Blood of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 2)

The dam’s massive girth and the red rock of the canyon on either side plunged into a platform of cement below. The vast, steep distance to the bottom pulled on my insides with a whirling sense of unsteadiness.

No one could survive a fall from this dam, not even Michio with his healing abilities. The impact would splatter a body into pieces.

Michio set me on the narrow ledge of the overhang beside the Drone, and panic fired through my nerves. I couldn’t move my hands, couldn’t hold on to the edge. My equilibrium was already fucked up from the spinning effect of vertigo, made worse without the stability of my legs.

I jerked forward, leaning away from the sharp slope and pushing my weight against Michio. I wanted to beg him to protect me, to sweep me away from the ledge and wrap his strength around me, but my pleas would only torture him. No doubt he was as terrified as I was.

The six spider guards formed a barrier at the mouth of the overhang. If I could somehow hop away from Michio’s firm grip on my ropes, I’d also have to hop through them. And though I couldn’t see beyond the swarm of aphids on the street, I suspected there were more spiders patrolling both ends of the dam.

The sun peered over the eastern horizon, winking at me all bright and shiny, completely unconcerned that my daughter’s future literally hung in the balance. Its fiery glow did little to warm the cool breeze that chilled the sweat on my face.

I reached deep, digging up my courage, and met the Drone’s eyes. “Why are we here, a hundred stories in the air?” Tempting my fucking fate?

“Sixty-seven stories.” The Drone leaned against the three-foot wall of the overhang, hands in his pockets, his cape rustling around his boots. “It’s Christmas morning.”

As if that explained everything. He was Muslim, for fuck’s sake. But he’d chosen Christmas morning to bring me to this ledge for a reason. My stomach sank with dread.

“Seventy percent of this country believed their savior was born on this day.” He shifted to stare out over the landscape of rocky cliffs. “Where was their savior when I released the virus? If I’m the pestilence in their bible, why didn’t their god save them from me?”

Roark would say the final days were God’s plan, but waging a religious debate with a lunatic while precariously perched on the ledge of the Hoover Dam sounded like a terrible idea.

“I’m not a believer.” I leaned closer toward Michio, trying to slide my feet to the ground, but his grip on my hips kept my butt on the edge.

The Drone rubbed the folds of his cheek. “But you believe the fetus in your womb will save mankind?”

It wasn’t a question of religious faith, spirituality, or scientific study. The prophecy was unexplainable. A phenomenon that defied human concepts. Every prediction Annie made had come to pass, and those of us affected by it couldn’t discount its legitimacy. Not me. Not my guardians. And not the Drone. That must’ve been eating at his rotten, deranged heart. But I didn’t want to give him a reason to shove me off the ledge, so I kept my mouth shut.

In the span of a heartbeat, he was on me, his claws digging into my face, and his chest bowing me backward. My upper half hung backward over the edge, my breath lodged in my throat. At least I wasn’t face down and staring at my death.

Michio stood to the side, arms dangling, eyes glazed. He wouldn’t be able to lift a finger to catch me, and as sure as this fall would kill me, it would kill him, too.

I mentally reached for the aphid threads and strummed a silent command. Attack the Drone. Kill the Drone.

The Drone laughed. “You can’t control my army, Eveline.” His lower body pinned my legs to the wall, the only thing keeping me from plummeting. “We’ve reached a causality dilemma. Do you know what that is?”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t fill my lungs. My hands twisted against the rope, grappling for the fabric of his shirt and unable to find purchase.

“Which came first? Me or the prediction?” His septic breath slithered over my face. “Was your death on a cliff prophesied because I drop you? Or do I drop you because of the prediction?”

Don’t drop me. Sweet fucking hell, don’t let go. I couldn’t tell if he was fucking with me or if he had every intention of throwing me over. Probably both. My stomach bucked, pushing bile to my throat.

I flexed my arms against the bindings, my body suffocatingly wrapped like a roll of carpet. Where was the extra length of rope that attached to my back? My heart skipped. It had been wound around Michio’s arm. If I fell, could he catch me? Or did he fall with me? Oh God, I couldn’t see the rope, couldn’t see him at all. Fuck, all I could see was his body splattered beside mine sixty-seven stories below.