The Gray Institute (The Gray Institute Trilogy Book 1) (49 page)

'Okay...' I nod slowly after a long pause. 'But what does that have to do with me?'

'Are you really that dense?' Lucrezia clucks her tongue. 'This time I don't have to go through all of that nonsense. This time I don't have to work my ass off to convince everyone. This time I don't have to come up with a false charge in order to have you thrown into the Confine.

Because you're about to do all my work for me,' she nods in the direction of the Institute's border, a satisfied smirk on her lips.

'I've never met an Immortal stupid enough to do what you're about to. And I never dreamed I'd meet one stupid enough to think they'll actually get away with it. But don't let me convince you otherwise; I can't wait until you're sent to the Confine for all eternity. In fact, I couldn't have planned it better myself.' She turns abruptly, her curtain of hair billowing in the wind as she starts back towards the Institute. She turns a few feet away and offers me a glimmering smile.

'Good luck, Ryder.' She smirks before stalking away.

Lorna waits until Lucrezia's silhouette has shrunk into the distance before she lets out a long, shaky breath. 'Jesus fucking Christ!' She shakes her head. 'So much for her being a blonde airhead!'

'Tell me about it.' I breathe, watching as Lucrezia disappears through the Institute doors.

'D'you think it's a trap?' Lorna asks warily.

'No,' I shake my head firmly. 'What would be the point? If she wanted to tell Sir Alec, she either would have done it already, or waited until we were at the border. It makes no sense to forewarn us.'

'So what now? We can't carry on.'

'We have to,' I shrug. 'If we abort the escape, Lucrezia will tell Sir Alec that we plotted one anyway.'

'He'd have no proof.'

'Does it sound like they had proof of Aleks Anzhela's crime?' I raise an eyebrow.

'Point taken,' Lorna muses. 'So... we stick to the plan?'

'That's the only choice we have.' I shrug.

The narrow stream branches off to the right and we follow it closely, glancing nervously back at the Institute. Though there are trees and wildlife here, there are no pretty flowers or perfectly tended pot plants. Even the path ends eventually, just before the Institute fades out of view.

I take one last look at it; its turrets and towers, its hundreds of windows, its boulder-like bricks which house all of my friends and – of course – Malachy. My heart tugs at the thought of him but I push my pain aside.

This is the furthest I've ever walked from the Institute, and the fields around us are like no man's land; silent and still with no evidence of life. We trudge pressingly on, Lorna's breaths turning short and sharp. She tugs at her scarf, she must be feeling hot. She's struggling to keep up but we don't have time to slow down.

I'm not so sure now that if we were caught we could use the excuse we 'accidentally' went too far; with just one look at the barren wasteland, it's obvious we're miles from the Institute.

'She sure sounded certain that we wouldn't be able to pull this off,' Lorna muses, and I don't need to ask who she means. 'So certain, in fact, that she'd chance not ratting on us.'

I know what she means; the notion that Lucrezia would pass up the opportunity to rat me out to Sir Alec because she's so certain Lorna and I will fail makes me slightly uneasy.

'Well, we always knew the risks,' I shrug. 'Just remember, if we get caught, at least we stuck it to them.'

'Right,' Lorna nods, her resolve steeling. 'At least we stuck it to them.'

Up ahead, the grass becomes uneven, patches of dry dirt scattered around. A strange sound makes its way to my ears above the bird calls and the howls of the wind – a low humming noise. As we walk on, the humming becomes whirring, the whirring becomes buzzing and I peer ahead through the morning fog.

I see it long before Lorna does; a tall iron fence with spiked panels and long tails of barbed wire wrapped around its top. The buzzing is electricity and the birds sense it, too; they avoid the fence like the plague.

If there's a gate, I don't see it; every panel is identical as far as I can tell and only similar, barren land lies beyond it.

We reach the foot of the fence in minutes and I peer up at it, into the white, winter sun. Lorna wasn't exaggerating about its height; no human could climb it, and I'm not one hundred percent sure I can jump it. Without Lorna on my back it would be a little easier, but this could turn nasty.

'Lorna,' I turn to face her, feeling a lump building in my throat. 'Are you prepared to face the possibility that I may not be able to jump this fence?' I ask her. She nods silently. 'I don't mean; are you prepared to stay here,' I clarify. 'I mean; there is a distinct possibility that you may get hurt. Badly.'

'I know. I'm willing to take the risk, Eve. I didn't come all this way to quit now.' She lifts her chin defiantly.

I could possibly climb the fence, but it'd be time consuming and more dangerous for Lorna, she probably wouldn't be able to hold on. Jumping is quick and – if the worst happens – painless.

'Let's go then,' I breathe. 'Before I change my mind.'

Lorna acts instantly, moving behind me and in one swift jump, landing on my back, her legs wrapped around my waist, her arms locked around my neck.

'Is the money secure?' I ask her. She nods, her brown hair falling over my shoulder. I take fifteen long strides backwards, putting some distance between us and the fence.

The wind has died down, making the jump easier, and the ground is flat and hard – good for my footing. I take a deep breath, holding tightly to Lorna's thighs.

'Are you ready?' I ask, feeling a shiver of dread creep down my spine.

'Yes.' She breathes in my ear, her voice shaky. She is scared; I can hear her heart pounding like a drum in my ears, her legs shake and her breathing is ragged and laboured.

'Hold on.' I count to three in my head, bending my knees and flexing my muscles, preparing my body for the most I have ever exerted it. With full force, using the back of my heels for friction and my strong thighs for power, I sprint forward. Lorna jolts backwards with the force of the wind and I panic, tightening my grip on her. She manages to hold on and I pick up speed quickly.

I set myself an invisible line – like a pole jumper – where my toes will need to have left the floor. By the time I reach it, I'm travelling at well over a hundred miles an hour.

The line nears and I take a breath, holding it in concentration. I'm right handed naturally, so I will lift off with my right foot. I bend my right knee as low as it will go, putting all of the weight onto my foot. I bring my heel up from the ground, slowly arching my foot until only my toes remain on the floor. With my last ounce of strength, I raise my toes off the ground, transferring the force from my feet to my upper body.

We are in the air, travelling upwards, the fence only a few metres from my boots. The wind rushes through my hair, blocking my nose and throat, making breathing impossible for Lorna. The air is freezing, whipping my cheeks and hands as we elevate further and further toward the sky.

The fence is nearing and we begin to drop. I know instantly that we're falling too fast, we're in danger of hitting the side of the fence and not even making it over the top. I force my body weight upwards but even I can't contest with gravity as we begin to descend.

'Tuck your legs up as high as you can!' I yell instructions to Lorna who responds instantly, lifting her knees almost to my underarms. I force my body forward, causing Lorna to lean as well, as the fence comes within a metre.

We're inches from the barbed wire, falling straight down, and with every last ounce of my will and strength I force us forward, lifting my knees to avoid the sharp metal. As we plummet towards the ground, I hear a nasty scrape and a muffled cry from Lorna. I smell the blood instantly and panic consumes me.

We hit the solid ground hard and with a loud thud. I barely manage to land on my feet, the impact shattering through my heels and travelling to my thighs. Lorna slides off my back, her cries deafening as she slumps to the floor, clutching her right leg.

Her calf is torn open from her inner-knee almost to her ankle, her dark jeans soaking up blood by the pint. I glance up to see the wire broken, hanging off the edge of the fence's top, a shred of Lorna's trousers billowing in the breeze like a bad horror film.

I act quickly, tearing off her scarf and tying it around her leg. The wound isn't deep but she's losing a lot of blood quickly, I have to find something to seal it. My mind races as I study the jumper I'm wearing, its intricate thread pattern woven in neat lines.

I rip the jumper off and concentrate, loosening the threads one by one with my deft and sharp fingernails. It's easier than I imagined and the jumper begins to neatly unravel, single threads of cotton coming apart in my hands. I gather several strands of thread and rip her jeans, exposing the wound.

My breathing races but I try to hide my panic; I don't want Lorna to know that I'm making this up as I go, for without quick action, she will most certainly bleed to death.

She screams as I pierce my sharp nail through her skin, threading the cotton through the too-large hole and continuing upwards, along the edges of the wound.

I tie the cotton in a thick knot at both ends, pulling it tight to hold the severed skin together. Once I've completed the make-shift stitches, I dab the excess blood away with the remnants of the jumper and stand back to observe my work.

I'm not sure that the 'stitches' will hold the wound, I'm even less sure that it won't get infected, but until I can get her to professional medical help, it's the best I can do.

She whimpers as I help her up, limping badly on her leg, clutching me for balance. We must move quickly, we both know that, but instead we stand, staring back through the fence at the foggy Institute's grounds.

From here the fields look empty and endless. There's no sign that only a few miles away lies a huge castle housing hundreds of people. It's remote and desolate, a miserable place – anyone who happened to stumble on it by accident would flee in fear.

The silence is deafening, the remoteness is eerie, and for the final time, I look back to where we came from and I think of Malachy.

I have no doubt in my mind that I'll never see this place again, and very little hope that I'll encounter its inhabitants any time soon.

My life at the Institute was far from perfect; it was chaotic, exhausting and at times, tedious, but it was the best part of my life so far, and I feel nothing but a painful sadness at leaving it behind.

My only comforts are my memories of Malachy; his eyes, his voice, the way he smiled at me. They aren't much, but they're all I have now, and I will cling to those memories wherever the next chapter takes me.

To be continued...

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Copyright 2016 by LeAnne Pearson. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the author except for brief quotations for book review or publicity purposes.

This is a work of fiction. All names and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business or organisations, events or locales is purely coincidental.

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