Revelations (The Elysium Chronicles) (20 page)

Finally, I stumble upon another set of footprints. Two sets. One is about my size; the other is much smaller. It can’t be them, though. They have Starshine. There’d be horse prints. Unless they ran into coyotes like I did.

It’s impossible to know for sure, but I follow the prints anyway. Wherever they lead, there will probably be people on the other side, and I hope that means Rushlake, too. My thoughts are fixed firmly on finding Evie. She must be so worried about me. It’s been days with no contact, and she has no way of knowing if I made it away from those vulture-hawks. I keep her face in my mind and put one foot in front of the other, knowing each step takes me closer to seeing her in person.

I panic a little when the footsteps lead into another set of trees. The vulture-hawks prefer forested areas, but they’re diurnal. Thank God. I’ll wait them out and slip into the trees while they sleep.

As soon as the sun sets completely, I step into the woods, keeping the shotgun drawn and cocked, but nothing happens and I push through the woods as quietly as I can.

The footprints disappear in the slightly marshy underbrush of the woods. There’s not enough light, but I remember from the map that the city is just on the other side of a set of woods. So I just keep heading as straight as I can, hoping that I’m almost there. Then, as if I willed it to appear, I find myself on the other side of the trees and staring at Rushlake City.

Evie

I sit in the waiting room, my knee bouncing up and down and my heart beating almost in rhythm to it. I grasp my necklace and run my fingers over the edges of the rose. Whatever happens here at the medical facility, I know it’s going to determine everything. I just have to hope that this time these tests will tell me exactly what I’m supposed to do. And the possibility of knowing the answers scares me almost more than not knowing them.

Asher puts his hand on my knee, but he’s shaking almost as much as I am. For some reason that makes me feel slightly better. To know he’s just as nervous as I am.

The door pushes open and the doctor stands there, silhouetted by the bright lights coming from the room behind him. My mind goes entirely blank and my mouth goes dry. Like I’m back in the Outlands.

“Subject 121!” a voice calls through a set of speakers set in the walls.

That’s me. I know it’s me. I know I have to follow the person in the shadows, but I can’t make my legs move. I really want to cry and I really want my mom.

The woman next to me stands up. “Come now, Evelyn. That’s you.” She smiles down at me, but even I know it’s fake. She doesn’t want to be here either. That doesn’t help my nerves.

“Mother does not tolerate dawdlers.” She yanks me up. “You are not just any three-year-old, you are an Enforcer. And you are not off to a good start. If you wish to impress Mother, you need to follow orders implicitly.”

I swallow and nod, forcing my legs to push me toward the dark person in the doorway. To the moment that changes everything.

“
Evie, are you all right?” Asher asks right next to me, causing me to knock the top of my head into his chin.

He spins away, cursing, while I clutch the top of my head with both hands.

I jump up. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Fine. You?”

“Yeah.”

“I knew you were hardheaded, Evie, but I didn’t realize how hard.” He grins at me, still rubbing at his jaw.

“Evelyn Winters?” The woman at the door says, and not for the first time if her tone is anything to go by.

“Coming.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “Coming.”

Feeling faint and not a little nauseated, I walk through the door, letting it flap shut behind me. The room is completely white, and directly in the center, taking up most of the space, is this … well … I don’t know exactly what it is, but it reminds me of Snow White’s casket in the storybook I found in Gavin’s house.

The image does nothing to help my fluttering stomach and heart palpitations.

I take a step backward, away from it, bouncing into someone. I twist around to see the doctor—the same one that had spoken with me at Asher’s grandmother’s house—peering down at me.

He explains the procedure, which consists of me lying in the glass coffin—wonderful—with it closed—even better—while they watch from another room. Fantastic.

“Ready?” he asks.

I don’t answer. I only suck in a deep breath through my nose and settle myself into the tube.

The nurse places headphones over my ears, then presses a button on the side of the box. The glass draws over my head and instantly I feel claustrophobic. As if it’s not just glass crawling over my head, but thousands and thousands of liters of water.

Mother is speaking, droning on and on about etiquette and manners and my duty. Stand this way. Push your shoulders back. Head up. Make sure you smile!

I’m standing on a little pedestal while the Dressmaker walks around me, mumbling around a mouthful of pins.

“Evelyn, that pink is a wonderful color on you.”

I smile even though I’m sure the color washes me out. “Thank you, Mother.”

“I knew that it would.” She tugs on her own sapphire blue dress. “I think that it’s a little too short, though, don’t you?”

It’s just barely above my knees, but I nod. “Yes, Mother.”

She nods at the Dressmaker, who starts pulling pins and adjusting the hemline.

Mother goes on about my schedule for the next week. Meetings I’m to attend with her to take notes. Another request day. My appointments with Dr. Friar. Another ball. Violin lessons. Vocal lessons. Suitor tea party. An event at the theater. A dinner.

“Ouch!” I call out when the Dressmaker pokes me with a needle.

Mother glares at me. “Evelyn. Do not interrupt me.”

“Sorry, Mother,” I mutter and the Dressmaker sends me a look of apology.

The glass top opens and the doctor peers down at me. “Everything all right?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Fantastic. Now we need to inject you with some dye. I’d like to see what those nanos are doing. We’re going to stick a needle in your arm, okay?”

My stomach drops and I know this is a bad idea, but if it helps then I’ll do whatever it takes. I nod.

He signals the nurse to come over and I roll my head to watch her. She walks over slowly with something in her hand, but keeps out of my sight. When she’s next to me, she takes my arm and says, “This is going to sting a little. You might want to close your eyes.”

I do as she says, but my stomach churns and my entire chest tingles. This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. I open my mouth to object, but a sharp pain stabs into the crook of my elbow. My eyes fly open, but I’m not staring at the white walls of the medical center.

The walls are a pretty light blue that instinctively I know is supposed to be calming, but it’s not. It’s terrifying.

Medical equipment beeps and buzzes. Air hisses from somewhere nearby. The room is bustling with Medical Technicians. Their droning voices circle around me. “She’s dangerous. Unpredictable. A killer … worse … a monster … a risk … must be eliminated.”

Misery is my cloak and I wrap it around myself like a blanket.

I deserve this.

I am a monster. A murderer. Betrayer.

A Technician leans over and sneers at me. “Traitor,” he whispers into my ear, then pushes some sort of mask over my nose. “This is too good for you.” Straps are yanked across my body, biting into my skin, causing tears to prick at my eyes. But I don’t cry out. I deserve this. I am a traitor.

My pulse beats a tattoo against my throat and my head swims. Black spots form in front of my eyes and no matter how much I blink they multiply and grow, so I let my eyes drift closed.

“Stand clear,” a soft voice says.

Something pierces the skin inside my elbow and a deep aching fills my bones. The aching turns to gnawing, then to pure agony that travels from the marrow of my bones to the tips of my nerve endings. Within seconds every square centimeter of my flesh is being devoured slowly by fire. I scream out, but it doesn’t sound like me. It’s as if something primal has taken control of my body.

I thrash against my restraints, while people rush around me. Another needle is plunged into my other elbow. And yet another in my neck. With each assault the torture grows worse, until I’m nothing more than a writhing mass of torment.

Just when I think I can’t take any more, there’s a soft click in my brain and a mist films over the agony. I rip my arms from the straps, tearing the needles from my arms. Blood squirts across the nearest Technicians.

Shouts yell for someone—anyone—to get me under control before I hurt someone. Two Technicians advance on me and sink into a crouch. When they get near enough, I lunge forward, grabbing each by the arm and tossing them aside like dolls in turn. I’m moving before they even hit the wall to either side of me.

Another Technician jumps on me from behind, his arms tight around my neck. I flip him over my head. He lands hard on his back at my feet and his breath whooshes out all at once. I leave him there gasping as I run for the door.

As I wrench it open, two Enforcers appear on the other side of it. I strike out with my foot, kicking one in the chest. She flies back, hitting the wall on the other side of the hallway, but the other dashes forward and tackles me, shoving me into the ground and knocking the wind out of me.

Before I can even get my breath back, more people are crowding on top of me. My legs are tied together behind my back and to my arms. I have a moment to think that my limbs are going to be torn from my body when they lift me up and toss me onto the bed again.

They strap me to the bed again, this time facedown. A new voice speaks from the doorway. One I’d know anywhere.

Mother.

“What a mess. I told you to sedate her first.”

My mind goes blank and my body seems to lose its connection with my brain as I blink and stare at the scene in front of me.

I’m not lying on my stomach restrained to a bed. I’m standing. Blood trickles down my arms from the slashes across them. Two men lie in a heap on the floor at my feet. The only sign they’re still alive is the slight rise and fall of their chests.

The doctor stands only a few feet from me, another syringe in his hands. The nurse that talked to me just a few minutes ago is standing next to him, pulling jars of liquids from a cabinet.

Asher pushes past the two people in the doorway and we stare in shock and horror at each other. I don’t have to ask to know I’m the one that did this.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

It’s been a year to the day. I have to think that Eli’s not coming back. To be honest, I probably knew from the beginning that Mother wouldn’t let him get away with what he did, but even if my head knew it, my heart wouldn’t believe it until now.

—
E
XCERPT FROM
L
ENORE
A
LLEN’S JOURNAL

Gavin

I’m not sure how to get in. I’m almost positive the guards won’t let me in without that stupid paper, so I’m working on coming up with another way. It takes me a moment to realize that the bridge across from me is only large enough for foot traffic. That means there’s another entrance. There has to be. How else do they get supplies in?

I wander around until I find the bigger entrance, and then I wait, hiding in the shadow of the concrete wall. Watching. Studying the patterns and duties of the guards at this gate.

After a few hours, I realize that they don’t even look inside the large supply wagons. If I can somehow sneak over to one, I can slip underneath it and hang on until it drives into the city.

Finally, a horse-drawn wagon comes rumbling up to the gates. One of the guards comes out and speaks with the driver. Seizing my chance, I sneak over to it, then slide underneath the wagon and wrap my ankles around part of the wagon’s frame and my arms around another part. It hurts to be stretched out like this, and my shoulder is screaming at me, but I can’t think of another way.

They have an eternity-long conversation that I try to block out, and my legs and arms start to cramp from the exertion of holding on to the undercarriage. Eventually, though, the wagon pulls through the gates and into the city.

When the wagon stops at a crossroads, I let go, dropping to the ground and rolling out to the side, before jumping up and strolling away as if I didn’t just drop out from underneath a supply wagon. After a few blocks, I stop and massage the knots in my arms and legs.

I may not know the exact layout of the city, but I remember listening to Asher talking about it when we were kids. I know about where Asher’s family lives. It’s just a matter of finding out exactly which house is the correct one. It’s not like I can just go up to the people and ask them if they know where the St. Jameses live. I’ll be reported for being an Outlander and arrested faster than I can blink.

But there’s no way I’m going to be able to find Evie without some kind of help. Maybe I should just take the chance and ask one of the police. I
can
prove that I’m supposed to be here. What harm could it do?

Then I shake my head. Nope. Bad idea. The people of Rushlake dislike outsiders almost as much as Elysium hates Surface Dwellers. Except they don’t go quite so far as death to punish people for “breaking” in. Still, I don’t feel like getting booted out. Even though when they find the St. Jameses, they’ll see I have a visa and it’ll be fine. Of course, that would depend on
if
Asher actually showed them the visa.

Maybe I could surreptitiously ask a few people, saying I’d come with the St. Jameses and went for a walk and got lost and need help finding my way back. I glance down to my filthy clothes. Nope. That’ll just send me back to talking with the police.