Torn (12 page)

Once he'd crossed the bridge—which held his weight but looked like it shouldn't have—he traversed an abandoned plot of land that Mari had told him was meant to be a site for a new high-rise, back when Priors thought the land was safe to develop. Now there was just a huge pit in the ground. Cole walked around it cautiously; Mari had said that the dirt near the pit's lip was loose—and if he fell in, he'd have little chance of pulling himself out. He was nearly past it when he tripped over a mound of trash, tearing the skin just above his ankle.

The scratch was superficial, but when Cole touched it he felt the unmistakable wetness of blood. He fumbled for the offending object. From the look of it, he'd come across what had once been a squatters' lair, and he shuddered to think what had happened to the people who'd camped out there. He stepped around an abandoned, collapsed tent and held the object up to the thin ray of moonlight that partially illuminated his path. He saw that it was an old-fashioned instrument—maybe a ukulele? It looked like it had all its strings intact. He plucked one, and its melody rang out clear and sharp, echoing around the tunnel. Its rough edge—where the wood had chipped—could be easily sanded down. It was no cello, but he figured Vera would appreciate any access to a musical instrument.

Buoyed by the tea and the gift, he quickened his pace, and the rest of the journey was unremarkable. He reached Thomas's new lab—housed in an abandoned parking garage in order to avoid attracting attention from the Prior guards that now patrolled the Slants—in record time.

Vera's face lit up in a genuine smile when he walked in. Her blonde hair was clean and shining, and she wore a long worker's tunic—the kind his mother had once worn at the factories—rather than the pink silk dress he'd seen her in last. The tunic was shapeless and drab, but it hugged Vera's growing belly and set off her rosy cheeks and light brown eyes. Her sterile, plain surroundings offered to a stark contrast to her beauty and had the effect of magnifying it.

“Brought you something,” he told her, withdrawing the ukulele from behind his back. At first she wrinkled her brow in confusion.

“Is that…”

“Are all stringed instruments not the same?”

Vera laughed. “It's perfect,” she told him. “God, I've only seen one of these in my music theory textbook.”

“It can't be that old,” Cole told her. “Still in pretty great condition, right?”

“It's just what I needed,” she reassured him. “Seriously. Was it that obvious how bored I've been?”

“Hmm. Judging by the array of friendship bracelets on that table yonder, I'd almost believe you were crying for help,” he teased.

“There's a lot of extra yarn lying around,” Vera told him. “I think it's my calling. By the way,” she added in a faux whisper, “think Worsley knits in his down time? I wouldn't have pegged him for the type.…”

Cole laughed. He liked Vera. They'd started to develop an easy rapport, and he genuinely looked forward to seeing her. At first it had been about doing what Davis would have wanted; now he just enjoyed it.

“Hang on a second,” Worsley said, rolling his eyes and confiscating the ukulele. “I'm not going to dignify that last comment with an answer, by the way.” Vera and Cole smirked. “Just let me wipe this down.…” He produced sterilized cloths from a set of chrome drawers set up in one corner of the small space. Cole took a second to examine the room; he'd never seen the new iteration of Thomas's lab, and this one was even nicer than the last. Even the cement floors somehow glowed with a sterile-looking sheen.

“Nice space,” he commented. “Wanted to be discreet, my ass.”

“They were catching wind of the last place, I swear,” Thomas said. “You know I can't jeopardize my research. What'd you bring me, Casanova?”

Cole produced the peppermint leaves from his pocket.

“No!” Thomas said. “Amazing. You can't find those anywhere around here. So you got to Braddock's okay?”

Cole nodded, taking everything in. Thomas's equipment looked state of the art; more imports from one of his old mentors, Cole guessed. “Found it,” he told him. “Interesting guy.”

“Think he'll be able to help you?”

Cole paused, reluctant to mention Mari in front of Vera, for some reason.

“Yeah. So, you sleeping here or what?” He was eager to change the subject. Worsley nodded, acknowledging the old sleeping bag that was balled up in one corner.

“It isn't ideal,” he said. “But I want to make sure I'm here in case something happens with the baby. If Vera goes into premature labor … I want to make sure I'm around to help.”

“Still. It's cramped quarters. You guys must be dying to get out.”

“Remember how it was when we were kids?” Worsley laughed. “We could run all over the place. There weren't any guards, no one to stop us.”

“We were troublemakers,” Cole agreed. “Remember that time you, me, and Hamilton glassed that old haunted house?”

“Glassed? What does that mean?” Vera broke in.

“Just literally threw a bunch of old glass bottles at this abandoned house that was near the Slants. We did it in the middle of the night on a dare. Obviously we made a huge mess.”

Vera smiled, and Cole was relieved she wasn't totally horrified by their behavior.

“Yes! The house just north of the outskirts of the woods,” broke in Worsley. “Man, those were the days.”

“I really thought it was haunted,” Cole said. “It was so creepy looking. I was certain we were going to wake the ghosts with those bottles, and they were going to come after us. Hamilton ran screaming like a baby after he threw his first one. But the bet was three each, so we lost.”

“What were the stakes?” Vera wanted to know.

Cole shrugged. “I don't know. An ice cream bar or something.”

“Well you could have gotten that easily on your own!” she laughed.

Cole and Worsley exchanged glances. That hadn't exactly been the case. They'd had to save up for months for treats like that, doing odd jobs. Instead they'd had to buy Dylan Church, the guy who'd dared them in the first place, a double-scoop cone.

“Wiped out my savings, losing that one,” Cole said, and Worsley nodded.

Vera gave them a funny look, like she thought they might be joking. It sounds like you guys had fun,” she finally said, strumming gently on the ukulele. “It sounds almost … idyllic. Not like our high-rises and constant pressure to excel in whatever it was we showed promise in. Even our playdates were structured. I can't remember ever running free.”

“Yeah, fun … but I wouldn't say idyllic.” Cole was trying not to bristle at her na
ï
vet
é
. It wasn't her fault. “Living in the Slants was filthy,” Cole told her. “That abandoned house was a disaster waiting to happen. When I look back … it's a miracle none of us got sick and died. We were always running around in garbage heaps, cutting ourselves and not worrying about infection—until the Priors figured out the disposal system, which you've seen. It's just that lot near the Swings, where I used to work out. They crush it and dispose of it about once a month with their machinery. It starts to smell pretty bad toward the end of the month, but at least it's fenced off. When we were kids, there were open piles that we treated like mountains, and half the time when I went home to bathe I did it in the lake with no soap.”

“Why don't you dispose of the garbage yourselves, instead of letting it build up for a month?” Vera wondered aloud.

“We don't have the machinery,” Cole told her. “The Priors have offered to ‘sell' it to us, but at a price we could never afford. So we have to wait for them—you—to do it on your own terms.”

“It was pretty dangerous, when we were kids,” Worsley agreed. “But to us it was just normal. It's partly why I wanted to go into medicine. To think of alternatives to the insanely costly medical care you guys have in downtown Columbus. That just wasn't an option for us.”

Vera turned away, blinking back tears.

“Hey. It's okay. We didn't mean to upset you,” Cole told her.

“I'm just … it's so hard to hear about,” she said. “I can't believe this was all going on right next to me all my life, and I had no idea. That it's still going on. That Priors have so much power over Gens. Part of me feels so bad for you. And part of me is.…”

“Disgusted?” Worsley finished, his tone neutral. Vera nodded, looking guilty.

“It was a different way of life,” Worsley agreed. Cole was glad he stopped there. He knew he had stronger opinions than just that. But it seemed to calm Vera. She looked back toward the ukulele and began to strum a light tune Cole couldn't place—some sort of lullaby.

“I'm a little scared,” she said as she played, her eyes focused on the instrument. “Will my baby be a Prior if it's not given in utero treatments? Can you do that here?”

There was a long pause. Cole looked hard at Worsley, willing him to tell her the truth. Of course the baby wouldn't be a Prior. It wouldn't be an Imp, either, with Prior parentage. It would be a Neither. Something about the way Worsley was conducting experiments and working on the vaccine without bothering to explain to Vera the implications felt very wrong.

“When your baby is born, she'll be a hero. She'll be acknowledged as a savior of mankind,” Worsley said. He reached out for Vera's hand, and she clutched it. She trusted him—Cole could see it in the way she held his eyes with her own. “She'll be known as the one who got rid of the deadly Prior disease. She'll be a hero. Your family will be proud.”

“Maybe they'll take me back,” Vera said hopefully. “Maybe Oscar will have me.”

Cole looked away, but Worsley nodded.

“I think so,” Worsley told her. “This baby represents salvation. Yours, yes. But also everyone else's. One way or another, the lives of everyone in Columbus are at stake.”

On that point, Cole had to agree.

9

DAVIS

Mercer hummed under his breath, absentmindedly drumming a beat on the side of the narrow motorized lifeboat. It was a small boat—built for a handful of people—with a little cushioned perch on one end. It was actually much nicer than Davis would have expected of a lifeboat. Mercer had waited to turn the motor on—it was risky, given their close proximity to the larger craft—but he was steering it as best he could with the help of the tide. His blond hair was flopped over his forehead and his muscular calves flexed as he kept rhythm with his foot. For about an hour, they'd paddled softly together, not wanting to turn on the motor and arouse any suspicion with its noise. But now the motor was humming along and Mercer was steering with one hand as he gazed out into the darkness. He seemed unaware of Davis's presence, and she watched him quietly from her perch at the opposite end of the craft. She'd heard him humming before, but when he began to sing, she was transfixed.

”You and me, baby,” he sang. “We'll be quite all right, if only we're together tonight.…”

Mercer's voice was luminous. It captured warmth, emotion, and a sense of longing that Davis didn't know was possible to translate into words. Part of her wondered if he was singing it for her, about her. She caught herself hoping he was, and flushed. She liked Mercer. They were friends. It was nothing like what she'd had with Cole—not even close. But still, sometimes when she saw Mercer like this, and found herself drawn to him, she wondered: would she ever feel love like that again? Even wondering it felt like a betrayal.

“What is that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing much. Just something I made up.”

“I didn't even know you were into music.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Big time. I always wanted to start a band in high school, actually.”

“Why didn't you?”

“I guess I realized I wasn't good enough. Starting a band takes a lot of work. This is fun for me, not some sort of distant career path.”

“Well, you're great at it. Your voice.…” She trailed off, blushing. The truth was, his voice had sent shivers down her spine. It had awoken her from within. It was even better that he hadn't seemed to know she was listening—he'd been raw, unguarded. He'd projected the kind of confidence Davis had only ever had while dancing.

“What's wrong?” He looked at her with concern. He glanced back at the larger craft, now nearly half a mile away thanks to the wind and tide. She adjusted herself on the cushion, watching him from where she sat. There was a bench in between them, but she felt a little bit of distance wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

“Nothing,” she said. “You just reminded me of a friend.”

“Yeah? Don't tell me he's as talented as me.”

“She
is extremely talented,” Davis said, thinking of Vera. “She's amazing.” Davis laughed. “God, the things we used to put Fia through,” she added. “We'd wait until she was asleep at night and stuff playing cards in her underwear and write messages on her forehead. We tortured her. Poor Fia. But she always wanted to be around us anyway.”

“It sounds like you have a lot of great people in your life.”

“I do. I miss them.” Davis blinked back the tears that had begun to form behind her eyelids.

“You'll see them again,” Mercer reassured her, his voice gentle. “We're already past the hardest part. Now it's just about being patient.”

“You're right,” she agreed, pushing away her fears. “This is so good.” She gestured at the boat. “I'm feeling like I'm actually
doing
something, for the first time in so long. If these Durham doctors are as amazing as you say, maybe I can help Fia and Vera and everybody else.”

“That's the idea,” Mercer said, smiling at her. “The doctors in the research triangle are the best. Dr. Hassman is practically a legend. If all he needs is our blood samples, then I know we'll be in great hands.”