Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) (35 page)

A grinding screech of
metal split the air. The cavern lurched, then sank a whole foot. The ground
tilted, and racks of beakers slid away, capsized. Bottles exploded in fumes. 

Yet the machine stayed
statue-still, its edges solid, anchored. It was everything else that shook.

Casler stumbled towards
the machine. Aaron grabbed his ankle and yanked him back, got a mouthful of
boot heel. More blood.

Once again, he found
himself on the floor, his cheek cemented to frozen stone. Clive’s body—Aaron
blinked. Clive’s body was gone.

But there was something
else right in front of him. An inch from his nose, still bloody. Dominic’s
switchblade.

The hilt felt good in
his palm.

Casler stepped up to
the machine and closed his fingers around the wheel. But Buff tackled him,
crunched his face into the floor, and delivered two left-handed punches, his
fists a blur. The brass knuckles ripped into Casler’s scalp, muddied his skin
into red pulp. One more would kill him.

Aaron
rose to his feet. He
could
smell the high voltage, the raw odor of ozone.
Arcs of electricity splayed tendril-like from the machine’s core,
sizzled, and vaporized.
His hairs lifted and pointed toward the
operating table, where Amber lay perfectly still, watching it all in horror.

Maybe the machine would
break. Maybe she would be safe. 

Maybe it would screw
her up worse.

Fifteen seconds.

He had to free her. Or
shut it down.

To his left, Buff
raised his arm, torqued his body, and took aim for the brittle part of Casler’s
skull. This one would kill him.

Except Buff never
landed his punch.

The halogen lights
died, blackness swallowed them.
Clive
, in the shadows. Buff missed his
target, and Aaron heard the scrape, then his friend’s yelp as his fist struck
bedrock. 

But there was still
light from the dimmer bulbs. Aaron’s eyes adjusted, and he saw Casler rise
again. His wounds steamed and tinted the air deep crimson. Casler gripped the
wheel. He was going to right the machine.

Aaron jumped on him. He
landed on his back, looped his arm around his neck, and pulled the switchblade
as hard as he could. The knife sank an inch into Casler’s throat, then stopped,
as if he’d reached steel cable. Warm blood spilled down his wrist, but it
wasn’t enough. Aaron dropped the switchblade, and it clinked on the stone—he
couldn’t do it.

Casler fell to his
knees, and saliva dribbled down his lip. “Tell my son to be patient and
loving,” he gurgled. “She’ll be completely helpless at first—”

Aaron grabbed the
switchblade and finished the job, and Casler collapsed dead at his feet.

Ten seconds.

Above the machine, the
cave ceiling liquefied and rippled. Over the operating table, a blue arc of
electricity hissed from the tip of the metal spike, coiled through the air and
slithered, snakelike, towards Amber’s head. She watched it grow, trembling, her
eyes wet and terrified. It brushed her cheek, and she squirmed against the
straps, pressing herself flat.

But there was nowhere
to go. The blue tendril slithered through her hair towards the back of her
head, singing the blonde strands in its path.

Aaron flung himself to
her side.

Her eyes lit up. “Aaron—”
she moaned.

“Buff,” he yelled,
“turn it off!”

Five seconds.

The movement of Aaron’s
hands was flawless, precise. The blade cut true. One strap, then another. He
was the best setter in the league, after all.

Buff grabbed the giant
switch on the machine, and he screamed. He yanked his hand back as putrid smoke
poured from its socket.

Four
seconds
.

“It’s all melted—”
yelled Buff.

“Help me get her out!”

Three seconds.

Aaron stole a glance at
her. She was staring into his eyes, calming herself by it. Biting her lip.

Then her head was free
and she skirted away from the blue snake. It followed her.

Two seconds.

Buff appeared at his
side, wheezing, and grabbed the straps around her waist. His knuckles whitened.

But he couldn’t
possibly tear them with his bare hands, not a chance—yet the fabric splayed.
His arms flexed, blood dripped from his palms onto her stomach, and then the
strap tore completely. He’d done it.

One second.

That left one more
strap to cut, and then she could slip free. Aaron had the tip of the knife at
its edge. She was going to make it out—

Then Aaron felt Clive’s
hot breath on the back of his neck, his cold finger on the back of his scalp.
And Aaron’s limbs turned to mush.

Just one more strap. But
he didn’t have it in him.

Clive reached around
him, calmly took the knife from Aaron’s hand, and plunged it into his stomach.
Slippery blood gushed over his hands.

Clive’s voice rasped in
his ear. “She’s
mine
, Harper!”

Zero
.

Amber was still
strapped in.

The
machine ground to a sickening halt, and they were plunged into silence. Then
there was only the ringing in Aaron’s ears, like the gentle beat of an insect’s
wings.

The electric arc
coiled, flickered neon blue, then sank into the back of Amber’s head.

***

 Aaron tried to block
it, but there was nothing to block. The electricity slipped through his fingers
and stung her.

He watched her eyes
widen with panic, then confusion. She writhed, twisted against the strap as the
arc of electricity groped inside her for the opening.

Then pierced it.

The tendril pulled out
of her head slowly like a long, thin fang. A single drop of blood sizzled at
the tip and then evaporated.

Her channel had a hole
now.

Like Aaron’s. She
grabbed his hand, and their gazes locked. Her insides were being drawn toward
the back of her head. But unlike Aaron, she wouldn’t be allowed to die
completely. They would reseal her . . . half empty.

She struggled to hold
his gaze.

Buff grabbed his
shoulder; he hadn’t seen Clive. “You’re bleeding!”

Aaron ignored him.
Amber’s grip slackened, and her eyeballs rolled to the side, unfocused.

“
Amber—
” he
croaked.

“Buddy, you can’t save
her,” said Buff. “I’m taking you out of here!”

Then Aaron collapsed,
and his cheek struck frozen stone. And Amber’s limp fingers slipped from his
hand.

Before he lost
consciousness, he saw Clive out of the corner of his eye, his arm inside the
machine.

Clive pulled out a
quartz vial, four inches long and rounded on both ends. The red fluid dimmed
before their eyes—the clairvoyance from Amber, from his own half.

Clive’s hands trembled,
and the vial tumbled from his fingers. He fell to his knees, clutching his
stomach.

The machine had cut out
too much.

***

There
was a moment Aaron would remember afterwards when he was taken over by a
feeling that had no self-consciousness. Five days ago, in her bedroom, dust
floated between orange shafts of sunlight, blazing like flecks of magnesium.
Amber slid closer to him. Their faces were inches apart. Up close, her eyes
were layered, freckled like jade crystals.

She
was right.

In
five days, something would be missing. In five days, his connection to his half
would be uncertain, unlikely even. In five days, his channel to his half
might not even exist.

But
Amber was real now.

***

A white room.

Aaron yanked aside a
bed sheet and sat up into a beam of sunlight, and he felt the knife wound twist
in his stomach.

He was in a hospital
bed closed in by white curtains. Buff was wedged in a tiny chair by the window,
watching him carefully.

He raised his eyebrows.
“Buddy?”

“What the hell is that
look?” said Aaron.

He sighed relief. “I
thought you were toast
.
”

Aaron touched the back
of his head. Not even a scab. How was he still alive?
Later
. “Where’s
Amber?”

“Buddy, uh—” Buff
lowered his eyes, “listen—”

“She’s okay, right?”

“We ran out of time,”
Buff said quietly.

“But—” Aaron paused,
and his throat kinked up as those terrifying last few seconds replayed in his
mind. “I . . . I couldn’t cut the last strap.”

“No one could have,”
said Buff.

“Where is she?”

He shook his head.

Aaron
closed his eyes and counted to five, but nothing changed
.
No—
he leapt
off the bed, swatted the curtain aside, and hurled through the sterile
corridors. He spun around a corner and collided with a nurse.

He grabbed her arm.
“Where is she?”

“Pardon?”

“Amber Lilian—where?
Quickly!
”

“D-d-down the hall,”
she said.

He sprinted, and his
heart thudded in the pit of his stomach. He pushed through another curtain, and
there she was. Unconscious, pale, wrapped in sheets.

The steady beep of her
heart monitor was the only sign of life. He moved into Amber’s room and knelt
by the bed. She appeared normal, untouched. Perfect. The ordeal could have been
a dream.

A stiff hand landed on
his shoulder. He whipped around, ready to fight.

***

It was Dominic, badly
bruised. “He’s dead,” he said, coming in to stand next to Aaron. “They’re
collecting his body.”

“Dr. Selavio. I know. I
killed him,” said Aaron.

“No, Clive.”

Aaron stared at him.
“Clive’s
dead
?
”

“The machine was off
balance. Apparently, it severed his half completely.”

“Why didn’t he stop it?
He knew what it was doing to her.”

“I think he wanted more
of her clairvoyance. We found him with the vial. He must have thought he could
drink it or something—”

“I don’t care what he
thought.” Aaron fell to his knees again beside Amber. “Just tell me she’s
okay.”

“I’m not going to lie
to you.”

Even though the words
sank in, there was nowhere for them to go, no place in his brain where they
made any sense. They were in love with each other. Everything was perfect. It
was all a bad dream.

He kissed her forehead,
and the salty taste of her skin seared his lips. “We’re going to make it out of
this okay, I promise,” he said. “Just open your eyes—” That was when he noticed
the odor of singed hair rising off her pillow. A spasm shot through his lungs.
“
Amber
—”

The beep of her heart
monitor continued, unfluctuating, mechanical, without a jitter to indicate she
knew he was there. He realized he was crying when a tear fell on her sheets.

“Amber,
please
—”
A heaving in his chest sealed his lungs and choked off his words, silencing
him. His hands trembled.

Dominic grabbed his
shoulder. “Don’t do this to yourself, number eleven. You know as well as I do
what happened. Even if she wakes up, there’s not going to be much left. She’s
severed
.”

Aaron swatted his hand
away. “Can’t you just leave us alone for two fucking seconds!” Tears burned in
his eyes. He turned his back on the rugby player and wiped them away. “Wait
outside,” he said, failing to keep his voice even. “I just want to be alone
with her right now.”

Dominic retreated a few
feet behind him.

Shivering now, Aaron
studied the curvature of Amber’s cheeks, glistening and sweaty, statue-still;
her eyelids, still closed. And he would have given anything to see them open,
to see the spark in her green eyes one more time. “I couldn’t cut the last
strap,” he whispered. “I couldn’t get it in time.” Another spasm shot through
him. “Amber, all you have to do is open your eyes.”

His closed his fists on
the sheets to stop his hands from shaking. Another teardrop tumbled into the
fabric. He folded the damp spot under, and he felt the material rip under his
thumbs. Aaron cupped his hands over his face, loathing each breath that slipped
through his fingers, giving him life that didn’t belong to him. Life he should
have given to Amber.

It was impossible to
think that he would have to go on without her, that she could just be gone. She
looked fine, untouched. Aaron turned to Dominic, his sinuses ringing. The
ceiling reeled above him. Gone.

“Why didn’t Clive stop
it?” he said. “He was supposed to be her half, why didn’t he try to save her?”
Aaron sniffled. “And why isn’t he here right now?”