E (31 page)

I flop down into the snow, tearing her from my jacket.  I lay
her on the cold ground.  I can’t see her through the tears, but my hands
find her torso, shake her gently.  Then fiercer.  Insistently. 
Demandingly.  Wake up.  Wake up.  For god sakes, wake up. 
Her limbs are limp.  Dangling.  I keep waiting for her to just take
one breath.

She doesn’t wake up.  She’s like Oscar.  Gone.

I lift my face to the sky  and let the tears come
freely.  Why do we even bother?  Life is so fleeting, so easily
broken.  It comes and goes without asking, and in between is an endless
struggle against pain.  Do our lives change anything?  Or do we just
live because that's what we are programmed to do?

I scoop her up and hold onto her until I can no longer stand
to.  We sit in the snow, rocking.  I cry a lullaby.  She’s heavy
in my arms, like a doll made of lead.  Her death is heavy on my
soul—another tragedy I couldn’t prevent.  I cannot bear her.  I need
to move on.  Dazedly, I consider what to do next.  The ground is
frozen, denying a grave.  I can't imagine placing her tiny body into a
barrel of flames.  Instead, I give her the only resting place that seems
right.  I carry her back to her mother's arms.  Maybe she was never
meant to be taken from there.  I lay her carefully in the frozen embrace,
and cover them both with a piece of black plastic, which is all I can
find.  I cry my way halfway across the Outpost, until I realize where I'm
going.  To Jonas' new base of operations.  I probably shouldn't go
there, but I don't want to be alone, and I can't handle Neveah's silence. 
I want someone to talk to me.  To tell me it will be OK.

Jonas is not there, and no one will tell me where he is. 
They direct me to Apollon, though, who is working in one of the back
rooms. 

"Hey, Eden," he says, grinning, as he sees me in the
doorway.  He's got a table full of implements, glass, test-tubes, and jars
of things that look like they belong in a witch's pantry.

I wander in, my eyes scanning over the table.  "What the
hell?"

Apollon raises his eyebrows at me, then picks up one of many vials
of foul-colored liquid.  He holds it up carefully for my inspection, winks
at me.  "Apollon," he says, "god of the plague."

I'm running in the snow.  Running blindly, without
direction.  There is nowhere to go, but I have to get away from where I am. 
Away from this desperate, madness-inducing place.  Away from what I don't
want to become.  Death's wormy fingers cling to me, threaten to implicate
me in the tainted business of our nonchalant self-destruction.  I slip and
slide on the packed snow and ice, but manage to keep going, completely shutting
everything else out but the wind tearing at my face, the cold air taking away
what's left of my breath, the energy pouring outward, into the world, instead
of inward, crushing me under its weight.

This is how I end up a target.  I'm running. 
Shouts.  Behind me, in front of me.  A pack of Matt's men, closing
in.  They have guns, but they don't fire.  Their knives are
drawn.  They will finish me the quieter way, if possible, rather than deal
with the Sentries.

I experience a strange detachment from the idea of dying. 
Does it really matter?  It's just the inevitable finally coming for
me.  But I'm angry.  Angry about so many things, and now, in this
moment, I have someone to take it out on.  They don't want the Sentries to
be involved.  So that's exactly what I want.  I draw my knife and try
to bolt past one group, toward the next intersection, where Oscar was
taken.  Two men block my path.  I slash an arm.  One of them
nicks my face.  Our red blood is striking against the silver of our
blades, the white of the snow.  Behind me, footsteps rapidly
approach.  I scream at the top of my lungs. 

Everyone freezes.  I continue shrieking.  The footsteps
behind me run in the opposite direction, now.  The two men in front of me
look wide-eyed down the street as the Sentry comes into view, haloed in a
shimmer of aether blue, taking quick, thunking strides toward us.  They
try to run, which is a mistake, because it goes for them first, moving faster
than they could possibly evade.  It's metal fist slams into their skulls
and tosses them into a pile.  It turns to me.  I wait for it to
come.  Its dark mirror registers the blood-dripping blade in my hand,
confirming my guilt.  My mark is scanned next, deciding my
punishment.  Death.  It moves toward me. 

Its metal fingers are peculiarly warm, closing around my waist, my
ribcage.  I struggle for breath as it scoops me toward it, getting ready
to strike the final blow.  Adrenaline, fear, and despair riot in my
head.  The buried rage, the smoldering ember of pure hatred, bursts
suddenly to full flame, eager to consume the object of its scorn.  I slip
my blood-wet blade into a thin crevice between the plates of the Sentry's
chest, using it like a pry bar.  I jerk the hilt sideways, throwing my
weight into it.  Metal grinds against metal, a battle between the strength
of my blade and the strength of the Sentry's armor.  There is a pop, and
the plating flies open.  I sink my fingers into the working of silver
tubes and wires beneath, moving around them-- moving around things that cannot
be hurt.  Deeper.  Searching.  I get hold of the crystal, my
fingers scrambling to find the hidden release buttons.  I activate all
three, in the correct order.  My fingers tighten on the crystal, and heave. 
The metal fist aiming for my head stops mid-blow.  We creak, and sway,
groaning iron and freezing blasts of winter wind.  Then, all at once,
everything crumples in on itself.  We crash toward the snow-packed
pavement in a heap of haphazard metal limbs.

I scramble to my feet, staggering, and look down on the corpse of
the thing that took Oscar from me.  There is no satisfaction in it. 
My shoulders slump inward.  I have undone nothing.  There is no
victory, when I can't have him back.  I stare, unmoving, until I hear the
sound, still far away, but recognizable.  Metal.  Way off, at the end
of the street, another Sentry is coming, called to this one by whatever
brotherhood links their empty lives.  I run.  I'm not sure why, but I
do.  I know I will not make it far.  The distance closes behind
me.  I tear down the ice-slicked street toward the Rustler, barrel through
the door.  I shoulder straight through Arthur Adner, who is too busy
gaping to protest, and pry open the trap door to the tunnels.  I drop into
the dark chill and slam the door shut.

Above me, I can hear metal footprints on the floorboards. 
Everyone is silent.  The Sentry walks the span of the place, and goes out
the back door.  I close my eyes against the pressing pit of darkness, and
start counting backward from one hundred, forcing myself to breathe
evenly.  When I reach zero, I can climb back out.  Find my way to the
safe house.  I am only at ninety-five when I hear chairs scoot against the
wood.  Footsteps head toward the trap door.  Matt.

I bolt into the void, blade in one hand, crystal in the
other.  I'm running blind, so I shove my knife into its sheathe and drag
my hand on the wall until I find a turn.  I take it, and the next, and the
next, trying to lose any pursuit.  When I can run no more, I stop, and try
to catch my breath.  Where am I in this dreadful maze of tunnels?  Is
there any way out?  But I've really lost myself.  I feel around in
the dark, one hand still gripping the thing I've pulled from the Sentry, and
find a deep alcove.  This part of the tunnels is unfamiliar.  I close
my eyes and try to fight down the panic, imagining the open air.  I'm not
closed in.  I'm not in the dark.  I can see the blue sky, the way the
white puffs of clouds are carried by the wind.  That's when I hear
footsteps.  I cock my head, trying to determine their direction, but the
way things echo down here, I can't tell which way they are coming from. 
The piece of Sentry bites into my palm as my fists clench tighter.  I have
to hide it.  I have to get rid of it.

My fingers scramble over the wall, find a loose brick in the
alcove.  I pull it out, put the crystal in its space, and shove the brick
back in.  I move away, down the passageway, hopefully in the right
direction.  It turns out that it doesn't matter.  Light appears ahead
of me.  I turn around.  There is a glow from the other way as
well.  They're closing in on me.  There is no point in fighting,
now.  I'm done.  I'm standing there, arms crossed, as they move in. 
Fate wants to kill me today, it seems, and who am I to argue with her? 
But to my surprise, they don't kill me.  They take my weapon, pat me down,
bind my arms and shove me roughly through the passageway.  We turn left,
then right.  I try to remember the way we're going, not that it matters. 
Not that I'll be coming back for the crystal.  I focus on every turn, how
far we're going.  It keeps me from thinking about the closeness of the
tunnel.  It keeps me from losing it.

At long last, we arrive at a metal door that's far too
familiar.  It's open, waiting.  And inside, Matt is waiting,
too.  Crossed arms, narrowed eyes, smug little smile.  "Probably
not the best hiding place," he says.  "My tunnels."

His men shove me forward until I'm standing in front of him, but I
say nothing.  I can't blame him for hating me.  I claimed to be his
friend, then chose to be his enemy.  And maybe I made the wrong
choice.  Or maybe, it doesn't matter.  We're all as good as dead
anyway.

Matt looks toward the chair, his eyes scanning over it, then turns
back to me, studying me in the same way.  I feel the shiver work its way
slowly up my spine.

"Tell me what I want to know, Eden," he says softly,
"and I'll make it easy for you.  You don't have to suffer."

I swallow, shake my head.  "I don't know anything about
their operation.  Jonas was telling you the truth.  They're my
friends.  I couldn't let you just--"

His soft laugh cuts me off.  He shakes his head. 
"The Sentry."

I stare at him, lips parted, not knowing what to say.

He takes a small step toward me, places his hands on my
arms.  As always, his quietness is chilling.  "Tell me what you
did," he says.  "Tell me how you killed it."

I gaze up at him, registering for the first time the wild hunger
in his eyes.  The Sentries are the only thing in the Outpost that have
kept his power in check.  Without them, who knows what he could or would
do.  He could attack Jonas with no fear of interference.  He could
make his own laws.  Enforce them with an unrestrained hand.

"I- I didn't," I whisper.  "It just
fell.  It just-- It just fell.  Maybe it malfunctioned or
something."

His eyelids flicker, but the rest of his face doesn't
change.  His fingers press ever-so-slightly into my arms.  He looks,
again, at the chair.  "It's very effective, you know," he
says.  "I'm sure you have some idea of what it's capable of."

We stare at it together.

His fingers slip down my arm to the rope that binds my
hands.  Hooking his fingers around it, his other hand on my back, he
guides me across the room-- not toward the chair, but toward the second door
set in the wall.  "Sometimes, though, I find that the real thing is
just... well... better."  He pulls the door open.  The blood
flees my face, my knees buckling.  He pushes me into the box.

I shake my head at him, heart racing, eyes wide.  Words don't
want to come, but I try desperately to force them up my throat.  

He places one finger on my lips to silence me before I can
begin.  "I'm going to let you think about it," he says. 
"You should know, you
will
tell me.  One way or another. 
So make the right choice."  He kisses my forehead, his breath warm
against my skin, then lets his fingers slip off of my cheek, reach for his
knife.  He slides it along the rope between my wrists, and the fibers spring
away from each other one by one.  For an instant, while he works, sadness
flickers behind his eyes, but then it's buried, like the dead beneath the
snow.  The rope falls to the floor.  When he looks at me, his voice
is laced heavily with regret.  "In a perfect world, we would have
died together."  He turns away.  They leave.  The door
behind them closes, the lock clicking into place.

I slump against the wall, my head spinning, my legs shaking. 
I cannot give Matt free reign over the Outpost, unrestricted by the
Sentries.  Not even if his reign
is
about to come to an end. 
Matt is a wild card, but Grey is evil.  When he takes over the Outpost, if
there are no Sentries....  I can't even bring myself to think about
it.  I turn my head slowly and peer into the darkness of the closed-in
chamber.  Sacrificing myself to madness will do no good.  Matt is
right.  He will make me tell him.  There is only one way to keep my
secret.  I stare wide-eyed across the room, to the machine that is capable
of breaking both minds and bodies.

***

My hand shakes violently as I reach for the controls.  Most
of the settings are meaningless to me.  I flip switches randomly until the
board lights up.  Anything with a dial or a slider, I move all the way to
the right.  Power hums through the cording, surging into the metal
arm.  The electrode helmet rattles.  I stare at it, and
swallow.  Am I really going to do this?

There is only one answer.  If I don't, the balance of power
will tip enough for Matt to openly attack Jonas.  My friends will
die.  As for me, I'm dead already.  Whatever way this goes, Matt
intends to kill me.  His words, spoken so softly, come back to me. 
You
don't have to suffer
.  I walk around the console, and head for the
helmet.  Just holding it between my fingertips sends a buzz up my arms.

I take a deep breath.  This will be quick.  It
will.  There will be nothing to regret.  Simply nothing.  I
can't help but think of everyone else, though.  Of Matt, finding me. 
My friends.  Jonas.  I close my eyes for just a moment and think of
his green eyes, his scent; think of all the questions we will never answer.

A noise outside the door sets my heart fluttering.  So
soon?  I raise the helmet toward my head, willing my hands to go faster,
but they are as slow as drips of cold honey.  I'm shaking so intensely
now, I almost drop it, but I grip tighter, and raise it above my head. 
The door opens.  I glance toward it, expecting that Matt will be the last
thing I ever see before I drop the helmet into place.

"Eden!"  Miranda's eyes are wide.  She has a
gun in one hand, and she's pointing it at the guy who was supposed to be
guarding the door.  We look at each other with wide eyes.  Her mouth
opens as she sees the helmet, follows the humming lines back toward the
console.  "God, no!"

I cast it aside and point to the other door.  "Put him
in there."

She nods, and Matt's thug heads for the box, probably thankful
that he's being confined, not killed.  He'll feel differently when Matt
gets a hold of him.  We lock him in, then run out the other door, closing
it behind us.  The tunnel is black.  Miranda has brought no
light.  I swallow down my fear.  I'm alive.  I may yet live to
see the open sky once again.  Fate is so fickle.  She can't decide what
she means to do with me.

We walk slowly but steadily through the darkness.  Miranda
leads us a different way than I expect.  Eventually, we stop walking and
climb up some footholds in the wall.  We come up in the middle of an
alleyway.  It's dark out, and quiet.  The sky is a vast expanse above
us, a world without endings.  I take deep gulps of the snow-sweet air as
we replace the metal grate and cover it with debris.  We slip off into the
shadows.