Last Chance--A Novel Page 22
She sat on the floor and wept.
I sat with her and took her in my arms, and she sobbed like I’d never heard a person sob. An awful, torn-open, animal wail. She wasn’t even worrying about staying quiet.
She couldn’t.
* * *
Six cots.
We’d cleared space on the center circle of the basketball court. Our cots radiated out from the middle like the petals of a flower.
A breeze poured through the shattered casement windows. We lay there, staring up at the sports banners fluttering overhead.
I held my baling hooks crossed over my chest.
Alex twirled her hockey stick.
Patrick kept his shotgun alongside him—so still you might’ve thought he was inside a coffin waiting to be lowered into the ground.
Eve’s breathing still hitched in her chest at intervals, the aftermath of her crying jag.
JoJo hugged Bunny.
Rocky kept the bag of ice wrapped around his ankle. He plucked out a strand of his hair and then another.
We listened to the deep, endless black of night.
ENTRY 44
For a solid week, we drifted.
It’s amazing how pointless everything is without a clear goal. You’d think that would be self-explanatory but still, it was surprising how mired we were in our own weariness.
As conflicted as Patrick and I were about being human bombs, at least that had lent some purpose to our existence.
Now we were just holed up, waiting to die.
We avoided one another. I suppose we were each mourning in our own way. And there was so much to mourn. Dr. Chatterjee. The Mendez twins. Even the way of life we’d resurrected here for a brief stretch of time.
You’d be surprised how many things you can find in the wreckage of a massacre that bring you up short. One afternoon I came upon Eve in the hall holding a partially used pillar candle and sobbing. I didn’t know what it meant to her, and I didn’t want to intrude on her private grief to ask. Instead I silently retreated around the corner. Later that day I found one of Dr. Chatterjee’s shirts beneath an upturned mattress. It was still folded neatly. I lowered the mattress back over it. It was too hard to look at.
On the seventh day, Alex finally summoned the focus to unearth the television from where it had fallen in the groove behind the lowest bench of the bleachers. A hairline crack split the screen diagonally, but by some miracle the set still powered on when she plugged it into the battery. She kneeled there before it, checking deserted channels, praying to a long-dead God.
Rocky iced his ankle twice a day. The swelling was coming down, but it’d be another week yet before he could walk on it without pain. Though we were cautious, creeping around the halls like mice, we barely stood watch. There wasn’t much point. The Hatchlings had already berserked their way through the school, and if they decided to come back for seconds, there wasn’t a whole lot we could do about it anyway.
No one talked about the countdown to Alex’s death. But as the days clicked toward the one-week mark, there was no denying that it was the only thing we were thinking about. And hovering above that deadline, even greater than all the anguish and rage, was the knowledge that we were too stuck in our hopelessness to even spend her last days well.
As morning broke on Seven Days Left, we rolled listlessly out of bed. Alex laced her fingers together and cracked them over her head as she stretch-yawned. Her socks thumped down on the sticky floorboards.
I watched her trudge over to the TV for her morning dose of static.
Click.
Kkkrrrr.
Click.
Kkkrrrr.
Click.
For an instant a wobbly image caught on the screen.
I shot off my cot so fast I nearly slipped and went down. I ran over to Alex and stared at the TV.
The snow wavered and then cleared.
A hefty bearded man wearing a white lab coat stood in a room, the walls behind him dressed with plastic sheets. A shoved-to-the-side desk bore a symbol on the front.
“—transmission for … survivors to … possible solution for the situat—”
And it was gone.
The others were behind us now, tense with anticipation.
We clustered around the screen as Alex fiddled desperately with the rabbit ears.
“What was that?” Patrick asked.
She fussed with the antennae some more, then finally gave up, letting her hands slap to her sides with frustration. “I don’t know.”
“Great,” Rocky said, limping off a few steps. “We finally see an adult—someone with a fix for the whole stupid deal—and now we don’t know where to find him.”
“The desk,” I said, “didn’t it have some kind of logo on it?”
“I didn’t see,” Alex said. “It was gone before I could see.”
A voice floated over from behind us. “I did.”
We turned to look. Eve shouldered between JoJo and Rocky, crouching by the screen. “It said ‘SPU’ in blue and gold.”
A stir rippled through me. Excitement and—for the first time in ages—hope. “Stark Peak University,” I said.
“They have a news station?” Rocky asked.
“It wasn’t a news station,” Eve said.
“How do you know?” JoJo asked.
“Because there was a department sign on the wall beneath the plastic sheets,” Eve said. “You didn’t see it?”
“What did it say?” I asked, my voice humming with eagerness.
Eve said, “Department of Virology and Immunology.”
We jumped up and down and threw high fives.
“That means a cure!” JoJo said. “We could get immunity like you guys. Anecdotes!”
“I think you mean antidotes,” Rocky said.
“Whatever.”
I turned to Patrick. “We’ve got a week to get Alex there. Once she’s safe—”
“We come back, grab everyone else.” Patrick was talking fast, as excited as I’d seen him. “Rocky’s ankle should be healed up by then. We can either bring the fix to him or him to the fix.”
I turned to everyone else. “We’ll get everyone taken care of.”
That’s when I noticed that Eve wasn’t celebrating along with the rest of us. She was standing to the side, her arms crossed as if she were hugging herself. Her face was pale, except for her cheeks, which were flushed.
“I’m so happy for you guys.” She mustered a smile that died on her face.
I looked at her, not understanding.
“It’s my birthday today, Chance.”
The gym, filled with the noise of our celebration just seconds before, fell silent.
I looked over at the cracked, forgotten whiteboard, the names and birthdays smudged from the Hatchling attack.
It all made sense now. I remembered what Eve had said when I’d kissed her on the bleachers: I wish I wasn’t older than you. I thought about seeing her crying in the hall the other day over that half-used candle and it hit me like a strike to the heart: It was the candle from the birthday cupcake she’d made for Leonora on her last day.
Patrick and Alex lowered their faces, but not before I saw in their eyes a match for what I was feeling. Thundering grief, yes. But also remorse. We’d been so busy looking out for ourselves this past month that none of us had been looking out for Eve. So many times we’d counted down the days to Alex’s birthday, and never once had we considered Eve’s.
And all the while Eve had been there for us. Watching our backs. Guarding the supplies. Protecting JoJo and Rocky.
Making cupcakes for other kids so they wouldn’t feel so alone as they headed toward the brink.
“I’m sorry I won’t make it to Stark Peak,” Eve said.
JoJo burst into tears and ran off behind the bleachers to hide.
For a time the silence was broken only by JoJo’s sniffles carrying over to us.
“If I’d checked the TV earlier,” Alex said. “If we’d gotten reception
a few days ago. If—”
“Sometimes things happen for a reason,” Eve said.
How could she say that? She was talking about her life. This was Eve. My friend. After everything we’d been through, what “reason” could justify this? My body filled with bitterness. It felt like I was marinating in it. I wanted to yell and cry and break things.
Eve started after JoJo.
“I’ll get her,” I said.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I should talk to her.”
I followed Eve and finally caught up to her over by the bleachers. I took her by the arms and said, “I’m sorry, Eve. If I could do anything…”
“You can,” she said.
“What?”
“I care about you, Chance. A lot.”
“I care about you, too.”
“I know you do. But not like I care about you.”
“Eve—”
“We don’t have to pretend anymore, Chance. That’s the one good thing. There’s no time to lie. I know how you feel about Alex. She’s lucky to have someone like you feel that way about her.”
My face was hot. I felt a tear sliding down my cheek. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop it.
I said, “I don’t want you to die, Eve.” With the words came even more tears, rolling down my face, dripping off my chin. My throat locked up; I wasn’t crying except from my eyes.
She hugged me, and I hugged her back. I couldn’t believe she wouldn’t be here tomorrow.
“When the time comes,” she said, “I want you to do it. Do you think you can do that for me?”
I nodded. Got control of myself.
I said, “I do.”
* * *
Eve sat in a chair before the paint sink while Alex brushed her hair. We’d gathered in the art room around noon. Eve knew she’d been born in the afternoon, but she didn’t know the exact time, so we had to prepare early.
Patrick looked out the window, his jaw clenching now and then. JoJo sat at Eve’s feet and held her hands. Rocky kept limping off to fetch stuff for Eve that she didn’t even ask for—a glass of water, stale cookies, a half-empty box of tissues.
And I sat watching Alex brush Eve’s hair. Ben’s stun gun rested on the desk in front of me. Eve had waded into the mess of the supply station, venturing one last time into her domain, and come out with Ben’s prized possession.
Alex finished with Eve’s hair, and Eve looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. “I look nice,” she said.
We all agreed.
It felt like some perverse wedding preparation.
Eve stood up and smoothed her shirt. “Merry Christmas,” she said.
It was. And we’d completely forgotten.
The rest of us had lost track of what dates meant. All we knew these days were countdowns. I hoped I’d be strong enough when the time came to give Eve the only gift she’d asked for.
“People say being born on Christmas sucks because you don’t get as much stuff,” Eve said. “But I always loved it. Everywhere you look, people are celebrating. And even though it’s not about you, it’s like you’re part of everything and everything’s part of you.” She looked at us. “I hope you get to Stark Peak. I hope you guys have a lot to celebrate soon.”
The others went over and took turns hugging her. I couldn’t watch, but I heard JoJo start to cry. I was gathering everything I had for what was to come.
Gathering the strength I hadn’t had for Leonora.
As Alex shuffled out with JoJo and Rocky, Patrick paused by my desk. “Want me to wait in the hall in case you need me?”
I looked up at him.
“No,” I said. “I got this.”
He left.
I took a deep breath. And then another.
Then I walked over to Eve.
The sun through the window caught her eyes perfectly, making the yellow flecks sparkle. She saw how I was looking at her and smiled shyly.
There was that dimple in her right cheek.
Her dark hair looked lush and pretty. She always managed to keep her bangs perfectly straight. I took her hands.
We might’ve been heading out on a date.
I kissed her.
Her mouth was soft. She closed her eyes. A moment later I did, too. I put everything I felt for her into the kiss, and when we parted, we both took a moment, our foreheads touching, our breath mingling.
Her eyes darted to the canvas tarp on the floor. “Maybe I should, you know…”
She walked over and sat on it nervously, her legs folded to one side. I brought the stun gun with me and sat next to her.
I lowered her gently onto her back.
I lay beside her.
I kissed her.
I stroked her hair.
“Be gentle with me,” she said.
“I will.”
“And when it happens, don’t wait. Everything’s gonna be different. I don’t want to feel any pain.”
“You won’t feel any pain. I promise.”
We stared into each other’s eyes.
Our noses, close enough to touch.
I didn’t love her like I loved Alex, but I loved her just the same.
I don’t know how long we lay together, but the light shifted in the room and soon enough a chill laced the air.
I knew it would happen an instant before it did.
She shuddered.
Her pupils dilated, expanding out until they filled the space between her eyelids.
I reached for the stun gun. I didn’t want to wait for those beautiful eyes to turn to ash and disintegrate.
I placed the tip of the steel rod against her temple.
My hand was steady. Not from courage. From love.
I leaned forward and touched my lips to hers.
The compressed air hissed, and the rod smacked forward, the stun gun jerking in my hand.
She didn’t feel any pain.
Just like I’d promised.
ENTRY 45
I found the others in Mr. Tomasi’s room. Patrick and Alex had set up the classroom as cozy as they could for Rocky and JoJo. A bunch of clean mattresses laid side to side. A shaggy rug from the principal’s office. The bookcase stocked with supplies and food that wouldn’t go bad. Above the bookcase one of the ceiling tiles was pushed back; in case of trouble, JoJo and Rocky could use the shelves like ladder rungs and disappear into the drop ceiling as before.
They’d said that they couldn’t sleep in the gym without us, and what with all the carnage aftermath we couldn’t blame them.
Rocky lay on a raft of repurposed couch cushions. His ankle, resting up on a chair, was surrounded with ice packs. Over the past few days, the bruise had faded from purple to a jaundiced yellow.
“Stay off that leg and heal up,” Patrick said. “We need you good to go when we come back for you.”
“We hate staying here,” JoJo said. “Everyone died here.”
“It’s safer than out there,” Alex said. She nodded at Rocky. “Especially on that ankle. This is still the best location. It’s already been mapped by Hosts and ransacked by Hatchlings, so they have no reason to come back. You’ve got shelter, bathrooms—plus plenty of food since now it’s just the two of you.”
JoJo held up the stuffed-animal head by the ears. “Two of us plus Bunny.”
“Right,” Alex said. “I forgot about Bunny.”
“Know why I set you up in this room?” Patrick asked.
Rocky shook his head.
Patrick pointed at the window that faced out across the front of the school.
“Lookout post?” Rocky asked.
Patrick said, “So you’ll see us when we come back.”
He walked over to the wall, shrugged into his backpack, and picked up his shotgun. Alex grabbed a pack of her own and shoved her hockey stick in so it was sticking up the way she kept it, like a samurai sword. I grabbed my baling hooks, slid the nylon loops over my wrists. Then I made sure the stun gun was seated firmly in my waistband.
JoJo looked over at me and then looked away.
“Eve’s gone, right?” she asked.
I nodded.
“We’ll be okay without her.” Her lower lip wobbled a bit. “We’ll be okay without you, too.”
“You won’t have to be,” I said. “We’ll be together again, JoJo.”
“The university’s in Stark Peak,” she said. “That’s where you said the Drones and Queens were headed. And the Hatchlings. All of them. It’s Harvester headquarters.”
I looked at my brother. He was leaning back against the wall, shotgun resting over his shoulder. The brim of his Stetson dipped, giving me the faintest encouragement.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re going into the dragons’ den.”
“Why?” JoJo said. “Why do you have to?”
“Because, JoJo,” I said. “That’s where the treasure is.”
ENTRY 46
Four grueling days later, I crept out of the cover of forest onto the granite ledge on the steep back cliffs of Ponderosa Pass. Patrick and Alex clambered up next to me, and we peered over the brink. All the hiding and crawling and hiking had left us filthy. Dirt crammed beneath our fingernails. Sweat stains on our shirts. Dead pine needles clinging to our tattered clothes.
And we’d only finished the easy part.
We lay on our bellies on the rock slab and gazed across the foothills to the highway bisecting the flats. The skyline of Stark Peak rose jaggedly at the horizon—the end of the road in more ways than one.
The ground was littered with the debris of the great exodus. Abandoned vehicles. Brush and trash shoved to the sides of the highway like dirty snow. And the bodies of Hosts everywhere in various stages of decomposition.
I can’t tell you how many dead Hosts we saw on our way here, puddling in the gutters, staining the forest floor, melting in driver’s seats. Their expiration dates had passed. They’d served their purpose.
Now it was down to the Drones and Hatchlings.
And us.
The vast scene below was so still that any movement seemed more pronounced. A broken gas-station sign hanging from a wire, twirling in the breeze. Vultures gliding through the air and feasting on carrion. A few roving bands of Drones picking through the wreckage, searching the trunks of empty cars. An injured Hatchling squirming on the shoulder of the road, left behind to die. His leg was bent the wrong way, a dagger of bone shoved out through his thigh. Even so, he was trying to claw his way to Stark Peak.