CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Society will benefit. The children will benefit. Eventually the world will benefit.
My God. He’s a psychopath. Did he really think anyone in their right mind would accept this? And yet, a cold spear of dread moved through Harper, the knowledge that already, others had prescribed to this madness. Not only prescribed to, but put into practice. Who else out there was suffering? Trying to survive any number of unknown terrors and hardships right that very moment? She shuddered.
“You really think people are going to accept this?” she asked, not so much for the answer, but to keep him talking, to come up with a plan. Something. No matter how small.
“You’re right. I see the way you two are looking at me,” Dr. Swift said, barely penetrating the careening thoughts in her mind. “It may be . . . unpalatable to some. They won’t understand the scope, the benefits.” He rocked on his heels. “But there are plenty who do, and they’re the ones who matter. They know big change requires bold action. They understand it’s the results that matter. And the results speak for themselves. Isn’t that right, Daire?”
For the first time, the man named Daire spoke. “Yes, sir,” he said, giving Dr. Swift a small bow of his head. Oh God. They had convinced at least some of the survivors that this was okay. The sickness was unthinkable.
The man had convinced himself he was improving society, and yet he was profiting off people’s misery.
Next to her, Jak’s mind was definitely whirling. She glanced at him and saw it and even through her fear, her heart calmed. She’d trusted him fifteen years ago, and she trusted him now. Not to survive this, she realized. But to fight, to try. To go down swinging. She’d seen it in his nature, even then, she realized suddenly. He’d curled his fists. It came to her in a flash, the rush of the water filling her head, her mind’s eye conjuring that dreamlike moment. He’d curled his fists. He’d trembled like the rest of them, but he’d curled his fists . . . and she had known.
She met his gaze and time stilled. Deep intensity filled his expression before he glanced backward quickly and then away.
Backward. The falls.
It’s our only way out.
Her stomach dropped. Fear spiked. The water roared, the man in front of them still talking, pacing, evil spilling from his lips. She couldn’t hear him anymore, not over the rush of the falls, the buzzing in her head. Jak took a step closer, two. Harper met his eyes and a strange calm descended.
The man in front of them was not going to let them walk away from this. Not before, and especially not now that he’d shared everything with them. They’d been a loose end before, now they were an extreme liability. He was going to shoot them and whoever else might be working with him—some vast network or so it seemed—would help him dispose of their bodies somewhere in this immense wilderness. They’d never be found, or even if they were, there’d be no evidence about who killed them or why. And if they were never found? Would others believe they’d run away together? Even if they didn’t, how could it be proven? They’d say Jak was a wildcard, unpredictable, uncivilized, and that Harper was unfocused and emotionally unstable—scarred from the trauma of losing her parents and then growing up without a true home. Who could truly say what they’d done or why? They’d look for a while and then . . . that would be that.
The man in front of them knew it too.
But he’d never expect them to jump.
Yes, their only way out was down. Just like the first time. They’d survived once, against all odds, but how likely was it that they could survive something with such meager odds again? Unlikely. Hopeless perhaps. The fall was one thing, the rapids just beyond was another. Treacherous. Deadly. Full of boulders and undercurrents that had taken several lives that she knew of. So why did she feel so hopeful?
Because, they’d survive, or they wouldn’t—together.
Harper curled her fists. Jak’s eyes moved downward. He’d seen. He knew.
Let’s do this. Together. Again.
She was ready, she realized, incredulous at the calm, the peace, she felt. There, standing at the top of a precipice with Jak, about to risk it all, she saw so clearly how incredibly lucky she’d been, when she’d never deemed herself lucky before. So many things had aligned perfectly so she made it out of the wilderness
that night. Was it luck though, or more? Fate? A divine hand? Her parents’ loving guidance? She didn’t know. She did know she was intensely thankful, because like Jak, she had survived so she would be there when he arrived in her life for the second time.
Jak. Her Jak. He’d sacrificed his own life to give her hers, and she would not dishonor that by regretting a single moment of it. He had saved her, and she was grateful for every second she’d had because of it. Even the moments when she’d struggled and hurt and felt like a victim. She hadn’t been a victim. She was the victor Dr. Swift had mentioned. Not because she’d been put through a program. She’d picked herself up, over and over, again and again. It had made her stronger, better, made her appreciate the good moments and respect her own ability to survive.
It was as if, for a fleeting moment, a cloud had moved away from the sun. And in that brief speck of time, she saw the bright, miraculous, sometimes searing, often blinding light of what her life had been. And she was grateful for it all. All of it. Every moment. Because it was hers. And she saw that she could not claim the joy without also claiming the pain. So she did. She took it inside and loved it all equally. That moment. Right there. She loved her life. And because of such great, unequaled love—the sudden and deep understanding of the many gifts she’d received—she was willing to take any risk to keep it. For herself. For him. With him.
Dr. Swift paced one more time. His words, she couldn’t put them together. He was preparing himself though, ready to have them shot where they stood. Harper took a step back and so did Jak. Daire saw what they were doing and raised the gun, and in that instant, they both turned, Jak’s hand grabbing hers, gripping. She heard a blast and something flew by her cheek. Jak pulled her so they wove, crouching as they moved. She heard Dr. Swift’s yell coming closer, the same as that night, only this time it was accompanied by the whizz of bullets as they flew by her head.
The earth fell out from under them and then there was only falling, only the thunder of the falls all around. The needle-sharp pain of the icy water as it hit her skin. Harper’s scream was snatched up in the wild roar. Jak’s hand gripped tighter. He wouldn’t let her go. She knew he wouldn’t. He’d already proven it once before.
Hold on, she heard through the rush of water.
Hold on.
That whisper inside, deep down, and yet filling her head, her heart, her soul. She was only sensation now, only instinct and the will to live, and she heard it so clearly. She knew the voice. That whisper. It had belonged to her mother.
She couldn’t hold her breath any longer. Her lungs were burning, her body being battered, flailing as the thunderous fall went on and on and on.
Then the jarring impact of hitting the surface, her lungs screaming, hand gripping, gripping. He was gripping back. They were together, plunging down, down, and then back up, up, his powerful legs kicking mightily, pulling them both toward the light above, as her lungs caught fire and she tried to hold on, hold on, head bursting, lights blinking until—