Blood Bond (44 page)

I made it three steps before the cold sound
of a gun cocking stopped me midstride.

I looked at Olivia. Her eyes were crystal
clear, calculated, and sure. The gun she held was pointed at Cord.
My heart slammed against my chest.

“Get back in the chair,” she said
quietly.

I hesitated. Surely, George was getting my
utter hysteria, my mind-numbing fear. Were they close enough for it
to matter? Had they even seen where I’d been taken or had Mr.
Lexington lost them somehow? I had no idea if I was alone. For
Cord’s sake, I had to assume I was.

“Get back in the fucking chair!”

I slid into my seat and Olivia threw the
rubber tourniquet at me. “Put this on your arm,” she said.

I tied the tourniquet around my bicep and
held out my arm, exposing the vein in the crook of my elbow. I
waited for Olivia to come forward with the needle. If she lowered
her eyes long enough to insert it, maybe I’d have a chance at the
gun. Instead, she picked up the needle and threw it over to me.

“Uncap and insert this. When it’s in, attach
the vial,” she said.

“You want me to stick myself?” I asked. “I
don’t know how.”

“You have three minutes to figure it out or
I shoot her.”

I looked at Cord. She blinked at me slowly,
her head bobbing with the effort. I fumbled with the needle,
positioning it over what I hoped was the right spot. I’d never done
this before. I’d never even watched. Usually, I turned away anytime
I had to give blood or get an injection. Somehow, it made the prick
less uncomfortable. I couldn’t afford to do that now. And I
couldn’t afford to mess up.

I sucked in a breath, held it, and shoved
the needle into my flesh. The pinch was sharp but brief. When I
stopped shoving, the pain faded. I held the needle as still as
possible and attached the vial to the end of the tubing. Nothing
happened.

“It’s not working,” I said.

“Then it’s misplaced. Find the vein. One
minute.”

I jiggled the needle, wincing at the sting
it caused.

“Thirty seconds.”

I pulled it out, inserted it again. Blood
began to flow into the vial. “I got it.”

“Good. When you’re done with that one, fill
those.” She nodded at the rest of the vials I’d dumped onto the
table when I’d sat down. My eyed widened.

“There’s like fifteen vials there,” I
said.

“I know.”

“What do you need all of this for?” I
asked.

The way she looked at me, with her head
cocked slightly to the side confirmed what I’d suspected from the
moment I’d realized the reason for illness in this place.

“Your blood, as much as it offends me, is
the only thing that will make them whole. And I need them
whole.”

A chill ran down my arms and settled inside
my soul. “You’re going to inject them with my blood?”

I tried to imagine what it would be like,
being connected to that many minds. Feeling the same paranoia and
panic over the safety of a hundred instead of one.

I shuddered.

“No. You are,” she answered. “I’m going to
try not to shoot your friend.”

The vials filled quickly. Too quickly. By
the time I was finished, I felt lightheaded. Olivia’s arm never
wavered, never lowered. The gun remained trained on Cord. Halfway
through, Chris seemed to lose what little strength he’d been
running on and let go of Cord. She folded onto the floor like an
accordion. He didn’t bother to pick her up and Olivia didn’t ask
him to. When I’d capped the last vial, I still hadn’t thought of a
way out. At least not one that included both me and Cord escaping
alive.

I tried controlling my emotions enough to
send George something specific, something that might help him know
to move in, but I couldn’t get a handle on my thoughts. One minute
adrenaline pumped into me hard enough to rattle my heart against my
chest and the next, fear threatened to choke me. Or worse—make me
cry. I couldn’t be sure he felt any of it, because I felt nothing
from him. Maybe he was too far away. Maybe my own frantic emotions
blanketed anything I could’ve gotten from him. I had no idea. I
couldn’t think straight.

My entire focus was on the vials in front of
me and the level of connection it represented once my blood was
injected into so many sick bodies. I’d only barely gotten a handle
on my connection with George. The knowledge I could lose him one
day, even years down the road from old age, scared me to the point
of hyperventilation.

And if my mind was suddenly joined with a
hundred others—what then? How would I separate my own thoughts from
theirs? Would I still be me?

My hands shook.

“Now what?” I asked when I’d removed the
needle from my arm and bandaged the area. It ached under the
pressure of my fingers and I knew I’d have bruises later.

“Syringe—they’re in the cabinet.” She
pointed with the gun and I stood to retrieve them. My knees buckled
and I had to fall back against my chair to keep from
collapsing.

“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded.

“I … it was a lot of blood and I haven’t
eaten.”

She rolled her eyes. “There are crackers in
the next cabinet.”

I kept my movements slow and steady. I found
the box of syringes and then the crackers. I stared at the mostly
empty shelf in disgust. The few wrappers I found lay open; the food
was covered in ants.

“Not hungry after all?” I could hear the
smirk in Olivia’s voice. I turned to face her, doing my best to
ignore the sight of the gun.

“No.”

“Good. Get to work. You can start in here
and work your way back outside.”

While I gathered my
supplies, Cord moaned from her place on the floor. She pressed her
palms to the floor and pushed up, her chest rising a few inches
before falling back again. Olivia strode over, keeping the gun
trained on Cord’s back, and planted a kick in her ribs. It caused a
sickening
thud
where her foot landed against bone. Cord grunted and went
still.

“Stop!” I screamed. A sob rose on the single
word. I choked it back.

“I suggest you get to work,” Olivia said,
gesturing to the bodies in the room. None of them made a sound the
entire time we’d been here.

I walked to the first one: a man with
thinning, gray hair matted to his head. His ribs stuck out against
his skin. His chest retracted violently in his attempt to breathe.
I reached out a hand toward him, then pulled it back. This close,
the smell was unbearable. Sweat, urine, death.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I said.

“Then they will die. And so will she.” She
kicked Cord again. It was more of a shove, a haphazard poke at
something you had no regard for and made me want to strangle Olivia
so badly, my hands itched.

Instead, I reached into the box of syringes
and unwrapped one. Its spindly metal tip shone dull against the
filtered sunlight from the small window overhead. I fumbled with
the vial of blood until the needle’s tip poked through the rubber
stopper and then drew the plunger back to suck crimson liquid into
the barrel.

I set the vial aside and
inspected the needle, channeling every episode of
ER
I’d ever caught with
my mom. I tapped the side of the barrel with my fingers like I’d
seen them do on TV and braced myself.

The entire time I worked, I eyed the old
man, trying to keep my distance. I recoiled at the knowledge I’d
have to touch him for this next part, have to touch all of them
before I was done. It was a mixture of disgust and compassion that
had me gingerly taking his arm and turning it sideways, searching
for a usable vein.

I didn’t allow myself time to change my mind
or second-guess before I shoved the needle through his flesh. It
felt thin and spongy under my fingers. I tightened my grip,
depressed the plunger, and yanked it free. I took a full step back
and wiped my brow with the back of my hand.

One down. Dozens to go.

“I don’t have all year,” Olivia snapped.

I stared down at the old man. His breathing
remained the same. He didn’t move or open his eyes. “Why isn’t it
working?” I asked.

“It takes time. Keep moving.”

I did what she asked and made seven more
injections, working halfway around the room before the dizziness
washed over me again. I steadied myself on the first thing my hand
grasped—and recoiled as my fingers closed around another hand.

This one belonged to a woman, her yellowing
eyes open and watchful. She didn’t try to speak but her glassy gaze
held mine the entire time I worked on her. She didn’t flinch when
the needle penetrated, only stared back at me with a look of
curiosity. When I pulled the syringe free, she sighed. Then Olivia
snapped at me and I moved on.

I kept Olivia and Cord in my peripheral
vision. The reality of the gun never left my awareness, and as time
went on, I had no choice but to accept I was alone. The others
hadn’t come—weren’t coming. Random, errant thoughts flitted through
my mind as I injected one person after another. Thoughts of Cambria
and what she would’ve told my mom when they’d lost our trail. Of
Wes and Derek and George and how the bond was evidently no help in
locating me at this moment. Of Alex, and why he’d voted to let me
come, only to disappear. Of these hybrids, caught halfway between
death and domination.

What would Olivia do to them if they
survived? Was my blood even enough to bring them back, or were they
too far gone?

By the time I finished, my arm ached, my
stomach rumbled, and my lids drooped with exhaustion. I wasn’t sure
how I’d make it through the bodies that waited for me in the
woods.

“I’m done,” I said.

“One more.” She pointed at Chris.

He’d slumped over in the chair I’d sat in
earlier, his head propped on his hand. He sat up as I approached
and held out his arm.

“I need you to stay still,” I said,
preparing the syringe and setting the vial aside. I approached
slowly, wary of the way his eyes tracked my movements. He wasn’t
nearly as incapacitated as the others. I positioned the needle over
his arm and held it there. His arm jerked underneath my hand. I
tightened my grip and he snarled.

“Stay still,” I repeated.

“I’m trying,” he said. It was the first time
he’d spoken. The raw desperation in his voice startled me. I’d
expected menace, suppressed violence, but not this.

“Just breathe, all right?”

He nodded at me. I could see him fighting
for control of his own body under my touch, and I knew he was
closer to shifting than the rest of them. His body must’ve accepted
the change a little better. Still, he looked … uncontrolled. More
like the hybrids I’d fought at Wood Point. Something in his eyes
made me think of the wolf Alex killed when I’d gone to meet Miles
that first time. That pack had been hell-bent on killing me, and
the order definitely hadn’t come from Miles.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he
asked.

“No reason. Here we go.” I stuck him before
he could pull away, depressed the plunger, and slid the needle
free. The whole thing took less than five seconds. He growled but
managed to hold his arm in place.

“That hurts,” he said, the desperation
turning fierce. The muscles in his arm flexed and I took a
reflexive step back. I tossed the syringe aside and put the vial
back in my box of supplies.

“It’s over,” I said. Our eyes met and
held.

“Almost,” he murmured.

I shivered and turned away. Olivia wandered
along the gurneys, examining patients. The gun hung limp at her
side.

I made it halfway across the room before she
noticed me and raised the barrel at my head.

“Don’t be stupid,” she said.

“I can’t help myself,” I said.

“Get those vials loaded up. We’re taking a
walk.” She walked back to Cord and began yanking her up. “Chris,
help me with her.”

Chris stood, looking wobbly and weak, and
made his way over to Olivia. She was struggling to lift Cord and
still keep hold of the gun. “Carry her,” Olivia said.

“Olivia …”

“Carry her, I said.”

Chris grabbed Cord and hefted, but he didn’t
get far before his arms gave out and Cord slid to the ground
again.

“Fine, drag her back to her room. I’ll deal
with her later,” Olivia snapped.

With a grunt of relief, he grabbed Cord’s
ankles and dragged her out. Olivia gestured for me to follow. I
felt a stab of regret at leaving Cord like this, but I couldn’t do
anything else.

“Move,” Olivia ordered when Chris had locked
the door.

My back tingled where I knew Olivia had
readjusted the gun’s aim.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Once during our trek through the woods, my
pace slowed enough that Olivia got impatient and jammed the gun
against my back, prodding me forward. After that, I kept pace with
Chris, careful not to let Olivia get too close; I’d take an
infected Werewolf over a loaded gun any day. Other than the sound
of a faraway bird call, nothing moved or disrupted the stillness
around us. I wondered where we were, if we were even in Virginia
anymore, but I didn’t bother to ask. I knew it would do little
good. Olivia wasn’t the talkative type, not like Miles had
been.

Once we reached the clearing, Olivia stopped
and hung back near the wooden cage I’d woken in. Her eyes tracked
my movements, as did the barrel of the gun. I could feel her
watching me even when my back was turned. She wore her hate and
rage under a thin mask of calm. Everything she said, every movement
she made, felt calculated, as if she were constantly reining
herself in. What would happen to me, to Cord, when my injections
were finished? When she no longer needed to hold back? The thought
made it hard to keep from shaking as I inserted another needle into
another shriveled vein.