“Mom!” Sophie yelled, as her mother leaped out of the chair, vaulted over the guards, and went barreling down the hallway, Sophie and Dr. Hashimoto hurrying to keep up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“She’s killing them! We have to hurry!”
With those words, they passed Andreyev and his guards in the hallway, who turned astonished looks on them as they ran by, and then Andreyev slid smoothly into motion, staying right on Sophie’s heels. Moira skidded to a halt in front of the elevator and punched the button repeatedly until the door slid open. “Strauss has taken the Vitros downstairs. She’s pulling the plug on Skin Island! There’s a—a room in the basement. A gas chamber.”
Sophie’s stomach somersaulted. “What?”
Moira stepped into the elevator, and the others squeezed in beside her, but the door slid shut before Andreyev’s harried bodyguards could get in.
“It was a precautionary measure,” Moira said, tapping her foot impatiently as the elevator lowered. “It was Corpus’s idea. They wanted a way to contain the Vitros if they ever . . . Well.”
“Revolted?” Sophie asked. “If they ever broke the Imprima bond and turned against you?”
“Yes,” Moira admitted.
The door dinged and slid open, and Moira darted out, Sophie on her heels. Andreyev followed at a more measured pace. A door in front of Sophie popped open suddenly, and his bodyguards spilled out, nearly crashing into her. For once, they looked flustered, until they spotted Andreyev and caught up to him. Sophie could hear them muttering about Andreyev always running off, as if he were a naughty child in the grocery store.
The hallway was lined with silent doctors. They were slumped against the walls, seated in soggy, teary clusters on the floor. When they saw Moira coming, they rose and flocked to her, all talking at once. She pushed her way through them, and Sophie and Andreyev followed in her wake.
At the end of the hall Strauss stood with a gun clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles were white. Next to her, Dr. Michalski stood with his eyes as wide and round as his glasses.
“Moira.” Strauss lifted her gun. “Enough. You’re relieved of your duties on Skin Island and are ordered to return to Corpus headquarters with me.”
“Turn it off, Ed!” Moira ignored Strauss as completely as if she were a smudge on the wall. “Turn it off, now!”
He looked at Strauss uncertainly.
“You listen to me, Ed, not her!” Moira snapped.
“Dr. Michalski listens to the one who writes his checks, not his former colleague, Moira. I said you’re relieved—”
“Shut up, Victoria. Ed, turn it off. They’re dying in there!”
The door behind Strauss was shut, and the small window in it hazy with fog. Sophie’s blood turned to ice when she realized the fog must have been poisonous fumes, choking all the newborn Vitros to death. She glanced at the wall, where the exposed panel displayed numbers and lines she didn’t understand. A small light blinked red above a metal lever marked with numbered increments.
She didn’t wait for permission. Before Strauss could react, she darted past her and grabbed the lever, slamming it downward. She heard a loud hissing from within the walls around them, then silence where the panel had been humming earlier.
“It’s too late,” Strauss said. “I’m cleaning up your mess, Moira. It had to be done.”
“Don’t open it!” Dr. Michalski warned. “It has to be properly ventilated and cleaned before—”
Moira and Sophie wrenched the door open together. Sophie yelped as three bodies fell forward with the door: all Vitros. Gas poured out of the room and spread through the hall; doctors began yelling and scrambling away to escape the noxious fumes. Strauss fled with them, crowding into the elevator and sending the slower runners on to the stairs when it was full. Following her mother’s example, Sophie held her shirt over her mouth to avoid breathing in too much of the stuff, though already she could feel her eyes and throat burning.
Dr. Hashimoto appeared at her side, along with Andreyev, which surprised her a little. Together they hauled the Vitros out. Their bodies were limp, their lips blue. Sophie’s heart pounded so hard she felt her pulse in her temples and wrists, surging with adrenaline and horror. After a moment, Andreyev’s bodyguards wordlessly pitched in.
Despite their makeshift masks, they had to wait a few moments before they could enter the room. Moira worked the controls on the panel in the wall, then froze.
“What?” Sophie asked. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s broken,” she whispered.
“What’s broken?” Andreyev asked.
“The vents to leech the gas from the chamber.” She turned a dial. “And the valve to shut off the gas.” She looked up, her face white. “There’s no way to turn it off.”
“How is that even possible?” Sophie asked.
“Someone would have had to manually cut the line.”
“Sabotage?”
Moira slammed her hand against the panel, her shoulders heaving as she breathed in and out. “This whole building is filling up with hydrogen cyanide. We have to get everyone out now. Hana, go tell the others to bring stretchers!” Moira yelled. “And the kids will need oxygen, fast! We have to get them out of there now.”
Andreyev turned to his bodyguards “Find those cowardly doctors and drag them back by their hair if you must.”
His men looked sour at leaving him alone, but they went. Sophie had to give the Russian credit; he didn’t need a computer chip to inspire obedience. He had an air of authority that made Strauss look like a fourth-grade bully.
Moira pointed at a door down the hall. “Sophie, open that supply closet. There should be towels inside. Take them out and tie one around your face.”
She obeyed with alacrity, tossing a towel to Moira and Dr. Hashimoto. With the cloths secured over their mouths and noses, they plunged in and began carrying out the rest of the bodies. Sophie hoped they weren’t carrying corpses, but it was difficult to tell. Andreyev tied an apron he’d found over his face and worked alongside them, carrying Vitros out of the poisonous room and into the relatively clearer hallway, though Sophie could see the gas escaping to fill the basement. She worked feverishly; she was too small to carry anyone, so she took them by the arms and dragged them instead. Nearly all the Vitros had been evacuated when Sophie reached the last two figures slumped against the wall.
Her mind turned inside out. Her lungs went flat as her breath rushed from her lips.
Jim.
THIRTY-FOUR
SOPHIE
She sucked in a breath, which only sent her head spinning, then knelt and reached out to gently pry Jim’s arms from Lux’s limp form. He was sitting with his back propped against the wall, his head fallen forward onto Lux’s. She was curled against his chest like a child, her hands knotted in his shirt. Neither moved when Sophie touched them. She felt tears sting the corners of her eyes. Her mind reeled at finding him there; he should have been ashes in the sky. She’d seen the plane explode with her own eyes—but she wasn’t about to question whatever miracles were dropped in her lap, not when she needed one so desperately. She could feel herself unraveling from the inside out, and willed herself to hold it together long enough to get them to safety.
“Jim . . . Jim, wake up. It’s me. It’s Sophie.”
Moira crouched beside her and covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes pinched with sorrow. “Oh no. Oh, Sophie . . .”
“He’s okay!” Sophie said fiercely. “Both of them. They’ll be fine. Won’t they?”
“Let’s get them out of here.”
With Andreyev’s and Dr. Hashimoto’s help, they carried Jim and Lux out of the room and laid them in the hallway with the Vitros.
Sophie dropped to her knees beside Jim, and finally let loose the tension that had been exploding in her chest since the moment she’d seen him sl
umped in the chamber. She couldn’t help it; she burst into sobs, tears of relief mingling with tears of fear, that she had found him only to lose him again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, leaning over him and pressing her forehead to his, whispering into his hair. “I’m sorry for the things I said. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it at all. Jim, Jim, please wake up. Please.”
All the horror she’d felt when she’d seen his plane burst into flames rushed back to her now at double strength, a tidal wave that overpowered her and sucked her into a maelstrom of terror and savage desperation. She cradled his face in her hands and willed him back to life, willed her own life into him, had to stop herself from digging her nails into his skin.
“JIM!” She screamed his name, feeling herself lose all control. It was too much too fast too soon without a moment to breathe and she was drowning in panic. Someone was pulling at her, trying to release her grip on Jim, saying words she did not understand.
“Sophie. Sophie!”
It was her mother, her not-mother, her lie of a mother. “No!” she said, and she pressed her hands to his chest and began pumping. “He’s not dead—he’s not! I won’t let it happen! You hear me, Jim Julien? I won’t let you!”
“Come on,” Sophie said, over and over with each press of Jim’s sternum. “C’mon, c’mon.”
“Sophie.” Moira’s eyes were deep wells of pain. “Sophie, stop. He’s gone.”
“No. No, he isn’t. If I just—”
“Sophie, stop. We have to go. It’s getting too dangerous down here.” She coughed. The air was getting thicker with hydrogen cyanide. Before long, the entire basement level would be a gas chamber.
But Sophie couldn’t leave him. Losing him twice in one day would kill her. Her heart felt like it would burst into pieces it was pounding so hard, her pulse a hammer against her skull.
“He’s Jim,” Sophie sobbed. “My Jim!”
“I know. I know, baby.”
“I’m not your baby.” Sophie pulled away and shoved Moira backward. “You’re not my mom and I’m not your baby!”
“You’re right!” Moira held up her hands. “I’m not. I didn’t give birth to you. My genes are not your genes. But Sophie. I do love you.”
It was Andreyev who finally wrestled her away and put her in Moira’s arms. Her mother held her tight while the Russian felt for a pulse. The grim set of his lips brought a dry heave to Sophie’s chest. She doubled over, gasping for breath. Maybe the gas had gotten to her. Maybe she was dying. Maybe she would wake up and all of this would be a nightmare she could forget.
Down the hall, a few of the Vitros began to cough. Sophie’s heart leaped. Maybe it’s not too late.
“I must save him,” Sophie heard someone whisper. She looked over. It was Lux. She began to crawl toward Jim like a broken windup toy.
“Lux, no.” Moira took two strides and pulled her away, held her in one arm and Sophie in the other, the girls cradled against her as if they were four years old. Their hair curled together into an indistinguishable tangle on Moira’s chest.
“Connie, go down the hall. Third door on the left—there should be some oxygen tanks and masks in the closet. He needs oxygen fast.”
He nodded and stepped around the bodies on the floor to reach it. With a wild twist of her body, Sophie broke free of Moira and ran after him, because she couldn’t bear standing still, watching Jim, hoping for a sign of life. She needed to help, needed to move, needed to do something. She scrubbed the tears from her eyes with her shirt and gritted her teeth, channeling the pressure inside of her into movement.
Andreyev found the tanks and handed two of them to her. It took another minute to locate the masks, which she draped around her neck. Then, feeling like an astronaut preparing to dive into space, she tramped back to Moira and held out the equipment. Setting Lux down, Moira deftly connected the mask’s tubes to a tank and opened the valve to release the oxygen; she pressed it to Jim’s face.
One second. Two seconds. Three. And then Jim gasped so suddenly that Sophie gasped with him, and his chest began to rise and fall. Her heart fluttered, and the tension in her own chest rushed out of her in a loud exhalation, and then she jumped when she heard Lux do the same. Her twin’s face had finally relaxed. She stared at Jim greedily, timing her own breaths with his as if she could somehow transfer air into his lungs by sheer force of will. Sophie watched her, transfixed.
“He’s coming back to us,” Moira said, sounding relieved herself, and Sophie wondered if she’d forgotten that just hours earlier, she’d been ready to sacrifice Jim for Sophie’s sake.
Dr. Hashimoto and the bodyguards appeared down the hall, trailing a posse of shamefaced doctors. Moira didn’t even look up. She set her mouth in a hard line and focused on bringing Jim back to life. The other doctors silently went to work, fetching oxygen, and moving the Vitros onto gurneys they wheeled out of the elevator.
Sophie’s thoughts strayed to Nicholas. Where was he? It seemed that no one had seen him since Moira sent him to undo the damage he’d wrought on the newborn Vitros, but obviously he hadn’t followed through. It made Sophie nervous, not knowing what he was up to. But they couldn’t very well launch a search party now; they had to focus on resuscitating the Vitros.
One by one, all the others awoke and were taken away by the doctors, who were wearing surgical masks to protect them from the gas. Jim’s eyes finally opened, and he moaned, but Moira hushed him and kept the mask on his face.
Behind them, the elevator door opened and the doctor named Rogers tumbled out, shouting for Moira, his surgical mask puffing in and out as he yelled.
“What now?” she called, her face weary.
Dr. Rogers rushed to her. “It’s not good!” he said.
“What a shock. What is it?”
“It’s Strauss. She’s not happy. She’s got all the guards outside, armed, and she’s ready to make a statement. You’ve really pissed her off, and Moira.” Dr. Rogers winced and dropped his gaze. “I think she means to make an example of you.”
THIRTY-FIVE
JIM
Jim leaned on Sophie and Lux leaned on Jim; they made their way out of the building like a trio of wounded soldiers, flanked by Moira and the Vitros, who were being pushed on stretchers or supported by the doctors. Events were moving too quickly around him, leaving him disoriented. He was still weak and dizzy from the hydrogen cyanide, and tasks as simple as navigating through a doorway took all his concentration to accomplish.
Sophie’s eyes were fixed on Jim as they walked—well, limped, more like. He seemed to be recovering steadily, now that he was breathing cleaner air. “You’re alive. I can’t believe you’re alive.”
“Crazy, right? I’m as shocked as you are.” He was trying very hard not to think about what had happened in the basement of that building. Everything else that had happened on the island—that had ever happened to him in his life—paled in comparison to the horror of being trapped in that room. The bitter, almond scent of the gas seemed to cling to him, assuring that every few seconds his mind slipped backward into the gas chamber and a feeling of panic swelled in his chest. He had to fight it back each time, and the effort was exhausting.
“But your plane—I saw—it exploded and I thought you—”
“Oh. That.”
“Yes, that. Did you forget you were nearly blown to pieces?”
“Hm. Must have slipped my mind between being nearly shot and nearly gassed to death. In a freaking gas chamber. Like this is some kind of fascist prison.”
She looked away, her face scarlet. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”
“Makes two of us,” he said with a crooked grin. “And I’m glad you’re not dead. From what I can tell, you saved our lives.”
“Well. Me and . . . and Mom.”
He scrunched his eyebrows inquisitively; there was too much underlying weight in her tone for him
to believe that was the whole story. She shook her head at his look and said, “I’ll tell you later. Listen, what I said to you on the beach back there—I didn’t really . . . I just want to say . . .”
He studied her face, his throat tightening when he thought of their fight. He’d been shocked at how deeply her words had pierced him—he hadn’t realized how much power she had over him, to be able to hurt him like that. I care about her more than I knew. Overcome suddenly with a feeling that terrified him as much as it excited him, he took her hand and squeezed it tight. “I know. Me too.”
They crossed the atrium, flanked by Moira, a crowd of doctors, and a man with two bodyguards who Sophie pointed out as Andreyev, the Russian investor. Jim examined the man sidelong as they walked; he looked weary and slightly shell-shocked, much like Jim felt. Though, of course, Jim could easily add to his list of ailments the side effects of hydrogen cyanide and near suffocation. He felt as if his brain had been reduced to sludge and was currently sloshing painfully around in his skull. He checked on Lux; she was pale and barely lucid, but faring better than he was.
When they stepped outside, they all froze, like a crowd of war refugees. Strauss was waiting with a dozen guards in a line behind her. Each one had a rifle pressed to his shoulder, and the barrels were all aimed at the doctors and those with them.
The gurneys bearing the more helpless Vitros sat on the grass, with a few doctors moving frantically among them, their eyes glancing worriedly at Strauss’s guards. Andreyev’s bodyguards smoothly slid in front of him, their hands straying to the lapels of their coats, but even if they managed to reach whatever firearms they had hidden, they would be no match for Strauss’s men. Several of the doctors raised their hands in immediate surrender.
“Moira.” Strauss’s voice was soft, dangerous. The floodlights turned her white pantsuit a sickly yellow. “This little drama of yours has gone on long enough. Constantin, I cannot express how disappointed I am in the way you have been treated on this island. I assure you, Corpus will make reparations.”