Meridian (19 page)

I
T’S
no longer a matter of getting home, or even surviving. Our goal now is to take as many of the enemy down as possible before they take us.

Col. Lutrell and Mr. Pace are still in the rear compartment, each on one knee, with their rifles propped up and watching out the back flap. Nothing’s moving yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

The last time anyone spoke, Trey asked how much of the cure was left, and if there was a way to disperse it more widely than the dart guns, but there was no good answer.

Honoria’s hands are clenched around the steering wheel and are no doubt bone white beneath her gloves and scars. I check the rearview mirror to see her face. She’s defiant in the face of worse-than-death, but determination only goes so far.

Anne-Marie’s on the floor, braced between the front and backseats. She’s run out of fingernails to chew and moved on to reaching for phantom strands of hair. Her hand goes up, then clenches into a fist when she remembers she cut it. The fist drops back into her lap for a few seconds, and then repeats. Finally, she tugs on Trey’s sleeve, wrapping her fingers around his hand when he lowers it.

Tobin and I share the backseat. Him next to the door, me in the center, with the space for Anne-Marie left empty in case she decides the floor’s too confining. I wish we were in the cargo area, hidden among the boxes back there, but you need stars for a wish, and ours have all gone out.

We’re out of options, out of ideas, and out of time. Out, period.

Will the end come quickly? Will it hurt? Will we all fall at once?

Waiting for death is worse than dying. Once you’re dead, it’s done. You can’t be afraid anymore, but the wild ones torment us with time.

Col. Lutrell says this is normal. That they use military tactics gleaned from those they absorbed. In the first days, the Fade would attack and pull back to gauge an enemy’s weakness. They want to make sure we’re out of fire.

I think they enjoy taunting us.

When this started, I wondered if I’d be the last one standing in the wake of the wild-Fade, but now that my mind’s had time to run rampant, I know I won’t be. Honoria’s used different variations of the serum on herself for decades. Diluted, sure, but it might be enough to make her immune to this hive, too. My friends will be lost, and in some twist of sadistic irony, she and I will be all that’s left in a world gone dark.

I’m growing restless, my arms and legs buzzing with the sensation of ants crawling along my nerves, but there’s not a lot of room to move. I choose a selfish avenue and slip into Tobin’s lap.

“I really thought we’d make it back,” he says. I rest my head against him, so I can hear his heartbeat. If his aura, and the atmosphere of the immediate area hadn’t already told me he was terrified, his drumming pulse would. “I would have locked Annie in a closet if I thought she’d never see her mom again. You and I could have hidden in the Well.”

He squeezes me tightly as he tries to ward off his fears. I don’t mind. It helps distract me from mine, too.

“Your dad knows where it is,” I point out.

“He wouldn’t have said anything. Marina, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do this.”

“Maybe I did. I didn’t really try to stop Annie—I could have. If we’d stayed home, the nanobot wouldn’t have ditched you. You’d be safe. I really screwed up this time—I’m
so
sorry.”

Ever since we woke up in the hospital after Tobin was shot, I’ve been searching for a way to end the awkwardness between us. I never thought it would take another near-death experience to get it done. It doesn’t matter anymore that Tobin’s father is within arm’s reach, or that others can see us. There’s no Cherish-born confusion to make me consider what Rue would think.

Rue’s not here; Tobin is. And if this is where everything ends, then my last memory isn’t going to be watching the shadows close in, as though we’re cowering in our bunker inside the Arclight. If I have only one choice left in life, then it’s this: I lean over and kiss Tobin. If I have to die, then I’ll do it with a taste of happiness.

No one says a word. Tobin and I exist in an infinite second, where the sky blazes with shooting stars so darkness no longer rules the night. We’re inside that domed ball of water, sitting on my side table. If I close my eyes and hold on tight, then maybe—

“Hey, does anyone else see that?”

Anne-Marie pulls herself off the floor, tipping toward us in the seat and oblivious as she stretches over my head.

“The roof’s gone, Anne-Marie. You don’t have to use the window.”

“I’m serious. Come up for air and take a look.” She shakes my sleeve. “Is that light? I think it’s light.”

I look, but there’s nothing.

“Where?”

“Right there.” She jabs the glass with her finger. “There was a light. It blinked off.”

“It was a reflection off the glass,” Honoria says.

“No, it wasn’t. It—There!” Anne-Marie stands up on the seat, putting her head through the open cage around us, where the canvas should be. She hoists herself onto the rails for a higher vantage point. “It’s back!”

“Annie!” Trey shouts, scrambling to his feet in his own seat. “Get back inside.”

Like that’s any kind of protection.

“It’s not a reflection,” she insists, pulling on my shirt to get me to join her through the roof. I’d be furious except that she’s right. Pale lights shine in the distance, not unlike the Grey, but they’re not the sunlamps we use. These are ghostly, with rosy parts, and some are orange and yellow, like the bulbs on the Arc when they’re about to fizzle. Pitch-black tree branches dip up and down in a distant wind, making them appear and disappear.

“What do you see?” Honoria calls up.

Tobin’s standing now, and so is Mr. Pace.

“Security lights,” Mr. Pace says. “Old school, no high beams.”

“How far?”

“Mile, mile and a half, on your ten.”

“You mean we made it?” Anne-Marie asks.

“Not yet, but we’re going to,” Honoria says. “Get on the floor and get your heads down.”

She’s moving before we have the chance.

Forward, back.

Forward, back.

Forward, back.

The truck tires tread the same line as Honoria tries to maneuver us to one side. Anne-Marie and I rattle against the canvas cover’s skeleton, with our heads still poking through the ceiling, until there’s a lull long enough to let go and drop.

Trey dives under the front dash, still hanging on to his rifle, while the men in the back tuck into balls with their hands over their heads. Anne-Marie slips back into her pocket between the seats, her face covered by her arms.

“What are you doing?” I yell at Honoria over the rumble of another pass.

She can’t be doing what it looks like she’s doing, because it looks like she’s preparing to use a fallen tree for a ramp, to get us over the debris, and that’s insane, even for a woman whose sanity I question on a daily basis.

Honoria grinds the truck into a different gear, changing the sound of the engine from its neutral hum to a roar. We’re in the belly of some great, angry beast about to break free of its captors.

“You do realize there’s no top on this thing?” Col. Lutrell asks.

“Hang on!” she shouts back.

Tobin and I slide onto the floorboard with Anne-Marie, squeezed so tight, I don’t think we’ll fall out, even if the truck flips.

I really hope the truck doesn’t flip.

Every bit of jagged ground we cover slams against the bottom of the truck, making us hold on to each other tighter, and somehow, inside, Cherish coils herself around my consciousness so she can’t shake loose.

“This is never going to work,” Tobin whispers. “We’re dead. She’s going to flip this thing and kill us all.”

“Shh,” I hiss at him.

“We’re riding on top of a tank of gasoline, Marina. Gas explodes!”

“Shut up, Toby!” Anne-Marie and I hit him at the same time.

We begin an incline, which means we’re on top of one of the felled trees, and the shaking under the truck gets worse.

“This isn’t going to work,” Tobin says again. “It’s not. It’s—”

It’s a moot point. We’ve left solid ground and tree, and I’m very happy I can’t see it happen.

“We’re dead,” Tobin says. “Dead. Dead . . . dead . . . dead.”

We hit the ground with a crash that makes us all scream together. The truck goes into a roll that has us hanging on to the seats, and one another, to keep from ricocheting off the doors, but when we come to a stop, my heart’s still beating and the truck’s right-side up. We’re in a heap, with Tobin pinned against the door, me on top of him, and Anne-Marie on both of us. The girl may look like a twig, but she’s heavier than cement blocks, and she’s got bony elbows—one of which takes the air straight out of me.

“Are we dead?” Tobin asks.

If this is dead, I’m disappointed. We’re still in the truck.

“Is everyone okay?” Col. Lutrell’s voice calls from the back. “Tobin?”

“Still breathing.”

“Annie? Trey?” Mr. Pace asks.

“I’m fine,” Trey says from the front.

“Me, too,” I say.

Anne-Marie starts screaming.

“Annie’s fine,” Trey says.

“No, I’m not!” She finally opens her eyes so she can glare at Honoria. “And you are a terrible driver!”

“I was fifteen the last time there were roads,” Honoria says. “With all of one driver’s ed lesson, I’d say I did pretty well.”

From the back, Mr. Pace mumbles something about remembering why he blocked that class from his memory. He’s got a cut on his cheek, and Col. Lutrell’s rotating his wrist, like he’s fallen on it. Honoria’s got a red mark on her face from hitting the steering wheel, and my ribs are killing me, but other than that, it’s scrapes and bruises.

We heal,
Cherish intones.

I take that to mean that said healing is already in progress, so there’s no reason to whine.

“Will the truck still drive?” I ask, hoping it fared as well as we did.

“This old girl hasn’t lasted this long to give out on us now,” Honoria says. “She’ll get us where we need to—”

She’s cut off by the sudden impact of a tree falling across the front of the truck. It hits so hard, the back end pops up, as though it might pitch fender over bumper, but it crashes back down, shaking us all into another shared scream.

We’re dead in the water.

We’re just plain dead.

I
T’S
easy to think of the Wild-Fade as mindless. They have no will, no individuality, but as a hive, they’re meticulous and methodical. Penning us in worked before, so they tried it again—modifying the attack so there was no chance of our duplicating our previous escape.

The tree’s massive, more than enough to crush the front of the truck. Honoria tries the key again, but the engine won’t turn over. How could it? She keeps trying until a hand reaches through the window to make her stop—Col. Lutrell. He and Mr. Pace had gotten out of the back and circled around.

“Enough,” he says. She makes one more attempt, and he closes his hand on the key. “You’ve done enough, Honoria Jean. Let go.”

It’s another of those moments that remind me neither of them is who or what they appear to be. Honoria looks years older than Col. Lutrell and Mr. Pace, but they were already adults when they entered the Arclight; she was a kid. She takes a deep breath, and lets go of the key.

“Everyone out.” Mr. Pace slaps his palm against the side of the truck the way Col. Lutrell had earlier. “We’ve got to run for it.”

“Run? Through here? On our feet with no truck?” Anne-Marie whimpers. “But those things are out there.”

“This is why you should have stayed home,” Honoria says bitterly. Mr. Pace is more patient. Maybe more patient than we have time for.

“We’re sitting ducks, Annie. For now, we’ve got a few lights left, but once they’re gone, that’s it. And if the wild ones figure out they’ve crippled us, campfires and a few darts won’t hold them back.”

He opens the door for her, pulling her into the open. Tobin and I bail out on his dad’s side.

Any safety afforded by the truck and its devoured canvas was an illusion, but I miss it. I feel more exposed. I’m breathing the same air, but it’s fouler. Those ants crawling through my nerves are marching double-time, as though every cell in my body has started to vibrate, leaving me no choice but to shake.

“We’re going to make it,” Tobin assures me. He squeezes my hand, but it’s little consolation, considering he was yelling about our certain demise a few moments ago.

The same doubt is in Trey’s eyes. We’ve seen what’s waiting in this deeper Dark. We know how massive and all-consuming it is. All the wild ones have to do is make one decision. They can drop from the trees or rise from the ground all at once. The only thing holding them back is habit and programming.

Or maybe they’ve developed a sadistic streak and want to play with their prey.

Getting out of here isn’t going to be a simple matter of moving from point A to point B; we’ll be running a gauntlet the whole way.

Occasionally, since I learned the truth of my origin, I’ve envied the Fade and some of their abilities—the strength, the speed, the connections. Right now, I’d trade all of them for the possibility of sinking into the ground in a billion separate pieces the way Rue can. It’s Cherish’s instinct, and knowing I can’t do it leaves me feeling paralyzed.

“Why not light this place up?” Tobin asks.

“We’re too far from the light, and Fade burn too fast,” his father says. “We’d be running through an inferno. And you do not want to provoke a swarm. Trust me on that.”

“Put these on.” Mr. Pace hands Trey a wrinkled green field vest, and ones for me and Tobin. There’s an ultrabright lantern fixed to the top left shoulder of each. When the beams come on, the Fade pull back only as far as is necessary, churning in a mix of shimmering sludge, with no features or faces to tell us what they were before they were taken. Their bodies are too low to the ground for a human. They stand on all fours, with their back legs jointed backward to the front ones. Some have pointed snouts that drip with cycling nanites, like fresh-drawn blood in the maw of a predator. Some are smaller, with boxy heads and stubby legs.

They test the lights, stepping forward to see if they can push their advantage by another inch. Nanites sizzle and pop, like bugs against the Arc that fall sparking to the ground on collision. The smell’s awful, but they keep trying.

Inevitability
, that’s the true nature of the Fade.

Anne-Marie’s shutting down. She’s so . . . I don’t know.

She’s moving slowly, as though there are weights or tethers on her arms and legs. Mr. Pace has to put her vest on for her, like the way she helps younger children in class when they get their buttons out of line.

“This is bad,” I mumble.

“It was already bad,” Tobin says. “I don’t think Annie got that until now. She thought this was going to be like last time. Cute kids and happy reunions, you know?”

“Maybe she’ll get better once we’re moving,” I say. Adrenaline will keep her focused.

Honoria and Col. Lutrell start pulling bags out of the back of the truck, tossing them to each of us in turn.

“I can’t go out there . . .
I can’t
,” Anne-Marie says. The bag they toss her falls to the ground without her even trying to catch it. Trey picks it up and puts it on her shoulders. He buckles the strap around her waist, to make sure she doesn’t drop it again. “We could barely stay ahead of them on wheels. They’ll come as soon as we move.”

“They’ll come no matter what,” Honoria says. From the look of things, she’s about to snap. “Whatever fluke created the pocket of docile Fade around the Arclight hasn’t spread. These are Killers. Staying still only gives more of them time to arrive.”

“Annie, listen to me.” Mr. Pace stands directly in front of her, both of his hands holding tight to her shoulders. “We need to get to that light source before they attack again. You can do this. We’ve done it before, and we are not leaving you.”

“The truck bought us a chance,” the colonel says.

“Forget those things, and think about your friends and family,” Tobin tells her. “You’ve gone into the Dark twice for us. You’re fearless.”

Anne-Marie nods along, trying to calm her breathing even as her eyes stay wide open and unblinking.

“Besides, the only one who really needs to worry is Tobin,” I add. “We’re both faster than he is.”

That gets me a smile and a shallow laugh. I offer her my hand, and she holds tight enough that I can feel her pulse competing with my own through my palm.

Someone takes my other hand. I glance over, expecting to see Tobin, but he’s still exactly where he was; my hand’s gripped by empty air.

Rue?
I ask silently, and my heart leaps with the possibility.
Are you here?
But he doesn’t answer, and I can’t see any shimmer-lines to suggest he’s nearby.

I rotate my wrist to shake the drifting feeling of contact, and what I see when my jacket cuff moves chokes my breath off in my throat: Ornate lines circle my wrist like a bracelet. I feel the definite squeeze of another hand again.

Cherish?

We will survive,
she says.

How—

I don’t get to finish my question, or even decide if it’s how we’ll survive or how she’s gotten strong enough to manifest like this. I’m afraid to ask her if I’m the only one who can see the lines.

Something hard and heavy drops into the pack on my back. I look back and find Honoria filling it with cans of water. A set of silver cases and that satchel full of the serum sit propped beside the truck as Col. Lutrell tears through the cargo space, tossing aside things that were essential when we left the Arclight but that are a burden on foot.

“Tell me you’re okay, Annie,” Mr. Pace says, shaking her shoulder.

“Can I carry a dart gun?” she asks, trembling.

He almost laughs with relief.

“Yeah. You can carry a dart gun.”

He leans forward and kisses her on the forehead. I’ve never seen him do that before.

“Each of you take two of these,” Honoria says. She’s on her knees with one of the silver cases flipped open. “We’ve still got a couple of resources—and we are
not
losing our heads. Understood?”

She glances up to me and Tobin and then to Anne-Marie, waiting for us to nod.

“What are they?” I ask as she hands me a slim metal cylinder with a cap on the top. It’s heavy and has an odd smell I can’t place. Cherish doesn’t like it.

“Flares,” Tobin says, taking his.

“Anything gets close, and—” Honoria hits the base of the cylinder with her palm, igniting whatever’s stuffed inside. Sparks and blue-hot flames burst through the capped end. “Do not drop it. The flare won’t burn out before we’re through, and if worse comes to worse—”

“What’s worse?” Anne-Marie squeaks. “How is there a worse?”

Mr. Pace has retrieved the serum bag from the pile and handed it to her. She’s got it hugged to her chest like a security blanket.

“They can’t include anything that’s burning into their hive,” Honoria says.

“You want us to set ourselves on fire?” Tobin pales and rolls his shoulder automatically.

“No,” his father answers, but it wouldn’t surprise me if that’s exactly what she means.

“If there’s no alternative, you make the call you have to make,” she says. “These flares burn hot and clean; it won’t take more than a second. It’ll hurt, but—”

“They’re kids, Honoria,” Mr. Pace breaks in.

“No, they’re not! Not from the moment they chose to leave the safety of the Arclight and come after us.” It’s funny. The last time they argued over what we should and shouldn’t be told, they were each on the opposite side, with Honoria arguing that there were things we didn’t need to hear. “Stop trying to coddle them, and we might give them a chance to grow up.” She looks to me, Tobin, Anne-Marie, and Trey, all standing in a clump. “You do what you have to in order to make it through this, and we’ll deal with the aftershocks later.”

She turns back to the ruined truck and throws the lit flare inside before striking another one.

“Move out. If we’re lucky, the fire will hit the fuel tank before they figure out how to douse it. We don’t want to be in range.”

If we’re lucky, it’ll be the first time.