The Pursuit of Truth Page 16

  The others looked at him with eyebrows raised, but he only shook his head. His legs suddenly weary, Chris crossed to the sofa and sat carefully next to Liz. His heart sank as she edged away from him, but he suppressed the urge to pull her back.

  “Halt cured her,” he added finally.

  “What about her brother?” Liz murmured. “And the rest of them? If there’s a cure…”

  “There’s not much we can do about it,” Chris replied. “Not with the army after us.”

  “At least it’s not Halt.” Sam almost spat the words. He glanced at Liz. “Thanks for putting an end to him, Liz.”

  Liz shrugged, and her eyes remained fixed on the floor. “It was Richard who got us out,” she whispered.

  They fell silent at that. Guilt swelled in Chris’s throat as Richard’s face flickered into his thoughts. The boy’s emerald eyes shone in the darkness, angry, accusing. They had left him behind, left him to be overwhelmed by the soldiers, to fall to their bullets. In his heart, Chris knew there had been nothing they could have done, that Richard had chosen to sacrifice himself to save them all. But even so…

  He shook his head, and his mind drifted again, returning to the cold words of the Director.

  Terrorists.

  He shivered. The word had terrible connotations. Every man and woman in the Western Allied States would be hunting them now. There would be nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. It was only a matter of time before they were caught. And this time, there would be no cages, no steel collars, no injections. Just a line of soldiers on a stage, a camera in their faces, and the flash of gunfire ushering them into the darkness.

  31

  Liz let out a long breath as she moved into the corridor. The silence in the living room had become suffocating, and she was glad to escape. Coming to a stop, she leaned her head against the wall. A scream built in her chest, and she clenched her fists, struggling to contain it. Images of the courthouse ran through her mind, over and over, an endless loop she couldn’t seem to break.

  Halt thrashing in her hands, his face turning red, then purple, his strength slowly trickling away.

  The look on Chris’s face, the terror in his eyes.

  And Richard—brave, stupid Richard—telling her to run, while he turned to face the soldiers.

  She shivered, fighting back tears. It was all too much. How could she go on after what had happened, after what she’d done?

  Looking at her hands, Liz searched for some hint of a change, some indication of the new power at her fingertips.

  Nematocysts.

  That was what Halt had called them, the tiny stinger cells that now lined her skin. But even to her enhanced vision, her hands looked as they always had. There was no sign of their deadly nature, of the agony they could unleash with just a touch. She clenched her fists again, feeling a sharp pain as her fingernails dug into her flesh. But that was nothing compared to what Chris had felt when she’d touched him.

  Nothing compared to the agony in Halt’s face as he died.

  Shivering, Liz cast the image aside. She sensed movement from behind her and heard distant voices as the others whispered about setting a watch. After her fight in the courthouse, Liz figured she’d earned a respite from first watch, and quickly moved deeper into the corridor. The door on the right led to Daniella’s room, and Liz had no desire to face the horror there. Steeling herself, she moved to the second door through which Jasmine and Mira had escaped, and slipped inside.

  Liz paused as the door clicked closed behind her, waiting for Jasmine’s anger. When there was no response, she shrugged and looked around. Danny’s bedroom was sparsely decorated—the white walls were empty, and the dressing table was bare except for a couple of family portraits. Jasmine lay tucked beneath the blankets of the queen bed, while Mira’s smaller figure was curled up at the foot of the bed.

  Shaking her head at Mira’s strange sleeping preferences, Liz crept across the room and lay down on the other side of the bed from Jasmine. As Liz stared vacantly at the ceiling, she guessed from Jasmine’s rigid stillness the other girl was not actually asleep.

  Listening to the soft whisper of her friend’s breath, Liz searched for something to say, for some words of comfort. Jasmine had been closer to Richard than anyone; the two had been cellmates, had faced the Halt’s trials together.

  A dull ache began in Liz’s back where her wings extended from her spine. Rolling onto her side to face Jasmine, she was surprised to find the other girl staring back at her.

  “I can’t do it, Liz,” Jasmine murmured.

  “Can’t do what?” Liz whispered back.

  Jasmine’s eyes were stained red and wet from crying. Sniffing, she used her sleeve to wipe away her tears.

  “Go on. Keep running. Keep fighting.” She took a breath. “I’m not strong enough. I feel like I’m teetering on a cliff, and without Richard there to hold me, I’ll fall.”

  The image of Richard screaming for them to run flickered into Liz’s mind. She shuddered and pushed it away. “But you have to,” she replied. “We all do. Otherwise, he died for nothing.”

  “I never asked him to!” Jasmine sat up suddenly, throwing off the covers. Along her back, her emerald feathers stood on end. “I never wanted him to.”

  To her surprise, Liz found herself smiling as she thought of the blond boy. They hadn’t gotten off to the best start, with herself and Chris getting caught up in the feud between the older prisoners. But since their escape, Liz had come to respect Richard’s quiet strength.

  “Sometimes we don’t get to choose what people do for us,” Liz murmured, remembering the sacrifices her parents had made to send her to the private school she’d hated, “but you still have to accept it.”

  “I can’t!” Jasmine was standing now, her wings extended, her face a mask of rage. She shook her head. “Don’t you get it? He died because of me! Because of everything I said after he fell asleep on watch, because of what I said about family and going back for you.”

  Jasmine slumped to the floor, where she knelt in a pile of ragged clothes and feathers. Liz crouched on the bed beside her, thinking again about the time in the woods, when the soldiers had almost captured them. Only the intervention of the Chead had saved them. The incident had left Jasmine shaken, and she’d lashed out at Richard.

  “I don’t think it was you, Jasmine,” she whispered, remembering a conversation she’d had with Richard high in the Californian mountains. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. “I think it was for Jeremy…to repay his sacrifice.”

  On the floor, Jasmine stilled. She looked up at Liz, her eyes wide. “He told you about Jeremy?”

  Liz smiled and nodded. “When we were still in the mountains. He told me what Jeremy did, how he chose to sacrifice himself rather than let Richard fight him.”

  A sob tore from Jasmine’s throat and she tugged at her own hair. Liz longed to go to her, to pull her grieving friend into her arms, and offer whatever comfort she could. But she hesitated, knowing her touch no longer brought relief, but agony.

  “He’s really gone, isn’t he?” Jasmine said at last.

  Liz nodded, her own eyes wet with tears. Jasmine sucked in a breath to steady herself, and then stood. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness. A wave of weariness washed over Liz, and closing her eyes, she lay back down.

  “He wanted to leave you, you know.” Liz’s spine tingled as Jasmine spoke. “He said you were gone, that you’d turned, and we should leave. I convinced him to stay.”

  “Jasmine…” Liz whispered.

  The girl lay down beside her, her eyes closed. “So it’s still my fault. And yours, and Chris’s for getting us caught in the first place. And Ashley’s for slowing us down, and Sam’s for attacking us.” Jasmine shivered, and her eyes found Liz’s in the darkness. “So why do we all get to live, when he had to die?”

  Liz opened her mouth, but her throat was dry, and she couldn’t find the words. She managed to croak something unintelligible, then s
hook her head. There were no answers to Jasmine’s question, no reason in this cruel world of theirs. A longing rose inside her, to feel another’s embrace, to be held in strong arms and comforted.

  Suddenly it was Liz who was crying. The tears came hot and fast, streaming down her cheeks to soak her pillow. She wrapped her arms around herself, but there was no comfort there, no reassurance. Her gut churned and Liz felt an empty hole in the bottom of her stomach as she realized she might never feel the warmth of human touch again.

  Then Jasmine’s hands were taking her by the shoulders, drawing her close, though she was careful not to touch Liz’s skin.

  “Liz…I’m so sorry,” she heard the other girl whisper.

  Liz fought to swallow her sobs, and slowly, slowly, they died away. Finally, she drew in a long breath and looked at Jasmine. Her friend stared back, her tear-streaked face no doubt a mirror of Liz’s own. Unexpectedly, she found herself smiling.

  “What a mess the pair of us are.” She laughed.

  Jasmine grinned back, though Liz could still see the emotion welling just beneath the surface. “He’d be pretty pleased if he could see us.” Liz shook her head. “A couple of pretty girls crying over him.”

  The silence resumed then, though it was no longer strained, and Liz found herself drifting off towards sleep. The images returned, flickering in the darkness behind her eyelids—Halt, Chris, Richard.

  “What now?” It took a long time for Liz to realize she hadn’t dreamed the question.

  She struggled to make her mind work. “We stick together.”

  “How do we stop them?” Jasmine pressed.

  An image appear in Liz’s mind, of a blond boy soaring through the mountains, a grin on his youthful face. Richard had never believed they could win, that there could be anything for them but a life on the run. Yet in the end, he had sacrificed himself to save them all. She would never forget it.

  “We’ll find a way.” Liz smiled. “Somehow.”

  32

  Sam startled awake as a voice shouted in the darkness. Someone started to thrash beside him, and something hard struck him in the chin. Gasping, he rolled away and tried to sit up, but a feathered limb struck him again, flinging him back.

  “Ashley!” he shouted. “Ashley, stop, it’s okay, it’s me, Sam.”

  A sudden stillness came over the room and Sam let out a long breath. Struggling to his hands and knees, he crawled across to where he’d been lying with Ashley. She sat on her haunches, her amber eyes wide, almost glowing in the darkness. Her white wings caught the light of the distant moon, and Sam could almost believe this was not Ashley at all, but some angel come to take him away.

  He shivered and blinked, and she was just Ashley again.

  Poor, terrified, Ashley.

  He reached out and drew her to him. She crumpled at his touch and he pulled her close, feeling the bones beneath her flesh. Her wings drooped, seeming dull and lifeless now, lacking the spark of a moment before.

  “Ash, it’s okay, you’re safe.”

  She trembled in his arms. Burying her head in his shoulder, Ashley started to whimper. Gently, he stroked her hair, whispering to her in the darkness, promising her it would be okay, that Halt was gone.

  “You guys good?” Chris’s voice came from near the door, but Sam waved him back.

  “He’s coming,” Ashley said, pulling away.

  Sam shivered. Ashley’s eyes were wide open, but they did not seem to see him. She stared into the distance, unblinking, as though still deep in sleep. He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek.

  “Who’s coming?” he whispered.

  “Halt.” Her voice was hollow, despairing.

  “Oh, Ash.” Sam hugged her again, as though his embrace alone could heal her. “He’s gone, Ash. He’s dead.”

  At his words, Ashley went limp in his arms. He looked at her face and saw that her eyes were closed now. Holding her carefully, he lowered her back to their makeshift bed of blankets and pulled them tight around her. Then he brushed the hair from her face and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

  “Is she okay?” Chris’s voice came again.

  Nodding, Sam stood. He wouldn’t sleep now, not after the abrupt awakening, and he crossed the room and took a seat on the floor across from Chris. The other boy didn’t speak for a while, just sat staring at the door, as though there was something fascinating about the way it had been torn free of its hinges.

  “It’s my fault, you know,” Chris said finally. His eyes never left the door.

  Sam shook his head. “What do you mean, Chris?”

  Chris sighed. “That we were ever here. I…there was a news report, about my mom being executed.” His voice cracked at that, but he swallowed and went on. “I lost it. I heard a girl screaming and I didn’t even think. I killed the policemen that were attacking her, and she brought us here. But her mom betrayed us, and now…” He waved a hand. “They’re dead. Richard is dead.”

  Sam sat in silence for a while, staring at Chris, watching the dim light of the moon playing across his friend’s face. His eyes were harder than the last time Sam had seen them, when he’d bid them all farewell in the mountains. He hadn’t expected to see any of them again. He’d given himself up for dead when he’d taken Ashley back to the facility.

  Despite everything, Sam found himself smiling. “If you want to think of it that way, Chris, then it’s also your fault that we’re free. And that Halt’s dead.” He paused, and guilt touched his chest as he remembered Paul and Francesca. He’d left them behind. “We all have our regrets, Chris. You can’t blame every bad thing that happens on your own mistakes.”

  “But I should have been better,” Chris said, bowing his head. “Somehow, somewhere out in those mountains, I became their leader. They trusted me to keep them safe. Instead, I got us all caught, got Richard killed.”

  Sam sighed, thinking of the headstrong boy he’d first met back in their prison cell. Chris had come a long way since then. “You did the best you could, Chris. But we were never trained for this; at the end of the day, we’re just a bunch of teenagers. We’re going to make mistakes. But we can’t let them stop us. We have to keep moving, keep fighting. Otherwise, they’ve already won.”

  Chris nodded. Finally he turned to meet Sam’s eyes. “It’s good to have you back, Sam.” He grinned. “Although I’m sure the President will miss having you as his poster boy.”

  Sam groaned. “How did you find out about that?”

  “I got bored. I figured the TV wouldn’t wake you guys up if I put it on mute. The only news bigger than you was us.” His smile faded. “Why did you do it? Surely you know…”

  “I know,” Sam said, cutting him off. His heart twisted and he struggled to keep his voice steady. “Believe me, I know.”

  “Then why?”

  Sam shook his head. “Halt saved her, Chris,” he whispered. “Halt saved Ashley—and then threatened to kill her if I didn’t help him. He broke her fingers in front of me, and there was nothing either of us could do to stop him. I…I didn’t have a choice.”

  His voice cracked at the end, and he hung his head. Guilt welled in his chest, threatening to drown him. Whatever he said, Sam had known it was wrong—that by helping Halt he was condemning countless others to torture and death. How many other children would they take for their sick experiments, now they’d won the public’s support? How many more would die in agony?

  “I understand.” He looked up as Chris spoke. A frown creased the boy’s face. “Is that why Ashley seems so…different?”

  “I don’t know what he did to her…afterwards,” he said. “Halt wouldn’t let me see her. Just sent me to teach those two kids what they could do.”

  “Who were they?”

  “The only ones who survived the second strain of the virus,” Sam replied, “Paul and Francesca. We weren’t…close. But…I shouldn’t have left them there, not like that…”

  He shivered as he recalled his last glimpse of Paul and Francesca. Ashl
ey had managed to unlock Sam’s collar, but the soldiers had appeared before anyone could free the others. They’d left them writhing on the courthouse floor, with however many volts of electricity surging through their bodies.

  “There wasn’t any time,” Chris offered. “We barely made it out of there as it was.”

  “I know.” Sam shook his head. “But I still left them.”

  Silence fell between them, but as Sam’s thoughts began to drift, Chris spoke again. “Do you think she’ll be alright?”

  Sam looked at the bundle of blankets where Ashley slept, turning the question over and over in his head. In the heat of their escape, Ashley had seemed almost herself. But as the cocktail of drugs and adrenaline in her system faded, she’d grown quiet. By the time they reached this apartment, the lighthearted girl they all knew so well had become withdrawn, her manner silent and jumpy.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered finally. “I hope so. Halt’s dead, we all saw him die. He can’t haunt her forever.”

  For a while Chris didn’t reply, just sat staring at Ashley. When Chris spoke again, his voice was firm. “She’ll be okay.” He looked at Sam and smiled. “Hell, she’s tougher than any of us. She just needs time to heal.”

  Sam chuckled and rubbed his neck where the collar had burned him. “I think we all do,” he said. “How long do you think we’ll be safe here?”

  “Not long enough,” Chris mused. “They’ll be looking in all the obvious places first, but sooner or later someone will think to check here. Hopefully we’ll have tomorrow. It wouldn’t be a good idea to go out during daylight. Tomorrow night we should move.”

  Sam suppressed a groan. “Any thoughts on where…” He trailed off as Chris suddenly raised a hand.

  Clamping his mouth shut, Sam turned to stare at the door. For a moment, he thought Chris was being paranoid. Then he heard it—the distant echo of footsteps, coming closer.

  As one, Chris and Sam rose to their feet.

  It could be anyone, Sam reassured himself. Just someone returning home late at night.