Torn (16 page)

“You're not who you used to be,” Cole said, moving back toward the lab. “I just hope you're right.”

Worsley wasn't the same kind, meek doctor he'd been only months back. His eyes darkened at Cole's words. For a second—a second in which Cole fervently hoped he was wrong—they seemed crossed by a shadow of doubt.

11

DAVIS

Her lungs burned and her muscles felt weak. She stumbled over rocks and sticks, exhausted, hearing the panting of the dogs not far in her wake. When her foot hit a root, she flew forward, landing face-first in the dirt ahead of her. She fought to catch her breath. Her right arm burned, and when she pushed herself up to a kneeling position and wiped the dirt from her face, her fingers brought back blood. She coughed, and it was long and racking. She heard the dogs drawing closer, but it was muted, as if in a dream. A ringing noise filling her eardrums. She wasn't used to feeling weak, but the disease and weeks away from supplements and exercise had turned her into a shell of her former self. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be a Gen.

When rough hands wrapped around her waist from behind, she tried to resist. But the man—she could tell without turning it was a man, by the breadth of his palms—wasn't even forced to shift his grasp. She turned and caught sight of the trademark navy uniform of TOR-N security. They must have tracked them somehow, or anticipated the direction they'd be heading.

“This is a mistake! You've got the wrong girl!” she shouted as they hauled her toward a cluster of waiting quarantine vehicles. Her words sounded hollow, even to her. The vehicles' chrome exteriors shone so brightly she was forced to squint; for a second, the ludicrous thought crossed her mind that they were taunting her. Davis relaxed into the security guard's grip, resigning herself. After all this, she was going to be thrown back into quarantine.

Then, just as suddenly, the security guard lost his grip, dropping her into the mud. He uttered a loud groan and stumbled backward, losing his footing.

“What the—” Davis turned to see him clutch his head, then crumple to the ground. Before she could process what was going on she saw several figures spring from the brush around the vehicles. And
Mercer.
He threw a punch at one of the other three guards, incapacitating him. From behind him, two other guys wielding long metal rods ran at them. The guards drew their Tasers, but not in time; their faces registered fear and confusion. These men hadn't expected to be met with resistance.

Within seconds, all four TOR-N guards were lying on the ground in a crumpled heap, and Mercer and his friends had seized their weapons.

His friends.
Who were these guys?

“Come on!” Mercer grabbed Davis's arm, pulling her after them. Two of the guys—a blond one and a dark-skinned one with longer hair, were already making decent ground.

“Wait.” Davis stopped, pulling her hand from Mercer's. “Are they okay? Mercer, what did you do?”

“They're fine. Just knocked out. We need to get out of here, now, before they wake up.”

She nodded uncertainly. If the guards were seriously injured, the manhunt for both of them would grow to epic proportions.

“Come on,” he said again, urging her forward into the woods. She realized as she ran that she could be running after anyone. Despite her questions, Davis charged after him into the forest.

She ran until her lungs burned. Mercer reached for her, offering to hold her up, but she pulled away each time. He'd left her—left her vulnerable to getting caught. He'd saved her, too, though. Beneath the terror of getting caught, she was shaken and frustrated. They'd touched land too soon; they'd almost been caught—
she
might have been caught—because Mercer had left her alone.

And he had said on many occasions that he'd never been outside of Durham before TOR-N, yet suddenly he'd made allies here. Which could mean nothing, but it still bothered her.

So she stumbled along, refusing assistance, until she could barely breathe, for what seemed like hours. And then the trees broke, and before her lay a valley with tents pitched at intervals and people walking throughout. It was some sort of settlement or camp. Davis wondered if all Gens in this territory lived like this, on the fringes, or if this was something she was seeing that was entirely unique.

“Come on,” Mercer said, waving for her to follow him down the hill.

She slowed to a walk as Mercer and the other two guys bounded downhill toward the other people, who were milling about the camp. People were scattered everywhere, gathering firewood, sewing clothing, mixing stews, planting flowers. Some of them had built a bonfire and were hovering near it. Mercer entered a tent and let it flap shut behind him without even waiting for her.

She shivered, even though she was sweating. Who were these people? She'd been uprooted so many times that the feeling of being a stranger had ceased to feel strange. But among the community were people who were clearly Priors—taller, stronger, more lovely than she—and she didn't know what to make of it. They walked among Imps without reservation, without maintaining the distance that was customary in downtown Columbus. Children held Priors' hands and toddled about happily; they were more flawed than their parents, Davis realized. Some had gap teeth or a bit of baby pudge—even blotchy coloring—but all were smiling, as though these physical imperfections weren't an issue at all. Prior babies were more beautiful: uniformly pudgy, with symmetrical features and full heads of hair from day one. But other than the children of her father and Terri's friends, she hadn't been around many—out of doors, they were concealed, tucked into strollers that contained bacteria-resistant shields. These Gen babies interacted with their environment freely, laughing and pointing at the crickets that hopped above the grass.

Mercer popped back out of a tent, holding a canteen, which turned out to be full of water. It was warm but still a relief as it washed down her throat. He led her to a part of the hill that was slightly secluded from the camp and she sat down, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to remember how they'd kissed and then he'd disappeared just when the TOR-N officers were nearby. It was midAfternoon, but it was a little chilly in this shaded part of the woods, and she realized she was shaking.

“Why did you leave me this morning?” she asked finally, her voice hoarse.

“I didn't,” he told her. “Not for long, anyway. I'd heard about this commune and I wanted to be sure things were safe before I led you in here. I didn't want to bring you anywhere risky. Here,” he told her, handing her a warm mug. “You need to rest.”

“But you said we weren't going to stop.”

“We needed supplies, Davis.”

She knew that. She couldn't pinpoint why she felt so thrown off. Maybe it was just the heat, the adrenaline, the stress. “But,” she persisted anyway, “you said you'd never been outside of Durham before. And now you seem so confident, so…”

He wrapped his arms around her and she took in the smell of his sweat, and something else, too—a little smoky. She liked his smell. “Davis, I'm just trying to get us safely to Durham like we've talked about.”

She pulled back and stared at him, conflicted. “I want to believe you,” she said finally. “But I can't shake this feeling that there's something you're not telling me.”

Mercer paused, and Davis saw a flash of guilt cross his eyes.

Her pulse leapt. “There
is
something,” she whispered.

He looked away, avoiding her gaze. “There is.”

“What is it?” She felt light-headed. The whole experience on the commune was surreal, and now, without anyone she could trust, it felt as though she weren't tethered to reality.

“I never told you how I got Narxis,” Mercer reminded her. Davis wrinkled her brow in confusion. “Didn't you wonder how I could be a Neither and live in Durham?”

“Not really.” Davis shook her head. “I just assumed your story was something like mine. It was an accident. Some sort of mistake at birth.”

Mercer laughed hollowly. “I wish it were that simple,” he told her. “When I was eighteen and applying to universities, my dad told me I couldn't. He said it was impossible. That was the first time he told me I was a Neither. He'd been keeping it secret my whole life.”

Davis's eyes widened. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, even though the same thing had happened to her. Hearing someone else talk about it only brought back her own horror and shock.

Mercer shook his head to himself. “He thought he was being kind—thought it would be worse for me if I knew. We—my parents—have enough money. They were going to independently support me, but spin some sort of story for their friends. Say I was an entrepreneur. Basically force me to live a lie. He had a whole faux business model set up for my fake company. The company that would cover my identity.”

“It sounds like they love you,” Davis said carefully.

“The thing is, my dad's a Neither, but he'd been passing as a Prior for my whole life and for most of his. My mom's a Prior. My dad knew firsthand how hard it was to be a Neither. They tried to get me the operations necessary to be a Prior, but they couldn't. I know he thought he was doing the right thing, but he could have talked to me about it. It would have helped if he'd been honest. It could have been something we shared. I know my dad loves me, but I can't help hating him for this. He ruined my life. He left me with no options but the path he'd chosen for me. When he told me, I thought my life was over. So I ran away.”

So that was it. He
had
been outside of Durham before. “You left on purpose,” Davis confirmed. Her heart went out to him. He must have been distraught to leave the only home he'd ever known. In exchange for what? Where had he thought he was going? “Oh, Mercer.” She leaned into him, feeling his body vibrating with emotion. He focused on a spot behind her, his eyes fixated on nothing.

“I was furious. I ran outside of Durham, where it wasn't as safe. There weren't the same security or sanitization measures on the outskirts. And I got Narxis there. From Suen—a woman who … who took me in. Nothing romantic, I swear. Just horribly bad luck.” He shook his head. “That's pretty much it. But it's embarrassing, and I was too ashamed to tell you before. If I hadn't been so stubborn and so angry, maybe I wouldn't have left, and maybe this never would have happened.” He stopped and looked at her. “But then, I never would have met you.”

Davis furrowed her brow, wanting to ask more questions. She understood what Mercer was saying. She knew how it felt to have everything you thought you were turned on its head. “The woman—Suen—did she … make it? Did she end up quarantined, too?”

He sighed heavily and shook his head. “We got separated. All I know is I want to go back. I miss Durham. I miss everyone there. And when you came along … and you needed answers … well, the best doctors are there. I thought we could go together, to help you. We both want to be with the people we love,” he continued. “This is the best way to get us there. I just need you to trust me.” Suddenly, his face changed. “Oh my God, Davis—you're bleeding.” He touched her arm gently, his mouth turned down in concern. His care for her was written all over his eyes. They were the same, she and Mercer. They understood each other, and that was the kind of bond that would never break. The realization moved her so much that she gasped. He misinterpreted it as pain.

“Let me help you,” he said. He retreated to the tent where he'd found the canteen and returned with a sponge and a couple of jars. He helped Davis carefully roll her sleeve up to her shoulder, and then tenderly touched the wounds on her arm with the sponge. He was gentle, his eyes bearing true concern. He dipped his hand into a jar of sticky, green paste—aloe, it looked like—and massaged it into her forearm. His head was bent, so she couldn't read the expression in his eyes, but each of his movements was deliberate, as if each conveyed meaning. She didn't want it to end.

Almost immediately, the burning she felt from her wounds subsided, only to be replaced by a feeling equally intense but more pleasurable. His fingers felt gentle and comforting, and it was tempting to relax into his touch. Her skin tingled under his fingers, and Davis felt her body responding to him in a way that went beyond relief from pain. Their intimacy was born not just of genetics but of history, and of a shared longing.

“How do I know I can trust you?” she whispered. “I don't even know where we are—where you've brought me.” Even though she already knew she could trust him, she needed to hear it from him.

Mercer leaned toward her in the small tent until his face was just inches from her own. Davis's heart pounded and every part of her body felt alert to his presence, but she didn't duck away. When his lips met hers, gentle and soft, she responded. She could feel through his touch how much he cared.

He lifted a hand to her cheek. “You can always trust me,” he said. “This place we're at now—it's a commune that welcomes strangers. They'll help us. They'll give us supplies and show us the safest path back. I will do anything to keep you from danger. I promise.”

Davis took in his words, her mind reeling. She had to trust him; she had no choice. But his intentions were clear now. He wanted her. And for her part, she wasn't sure what she wanted. She wasn't sure she could give up on Cole, put Mercer's emotions at risk while she tested herself that way. She wasn't sure romance was something she should even be thinking about just then, even though she felt close to him.

Mercer pulled her to him once again, and this time when she separated, both of them were breathless. The kiss had said it all. She had to trust him; she had to see how things would unravel on their own—but also, she had feelings for him. And with that came the responsibility to discern what she wanted. It was up to her to decide.