Infected (25 page)

The shock of the impact traveled through her, from the
bones in her feet up through her entire body to her fingers. It wasn’t a perfect landing, but she knew within a microsecond that she was unhurt, and she dove into a roll and came up facing backward, already frantically searching for Tanner.

A thud next to her alerted her that Joe had made the jump as well. But his pained grunt indicated that it had cost him. Without training in the mechanics of the long jump, he had undoubtedly made any of a dozen mistakes that could lead to injury. Carina prayed he’d broken his ankle, but before she could find out she had to see Tanner.

There he was, arm stretched back, a stance he’d perfected training for the javelin throw. Baxter had his gun in hand and was turning back toward Tanner, preparing to shoot. Carina’s gaze sharpened and intensified, the splintering effects of the aging virus bringing the scene into surreal focus. She saw Baxter’s finger tighten on the trigger just as she saw Tanner release the iron rebar that he’d been holding.

She couldn’t trace the path of the bullet, though the sound Tanner made when it struck, forcing him backward, was proof it had hit home. She could, however, follow the arc of the rebar. It soared straight through the air toward Baxter and impaled him through the right shoulder. She heard his gun clatter to the roof a millisecond before he started screaming.

Tanner was on his feet. His left arm bloomed red near the elbow and hung at an odd angle, but the bullet didn’t stop him from lurching forward and kneeling in front of Baxter.

Next to Carina, Joe made sounds like an angry bull as he crawled toward her, dragging one leg. He would reach her in seconds, and Carina knew she had to run, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Tanner. He crouched over the writhing, screaming form of Baxter, and then he stood, his good arm winding up for a throw.

“Catch!” he screamed.

She didn’t.

The little vial glanced off her fingers and fell to the roof, but it didn’t break. Tanner’s aim had been perfect, but Carina’s fingers were shaking badly now, unsteadied by the virus or maybe just the combination of fear and adrenaline. Carina seized the vial and tore off the plastic safety cap. The exposed needle glinted in the sun, and she jammed it into her thigh, the auto-delivery mechanism snapping on impact, delivering the dose of antidote straight into her muscle as Joe pulled himself to his feet and staggered toward her.

The needle stung, but Carina ignored the pain as she forced herself to stand, and then began to run.

Tanner would live. His arm looked bad, but there was no way Baxter would chase him now. He was writhing and screaming, trying to pull the rebar from his shoulder. The sound of a gunshot confirmed that Tanner had retrieved Baxter’s gun and was trying to stop Joe, but thudding footsteps behind Carina indicated he had missed.

She took a chance and looked around. The giant man had managed to get to his feet and was pursuing her, a slight limp the only evidence of damage to his leg. She wondered if the antidote had already slowed her, if the virus was
abandoning her system and leaving her worn, tired, spent.
Slow
. As Joe closed the gap between them, his limp seemed to diminish before her eyes. The virus at work, or merely the man’s will? Either way, he would catch up to her in seconds.

Carina had never guessed that she could make the jump between buildings. If she had, she might have conceived the ending of her plan much earlier. She’d only envisioned one possible ending for herself then, and it involved the intersection of her body and the concrete sidewalk.

But now she had another option.

Up ahead, past the rooftops, was the field in which Carina had spent countless afternoons training. There was the outer curve of the track, the visitor stands, the snack shack that was shuttered and locked now but during football season bustled with activity.

One last time Carina looked out over the visitor stands, the hills behind dotted with beautiful old oak trees. She fixed the image in her mind, calculated the distance to the edge of the roof, and took the last few steps with all the power she could muster.

One final time, the waning virus slowed the passage of seconds, and she pictured her last track practice before Walter had died. She’d been working on her high-jump landing. It was her weakest event, and she’d struggled over the course of the season. Again and again, she threw her body over the bar, landing on the thick blue mat. She’d made that jump so many times, and while she waited her turn behind her teammates, Carina had time to notice how the
mat nearly touched the water cart on the left, how its seams were splitting in one spot near the tag along the bottom.

How it lined up perfectly with the right edge of the visitor stands.

And as Carina’s foot touched off the edge of the roof, she was staring at that same spot in the stands, praying hard that no one had moved the mat.

It felt as though she’d been falling forever. The breath was knocked out of her on impact, and sharp agony racked her rib cage. The worst pain was in her right leg. Lifting her head to check on it, she saw stars, and lay back down.

She’d also seen blue—the bright blue of the high-jump mat. She was sprawled across it and, broken bones or not, she was alive.

But the mat wasn’t all she’d seen.

Lying next to it, on the track, were the remains of one very dead Albanian.

Carina adjusted the hem of her scarlet graduation gown. It kept catching on her cast, the slippery fabric snagging on the sharp edges. It was taking forever for the three hundred seniors to walk, one by one, up onto the stage to receive their diplomas. By the time they finally reached the Ms, Carina was perspiring under the hot June sun. The boy who’d been sitting two seats down from her, Edward Mankowicz, made fake gang signs at the assembled crowd as he took his time crossing the stage. There were a few disapproving murmurs, and the vice principal’s smile slipped.

But nothing could dampen Carina’s mood today. She was officially graduating from Martindale High, Class of 2013, despite having missed nearly two weeks of her final semester: the week after Walter died and a week recovering
from a broken fibula, two broken ribs, a fractured ankle, and a mild concussion after her fall from the roof of the high school auditorium.

“Nastyshakes,” Carina whispered, pretending to adjust the strap of her shoe so no one would hear, not that it was likely anyway over the din of the excited seniors. “Cover FX. And Tanner.”

Nastyshakes was Mrs. Sloan’s secret recipe, a combination of wheatgrass, Greek yogurt, kale, and a variety of other ingredients that looked disgusting on the kitchen counter. Somehow, though, when she poured them out of the blender, the combination tasted delicious and did everything she promised, calming Carina’s nerves and giving her energy. Carina had been too nervous this morning to eat anything else, and Mrs. Sloan—thrilled to finally have a girl living in the house—had served her in a crystal glass to celebrate the occasion.

The Cover FX makeup was also a gift from Mrs. Sloan. Just a few strokes of the thick cream covered the evidence of the injuries Carina suffered in the fall. The jagged scar on her cheek was still healing, but the doctors assured her it would eventually be far less noticeable. Meanwhile, the Cover FX guaranteed that her graduation and prom pictures wouldn’t be marred by any reminders of the infection and its fallout.

And then there was Tanner, who was out there somewhere in the audience with his family. Last night at Tanner’s own graduation from Borden School, it had been Carina who sat in the stands. Tanner’s brothers had grumbled
about having to sit through two incredibly boring ceremonies, but Mr. Sloan had silenced them by saying that if they didn’t behave they wouldn’t be allowed to participate in the family paintball battle, which he had announced was a new graduation weekend tradition for all graduating Sloans and honorary Sloans, including Carina.

Not to be outdone, Mrs. Sloan was hosting the first traditional Sloan family graduation tea this afternoon for the moms from Tanner’s school. Carina had helped her polish the silver and set the table. As Mrs. Sloan put the finishing touches on the floral centerpiece, she abruptly dragged Carina into a hug. “I wish your mom could be here,” she whispered fiercely, “but I want you to know you’re like a daughter to me. I hope you’ll consider this your home forever.” She’d brushed at her eyes impatiently, then added, “No matter what happens with you and Tanner.”

Carina had mumbled her thanks. When Mrs. Sloan excused herself to go find a tissue, Carina tucked a loose snapdragon into the arrangement and wondered how she’d lucked into this family.

It was time for her to put her grief on the back shelf for now. Carina knew it would never go away completely. Especially in the case of her mother: there had been nothing in the paper, no announcement of a body found in an abandoned house in South San Francisco. Maybe the Albanians had disposed of it. Or maybe … It was so tempting to wonder if Madelyn had somehow survived. The bullet might have missed her heart, might have somehow missed all of her vital organs. Maybe even now she was on the run
again, still trying to escape the deadly shadow of Project Venice, even after it had been officially shut down, with the lab under very public review by the Army Criminal Investigation Command.

But Carina needed to move on. Mr. Sloan had spent almost two hours with her the other day, going over her course selections at Alta Vista Community College and reviewing the requirements for transferring to UC Berkeley in a couple of years. The Sloans had also cosigned the lease on an apartment she would be sharing with two other girls, and accompanied Carina to appointments with the attorney handling her uncle’s estate.

As for Tanner … Privacy was in short supply in a family with four boys, especially when the three youngest hooted and pretended to throw up whenever Tanner held Carina’s hand or snuck a kiss. Only once since she had been released from the hospital had they snuck away for an entire evening by themselves. There would be plenty of opportunities later, when they started school.

Meanwhile, they had become masters of the stolen moment.

This morning, Tanner had knocked on her door after Mr. Sloan gave his customary ten-minute warning: standing at the bottom of the stairs and yelling that if anyone wasn’t ready, he was leaving them behind. Carina opened the bedroom door, zipping up the dress she was wearing under her gown.

Tanner handed her a small white box. Inside was her mother’s ring.

“Oh, Tanner … I never thought I’d see this again.”

“The cops sent it over last week, after they got done processing the crime scene. Mom thought … well, we took it to the jewelers. Here, open it.”

Carina slid her finger under the special prong, and the stone lifted.

The rows of numerals were gone, smoothed away in the gold. In their place were initials in flowing script:
CM & TS
.

This time, she had no hesitation at all. “I love you,” she said, before he could say anything. “I always will. I have since the day we met.”

As Edward Mankowicz finally strutted off the stage and Jill Maurice started across, wobbling on her high heels, Carina twisted the ring on her finger. It was time. She took a deep breath and stood, picking up her crutches. The trip down the aisle and up the steps to the stage was a slow one, and she felt her face flush as she focused on not tripping. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as she walked across the wooden platform, barely aware of shaking the vice principal’s hand or tucking the diploma under her arm. Only when she was back in her seat did she dare look out into the crowd, searching for Tanner and his family.

A flash of red caught her eye. There—in the shadow of the stands—a female figure hesitated for a moment, her thick red hair partially obscuring her face.

It looked a lot like her mother—same lean, angular build; same pronounced cheekbones under the oversize sunglasses—but from this distance, the resemblance could easily have been Carina’s imagination. She forced herself to breathe, and squeezed her hands together in her lap as the vice principal read the next name from her list and the audience clapped politely.