” She busied herself with flicking open the blinds again. “You’ll need to stay here until we can locate your parents.”

I nodded, intertwining my fingers to stop them shaking so much. The medic at the Terminal—Cheyne—had told me to stay at the recovery center, not to leave. I didn’t know why and it was all starting to feel wrong. My brother was dead and I was supposed to skulk around the center, waiting for my parents. Recovery centers were for people who needed a recovery dome or who were still regenerating—or if they got in the way of a police pursuit and were accidentally tranquilized. Sometimes doctors had to dig bullets or shrapnel out of people who healed too fast, but I had no reason to be there. Hysteria rose again, pushing up through my chest, rushing to my mouth, and I was sure I was going to scream.

The door crashed open and Mom rushed into the room. “Ava!”

Relief slammed through me. “Mom.”

The next thing I knew, I was smothered in the comforting scent of her favorite perfume. I closed my eyes as she hugged me. If I stayed right there, with her perfume surrounding me, maybe everything else would disappear, but she pulled away too soon.

“They won’t tell me what’s going on. Dad’s still in a recovery dome—they said he was hit with a tranquilizer by mistake—and I woke up just now. What happened to you? How did you get here? Did the Hazards bring you?”

The feeling of comfort fled. “They haven’t … ”

My voice choked up. She didn’t know about Josh. I put my head into my hands. The nurse watched us both, her pen hovering above her clipboard. She looked as if she was going to speak up. I’d told her everything the minute she walked me into the examining room. She’d listened without speaking and then she’d made a single phone call. She’d had a look on her face as if I was a case for a mental health clinic.

“Mom … ” My voice broke. I wondered how I’d make my mouth form the words.
Josh is dead
.

A knock at the door stopped the sound in my throat.

“Mrs. Holland?” The man wore the typical green Hazard suit, close-fitting around his body and up his neck, a sharp contrast to his red hair. My breath seized and my heart constricted. It was the same officer with the wasp that shot my parents at Implosion: Aaron Reid’s brother.

The image of the wasp firing tranquilizers at my parents and then coming for me dashed through my mind. I glanced at Mom, but she didn’t seem to remember anything, just looked blankly at him. He had a slim face, high cheekbones, and piercing eyes. He looked like the kind of guy others underestimated. The kind of wiry fighter who could move fast, light on his feet like a dancer.

“I’m Officer Douglas Reid, ma’am.” He flicked open his ID. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Holland. They said it might be better if you had a familiar face right now. Can you come with me, please?”

Mom was trying hard to keep it together. “Yes, of course, it’s nice to see you again, Douglas. It’s been a long time. Of course, we see Aaron a lot, but … ” She still hadn’t moved.

He took hold of her arm, prompting her to her feet. “I’ve been away at training in Chasm. But it’s good to be home. Could you come this way, please?”

The nurse had stood as soon as the officer knocked. For the first time, the expression on her face changed, draining pale. She looked at me and then at Mom. Her mouth opened as if she was about to drop to the floor. I read her expression: maybe she wasn’t dealing with a mental health case after all.

Mom’s face turned fragile, ready to crumble. “What’s going on? Nobody will tell me.”

“Ma’am, if you’ll just step outside with me, I’ll explain everything.” His hand on her arm tightened visibly and it was clear she didn’t have a choice.

Mom kissed my forehead. “I’ll be back in a moment, sweetie. Just sit tight, okay?”

I couldn’t even nod. She left with Douglas Reid and he shut the door. They stood outside the room and I watched them through the window. Mom was really still like one of those mime artists pretending to be a statue. Officer Reid spoke, but she just stood there, and then her legs must have buckled because suddenly she slipped out of view and he reached out to grab her and I heard her screaming all the way through the cold window glass.

The doctor leaned toward Mom. “Mrs. Holland, have you ever suffered a serious injury?”

Tearstains gouged streaks through Mom’s makeup, dark smears where she’d tried to clean up her mascara. Her hand clamped over mine, so hard that it hurt, but I didn’t say anything as we sat together in the doctor’s office. I needed her to hold me together as much as she needed to know I was still there.

Officer Reid stood outside the door, a slim line of green through the misty glass.

“Um.” She bit her lip. “Yes, when I was young. My eye.” She gestured. “A kid at school poked me with a stick.”

The doctor gave her one of those calm, medical smiles. He’d told us that he didn’t usually work at this recovery center, which was generally staffed with recovery nurses. His specialty was surgical removals. They’d called him in because of the Basher attack, but it was lucky he was there in the circumstances.

“Was your sight affected in any way? Did you have any trouble healing?”

“No, of course not. They didn’t even have to call the Hazard Police. They had a recovery kit at the school. I look okay, don’t I? Why are you asking me this?”

The doctor gestured at me. “What about your daughter? Has she ever been in an accident?”

Mom looked at me and back at the doctor. She shook her head slightly. “No.” She shook her head again as if she couldn’t stop shaking it. “Ava’s never been hurt.” Her hands fluttered to her face. “Well, maybe she sprained her ankle once dancing, but it stopped hurting straight away, just like normal, right sweetheart?”

She barely glanced at me and I was glad because I still remembered the sprained ankle, how long it had throbbed, and how much that still confused me. I’d been extra careful since and I’d made myself strong. Strong muscles didn’t get hurt.

Mom rushed on. “And then there was Implosion tonight, but I don’t really remember … ” Her eyes clouded over. She touched her temples and rubbed her skin.

The doctor leaned away. He wrote something down. “Mrs. Holland, we can’t find any evidence that your daughter suffered more than superficial cuts tonight—which are taking an extremely long time to heal. I’m afraid I’m going to have to order tests for her.” He handed Mom the clipboard. “I need your signature on this.”

“Why?”

“It authorizes the Hazard Police to carry out the tests.”

“The police? No. I—” She looked at me. Her hand tightened as though she’d never let me go. She glanced at Officer Reid standing outside the room, her expression suddenly alarmed. “No.”

The doctor exhaled and there was finally something human in his demeanor. “Mrs. Holland, if your daughter has the same condition as your son, she could be in very great danger. We need to know what’s going on here. The Hazard Police can help with that. I can assure you, the tests won’t hurt. They just need to scan her and take a little blood, that’s all.”