Arclight (33 page)

Shock from hearing Col. Lutrell’s voice stops Anne-Marie’s mother from landing another strike on my cheek, but Mr. Pace isn’t so easy to surprise. He’s got his rifle off his shoulder, with Anne-Marie’s mother swept behind him, before anyone can say anything else.

“I’d rather you didn’t point that in my son’s direction, Elias,” Tobin’s father says.

“J-James?” Anne-Marie’s mom asks, trying in vain to scoot back around to face the man she thought was dead.

“Didn’t you tell him?” Tobin asks me.

“It’s not easy to talk when someone’s trying to slap your mouth off.” The top edge of my cheekbone’s still vibrating from the impact.

“That’s not James,” Mr. Pace says. He locks the rifle sight on Tobin’s father. “It’s one of them, Dominique. Annie let them in.”

“My Annie wouldn’t do that.”

“How many did she take?” Mr. Pace demands, straight at me. “Trey, Silver, and who else?”

“No, no, no, no, no. No!”

Anne-Marie’s mother flies out from behind him so fast that she knocks Tobin’s father to the ground, shaking him by the front of his uniform.

“Give her back,” she screams.

“Dominique, get clear,” Mr. Pace orders.

“She’s just a baby! Please, give her back.”

“’Nique, stop it!” Tobin’s father pleads as he attempts to guard his head from her hands. “Annie’s fine. I swear!”

“He’s telling the truth, Ms. Johnston,” Tobin says. He wraps his arms around her from behind, pinning hers against her sides until she stops squirming.

“We were out too long, ’Nique. We had to find a way around the SOS.”

“Elias?” Anne-Marie’s mom looks over her shoulder hopefully. “Is it possible? It’s possible, isn’t it?”

Mr. Pace shakes his head.

“His eyes, Dominique.”

Behind the hands he’s using as a shield, Col. Lutrell’s silvered eyes shine up at her and she howls again—pure rage and pain. She digs her fingernails into his skin, gouging his face.

“Dominique, no!” Mr. Pace shouts. He pulls the slide back on the rifle.

“Don’t!” Tobin darts in front of our teacher, putting his hand on the end of the rifle to keep it pointed at his own chest. It’s a calculated risk at best. “He’s not a Fade.”

I rush Anne-Marie’s mother to pull her off of Tobin’s father.

“Look at your hands, Ms. Johnston,” I say. “Look at his face where you scratched him.”

“Blood,” she says in a hollow voice.

“’Nique, get clear,” Mr. Pace orders again. “I am not losing anyone else to these things.”

“Elias, wait!” Anne-Marie’s mother staggers to her feet with her hand raised. “It’s red, Elias. His blood’s red.”

“No . . . not possible,” Mr. Pace stammers. “I saw you fall. The Fade took you.”

“They saved us,” Col. Lutrell says. “And now they’re trying to help us get back where we belong.”

“How many came back?”

“Four of us to start. There were complications with Elaine and some of the others.”

“Where are my children?” Anne-Marie’s mother asks. “James, please tell me what’s happened to Annie and Trey.”

“They should be back with Jove by now,” I say. “Anne-Marie wanted to stay in the hospital with him, and she was afraid Trey would be too scared to let them heal his arm after the way he was injured.”

“They’re already inside?” Mr. Pace reaches for the radio on his belt.

“Leah wanted to see her son and to make sure his injuries were dealt with first thing,” Col. Lutrell says.

“They’re not here to hurt anyone,” I say. “But if you don’t stop Honoria . . . I know what you did, Mr. Pace, and I know why, but you weren’t saving a human girl the Fade had taken.”

“You’re human, Marina,” Mr. Pace says, but he still doesn’t drop the rifle. “You were taken too young to remember, but you’re human.”

“I’m not supposed to be.”

“And Honoria knew it,” Tobin says. “You don’t know what she did. If you saw what happened in the White Room, you’d be helping us.”

“Maybe we should hear them out,” Anne-Marie’s mother says. She lays her hands gently on Mr. Pace’s arm, pressing down against the rifle.

“Give me a chance,” Col. Lutrell says. “If you don’t believe me when I’m done, then shoot me.”

It’s a stalemate. Mr. Pace stands guarding Anne-Marie’s mother. Col. Lutrell stands guarding his son, and Tobin gradually works his way closer to me.

“There’ve been too many secrets for too long, Elias,” Col. Lutrell says. “They’ve almost destroyed us.” Very nearly the same words Mr. Pace used to accuse Honoria what feels like a lifetime ago.

“You’re sure Annie and the Fade she let inside are in the hospital?” Mr. Pace lets his rifle droop so it dangles from his trigger hand, toward the ground. He unlatches his radio, picking at it with his fingers.

“Yes.”

The Arclight’s people who came in with Rue are in the tunnels by now, getting all of the kids who helped Anne-Marie out of sight until things cool down, so no one makes a mistake they can’t take back later. That was Col. Lutrell’s idea; having Rue go with them was mine, to placate Cherish. I know he’ll keep them safe, but it’s more than that. I don’t think I could deal with him and Tobin and possibly Honoria all at the same time, and if things get bad, he’ll be able to get out. They’ll never find him in the shadows if he has to hide.

Knowing he’s down there, somewhere, makes me feel better.

“Annie was trying to help,” Tobin says. “She wants Jove to have his mom back.”

Mr. Pace raises the radio, pressing the button on the side as it reaches his mouth.

“Be advised,” he says. “We have a breach. Multiple hostiles.”

“Always stubborn at the worst times.” Tobin’s father gives a heavy sigh.

“Elias, no!” Anne-Marie’s mother makes a grab for the radio. “Tell them that room’s full of Fade and they’ll kill anything that moves—including my kids.”

“Proceed to hospital. Converge, but do not engage,” Mr. Pace amends. “I repeat: do not engage. Containment only.”

“Did I hear that right?” Lt. Sykes whines through the radio. “You
don’t
want us to kill these things?”

“We have no confirmation of exposure. Lock down the ward.”

“But Honoria—”

“Anything Honoria has to say, she can tell me to my face when I get there,” Mr. Pace snaps. “Create a perimeter and hold the line. I’m en route.”

He slips the radio back on his belt, raises his rifle again, and uses it to point us back down the hall.

“Let’s go,” he says.

Anne-Marie’s mother runs ahead of us. Tobin laces his fingers though mine, draping his arm around my waist so that I’m in front and he’s between me and Mr. Pace as we follow.

M
Y
senses are swinging back toward Fade levels. It’s no longer just my hearing or even my sense of smell telling me that Lt. Sykes is already outside the hospital ward when we arrive. Emotion ceases to be an abstract; it’s tangible, with a taste and smell all its own.

Tension has an acidic bite. Fear’s the feeling of being crushed between ceiling and floor by the air itself, but its scent turns surprisingly sweet. After a few more steps, Cherish informs me I’m picking up an amalgam of worry: from Anne-Marie’s mother for her children, from Col. Lutrell for his son. Even Tobin and Mr. Pace contribute, their anxiety pinging off my skin. The sweet smell is their concern.

“Status?” Mr. Pace says.

“We’ve got two of them inside, plus your kids and Leah’s boy . . . she came back,” Lt. Sykes says. “How’d they get through? The Arc was solid, then it was just gone. They’d have to be inside to trip the grid.”

“Annie gave us a hand.”

Lt. Sykes jumps, only now realizing who’s accompanied Mr. Pace. “Colonel?”

He shifts his rifle nervously in his hands, unsure if he should point it at us or at the hospital door. The suffocating crush becomes more intense as the others with him—M. Olivet and two I’ve seen patrolling the halls—do the same. The faintest hint of a line becomes visible, shining from the infrared scopes on their rifles as my eyes continue to readjust.

“Stand down,” Mr. Pace says.

“I stood down in the Grey and let you bring those kids inside. Look where that’s gotten us.” Lt. Sykes looks away, carefully checking each of our faces, separating friend from enemy. “We’ve got the hospital on lockdown. No one can figure out how they doused the lights. Honoria’s got half our people out trying to round up however many of our kids we’ve got left, but they’ve disappeared into thin air; the other half’s on Fade watch. One SOS has come back for her son, and here you are with another telling me to stand down. So no, I won’t. Not until you convince me there’s a single reason not to think you’re as far gone as Leah and James.”

“I would think
not
shooting you would have been your first clue,” Mr. Pace says, but it doesn’t do any good. When the enemy can look like anyone, trust is a luxury you can’t afford.

Anne-Marie’s mother, impatient with their bickering, tries to rush the ward, but she’s barred by the guards with Lt. Sykes.

“Get out of my way!”

“You can’t get through, ’Nique,” Lt. Sykes says. “Quarantine seals are one of the few things the old generators were set to preserve in case of power failure. It’s a small advantage, but I’m not going to waste it.”

“It’s creepy having those things walk around in clothes, like real people,” M. Olivet says. Her hands tighten on her rifle.

Through the window, I see Anne-Marie sitting on Jove’s bed, holding his hand, while his mother takes the chair beside them. A female Fade stands in their midst. She’s small, fine boned, with eyes that sit like mine above high cheekbones. I recognize her as the one I saw with Blanca and wonder what her name is. If she’s close to Blanca, then she’s close to me, maybe even family. Her face brings memories of the scent of pine trees and the prickly snag of green needles, so in my mind, the Fade-woman becomes Evergreen.

While Evergreen sees to Jove, lending him her nanites to heal his body, a tall, severe-looking Fade in black denim, whose presence conjures images of storm clouds and lightning as it splits a rotted tree, approaches Trey. To anyone who didn’t know better, they’d look like a couple of teenage boys shaking hands, until Trey unwraps his wounded arm, displaying his burn.

M. Olivet raises her rifle.

“Get the door,” she says. “It’s an easy shot.”

“No!” I shout. “He’s trying to fix Trey’s arm, Mr. Pace. They need to see.”

“Get the door, Sykes,” M. Olivet says. “I can’t shoot through the glass.”

But Mr. Pace catches Lt. Sykes’ hand.

“It’s too late,” he says.

Bolt, which is the name I decide on, holds Trey’s wrecked arm steady while the angled pattern of slashes and stripes transfers from him to Trey. It’s not easy to see them once they leave Bolt’s ashen skin for Trey’s and sink into the deeper sepia tone there.

Trey’s movements turn sluggish with the healing stupor, and he falls backward toward the bed. Bolt keeps him from slipping off, straightening Trey’s legs and folding his arms over his chest. He takes a seat on the floor, cross-legged, waiting for the process to finish.

“Is Trey breathing? I can’t see him breathing!” Trey’s mother cries, trying to force her way through, but the guards won’t budge. I wonder if there was a time my Fade-mother became as frantic over me when I went missing.

“You can’t help him, ’Nique,” Lt. Sykes says. “He’s gone.”

“He’s in stasis,” Tobin’s father corrects. “Once the damage is repaired, he’ll be good as new.”

“Will his eyes shine?” Anne-Marie’s mother asks.

“Not if Trey’s injuries aren’t permanent; the nanites will leave once he’s healed.”

She nods, faster than someone would to simply say they agree. Another note underscores the mix of fear and worry—one that’s pure, clean, and cool.

Emotion’s supposed to be private, but I’m mind-snooping again. With Anne-Marie’s mother, I know exactly how much of her worry’s hidden, how hard she’s struggling not to break down in the floor, and how uncomfortable Lt. Sykes makes her. With Mr. Pace, he wears a thin shroud over an aching concern for Anne-Marie’s whole family, but I can feel his nerves settling.

I focus on Tobin, afraid that the friendly facade he’s worn since the White Room covers his revulsion for my true self. But instead of touching something toxic from him, it’s beautiful. My whole body turns warm, and I’m grateful that the odd color of the emergency lights masks how pink I must be. Tobin doesn’t want me to be Cherish—that hasn’t changed—but not because Cherish is Fade . . . because she’s Rue’s. He doesn’t hate me. It’s the idea of loss that disgusts him.

That’s what this whole thing boils down to. Human or Fade, it doesn’t matter—no one wants to lose the ones they love.

Cherish tries to turn my attention back to Rue, and the idea that she should leave with him, but I can’t. Whatever part of Cherish I return to the Fade would be forever trapped behind a piece of Marina-shaped glass, just out of their reach. To live like that would kill me; I’m not sure that denying Rue would do any less to him.

Tobin thinks I belong here, with him, in the human world, but Cherish will always be in the background to remind me how out of place I am here, to tell me Fade names that I have to distill into words like Evergreen and Bolt because Marina’s mind is linear and lacks the dimension necessary to say more.

I wish I could split myself in two and take both roads.

Anne-Marie’s mother knocks against the hospital’s glass quarantine doors. Anne-Marie raises her head, scowling at our group in the hall. She stands and starts our way.

“Mom?” Anne-Marie says. I read the word on her mouth, but the sound doesn’t pass through. She tries the door, but it won’t open.

Lt. Sykes and the guards prepare for the worst, expecting her to try and break it, or for the Fade in the room with her to turn violent now that they know they’ve been spotted, but Bolt stays on the floor beside Trey’s bed. Evergreen stands beside Jove’s, comforting his mother.

“The door’s locked.” Anne-Marie presses the microphone button on the quarantine controls and tries it again.

“I know, baby,” her mother says. “They can’t let you out yet.”

“I’m sorry I ran off, and I know I’m in a lot of trouble, but—”