Earthquake (20 page)

I catch sight
of something red under a piece of a splintered wall, and my heart speeds up as I run to it. I want to cry with joy when my hands grasp the ragged canvas of my backpack. It’s been opened, its contents strewn across the floor. But it’s
mine
. I start to riffle through it; the files are gone, though they didn’t bother to take the bag of gold. And the journal is gone too.

Inwardly I thank the gods for Rebecca’s foresight to not write her secret down, no matter how much frustration it’s brought me. I frantically unzip pockets trying to remember which one I kept it—there!

I collapse on the floor in relief as I hold up the plastic ziplocked bag containing the braid from Sonya’s life. I can’t
believe
I got it back! I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but I can’t. Everything, even this terrible, awful discovery, is worth this moment.

I want to take the whole backpack with me, but I realize that, even though this place looks abandoned, if anyone were to come back and see it was gone, they’d know.

Besides, nothing else in there is nearly as important as this artifact from Sonya’s life.

A pounding on my door makes me nearly shriek in surprise. It’s not the cell door—it’s the door in my secret bedroom. But how? I apparently forgot to get rid of the door when I stumbled in half-asleep this morning, but even so, I didn’t think anyone knew I was here. Or that anyone would question a random door among thousands in the headquarters.

I stuff the braid into my pocket and creep back through the hole, closing it behind me, reminding myself that I can come back any time.

I open the door to Logan, his face a tableau of despair, his clothes rumpled, hair tousled. “Logan.” I don’t know what else to say. “How . . . how . . .?”

“I followed you. I know, I know, intruding on privacy and all of that, but I couldn’t sleep without knowing you were safe. I had—I had to know
where
you were.” He pauses, his jaw tight. “I didn’t even care if you were with . . . if you weren’t alone. As long as I knew where you were.”

“Logan—”

“It happened again.”

I don’t understand.

“Like the thing in the South Pacific. It happened
again
.”

“No.” Everything I just discovered falls from my mind, and I follow Logan as he sprints down the hallway—grateful that after having my leg healed, I can easily keep up.

The main atrium is full of people when we burst out of the hallway. Most of them are clustered around the giant flat-screen television, which has been moved to the center of the room. For easy viewing, probably. The hulking Viking ship I saw earlier is still mounted on one wall, but it’s only half-finished and makes the whole place look abandoned despite the hundreds of milling people.

The news story is eerily similar to the one three days ago except that last time the news started reporting hours after the disaster. It seems to only be minutes now. The reporter is stumbling over his words, in a near panic, the camera shaky.

“The Andes Mountains, for as far as anyone can see, are simply gone. There’s no logical explanation. They just disappeared. There’s no way science can even begin to . . .” His face crumples, and he loses his professionalism for just a moment. “Sarah, people
fell out of the sky
. Mountain villages, bodies just crashed into the ground. The devastation, the sheer carnage. It’s . . . it’s unspeakable.”

The camera pans, and I’m not the only one in the atrium who claps their hand over their mouth at the red splashes of blood amid splintered remains of houses and shacks, scattered in mounds for—as the reporter said—as far as the camera will allow anyone to see.

The scene goes back to some reporter in the United States, safe inside a network studio. Sarah, I assume. “Again, we have only the barest reports of this disaster, and we are still trying to sort through fact and fiction. Scientists are already at work to determine if this incident could have anything to do with the devastation we saw in the South Pacific only days ago, but that connection has not yet been confirmed. We urge our viewers not to panic—to stay tuned as we get more updates.”

The Andes Mountains. Another Earthbound. It must be.

This is my fault.

Maybe I should have told Daniel the truth—the whole truth. Maybe we should have guzzled Red Bull and worked all night to close that final gap between the isolated protein and an actual working vaccine.

But would that have helped an unknown Earthbound who was already sick? I don’t think it could have.

And if Daniel is working with the Reduciates, would it have mattered at all? Am I simply helping him make a vaccine he’s going to keep for himself?

Is
anything
I’m doing making any difference? Or am I as helpless as everybody else?

I try to tell myself that it doesn’t matter. That the what-ifs and maybes can’t affect me. It’s the past. I can’t change it. I have to let go and look forward and keep doing the only thing I can: making that vaccine.

But that thought doesn’t ease the sickness in my belly. Doesn’t stop the tears that flow as I press my face into Logan’s shoulder, sobbing as he bears almost my entire weight. Crushing me to him like
I’m
going to disappear next.

I don’t care if he takes it wrong. All I know is I need someone to hold me. To have the strength I don’t have. To love the flawed person I am. To be my lifeline when I’m not sure I can bear to ask my broken heart to beat one more time.

“Curatoriates.”

The shock of real human speech is almost enough to make me lift my head from Logan’s shoulder. But I recognize Daniel’s voice and push even harder against Logan. I can’t bear to look at him. To be reminded of the work I’ve been too slow with. Of the fact that I’m working with a man I can’t trust. Of the possibility that maybe he
wants
all this to happen.

“Listen to me, please. We cannot lose ourselves to fear.”

A motivational speech, I should have known. I don’t care to hear anymore. I want to
leave
the headquarters entirely, and if I thought it would help anything, I would. But when Daniel is finished I’ll have to find the will to live again and drag myself upstairs and resume my work with the hope that not only will I succeed, but that somehow I can get the vaccine into the right hands.

Because even though we have again lost literally millions of lives—not to mention the mountains I’ve always considered some of the most beautiful land in the entire world—there’s still more to save. So much more. And as long as there’s someone, something, to save, I have to try.

In a moment.

Another.

The sound of my name makes my head jerk up.

“In our time of such great need Tavia Michaels has not only come to us, but after last night, I promise you, we are on the cusp of finding the answer. The vaccine that will keep us all safe. That will keep the entire world safe. The gods, the same gods who cursed us to roam this earth forever, have not forgotten us. They’ve sent Tavia, even as we teeter on the brink of literal extinction. And we are so close to succeeding.”

His expression is open, honest, pleading with his people to keep faith in him. But my tear-ravaged face heats beneath my skin, and I wish I could curl into a ball and disappear into a puff of humiliation.

What the hell is he doing?
Is he
trying
to paralyze me under the weight of expectation? I know him too well to believe he’s just trying to make his people feel better.

He’s trying to accomplish
something
with these trite words. He must be. He never does anything accidentally.

I hear his continued speech as though through a long tunnel, the words barely making sense as they reach my ears. What is his true purpose? I’ve got to figure it out. If I don’t . . .

“And once she does, we will go out into the world. We’ll find everyone possible and distribute this vaccine. We are literally poised to be the saviors of the entire earth. And if there is any way for us to fully make up for the mistakes of our past, this is it. Tavia, come to me.”

I shoot a look of death at him, but it’s too late. He’s staring at me, holding his hand out. The crowd parts like the Red Sea, and fingers reach for me, touching my shoulders, pulling me forward.

But I don’t feel adored. I don’t feel appreciated. I feel used and cheap. They’re tearing me from Logan, pushing me toward Daniel, and I don’t like the metaphorical significance. Or what it says about my own decisions.

But they are too many and I am just me. In about a minute I’ve been thrust forward, up the stairs, where Daniel takes my hand and raises it, joined with his, over his head. He turns, and though no one can see how tightly he grips my fingers, I know—even as I look back at Logan—that I have no choice but to go with him. Even if he has to drag me up those stairs, he will.

A mournful cheer follows us, and I know that every hope—every desperate spark of possibility that exists in the hearts of the Curatoriates—is fully invested in me.

• • •

“What the hell was that?” I demand as soon as the door to the science wing closes behind us.

“It was necessary,” Daniel says. His entire demeanor has changed now that everyone isn’t looking at him. Looking at
us
.

“You didn’t have to drag
me
into it,” I hiss. “What if we can’t do it? What if
I
can’t? Do you think they’re going to blame you? It’s not even safe for me here anymore. You’ve ruined everything.”

“It was
necessary
,” Daniel repeats, his voice hard with an edge I’ve only heard a time or two before. He looks at me, his gaze drilling into mine for several seconds before he says slowly, deliberately, “You’re not the only one with secret plans, Tavia Michaels.”

I clamp my jaw shut.

He knows
.

I’m not sure what precisely he knows. But
something
. I shouldn’t be surprised. I was kidding myself to think I could keep secrets from him in his own territory. His own domain.

But how much does he think
I
know?

“Are you ready?” Daniel asks, gesturing toward the detoxification room.

I breathe deeply. Am I ready? Am I ready to work
for him
? Now that I know he’s somehow connected to the Reduciata? That he killed Thomas in another life to keep him quiet? He admitted he has his own secret plan that revolves around me. Can I justify being complicit in that?

But what choice do I have? The vaccine is more important than anything else. Can keeping it out of Reduciata hands really mean more than getting it
into
human hospitals?

Earthbound I can handle later; humans have to be saved
now
.

Once the vaccine is complete I can retrieve my artifacts from the vault and leave. Or, at least, that’s what he once told me. Now, with my heart half-breaking, I realize that I may have to leave without my belongings. If I want to escape with my life.

I finger the braid in my pocket. I wish I could use it now. But what excuse would I be able to offer now that he’s dragged me right into the lab itself?

First things first. We have a world to save. No matter what, it always comes back to that.

I let my head fall. I surrender. This is my job, like it or not. I’ve just pulled my fingers out of my pocket when a crash sounds behind me and someone I don’t recognize rushes in.

“Daniel! Daniel! You were right. We have him. And undeniable evidence. We’ve got him.”

A smile curls across Daniel’s face, and my stomach feels like a storm of bees at the sight.

“Excellent. Have him brought to the stairs.”

The man blanches. “In front of everyone?”

“In front of
everyone
,” Daniel says softly, and suddenly I’m afraid. “Come on,” he says, beckoning to me almost as an afterthought. “Our work will have to wait for a few minutes.”

I’m confused, but there’s nothing to do but follow Daniel right back down the steps we just climbed.

Back to the people he just declared me to be the hero of.

I feel so sick.

Logan meets me halfway down the stairs. “What’s happening?” he asks as he threads his fingers through mine. I don’t protest; I want something to hold on to too.

I shake my head, my eyes fixed on Daniel’s back. I don’t like what I heard in his tone. Saw in his eyes. There’s a sound from behind the nervous crowd—many with tears still streaming down their faces—even as the noise from the televisions becomes oddly irrelevant. The people part, making way for a man held tightly by two others and surrounded by a group of people dressed in plain, cream-colored clothing. Security. So innocent-looking. So
not
innocent.

As soon as he gets close enough for me to see that rust-red hair, I realize who he is. “No,” I whisper, my stomach twisting and wrenching within me.

“Is this him? The man who’s been following you?” Daniel asks.

I can’t speak. I won’t speak. The man looks up at me pleadingly through those soft blond eyelashes. I can’t. I don’t care what Daniel thinks this guy has done—or worse, what he’s simply going to convince
everyone else
this guy did—I can’t condemn him to death with one word.

But clearly the look on my face shouts louder than my will.

A woman hands a tablet computer over to Daniel.

Daniel stares at it. Then he clears his throat. The audience hushes instantly.

“It has come to my attention that the details of my work with Tavia have not been as secret as I had hoped. Specifically, from the Reduciata.”

A ripple goes through the crowd at the name that is practically blasphemy in this Curatoria world. It just makes me angrier that Daniel continues to play them.

“Our own security forces have been closing in on this man, and now I have the proof I was waiting for. The spy’s computer,” he says. “With an unsent e-mail that reads:
They’re close. Reports say on the cusp. They have the girl. Should I destroy everything or just kill her?
” Daniel looks up at the crowd, then turns the tablet around so the gathered Curatoriates can see.

They’re not close enough to actually read it. But the gesture is all the proof they need. Exclamations of fury explode below me, people shouting insults and suggestions for how to punish him. It feels like a fight in junior high, with the bullies ganging up on one kid. I’m sick to my stomach, and I wish I could leave, even if it would look cowardly.

“A Reduciata spy,” Daniel says. Loud, clear, but calm. “A man—not even an Earthbound, just a man—who would damn the entire world for what? Reduciata favors. Make no mistake: we fight for the life of the world.” He turns to glare at the hapless man, who looks too terrified to be a traitor.

And I wonder . . .

“And we fight against people
like this
.” With his final word, Daniel thrusts out his hand and clenches it in a fist.

Then the man is choking. His face turns red, and he gags and retches. Blood pours from his mouth, splattering to the floor seconds before he falls to his knees, his hands slipping in the wetness and smearing the dark stain across the beige tile. The crowd is alive with buzzing again, but no one rushes forward to help.

I try.

I step away from Logan, release his hand. But his arms snake around me, and he pulls me back, gripping me tightly against his chest. “There’s nothing you can do,” he whispers. “It’s already over.”

As if hearing Logan’s words, the man crumples to the ground. His chest spasms once, twice.

And then he is still.

Everything
is still.

“I will not let this world die,” Daniel says, his voice quiet, yet it
echoes
. “Not if I have to kill a thousand traitors like him. I will right my wrongs.”

Silence.

I know one of two things will happen now. The Curatoriates will rise up against Daniel.

Or
for
him.

The silence stretches on for ten seconds. Twenty. It verges on a minute when a slow clapping starts.

One set of hands is joined by another. Another. A dozen more. A hundred. Everyone claps, a few shout out Latin phrases I ought to understand. But I know what they
mean
.

In an instant they are utterly loyal to Daniel again. Their suspicions, their questions, even much of their fear at the disaster in South America: all gone. Replaced with godlike awe and reverence for a killer.
That
was the purpose of the speech earlier. Of that little
demonstration
. Daniel used me. He used me to catch this spy—assuming he wasn’t actually a pawn; I don’t even know anymore—and then manipulated us both in a show of power to draw all of the Curatoriates closer. To regain their absolute loyalty.

If this all goes wrong, they will still side
with him
. They will remember his words and trust that he did everything he could.

What will they think of me?

I stare in disbelief and horror at the man on the floor. He’s dead because of me. I may as well have choked the life out of him myself.