Crash (7 page)

But as this Drau pleads for mercy, I don't feel that chilling fear. Instead, I feel . . . pity.

So what am I supposed to do? Just kill it as it begs for its life? Turn and walk away? What?

Slowly, it continues raising its hands until its fingers are curled around the back of its head. Then it sinks to its knees in front of me and the inside of my skull reverberates with its renewed pleas.

PleasePleasePleasePleasePlease

I lower my sword.

I lower my weapon cylinder, an inch at a time, unsure.

It lifts its head and its eyes meet mine. Beautiful. Turbulent. Mercury bright. Swirling with a million shades of molten silver.

Like Jackson's eyes, except his pupils are round and human. The Drau's are slitted, reptilian.

Don't look at its eyes.

Too late.

They're poison. They will kill you.

Seconds eke past. I can't bring myself to look away.

Then realization dawns: we're looking at each other and it isn't doing anything to me. I've looked into a Drau's eyes before, and it felt like my entire insides were being pulled out through my pupils.

I don't feel that now.

It could kill me, and it isn't.

I lower my weapons the rest of the way to my sides. Since I don't know how to make my thoughts dance around in its head and I don't think it understands English, I gesture for it to get up, off its knees.

It starts to rise.

The sound of footsteps echoes from behind me, two sets, coming fast.

I turn.

Lien and Kendra run along the hall toward me.

Kendra lifts her weapon.

Wait.
I almost get the word out—almost, but not quite—before an oily surge swallows the Drau, its terror echoing inside my head, terror so sharp it flays me alive.

The Drau's raw thought bombards me to the agonizing end; I feel it die.

I sag back against the wall, heart pounding, stomach churning.

“Are you okay?” Lien asks and darts to my side.

I press one hand to the wall and bend forward at the
waist, then sink down, knees bent, weight rocking back on my heels. Head bowed, I struggle to get the nausea under control.

“Where are you hit?” Lien asks, dropping to her haunches in front of me so our faces are level. “Where are you hurt?”

I shake my head.

Kendra comes up behind me and rubs circles on my back.

“I'm okay.” I'm not. I push to my feet as Lien gets to hers. “How did you find me?”

She turns her wrist and shows me her con. There's a map and three triangles. Us. The Committee led her to me.

I should feel grateful that the Committee sent them, that they showed up to save the day.

But I don't. Because they didn't save me. I didn't need saving, not from a Drau that was begging for its life. A Drau that had the chance to kill me, and chose not to.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

I RESPAWN IN THE HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM, FEELING WOOZY and disconnected. Mission complete.

“. . . we'll be moving him to the surgical ICU.”

I stare at the doctor, trying to reorient back to the second I got pulled. To Dad, his surgery, Dr. Lee. It takes a few seconds before my brain manages to process what he just said. They're moving Dad to the surgical ICU. Which means he's
alive
. I can't think, can't breathe, the relief is so strong. I blurt, “Can I see him?”

“He's in recovery now, but we'll let you know once he's moved. You can see him for a few minutes then.”

“You took out his spleen?”

Dr. Lee frowns. “Yes.” He pauses and glances at Jackson.
“Miki, do you have anyone else you can call? Your mother? Another relative?”

I hear what he doesn't say: an adult. Someone who can hold it together better than a sixteen-year-old girl. I'm guessing he must think my parents are divorced and that's why my mother isn't here with me.

“Mom died two years ago. And my aunt Gale wouldn't be able to get here any time soon. She's in Korea. She's a management consultant.” I have no idea why he might need that extra bit of info, but I tack it on without really thinking about it. I hold his gaze, trying to read what he isn't saying. “Why do I need to call someone, Dr. Lee? Is my dad going to . . .”

Jackson twines his fingers with mine.

“Your dad came through the surgery just fine, Miki. His spleen sustained significant damage and his splenic vein was ruptured. There was some blood in his abdomen—”

I gasp. Jackson's arm slides around my waist.

“—which is common with an emergent injury such as your father sustained. We gave him several units. He has a mild concussion, cuts and bruises, and three broken ribs on his left side.”

“Units? Of blood?”

“That's correct.”

“But he's going to be okay?”

“His condition is fair. His vital signs are stable. Indicators are favorable.”

I'm familiar enough with doctor-speak to unravel the puzzle. That isn't an unqualified thumbs-up, but it's leaning toward the positive. If we were talking health bars, I'd peg Dad's somewhere between orange and yellow right now.

“As soon as your father's ready for transfer, we'll let you know. You can see him for a few minutes once he's settled.” Dr. Lee pauses. “And then you should go home and get some rest. If you're here every second of every day until he's well, you'll burn out.”

I know that already. I lived it with Mom, first in the hospital, then in hospice. But Dad and I took turns, and Aunt Gale only lived an hour away then. And there were a lot of nights I slept at Carly's . . .

“What about Carly? Can you tell me anything? Is she okay?” When he just looks at me, I clarify, “Carly Conner. She's my best friend. She was in the car with my dad.”

“I'm afraid I don't know anything about her condition.”

And then Dr. Lee is gone.

I turn to Jackson. “I didn't think to ask him where I should wait. Here . . . or if we should go to the ICU . . .”

“Here,” Jackson says. “They'll come tell us when they're moving him.”

“Should I go look for Carly's mom and dad? I really want to know . . .”

“How about we wait here till they tell us your dad's settled, then we find the Conners before we head to the ICU?”

I blow out a breath. “Always the man with the plan.”

“Always,” Jackson murmurs. Typical Jackson, having the last word, but at this moment I find it more reassuring than cocky.

I rub the back of my neck, my muscles aching. Jackson steps behind me, his strong hands kneading the tension from my shoulders. “What would I do if you weren't here?” I ask.

His hands still, then start moving again. “You'd be strong. And brave. Because that's who you are, Miki. You already dealt with a hell of a lot before I ever came along.” From his tone, I can guess what he's thinking even though he doesn't say it. That thanks to him, I'm in the game and therefore have a whole lot more to deal with.

“Stop blaming yourself,” I say.

Again, his hands still, then start up again, working their magic. “Reading my mind?”

“Isn't that supposed to be my line?” From the very beginning, he's been able to talk inside my head, and for a while I thought he could hear my thoughts the way I heard his. Might be nice if he could. Not all the time, just when we're on a mission. I look back at him over my shoulder. “I just know how you think.”

“Do you, now?”

Sometimes I think so. Sometimes I don't.

“I told them about you, Miki,” he says after a moment. I know he believes that. He believes that he found me and told the Committee about me so I could take his place as team leader. So he could trade me for his freedom and
finally escape the game after five agonizing years.

But what if he's wrong?

“Did you? Did you really tell them about me? Or did they just let you believe that?”

I start to turn, but he doesn't let me. He just keeps massaging my shoulders. I lean back so my spine is against his body and tip my head back so it rests on his shoulder. “Did you ever think that the Committee let you take the blame for recruiting me, Jackson, but that they knew about me the whole time? Maybe even sent you to find me? Maybe all along they were moving us both like chess pieces on a board.”

He turns me to face him. “Why the Committee-hate right now?”

I almost tell him about what just happened with the Drau, about the Committee sending Kendra to take it out before I could really communicate with it. But my brain can't follow that path right now. It's already too full.

“Later,” I say.

For a second, I think he's going to press me. Then he nods.

I break away and pace the room.

He rests one shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

I sit.

He sits beside me.

We wait for what feels like eternity, Jackson leaning back in his chair, legs splayed, his fingers linked behind his
head, me leaning forward, forearms resting on my thighs.

Finally, I can't take it anymore. “What's taking them so long to get Dad ready for transfer?”

Jackson checks his phone. “It's been four and a half minutes.”

I bound to my feet. I don't know what to do with my hands. I can't bear to talk. I can't bear the silence. My thoughts tangle and knot, so I pick a single thread and follow it.

“When we went back to the game, I didn't respawn where I should have. I should have been running toward Luka, but I wasn't.”

Jackson lowers his hands and sits up straighter. “You want to talk about this now?”

“Yes. No.” I shake my head. “I don't know.”

“Okay,” Jackson says, leaning back again. “Let me know when you figure it out.”

“You're being amenable.”

“Amenable's one way to describe it.”

Seconds crawl past.

“I wish a nurse would come.” I wish someone would take me to see Dad. Talk to him. Watch his chest move as he breathes. I just need proof he's alive.

I wish someone would come tell me that Carly's okay. That I can see her, hug her.

Mom always used to say,
If wishes were pennies . . .

It hits me that I'm silently pleading for Dad to be okay, for Carly to be okay.
Wishing. Pleading. Begging.
Like the
Drau, begging for mercy. The image won't leave me alone. Maybe this
is
the time to talk about it.

“It wasn't just the weird respawn,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “Something else happened. It might be important.” I look up at Jackson's eyes, but all I see are reflections of myself in his mirrored shades.

“Important right this minute?” Jackson asks. “To the things happening right now?”

“No.”

“Then you don't need to think about it. You don't need to talk about anything having to do with the game. It'll keep.” He sits forward again. “Unless you want to talk about it. Then go right ahead, if it will help.”

My gaze slides to the TV, and I remember the creepy feeling of being watched and my suspicion that the Drau were spying on us through the screen. Is that even possible, or am I being paranoid?

“I—” I choke on my words.

It's all too much. Thoughts bombard me and images flash behind my eyes like a strobe light: The Drau getting swallowed by the black ooze from Kendra's weapon. The image flickers and shifts to Daddy, covered in blood, trapped in crumpled metal. Daddy, cold and white and dead. Then Carly, lying dead on the floor of the school after the Drau crossed over into the Halloween dance, blood flowering on yellow spandex. Carly, dead on the cold ground in front of the twisted remains of the Explorer.

I wrap my arms around myself. I don't want these
images in my head. I shove them out but they bounce right back in.

Jackson rises and pulls me into his arms. “What is it?” he whispers against my hair.

“Overactive imagination. I keep picturing everything turning out bad, and not just here.
There
, too. I keep seeing possibilities, none of them good.”

“The doctor was optimistic about your dad. Focus on that. Don't let yourself think about the game.”

“That's just it. I'm not thinking about the game, but somehow, the game keeps pushing its way in.”

“Push back.”

As soon as he says that, it hits me that there's something off about the images in my head. It's like these thoughts aren't mine, like they're being forced into my brain.

“Do you think it's the Committee?” That's the Committee's mode of communication. They've placed thoughts in my head before, when I was team leader, and when I faced them in the amphitheater, when they pushed so hard it hurt. Maybe they're doing it right now, making me think these terrible things. Maybe this is the way they phrase a threat. They could be trying to distract me from telling Jackson about that Drau, or warning me off, showing me what they'll do if I tell Jackson everything.