Into The Fire (The Ending Series) (24 page)

“They starved it.” My voice was barely audible as I took a
horrified step forward. The body was so emaciated its backbone protruded from
its form, and the skin between its ribs was concave. I wondered how much of its
condition was the result of starvation and how much was the result of the onset
of decomposition. “If it was tied up, it couldn’t graze or…”
How cruel.
I looked back at Jake, wondering why he would’ve wanted me to see something so unsettling.

He stepped up closer behind me and pointed into the next
paddock stall. “Over there.”

At first, I saw nothing but shadows in the sheltered portion
near the back of the paddock. But then a yellow and black striped lead rope
tied to one of the metal crossbeams of the fence grabbed my attention. In the
shadows, I saw the whip of a tail, which was quickly followed by a soft
snorting. It was another, living horse.

The taut rope slackened and a large black body hesitated in
the shade before stepping partially out. Although it wasn’t tied as close to
the fence as the dead horse had been, it was still thinner than it should have
been, and its face was raw from trying to tug free from its halter.

I peeked over at Carlos, who was still rubbing the back of
his head, looking disoriented, and then at Jake, who was staring at the horse,
unsure what we should do.

“We have to at least untie the poor thing so it can move
around,” I said. The horse had eaten everything within reach, and it was only a
matter of time before it either starved or died of dehydration.

I walked over to a patch of tall grass growing beside the
stable and pulled a hefty bunch from the ground, roots, dirt clods, and all,
and took slow, timid steps toward the horse. As I opened the gate, I watched
the way its ears moved and its pensive, sinewy muscles shifted anxiously.

“Easy,” I cooed quietly, trying not to startle the starved
beast. “Easy.” I took a step closer and gingerly tossed the grass toward the
horse as a sign of goodwill.

It eyed the offering hungrily. From so close, I could tell
it was male. His mane was long, hanging in his eyes and matted into clumps
against his forehead, temples, and down his neck.

I looked around for water, but found no trough or puddles.
There were a few bushes he’d nibbled down to twigs, and I assumed the only sustenance
he’d received in a while was from their leaves.

The horse’s head bobbed with anticipation as he inched
toward the food. Getting as close as he could, he lowered his head and strained
his lips to pull the blades of grass into his mouth.

I took a few more steps toward him and stopped just within
reach of the rope. Slowly, I extended my hand forward to untie it. The horse’s
head reared back in panic, causing the fence to shake with each forceful tug
and the rope to creak and groan as it tightened. His eyes were filled with
fear, and he whinnied and snorted as he relentlessly tried to break away.

“Shhhh,” I murmured, attempting to calm him. “Easy, boy.” But
the horse continued thrashing, the rope rubbing against his already exposed
flesh.

Knowing he wouldn’t calm any time soon, I stepped closer and
untied the rope as quickly as I could. I struggled to loosen it against his
pull. As he seemed to realize I was trying to help him, he calmed, but I didn’t
know how long his quietness would last.

After a few seconds, he began pawing at the dirt and looking
between me and the remaining grass on the ground. He quickly gave in to his
hunger and went back to eating what he could reach. The slack in the rope
enabled me to untie him, and the lead fell to the ground. I wanted to remove
the halter from his head, but I knew he didn’t trust me enough to get anywhere
close…and I wasn’t brave enough to try.

His head flew up. “Easy,” I said softly and began to back
away. He regarded me for a moment before deciding I wasn’t a threat and
returning his attention to the grass; he couldn’t seem to consume it fast
enough.

I continued to back away, one steady step at a time, until I
was standing beside Jake again. When the pile of grass I’d left the horse was
gone, he took two strides to the nearest plants and began tearing the long
strands free, his lips maneuvering each clump of nutrients into his mouth and
letting the dirt and roots fall to the ground.

“We should go,” Jake said softly, and I felt the warmth of
his palm on my lower back.

I nodded, again wishing I could remove the halter so the
horse would be uninhibited, but I decided I’d taken enough chances for the day.
Taking Jake’s hand, I started back up the hill toward Wings and the other
horses. Before we were too deep into the cover of the trees to see, I glanced
back down at the farmhouse. The shadow horse was still down there. He was no
longer grazing, but was standing over the dead horse, nudging it as he stepped
restlessly around its remains.

“He’ll be okay, Zoe,” Carlos said. “He can take care of
himself.”

I hoped he was right.

We hiked back up the hill, leaving our hope of a chicken
dinner and fresh vegetables behind. Though we were tempted to collect the
chickens, eating anything from that sick-infested place was enough to make our
stomachs churn. We had no idea what the chickens had been fed, not to mention
what had been used as fertilizer.

Upon reaching the top of the hill, the animals excited to
see us, we anxiously climbed into our saddles and trotted back toward the
bridge. Although we still needed to practice Carlos’s EMP Ability before we
returned to the ghost town, he was having a difficult time concentrating. Giving
up, we headed back to camp, worried he might have a slight concussion and
determined to test his Ability another, less eventful day.

We stepped onto the suspension bridge, and we’d made it
almost halfway when a miserable groan came from behind me. I smiled back at
Carlos. “You’re doing fi—”

Beyond him, where the road ended and the bridge began, stood
the black horse. He tapped his front left hoof on the wooden planks like a cat
might do before walking over wet grass. His head sank low as he scented the planks.
I could hear him breathing as he hesitated. His eyes were wide and his ears
alert as he stepped out onto the bridge behind us.

18

DANI

MARCH
20, 1AE

Dr. Wesley was holding out her hand, her fingers crooked.
“Come here, Danielle. I want to show you something.” She was standing in the
shadowed doorway leading into my closet…at Grams’s house.
Why is she at
Grams’s house? Why am
I
at Grams’s house?
And then it came to me:
It’s
a dream.

The doctor turned and disappeared into the oppressive
darkness, and tentatively, I followed. Like the small walk-in was actually a
magical wardrobe into another world, I pushed through hanging sweaters and
dresses—except instead of finding myself in a frozen, winter forest, I emerged
into an enormous laboratory filled with a meticulously arranged sea of antique,
metal-framed medical beds that stretched as far as the eye could see. It was as
though an infirmary from the First World War had been transplanted into an
infinitely expansive, modern laboratory.

“Come,” Dr. Wesley said, walking away from me.

“What…where…what…?”

“Come.” Her voice surrounded me, a whirlwind of sound
pressed into the single word.

She stopped by one of the beds. It was empty, with crisp,
white sheets pulled tight over the mattress. “You must choose. We can only make
two more Re-gens, but we have three recently deceased to choose from.
You
must choose.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, looking away from
her and back down at the bed. It wasn’t empty anymore. A body—a person—lay
under the covers, the top sheet a shroud hiding his or her identity. When
confusion drove me to raise my eyes, I found that all but three of the beds had
disappeared and the walls had closed in around us.

“Choose.”

I shook my head and backed away, but a wall sprouted up
behind me, preventing my retreat. “Why do you want me to do this? You’re the
one who creates them.
You
choose!” I didn’t want to see the face of
whoever was under the makeshift shroud.

My stomach lurched as Dr. Wesley pulled the sheet back,
revealing the face of the nearest bed’s occupant.

Zoe.

She looked serene, like she was merely sleeping, but I
knew better. She was too pale, too still.
No, no, no, no, no…
I couldn’t
tear my gaze away from her face. “Her, I choose her!” I whispered fiercely.

“Are you so sure?” Dr. Wesley asked. She hadn’t moved
away from the side of the bed, and when I raised my eyes to meet hers, to tell
her—to beg her—to make Zoe a Re-gen, to bring my best friend back to life, the
breath whooshed from my lungs.

Dr. Wesley’s jewel-blue eyes, her black hair, her bone
structure—here, next to Zoe, the resemblance was impossible to miss. Dr. Wesley
looked like an older version of my best friend, how I imagined Zoe would look
in thirty years. “Oh my God,” I whispered. If I hadn’t known Zoe’s mom was
dead, I would’ve bet my life that I was staring at her.

Oblivious to my shock, or possibly uncaring, Dr. Wesley
strode to the next bed and drew back the sheet. I wasn’t surprised when she
revealed Jason’s blank face. I didn’t have room for surprise. All I felt was
near-fatal heartbreak.

“Both of them,” I said, my voice rough. “I choose both of
them.” Even if the third body were Ky or Chris, I would still choose to bring
back Zoe and Jason. Living in a world without Ky or Chris would be difficult
and painful, but doing so without Zoe or Jason would be unbearable. They were
my weakness, and I didn’t feel the least bit of shame about it.

Dr. Wesley rounded Jason’s bed to the final of the three,
and again, she drew back the sheet.

“Oh God!” I howled, lunging toward the third bed and
falling on my knees beside it.

Cam. He was lying on the mattress, his face
expressionless…peaceful, even. I glared up at the doctor, hating her for
forcing me to make a choice that would stomp my heart into a bloody, meaty
pulp. “Why?” I whispered, then repeated, louder, “Why? Why are you doing this?
Tell me WHY!”

“I can’t choose…you have to,” she said, her voice devoid
of emotion.

I gazed at Cam, memorizing the lines of his face. It had
been so long since I’d seen those lips curved into a joyous smile, those eyes
sparkling with laughter. I could see those things again…I only had to choose
him. But to do that, I had to give up Zoe…or Jason. “I can’t,” I said hollowly.

“You must.”

“Why? Why can’t you do it?”

She waited for me to look up before she spoke. “Because
it wouldn’t be fair. Because I killed them.”

My eyelids snapped open, and I gasped. Despite the chill
pervading the house, I was covered in a sticky layer of cold sweat. I kicked
off the sheets and growled.
Can I hurt her? Can I make her pay? Can I
kill
her?
For everything she’d done, it would be justice. That was undeniable.
She was Kali, the destroyer of worlds…the destroyer of
my
world.
Somehow, for some reason unknown to me, she’d created the Virus that had killed
billions, including some of the people I cared about the most in the
world—Callie, Cam, and Grams.
Why?

The sun had yet to show any intention of rising, so I peeked
at the clock on the bedside table. It was 3:34. With the adrenaline coursing
through my veins, sleeping was a non-option, and though I felt awful about
making him worry, I couldn’t have an early-morning mind-convo with Jason—my
Ability was still out of commission, courtesy of the electrotherapy. It was
taking longer to return than Gabe had predicted.

What it if never comes back? What if it’s weaker…broken?
What if…

I sighed as I rose from the bed, thinking darkness was the
perfect cover to continue my failed explorations of three days past. Searching
through the warehouses, inventorying the Colony’s supplies, would distract me
from my murderous thoughts and useless fretting, at least for a little while.

After a quick shower, I searched through the dresser and
closet until I’d assembled the perfect nocturnal stealth outfit: black
leggings, a black, long-sleeved t-shirt, a snug black hoodie, black socks, and
black combat boots. I dressed and assessed myself in the full-length mirror
hanging on the closet door, and smiled. I looked like a cat burglar.
Perfect
.
As an afterthought, I slipped the red card’s cord over my head and tucked it
beneath my sweatshirt. I didn’t like relying on something the world destroyer
had given me, but I wasn’t stupid. A gift horse and all that. Plus, it carried
the other item I would need—my would-be molester’s key to the warehouses. I’d
stolen it before securing his sidearm; obtaining it had been half the reason
I’d let him get so handsy with me in the first place.

I considered stopping by Gabe’s house before heading over to
the warehouse district, but I figured he would just try to stop me…or bribe me
with pancakes. My mouth started watering and my stomach growled.
Damn it!
I’d forgotten to eat, and my stomach roaring like that would alert any
passersby or guards to my presence as easily as me stepping in front of them,
waving, and saying, “Howdy, I’m a spy!”

Quickly, I doubled back to my house, snatched a granola bar
out of the pantry, inhaled it, and then continued on my mission.

The church that had been converted into Warehouse A was
completely devoid of light as I approached. Thinking about what had almost
happened in that building—as well as the kisses and touches that
had
happened—I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to forget.

Hands shaking with disgust, I yanked the key out from the
neck of my sweatshirt and leaned closer to the warehouse door to unlock it. I
crossed my fingers, hoping the General had changed all of the warehouse locks
so that one universal key would work; with almost all of his little Colonists
under his mental control, I was betting on him leaning toward uniformity and
ease. After all, it wouldn’t do to have his patrols jingling along like prison
wardens. I was in luck.

I opened the door as quietly as possible, then quickly
slipped inside and eased it shut, making sure to relock it. Compared to
outside, the interior of the warehouse was night incarnate. Outside, the moon
shone, bloated and silvery, but inside, the narrow windows admitted only long
slits of light and the surrounding darkness was practically tangible. It was
good for me, because my outfit blended better with the unrelenting blackness
than the washed out grays of the moonlit base, but it was also annoying because
my eyes required another twenty minutes to adjust to the deeper darkness.

Sitting down beside the door, I waited…and listened…and
thought.

What am I going to do about the “world destroyer”? Should
I kill her? Can I even do it?
Sure, she killed my loved ones—but she also
freed me from the mental hold the General had over me at great risk to herself.
Gabe trusts her. He probably won’t forgive me if I hurt her. And what about
Mase and Camille? What about all of the Re-gens?
She’d been bringing people
back to life. True, most of them were under the General’s
absolute
control
and most of them were clueless as to their former lives, but she’d taken another
huge risk with Mase and Camille.
What’s her endgame?
And, of course, my
mind dwelled on the same question it had been turning over and over…and over.
Why’d
she create the Virus to begin with? Why’d she destroy the world? Why’d she kill
my family…my Cam? Why?

Amidst those troubling thoughts, I looked around and was
relieved to find that my eyes had adjusted. The warehouse was still
overwhelmingly dark, but my surroundings were painted in a pallet of grays and
blues instead of relentless black.

I rose and began creeping toward the first aisle of stacked
crates and plastic-wrapped pallets. Nonperishables—canned goods, boxed foods,
and the like—went on for four aisles. The fifth aisle contained hygiene items,
as did the next three, and then I reached the back of the cavernous room. I
estimated that the supplies could last the several thousand Colonists a few
weeks, maybe.

Moving to the nearest window, I removed Gabe’s map from my
sweatshirt pocket, angled it so the moonlight made it legible, and searched for
my next target. I opted for Warehouse B, which was the closest and therefore
safest route, and I was all about not getting caught…or ending up dead.

Squeezing my right eye shut to preserve half of my night
vision in the moonlight, I snuck back out into the night.
The short, cautious trek
to Warehouse B went down without running into any patrolling guards, as did the
one to Warehouse C. The first contained more packaged and preserved food, and
the second housed both food and medical supplies.

As I finished up in Warehouse C, it was still full darkness,
but my time was running out. I guessed I could only fit in one more stop before
I had to sneak back to my house. With another moonlit glance at Gabe’s map, I
decided to bypass Warehouses D and E and head straight for Warehouse F. It was
the largest of the three, and also the closest to my house.

I stuck to the cover of the bushes and trees surrounding the
buildings as I made my way toward Warehouse F, doing my best to blend in with
my surroundings. There was a heart-pounding moment when a patrol of four
soldiers wearing yellow armbands rounded the corner of the nearest building. I
had to become one with the trunk of an evergreen tree, slowly inching around it
to avoid their view as they approached. Luckily, they passed without noticing
me and eventually disappeared around the next corner.

No other obstacles hindered my path, and I reached Warehouse
F safely, ducking inside, easing the door shut, and heaving a huge sigh of
relief.
It is seriously my lucky day.

As I stood just inside the entrance to the dark warehouse,
focusing on taking slow, even breaths to calm my hyperactive nerves, I studied
my new surroundings. Warehouse F looked as though it had actually been created
for the function of being a warehouse—it was filled with row upon row of
towering shelving units constructed of heavy steel, and each was filled with a
variety of paper goods.

A hushed noise broke the silence. Someone else was inside
with me. I could just barely hear two whispering voices. There was the sound of
a footstep. Too close. I reached for the doorknob, thinking I could escape and
dash into some nearby shrubs before they exited after me, but they were closer
than I’d anticipated.

A monstrous figure clothed in camouflage rounded the end of
the nearest aisle, and I glided into the shadows, plastering my body against
the wall beside the door. If I didn’t move, if I barely breathed, whoever it
was might not notice me.

“I know what I heard, and the patrol is due any minute.
Let’s get out of here,” one of them whispered.

“No!” another hissed. “Not until you remember!”

A second, much smaller figure emerged from the aisle in the
wake of the other. It pointed, and barely audibly, it said, “I hid there, and
you crouched down and spoke to me. You were so sweet, Giant.”

Giant? Isn’t that what Camille calls Mase?

“I don’t remember,” the other whispered.         

After a heavy sigh, there was a resigned, “Fine. What did
you hear?”

“Something. We just need to go.”

Swallowing the baseball-sized lump in my throat, I opened my
mouth and whispered, “Camille? Mase?”

Both froze, and as one, they turned to face me.

I took a step forward. “It’s Dani,” I said softly, then held
my breath.
I hope I’m right.

The smaller figure rushed toward me on silent feet, and once
it was close enough, I confirmed it really was Camille. Shakily, I exhaled and
closed my eyes for a long moment.