Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Wren

Head tucked into my knees,I sit on the cot, avoiding Arty’s probing stare.

“You don’t even know how close you came to getting killed, Wren. That kid could’ve snapped your neck without thinking. And Albert’s, too.”

“That’ll be enough.” Papa’s firm voice washes over me—along with a blanket of relief, when I see him approach. “She’s safe now.”

I frown at him, dressed in a strange uniform, as he stands outside of the cell. Two Legion soldiers salute him, the way they did back at the house, and Arty follows suit.

“I want her released immediately. And the boy is to be taken into custody once he’s found. Terminated on sight.”

I lurch toward the bars, the disbelief of Papa’s words stamping out the relief from moments ago. “What?”

“In times of my absence, she’ll be placed on watch.”

“What are you doing? Where’s Six?”

Stern eyes sear into me, the kind of anger I’ve not seen from Papa, and I take a step back from the bars. “Not another word,” he warns.

A Legion guard unlocks the cell and nabs hold of my arm, tugging me out of it.

I wrench my arm from him and storm out of the guard station, hoping the ride home will provide some answers.

Instead of finding Papa’s truck outside of the station, a sleek black car awaits, and two guards escort me inside. Papa squeezes in beside me, and across from us, a man in a polished suit sits sprawled.

“Wren, this is Alexander Szolen.”

Szolen. Szolen Technologies. He’s the brainchild behind the community. The one who designed the self-sustaining city, the self-proclaimed leader of this place. I’ve read about him in the articles provided by the library. How he partnered with some of the largest companies in the world, to build Szolen prior to the outbreak.

“I understand you had an encounter with the young man who escaped the hospital. Tell me, Wren, what was the nature of your encounter?” There’s an oily texture to his voice, stiff and robotic, and it’s as out of place as his clean and fancy appearance.

I glance over to Papa, who doesn’t bother to look at me, but keeps his gaze toward Szolen. “He saved my life. Albert and his friends tried … they were going to … they tried to hurt me.”

“Ericsson has become a problem,” Papa cuts in, his voice laced with anger, and when Szolen’s eyes land on him, his gaze falls away from the man.

“Wren, your father is a very respected physician. A very useful person in our little community. So, if you can overlook the transgressions of young Albert Ericsson, I will overlook yours, as well.”

“What transgressions? I’ve not done anything wrong!”

“Wren,” Papa warns beside me. “Enough.”

“Housing a criminal is grounds for execution, or abjection. It’s my duty to provide a safe environment for our community. It is your duty to abide by the laws, or pay the consequences. Now, I understand young Ericsson acted out of line. He will be dealt with accordingly.”

My jaw clenches with the effort of holding back the venomous words itching to escape. “Where is he? Where’s Six?”

“The prisoner managed to escape, but our soldiers tracked him about fifteen miles out, to a Juniper tree.” His gaze slides to Papa and back to me. “It seems he was well-equipped.”

A sob tugs at the back of my throat, but I refuse to cry in front of this bastard. I’ll save my tears for Six. For when it matters most. Not for the asshole in front of me.

“Rest assured, he’ll be promptly returned to the facility from which he escaped.”

“And tortured? That’s what he was kept there for, right? So you could starve him and beat him, and tear him open to sew him back together!”

“Enough, Wren!”

I turn to face Papa, the betrayal in his eyes inflaming my already burning heart. “How could you? How could you let this happen? How could you let them do this?”

Ignoring me, he lifts his gaze to Szolen. “I can assure you, we will cooperate. There’ll be no more issue to contend with.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Again, we are grateful to have you as a part of our community. It’d be a shame to lose such a talented individual. And perhaps in the future, Wren, you might be a contributor to our community, as well.”

* * *

I lie on my side,staring through the window at the moon high in the sky. A crescent moon. Its shape looks as if it’s been scraped with a tool, most of it carved away, leaving only a sliver with a dull shine.

The burn of my eyes tugs at me for sleep, but every time I close my eyes, all I see is Six, laid out for torture. Those monsters mutilating his body for entertainment. It took me nearly two months to pull him out of those nightmares, and now I’ve thrown him right back into them.

Pushing back the covers, I slip out of bed and pad toward the window, beyond which the pole barn sits in darkness. A part of me wants to run down there, to see if perhaps he’s returned. The sliver of what’s left of my heart knows he isn’t there, though. He’ll never sneak into my room again. I’ll never sing him to sleep. He’ll never kiss me, or smile his Six smile, or make love to me.

If he lives, he’ll be burned, cut, and sacrificed for the good of the whole.

I set my forehead to the glass and a new wave of tears breaks over me. As much as this hurts, I don’t want the pain to go away, because it’s all I have left of him. I’m so exhausted from crying, but I muster a sob that reaches deep into my ribcage, to the hollow there.

A place that will never be whole again.

* * *

Papa standsin the doorway holding a glass of water and breakfast. I’ve not eaten, or had anything to drink, in two days, so I’m not sure why he bothers. I’ve not gotten out of bed to see the guard who stands outside the door, when Papa leaves for wherever he goes. Each day, I lie watching the trees flutter in the breeze and the moon rise at night.

One day spilling into the next, with no end in sight.

He sets the tray down beside me, and unlike the mornings before, he rounds the bed to the other side and takes a seat on a chair he set out the day before.

“You have to eat.”

I don’t bother to answer him, just continue to stare past him toward the window.

“I know you miss him, Wren—”

“You sent me there on purpose,” I interrupt. “I didn’t realize it, at first. But you did. You knew Six would follow me. You knew he’d be seen. You sent me to deliver that poultice on purpose, so they’d find him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m so … so tired of the lies.”

I don’t even care if he yells at me.

To hell with him. To hell with this place. To hell with this phony life.

“I saw him climb into your bedroom window three nights ago. At the ease of his entry, I assumed he’d been doing it for quite some time. I heard the two of you in here.”

Two days ago, I’d have been mortified at this news, but today, I couldn’t care less.

“I understand, Wren, I do. You fell in love with him. But you don’t understand what Six is and what he can do.”

For the first time in the last two days, I lift my gaze to his. “I don’t care. I don’t care what you think he’s capable of doing. I don’t care what you, or anyone else, thinks he is. I know! I’m the only one that ever truly knew him! And now he’s gone! They’ve sent him back! I’d sooner wish death on him than have him go back there!”

“Your wish may have come to pass.”

My brow furrows at that, his face widening with the irritating shield of tears. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The Legion managed to track him down, but they were attacked by rebels. They executed the soldiers and blew up the truck.”

“And Six?”

He shakes his head, resting his elbows on the tops of his thighs. “There was no sign of him.”

“Take me there. I want to see for myself.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t care what you think. Take me there.” I lift my hand from the blanket, showing him the mutilated skin, where I’ve sliced a blade across my wrists the last two days, mirroring the scar above it. “I need to see for myself.”

His eyes clamp shut with the lowering of his head, and he nods.

* * *

Papa’s truckcomes to a stop just before a fire-gutted truck tipped on its side, with the hood blown off. The skeletal remains of the bed lie empty, the tarp that covered it, hiding Six, singed away to nothing.

I climb out of the passenger seat and sidestep the charred remnants of what used to be a human being lying on the ground, only the black helmet and mask telling me it was a soldier.

Black soot coats the ground around the vehicle, and the smell of burnt metal and rubber hangs on the air.

A numb sensation moves through my veins, as I take in the wreckage, circling what’s left of the vehicle. I keep on beyond the truck, toward the twisted, mangled Juniper tree.

Something catches my eye beyond the tree, and I walk toward it. Lying on the ground is a torn and tattered scrap of blue, with a blossom of red. The shirt I bought Six from the market.

I hold the fabric to my nose and breathe him in. A sob breaks in my chest, and I fall to my knees, letting the pain and misery slam into my heart again and again.

In the thick of my sobbing, I sing for Six:

Hush, my darling, dry your tears.

Daylight’s come, so rest your fears

Lay your head upon my heart

And know that we will never part

For I am here, and here I’ll stay

Even when we’re far away

Like peace that soars with the winged dove.

You have my heart and all my love.

No more pain. No more suffering. I try to convince myself he’s in a better place now.

When I close my eyes, the flash of a blond-haired boy zips through my mind, and I fall backward.

I see him again, reaching up for me.

Nenny.

Voices reach my ears, and I turn toward the Juniper tree, listening to them. The voices of children.

I see the faces of those voices. The blond little boy, and a little girl with equally blond hair. And somehow, I know their names.

Abel and Sarai.

I stumble toward them, listening carefully. There’s laughter. My laughter. Their laughter. Maddening laughter that forces me to cover my ears.

When I reach the tree, a spatter of red coats the bark, which I assume is someone’s blood, and as I trace carvings inside the trunk, the voices grow louder, bouncing off of one another inside my head.

The packs are gone, leaving the tree empty and hollow inside. Bracing a foot within the root, I climb inside, tucking my knees into my chest. Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and listen. Listen for the voices.

Instead, a different vision strikes me.

Growls.

Hands reaching for me.

Blood.

My hands flail out, and I grip tight to the thick roots at either side of me, bracing myself as in my visions, when the Ragers faces crowd around me.

My eyelids flip open, and all I can see is darkness. Running through the darkness.

I touch my fingers to my lips and climb out of the tree trunk, lifting my gaze to the berries above me. A tart flavor dances over my tongue.

“I found you here. In a pool of blood.” Papa’s voice reaches me through the confusing swirl of memories. “You’d hemorrhaged.”

“The … baby?”

“The Juniper berries induced you, and you lost the baby. You were weak. Dehydrated. And you’d lost way too much blood. I brought you back to the other side of the wall.”

“You told me to come here. To this tree.”

“It’s where my wife and child hid from the Ragers. It kept them safe until I could find them. My wife had already been bitten, though, and she’d passed the illness onto Katie.”

“Not my mother. My mother … she wasn’t killed by … she was murdered.” I stare off at the ruined twists of the tree, the memories of my past unraveling like a flitting spool of thread. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie?”

“You suffered from repressed memories. Dissociative amnesia is a more technical term for it. You didn’t know who you were, where you’d come from, or what happened to you. It happens post-trauma.” He rubs his fingers together at his sides, as though nervous, but unlike the times he sought to escape my questions, he continues. “I’ve battled two years of guilt, trying to decide whether, or not, to tell you. I just wanted you to experience life without the pain, if only for a little while.”

The sting of tears hits the rims of my eyes again, and I tip my face toward the canopy of leaves above me.

God, how many times can the heart suffer? How many blows can it endure before it finally gives out?

“You changed my name?”

“To protect your identity. To give you a new start. You once told me you liked the name Wren for a girl. It was—”

“My mother’s name,” I interrupt, as the memory filters in. “I was going to name the baby … you saved my life. I remember. That’s why you wouldn’t let me go to the North side. Why you wouldn’t let me leave the house for a while. You didn’t want me to run into Doctor Ericsson. Or Ivan.”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and nods. “A precaution, mostly. They’re rarely seen inside of the wall, as they spend so much time at Calico, but I had nowhere else to take you. Anywhere I’d have hidden you outside of the walls would’ve put your life at just as much risk. So I hid you away there. Eventually your hair grew out. The bruises faded.” A quick gesture toward his face emphasizes his words. “You looked like a different person.”

“They threw me to the Ragers, but they didn’t attack. Why?”

“For the same reason they didn’t attack Six that day. I’d injected you with alpha pheromones. Its effects are temporary, unfortunately. The chemical structure just isn’t compatible with those who aren’t born with the alpha gene.”

Absorbing the missing pieces, I turn to face him. “You … still work for the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“That’s how you knew about Six.”

Casting his gaze from mine, he sets his hands to his hips. “I’ve never personally seen the subjects of S block. But I knew about the program.”

“Why do you still work there? Why would you continue to stay there when you know what happens? What these monsters do every day?”

He lifts his arm, peeling back his sleeve, revealing a patch of gauze taped beneath. “Call it a personal interest.”

“You’ve been bitten. When?”

“The night I came for you here. Two Ragers were feeding on the blood. They tried to get to you, and in the melee and panic of trying to keep you alive, I had a moment of carelessness. And rage.”

Which means he’s effectively hidden the wound for years.

“How … how have you not turned?”

“Every day, I inject myself with a new strain of antibodies, in hopes I find the right match. Some have a negative reaction at the site of the wound. It’s slowed the progression, but … the truth is, I can turn at any time, Wren.”

“That’s why you let Six stay.”

Head bowed, he nods. “I thought he could protect you, if necessary. From me.”

“You’re dying, then.”

“By my estimates, a little bit more every day.”

“But you’re still searching for a cure.”

“Yes.” His cheeks puff out, before he exhales. “Though, the hourglass is running out. I’m no spring chicken. Every day, I wait for one of them to find out. To throw me into one of their experimental labs.”

“And still, you work to find a cure.”

“Always.” His brow furrows, but I catch the shine of tears in his eyes. “My daughter was minutes old when I held her for the first time, and fourteen years old when I held her for the last time. The plaques on her brain had destroyed most of the tissue, and she’d begun to show signs of aggression.” The shifting of his jaw is a poor attempt to stave off the sob that wobbles his voice. “It was a Tuesday afternoon in the summer when I injected her with potassium chloride and held her until the very last beat of her heart.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he clears his throat again. “I swore that I’d never put myself through that hell again. But then you came along. You reminded me so much of her. Her grit. Her bravery. And I swore that I would keep you alive until the last beat of myheart.”

I wipe away the tears. For all the reasons I should hate him, there are as many to appreciate everything he’s done for me at his own expense.

“The truck has full power. I put an extra battery pack and charger in the back, and enough supplies to keep you going for a couple of weeks. You’re free to go, Dani. If that’s what you want, you’re free to go. You owe me nothing.”

I cross my arms, contemplating the choice on offer, and shake my head. “My name is Wren. Dani died a long time ago. And if it’s all right with you, I’ll stay. ‘Til the last beat. I’ll stay with you.”

His lips stretch to what is perhaps the first genuine smile I’ve seen—the kind that crinkles the corners of his glistening eyes. “It is quite all right with me.”