Parched (48 page)

“Hunter!” I slap his face, hard and then harder still. “Hunter!”

Nothing. Mouth-to-mouth? No, he doesn't need air to live. He needs mirror matter.

Please
don't let it have gotten lost in the river. Near me, I hear cries of delight as people begin jumping and wading into the river, but all I can focus on is finding the circle of skin at the back of his head. It opens easily. The empty tube falls into my fingers. I laugh, wild with relief that it made the journey. But is it empty? Is he dead? My eyes can't find silver. I turn it around, studying every part anxiously. It looks empty.

Glancing up, I see the sun's first rays breaking over the horizon, creeping toward us. I hold the tube of mirror matter in my palm. My hand is shaking so badly it rocks the glass. I grab my wrist and try to steady it but I can't, so I put it on the ground next to us.

“Please,” I whisper, watching the sun warm the empty cylinder. “Please let there be something left.”

Around me, people are yelling and laughing and splashing in the river, their voices joyous. But all I feel is dread.

Then I see something in the tube. A silver stain, no bigger than a hair. But will it be enough? I grab the tube end and, with trembling fingers, insert it back into Hunter's head.

“Hunter,” I whisper, searching his face for any sign of life. “Hunter?”

A minute passes. Nothing. It wasn't enough. Did he know serfing that many Quicks would kill him? Yes. I'm sure he did. We broke the dam. We brought life back to the Badlands. But Hunter sacrificed himself in the process. And now I am alone in the Badlands once more.
I am alone in the Badlands
. No friends. No food. No money. And no Hunter.

“Please,” I choke. “Please let him live.”

His face is unmoving. His eyes are flat.

I collapse on his chest and start to sob, my shoulders shaking, my soul broken.

Something moves. I jump like I've been shot, jerking up hard. “Hunter?” I stare into his dead, unseeing eyes, my jaw loose. “Hunter?”

He blinks.

“Hunter!” I scream. “Can you hear me? Hunter!” I'm babbling, my eyes all over him. “Are you alive? Please, please be alive. Hunter! Hunter!”

In a flurry of tiny twitches, life returns to his face, as beautiful as any sunrise. He blinks again, and his sight returns. He focuses on me. He sees me. He croaks, “Tess?”

“I'm here,” I say, stroking his face gently. Tears drip down my nose and splash onto his face. “It's me. I'm here.”

His face contorts, and he says something I can't make out. I put my ear to his mouth. “What? I couldn't hear you.”

He clears his throat. “More. Soon . . . I'll need more sun.”

“Okay,” I tell him. “Soon.” For now, I just want to hold him to make sure he's really still alive.

“Thank you.” He winces, trying to sit up. “My legs . . .”

“Here.” I put my hands under his ams and help him into a sitting position.

“Lucky I'm so light.” He gives me a crooked grin. “Or maybe you're just strong.”

I'm laughing and I'm crying and my heart is singing, singing, singing because Hunter is alive.

He glances around, taking in his surroundings. Unpaved roads piled with garbage and rows of rundown, colorful shacks. Children run barefoot toward the river, naked or in rags. By now thousands of Badlanders are by the roaring river—wading, drinking, splashing in the shallows. The sultry morning air is alive with the sounds of laughter and one word ringing out over and over and over again.
Acqua
. Water.

“We are in the Badlands,” Hunter says.

“Yes,” I nod, wiping away tears.

“And you are here with me.”

“Yes,” I breathe the word. “Yes, I am.”

He studies my face, reaching up to wipe something off my cheek. “And you are still alive.”

I hiccup a laugh, my tears finally starting to subside. “Defies belief, doesn't it?”

“No one knows how to stare death in the face like Tessendra Rockwood,” he says with a slow, gentle smile.

I stare at him, lost. Lost in the gaze of the boy who saved my life, and whose life I saved. One hand raises to graze my cheek and I shudder. His fingertips spark electricity under my skin, bringing my body back to life. I raise my arms to circle his neck, pulling myself as close as I can to him, my head buried in his neck. For a long moment, we just hold each other and all I can think is
thank you thank you thank you
.

I pull back so I can see his face again. His usual expression of calm curiosity has been replaced with something more intense. Something alive and hungry.

“Tess?”

“Yes?” I ask, my thumb pads drawing slow circles on his cheeks.

His mouth quirks, lips parting. “Is this really just a chemical called dopamine?”

I smile broadly, feeling as warm and full as the sun. “No. It's not.” I look into his eyes, his beautiful green eyes gazing back at me steadily. “I love you. I love you,” I say it again, and I can't stop myself saying it a third time. “I love you, Hunter.”

As my lips move to his, I feel him sigh, the words almost lost over the roar of the river. “I love you too, Tess.”

Finally, finally our lips meet. At first his lips just brush mine, no more than a butterfly wing, no more than a ray of sunlight. But even this whisper of a movement sparks an explosion inside me; a feeling that is at once wholly new, and also an expectation met. I lean back, and see Hunter's eyes are still closed, his expression rapt. When he opens them, they are glowing and so extraordinarily alive. He says, “More.”