Torn (2 page)

But most of all, he remembered losing Davis. And now there was no way he could think of to save her. He'd had the radio on almost constantly over the course of the three days he'd been in hiding. He'd stayed up late at night, hoping for news of Narxis or Davis—allowing himself to succumb to sleep only when he was powerless against the drooping of his eyes. He'd been attentive, but he'd gleaned nothing. The lack of news was killing him. He
needed
information. If they'd taken her back to Columbus, it was nearly impossible—no one was allowed in or out anymore. No one, for any reason. The guards were three deep around the border. Cole peered out the tiny peephole he'd fashioned in the door of the ramshackle house where he was squatting. Thomas Worsley stood outside, holding a bag.

“Come on in.” Cole held the door open just a crack, concealing himself in the shadows behind.

“I brought you food.”

The smell was tantalizing. It was all Cole could do not to rip the bag right out of Worsley's hands and tear it apart.

“How is it out there?” Cole opened the bag and eyed its contents. Mashed potatoes. Roast beef. “Where'd you get this?” Gens—or “Imps,” as Priors called them—
never
got feasts like this. Their rations from Columbus proper, where the Priors lived, were usually close to expiration and limited to castoffs. Beyond that, they relied on what they could grow themselves. The Superiors controlled everything. Their wealth controlled everything. It was how they'd been able to afford genetic enhancements in the first place. It was why they'd felt the need to segregate themselves from those who were imperfect.

Cole felt himself seethe, even as his gratitude to Worsley overwhelmed him. And besides, all Priors weren't the same. Davis wasn't the same. She had her own mind and heart, even though she'd spent her whole life absorbing their beliefs. The scent of the food wafted toward him, making his mouth water. He looked to Worsley for an explanation.

“Bribed a border patrolman,” Worsley said. “Gave him something he needed.”

Cole didn't ask. He didn't want to know. He knew the natural enhancers Priors used had been scarce since the riots broke out, and many Priors were desperate for enhancement pills. Even amid the medical hysteria, they still craved the pills that would make them “better.”

“It's a shit show out there,” Worsley muttered, his normally bright eyes angled downward to match his frown. “All the Priors are getting tested weekly, even though the virus has been contained. There's always a new rumor—food contaminations by a cook with Narxis; nannies who've passed it along to children. Tainted water. The disease
is
contained—so far, anyway—but nobody believes it.” It was ironic, in a way, that the mutations that had given the Priors every advantage were now causing an epidemic that could destroy them.

“The other territories?”

“Nothing's been reported. All instances have been within New Atlantic so far. But no one's getting in and out. Security's tripled.”

Cole shook his head, sitting back against the makeshift bench he'd fashioned from plywood and two cinder blocks. The bench creaked under his weight. He shoveled in the food. It seemed like it had been a forever since he'd had good, hot food, but in reality it had only been a few days since he'd gone into hiding. Still, meat had been rationed since the riots, and most Imps were eating whatever they could grow themselves, supplementing it with occasional handouts the government transported across the border in sterile packs. This was a luxury—something Worsley likely had brought him to keep his spirits up.

“There's something else,” Thomas said as she sat on his haunches across from Cole, watching him chew. “I … I think I've hit on something.” Cole's head jerked up. Worsley seemed tentative—nervous, even.

“A cure?” Cole's heart stopped. A cure would solve everything. Davis could come home. He could have her back. More than that, he realized: a cure could potentially allow them to be
really
together in a way that had never been possible before. It could mean an end to the divide between Priors and Imps. It could force everything to change. Worsley was a Gen. A cure found by a Gen wouldn't just mean salvation for Davis and everyone she loved—it was exactly what Columbus needed to arouse Prior sympathy for Gens and to lead to full integration. Cole's head swam with the implications.

“But I'd need a baby,” Thomas said haltingly. “A Prior baby. Actually,” he said, casting his eyes downward, “a pregnant Prior woman. I'd have to test in utero.”

Cole stopped, fork in midair. “Well surely you know how crazy
that
is,” he said dryly. He wanted to be mad at Thomas for getting his hopes up, but Thomas looked so discouraged that Cole didn't bother. Worsley already knew how hopeless it all was.

“There's no way I can even get into the city,” Thomas said, resting his head in his hands. “Even if I could, how would I bring someone back here and convince them to let me work on them? I'd have to basically kidnap them. I could see that going over really well. It's not like any Prior would willingly volunteer. They only think of themselves.”

“This is
about
them,” Cole reminded him.

“They won't see it that way.”

“You'll figure it out,” Cole assured him, trying to sound like he believed it. “Don't worry.” Inside, he too was worried. But it wouldn't benefit Worsley to know how little faith Cole had in his ability to solve this thing.

Worsley was standing to leave, dusting off the back of his pants, when a piercing shriek rang out. Both men dashed from the ramshackle hideout before Cole remembered that he wasn't supposed to be seen.

There in front of them, no farther than ten yards away, was the crumpled and bloodied form of a woman. Just past her, a man darted away, making a sharp left turn down an alley.

Cole and Worsley ran over to crouch next to the woman, who was screaming after the Imp. “Thief,” she called out. “Come back!”

Cole recognized something in that tone. His voice caught in his throat. He turned the woman gently toward him, and she didn't bother to resist; she was clearly weakened from the attack. When she rolled over to face him, his eyes widened in recognition.

“It's you,” she whispered through cracked and dirtied lips. Her eyes were wide with terror. “They said … you were supposed to have died. You're dead.” She recoiled, trying to move away from him, her face ashen. She seemed confused and disoriented.

“Vera,” he said gently. “Don't be scared. It was all a mistake. The news got it wrong. I'm okay.” He reached for her hand, and she looked at it for a long minute before accepting it. He squeezed it gently, feeling his soul move for the poor, panicked girl. He lifted her up, tucking her torn and dirtied dress—once, from the look of it, a delicate shade of pink silk—under her knees. He turned to Worsley. “We've got to get her back inside, now.”

“You know this girl?” Worsley's eyes were wide with disbelief. “We can't take her! You're already in enough trouble.”

“No one's looking for me,” Vera muttered into Cole's chest. “They left me here. They don't want anything to do with me.”

The men exchanged glances; it took less than a minute for Thomas to nod his assent and the three to move quickly in the direction of Cole's hideout. Once there, Cole laid Vera gently on the thin pallet he'd been using as a makeshift bed. He brought her a glass of water. Vera eyed it warily.

“It's been filtered,” Worsley assured her. Then, less sensitively: “Besides, you have no choice.” She nodded and drank quickly, taking it down in enormous gulps, not bothering to look up until the entire glass was drained. Cole waited as long as he could—which turned out to be about two minutes.

“Have you…,” he paused, racking his brain for a delicate way to phrase it. “Do you know anything about Davis?” he asked, flushing at his own callousness.

“Cole! Let her rest.”

“I'm sorry.” Cole took a breath, moving to the sink to wet a towel for Vera. Her face was covered in sweat and dried blood from being scraped when she'd fallen. He glanced back, taking her in. In such a short time, she'd fallen so far from the gorgeous friend of Davis's he'd first seen at a rooftop party only a few weeks ago. She'd been laughing and whispering with her boyfriend—some uptight Prior named Oscar—and she'd seemed as untouchable and perfect as Davis had to him then.

Now her blonde curls formed a chaotic halo around her shoulders. It was obvious Vera was still beautiful—still a Prior—even at the height of her exhaustion and fear. She wore a pink silk sundress that nipped in at the waist and fastened demurely at her chest with a row of opalescent buttons. She'd been dressed conservatively when they kicked her out. He wondered where'd she'd last been—at a cello recital? Davis had said she was brilliant with the cello. How could they have thrown her out like she was nothing? Fury ran through his veins; he had to take several breaths to compose himself before turning back to her. He ran cold water over the towel and moved back toward Vera, patting her face where he spotted the largest clots. She winced when the towel hit her forehead, and pulled away slightly.

“We're going to need to ice that,” Cole told her. “I don't have ice here, but Worsley can bring some soon. Are you hungry?”

Vera nodded. “I've been here for two days,” she said. “They threw me out with the credit card that guy just took, and a little food, but it was barely enough to last through yesterday.”

“Who did?”

Vera stifled a sob. “My parents,” she said.

Cole swallowed a hard lump of anger in his throat. “I don't have much,” he told her, moving toward the small stash of provisions he kept in a garbage bag in the corner, just in case. He was never sure exactly when Worsley would or wouldn't show up. He tried to temper his impatience—to focus on helping Vera—but his whole body burned with the desire to know where Davis had been taken and if she was okay.

He brought her a few crackers, some peanut butter, and a bruised apple.

“It's all I have,” he said, a note of apology in his voice.

“Thank you, Cole.” Vera looked up at him, meeting his eyes. He could tell she was touched. Only a couple of months ago she would have shuddered at the idea of eating Imp food.

“Can you tell us what you know about Davis?” Worsley spoke up. Cole startled; Worsley had been so silent the whole time that Cole had half forgotten he was there, sitting on the bench in the shadows. Vera shook her head, her mouth smudged with peanut butter. She was shoveling it in by the spoonful, ravenous.

“I only know that she was taken to TOR-N. I haven't heard anything from her.”

“TOR-N?” Cole looked at Worsley for clarification, but Worsley's eyebrows were knitted.

“TOR is the Territories' Operational Research facility,” he said. “But what's the
N
? Oh.…” It dawned on them all at once.

“Narxis.” Worsley answered his own question before Vera could reply.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Columbus has been sending Narxis victims to TOR-N every day. They go by ship. It's supposed to be an incredible facility. I went to Davis's house, spoke to her father. He said it's a large, island campus—almost like a luxurious resort, with state-of-the art technology. He said it's the best place for her, that there's a world-renowned chef, a studio for her to dance in—every luxury she could want, in addition to top-notch medical care. But I haven't heard a word from her since they took her.”

Cole felt relief to know where Davis was, at least. Relief to know she wasn't dead. Probably. Not yet, anyway. They were studying her. But why hadn't Davis gotten in touch? Surely if the facility was that advanced, staying in touch would be easy, and Vera was her best friend.

“Have any survivors come back? Anyone who was cured?” he asked.

Vera hesitated, then frowned. “No,” she told him finally. “None that I can think of. But it's not really talked about. Nobody wants to think about it. It's too scary. People just—” She stopped, choking back a sob. “People can't believe it's happening.”

“How are you?” Cole asked, softening his tone and reaching for her hand. “What happened? Why did you … end up here?”

Vera hesitated before responding.

Cole glanced up at Worsley, who had been oddly quiet the whole time, observing their interactions from where he sat. Now the two exchanged a look of concern. Cole turned to Vera, who met his eyes, tears welling in her own.

“I blew the Olympiads,” she whispered finally. “Oscar wouldn't have me.”

“Your parents dumped you in the Slants because you blew the Olympiads?” Cole's mind raced. None of it made sense. The Olympiads were crucial, sure. And he remembered Davis telling him Vera had been a shoo-in. But to disown their daughter over this failure? He'd had no idea the kind of stakes they were up against. No
wonder
Davis had been so worried, so tense. Always under so much pressure. But what did she mean, Oscar wouldn't have her?

“No,” Vera broke in, her voice hesitant. “Not just that.”

“It's okay,” Worsley reassured her. “You can tell us.”

Vera inhaled deeply. “I blew the Olympiads,” she said, her voice quavering, “because I was … distracted. Oscar and my parents sent me here for a different reason.”

Cole waited, steeling himself against what she was about to say. What could have been so horrible that they'd dump her in a place widely considered to be untouchable?

“I'm pregnant,” she said.

Cole felt his eyes widen. He opened his mouth to say something—anything to let her know everything would be okay—but Vera held up a hand to quiet him.

“I'm pregnant with Oscar's child,” she continued, “
and
I screwed up the Olympiads.” Her voice was trembling, and she let out a choked sob. “Oscar might have married me if I'd only passed the Olympiads. After that, I was a disgrace. He didn't want me. He didn't want the baby. My parents were humiliated.”