Meridian, page 25
part #2 of Arclight Series
“We won’t. It won’t be much longer.”
He doesn’t get it. Anne-Marie’s being crushed by reality closing in on all sides. There’s nowhere we can go that she won’t always know the wild-Fade are out here.
I’m so focused on the meltdown I expect at any second that it’s a surprise when Rue nudges me.
You have visitors.
It’s a curious way to put it, as we’re actually the strangers here, but the little girl from the other table is standing two seats away, holding the hand of the boy who wouldn’t let her approach me before. Both of her shoes are back where they belong.
“Look, Annie, a kid,” Tobin says a little too enthusiastically.
“Seriously—stop talking,” I say.
Getting Anne-Marie out of her fog is going to take more than a curious little girl.
“Hi,” I say to the girl. “I’m Marina. What do they call you?”
Peanut, Rue suggests.
You stop talking, too, I tell him.
The girl reaches for my braid and pulls it, so I’ll bend down and let her whisper in my ear.
“Your name’s Noor?” I ask.
She nods happily.
“She wants to know if you have any more of that,” the boy with her says. He points to the jar, which is still on the girl’s other hand, and she shakes it at me. “The rest of us want to know why your hair is white.”
“It grows that way.” I shrug. “My body doesn’t make the stuff that gives hair its color.”
Slowly, two others from their side of the room straggle in, trying to find ways to peek around him without being fully in the open themselves. A girl my age with a serious face glares at me, like maybe she knows it’s our fault the wild ones attacked. The other one, another boy, just looks hungry. His face and his eyes carry an emptiness that goes deeper than his stomach needing food.
These kids aren’t surviving; they’re pictures taken at the point of death.
“You were born like this?” the first boy asks.
“What’s it to you?” Tobin asks, crowding closer.
“You ever see what happens when a Killer burns?” the boy challenges. “All the black stuff melts off. What’s left behind looks like her.”
We are not a Killer. Cherish fumes, boiling through my blood like a fever. This would be the absolute worst time for me to find out if I’m the only one who can see the random patterns that appear on my skin when she’s upset.
“If she was one of those things from the Dark, you’d already know,” Tobin says.
“I still want to hear her say it.”
“I’m not a Fade,” I say.
Any longer.
“Is she okay?” I nod to the girl whose serious face has changed. She’s staring off at the corners of the room, grinning as though she’s seen the most beautiful thing in the world.
“She’s as good as she gets since the surge.”
Noor pulls my hair again, shaking the jar at me, in case I’ve forgotten what’s really important to her.
“I think Trey’s the only one who packed peanut butter, but how about these?” I tell her, fishing through my bag for the container of dried berries I brought along. “They’re my favorite.”
I pick one out of the container and offer it to the boy, figuring he won’t let Noor eat something on my say-so alone. He pops it into his mouth and starts chewing—then his eyes light up. He reaches out for the container automatically, but draws his hand back just as quick.
“You can take them,” I tell him.
He grabs a handful as he passes the container to Noor. Like the boy, she’s hesitant to taste the first berry, but after she has, dashes back under her table.
“I think she likes them,” Trey says.
“I guess she does.”
Trey resumes his position as our leader by default and stands up to introduce himself.
“I’m Trey,” he says. “The grumpy one’s Tobin. Marina’s the blonde. This is my sister, Annie. She’ll never be this quiet again, so enjoy it.”
His attempt to rile her fails.
“Michael,” the boy says.
He introduces the other boy as Javier and calls the girl Gina. She’s drifted off into her own world, walking two steps one direction and turning to go three in another, swaying to music no one else can hear and laughing at things that aren’t there.
“She’ll do that all day. You get used to it.”
No, I don’t think I will.
“Where’d you really come from?” Michael asks.
“We call it the Arclight.”
“Is that New Mexico? My folks said there used to be people in a place called New Mexico, at a university.”
“That’s out west,” Tobin says. “We’re east.”
Gina’s watching us again, cocking her head like she’s tuning an antenna between our conversation and our elders’.
She’s listening, Cherish says.
“Is it a prison? We heard there were some prisons in the northeast that survived. All cinderblock and cement.”
“It’s a military base.”
Michael keeps firing questions, and Trey and Tobin keep answering.
Something here isn’t right.
Our elders are still negotiating with Rami. Most of Rami’s kids are still at their table. Noor’s given up the berry container, and they’re passing it around.
Javier has taken the seat across the table from Anne-Marie. He drags one of our bags closer to inspect what’s inside. He takes out a knife, flicks it open and shut before stashing it in his pocket.
Rue’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, holding his tongue while keeping an invisible hand on my shoulder.
Things seem fine, but they’re not.
Tobin leans in close and whispers, “Where’s the ink blot? I think that girl’s tracking him.” He cuts his eyes at Gina, who’s gone creepy-still beside Javier. She’s fixated on the spot over my shoulder where Rue’s head would appear, if he was visible. “Tell him to move; I think she can see him.”
“She’s lost her mind, Tobin. Don’t stare.”
If Rue moves, he could create a shimmer-line, and that everyone could see. It’s too much to risk because one girl’s gone spacey.
Affirmed, Cherish says. Gina has gone Spacey Tracey. Hide. Flee. Conceal.
Spacey Trac—
The girl from Honoria’s book?
Affirmed. She’s listening.
“Gina?” I call her name out loud; she turns the fraction of an inch it requires to look me in the eye, but it’s enough. The irises of her eyes are running with vertical lines of metallic gold.
She’s turning.
CHAPTER 39
“GINA, listen to me,” I say cautiously. My hands are up, noncombative. “I know you’re confused, but you don’t want to hurt anybody.”
Flee. Cherish cries. Run.
My legs tingle as I stand, nearly giving in to her commands, but I make myself walk closer. If I can reach the real Gina, maybe she’ll fight for herself before she’s consumed completely.
“I know you can hear me. Fight them.”
“Marina?”
Tobin steps forward; I wave him off.
“Get help,” I tell him. “If she snaps, she could end up feral, like Dante.”
If she was looking anywhere else, I’d say open the door and let her run, but she can see Rue. She’ll run straight at him or straight at me.
“Gina, we’ll help you. Back up and sit at the table.”
Her chest rumbles with an all too familiar growl.
“Okay, no talking . . .”
Crap. Now what?
Flee, Cherish says.
She’d be on top of us in two steps.
“What’s wrong?” Michael’s stopped grilling Trey for information. The remainder of the Ice Cube’s children have joined him, closing ranks to protect one of their own.
“Don’t touch her,” I warn Javier when he tries to coax Gina back among them. “She’s turning.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rami says. I hear him approach from the adults’ table. Hopefully, our people are with him. “We would have noticed. She’s been with us for days.”
“Has she been distant?” I ask him. “Talking to herself, wandering around like she’s stepped outside reality?”
“It’s called shock.”
“It’s called inclusion,” I snap. “You did notice. You ignored it.”
Like we did with Dante, until it was too late.
Our alliance ends before it has a chance to gel. The Arclight’s people form a line on one side and the Ice Cube’s on the other. Gina and I are stranded in between. At least Rue’s still with me.
“How can you be sure?” Rami asks.
“She can’t,” Honoria answers for me, as though she’s afraid I’m going to cite Rue as my source. I’m not that stupid.
“Her eyes are turning gold,” I say. “Listen to her. She’s growling.” Every person from the Ice Cube—except Rami—backs up a step.
Rami doesn’t know what to do. He’s probably known Gina since she was born. Sentiment can be as lethal as a bullet.
“When you found her, was she wounded?” Honoria asks.
She turns her head, gauging how far she is from the weapons we surrendered. All of them are out of reach except the rifle Rami never put down and the silver pistol she refused to give up.
“She came in on her own, but the only blood on her was from someone else.”
“Didn’t you screen the survivors? Check for branching? Anything?”
“I know a human when I see one,” he says. “Gina! Get over here where you belong.”
But she doesn’t belong there anymore.
Cherish shows me the grid of blue lines growing inside Gina, strongest at her pulse points. If I could see her back, I know there’d be a Death Tree in full bloom.
“Gina!”
“You’ve got to get her isolated,” Honoria says. “We can give her a shot to beat this, but—”
“Beat it?”
Rami pulls up short. He looks from Honoria to Trey to me. Back to Trey. Back to me.
“What did you do?” he asks.
“We have a serum,” Honoria says. “It’s not perfect, but we’ve tested it, and—”
Gina shrieks, high-pitched and horrible; her expression turns hateful. She launches into the air as nanites flood her skin, appearing and receding like kinetic bruises.
“Rue, don’t!” I shout out loud because it’s not going to matter if the others hear me or not. He’s let go.
Gina’s becoming a Fade, but Rue was born one, and he’s a lot better at using Fade abilities to his advantage.
By all appearances, she hits a pane of glass and crashes back with the wind knocked out of her, but once he’s got her on the ground, Rue’s focus splits. He can’t restrain her and keep up his camouflage at the same time. One has to go—and there’s no way he’ll give her another shot at me.
“Oh, this is so not good,” Tobin says.
Rue’s camouflage blinks like a faulty connection in a wire, revealing his presence to the rest of the room. He’s sitting on Gina’s legs, pinning her hands down by the wrists, over her sleeves and through his robe, so she can’t scratch him, but his presence triggers the wild-Fade’s self-defense mechanism. The same black protrusions that came out of Silver shoot through her skin and clothes to ward him off, knocking her unconscious. He lets go before they can touch him.
“She needs to be contained,” Honoria tries, but it’s futile. You can’t just pretend there’s not a Fade in the room.
I understand now why “getting stunned” is called that. A pulse goes off through the room, with Rue and Gina at its center point. It passes through everything—concentric rings of electric current that freeze everyone where they stand. The air’s buzzing with it, creating confusion in those who aren’t prepared for what they see. All they can do is gape and scream.
“I’m sorry,” Rue says nervously. “I cannot aid her.”
Repentant. Apologetic. I cannot change the outcome. I desire to change the outcome.
He tries to convey how sick he feels, but even if I pass his anguish along word for word, they’ll only see a monster hovering over someone they love.
“We can deal with this, but you have to act,” Honoria says, trying to keep Rami’s attention on her. “The nanites are going to replicate double time to deal with the damage to her body.”
Below the surface of Gina’s skin, thick glowing lines of nanites wind through her veins, flowing into her tissues.
“Gina?” Rami calls. I think he knows she can’t answer.
I pull out of Tobin’s grasp despite his tightening grip, and reach for Rue, to draw him to his feet.
Run, I tell him.
I’m sorry. Attempting aid won’t be successful.
Get yourself out of—
“Get away from that thing!”
Rami swings his rifle up, locking tight against his shoulder. People are always trying to shoot me.
“He’s not dangerous,” I say.
“You brought that thing?” Rami asks. His hands are sweating so much, that they slip on the rifle. “You knew it was here?”
“Calm down.” Mr. Pace’s voice is softer, less threatening and more rational.
“He won’t hurt you,” I say. “He was protecting me from Gina, that’s all.”
“Get away from it.” The rifle shakes in Rami’s hands.
“No.”
Rue, get out of here. Disappear and run.
You run; I run.
I can’t leave.
“I will not abandon mine,” Rue says out loud.
His marks are in motion. Responding to his agitation and temper, the nanites tighten across his skin and clothes. There’s definitely no way to miss the change in his face, where the lines become finer and sharper. The silver bands in his iris widen out, a signal to beware.
“What was that you said about branching, lady?” Rami asks.
Cherish chants guard and protect, calling out to her hive mates, but they’re too far away. She and I stand in their place. Together, we are unmovable.
A rock unmoved by water.
Rue’s arm closes around me.
Honoria’s hand goes to her back, and for once I’m glad she’s got that stupid pistol on her.
“Do something,” Anne-Marie calls out to Mr. Pace.
Rami’s focus snaps to where she’s standing with her brother.
“There are an awful lot of blue eyes in this room,” he says, staring at Trey before turning back to me and Rue. “Nothing much on its own, but I’ve never seen anything like you, girl. Nothing but what crawls out of a Killer’s skin when it’s dead. I’ve never seen anything like him.”
He fires.
I actually see the shot emerge from the flash off the end of the rifle. Nanites explode from Rue’s skin at the same time to create a veil around us both.
He pushes me down until my knees and hands hit the tile below us. The bullet strikes the veil and deflects, but the resonance of impact shimmies across the weave, passing along thin wires that disappear into—my skin?
“Not possible,” I say, staring at my hands. They’re covered in whirling Fade-marks, connected to the veil. Where Rue’s hands are wrapped over mine, the lines mingle into braided cords, stronger than one created by a single Fade.
I lay my hand against the veil on the inside and feel it pulse with the heartbeat Rue’s played for me a dozen times or more. On the other side, Tobin lays his hand palm-to-palm against mine.
“Marina?” He’s looking at my face.
Are there marks on my face, too? Can he see the ones on my hands?
My Fade hands.
I was human two days ago.
Cherish is singing. A wordless song of unbound joy and relief fills my head, drowning out screams of horror as Rami fires another shot. The impact resonates along the veil, but Cherish is still singing. She has what she wants.
Rami’s at a loss. The third shot has no more impact than the first two. Col. Lutrell pounces on his hesitation.
One quick strike to his side, and Rami crumples enough that Col. Lutrell can get his hands on the rifle at the stock and barrel. They grapple for it, but the colonel has better leverage, and gloves that protect his hands from the heat off the barrel. He wrenches the rifle from Rami’s hands, sending the smaller man sprawling.
He also loses his shades.
Honoria stands over Rami, her arm outstretched with the pistol in her hand, pointed at his head. I still hate that thing, but I’m starting to appreciate its advantage.
“We are not your enemy,” she says. The creases in her face are shallower than they used to be; her complexion’s brighter. That can’t be right, a person can’t age backward . . . but she is. “So long as everyone keeps their heads, we will remain not your enemy.”
Rue takes that as his cue to stand. The veil shrinks in. My stomach sinks when half the nanites slide into my hands, and I can’t help but hide them behind my back.
Cherish will not win. I will not wither inside my own body. I search for Tobin’s hand and hang on tight.
My choice, I tell her stubbornly.
All she does is remind me that I haven’t stepped away from Rue. I made that choice, too.
Rami, still on the floor, doesn’t blink.
He and Honoria are mirror opposites, matter and antimatter on the verge of detonation.
“We’re going to do what we can to contain that child,” she says. “And you are going to stop pointing weapons at the people trying to help you. Understood?”
Rami stands, pushing up from the ground with his palms, staring at Col. Lutrell’s face. He was wary of blue eyes; silver are worse.
“I suggest you say something,” Honoria says.
Honoria gets her answer, but it’s not what she’s hoping for. Rami pulls his lip in under his teeth to create a long, variable toned whistle. His people spring into action, and we’re not ready for it.
The Arclight concentrates on defense, making sure nothing can break through, but these people expect a breach. They’re prepared to face a swarm. They don’t hold their ground; they attack.
Groups of them encircle each of us, pushing, pulling, shoving, keeping us stumbling as they jostle us. The complete randomness of the assault works in their favor. It’s not a fight in the traditional sense, but we’re losing.
