The Rising (21 page)

T
HEY LOCKED ME IN
my room that night. Locked all of us in. For our own good, until they could move Nicole to a secured area. Really, it seemed like more of an excuse to keep us all in our rooms. With Hayley, Sam, and Rafe, they'd had three kids who wouldn't trust one another to guard the bathroom door. They sure as hell weren't going to plan an escape together. But now I was here, and Rafe and I were already whispering in corners. Time for a lockdown.

I think they added an extra layer of security in my bedtime hot chocolate. Sleeping pills. Otherwise there was no way I would have zonked out so fast.

My dreams came in fits and starts, as if they were being stifled by the pills. I'll admit I was glad of that. What I saw was enough—images of Daniel being struck by a car, then Ash running into traffic while being pursued, then me chasing them, trying to warn them, but falling ever farther behind, unable to hear them, smell them, see them, my muscles seizing, reflexes slowing.

Then some cosmic force hit the rewind button, and I was in the lake with Serena again, seeing her pulled under the water, being pulled under myself. I tried to fight my way to her, but I couldn't see her, couldn't hear her, couldn't breathe. I was drowning. Really drowning. I couldn't get up. Couldn't get free. The water was everywhere, blocking my nose, my mouth, the smell of chemical lemon, the taste of cotton—

Lemon? Cotton?

My sleeping brain was alert enough to know neither of those scents fit the scenario and started pulling me up from sleep. But it was like pushing up through the water. Something held me down and the more I struggled, the more I choked and sputtered. I kicked and punched until my fist made contact and I heard a gasp. The water receded just enough for me to catch half a breath. It was enough. I pushed through the thick, sticky water of sleep and surfaced.

My eyes opened to darkness. Something was pressed against my face—lemon-scented fabric, the smell and the cotton filling my mouth and blocking my nose and covering my eyes.

A pillow. There's a pillow over my face.

I tried to claw the pillow away, but someone was on my chest, holding me down. I clawed at my attacker instead, convulsing and bucking and kicking. I grabbed fabric. Dug my nails into flesh beneath. Heard another gasp. The pillow loosened just enough for a breath. When it clamped down again, I stopped blindly flailing. I wedged my hands between my chest and my attacker, pulled up my knees and heaved.

My assailant flew off so fast I lay there another moment, frozen in surprise. Then I scrambled up, whipping the pillow to the floor and taking deep, shuddering breaths.

I looked around. Empty. My room was empty. I was alone.

Had I been imagining things? A weird waking dream from the drugs? I—

A figure leaped from the side, a blur in my peripheral vision. Hands grabbed for me. I rolled to the side, clear off the bed, landing on my feet.

I spun to my attacker, and I saw blond hair tangled around a thin face. Nicole.

She was crouched on the bed, her eyes so wide and wild they sent a chill through me. Not just crazy. Inhuman. She snarled and gnashed her teeth. Then she leaped.

I swung out of the way easily. She plowed into the wall with a thump that I swore I felt, but she only recovered and came at me again. Again I dodged. Again she missed, this time stumbling and hitting the floor, then she bounced back and charged.

I hit her this time. Part of me didn't want to. She wasn't a threat now—lumbering as blind and awkward as a newborn rhinoceros. And one look at her face told me that any trace of the Nicole I'd known was gone. She'd completely snapped, and as much as I hated her for what she'd done to Serena, when I looked at her now, I saw madness, not evil.

But I had to stop her. So I hit her. Hard. My fist plowed into her chest. As she stumbled back, a follow-up kick knocked her to the floor. The fact that I was able to do it so easily told me I wasn't exactly fighting a worthy opponent.

When Nicole went down, I pinned her. That was harder. She might not know how to throw a punch, but whatever madness infected her was pumping adrenaline through her veins. She'd been strong enough to almost suffocate me. Now she was strong enough to fight like a wild animal, writhing and bucking and hissing and biting.

As I struggled to hold her down—and stay away from her teeth and nails—I felt the first licks of rage. Again, it confused me at first. I wasn't truly angry, so why was my skin heating, the burn of rage building?

Then the rationalization came. Thoughts, images, whispers, swirling around me.

She killed Serena. Murdered your best friend. Tried to drown you twice. Almost suffocated you now. Of course you should be furious.

And how had this even happened? Wasn't she supposed to be locked up? Wasn't I supposed to be locked in?

And where the hell was Kenjii? My dog was gone. That couldn't be a coincidence. Someone set this up. Someone here was trying to kill me.

They'd sworn to protect me. They hadn't. They didn't want to. It was up to me. Protect myself.

My hands started to pulse. The room tinged with red as my blood pounded in my ears.

Nicole was the enemy. To protect myself—to protect my friends—I had to eliminate the enemy. It was that simple.

My hands went to her throat. My nails had thickened to claws now and as my fingers wrapped around her throat the claws dug in. Droplets of blood popped up, bright red against her pale skin, the smell of it filling my nostrils, filling my head. Another smell, too. The stink of fear as I squeezed her neck.

She tried to fight harder. But she was already giving it everything she had and as my body started to shift, adrenaline pumped through me, too, and I held her easily. I kept squeezing. Blood dribbled down her neck. Her eyes bugged. She clawed at my hands, and I felt her nails dig in, but I just kept squeezing.

You're dying
, I thought.
Strangling. Fighting for air that isn't there. How does it feel? Are you thinking of Serena? Wondering if this was what she felt when you drowned her? What I felt when you put the pillow over my face? Do you regret it?

Nicole's hands stopped clawing mine. Her eyes closed. Her body went limp. Still I kept squeezing.

She's unconscious. You can stop. She's not a threat now.

No, as long as she's alive she's a threat.

You're
killing
her, Maya!

Good. It's the same thing she tried to do to me. She deserves to die. I want her—

My fingers froze. I stared down at Nicole, lying beneath me, face turning blue, and I leaped off her so fast I stumbled back onto the bed. I furiously rubbed my face, the thick pads of my hands rasping against my skin.

This isn't me. I'm not a killer.

Of course you are. You're a cougar. A wild animal. A predator. That's what they created. That's what you are.

No, I'm not.

I looked down at Nicole and squeezed my hands into fists. As I did, I felt the rage subside, the shift reverse, like a tide ebbing, slow but steady.

I looked around. My bedroom door was ajar. I walked over, cracked it open, looked and listened. The hall was silent.

I could escape.

Escape where? The house is secured.

But Nicole had gotten out of her so-called secured room and into mine. We'd fought and no one had come running. No one even seemed to notice.

Nicole didn't just wander into your room on her own. You know that. Someone let her in and took Kenjii and probably drugged Nicole to make her flip out like that.

Which meant that the “trap” had already sprung. I'd outwitted it and now the way was clear—or clear enough.

Was I sure of that? Of course not. But the alternative was to sit on my bed and wait for someone to come and find out I'd nearly killed Nicole.

I had to take a chance.

I
SLIPPED INTO THE
hall. I looked both ways and listened. I even inhaled, although I wasn't sure how much good that would do. There was nothing. A still and silent house.

I didn't do more than glance at the stairs. Yes, that was the way out, but I wasn't running off and leaving everyone else. Rafe said his door was the third down from mine. I crept to it and tried the handle. It was locked, of course.

When I twisted the knob, I heard a thump inside. Then the scratch of nails against the wood floor.

“Kenjii?” I whispered.

An answering scramble as she ran to the door. She leaped up, nails raking down it as she whimpered.

A sleepy grunt from inside. Then, “Kenjii? How'd you get in here, girl?”

“Rafe?”

A pause. His light footfalls hurrying to the door.

“Maya?” he whispered through it.

“Something's wrong,” I said. “The security system seems to be down.” I tried his door. Still locked. “Try it from your side.”

He did. The knob turned but it didn't budge. He yanked at it. Still nothing.

“It's just yours,” he said.

I tried his door again, pulling harder.

“It's locked, Maya. If you can get out, go.”

“Not without—”

“Go. We're fine.”

I tried again, but the door wasn't opening and every second I hesitated was another second to get caught. They were fine. Not happy. Not free. But safe enough. Safer than Daniel. And weren't they all better off if I was free and looking for a way to get them out?

“Go, Maya. I'm fine and I'll take care of Kenjii.”

I hesitated only another moment. Then I tiptoed to the top of the stairs. As soon as I reached it, I picked up voices below. I strained to hear what they were saying, but it was too far. I took one careful step down. If no one knew the system had malfunctioned, I might be able to get past—

I caught the words “Nicole” and “security,” and stopped. The voices grew more urgent, one man whispering harshly to the other to find Nicole before anyone discovered she was missing or their asses would be on the line.

I backed up and looked around.

The roof. I jogged barefoot down the hall. It was only when I reached the door that I remembered Rafe had to buzz down to be allowed out. I turned the knob. It twisted, the door opening.

It's a trap.

Or the system is malfunctioning.

What if Nast is watching me right now, rubbing his hands as he gathers evidence of how uncontrollable I am? How I need to be in a secure cell where I can't escape, can't collaborate with Rafe, can't cause any trouble? And can't be subject to any “deal” they'd made with Antone. . . .

I was so lost in my confusion that I didn't hear footsteps until I caught a flicker of movement and turned to see a security guard cresting the landing. He saw me and stopped dead. A split second of shock crossed his face, then both hands sailed to his belt, one grabbing his gun, the other hitting a button on his radio.

The wail of a siren jolted me to life. I yanked open the door and raced up the steps. I kept my gaze fixed on the door at the top.

Please be open. Please be open. Don't trap me here in this—

I turned the handle and almost fell through as it opened. Behind me, the guard barked into his radio.

I flew through the door and onto the roof. I blinked against the darkness. The sky was overcast, pitch black. After a moment, my night vision kicked in, fueled by lights below. When I could see, I realized why the guard wasn't racing up the stairs after me. Because there was no place for me to go.

Logically, I'd already known that. In my race to escape, I hadn't stopped to be logical, though.

Boots clomped up the steps. I looked around. There was nothing higher than the balance beams. I took a running leap and vaulted up. I was crouched on the beam when the door banged open. I turned to see the guard, gun raised.

“There's no place to run,” he said. “Just come back down—”

I ran along the beam. He swore and fired. The dart zoomed past me. I saw the end of the beam coming and realized there was no way I could jump onto the wall. It was too high.

A second dart snagged in the folds of my shirt. As I measured the distance to the wall, the guard shouted that I was just going to hurt myself, halt now before—

I backed up and took a running leap. I didn't try to jump onto the wall. Too dangerous. Instead, I caught it with both hands, the stone scraping my bare forearms, shoulders wrenching before I swung my legs up and scrambled onto the wall.

The guard lifted his gun. A figure shot from the doorway and knocked him aside. I saw dark hair and thought “Rafe,” but that hope lasted only a moment, while the two skidded across the roof. Then Antone scrambled up, gun in hand.

“Are you mad or just incompetent?” he snarled at the guard, who was pushing to his feet. “You're going to shoot a tranquilizer dart at a girl on a seventy-foot-high wall?”

I looked down and when I did, my breath caught. As I'd seen earlier, the house was built on a mountainside, and they'd put the rooftop courtyard at the front of it, meaning I was looking down at a drop of at least twenty meters.