I stop.
Cock my head to the side trying to understand what it is.
A breath.
A presence.
A closing in.
And then shadows.
Flashes of air.
A thousand screeches surround me and I’m knocked to the ground. Pounced on. Razors cutting into my flesh. Screeches ringing in my ears from all sides. I fight them off, whatever they are, tossing, punching, trying to stand and being pulled down again. There are dozens of them coming at me. I feel bites, gouges, claws, the snapping of jaws as they miss me. I roll and deflect them, gaining a moment of freedom and then losing it again. Teeth sink into my hip, tear into my arm. I kick one off and another takes its place. I finally grab what seems to be a small one around the neck, and I hear an agonized screech, and for a moment the onslaught pauses. I pull the creature closer, holding it by the throat until it whimpers louder. The rest hold back and even though I’m sure they can’t understand, I yell, “I’ll kill it. Stay back or I’ll snap its head off.” And I could. Right now, I could do it in a heartbeat.
There’s screeching and snapping, but they stay at bay, seeming to sense my desperation. I walk backward, holding the creature by the neck as it claws at my arms. With each step back I take, the shadowy pack follows, just waiting for me to trip or let go. When I sense they’re getting too close, I squeeze tighter so the creature in my arms screams and chokes. I step carefully, knowing one stumble and they will be on top of me again. Blood drips down my face, into my eyes, my mouth. I feel every gash, the pain, the gouges where their teeth have riddled my flesh, but I keep moving. If I stop, I know I’m dead. The creature twists and slithers, razorlike claws shredding my shirt and digging deeper into my arms trying to escape, but I keep my hold.
I make it to the end of one tunnel, and then another, and I’m finally moving into the larger station area where scattered distant light once again gives the walls form. At last I can make out the features of the creatures. Even darkness can’t disguise their gruesome distorted bodies. Maybe half-dogs. Maybe not. But it’s the other half that sickens me, so much so that my arms nearly drop the creature in my grasp. The other half is unmistakable. Thin, gaunt, they stand upright. I stare at the largest ones, just feet away from me ready to pounce. Their lips are missing and the exposed sharp teeth give them a grotesque perpetual grin. Their eyes are frozen open, forever startled, because they have no lids. Their bodies are covered with slime, scabs, and filth. And long sharp claws protrude from their fingers.
Fingers that are distinctly human.
I look down at the creature in my arms. Even through the squalor and horror, I can tell—it’s a child. A small one, not much bigger than Kayla. I look back at the pack, and single out a creature at the front, the one most eager to tear my head off—man or woman I don’t know, but without a doubt, the parent. Our eyes meet and I see the panic. Human panic. I shove the child toward it and run. I get only a two-second lead, before the rest are after me again, slashing at my back with their claws, but I manage to get to the stairs and they fall back. They won’t venture into the world aboveground and that’s all that saves me. As soon as I’m in the open air of the public gardens, I fall to the ground, gasping for breath, my body shaking, convulsing, finally giving in to the damage.
I remember the gash on my side from when Gatsbro’s goons beat me. I know this damage is far worse. It’s everywhere. My back, my arms, my legs, my scalp. Is it blood running into my eyes, or BioPerfect? I reach down and feel the deep wound at my hip, the fabric ripped away by their sharp teeth. I bring my fingers to my face. Blood covers them, but worse, bright blue gel. I close my eyes and my hand falls to my side. The wounds are so deep, my BioPerfect is oozing out everywhere. I’m leaving telltale signs all over the ground. I have to get home before someone sees me. I drag myself to my feet and the world spins. I’m still programmed for pain and Gatsbro made sure it was my default. I concentrate, trying to force it away, knowing I can, but I can’t get past the wall. Miesha’s words vibrate through me. You can do it. Figure out a way. It’s too much and I fall to the ground again. I crawl to a nearby tree and use that to lean against as I try again to get to my feet. I look down at my shirt, covered in red and blue, and then I hear a honk. A cab sits at the curb and the window is down. “Need a ride?” the CabBot calls. “On the house.”
It’s the CabBot from the other night. Bob. The passenger door is open. Has he been following me? At this point, I don’t care. I have no choice but to rely on his help. I stumble across the lawn to the cab and fall in.
“Home?”
“Yeah,” I gasp. “It’s at—”
“I know where it is.”
As we turn the corner the last thing I see is a stream of Security Force vans descending on the gardens.
* * *
I don’t remember getting back to my apartment. I don’t know how I got up the stairs, but when I come to on the floor of the living room, I know I’m in deep trouble and there’s only one person who can help me. With my last bit of strength, I call her.
Panic
“Jenna.”
“Who is this?”
“Jenna,” I try again, but even words leave me winded.
“Locke?”
I swallow and take as deep a breath as I can manage. “I’m hurt, Jenna. I need a doctor. Someone good.”
“Locke, my God, what happened?”
“There’s blood and blue gel everywhere. I need someone who can really stitch, like you. Not like the one I had last time.”
Even through my pained haze I can hear the panic in her voice. “How did you—”
“He’s there, Jenna. I’m sure he’s alive. I was so close, but then—”