Fury: Book One of the Cure (Omnibus Edition) (28 page)

“He’s just a man. Nobody can be more than a man,” Ben says sadly.

“A woman can.
I
can. I can make him wake up.” I hit Luke’s chest as hard as I can, knowing, somehow, that it will be enough. It has to be enough.

Luke gives a mighty gasp, sucking air into his lungs and convulsing on the ground. A ragged breath leaves me and I slide off him, laughing in delirious exhaustion.

“God almighty,” Ben whispers.

Luke doesn’t regain consciousness, but he is breathing on his own now, a steady, strong rhythm. I scramble over to Ben. “We’re going out through the vent, okay? Can you stand?”

Ben looks at me. There’s something so weary in his expression. “No, dear. I can’t move.”

“Then I’ll carry you.”

He shakes his head. “You’ll have to carry Luke.”

“Luke will wake up any moment now.”

“My guess is that Luke’s in a coma. That much air loss would have resulted in brain damage. There’s no telling when he’ll wake up, if ever.”

I swallow. I can carry them both. I can—

“You can’t, dear,” Ben says softly, reading my expression. “You can’t carry both of us.”

I can’t carry them both. I am weak and small—I have made myself weak and small because I thought it would hinder the monster inside me. Now I see how much of a fool I have been. I should have been making myself strong—strong enough to fight her, to carry these two men I cannot leave.

“Take him. Get as far away as you can. They won’t come after you until morning.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. In the morning when they break in they’ll take me to hospital. Now go, Josephine.” He puts one hand on my cheek, smiling. “You’re a medical marvel, child. You should have died years ago, so live every minute of your life like the miracle that it is.”

I open my mouth to speak, but find that I can’t. Instead I nod, unable to manage more. Climbing to my feet, I drag the remains of the bed to the wall beneath the vent. It’s still not high enough, so I have to place a metal drawer on top. I’ll be able to climb up, but getting Luke up there is another problem altogether. He’s huge and probably weighs twice as much as me.

Grabbing the leather straps from the gurney, I use them to tie him to my back, a bit like I’m giving him a piggyback. I step forward, testing the weight, and stagger to my knees under his bulk. “Shit,” I gasp. “He’s a
lot
heavier than he looks.”

“Use your thighs,” Ben suggests rather unhelpfully. I haul Luke up onto the bed and then onto the drawer, which wobbles precariously. I’m sweating a steady stream by the time I get him up into the vent, and my limbs all feel like jelly. It’s no less than a miracle that I have managed to haul him up, but there’s something made of granite inside me—something that will not give, not ever. I will lift him into this vent, and I will carry him out of this hospital, and I will keep going forever if I have to. I have a body that has known the furthest reaches of human capability. I don’t need a drug—a
virus
—to be strong. I can do that on my own.

I can’t help but sob in relief as I pull him into the vent. The fit is tight and it takes even more effort to drag him through the small space. Before I disappear entirely, I pause.

“Goodbye, Ben. Thanks for everything.”

“Goodbye, Josephine. Sorry for everything.”

And that’s all I have time for.

I can barely breathe by the time I find another vent opening. I look down but it’s not an area I recognize, so I keep moving, searching for a safe place to emerge. After the fifth unsafe vent, I peer down and realize that I’ve found my way to Anthony’s office. Groaning in relief, I pry the metal screws out and let the vent fall into the office. The next bit is going to be even trickier. I consider untying Luke and dropping him in first, but I don’t want him to accidentally land on his head and break his neck or something. Which means leaving him where he is and hoping that I don’t snap
my
neck.

“You’re gonna owe me big for this, you jerk,” I mutter to him and then fling myself down into the room. At the last minute I chicken out and grab onto the edge of the vent, but Luke is so heavy that I don’t have a hope of hanging on. We crash to the floor and I’m practically suffocated under his weight. My elbow slams into the ground, sending an impossible agony up my arm. It is definitely broken—if it wasn’t before, it is now. I can barely see through the haze of pain, but I drag myself to my knees and pull Luke toward the window. Time is extremely important now. The window is locked, so I kick through the glass, shattering it easily, but unfortunately since I’m not wearing any shoes, I can feel pieces of it slicing into my foot. An alarm sounds from inside and I know they’ve detected me.

I make sure there are no shards left to cut Luke and then pull him through as quickly as I can. Once we’re outside I head straight for the trees in the distance. There’s a fence to slow us down, but it’s not electric, thankfully, and I manage to bend back the wire at the bottom and drag Luke beneath it. I don’t want to think about why he hasn’t woken up yet—I refuse to entertain the idea that he’s permanently brain damaged and might never wake up. Instead I spend my time cursing his size and weight, and cursing every aspect of him, actually, because it’s all right to do that when you know someone will wake up and fight back soon.

On the other side of the fence I try to run, but I’m too weak, so I push myself doggedly forward, step by step; every inch of ground I cover is an agony of triumph. Hours pass and I don’t know how far I’ve gone, but it can’t be too great, given the speed at which I’m moving. I can hear people all around. The alarm is still wailing in the background, and the Bloods are searching through the forest for me. I keep low and quiet as I make my way.

I tread on something sharp and stop in pain. Luke is really starting to hurt my back, so I haltingly undo the straps tying him to me and let him drop to the ground. After stretching my aching muscles, I check that his breathing and pulse are still strong. It’s dark and getting colder by the minute.

I think of Anthony, but I don’t weep for him. I’m too cold for the vastness of that grief. One day I’ll mourn him honestly, and I’ll try to atone, but first I must survive this night.

For the first time in my life I am completely free. There are people hunting me, but I am free.

I reach over and stroke Luke’s hair, willing him to wake up. “Come on, baby,” I whisper against his ear. “I need you to wake up now.” I’m so tired I don’t know if I can carry him any further. A thought occurs to me and I rummage through his pockets, hoping to find something that might be useful to me while we’re lost out here. I shudder to think of how I’ll keep him alive if I don’t figure out a plan soon.

He has a phone, the rest of the illegal cash, a couple of bobby pins (perhaps for picking locks?), a pocketknife, and a folded piece of paper. This surprises me—paper isn’t used much anymore. I unfold it, but it’s impossible to see in the dark. Using the light from his phone, I illuminate the paper. I’m looking at some sort of hand-drawn map with a few scrawled words underneath.

West of the asylum. Keep going until you hit the river. On the tree with the arrow, leave your name and wait for dusk.

I read it several times but still can’t work it out. It’s a set of instructions, but I don’t know what will be waiting at the end of it. Was this Luke’s plan? Or did he write this for me? Could it be a trap? Thoughts of the Bloods flash through my head. I have no other option but to see what’s at the tree with the arrow. I feel sick with weariness at the thought of carrying Luke again, but in the distance there is a shout, the faint flash of torchlight, and I know they’re getting closer. My heart lurches in terror and I scramble to my feet. Hoisting Luke onto my back again, I stagger forward, moving as fast as I possibly can. Without the straps it’s more difficult, as he keeps slipping. 

My elbow is searing and the blood from my foot is no doubt leaving a clear trail, but I can’t do anything about it except grit my teeth and hope.

Soon the sounds start to get louder and I realize it is a whole search party, trawling behind me. They will catch me soon—I’m moving too slowly. I refuse to give in though—refuse to stop. My vision starts to go, but I press forward, stumbling blindly.

The Bloods are getting louder and louder. I consider finding some place to hide, but the scent of my wounds will draw them. A new sound reaches me—the blissful gush of what has to be a river. My heart flails around in my chest, a wild animal on its last legs, taking its last breaths, but I tell myself I just have to reach the water, just reach the water.

A shout sounds and I know they have spotted me. I am too late. Too slow.

My legs give way and I slump to the ground.

But then—

A noise pricks my ears, a different noise. Wild and primal. There are people approaching from the other direction. Shapes moving, pounding the ground with heavy footsteps, confident and sure.

I don’t know what’s going on, but I lower myself against the ground, watching for signs of approach.

And then I see. It’s the Furies. Hundreds of them in the distance. They run with a ferocious war cry and plow through the Bloods’ gunfire. There are so many of them as they reach the first ranks of the Bloods and start slashing with machetes. I gasp, looking away before more images reach my eyes. I have been given a chance. By some miracle, I have been given a chance at survival where I should have had none. I start crawling forward, staying low, knowing I must keep to the pitch black shadows because I am double my size, covered in Luke’s hulking body. I’m a long way from the battle, and in the dark I can’t see much, but the sounds are brutally clear. Screams and grunts, moans and the twisted sound of weapons against flesh.

If I survive this night, a day will come when I will have to fight like that, with that much savagery. Even though all I have wanted is to fight, I have never truly understood the reality of it—not until now, in this moment of dark and bloody violence, with human screams echoing in my ears.

I keep crawling until finally the river arrives before me and the sounds of the battle have faded into a distant muffle. I fall flat on my face in the shallows, sobs tearing themselves from my body. With the gray light of dawn creeping into the world, I can see a huge tree with a red arrow gouged out of its bark. It’s on the other side of the river.

I can’t help but moan in frustration as I wade into the water. It is moving quickly, washing me further and further from the arrow, but I force my tired limbs to kick and stroke, dragging the two of us to the other side. There’s water in my mouth and my eyes, and I go under for one horrifyingly long moment, but the thought of Luke not getting any air makes me kick for the surface again. I’m weighed down by a thousand pounds by the time I reach the slippery bank on the other side. I have to perch Luke’s limp body against gnarled tree roots poking out of the mud so that I can climb out.

I can hear individual voices now, shouting at each other and giving orders. They have dogs, lights and guns. The battle must be over, and the Bloods have won, even against the superior number of the Furies. They are not crossing the river, but moving along its length. If they come any further south they will see me, so I
must
get out. I must.

I think of Lachlan and the foolish, stubborn fury in my heart gives me enough strength to haul myself up onto the bank. I turn and drag Luke, with everything I have, up onto dry land. He grows heavier with every passing second and my limbs shake wildly. I have to stifle a gasp of exhaustion as I pull him slowly, slowly toward the largest tree I can see. Once I’m behind it I collapse to the ground and hold my breath, praying for the Bloods to keep moving.

Hours pass, and I am too frightened to move. I press myself against Luke’s body, trying to stay warm as I listen to the sounds of search parties passing along the river. I don’t know why they don’t cross. I wait for them to come and find me, I wait for them to kill me, knowing I will not be able to fight or run, not anymore. But they never come, and as I lie staring up at the bright blue sky I look at the clouds above. For the first time in my life, the clouds form pictures. It’s a new world.

I am nineteen today. And I’m inside the glass, looking out at the balcony to where Luke stands in the rain.

The truth is, my body misses his. I missed him before I even knew him, like my body was carved in the beginning to fit with his. In a world where connection is almost impossible, the two of us have found it.

I imagine the life we will spend together, and I know this is just the beginning. I know that I’ve survived all that I have—all the beatings and broken bones and torn skin—so that I would learn the opposite. Not only the hurt of a body, but the pleasure of it. The meaning of it.

He thinks I am not ready, and I thought that too. Until today, this moment, realizing that I have been ready from the beginning, from the day we met, and before then, from the first day I knew that I wanted to learn joy instead of fury.

Because that is my right, too.

It’s late afternoon before I move. I haven’t heard any sounds for hours, and even though it’s tempting to just lie here forever, I must figure out what to do next. Leaving Luke on the ground where’s he’s been all morning (still breathing, thankfully), I walk back up the hill to where I spotted the large tree with the red arrow. I’m stiff like a thousand-year-old skeleton, and I feel like I might disintegrate at any moment, but I have to make myself move. Peering closely at the arrow, I see that it has been carved into the fine bark and colored with paint. Actually, the more I look at it, the more I think it might not be paint at all.

I have Luke’s knife in my hand, and I contemplate scratching his name into the wood. I don’t know what it will achieve. I don’t know whom it would be for. In fact I think it’s fool’s hope to sit around here and wait for someone to stumble across it. Who could be out here? Who would wait for a name on a tree? If someone really is out here, won’t they see
us
better than they would see a carving? None of it makes any sense.

Plus there’s a stinking, smoking battlefield behind me. I can feel it on my skin. No one would come near it.

But then I think about Luke. He does nothing without reason, he would never act without thinking through every implication and weighing the results. If he weren’t sure about this, then he never would have written it down on a piece of paper.

I have nothing to lose, so I start carving Luke’s name into the bark, right beside the arrow. Once I’m done, I make my way back to Luke and sit by his side again. In my head I make plans. Lists of things I will need to find. First, we need food and water. We will need shelter and warmth before night comes again, because I don’t think we can survive another night like the last one. Luke needs medical attention badly; I have no idea why he’s not waking up.

I think about the note. West, it said. West where everything has been ravaged by drought and plague. There is nothing for me there. I will have to find some way to infiltrate the city without getting caught. An impossible task. You can’t exist without your prints.

Time passes and I feel stupid for waiting. Dusk, the note said. Wait for dusk. But what if I’m just wasting time? The sun starts to sink and I peer through the waning light, hoping for some clue.

“Luke,” I say softly, running my hand through his hair. “You have to wake up now. Remember what you said to me? When you brought me to the asylum? Well it’s been exactly one year to the day, to the hour. You made me a promise, and now you’re breaking it. So wake the hell up.”

He doesn’t stir. I can’t bear it, watching him like this. He’s always been so strong, every moment of every day since we met. I have never seen him lose his cool or get upset, never live a moment of doubt. He’s never been hurt or sick or unsure. Even when he was injured, he bore it like he didn’t feel a thing. He has been a locked vault, and I have no real idea what’s inside. The only clue, I think, was the night he told me about Dave, but even then it was a dull, distant tragedy. Nothing is raw for him, at least nothing that I can see.

And the real miracle here? None of it is because of the cure. This iron-willed, detached weapon of a man is Luke, entirely Luke. He made it so that I can’t trust him, but the truth is, he never once trusted
me
, not with any real part of himself.

The question now is: will it ever be possible for us to trust each other?

“Where are we?” I ask, blinking the sleep out of my eyes and trying to squint against the setting sun. Shadows and light reflect on the windscreen of the car, making it hard to see much more than a huge, looming shape before me.

“We’re at an institute.”

I look at him, confused. The blanket is still itchy against my naked body. I’m covered in dirt and blood, and every inch of me hurts like I’ve been beaten with a two by four. “What institute?” It’s not like him to be evasive. I can see straight away that he’s hiding something from me, that he doesn’t want to say his next words.

“A mental health facility.”

I stare out at the large stone building. It looks like a creepy old castle, sitting on top of the hill. All of a sudden I know where we are. “The lunatic asylum?” I whisper. This is where they keep the truly dangerous, the nightmare results of the cure.

Luke is looking at me. There’s something hard in his eyes, in the line of his sharp jaw, his heavy brow. His large hands rest calmly on his thighs. At first I think he is unfazed, as usual. But when I meet his gaze, I realize it’s something else entirely.

It’s unflinching belief he’s staring at me with. A cold, unyielding faith. “You’re going to be fine,” he tells me softly in that deep, deep voice of his. I love his voice. It is like being carried away in a soft wash of seawater. “You’re stronger than every single person in that building.” There’s not even the
hint
of doubt in him, not even a trace.

“So then why am I here?” I ask.

“Because they’ll look after you. We both know your body is starting to deteriorate. They can give you what you need.”

“Drugs?” I whisper. “Cures? I’d rather die.”

“This is a non-government facility—the only one left on the whole east coast of the country. They don’t have the authority to cure patients—they’ll treat you anonymously.”

“Luke—wait, we’re supposed to be finding the resistance together. That’s what we agreed—”

“You’re not well enough, Josi.”

I swallow, looking up at the building. I can feel the truth of the words in the pain of my body—it has never been this bad before. “But what if they do give me the cure?”

“I won’t let them,” he says, and somehow I believe him absolutely. It makes no sense that he’d be able to stop them, but something in his voice goes right down into the heart of me and makes me believe.

“I don’t want to go in there,” I say. I will not plead; I will not let my voice waver. But I can’t just go into a place like that—it is my worst nightmare.

“I know you don’t,” Luke replies, and then he says simply, “That’s why you’ll have to be very brave.”

I draw a breath through my teeth. There is a moment of silence in the car, as I think about this, and about that place. Finally I nod.

“Josephine. Do you trust me?”

I look at him. His green eyes are blazing with that same determination. “Of course.”

“Then you’ll believe what I say next.” Luke leans over the gear stick and cups my face between his big square hands. His skin feels cold against my burning hot fever. Last night I lay in a hole, waiting for him to send me his love letters. Last night I killed nine men.

“I’ve been weak,” Luke says. “But I know now. I know what I have to do to solve this mess.”

“I don’t understand—”

“While you’re here I’m going to find something.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you if I find it. For now, you’re going to walk into that asylum and you’re going to tell them that you’ve tried to kill yourself, and you’ll tell them the truth about the curse, and they won’t believe you, so they’ll keep you in there, and they might try to drug you, but you will be strong, and you’ll withstand it all, because you’ll know that I believe you, and one year from now, from today, from this very moment, you will be fixed, and I will take you in my arms and I’ll kiss you like the first time I ever kissed you. That’s a promise.”

“You promised,” I whisper again, trying to shake him awake. “You don’t get to die, Luke Townsend. I haven’t forgiven you, and I haven’t even gotten to punish you. It’s been one year exactly. I’m here, and I’m fixed, but you haven’t kissed me. So you damn well don’t get to die.”

*

Another hour passes and I’m about to leave. I prepare the leather cords that will tie Luke to my back once more and wrap the strip of hospital gown more tightly around my bleeding foot.

And that’s when I hear it. The snap of twigs, exactly like a footstep.

I freeze, heart shuddering to a halt.

I can’t see anything, but I can hear more footsteps approaching. They are further upstream, but they are definitely on my side of the river.

Very softly floats a voice. A young woman’s voice. “A girl, right? Dash said a girl?”

Then a deeper voice, a boy’s voice. “Why would a girl be using Luke’s name?”

“Who cares—we just gotta find her,” says a third voice, a younger boy.

I listen as they move through the trees, headed the other way. This is it then. Time to choose. I have no idea who they are or why I’m here. I could take Luke and head back toward civilization. It seems more sensible. My instincts are telling me to run, to hide, never to trust anyone again, but my eyes glance down at Luke and the choice is easy, really.

“I’m here,” I call out, moving from behind the tree.

There are three of them. They turn as one to face me. There’s golden light saturating the world. Within it they approach.

The girl is the oldest—she looks about eighteen. She has a shaved head and huge blue eyes. Through her nose is a silver bolt. To her right is a large boy with blond hair cut into a mohawk. He is covered in tattoos. Last is a smaller boy, wiry and no older than fifteen. He shares the look of his companions though—all three are grizzly and scarred and staring at me with a mixture of distaste and curiosity. They are also heavily armed with machine guns and dressed in camouflage clothing.

“Who the fuck are you?” the girl barks.

It takes me by surprise, and my lip curls without my permission. I am a flame of fury—I always have been. “Watch your mouth,” I tell her softly. “I’m not in the mood for lip from a group of kids.”

There is silence.

“Holy shit,” the youngest boy breathes. “She’s not a drone!”

“And I think I love her,” the blond boy announces.

The girl strides forward. “Do you even know why you’re here?”

I close my eyes, swaying on my feet. I’m too tired for this. I can’t work any of it out. “Who
are
you?” I demand.

The blond boy catches me under the arm. I’m so weak that I let him leave his hand there—without it I’ll probably eat the dirt.

The girl moves right up close to my face, and I realize her eyes are an amazing shade of bluish purple. “You’re uncured,” she tells me. “You knew the code. So we’re here to welcome you to the resistance. Forget everything you thought you knew about fury. In the West we’ll show you what it really means.”