Fear My Mortality (32 page)

I dragged myself to the edge and dropped beside Michael, our clothes plastered around our bodies and the midday sun speckling the sandy edge.

I ran my hand over my eyes, wiping water from my face, trying not to glare at him. “You can’t drown, can you?”

“Sorry.”

I exhaled, shook my head against the sandy river bank, and pulled air into the bottom of my lungs.

He propped up on one elbow, spreading my hair out across the stones as though we had all the time in the world. “I’d probably pass out eventually.”

“That makes me feel so much better.” I tried to smile, but I shuddered as I remembered the machines descending from the sky. “The drones saved us back there.”

Michael’s expression turned wry. “They protected their asset.”

I sat up and ran my hand through my wet hair, wringing it out. Droplets ran between the sandy river stones alongside my legs. “How long before the drones reach us again?”

Michael sighed. “They already have, Ava.”

I looked up, not seeing the machines, the ones up really high, but knowing he was right. They’d always follow us and they wouldn’t stop until we crossed the border into Starsgard.

I dropped my head into my hands. “How are we ever going to make it?”

“It’s closer than you think. Look.” He pointed to the north and the mountains that towered over us. “It’ll only take us another day. We can find somewhere safe to sleep tonight—”

“No.” I clenched my jaw. “No sleeping.” I hadn’t come this far to stop. Not hunger, not fatigue, nothing could get in the way now. “We won’t be safe until we get there. We can’t stop.”

“Okay.” Michael pulled me close, nodding his agreement. “No stopping.”

We followed the shallow riverbed as far as we could until the trees crowded the way, but there was no danger of getting lost as night fell because the towers of Starsgard shone soft beacons of violet light for a mile around the border—a warning to others to stay away, but a lifeline to us, pointing us in the right direction.

By the time the sun rose over the tops of the trees, my arms and legs were bleeding and scratched and my throat was parched. Vines, branches, prickly leaves, I pushed through them without a second thought, the only thing that mattered was standing at the entrance to Starsgard. The ground began to rise, the trees thickened, and we had to scramble upward, making progress one agonizing step at a time.

A cut on my forearm oozed and I wiped at it with the bottom of my shirt, almost walking into Michael. He grabbed me before I slipped backward down the slope. “Ava. Look.”

We’d reached a clearing, only twenty feet deep, that stretched out on either side of us as far as we could see. Michael dropped a warning hand on my arm, making me wince, an apology in his eyes as he lifted my bleeding hand to his lips and kissed my fingertips.

I tried to reassure him with a smile. “I’m okay,” I said, before I staggered past him, my legs screaming for rest, the air burning in and out of my chest.

The clearing was cobbled with stone and, on the opposite side, a rock face soared thousands of feet into the air. Hands pressed to my aching side, I craned my neck back. The bottom of a tower was just visible from where I stood, rising so high I wondered how it could be man-made. Bright green moss, about an inch long, covered the rock face, rippling and swaying in the early morning breeze. I inhaled the surprising scent of earth and moisture. I reached out to touch the moss, but Michael’s shout stopped me.

The air thrummed and, all along the tree line, drones appeared in a burst of movement.

Michael ran to me, snatching up the nearest tree branch, placing himself between them and me, but the machines halted, coasting the air behind us, not passing the tree line. We backed up, moving along the path, looking for anywhere to run. The mossy rock face stretched left and right as far as we could see. I squinted into the distance. “I thought there’d be a gate.”

As we moved, the drones followed, staying close, but never moving past the tree line. In the distance, another sound cut the air: the warble of helicopter blades.

Michael shook his head and gestured at the moss, pulling me to a stop. He peered at the green substance, taking glances at the drones at the same time. “I think I’ve heard of this.” He waved his hand over the surface, not touching it. “It’s bioengineered.” As he moved closer, the moss straightened toward his palm as though it was straining to make contact. “It’s a defense mechanism … something to do with detecting threats.” He rubbed his forehead. “I wish I knew more.”

“Maybe we should touch it.”

“I don’t know. It could tranq us.” His eyes met mine. “It could kill you.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him. “This—all of this—is designed to protect Starsgard from the rest of the world. They don’t want people coming in. They have no reason not to kill us first and ask questions later.”

“Then, I’ll touch it.” I walked straight into Michael’s protective arm, the worry on his face hitting my heart. I said, “If they identify me, they’ll know not to kill me.”

“Unless they want to.”

I crunched my lip and gestured back at the drones. “They aren’t going to grant me mercy, either.” There was no other way in. I knew Michael was worried. We didn’t know what the moss did, but I couldn’t see any other way. The rock face ascended into the sky and stretched for miles. There were no visible openings and there was no movement anywhere, no sign of human life. “Let me do this.”

Before he could stop me, I pressed my palm against the soft surface. The moss tickled as it moved around my skin, molding itself to the curves and edges of my fingertips and hand. I braced myself to feel pain, to stop breathing. Maybe the moss would poison me and I’d die. Maybe I’d be tranq’d—or paralyzed.

Warmth spread through my palm like the summer sun, a sensation of something glowing against my skin, and it felt safe, comforting. I suddenly wanted to press my whole body against it. Just as I leaned into it, something flickered at my side. It was an air screen and it showed a woman with kind eyes and a soft smile.

It was the same woman from the air screen at Implosion. Dark hair. Proud face. Full of strength. She ignored the waiting drones and looked right at me, as though she really saw me. She said, “Ava Holland. Speak your purpose.”

I remembered the footage of her from the night my brother died, the way she helped her daughter rise from the cracking earth, lifting the girl to her feet, wrapping her in protective arms as flames and debris swirled around them.

“We seek political asylum.”

The woman’s expression deepened, long hair fanning around her face. “From whom do you seek such refuge?”

I glanced at Michael. He pressed closer to me, watching the drones.

I said, “From the whole world.”

The woman paused, assessing me. “That is, indeed, the truth. If we grant you asylum, what will you give in return?”

I blinked. “A bargain?”

She inclined her head. “A contribution. Everyone here gives in some way to our community.”

Michael was suddenly in front of me. He said, “My immortality.”

“No, Michael.” I pulled him aside, lowering my voice. “What are you doing?”

“Even the Bashers don’t heal as fast as I do. It’s got to be worth something and I’m not going to let them use you—”

“No, not your immortality. Not my mortality. Otherwise, it will never be any different. We may as well go back with the drones, let them lock us up, test us in labs, pit us against each other. We’re more than that, Michael.” I stood up on tiptoes and kissed him. He was the one who raced into a green-lit room and lifted me away into quiet and calm, the one who danced with me in a beaten-down park, the one who stood with me outside the world looking in. “You’re more than that.”

Turning back to the woman, I took a deep breath. “I can dance,” I said, meeting her eyes, wondering if she could see into my heart from where she was. “I’ll teach anyone who wants to learn.”

Michael hesitated beside me, then a smile played around his lips. He glanced at me and said, “I know how to stitch people up.” He shrugged, his face becoming guarded. “But if that’s not enough, I’m good at sports and I can fight.”

The woman’s face lit with a smile. “We have need for someone who knows how to care for those less fortunate.” She turned to me. “And the arts are valued in Starsgard.” She lifted her arm and pointed to the rock face. “You are accepted.”

As soon as she said it, the drones behind us gave an angry hum, rising up and leaving the tree line. The helicopter was close behind, so close I could see the outline of men and guns. In another second, they would shoot us down.

Michael crouched, ready to spring. I mimicked him, every part of my body ready to respond. As the first drone reached us, Michael swung the tree branch, sending the drone flying. I leaped for the second one, throwing myself across the space and dragging it down, shoving it weapon-side into the rocks, smashing it over and over as it buzzed in my hands. I whipped it around as darts from another three drones shot into it. I threw the dead drone at them, but another five filled their place. Spinning to the woman, desperation forced a scream out of my mouth. “Help us!”

The woman’s face was dark, her eyes cold. “Nobody attacks Starsgard.”

She lifted her hand. The moss rippled. Something pulsed across the clearing, a thump in the air, a compression of sound so great that it made me slap my hands over my ears, my body fighting against the force that washed the space around us and spread out through the trees.

The drones dropped out of the sky mid-flight, crashing to the ground. The chopper bucked, lurching up and over onto its side, blades dead. Spinning out of control, it plummeted into the trees, taking the soldiers with it. In the distance, crashes echoed, as though a hundred other things dropped to earth one after the other.

A second later, the helicopter hit ground and the shriek of crunching metal burst through the air. With it, an explosion of flame shot high above the trees.

I threw myself backward, away from the heat and blaze as the trees snapped and crackled, but in the next moment there were a thousand clicks and a stream of water poured from the rock face ten feet above my head. A torrential wave hundreds of feet wide rushed across the clearing.

Michael dived through it, reaching me in the quiet space next to the rock wall. We huddled together as the water drowned out everything around us, hunched against one another, unable to speak. His arm was around my back and my own arms were tangled against his chest. The roar of the water hushed everything.

As the torrent ceased, a final wash of water trickled down the rock face next to us and the scent of burned out smoke hung in the air. We unfurled in the sudden quiet.

The woman appeared next to us, glaring at the fallen drones. “They should know better.” She stretched out her arms to me, as though she wanted to help me stand.

Michael walked over to a drone, staring at it. Then he picked it up and threw it across the clearing, scattering metal and wires. He kicked another as though he expected it to wake up. When it didn’t, his gaze met mine.

My eyes widened at the metallic wasps scattered across the rocks, drenched and lifeless. “What was that?”

“It was an electromagnetic pulse.” She pointed to the rock face. “You’ll see very soon.”

Two doors slid open, side by side, each revealing a person-sized cavity inside. They were both lined with green moss.

The woman said, “There’s only room for one person in each hydraulic elevator. It’s a precaution, I’m afraid. You have to come up separately. But don’t worry, you’ll see each other at the top.”

I turned away from the dead drones and the memory of Reid and Cheyne and even Michael’s dad. High above us, the towers glittered, but they were nothing like the Terminal. Far from the glass and steel of Dell city, these were earthy, deep gray like an extension of the rock itself, entwined with green and brown as though the earth stretched upward into the calm of sky and clouds.

“Michael?” I reached for him and he pulled me close. His arms were warm and his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He’d be there with me, no matter what happened.

With my hand in his, we stepped toward the elevators. I knew he wouldn’t let go until I was ready.

The mossy cavity waited for me like a soft good-bye to the life I was about to leave behind. My hand, my arm, my whole body buzzed. I wished Josh was with me right now, that he could have made it here, to the only place we could never be followed, never taken away, never forced to be something we didn’t want to be.

Michael squeezed my hand. “I’ll see you up there, Ava,” and the look in his eyes told me he believed in me, that we were two sides of nature, always balancing each other out.

I let go of him and stepped into the lift.

The door closed and, for the first time, I was safe.

Writing has always felt like a secret endeavor to me, something I disappeared into, immersing myself in other worlds and other people’s adventures, far away from my own. Thank you for reading this book and allowing me to share it with you.

To those who traveled with me on this journey to publication, I want to say a heartfelt thank you. To my publisher, Georgia McBride, whose drive and determination brought this story to the world. And to my editor, Shara Zaval, whose insights were invaluable to me.

To the writers who read early versions, later versions, and versions in between: you have been a blessing to me. In particular, to Jaymin Eve, whose friendship and belief in this book was sometimes the only reason I persevered. And to Cale Dietrich, whose boundless enthusiasm was like sunlight when I needed it most.

And to my family: my mum and my brothers and sisters, who taught me to believe in hope and love despite the greatest adversity a family could face. To my grandmother, who loved to write and showed me the enduring beauty of words. And to my husband, who has been patient, kind, enthusiastic, and oh-so-many other amazingly supportive things ever since the day I pondered aloud the possibility that I might write another book. Last to my children: you are my most precious treasures. Keep shining your imagination on the world.