In the End (Starbounders) (17 page)

“Since I was bitten, things have gotten . . . clearer. I can hear things outside really well. It doesn’t make sense.”

I study her for a long moment. “What
can
you hear?”

“There’s a stream about a half mile that way.” She motions with her eyes. “And the wind has picked up. Can you hear it, through the leaves?”

I shake my head. “I can’t,” I say.

But I know who could.

Baby.

Chapter Twenty-six

Twenty-four hours, and Brenna still hasn’t changed.

Still, she’s in bad shape. Her clothes are soaked through with sweat, and she shivers uncontrollably. I found an old, musty blanket to cover her with, but she kicked it off, burning up, then begged for it back, telling me she was freezing, only to throw it off again twenty minutes later. She’s been in and out of consciousness. She needs medical attention. She survived a Florae bite.

I’ve been thinking about it, while I’ve watched her fitful sleep, waiting for the cover of night. There’s only one option. I have to get her back to Fort Black. I don’t know the area, and I don’t know if I can find a pharmacy or grocery store to get her meds. Even if I did, they might all be scavenged this close to Fort Black.

Going back there is a deathtrap for me. Pete and Tank are gone, but Doc and the Warden are still out to get me. If I show up again, they’ll try to find some other way to kill me. But I owe Brenna my life. If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t have been out here; if it wasn’t for her, I’d be dead.

And if we go back, I can get back on track with Ken. Maybe he can help protect me. Plus, Ken will want to study Brenna. It’s possible his vaccine was effective or she’s naturally immune, but I don’t think so. I think she’s immune because she was experimented on as a child, given the same injection that Baby received.

My mother told me the scientists tried to perfect a vaccine, but were now having trouble because the bacteria has mutated so many times since then. Baby might not even be the key to a cure, since she was bitten so long ago. But Brenna was just bitten, and her body still managed to fight off the new Florae infection. The researchers would die to have her.

Her dressing has turned the rust color of old blood, and there are no more bandages. I’m not sure if I should move her like this.

But I don’t have a choice. I kneel down next to her. “I’m going to take you back to Fort Black, to get you some help, but you have to be quiet,” I whisper. “Do you hear any Floraes out there now?”

She opens her eyes, barely able to focus on my face. She’s too sick to talk. I pull on my synth-suit hood and walk to the office door. It creaks as it opens, and I freeze, my reloaded Guardian gun drawn. I still have nearly all the ammo Kay left me with—the clips are slim and light, and each carries an impressive number of charges—but still, I have to conserve.

After waiting a long, silent moment with no Floraes in sight, I take a step out of the office, then another, into the comforting darkness of night.

It’s been a while since I was out in the After, unprotected. I have to be the Amy I was before New Hope and Fort Black: silent, wary, stealthy. There’s no other way if I want to live.

With some difficulty, I transfer Brenna from the couch into the bike trailer. She moans and mutters, and her wound reopens, staining her already bloodied bandage a deeper shade of red, but she finally settles in.

I take off on the bike, pulling her behind me. She’s heavy, so the pace is slow. I do what I can to keep my pedaling even so that the noise is a constant hum, but I still have to shoot a Florae before we’ve gone a mile. I wonder how many more we’ll see along the way, drawn to the area by yesterday’s rampant gunfire.

We pass a gas station, and I stop for a moment, silently entering and surveying the store. My Guardian glasses act as night-vision goggles, and I’m thankful again to Kay, for what she’s given me to ensure my survival. All the good supplies have been scavenged, of course, but there’s a first aid kit hidden behind the counter that’s better stocked than the one I have from the auto lot office.

I rebandage Brenna’s wound, cleaning it with hydrogen peroxide first. The skin on her hand looks papery and is streaked with red marks. I make her swallow eight pain pills, though they expired years ago.

Before we get back on the road, I use a pair of scissors I snagged from the office to cut my hair short, leaving it a little longer on top, just like Baby cut it for me. Then, turning my head over, I dump the rest of the peroxide on what’s left of my hair. I hope the color will change—if not to blonde, to orange. After all, Tank and Pete likely aren’t the only thugs Doc sent after me, and I don’t want to be immediately recognizable.

I debate whether to try to change Brenna’s appearance, but her short hair makes it harder. Pete and Tank aren’t going to tell anyone that I was with Brenna. I think back to our leaving Fort Black. . . . Only a few people saw us together. Even if they tell the Warden that Brenna is with me . . . I’ll have to take that chance.

I check Brenna before we head out again. The moonlight reflects off her damp skin. She looks so pale, but she’s at least a little coherent for the moment. She smiles weakly, then snaps her eyes over my shoulder, holding up four fingers on her good hand.

I turn and see the Floraes, too—shuffling along the road toward the gas station, hunting. I slip into the bike trailer with Brenna and pull the flap over us. Moving my head from side to side, through my amplifier I hear a low snarl, a damp huffing, the unmistakable scrape of Florae claws on pavement as They approach.

I stay completely still, curled next to Brenna, who thankfully remains quiet, no longer shivering. The Floraes pass us, but still I wait. I could shoot them, but if we can take cover, I’d rather save my bullets for a more dire situation, for when hiding isn’t an option. It’s how I survived so long in the After, by being patient and careful. Finally Brenna opens her eyes. “They’re gone,” she whispers.

I carefully remove myself from the bike trailer and stretch, searching the road behind us. There’s no sign of Them. Getting back on the bike, I pedal on, slow and steady, in the direction of Fort Black.

As I scan the horizon for Floraes, my mind slowly turns over my options. First I’ll find Jacks, who can help me. Then I’ll bring Brenna to Ken. He’ll study her blood, maybe develop a cure from it. Or maybe he already has the cure—maybe it
was
the latest vaccine that’s saved Brenna.

But why didn’t my mother find the formula sooner? Why didn’t Rice? My mother created the original bacterium strain that started all this, and Rice is the smartest person I’ve ever met. The labs at New Hope are well equipped and staffed. How could Ken, working alone in his Fort Black lab, succeed where they failed?

No. Like Baby, Brenna has to be immune because of that long-ago testing.

After a few hours, the prison walls are in sight.

I circle around to the garage entrance and stop the bike outside the door. Brenna’s lucid enough to keep up on her feet when I haul her from the trailer. Supporting most of her weight, I lug her to the door and kick at it.

I feel eyes on us through the door, and then the guard cracks it open.

“Oh,
hell
no,” the guard says. All I can see are his wide eyes and the end of his rifle barrel. “You’re not bringing her in here. She looks like crap. She’s bitten, isn’t she?”

“Get Jacks,” I say, leaning Brenna against the wall. “Hurry.”

“But—”

“Now!”

The door shuts, and Brenna slides down the wall into a sitting position. I give her some water, thinking it might already be over. If the guard goes to Doc instead of Jacks—and that’s probably protocol, with a probable infection at the gate—it will be. Long minutes pass before the door opens again, but it’s Jacks who’s standing on the threshold with the guard.

My heart presses against my chest. To my surprise, my eyes fill with tears.

“Well,” he says. “I don’t usually like blondes, but . . .” His eyes flick to Brenna and his smile fades. “Brenna? What happened?”

“She’s sick. Help me with her.”

The guard still doesn’t like it. He keeps his gun trained on Brenna while Jacks and I hoist her to her feet and bring her inside. His eyes bore holes into our backs as we make our way through the garage. Sweat beads on my forehead. How long will it take him to call the Warden?

Jacks and I take Brenna around the wall to one of the examination rooms and place her on a bed. “I’ll go get Doc,” he says, turning to leave, but I grab his arm.

“No, wait. Not Doc.”

“Why?”

“Well—” How do I explain that his father wants me dead?

But before I say anything, he pulls me in for a hug.

“When I read that note, I thought I’d never see you again.”

The hairs on my arms are standing on end. “Brenna was bitten by a Florae,” I whisper into his ear.

He releases me, eyeing Brenna, and then a needle on a metal tray across the room. The potassium chloride.

“You don’t understand.” I put myself between him and the tray. “Brenna was bitten yesterday afternoon.” He stares at me, uncomprehending. “Jacks, it’s nighttime now. It’s been about thirty hours since she was bitten. She hasn’t changed. She isn’t going to change.”

Jacks shakes his head. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible. It’s happened.” I step closer to him. “Don’t you see? Brenna could be the key to a cure. She could end it all—New Hope, Fort Black . . . People wouldn’t have to live like this anymore.”

I watch as he struggles with what he’s just heard.

He looks over at Brenna. “Amy, this means . . . ,” he says, understanding dawning on his face, “humans can take back the world.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

“I have to get Doc,” Jacks is telling me for the third time. “If her wound is infected—”

I cut him off. “Can’t
you
help her?”

“I’m not a doctor, Amy.” Jacks stares at me for a long time, then looks away. “I don’t know what to do. I know finding out about all his experimentations bothered you. . . . It freaked me out too. But he’s still a doctor. He still helps people.”

“But—”

I stop myself. Doc and the Warden are trying to keep Jacks safe. If Doc is taking orders from Dr. Reynolds, Jacks will be a lot safer if he doesn’t know about the failed assassination. Even his father may not be able to protect him from Dr. Reynolds. Because if I tell him, he’ll definitely confront Doc about it. That’s just Jacks.

“Doc is unreliable. You know that better than anyone else. Can’t you just find Ken?”

“It took you three weeks to find him before, and that’s only because he wanted to see you.” He looks at my bleak gaze and softens. “But I can ask Doc to contact him. Tell him I need to ask him about an incoming patient, or something.”

“Okay.” That could work. If Jacks doesn’t mention me, Doc won’t know I’m still alive. “Just don’t tell Doc that I’m here. Tell him something happened to Brenna, something that Ken will want to know about.”

“And Doc? Shouldn’t he look at her wound?”

I hesitate.

“What happened, anyway? It looks more savage than a normal bite.”

“I cut away the infected area.”

Jacks grimaces. “You cut off her
fingers
? Damn. I’m surprised she didn’t kill you. Just by reflex.” He shakes his head. “Doc’s got to see her.”

“But—”

“She could die, Amy.”

I look at Brenna. She’s trembling again, her clothes soaked through with sweat. When I place my hand on her face, her skin burns against mine. I wish I could help her myself, but I don’t know what to do.

“All right,” I say, reluctantly.

Jacks hurries from the room. Within minutes, he rushes back in the door, Doc trailing behind.

When Doc sees me, he blanches. Even with all that’s at stake with Brenna, I have to say, I take some satisfaction in his reaction. Clearly, he thought I’d be dead by now.

Doc composes himself and goes to Brenna’s side, unraveling the blood-soaked bandage from her hand. Jacks sucks in air at the sight of her missing fingers.

“It’s a clean cut,” Doc notes. “How did she lose them?”

“A knife,” I tell him. “I think it’s infected, though.”

“Yes . . .” He’s still staring at the wound and shaking his head as though something doesn’t make sense. Then his eyes snap to me. “Those fingers have been removed. This wasn’t from any knife fight or accident. The cuts are too precise.” When I don’t say anything, he presses. “I can’t help her if I don’t know what happened.”

“I had to take them off,” I explain, “but I did everything I could to sterili—”

“
You
took them off? Why on Earth—”

“I had to remove the site of the infection.”

“She’s infected
because
you—” He stops short, his eyes widening. “She’s been bitten, hasn’t she? How dare you bring her here! She must be removed at once. These rooms aren’t strong enough to hold a Florae.” His hand goes to his ear to make a call, but I slap it away.

“No! You don’t understand. You have to help her get better, then Ken needs to see her right away.” I don’t want to tell Doc anything, but how else am I going to get him to help Brenna, to call Ken? “She was bitten more than twenty-four hours ago.”

Doc looks at me dumbly, then studies Brenna.

“Are you certain?” he asks.

“I’ve been with her the whole time.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not exactly dying for her to turn into a Florae, am I?”

Doc glares at me distrustfully, then goes to the cabinet and takes out a tray with medical supplies. He takes a sample of Brenna’s blood, then hooks her up to an IV.

“These antibiotics should help. Jacks, go see when Brenna last received a booster shot.” Jacks nods and leaves the room.

I stare at Doc, who is doing a remarkable job of ignoring me. He takes more of Brenna’s blood, and I realize that I’m not scared. Even though he tried to kill me, even though I’m in an examination room, surrounded by medical supplies. Maybe my anger is overpowering my fear of the clinical setting. I’m not shaking. I don’t feel overwhelmed or unsettled. It’s about time I feel like my old self again.

“Why did you want me dead?” I ask pointedly. “Did you tell Dr. Reynolds I was here? Did he tell you to kill me?”

He doesn’t look at me, just nods. “The Warden and I talked it over. We thought telling New Hope the truth was the only way to salvage the situation. Dr. Reynolds now knows of your presence here. I was only trying to help,” he tells me, not bothering to look up at me, as if this is any kind of explanation.

“And having me killed . . . Who was that helping, exactly?”

His head snaps up, and he looks at me sharply. For a moment I see Jacks in him, his expression. The resemblance fades when he begins to speak. “I wanted to report you from the beginning, but my brother thought we could use you. He also thought you’d be good for Jacks, but I knew you’d be trouble. The Warden is always pulling stunts like that. Good old Johnny. Skirts the law and never gets punished for it.

“Not me. I always get caught. I always get punished. I made one little mistake when I was a doctor. I wasn’t even supposed to be on call, but . . . What was I going to do? The man was dying anyway. He was a goner; it wouldn’t have mattered if I was stone-cold sober. I did my best. One of the nurses reported me, said I was acting strangely, and a drug test later I was done. They searched my office, found some wayward pills. Lawsuits and divorce, and the only place I could get a job was as an orderly at the prison my brother ran. And he only hired me because he knew I would help with the late-night experiments. He knew I wouldn’t tell anyone. . . . Who would believe a washed-up drug addict? He also knew I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Well, they sure needed me, in the end. When the infection broke out and there weren’t any ‘real’ doctors around, you bet your ass they wanted me to practice medicine then. And so what if we still help New Hope out with their experiments? So what if a few people die? People die every day for no reason. At least here, I can collect data and make their deaths worth something.”

I’ve heard it all before, this rationalization. “You don’t have to be their puppet,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Do you think I can just ignore orders from New Hope? Not with my track record, not after the debacle of the fertility study last year. I’m already in enough trouble as it is. And now you’re here. You’re supposed to be dead. If Dr. Reynolds knew you were still alive—”

“What? What would he do?”

He looks at me, his mouth open to answer, but then Jacks returns to the room with a clipboard. “Brenna just received a shot,” he says, breathless from running, “last week.”

Doc grins maniacally. “That’s the latest formula. I knew it. It worked!”

“That’s just one possible explanation,” I say. “Maybe the most recent vaccine worked, maybe Brenna is immune, maybe cutting off her fingers stopped the spread and kept her alive, but . . .” He doesn’t let me finish with my second theory. The one that involves Brenna being part of the original test group . . . the one that sounds crazy, even to me.

“After all this time, we’ve gotten it right!” He puts the blood samples on the metal tray. He reaches over and hugs Jacks. “This is my chance, my boy.”

Jacks gives Doc an uncomfortable half hug. “Chance for what?”

“Vindication! I’m going to run some tests. There must be more tests, life tests, but I know what they’ll show. I knew it!” he says again, heading for the door.

What is a life test? How can Doc be so convinced the vaccine was effective? It’s just what he wants to hear. “What about Ken?” Ken will listen to me.

“What about him?” He’s looking at me, but it’s as if he can barely see me.

“He needs to examine Brenna.”

“Yes, yes. I’ll tell him to come see her,” Doc says, brushing me off as he disappears through the door.

“I don’t trust him,” I tell Jacks as I return to sit at Brenna’s side. Already the color is returning to her face. I wonder briefly what, exactly, is in that IV.

“He’s just excited there’s a vaccine that works.”

“But there isn’t,” I say. “Or, at least, he can’t know that it works. I don’t think that’s what’s going on with Brenna at all.” I fill him in on all the medical testing Hutsen-Prime had been performing on children before the outbreak. I explain my theory that Brenna was part of the original test group. That she, because she was bitten more recently, could be the key to finding a cure. “I don’t know the science, but I think there was something special about that first batch of vaccine. Something that Baby and Brenna got, that they haven’t been able to reproduce since. If they have Brenna, they won’t need Baby anymore!”

“But won’t they just torture Brenna instead?”

“It won’t come to that, not if she’s the answer. They’ll be able to develop a vaccine quickly, maybe even a cure. Brenna was bitten more recently than Baby; her body has combated the mutated strain of bacteria. Besides, Brenna is strong. Baby is just a child.”

I know I’m trying to convince myself as much as I am him. The fact is, I know in my heart I would trade Brenna for Baby. I would sacrifice anyone, including myself, if it meant that Baby was safe.

“Why were you even out there?” Jacks asks.

“Tank attacked me in the prison. I was going to make a run for it, and Brenna said she could take me to get a car with gasoline.”

“What?” Jacks says, clenching his fists. “I’m going to kill him. Now.”

“Too late.”

“Why?”

“He and Pete followed us out there. They’re both dead. I . . .” My voice catches. “I shot him. The Floraes must have gotten him.”

“Good.” Jacks looks at me, taking in my guilt. “If anyone deserved to die, it was Tank. Do you know how many girls he’s probably tortured? Girls who couldn’t defend themselves like you could. Girls like my sister.”

I stare at him, his stony face and dark hair. He holds on to so much pain about his sister’s death. My eyes trace the snake tattoo on his arm while I debate what to do. Would knowing Tank was at fault ease his pain? Would knowing be better than not knowing?

“Jacks, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He looks at me expectantly. I take a deep breath.

“Your sister’s death . . . wasn’t your fault—”

“I should have been watching her,” he cuts me off.

“No. I . . . It was Tank,” I say, struggling to find the right words. “He was obsessed with her. He used that night, the night of the fire, to take her. He killed her, Jacks. No matter how carefully you watched her, he would have found a way.”

Jacks stands up, approaches me with shaking hands. “He told you this, Amy?”

“Yes . . . no, but, Jacks, Tank is dead.”

Jacks grabs my shoulders, shakes me. “How do you know what happened?”

“I read it, in Tank’s psyche-eval.” I realize I made the wrong decision, and fear flashes through me. Jacks collapses onto the floor. He puts his head in my lap and sobs softly. I stroke his hair. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” I whisper.

“No.” He lifts his head and looks up at me. “I’d rather know everything that bastard did to her. She shouldn’t have to suffer alone.”

“But she’s gone.”

“Amy.” He puts his hand in mine. “I want to read it too. Whatever it is you read to find out the truth.”

I shake my head. “It’s not a good idea, Jacks.” It’s too horrible; I can’t let him read it.

“I need to.”

Reluctantly, I pull out Ken’s journal, handing Jacks the loose pieces of paper. I watch him silently while he reads, his mouth slowly dropping. I expect him to rant, to break things, to hit the wall or kick a chair. Instead he sits motionless for a long while, rereading the words.

“Oh God.” A tear escapes the corner of his eye. His pain is so great that for the moment, it drowns his anger.

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him softly. “You had no way of knowing what Tank was up to.”

He rubs his face, wiping away any trace of tears. “I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t protect either of you.”

“I’m not exactly easy to protect. That’s why I have to take care of myself. And Tank’s gone now. He’s not coming back.”

I reach out my hand to his and hold it gently.

“I’ve got to tell Doc. I’ve got to tell my dad.”

“Do you think that’s such a good idea?” I ask. “It might be better if he doesn’t know.”

Jacks stands, clutching the paper. “He was still her father.”

I know I can’t stop him, and he leaves without another word. I wait, wondering if knowing is better. Was my life better when I was ignorant of what the Floraes really were, and my mother’s part in their creation? Was it better to not know if Baby was safe or not? No. Knowing is always better.

Jacks returns a while later, looking grim.

I jump up and ask, “How’d he take it?”

“He . . . He acted like he didn’t even hear me. He’s working on analyzing Brenna’s blood. He didn’t even stop to talk about what I was telling him. He . . . He may have been high. He just kept saying that I should go away and he’d come get me when he was done.”

I make Jacks sit and get him some water. He drinks it slowly, staring at the wall. I stay next to him, trying to be a source of strength he can use.

Jacks and I sit with Brenna in silence. Every minute that passes she looks more like herself, and I silently will her to get better. She may be the only hope that Baby has.

Hours later, we’re deep in the darkest morning.

I’m exhausted, but my mind is racing and I’m too wired to sleep. Too much is at stake; too many people I care about are in danger. Still, my body’s shutting down. My eyes are just beginning to close when Ken comes into the room.

He looks from me to Brenna to Jacks.

“What are you doing in here? I saw the light on, but this room is supposed to be empty.”