Flame (6 page)

Kieran looked at Felicity, who was crying, her blue eyes bloodshot, cheeks blooming pink. He opened his arms to her and held her while she sobbed. Over her shoulder he saw Waverly holding Serafina Mbewe, kissing her plump brown cheeks. Serafina’s legs were wrapped around Waverly’s waist, her ankles hooked, looking like she never wanted to let go. Waverly looked up and blanched when she saw Kieran with his arms around Felicity. He felt embarrassed, but not enough to let go.

“Murderers,” someone muttered. It was Sarah Wheeler, her jaw rigid with fury. Neither her parents, nor Randy’s, had survived. Randy was crying openly and without shame, and Sarah rubbed his bulky shoulder with a tenderness Kieran would never have guessed possible for her. But when one of Mather’s armed guards walked by them, Sarah narrowed her eyes and shouted, “Murderer!”

Felicity pulled away from Kieran’s embrace to watch. The guard, a tall man with a heavy, protruding jaw, rounded on Sarah. The glare he gave her was chilling, and several people took a step away, but Sarah looked up at the man with unvarnished hatred. “How many of our parents did you kill?”

The man made a fist, and he stared, challenging her to keep going.

“How many kids did you
orphan
?” Sarah shouted. More people turned to take in the scene. Randy reached for Sarah’s shoulder but she jerked away.

“You’re murderers!” Sarah shrieked. She shook from head to toe, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “We should kill you all!”

Randy’s eyes widened, but he stood by Sarah, whispering in her ear. She pulled away from him.

“I don’t care what he does to me! Let him kill me in front of everyone! Let him show what a murderer he is!”

“I’m warning you.” The big guard lifted his fist, uncoiling one finger to point in Sarah’s face.

“I’ve got this, Tom,” said a short, stocky guard as he rushed between the big guard and Sarah. Before the man named Tom could react, the smaller guard picked Sarah up by the waist as though she were no heavier than a doll and wrestled her out of the room. She kicked him and scratched at his hands, but he never stopped whispering in her ear, trying to calm her down. The bigger guard seemed annoyed that the other had stepped in, and he clamped a hand on Randy’s shoulder to push him ahead, out the door.

“Kill me! Go ahead and kill me! I don’t care!” Sarah was screaming in the corridor, and she went on screaming, “I can’t live here! I can’t! I can’t!” Kieran could no longer see her, but he could hear the sobs breaking her down. He’d never liked Sarah Wheeler, but he was filled with hurt for her.

“Kieran,” someone said. He turned to see Harvard Stapleton standing by him, the brave man who had run through the Empyrean with Kieran on the day of the initial attack, when all this started. Harvard looked ten years older now, his hair grayed, his skin mottled and sagging, his back bent. “Have you seen Samantha?” he asked, voice wavering. “They said all the kids would be here, but…” He looked around the room, his gray-green eyes wide with bewilderment.

“Harvard…” Kieran said.

Felicity extended a hand. “Mr. Stapleton. You were always good to me.”

“Have you seen Samantha?” he asked her, sounding like a man lost in fog. “I can’t find her.”

Kieran opened his mouth to speak, but Felicity shook her head. “Mr. Stapleton, she was such a hero. You would have been so proud.”

“Where is she?” he begged.

“She gave her life so the little girls could get away.” Felicity paused, then straightened her spine and looked him right in the eye. “The guards caught us when we were trying to escape, and one of them shot her.”

“Please don’t tell me that,” the man begged.

“I’m so sorry,” Felicity whispered.

“She can’t be gone!” he wailed, shoving his fists against his eyes and collapsing onto the floor. Kieran looked on, feeling useless as Felicity knelt by Harvard, her arms on his shoulders, whispering in his ear that it was going to be okay.

But it wasn’t.

Kieran remembered his former self, the young man who was so sure he was on a divine mission, that God had everything settled and determined, that he was on the side of Good and Right, and he couldn’t fail. He’d thought that horrific catalog of unimaginable loss had to be for some kind of purpose, but now he knew: It meant nothing. All those sermons he’d given were lies, lies he’d told himself because he couldn’t heal the destroyed families, the orphaned children, all their futures altered forever. There was no meaning. It was senseless, needless misery and waste.

A cold blackness filled him. He couldn’t breathe. His knees buckled, and he knelt down, holding himself up with one hand, staring at his white knuckles as his palm pressed against the frigid metal floor. The awfulness of the last months seeped into his body. He couldn’t hold it.

He’d been such a
liar.

His throat swelled, and he gulped for air, his fist pressed into his abdomen.

A warm hand on the back of his neck.

A warm hand pulling him from the floor.

Mother.

MAYA

Seth woke up on a bed—not a hard cot in the brig, not a damp bed of ferns, but a real bed. The last time he’d slept in a bed had been that night in Waverly’s apartment when he’d been on the run from Kieran Alden, who had framed him for crimes he didn’t commit. That night, Seth had been in physical pain all through his body. Now the agony was located mostly in his mangled hand, which lay over his chest encased in a thickly wrapped bandage.

“You’re awake,” someone to his left said. He turned to see the shadowy silhouette of a petite woman standing in the lighted doorway. “Mind if I turn on the lights?”

The lights winked on, and as he sat up, he became acquainted with a dull ache in his head he hadn’t known was there. He hardly remembered coming here. The guard who had come back for him in the tropics bay had stuffed him into a produce cart, then covered him with mangoes and melons. He remembered being wheeled around for what felt like a long time until Maya whispered, “Hey. Come out of there.”

Trying to protect his hand, Seth had pushed his way out of the pile of fruit, then Maya covered him with a hooded jacket and took him to this apartment, where he collapsed onto the bed with hardly a thought for who these people were or what they might do with him.

Maya turned on the light, and Seth shielded his eyes with his good hand. “You slept a long time. You must be hungry?”

Bewildered, he nodded, and she hurried out. He heard plates clanging against each other, smelled the gentle aroma of cooking eggs, and his stomach rumbled.

He looked around the small bedroom. The corner shelves were replete with volumes of poetry and old yellowing magazines from Earth that he guessed must be pretty sought after. The blue striped comforter on his bed was stuffed with warm feathers. Against the wall at the foot of the bed was a hulking rough-hewn wardrobe painted along the sides in a botanical pattern of grapevines and small white blooms. It gave the room a comfy, homey feel.

Maya came back in holding a tray.

“Here we are,” she said as she set the rattling tray on his lap and sat down in the chair next to his bed. “I know you didn’t have dairy cows on the Empyrean, but I hope you’ll like cow’s cheese—not too different from goat. And I got some cinnamon rolls from Mrs. Engols down the hall. She’s famous for them.”

The eggs smelled creamy and rich, and the pastry was so large the edges of it drooped off the plate. “Thanks,” Seth said. He dug into his eggs, which were fluffy and delicious, then gulped down some juice that he judged to be a mixture of orange and carrot. He was aware he was eating like an animal, but he was famished. “Thanks,” he told her again when he could pause, embarrassed.

When his eating slowed, Maya settled in the chair next to the bed, folding her legs under her. “Why didn’t you come on board with the rest of the kids?”

Seth set his cup down. “First you answer questions. Who are you?”

“I’m Maya Draperton,” she said testily. “Pleased to meet you. And you’re…?”

“Seth Ardvale,” he said and launched into what he really wanted to know: “Do you know anything about Waverly Marshall? Is she okay?”

“You know her?” Maya asked, her hand moving over her middle. “Is she a friend of yours?”

“Yes,” Seth said eagerly.

“She’s on board,” Maya said. “That’s all I know. I’m sorry.”

At least she’s here and alive,
he told himself, but that did little to quell his worry.

“My turn.” Her leg jiggled, making her chair creak. “There are rumors that you caused the explosions on the Empyrean.”

He’d been about to take another bite of eggs, but his fork stopped halfway to his mouth, and he set it down. “No,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t set those bombs?”

“Who started that rumor? Kieran Alden?”

“I don’t know who started it. Mrs. Engols, the woman who made that cinnamon roll? She said the
fugitive
”—Maya made quotation marks with her fingers—“was the one who set the bombs.”

Suddenly Seth didn’t want his food anymore, and he settled back against his pillows. “It isn’t true,” he said. “The people who set those bombs came from this ship. Jacob Pauley and his wife.”

At the mention of these names, Maya sighed, shaking her head.

“You know them?” Seth asked.

“For a while they were celebrities on board. How do
you
know them?”

“I was in the brig with Jake and I pretended to be his friend. I got a little information out of him.”

This made her edgy. “Why were you in the brig?”

“I had a problem with Kieran’s … style of leadership.”

“And he put you in prison for it?” Maya asked angrily, suddenly on Seth’s side. She was naive, but he liked that about her. He supposed she was a trusting person because she was trustworthy herself, and that made him want to tell her the truth.

“I was no saint,” Seth admitted. “I led a mutiny against him. He had reason for doing what he did.”

“Did you do anything violent?” Maya asked warily.

“Yes,” Seth said quietly. But he reached out toward her, causing the plates on his tray to clang against each other. “Maya, I promise you: I’m no threat to you.”

She studied his face. “Okay,” she said, but with hesitation.

A knock sounded in the other room.

“Anthony’s here,” Maya said. “He wants to have a better look at that hand.”

Anthony appeared at the door behind her looking warily at Seth through the round wire frames of his glasses. He was small like Seth remembered, but he was in good shape, which gave him a youthful air, despite patches of gray running through his thick dark hair.

“You sure he’s safe?” the man said to Maya, appraising Seth with small dark eyes.

“I was about to ask you the same question,” Seth said to him.

“I’m Dr. Molinelli.” He crossed the room with an officious stride, picked up Seth’s bandaged hand, and slowly unwound the wrapping. When his hand emerged, Seth winced at the sight. His fingers were blue, twisted, and swollen beyond recognition. The puncture wound in his pinkie looked red and puffy, and the skin around the edges was whitish. Maya looked at Seth’s hand with unabashed horror.

The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get away sooner.”

“Where have you been?” Maya asked, sounding worried.

“I was being debriefed.”

“
Again
?” Maya asked, suddenly fearful.

“About being taken hostage.” He turned Seth’s hand over and looked at the palm, touched the ends of each finger very gently. “They wanted to know all about the girl.”

“Waverly?” Maya asked with a glance at Seth.

Seth froze and examined the doctor’s face.

“I think Mather wanted me to say she’s some kind of violent sociopath,” Anthony said.

“And what did you say?” Maya asked.

“I said she’s no sociopath, but…” With an uneasy glance at Seth, Anthony continued, “she’s unstable.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” Maya asked.

“It’s my opinion as the poor bastard she nearly killed,” Anthony snapped.

There was an uncomfortable pause, but Maya said quietly, “The poor girl was looking for her mother. She was desperate.”

“She didn’t have to shoot at me.”

“She didn’t. You said yourself. She aimed at the wall above you.”

“I still pissed myself,” Anthony said sharply, and Maya closed her mouth.

“Where is Waverly?” Seth asked through a groan. The pain as Anthony touched his hand, however gently, was making him weak.

“I don’t know anything about where she is now,” Anthony said. “She’s a friend of yours?”

“If she is,” Seth countered, “would that change how you treat my hand?”

“Not a bit,” he said, but the needle he removed from his bag seemed inordinately long. He punctured a vial of liquid and drew in a huge amount of medicine.

“What’s that for?” Seth said, apprehensive.

“You’re going to feel a pinch.” Anthony plunged the needle into Seth’s wrist, and he cried out in surprise. “I’d rather do this in an operating room.”

Seth watched the doctor’s face. “Am I going to lose some fingers?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Comforting.”

“You’re weak, from malnutrition and exhaustion, I’d guess,” the man said dispassionately as his eyes traveled over Seth’s bony shoulders. Seth didn’t contradict him. He tapped Seth’s hand. “Feel that?”

Seth shook his head no.

“I’m squeamish,” Maya said. She gave Seth an apologetic smile and hurried out of the room.

“Okay. I’m going to straighten these out for you.” Before Seth had a chance to speak, Anthony took hold of his mangled pinkie and wrenched it into a straight position. Seth instinctively pulled away, but Anthony clamped onto his wrist and straightened out the ring finger more quickly than Seth could react. His hand was numb, but a ghostly ache rippled up his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Anthony said as he smeared an orange ointment over the puncture wound in Seth’s pinkie. “In an operating room I could’ve knocked you out.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Seth said weakly.

“That puncture is small, but it’s inflamed. I’m not going to take chances. One quickie ought to do it.” From his bag Anthony took a small curved needle and a short piece of black thread. Working quickly, he tied a single stitch in Seth’s skin, closing the wound. Seth was surprised that this didn’t hurt at all. Next Anthony held Seth’s fingers against a splint, fastened them in place with white tape, and finally wrapped the entire hand in a thick padding of protective bandage. “Tell Maya if it starts to feel tight. She’ll find me.”