Текст книги "The Wounded"

Автор книги: Lauren Nicolle Taylor

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Desh tugged at my sleeve. “Joe, keep moving,” he said between pants. “Just keep moving.”

I trudged forward, my footsteps punishing the earth. And as I stared down at my boot print like it wasn’t my own, the alarm sounded. The same sound the old megaphones made in Pau. It was a high-pitched warning that used to summon us to the center circle. This time it was alerting everyone to the scene at Este’s compound.

Desh cursed under his breath. But this would work in our favor. If everyone was heading towards Este’s, then there would be fewer guards to face on this side. Again, I felt the pull to go back. We ran through a crop of some sort; it smelled sweet. Sticky, green tendrils kept grabbing at my legs. The last gate to pass through glinted in the moonlight. I nodded to myself and swung around, just as the gate in front of us creaked open. Desh jumped into the plants. I just stood there, my rage heating up inside me.

Before they had a chance, I was on top of them. I swung out wildly at one, my fist connecting with his jaw. It crunched satisfyingly. He fell forward, clutching his face. I elbowed him hard, and he collapsed into the field. The other guy took one look at me and turned to run, but I grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back, flinging him to the ground. He squirmed under me and opened his mouth to shout for help. Desh was there in a second, covering it with his palm.

This kid was a coward. He was going to leave his partner and run. Just like I did. I thumped his head into the ground hard, and his eyes stared up at me woozily. I could have killed him right there. But I had to do something. I might have failed Rosa, but there was one thing I could do before I left. It was why we came here.

I shoved Desh’s hand off and stared down at the young soldier shaking under my hold. “You tell your Superiors some of the babies may have a G6PD deficiency.”

He looked at me blankly. “Say it!” I threatened, lifting him by the shirt, ready to slam his head into the hard stone path beneath us.

“G6 P...?”

My hands crept around his throat. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to refuse me and give me an excuse. “G-6-P-D,” I said slowly, emphasizing each letter and number.

Alarm sharpened his senses. “Ok. Ok. G6 PD deficiency. I’ll tell them. I-I promise,” the soldier said quickly.

I saw myself reflected in his eyes, and I dropped him. Grabbing his gun from its holster, I training it on his chest, my hands shaking. “Don’t move until we’ve passed through the gate,” I said as I walked backwards, letting the fear in that kid’s eyes punch me over and over. I needed to get a handle on my emotions, but I didn’t know how.

We went through the gate, and I heard his footsteps running away from us.

JOSEPH

The sirens brought everyone who lived in the outer ring onto their doorstep and into the street. At least a hundred people crowded near the little shed, which I knew led to the elevator underground. There were several guards ushering everyone into one area, as they prepared to address them.

I pointed subtly towards the shed. “There. We need to get into there.”

Desh nodded, his expression tired. The events of the night were catching up to him too.

I looked down at my blood-crusted hand, quickly shoving it in my pocket. I put the other arm across my chest, trying the hide the blood spatters. The realization of what I’d just done hovered over my head like a blinking arrow.

I killed a Superior.

Desh and I melted into the crowd, searching for a way to slip past everyone and head for that shed. Its door was hanging slightly ajar. The sirens had everyone confused and wandering aimlessly, like they’d never heard one before.

I looked sideways at Desh, who was moving his face around, scanning the area. We were only about ten meters from the opening but making a run for it would attract too much attention. We were enclosed on all sides by a crowd of people that was getting tighter and tighter. A woman pushed me in the back, and I turned around. She looked up at me, and her eyes widened. It was the woman from Este’s house. The one who had to vacuum the tapestries over and over.

A guard yelled over the crowd. “There has been a disturbance in Este’s compound.” The crowd grew quiet. “We are unsure how many casualties at this point, but we can confirm that Este had been murdered.”

Murdered.

The word pounded me in the chest.

Murdered.

Murderer.

I gasped for air, and the small woman pursed her lips as she stared at me. She gripped my hand for a moment and squeezed it. Then she let go and pushed her small, round body through the crowd. She was enveloped by the sea of people.

“No!” A tortured scream echoed over the crowd. “Superior Este is dead. No!” The woman’s screams flowed over the crowd. “Is it a takeover? Is it war? What do we do?” she shouted. Her arms waved about frantically in front of the guards. Their eyes were all on her.

Others picked up on her false panic and started throwing questions at the unwitting guards.

“How did they get in?”

“How many are there? Are they dangerous?”

The people surged at the men standing, clueless in their black uniforms, as their emotions started to build.

We took the opportunity, broke from crowd, and entered the shed.

*****

The voices outside rose in volume, and I could hear the clamor of people bumping up against each other and the guards getting more and more frustrated. Responses on both sides got louder and angrier.

Desh and I stood in the dark, breathing hard, not knowing what to say to each other.

“It’s going to be all…” Desh started

I cut him off. I didn’t want to hear it. It wasn’t going to be all right. How could anything be after tonight?

I grabbed his hand roughly and tried to scan his wrist against the reader for the elevator.

Nothing happened.

“Damn it,” I said. But a big part of me didn’t care. I was ready to surrender.

“Relax,” Desh said smoothly as he pried the control panel open, and manipulated the wires inside until the lift light came on.

We stepped in, and he pressed the button. The sound of voices instantly cut off once the door closed.

We stood there, side by side, nothing but our breathing to break the silence. My eyes went to the poster. A girl with blue eyes and dark hair, her skin that perfect All-Kind tone. I snorted. She was boring looking, her expression dull. It was what all of us felt like inside the walls of the Woodlands. The doors slid open, and we ran down the dark tunnel.

When our heads popped up from underground, we both scrambled out and hit the ground running. I just did what I was told to do. I ran towards the meeting point, the sirens and Rosa getting further and further away with every step.

My body was reacting, fleeing. But I got the sense that I wasn’t really there. That the real me was still pressed up against the glass, waiting.

I was light, my feet barely seeming to touch the ground. Because I was empty. I would be empty until I knew what had happened to her.

SUPERIOR GRANT

She was too brown. The color of Cocoa. I shook my head at the comparison. No, Cocoa was rich and delicious. She looked more like an overcooked bird. Bony, dark, and delicate. I ran my hand over my jaw. The guards were watching me intently, gauging my reaction. I tried to maintain a balance between mild irritation and looking unsurprised, like I had expected a girl to be lying in my untested healing machine.

I swept my hand over the cabinet, avoiding the unsavory blood smears on the glass near the girl’s head. It was beautiful, an elegant, effortless reproduction of the original. President Grant had hugely underestimated the Chinese. When they bombed the US, he thought of nothing other than revenge. He didn’t think to poach their scientists or take control of their technology. He was a fool, as foolish as Este.

I moved around the glass container, weighing up the best response to this disaster. Fifteen minutes ago, we found Vivienne and all eight of her personal guards in a pool of blood. I couldn’t say I was sorry to see her go. The woman was obsessive, unpredictable, and paranoid. Not good traits for a leader. I snorted, thinking of the number of times I had ignored the alert. She had called me and the others to her home for what she called ‘Serious matters,’ so many times that it had become protocol to ignore her. Topics such as pest control and double-glazing on her windows were some of the more ridiculous panics. Her absurd behavior had been her undoing, as no one responded for well over an hour when she sounded the alert this time.

“Superior Grant…” A twitchy guard shuffled over to me. “The other two have escaped, should I issue a lock down?” I tapped my chin, trying to look calm. I was furious at these Survivors, yet impressed at what they had managed to achieve with such limited resources. But to send the guard out now to pursue them was a waste of time when we were so close to completion.

“Sir?”

I gave the guard a hard look, wondering how he was so poorly trained to believe he could speak to me in this manner. I made a note to find out whom his supervisor was. The young man startled, and I forced my face into a relaxed smile. “Let them go,” I said nonchalantly. “We have what we need.”

The girl twisted ever so slightly on the table. I wheeled closer, so that we were face to face.

“Leave us,” I instructed. The men paused, looking down on me with concern. I cringed inwardly. I despised their pity. “Go clean up the mess in the reception hall and report the situation to Superiors Poltanov and Sekimbo,” I barked, leaving no room for insubordination. They moved awkwardly around my wheelchair and out into the hall, closing the door behind them.

I clenched my fist on my knee. Her tattooed wrist told me she was once one of us, which made my blood boil. This small, insignificant child had infiltrated the Superior’s compound. She had made fools of all of us and killed Este. So before I made her suffer, before I made her regret she had ever had the gall to enter this world, I wanted to meet her.

…………Promise.

I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheeks. My mouth tasted like I’d been sucking on an exposed electrical cable. Charred and metallic.

I was disoriented and couldn’t seem to backtrack to where I was before; only that it was a nice place, somewhere safe, warm, and peaceful. I shifted, the cold surface under me slicing into my skin. I shivered involuntarily.

I heard a dull, but impatient-sounding tapping above my face. I took a breath and the air felt new, like this was the first breath I’d ever drawn. Something tightened around my stomach and little slivers of a scene flashed at me like warning signs. Joseph lunging at the young guard, the tip of a knife glinting under soft light, my body used as a shield, a barrier. A realization as chilling as the cold, wet blood that poured out of me hit slowly, numbly. I was dead. I died. I was sure of it.

My breath caught again.

Joseph.

The tapping continued, but it was hard to open my eyes. It felt like I was learning to do everything anew. My muscles reacted slowly, waiting for my memory to kick in. I forced my eyes open like an uncooperative blind, and unfamiliar light flooded my sight.

He was a shadow. Then, slowly, his face pulled into focus, a face I knew from a long time ago. His eyes tightened, wrinkles spread like Vs from the corners. His smile was cruel and painted on. “Waell, at least we knaow it woarks.”

JOSEPH

Questioning eyes tried to find mine, but I couldn’t meet them. I was a void. A shell. I watched as their faces fell to the forest floor. I hadn’t even opened my mouth, but they knew. Here was Deshi by my side, but there should have been three. It sucked any victory right out of the picture. Deshi had a hold of my arm, as he had most of the journey to the meeting point. It was a comfort to me, but mostly it was to stop me from turning around and heading back into the Superiors’ compound.

How could I leave her there?

Matthew eyes asked the question, and I shook my head. I wanted to say, ‘Wait. Don’t start grieving yet. We don’t know,’ but was that worse? Maybe.

He walked away from the group, far into the trees, until he was just a shadow amongst the other shadows. I saw him kneel down and put his hands to his face.

The lump that was lodged in my chest worked its way up to my throat.

Everyone else was bewildered. Because, somehow, Rosa, with her temper, her passion, and her unstoppable nature, had become the heart of this broken, wounded community. She pushed them, pushed back at them, but she was a Survivor now.

Deshi leaned me against a tree, where I slumped slack, my fists shaking. He explained to the others that there was a chance. She might have survived.

“But we left her there, to fend for herself,” I whispered. “Even if she was revived, they might kill her anyway.”

Deshi’s eyes softened. “This is Rosa we’re talking about. If anyone can come through this, she can.” He’d already said that, and I hated hearing it again. He tried to catch my eyes. “She will, Joe.”

My eyes fell on my bloodstained shirt and felt a sharp jolt back to that room. To the death that was all my doing. All those bodies contorted in the position they died, fear frozen on their faces. They were just like me. They were probably ripped from their parents and forced to leave for the Classes. They would have trained, been punished. Maybe they had wives, children.

I nodded. I wanted to believe him. I brought my fingers through my hair, leaving more blood in the strands.

My hands ran over my shirtsleeves mindlessly. Blood flaked off, like bits of dried paint. But most of it was a deep stain that would never come off. Rosa’s blood mixed with the guards’ and Este’s. I pulled it over my head and held it in my hands in a scrunched-up ball. Deshi tried to take it from me, but I clung to it like it was part of me. The grief, the guilt, was crushing me.

Rash streamed into my vision. He shoved me hard against the trunk of the tree, his palms making a hollow thud on my chest. “You jerk!” he yelled. “You fucking jerk! How could you leave her there? You left her alone in that place.” His voice was cracked with grief as he shoved me again and again. I let him. I wanted it. I needed someone to hate me for what I’d done.

In the background, squashed between two trees like they were holding her up, I could see Olga’s round form, her soft, pale hands clenched into fists at her sides as her mouth broke into a heartbreaking sob.

I did this.

Pelo strode towards us, his expression stern and broken. He pulled Rash back by his shoulders forcefully. “Calm down, Rash! Let me…” I braced for his fist connecting with my face. But he stopped abruptly and threw his arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

I started shaking. Sobbing. I couldn’t stand his comfort. His daughter died because of me.

“I know you loved her as much as I did,” he said.

I couldn’t stand his acceptance either. “Love,” Not loved. “I love her,” I shouted stubbornly.

Everything began to hurt all at once, and I couldn't control it. I slid to the ground. My elbows rested on my knees and my head lay heavy in my hands, the vision of her lifeless body from every nightmarish angle played over in my head.

But I knew it like everything that was certain in my life—my love for Rosa, for my son, our need to change this life.

She would live.

She was alive.

I would see her again.

I stared down at my hands, which seemed so foreign to me after what they had just done, and the fear rose up and almost choked me.

Who would she be coming back to?

Firstly, I wish to thank my husband Michael, for his constant support and belief in my writing.

Secondly, I want to thank my children Lennox, Rosalie and Emaline, for their constant interruptions and general mischief, you’ve kept me grounded and made sure I didn’t take myself too seriously.

Thirdly, there’s Chloe Lim, my high school friend and housemate. She was the very first person I handed my completed manuscript of The Woodlands to. I remember driving to childcare, where both our children attended, with the stapled-up chapters sliding across my front seat. I’d only given her the first sixteen chapters with the intent that if she liked it, I would give her the rest. But my nerves were getting the better of me, and I almost didn’t give it her.

I’m so glad I did.

When she told me she loved it and said, “Give me more!” I was ecstatic. It made me brave enough to hand it out to other people.

I remember her pretty much telling me, ‘You have to get this published.’

I remember thinking it wouldn’t happen, and Chloe repeatedly saying, with a big smile on her face, “It will be a best seller, Lauren.”

She has always had an unwavering belief in this story. She is the one I go to for advice about the book. She has read and edited all three of my stories so far, and they are definitely better for her comments and suggestions.

You need people like this in your life. She is a wonderful friend without whom I really don’t think The Woodlands Series would have survived.

It’s definitely not enough but thank you, Chloe.

Daughter of a Malaysian nuclear physicist father and an Australian doctor mother, Lauren Nicolle Taylor was expected to follow the science career path. And she did, for a while, completing a Health Science degree with Honors in obstetrics and gynecology. But there was always a niggling need to create which led to many artistic adventures.

When Lauren hit her thirties, she started throwing herself into artistic endeavors, but was not entirely satisfied.  The solution: Complete a massive renovation and sell their house so they could buy their dream block of land and build. After selling the house, buying the block and getting the plans ready, the couple discovered they had been misled and the block was undevelopable. This left her family of five homeless.

Taken in by Lauren’s parents, with no home to renovate and faced with a stressful problem with no solution, Lauren found herself drawn to the computer. She sat down and poured all of her emotions and pent up creative energy into writing The Woodlands.

Family, a multicultural background and a dab of medical intrigue are all strong themes in her writing. Lauren took the advice of ‘write what you know’ and twisted it into a romantic, dystopian adventure! Visit Lauren at her website: http://www.LaurenNicolleTaylor.com.