Rebellion (25 page)

“So it was a humane killing?” I can't tell if the disbelief in Asher's voice is directed at me or the possibility.

“I think so. Yes.” As ludicrous as it sounds.

I need time to think on this latest development. Enforcers are trained—Conditioned—to follow orders. Explicitly. Any deviation from the orders could be deadly and would be met with harsh punishment. So …

“Why?” Asher asks.

“Maybe she didn't agree with her orders and wanted them to suffer as little as possible.” But how did she fight her Conditioning? And is she the only one?

The other Undergrounds in the room mumble to themselves, but I interrupt. “Where's Kara?”

“Kitchen,” the man who let us in says. “You can't miss her.” His tone is curt, but I know it's not directed at me. The fury boiling just barely under the surface in him is the same one burning my skin.

My Enforcer self tries to fight her way out of me and take over, but I take what I need from her and force the rest away. Going Enforcer isn't going to help.

When I first push through the swinging door, I can't really see Kara, but there's a hand clutching a large knife sticking out from behind the kitchen's island. A whole fat lot of good it did her, I think. More splatter streaks mark the kitchen counters and refrigerator.

She's slightly less mutilated, but it appears she suffered more than Tate. She must have seen her attacker, because she struggled; that much is obvious from the blood smeared and flicked everywhere. Almost every surface has something on it. This is probably more like what Mother wanted to happen.

Kara is lying on her back; her lifeless eyes stare at the ceiling. The fact that her own knife is covered in blood says she may have gotten a piece of the Enforcer that killed her.

Good for you
, I think, feeling oddly proud of her.

Avoiding the knife, I kneel next to her and study her as well. The slash marks are almost exactly the same as they were on her husband, but there are a few more, probably gotten during the attack. But when I carefully roll her over, there's a small hole in the back of the neck, just where I described to Asher.

The Enforcer didn't want her to suffer. She even took a few hits in the act of trying to get to the right spot at the base of the neck to make the killing blow and get it right this time. Interesting. Still absolutely horrible, but interesting.

I stand again, brushing my hands on the skirt of my dress. “I don't know how you're going to do it, but I want to know which Enforcer did this. And I want the entire room gone through for anything that might tell us why them. And to make sure there's no damaging evidence against us.” The man nods and the two other men go to work.

Suddenly Asher gasps, “Oh my God!”

I glance up and follow his gaze, expecting to see the Enforcer … but it's worse. Myra. She's covered in blood, as if she was caught in a rainstorm of it. There are tear trails in the gore on her face. Her dress is pretty much nothing but a blood-soaked rag.

When she sees me, she starts to cry again and I kneel down, almost oblivious to the blood soaking the hem of my dress. I hold my arms out to her and she runs to me and hugs me tightly around my neck. Her little body is shaking and I hold her firmly as I push back up.

“Shh!” I say, rubbing her hair. “It's okay.” It's not, of course. She lost her parents and nothing I say will bring them back, but I don't know what else to do.

“What is she doing here?” I glare at the man who's been giving us the tour of the apartment. “Isn't it bad enough that she obviously had to witness this?” I gesture to her dress.

“We thought it better to keep her here in case you wanted to question her yourself.”

“She's a
child
!” My voice breaks. “Show some compassion! She needs to get out of those bloody clothes and to be cleaned up and most certainly does
not
need to be
here
.” I hug her more tightly. “I've got you now. I'll take care of you now. Is that okay?”

She pulls back slightly and her big round blue eyes stare into mine. Then she nods and places her cheek on my shoulder.

That's when I feel something sharp poking me in the chest. I push her up a little and see a piece of paper pinned to Myra's dress. It's soaked through with blood, which I guess is why I didn't notice it before now.

It's a note, and it's addressed to me.

I unpin it and let her lay her head on me again, while I read aloud to everyone in the room. “‘Abdicate your place as revolutionary leader and leave Elysium. You've been tainted by the Surface and this is no longer your home. If you do not leave, those loyal to you will continue to be slain and you will swim in their blood before we come for you.'”

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-
ONE

The storm is coming.

—
L
ENORE'S JOURNAL

Gavin

The water is so blue. Just like her eyes.

Evie's eyes.

I can't get them out of my head. The way they'd crinkle around the edges when she smiled. The way they'd brighten the second before she understood something you were saying. The way they blurred when I kissed her.

They haunt me even in my sleep.

She
haunts me in my sleep.

I'm so far gone on this girl, some nights I feel her next to me. The warmth of her body pressed to mine, the pressure of her arm lying across my stomach, her soft breaths against the back of my neck. Of course, that's when I wake and roll over to an empty bed and cold sheets.

Reality's a bitch.

I kick a rock into the water, then turn around so I don't have to see it, but I still hear the waves whisper to me.

“Go back. Go back,” they say incessantly. Morning, noon, and night.

A guy can't get any peace with those whispers. I can almost imagine it's her saying it, pleading with me to go back.

My imagination's a bitch, too.

I want to go back. More than anything. But I'm terrified of what will happen to my family when I leave. Lenore says the mayor has no interest in them anymore. But Lenore's living with us now. I'm not sure how much intel she can have when she's over here all the time and not there.

But the reason she's here is because she says we can go back anytime. She even made sure to replace my destroyed raft with a small boat she'd procured from Rushlake in ways she told me I didn't want to know. According to her, the mayor has moved on to other sources that have said they've seen Evie and Asher somewhere to the north of us. Witnesses paid for by the mistress herself, most likely, in order to lead away from the true answer that Asher and Evie are at the bottom of the sea, fighting a battle I'm not sure they can win. That maybe they've already lost.

That thought has kept me awake more than once.

I wonder if I'm delaying going back, because if I do go back, I'll see that she's gone. Either dead, or dead to me. Because she was caught and Mother erased her memories and replaced them with others. Making her forget me. Forget us. Everything we had together.

But I've found Lenore
and
I was able to save my mom and brother. And, at least for now, they're taken care of.

Unless Mayor St. James reneges on the promise to take care of them once he notices I'm gone.

He's far from dumb. He'll know I went back to her. Or at least suspect it. There's no telling what he'll do. He's almost as insane as Mother is. But my only other choice to assure myself they're safe is to bring them with me, and that means sentencing them to another type of punishment—possibly something worse than what the mayor can do, especially if Evie's not there or doesn't remember me.

I can't do that.

I could try to make a sneak trip down. Take a look around at things. Verify that everything is mostly safe down there and that Evie's even still alive,
then
bring my family down. Of course, I don't know what I'll do if I find out she isn't.

And … I'm overthinking things again.

I
want
to be with Evie. I
need
to be with her.

And now she's down in that vipers' nest, trying to fix a problem that's no one's fault but Mother's and Father's in the first place.

I wander around the cove soaked from the rain and the waves that crash onto the shore. I find myself remembering all the sadness and frustrations of my time there. Remembering running terrified and sick down the hall that led me to Evie. Remembering how she stood up for me when she didn't even know me. Remembering how she nursed me back to health when she didn't know if I was as dangerous as Mother warned or not. And how she risked—and lost—everything for me; just some stupid Surface Dweller kid with a bad attitude.

My mind whirls like the storm brewing around me just off the coast; then, suddenly, it's all clear. I break out into a run before my thoughts can catch up with my actions. I have to get to my house and do what I should have done a long time ago. Evie trusted me when she had absolutely no reason to and I trusted her then, too. Now it's time to trust her again.

My mother is kneading bread on the counter in the kitchen and she and Lenore are talking when I burst in through the back door. They both glance behind them with a half-confused, half-fearful look until they realize it's just me.

Mom smiles. “I haven't seen you burst through a door like that since you were younger than Tristan.” She laughs and goes back to kneading the dough.

I go up behind her and kiss her cheek and hug her, as hard as I can without hurting her. Who knows when I'll be back? I want to say soon, but the answer might be never.

“I love you,” I tell her.

She turns slowly from the dough, her hands and the entire front of her apron covered in flour. “You're going back.”

I glance toward Lenore, before returning to my mom. “The storm's here. It's going to be big and mean and the perfect cover to head back down.”

“So when will you be leaving?”

“As soon as the storm reaches its peak. So no one sees anything.”

“And if the mayor comes looking for you?”

“Tell him Gavin couldn't bear to stay here with all the memories of Evie slapping him in the face,” Lenore answers for me. I don't argue, it's the truth after all. “Make sure to say he was heading as far in the opposite direction Evie took as he could.”

Mom gazes between Lenore and me as if she thinks I have something to say. Then her lower lip quivers.

She touches a floury hand to my cheek. “I'm proud of you. So very proud. We'll be fine. It
is
time for you to go. It's
been
time for you to go.”

*   *   *

Screams wake me. I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep. It takes me a minute to realize that this time, it's not an echo from my dreams. It's the scream of the wind from the storm raging outside my window.

This isn't any normal summer storm like I'd thought earlier. The whole house shakes from the winds, making my blood run cold. This is a hurricane. Or at least it will be. It's just starting. We're probably in the last of the rain bands before the actual full-blown hurricane. But still …

We haven't had one in so long. I should have known it was just a matter of time. I should have seen the warnings earlier. But I was too distracted with thoughts of Evie and going back. Then packing and making sure Lenore was all set.

Thunder booms, causing the whole house to shake, and catapults me out of bed. I have to get Mom and Tristan to the shelter before Lenore and I leave. Our house barely withstood the last hurricane and that was five years ago.

I rush out of my room, but stop in my tracks at the door, spin around, and run back to my dresser to grab the most important thing I own. A branch flies through the window by my head and I duck, tucking the picture frame in my waistband. Maybe not the most appropriate place for it, but at least it won't get damaged.

Mom's already rushing down the hall toward me. When she sees me, she lets out a breath. “Get your brother. Make sure he brings
just
the essentials. Don't let him dawdle. If he doesn't get up, pick him up and carry him. There's nothing he absolutely needs anyway. I'll get some things to take with us to the shelter.” She doesn't give me a chance to respond. She's already hurrying away with Lenore at her heels.

I rush into Tristan's room. He's lying facedown in the bed, one arm flung over his pillow, the other hanging off the edge of his mattress, his fingertips brushing the floor. I shake him.

“Tristan!” He doesn't even move. “Tristan!” I say again, louder, shaking his shoulder. Still nothing. “Okay. Fine.” I pick him up, sheet and all, and sling him up over my shoulder. Tristan doesn't even bother waking up. Which is probably a good thing. He'd just get frightened.

I race back out into the hallway, where Mom and Lenore come rushing back in from the kitchen. They both have bulging bags and Lenore is struggling to carry hers. I sigh and take it from her, and then the one from my mom, too.

“Let me take Tristan,” Mom says.

“No. It's faster if I take him,” I say.

She looks like she's going to argue, but another crack of thunder shakes the house.

She just nods and leads the way to the back door. The hurricane shutters—I almost want to laugh at the term—bang against the house as another huge wind gust swings them back and forth. If I wasn't afraid the house was going to collapse around us, I would insist on waiting until the eye of the hurricane passes. But with every gust, the whole building leans in the direction it's blowing and groans.

Mom grabs the handle of the door. “Ready?”

I don't know why she's asking, it's not like we have a choice, but I nod and she pushes through the door. As soon as she opens it, the wind catches it and sends it crashing against the house.