When the bathroom door opened, I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin.
And when I saw who was standing there, framed by the light spilling out of the bathroom, my heart nearly stopped.
“Simon?” I breathed. “What the—? How did you know . . .” I looked to the electronic components that had once been a cell phone. “The phone you gave me was ruined when we jumped in the river.”
Simon’s eyebrows rose up a notch. “You jumped in a river?”
“To get away. The agents from the NSA were after us, and we didn’t have any other choice.”
Simon frowned and then nodded toward Tyler. “Did you cut yourself? While you were escaping?”
So that was it then. It was all the confirmation I needed. Bile rose in my throat, stinging all the way up. “It was me? I did this to him—my blood?”
“I don’t have time to explain right now. We need to get you both out of here. I can explain on the way.” Simon went to the bed. “Come on. Help me get him to the car.”
As if he’d heard Simon, Tyler moaned.
Ignoring Simon because he didn’t matter for the moment, I went to Tyler and stroked his face. “It’s okay,” I whispered, pulling one of the hijacked packets from my pocket and ripping it open. I eased his head off the pillow. The back of his neck was slick with sweat. “Take these,” I ordered, dropping the Tylenols into his mouth and grabbing the open can of Coke from the nightstand.
I was grateful for the pills he managed to swallow, and I prayed they did the trick.
I was suddenly unsure about what the right thing to do was. I wanted to take Tyler, to keep him with me and try to make him better. But what if being around me only made him worse.
“Maybe we should leave him here,” I told Simon. “Call 9-1-1 or something.”
Simon grabbed my arm, his grip firm. “I won’t stop you if that’s what you decide, but just be clear about what you’re setting him up for. If you do that, he won’t be getting the help you think he is. Those NSA guys, they will find him. And when they do, they’ll figure out why he’s there—what happened to him and why he’s suddenly so sick—and then they’ll cut him open—same way they would you and me.”
I jerked away from his grasp, rubbing my arm. Glaring at Simon, I lowered my voice and asked the question I so didn’t want to ask. “Why? Why would they do that?” I thought of that guy—the agent from the bookstore who’d raised his gun to his own head after being exposed to my blood. Suddenly the gunshot we’d heard made sense. He didn’t want to be a science experiment. “Why wouldn’t they just cure him?” I refused to think of the lab tech from the news.
Simon stared at me for a long, long time. His lips pressed together, and his expression shifted all the way from determination to compassion. It was the compassion that did me in.
I shook my head, denying what I saw in that look. “No,” I insisted. “There has to be something. Some way to fix this . . . to make him better.” I looked back to Tyler, and hated him for abandoning me like this. For being completely-totally-utterly unavailable when I needed him most.
I hated Simon, too, for telling me the last thing in the world I wanted to hear.
But most of all, I hated myself for being a toxic, fucking mess.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Day Seven
I RODE IN THE BACK OF SIMON’S CAR WITH Tyler’s head in my lap.
It had taken nearly twenty minutes after Tyler had swallowed those first two Tylenols for his fever to finally break. When he was alert enough, I was able to persuade him to swallow two more and then managed to sit him upright so we could get him dressed and into the car, where he collapsed again.
We talked for a while—Tyler assuring me still that he was all right and me knowing differently but keeping my mouth shut because inside I was barely holding my shit together. When he finally admitted that his head was killing him, I didn’t have the heart to tell him it wasn’t his head that was killing him; it was me.
The entire time it was hard for me to maintain eye contact with him, yet I couldn’t stop myself from touching him. My fingers were everywhere, stroking his cheeks and his forehead, his shoulders and his hair. “I’m so, so, so sorry,” I whispered beneath my breath whenever I thought he wasn’t listening. I repeated it inside my head, too, hoping there was some penance in the words. That I could somehow absolve myself for being an accidental murderer.
If Tyler heard me, he never mentioned it. His hand continued to clutch my knee, his fingers occasionally caressing my thigh, as if it made him feel better just holding on to me. Reassuring himself that I wasn’t going anywhere.
And I wasn’t. I swore I would never leave him again.
When he started mumbling, I knew he was dozing, and I turned my attention back to Simon, who kept casting uneasy glances in the rearview mirror, checking on how we were doing back here. “Whose car is this anyway? You know, it scared the hell out of me when I saw it in the parking lot.”
The sun was starting to rise, casting a golden glow over his dark skin in his reflection. “Sorry about that. The car . . . well, let’s call it a loaner.”
I shook my head, sighing. “So it’s stolen. Great, Simon. How long are we supposed to drive around in this thing before someone notices it’s missing and calls the cops? Then what? We can’t let them take Tyler.” When I said his name, Tyler shifted in my lap. I smoothed my fingers over his hair to settle him down again.
Simon dropped his eyes back to the road in front of him. “Don’t worry about it. We’re almost there. Willow is meeting us, and we’ll ditch this car. No one’s gonna catch us.” I didn’t ask who Willow was. I assumed it was another one of Simon’s Returned, from the camp he’d told me about.
I sagged back in my seat, letting my fingers sift through Tyler’s sweat-dampened waves. I couldn’t help being pissed at Simon. I blamed him. He should’ve warned me. I would never have risked cutting myself around Tyler—or anyone else—if I had known my blood was somehow toxic.
“You got it all figured out, don’t you? You still never answered me. How’d you find us anyway?”
Stupidly oblivious—or maybe just plain stupid—to my irritation, Simon grinned. “It wasn’t that tricky, just a little time-consuming is all. It would’ve backfired if you hadn’t checked into a motel or if you hadn’t used the ID I’d given you. After calling about fifty places, I finally found a Bridget Hollingsworth at the Asplund Motor Inn.”
“And they just gave you that info over the phone? I didn’t think they could do that.”
I don’t know why I was blaming him. Before he’d shown up, my entire goal had been to get ahold of him. Yet now that I was sitting in the exact place I’d wanted to be, the very sight of him made me want to puke.
Or maybe it was everything he represented.
Everything I hated about myself.
I shrugged and looked out the side window. Same difference.
We were in the mountain pass now, and I could see the summits in the distance where the snow still hadn’t melted and probably wouldn’t, even when the summer temps hit their highest. I wondered how far we’d be traveling, but I was too stubborn to ask.
I continued to run my fingers over and through Tyler’s hair, trying to calm myself as much as to soothe him while he slept. When I finally trusted myself to be reasonable, I leaned forward, closer to the front seat. “Are you sure, Simon, that there’s nothing . . .” Tears crowded my eyes, and I blinked furiously, swallowing hard to get my words out. “That there’s nothing we can do to help him?”
Simon’s golden-flecked eyes sought mine. He didn’t have to answer, but he did anyway. “I’m sorry, Kyra. I know it sucks. I didn’t tell you everything when I told you why I left my family. It wasn’t only because my parents were asking questions about why I wasn’t aging. There was more to it tha
n that.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say, but I needed to know. “It was my sister. I mean, I didn’t know at the time . . . that it was me. But we were fishing . . . I was teaching her to fish, of all things, and I cut myself. I didn’t even know about the healing thing. But she was there and saw the whole thing. She’d sworn she’d never tell anyone.” He cleared his throat. “Turns out that wasn’t really an issue. Shortly after I’d cut myself, she got sick. We thought it was the flu at first—she had a fever, was vomiting, had a bloody nose. But then she lost all her hair. Within a day she was dead. My folks are Christian Scientists. They don’t believe in doctors, just the power of prayer, so they never even bothered calling for help.” His voice was hard now. Bitter. “They tried to pray the evil out of her.”
I wanted to catch his eye again in the mirror, but he refused to look at me. I wasn’t sure what I felt then, if I hated him still or if I wanted to hug him because he was the only person I knew who understood what I was going through.
I didn’t get the chance to decipher my feelings because that’s when I noticed it, the clumps of hair in my hands.
Tyler’s hair.
I was right about Willow being one of the Returned.
She was also crazy badass. Not like Cat, who gave off a take-no-crap vibe, but more like an I-could-rip-your-throat-out-and-leave-your-carcass-in-a-ditch kind of thing.
Add to that the fact that she had tattoos blanketing both arms and wore sleeveless leather like a biker chick, I was terrified of her. I was also glad she was on our side.
Or on Simon’s side, at least.
She and Simon did this half-handshake, half-shoulder bump thing when we got out of our car at the rest stop and they greeted each other.
Willow eyed me up and down. “That her?” she asked, spitting sideways as she checked me over.
Seriously? She chewed tobacco too?
I’d tried it once, on a dare from Cat because she’d said all the big leaguers did it. I’d swallowed more of the stuff than I could keep between my lip and my gums, and ended up feeling both dizzy and nauseas. After that I decided to stick to sunflower seeds.
As much as Willow scared me, I was far more scared for Tyler, and about losing him. “Help me,” I shouted to both of them. “We need to get going.” I didn’t care that she raised her eyebrows at being bossed around, or that she could easily do that leaving-me-in-a-ditch thing.
Simon nodded to her, indicating that she should do as I said, and she followed his lead. He was definitely the one in charge.
She stopped cold when she bent over and looked inside. “Holy mother of . . . Is he . . . ?” She stood upright again, her arm resting against the top of the car as she eyed Simon. “Are you sure we’re bringing him? What’s the point?”
Simon made eye contact with her over the roof of the car in a way that made it clear they understood each other, and I got the feeling it was for my benefit when he said, “Because Kyra says so.”
Tyler was more alert after he got out of the backseat and puked.
I’ve never really been good around sick people, I guess because I’ve never had much experience with them. But I stayed with him while he gripped his knees for support and heaved over and over and over again.
What came out of him was black and thick and sticky, and I tried to imagine what combination of food had caused that mess. I had to assume it had more to do with whatever poison or pathogen I’d inadvertently passed on to him and was now working its way through his system than anything he’d ingested.
The whole experience probably only lasted thirty seconds, but it felt like hours.
I rubbed his back and said things like “It’s okay,” and “It’ll be over soon,” and “You’re doing good,” which was a strange thing to say because it sounded like I was cheering him on. Like he was competing in the Puke Olympics or something.
When it was over and he’d wiped his mouth on his sleeve, he leaned on me while he stumbled to the ginormous purple truck Willow had brought to meet us. I wasn’t sure how we weren’t supposed to draw attention in that beast, but I didn’t bother mentioning it as I helped Tyler step onto the running board so he could climb inside.
The engine, when she started it, was ridiculously loud, giving the NSA’s helicopter a run for its money. Everything about this truck made me uncomfortable, right down to the fact that we had to shout to be heard, even from inside the oversize cab.
Willow drove, and when she jammed the truck into gear, we lunged from the rest stop parking lot and onto the highway, making our way out of the mountains and into the eastern side of the state, which was flatter and browner and more desertlike than where we’d just come from.
Willow kept her suspicious gaze directed at us from her place in front, as if she expected Tyler—who was sitting upright now—to suffer another bout of stomach-blasting nausea. I couldn’t say she was wrong—he was pale and had a sheen of perspiration across his forehead—but it irritated me, the way she watched us all the same.
“I have the bags,” I snapped, even though she hadn’t said a single word. I waved the plastic grocery bags she’d forced on me like flags, hoping she’d get the point and stop giving us the evil eye.
When she went back to watching the road, I turned to Tyler. My chest tightened painfully.
He was still achingly beautiful, his eyes even more green against the washed-out pallor of his skin, but already his cheekbones were more defined than they should be—even more than they had been just yesterday—and his lips were cracked and peeling.
“Tyler,” I started, but he reached across the space and gripped my hand.
“Don’t,” his voice rasped urgently. He squeezed my fingers tighter than I thought he should be able to, and I felt somewhat better, even if it was foolish to let myself hope. I leaned my head against his shoulder.
Willow interrupted from the front. “So Simon tells us you mend at crazy speeds—that so?”
It was the last thing I wanted to do—make small talk with Willow—especially about myself, but Tyler seemed to perk up just a little. “She totally does. And she can hold her breath forever.”
Simon twisted around so he was facing me, his arm resting on the back of his seat as his eyes devoured me. “Really? How long’s forever?”
“At least fifteen minutes. That’s how long she was trapped in the river.” Tyler met Simon’s eyes, his cracked lips attempting to grin. I hated how breathless he sounded. “She can see in the dark too. Can all of you do that?”
“No.” Simon answered Tyler firmly. “We can all regenerate—heal,” he explained. “And we age more slowly and are more resistant to disease, but I don’t think any of the other Returned have shown signs of night vision or the ability to go long periods without oxygen.” He and Willow exchanged another look, sharing another of their secrets. “Have you heard of that?”
Willow gave a decisive shake of her head.
“Anything else?” Simon probed, this time directing his inquiry at me.
I thought about the gas station, and the way I’d moved an entire display of pain relievers—sent it shooting across the attendant’s stand until it smashed into the glass—simply by concentrating on it. I wondered if any of the Returned could do that. Move things with their minds.
I shook my head and shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
There was a brief silence, and then we were back to front-seat and backseat conversations when Willow dropped her voice and told Simon, “I talked to Jett while we were stopped, and he said there was chatter about the No-Suchers widening their search. We were hoping they’d pack it in when they lost her, but I don’t think they’re letting this one go.”
Since I was sure the “her” in question was me, I didn’t feel bad for eavesdropping.
I glanced curiously at Tyler and then, tilting my head sideways, I interrupted them. “The No-Suchers, who’re they?”
“The NSA, or as some people call them, the No Such Agency because every
thing they do is on the DL.”
“So what’s the deal with them? They just go around chasing those of us they think were experimented on?” It was still almost impossible to say the part about them being “alien” experiments out loud, so I didn’t try.
“Officially, no. Officially, they were never even here.” He lifted a shoulder noncommittally. “Unofficially, you’re the biggest prize they’ve had their eyes on in years. Maybe ever. If Agent Truman can get his hands on you . . . you’re what they call a ‘career maker.’”
Inwardly I shuddered. The idea of Agent Truman, or any of those guys in hazmat suits, hunting me was disturbing. “Aren’t you afraid of them? Doesn’t having me with you put you all at risk?”
Willow lifted her chin in a nod. “We’re not scared of them. Buncha grade-A pussies is what they are.” I wasn’t sure about the “pussies” part, but I doubted Willow was used to being messed with. “Besides, they’ll never find us.” She grinned at me through the rearview. “Not unless we want ’em to.”
“So what happens now?” Tyler asked. “How long do we have to hide before they give up?”
A long silence engulfed the cab. Willow shifted her gaze away from us as if suddenly the road was the only thing worth noticing. Simon didn’t ignore us exactly. He continued to dart nervous gazes back and forth between us and Willow. But he’d gone all radio silent too.
Finally I said what neither of them would, because they were too afraid to say what we all knew. “Forever,” I answered. “We have to stay hidden for the rest of our lives.”
I didn’t say the part where Tyler’s life would be way shorter than it should be.
Three hours after we left the rest stop we were at Simon’s camp.
It was in the mountains, too, but these mountains were less snow-capped peaks and densely packed fir trees than the Cascades we’d just traveled through and more like scrubby sagebrush and rocky outcroppings and spare-looking pine trees that might burst into flames if a match were lit anywhere in their vicinity. This was what my mom had always referred to as “rattlesnake country.”