ARC: Crushed (16 page)

Chapter 18

The pranks hit the next day, and by lunch everyone’s abuzz about it. Some students are angry, but many more think it’s hilarious – Crusader schools have a long, proud tradition of pranking. Something that’d been forgotten in the wake of the tragedy in March.

Everyone, of course, wants to know who’s to blame. Accusations fly around the cafeteria like missiles, occasionally blowing up friendships. Some accusations head my way, but not many. After all, I’m locked in my room each night.

The Lord and Lady of Misrule may need to take a night off. Something tells me the halls are going to be teeming with activity this evening as my classmates creep around for revenge. Of course, none can get me – my door has a lock on it.

Hehe.

I stifle my yawn so as to not give myself away and trudge up the stairs to change for my second-to-last class of the day. I’m actually dreading S and C for once. I haven’t been getting near enough sleep to look forward to physical exertion. I already dread the day when I have to skip a night’s freedom to sleep.

Or you could just feed again.
The dark thought slips through my mind like a snake through water.

A clearing throat pulls me away from the appealing thought. Jo’s planted solidly in front of my door, arms crossed, already dressed for gym. Except for her face – that’s dressed for war.

“We need to talk.”

“About you not locking me in my room?” I ask sweetly.

“No.”

“Then there’s nothing to talk about.” I turn sharply on my heel.

“We can either do it in your room, now, or we can bawl it out in front of the whole school,” she threatens. “Either way, we’re going to talk.”

I shrug and keep going. I hear her uneven gait as she comes after me.

“Meda, wait!’

I don’t.

“Dammit, Meda. I know it’s you pulling those pranks.”

I shrug.

“Meda, you have to stop! They’re going to catch you.”

I shrug again.

She stops walking but I keep going.

“Meda, I’m sorry,” she says, and her voice cracks a little.

I stop and turn abruptly to face her. I raise my eyebrows and wait for her to talk.

“Meda, I’m not doing it to hurt you, I promise.”

“Then why are you doing it?” I snarl. “You’re supposed to be my best friend, Jo. Friends don’t lock friends in prison. If anything, they pretend to, just so they can get the key and let them out.” Or they steal a key. I barely know Armand and he figured that out. Already he’s a better friend than Jo.

“I’m trying to help,” she says between gritted teeth.

“Please, don’t put yourself out.”

She gets a hold of herself, and she’s back to pleading. “Meda, just trust me.”

“Like you trust me?” I smile mirthlessly. “Sure, Jo. No problem.” I turn on my heel and walk away.

I make it about ten paces before the sirens begin to wail. My breath catches.

Armand
.

I hold still, counting down the minutes until the beeping starts. Please, not long-short-short, the alarm for an intruder. Please, not long-short-short.

Then it comes. Long

Short.

I can’t breathe.

Long.

Thank God. My breath gusts out – then it hits me. It’s not an intruder.

It’s worse.

It’s the wail calling the back-up medical staff to the infirmary. There’s been a demon attack – a big one.

“Chi,” I say looking at Jo.

She shakes her head sharply. “No, he got in last night. And Zee.” Still she wears the look of sick dread that always accompanies this particular alarm. It’s a given that whoever is injured will at least be an acquaintance, if not a friend. It won’t be her family – the siren sounded for them years ago. But it probably will be for some of the students.

Jo swallows and makes for stairs. The students gather outside the infirmary, holding vigil even before the wounded arrive. The half-demon in their midst will be the last thing the students want to see. I return to my room and watch from my window. Class will be cancelled.

It’s not long before the gleam of cars racing into the valley appear in the distance. Three oversized kidnapper vans come first, followed by a beat-up blue pick-up and half-a-dozen motorcycles. Outside the bunker the students stand in a ring, far enough back so as to not be in the way, and the medical staff stand with gurneys, ready to go. I make out Crusader Helva, a middle-aged woman who can assemble bones like puzzle pieces, and Zee and Mags, but I can’t make out Jo or Chi.

The makeshift ambulances slam to a halt outside the hospital, spraying gravel. Immediately the doors open to disgorge their mangled passengers. I’m too far away to see details, but the splashes of red are hard to miss. I push away from the window and flop on the bed.

I exhale and close my eyes, praying none of the victims are tied to my friends or not-enemies. Everybody but Jo has parents still living. Chi’s got an army of siblings. Zee comes from a family of four. Mags probably has family besides her little brother, though I can’t remember specifics. I barely get through the list before I hear Jo’s uneven gait, moving quick, coming up the stairs.

This doesn’t bode well. I jerk up on the bed. If Jo’s running, it’s someone she knows. Shit, shit, shit. She wouldn’t cry in public.

So much for my prayers. As always, thanks, He-Who-Does-Not-Listen.

But then Jo runs right past her door, and slams mine open with a bang. I jump to my feet. Why would she come to me?

Then it hits me. Hits me hard, right between the eyes.

I forgot that I know someone in the field. One single person, out of all the Crusaders fighting demons, is mine.

No.

Jo’s face is a stark pattern of red on white. “Meda, it’s Luke.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.
No, please don’t say it.

But she does. “He’s been hurt.”

I was unfair to you, God, for accusing you of not listening. I prayed for my friends, but I forgot to pray for myself. The oversight is mine.

But don’t expect me to apologize.

Chapter 19

The thought of losing Luke, one of my very few friends, almost a step-father, registers a bit like a donkey kick to the gut. No, worse than that, because at least I could kick the donkey back.

How is he?
I want to ask, but the words won’t come out.

But Jo knows. Her face answers my question before her mouth gets a chance. Her eyes are huge and too-shiny for good news. “Not good, Meda.” Her mouth trembles. “They crushed his skull.”

I sink to the floor.

“They were on their way to deliver…” she trails off. “He’s still alive, and they’ve tried to piece it back together. They’re digging out all the bone shards, but…”

You can’t unscramble an egg.

“They don’t know if he’ll wake up.”

I nod, but it’s a distant motion. I don’t feel attached to it. I feel alone, isolated in a bubble of… I don’t know. Not denial because, in my life, death is too common to bother wasting energy on denial. I feel separated. It’s here and it’s happening, but I’m stuck, unable to react. Unable to speak. But what is there to say?

Jo doesn’t seem to know, either, and doesn’t say anything. Instead she sits down on the dirty, rotten floor with me. We don’t touch and we don’t talk. For all practical purposes, she might as well not be here. It makes no sense that it alone, should help. But she is, and it does.

“I want to see him,” I say hoarsely.

She nods and stands. “OK.”

We start down the stairs and I’m itching to get there, now, to get news, but I stay at Jo’s slower pace.

Jo senses my impatience. “Go ahead.”

My feet fly down the stairs and over the grass to the infirmary. I don’t know how long we sat on that floor. Half an hour? An eternity? The students are no longer gathered outside. I halt when I reach the door. Posted outside is a tall redheaded Corp . I think her name is Sarah. I nod and expect her to step aside.

She doesn’t.

It’s not because she doesn’t recognize me. I’m kinda a celebrity around here – even if it is in a Lindsay Lohan kind of way. There’s no way the higher-ups can be in a meeting right now. As fascinating as I am, in the wake of a big attack I doubt they’re talking about me right now.

“Sorry, Miss Melange,” she says, in a flat way that makes me think she isn’t. “No visiting allowed.”

“How can there be no visitors in the hospital?” The students aren’t waiting outside anymore, because half of them are probably now inside, sitting with their injured friends or waiting for reports. Like I want to be. Then it dawns on me and my eyes narrow. I don’t need this shit right now. “No visitors? Or just no
me
.”

“Just following orders,” she says, not looking at me but scanning the trees.

I notice she didn’t answer my question. “I’ve always been allowed in before.”

“There are new rules. You’re not allowed in the main building unless summoned.”

“What the hell? What did I do?”

“You’ll need to discuss it with the Sergeant.”

“Fine. Let me in and I’ll talk to her right now,” I growl.

She smiles faintly. “Nice try.”

“I’m feeling anything but nice right now,” I snarl. She stands unmoved. “Look, I promise not to do anything. I just want to see my friend. Please.”

She frowns. “I’m sorry.” She seems like she means it this time. “You can talk to the Sergeant once things are under control.”

“Luke might be dead by then!”

Her frown deepens, but she doesn’t say anything.

My fists clench and my head gets hot. “You’ve got to be shitting me!” I scream at her. The only thing that could make me feel better is to hurt them as much as they hurt me. Hurt her.

“I’m sorry, Meda.” She sounds sincere. But still, her hand moves to her knife.

“You’re sorry?
Sorry?
” I will make her sorry.

“Meda!” I hear a shout from behind me. Jo. I twist to see her horrified expression. She starts running toward us.

And I run away.

My feet pound over the school grounds, faster than Jo could possibly follow. I tear into the woods. I can’t go too far or I’ll run into the perimeter guards, but I’ve mapped their placement diligently enough, I know the blind spots – far enough so I can get out of range of the school, but not far enough to be seen.

The place I’m looking for is a low spot beside the river. On either side rise rock cliffs cut by the river, blocking this place from view, but here is a muddy bank strewn with boulders. When I come to a stop, I’m too worked up to sit. I pace. I kick the ground. I swallow screams. Late afternoon sun filters through the leaves to sparkle on the river. It’s beautiful here, and peaceful.

I want to destroy it.

I grab a boulder the size of a basketball and hurl it into the river. Then grab a bigger one and do the same. I throw bigger and bigger rocks, seeing how violently I can make them splash.

Crashing steps sound in the woods behind me, loud enough that I can hear them over the sound of my destruction. Jo no doubt, coming after me. I heave another stone. This time I overthrow and it flies across the river to explode against a boulder on the other side. I delight in the deafening crash of rock on rock.

Jo follows the sound of my boulder-on-boulder battle, and I hear the crack and shush of breaking twigs and rustling leaves until she come to a halt somewhere behind me. I probably look insane – possessed. At the thought, I let out a howl of almost-laughter. My chest heaves at the exertion, not only at throwing boulders, but at limiting myself to only boulders. What I really want to hurl onto rocks are Crusaders.

They, who treat me worse and worse, yet expect me to act better and better.

Jo still doesn’t say anything, so I start. “Here to talk me back from the edge?”

There’s a pause, and the voice that answers isn’t Jo’s. “Nope. Here to shove you off it.”

I turn. There’s no Jo. Instead, Isaiah, and a half dozen of his sycophants stand in a line on the edge of the clearing. They’re spread out, their knees slightly splayed and bent. The expressions on their faces are set. Determined.

I get the impression the cliff they want to shove me off isn’t a figurative one.

Chapter 20

Seven on one, and I put myself out of range of any Crusaders. Brilliant, Meda.

“Are you happy now, Monster?” Isaiah asks.

I’m about to get jumped. So… no? “Happy about what?”

“This is your fault.”

“Ha,” I bark. “I wish.” I sneer. It isn’t true, but I don’t care. I’m spoiling for a fight. “But I’m afraid I can’t take the credit. You Crusaders have been getting your asses handed to you for years before I came on the scene.”

“Not like this.”

“Exactly like this.”

“You don’t know anything!”

“I know you’re a cowardly little asswipe. How’s that for something?” Not particularly clever, but it has the desired effect. He leaps at me. I dodge out of the way and bring my elbow down hard on Isaiah’s back as he goes flying past. He slams into the ground with a grunt. I don’t have time to enjoy it, because the other six jump me. Eli comes in low, at my knees, and I’m able to jump over him, but while I’m in mid air Abel, a thick black kid whose sister was slaughtered by demons just six months ago, comes in over the top and slams into me. We go flying backwards and he lands on top. I kick him in the nuts. He grunts and pulls back, I’m able to get both my feet on his stomach, and send him flying. There’s a splash as he lands in the river.

Looks like I get to hurl a few Crusaders after all.

I’m still smiling when I take a fist to the face and I feel my lip split against my teeth. I ignore it to jump a sweeping foot, and dodge another swing to the head. I snap out a foot and kick Micah in the knee. He goes down in front of me as I’m tackled from behind, and I land on top of him. He flails back with his elbow and gets me hard, right in the middle of my forehead. I feel the skin tear, and hot blood floods into my eyes, blinding me. I flail wildly behind me with sharp elbows and hear a grunt. The weight’s lifted off me, but before I can climb to my feet someone grabs my arm, and someone else grabs the other. I tense waiting for the snap of my arms, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes, and I furiously blink the blood from my eyes.

Isaiah’s in front of me, his eye blackened again. I smile to see it, and I can taste the blood in my mouth. I can picture how it’s running between my teeth, giving me a grotesque monster’s grin. Isaiah lips tighten.

“What do you want, Isaiah?” I ask.

“I want you imprisoned,” he says simply. “Or gone.”

“I belong here, asshole. I’m as much Crusader as demon.” I say sweetly. “Those are just facts.”

“No, your mom abandoned the Crusaders. She gave up the inheritance. She was barely a Crusader, and you’re not one at all.”

“Don’t talk about my mother.”

“Never say the thing has feelings,” he sneers.

“What the hell have I ever done to you? Other than be born, which, I think you’ll agree, was not my fault.”

“What have you done?” He laughs, a harsh ugly sound. “Everything. You’ve ruined everything.”

“Like what?” I growl.

“You destroyed the school.”

“The demons destroyed the school.”

“Because of you.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know?”

He jabs me in the chest, a manic wildness in his eyes. “You got Uri killed. God, he was just a
kid
.”

Ouch. “The demons killed him.” I say it through my teeth.

He doesn’t bother to correct me this time. “You started a war.”

I snort. “There’s been a war for centuries.”

“No, there hasn’t.
You
started the war.” Again with the jabbing finger. I swear to God, if he does it again I am going to bite it off.

“What are you talking about?”

He laughs again, that ugly, manic laugh. “You expect me to believe you don’t know?”

“No, I’m pretending for shits and giggles.” I roll my eyes. “Humor me.”

His lips tighten. “Crusaders and demons aren’t allowed to fight each other directly—or at least, we
weren’t
. We’re supposed to fight over souls”

I know that. “So?”

“So when we rescued you from demon headquarters, we broke the rule.” He explains in exaggerated slowness. “Now the demons can attack us in return.”

But… “That doesn’t make any sense,” I argue. “The demons broke the rule first – they invaded the school to get me.”

He shakes his head in disbelief at my stupidity. “No, when they invaded the school you were a halfling. A neutral soul. They were allowed to come after you.”

Understanding dawns. I put it together, before he even says it.

“When we rescued you from headquarters, you’d accepted the Inheritance. You were a Crusader.”

“But the Crusaders didn’t know that.”

“That doesn’t matter. The demons outnumber us three-to-one, they’ve been looking for an opportunity to attack us for centuries.
Centuries.
And you delivered it right into their hands.” His eyes show the depths of his horror. “We’re going to be wiped out. The world will be destroyed.” He narrows his eyes, blasting me with hate. “And it’s all your fault.”

When he punches me in the gut, I’m too shocked to block him.

As I gasp for breath, he comes in close. His brilliant blue eyes are electric. “In the three months since you’ve arrived, you’ve been responsible for the destruction of our headquarters and the deaths of hundreds of Crusaders, and will be for thousands more. You gave the demons the opportunity they’ve been looking for for centuries. You expect me to believe,
honestly believe
, that you did all that on accident?”

Put that way, it
does
sound a little unlikely.

He pulls back to punch me again, but this time I jump, using my captors to swing my feet forward to double-kick Isaiah in the chest. He goes flying and they are pulled off their feet and we land in a heap.

Just because I can understand their point of view doesn’t mean I’m going to let them beat the crap out of me. Hell, even if I
agreed
with his point of view, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t let them beat the crap out of me. I’m not the martyring kind.

And, besides, I’m innocent. For once, I’m actually, honestly innocent. I didn’t mean any of those things to happen; I didn’t know enough to foresee any of these outcomes. It might be my fault, but I’m not to blame. And honestly, am I supposed to be sorry they rescued me?

As I said, I’m not the martyring kind.

An alien form of rage pumps through my blood – the righteous kind. The rage of the falsely accused, and again I’m smacked with the unfairness of the Crusaders. Reviled, imprisoned, forbidden to see Luke.

Luke.

Sergeant Graff might be off limits, but I’ve got seven assholes right here I can take to pieces.

I jerk Micah’s arm forward and pop him on the tricep with the other, dislocating his shoulder. He screams and I scramble to my feet. I’m tackled again, this time by Abel, I use our momentum to flip us a few times, away from the others. I rotate so I end up on top and get a few hard punches in before I’m taken off by another flying boy, Omar. He sits on my chest and slams his fist into my face. Brilliant lights dance across my vision, and he slams his other fist against my cheek. Before he can swing again, I knee him hard in the back, sending him flying over my head.

I scramble to my feet, and put my back to the river.

I’m out-matched; there are too many of them. At least, not unless I’m willing to take it to next level and do some serious damage. Those are my options: take a savage beating or give one.

Yeah, I bet you can guess which way I’m leaning. I snarl.

A movement behind the boys, in the treeline, catches my eye. A dark shape against darker shadows. A boy with an expression of such fury it takes my breath away. Ugly rage made beautiful because it’s on my behalf.

Armand.

My heart instantly lifts – seven on two. But then it comes crashing down. He can’t reveal himself. If he does, I’ll be busted for consorting with the enemy – that won’t go over real well with the Crusaders. If I kill the kids so they can’t tell on Armand…

Well, I don’t think that would go over any better than plan A.

And that’s when it dawns on me. Isaiah’s plan.

What do you want, Isaiah?
I had asked.

You imprisoned, or gone.

There are other things that could get me locked up, besides being caught with Armand. If I give these students a savage beating, breaking arms, ripping open body parts, the headmaster won’t be able to look the other way. It would be the proof Graff needs to show I’m dangerous, that I can’t be trusted. Isaiah would get what he wants – me, out of the Crusaders. These assholes are setting me up. This isn’t just a fight, it’s a trap.

One I have to escape.

My bloodthirsty heart howls at the thought of retreat, but the rational part of my brain knows it’s the only option. The realization distracted me from Armand, and he stalks from the treeline, his entire body clenched so tightly he appears to vibrate. I shake my head furiously at him.

While I’m distracted by our silent argument, three of the guys jump me. We go down in a flurry of strikes. A fist hammers me in the face, blinding me temporarily, and I roll wildly trying to get out of the way. I scramble to my feet but am tackled from behind. We land painfully on the rocks that line the river.

I look up in time to see Armand storm from the woods again. “No!” I scream, thrashing my head wildly. Again he stops, but his rhythmically clenching hands give away the effort it takes. Isaiah lands a vicious punch on my cheek, and though I’m blinded by the brilliant exploding red of pain, I know Armand’s coming forward again.

“No!” scream at him. He halts, angrier at me now than at the boys, I think. Finally, he turns and storms back into the woods, out of sight, unwilling to watch.

I’m grateful, because I haven’t an ounce of attention to spare him. I take another kick to the ribs that flips me onto my back, into the river shallows. I grab the foot and jerk the boy off his feet. I scramble, but the rocks are slippery, and it’s too easy for Eli to catch me, before I can gain my feet.

They aren’t pulling any punches, and I start to wonder why I am. The fury builds under my skin, pulsing under my many bruises. It swells until I can’t bear it, and when I snap my elbow back, it’s with enough force to crack ribs. There’s a gasp as the weight comes off me.

I jump to my feet and duck another punch, this time from Jacob, on the other side. Isaiah sweeps for my feet. I jump over his leg and tackle him onto the rocky river bank. I land on top and we skid a few feet. We come to a halt and there’s a rock the size of a small basketball next to his head. I snatch it up and hold it over his head.

I could crush his skull.

I hear a shout and shuffle of feet as his comrades run to his rescue, but Isaiah’s hand goes up subtly, just a few inches, small enough that I almost missed it. There’s a noise of denial behind me, but no one attacks.

Isaiah’s brilliant blue and bitter eyes look almost… relieved. Victorious.

Horror dawns.

He’s willing to let me kill him, to get rid of me.

He’s so sure I’m evil that he’s willing to die rather than risk trusting me. His hate is such that he would die rather than live with me.

It’s easy to hate someone enough that you wish they were dead. It’s even easy enough to hate some enough to actually kill them. There’s a whole legal defense built around the idea that you can hate someone enough that it’s actually
OK
to kill them – temporary insanity.

But to hate someone enough that you would kill
yourself
… even I, an expert at hate, am amazed.

But it’s all there, in his eyes. He wants me worse than dead. He wants me imprisoned with the other demons. To be used, to be experimented on. To be possessed. I am not a person, I am just another weapon in their endless battle. Isaiah’s hatred of me knows no bounds.

And suddenly mine for him knows none either. For one precious second, rock clutched in my hand, I consider giving in. Because in that moment, him dead is what we both want.

Victorious blue meets malevolent black as the moment hangs like a body from a noose.

I slam the rock down as hard as I can and he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for impact.

The rock buries itself harmlessly in the sand by his head.

His eyes open and I lean down.

“I won’t kill you, Isaiah,” I growl. Then I pause, and smile, all sharp teeth and sharper words. “At least, not at
your
convenience.” I shove off him and face the rest of them. Their faces are a mixed bag of relief and anger. I give them a look of absolute disgust, and turn my back on them.

It was a mistake.

There’s an angry scream from behind, and a quick crunch of leaves. I spin to see Eli, his face twisted in rage, jumping right at me, a holy blade clutched in his hand. I try to dive to the side, but I forgot about Isaiah at my feet. He grabs my leg, jerking me off-balance. I fall, helpless, as Eli and his knife descends.