Falls the Shadow (26 page)

The lump that rises in my throat is so huge that I manage to choke out only a single word: “Me.”

She nods, her gaze falling back to the path ahead. “The day after I killed Samantha, I started getting flashes of terrible things. Not straightforward
commands
, but more like pictures, scenes I felt compelled to make happen—I don't know how else to explain it. But they . . . they were all of you. Awful things they were trying to make me do to you. And the longer I resisted, the worse they got. That's why I left town, because I thought if I could put some distance between us . . .”

The lump in my throat swells even larger. I'd been so
angry with her for running off, when all along she'd only been trying to protect me.

“You weren't supposed to follow me,” my sister says.

“You should have known I would,” I answer quietly. The wind is blowing the rain almost sideways into my face now, hard enough that it stings the back of my hand when I try to block it out. “I always have.”

She smiles, but it's a sad kind of smile that quickly wilts in the corners. “Right. Because you're an idiot,” she says, shaking her head. “You could have been killed last night, you know. If I hadn't found Jaxon first, if he hadn't started shouting at me about Samantha . . .” She takes a deep breath. “He confused me. By the time you showed up, my mind was a wreck, but at least everything Huxley had tried dumping in there was scrambled and confused too—especially after the tranquilizer darts. I keep thinking about what I could have done, about what I—”

“But you didn't do it. You wouldn't have done it.” Even if I couldn't understand anything else she's telling me, suddenly I know that I'd still understand that much. “You would never have done it,” I repeat. “Not to your sister.”

Her step slows. I keep walking, but I can feel her watching me in that intense way of hers, waiting for me to say more.

“You aren't some robotic creation of theirs,” I say. “You've proven that, haven't you? You're not like Samantha's clone. She was different—she wasn't thinking about anything except what Huxley wanted. I could tell.”

I'm sorting everything out even as I say it now, and
those last few words send a chilling realization through me—one that quickly makes everything else seem a lot less important. “And what about the rest of the clones?” I ask. “If Huxley sees you as a flaw in their plans, then most of the other clones must be like Samantha, right? And that would mean . . .”

I let the thought die on my tongue, as if not saying it out loud will somehow prevent anything like it from ever coming true. But Violet finishes my sentence for me.

“It would mean they potentially have a terrifyingly strong army to control. And there's really no telling what they could do with that sort of power, but I'm starting to doubt that anything about their plans was ever really as just-in-case as they claimed.”

I'm thankful for the rain, suddenly; for the cold drops hitting my skin, washing over me and keeping me awake and alert. Because as much as I'd like to drift away from all of this, to let all of me succumb to the same shock that's threatening my mind, I can't. I know exactly what they could do with that sort of power. Every word of the conversation I had with President Cross is ringing clearly through my memory now, all her warnings of Huxley's plans to replace the population with their perfected, manufactured clones. She was more right than she could have guessed—and now we have proof.

And we have to do something.

“We have to tell someone,” I say. “About what Huxley was doing to you, about the clones, about what really happened to Samantha, about—”

“About what really happened?” She laughs bitterly. “Yes—let's tell them that a clone killed a defenseless young girl. That's an
excellent
idea. I'm sure it won't cause any rioting mobs to form or anything like that.”

“We'll make them understand!”

“You can't force people to understand what they don't want to, Cate.”

“You've managed to fight off whatever it was that Huxley is trying to do. You're proof of what's really happening at their labs—we can't just keep that to ourselves. There are people who will believe us. The CCA, even.”

“You really do trust them, then?”

“No, not all of them, but we could start there, at least. And with our parents, and whoever else we—”

She cuts in front of me so quickly that I slam into her.

“I'm not going back to the city,” she says, her gaze not breaking mine even as I shove her away.

“Violet—”

“I left because I was afraid of what I might end up doing. And yes, I'm fighting Huxley
now
, but these past twenty-four hours have been hell. What happens if I slip again? What happens if they catch me and figure out a way to ‘fix' me, and I become just another brainless member of their army?”

“That isn't going to happen. You're stronger than that—and since when have you
ever
listened to anything anyone's told you to do?”

“I'm not going back,” she repeats, shaking her head. “It's too late, anyway. It's already begun. If Samantha's
clone was activated, then it means her father has most likely dropped the double-agent act and that President Cross knows the truth about him. Huxley might not have been ready to start their war with the CCA yet, but thanks to Samantha, they have one on their hands now—and I don't want to get caught up in it anymore.”

“There has to be something we can do to stop all of this.” I wish I could keep the telltale fear from my voice. That I could somehow sound at least a little more confident than I feel. But I can't. And soon that fear starts to feel more like frustration, because there is no quick fix that I can see for any of this. Everything just keeps getting more complicated. Our lives were never what most people would call “normal,” I know; but we had
our
normal.

I just want our normal back.

But it won't be the same without her.

“You can't just run away.”

“Yes, I can.”

She's looking at me like I'm the crazy one now, as if running is the only thing left to do.

And I try, but it's hard to be completely annoyed with her, when I want so badly to hide myself. It's what I've always been best at, after all—and there isn't a lot I wouldn't give to be able to leave all of this fear and confusion and uncertainty behind.

I'm not entirely sure why I keep walking toward it, pushing past Violet and setting off at a run through the rain-slicked grass. But I do. For a long time she doesn't follow; I keep looking over my shoulder just to see her staring
back at me, her body the only disruption in the sheets of water falling to the earth. I've nearly lost sight of her when she finally decides to move.

She closes the distance between us easily. “Running has been my plan since the beginning,” she says. “I was going to get away from all of this. But then you insisted on following me and bringing Jaxon and basically setting the entire stage for Huxley and their sick little games—”

“So you're blaming me again,” I snap, whirling around to face her. “How fantastically original of you.” It's all I can do to keep my voice from shaking. Angry tears sting my eyes, but at least they won't be noticeable when they fall, thanks to the rain already streaking down my face.

Violet slows to a stop, staring uncertainly at me. Then she takes a single step back—a hesitation that seems weighted with decision, and somehow that small motion annoys me more than anything she could have said.

“And what am I supposed to tell our parents if you don't come back?” I ask. “Because I'm tired of making excuses for you. I'm tired of everyone coming to me for answers, of having to explain away all of the stupid things you do. I don't even know what to say anymore.”

She shrugs. “Tell them I'm gone. For good this time.” Her voice is much calmer than mine. Peaceful, almost, like someone with their eyes closed, ready to float off to sleep. “I was always just for show, anyway. It's not like anyone is honestly going to miss me.”

I will.

In spite of everything, I know I will, because I still love her. And part of me hates her for that.

I can't find my voice, and I can't look at her anymore, so I turn and continue in silence back to the graveyard. I pick my way through the headstones, feet slipping and squelching through the muddy pathways until I'm past the iron gate and back to the place where I left Jaxon behind. Only then do I glance over my shoulder to see if Violet is still with me.

She's not.

And then I turn back to the empty darkness in front of me, and I realize, no one else is either.

My thoughts shift violently away
from my sister and crash into worst-case scenarios about Jaxon and Seth.

They have no clue about Voss, about how complicated and cataclysmic everything surrounding Samantha's death really was. And now I'm too late to tell them. Too late to stop them from going back to the city and walking straight into the center of this mess. I knew I would be, but I was still hoping against hope that Jaxon would have stayed, that he would have waited for me even if I didn't deserve it.

But I guess my performance was even more persuasive than I thought.

Because he and Seth are nowhere in sight, and they aren't answering me, no matter how loudly I shout their names.

I wander toward the run-down groundskeeper's house and circle around and around it, stubbornly searching. He can't have just left. Not without me. How many times did he promise me he wouldn't go anywhere? I know I made him mad earlier, but mad enough for him to abandon me?

What am I supposed to do now?

I slump back against the house. The rough concrete
siding scratches through my soaked shirt, and my eyes drift to the dark highway, to the broken pavement funneling streams of water into potholes oozing with mud and debris.

Twenty miles to Haven. At least.

It's going to be a long walk.

And when I get there, what then? If Huxley really has decided it's time for an offensive, then what's happening between them and the CCA? Am I going to be running straight into a war zone? I think of what happened in the woods, of the weapons they used against Violet. Of Samantha, and her terrifying strength and speed. And she was just one clone. What would an entire army of that be like?

I think about my parents, about Jaxon and everyone else trapped in the city and caught up in that war zone, and I feel sick.

Maybe Violet was right. Maybe it's too late to stop any of this.

But there's only one way to find out.

I pull my swollen wrist against my chest, trying to brace it and keep it still. And then I push off the wall and start for the road.

Almost as soon as I reach the pavement, I hear the splash of quick footsteps coming from somewhere nearby. I keep walking. But I cast an anxious look around, expecting to see Violet and thinking—hoping—that she's done being dramatic and has decided to come with me after all.

Still no sign of anyone, though.

I've been on this eerie, empty highway for less than two minutes, and I'm already hallucinating. I give my head a little shake. “One foot in front of the other,” I chant quietly to myself. “One foot . . .”

I start to turn my full attention back to the path ahead, and that's when I see it: Directly to my left, the misty rain is bending at strange, impossible angles. My mind immediately tries to dismiss it as another delusion. But hope flutters defiantly against my insides, and my feet move on their own, carrying me toward the space. I reach into it, and my fingers brush smooth, curved metal.

Jaxon's car.

He's used the opacity adjustor. And between the rain and the dark it's near impossible to see, but it's there. So where is he? I try shouting his name again, and listening closer for some response, any response—and I get one. Voices. But they're not his.

I hear Seth first, and then Violet.

I sprint toward the sound, and I'm almost back to the graveyard's gates before I can make out their bodies in the darkness. They're standing dangerously close to each other, muscles tense and weapons drawn.

I curse under my breath and run closer, feet sliding over the mud one second and getting stuck in it the next. By the time I reach them, I have flecks of it splattered all the way up to my arms.

“Wait a second, Seth,” I pant. “It's okay, she isn't going to hurt anything—”

“Claims the girl who pulled a gun on Jaxon less
than two hours ago.” His glare shifts from Violet to me instead. “You'll forgive me if I don't exactly trust your word on this.”

I don't think Seth would actually hurt me, but I've never seen him look quite this pissed before—so I'm glad when Jaxon walks up beside him, grabs his gun arm, and forces it down.

He doesn't say anything, though. And his eyes are perfectly guarded as they meet mine. I can't help the disappointment that crashes through me; I mean, I didn't expect him to be happy to see me after what I did, but surely he has to realize that I had a reason for doing it. That I didn't mean what I said. I'm not
that
good of an actress, am I?

“I had my reasons for doing that, Seth,” I say. “I swear I did, but I don't have time to explain it—not right now. Because right now we need to talk about what I saw in the woods.”

“When you went to meet her,” Jaxon says. “Alone.” His tone is unbearably even as his gaze shifts to my sister's clone. I can almost see the wheels in his head turning, and I don't want to know what he's thinking—what explanations he's coming up with for why I went to see Violet. Because I know they're all centered around the same things: betrayal, and the lines I drew when I walked away from him earlier.