I’m stronger than most grown men, and I’ve been fighting for my life since I was barely able to walk. I’m lethal, and I know it. Now I fell back on the hand-to-hand combat I’d relied on so many times, dodging and weaving and getting a jab in when I could. But this guy was much stronger than most men, and stronger than me, and my hits didn’t seem to faze him.
He gave me a hard left to the head, smashing my cheek and whipping my head sideways. The sudden, awful pain made me want to throw up, and my reflexes slowed.
Swallowing down bile, I lunged across his right side for a kidney jab, but he caught my neck in a headlock. We stumbled around in a strange waltz as I tore at his arm. The giant flexed his muscles, crushing my windpipe more and more.…
A euphoric feeling flooded my system as the blistered roof tiles beneath my feet started to blur and my legs turned to rubber. My vision went swimmy and it suddenly seemed so easy to just give up.
No!
With my last bit of breath, I fumbled for a steak knife I’d tucked into my belt.
I chopped down hard, burying the knife in the giant’s thigh. He grunted and his grip slackened a tiny bit, but it was enough. I dropped down, deadweight, and slipped out of his grasp. As he reached to pull out the knife, I seized a shard of broken tile and gouged at his eyes.
It was so, so horrible and gross. But effective.
He shrieked and lurched backward, stumbling blindly close to the edge. His huge ham hands covered his eyes, blood running through his fingers. There was a length of broken, rusty rebar sticking up out of the tiles, and I snatched it up and pointed it at his chest. If he lunged forward, he would impale himself. And I would help him.
“Let’s try this again,” I snarled. “Who is the Remedy?”
The giant began to laugh, his blood running into his mouth. “You believe you can escape him?” he asked. He laughed and laughed, until I was sure that grating sound would live on in my dreams. “I have failed, but more will follow, and you cannot escape us all. The Horsemen will ride on,” the man said, and then leaped to his death.
38
NUDGE’S HANDS BROKE the surface of the cool, dark water as she dove. The cold made her gasp at first, but as she swam her body temperature adjusted and her skin tingled with pleasure.
The lake was Nudge’s favorite place in the caves, and she came here in the early mornings while the Aquatics were out hunting. The limestone walls reflected the light through small openings, making the shadowy water glow green. It was eerie and beautiful, like a place where fairies would live. Plus, no huge, kid-eating lampreys. A definite plus.
The other kids didn’t know what to make of her, so they kept their distance. She had gills, but no fins or webbed feet. But Nudge was strong, and by swimming lap after lap every day, she was getting stronger.
Her arms cut into the lake again and again with smooth, confident strokes. Her wings were folded tightly behind her. She stayed just below the surface of the water and opened her mouth like she’d seen the Aquatics do, letting in a little water so she could focus on filtering the oxygen through her gills instead of relying on her lungs.
They would call her the Flying Fish by the end of the summer.
She kept her eyes open and watched the fish swimming below her. It was so calm here, undisturbed by all the nightmares that were happening outside the caves. No snapping Cryenas, lampreys, Flyboys, or Erasers. She hated Erasers.
Nudge cherished the calm, even if it meant she got lonely. Even if it meant she would never see beyond these walls again.
“Don’t you want to know?” The memory of Max’s question nagged at her, and Nudge felt the smallest flicker of doubt.
She pushed it down as she always did, and got lost in the rhythm of her strokes until somewhere, as if in a distant world, she heard the barking.
Then a splash sent the whole lake rippling, and Nudge saw leather-booted feet wading toward her. She took
in everything at once: Something was off.
The Aquatics don’t wear boots.
They don’t wade—they swim.
Nudge flipped, kicking hard against the wall, shooting away from those boots like a torpedo.
Her swimming had gotten quick, but he was quicker.
A gloved hand clamped around her foot, yanking her back. She felt the leather against her skin and thought of the scientists who’d tested and poked her—people always wore gloves to do dirty work.
That was when her panic really set in—the understanding of what might happen. What was about to.
No! Nudge’s brain railed against the possibility. I’m stronger than that!