Resonance (27 page)

CH
APTER FORTY-FIVE

T
HE GUARD THREW ME BACK
into my cell—I stumbled toward the bed, banging my shin on the metal edge, cradling my hand.

Already my finger was swollen, throbbing in time with my frantic heartbeat. Like a movie on an infinite loop, the moment of the bone's snapping played over and over in my head—the pressure, the tension, the flash of release, and the pain that followed, so overwhelming I could barely stay conscious.

I curled up on my side, willed the tears away. Better to be mad, I reminded myself. More useful. And holy hell, I hated Lattimer—his callousness, his cruelty, the way he used every single person who crossed his path. Maybe my grandmother was right, and the only way to save the Walkers was to first tear them down.

I summoned up every curse word I'd ever heard and some I invented on the spot. My finger was fat as a sausage, bent at an unnatural angle. We didn't get much first-aid training—that's why we had medics—but I remembered enough to know that if the bone wasn't set soon, it would heal crookedly, and I'd lose the full range of motion. Nimble fingers, open mind . . . I needed both. I'd have to set the bone.

And that's when I knew I hadn't given up. Lattimer's threats hadn't left me desolate as ashes; they had fueled my anger and my hope. Addie had run. Addie had known something was wrong, and she'd run. Lattimer had locked down the building because he was afraid. He'd thrown me in prison, but I'd broken out once. I would find a way to do it again.

After I fixed my hand.

There was nothing in my room except a stack of cups and paper plates—the cheap kind, uncoated paper kids use in craft projects. They bent under the weight of a sandwich. I'd even tried to fold some origami with them, but the paper was too thick and stiff after just a few creases.

Stiff.

Like a splint. My left hand was useless, but I braced the plate with my knee and folded it into a long, narrow rectangle, double the length of my finger. Folded over, it would act like a protective sleeve. Now for a way to hold it shut.

There was no string in the room. Not even my shoelaces, or a drawstring on the uniform I'd been issued. It was some unholy polyester, scratchy and unpleasant to touch. I tried ripping the fabric apart, but it was indestructible. If the multiverse ever fell, these clothes would be the last item to unravel.

Simon's T-shirt, on the other hand, was a soft cotton knit, so old it had worn through in spots. I hated to take it off, to lose that one last connection to him, but I pictured him looking at me, mystified. “It's a shirt, Del. Get over it.”

I used my teeth to tear the fabric into strips, and began the
process of setting the bone, bracing it with the paper splint, and immobilizing it with the T-shirt ties.

When I was done, I was covered in sweat. Dots of pain danced in my vision like confetti from a smashed-open piñata, but my finger was straight, tightly bound, and, I hoped, healing.

I began to plan. The next time Lattimer pulled me out might be the last. It might be Addie's last. And I wasn't going to let that happen.

•   •   •

The guard did bring me a comb, as promised. His eyes flicked to my homemade splint, but he left without another word. With nothing else to do, I began working on my hair, tugging out the knots as gently as I could. After everything else, it seemed silly that something as simple as a snarl would make me hiss, but it was how pain worked. You don't reach a threshold and stop feeling it. You reach a threshold and you feel everything, seventeen times more intense than before. Same as love.

Time passed. The guard delivered another sandwich. My finger continued to throb, dull unless I moved it. I dozed and kept the image of Simon's face fixed firmly in my mind.

I needed to slow Lattimer down. Give the Free Walkers time to take down CCM; give Addie more time to run. But I'd played every card in my hand; there was nothing left to bluff with.

Rose would tell me to protect the Free Walkers. Think about the greater good. Think of Addie as collateral damage, regrettable but necessary. I didn't doubt the Free Walkers, Prescott especially, would look at me the same way.

But I also knew what Addie would say, if the positions were reversed. For all her love of rules, her belief in protecting the Key World . . . she wouldn't abandon me. Family won out for Addie, in the end. Love won out. If our places were reversed, Addie would stand for me, and let the Free Walkers fend for themselves.

The rift in the wall pulsed. The guard was coming back, which could only mean they'd found Addie. The time for planning was over.

Two choices. If I were an Original, the pivot would sound as crisp and bold as a coronet. I could protect my sister, or I could protect Simon, but not both.

Find another way around.

Unless I was the target.

By the time the guard had crossed the pivot, I'd made my choice.

•   •   •

I shrank back on the bed as the guard reached for me. “You know the drill. Up.”

I scuttled away, wedging my back against the corner, careful not to put weight on my injured hand, drawing my knees to my chest. He hitched up his belt, considering me, and then leaned in. I kicked out with both feet, catching him in the belly and sending him stumbling backward.

I scrambled up, but he recovered, grabbing for my ankle and yanking me off the bed. My head slammed against the edge and my tailbone hit the floor, so hard my teeth rattled. I blinked to
clear my vision, and he hauled me up again, pinning one arm behind my back. I shrieked and kicked at the side of his knee—it hurt to do it without shoes, but he went down with a shout, so it must have hurt him more. I kicked him in the stomach, and then in the nuts, satisfaction pumping me full of adrenaline. He caught my foot and pulled, sending me reeling.

I fell on top of him, driving my elbow into his gut. His next punch grazed my arm. I drew back my fist, but his punch caught me square in the chest.

The air left my body in a rush, and I collapsed, facedown on the cement floor.

Grunting, he yanked my arms behind my back and slapped on cuffs, then hauled me upright. I dug in my heels, but it was pointless. He dragged me to the pivot, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

The air shivered. The floor under my bare feet changed from rough cement to cold, smooth tile. The guard's meaty hand squeezed the back of my neck, forcing me farther into the interrogation room.

I heard a pop and a hum, and his grip relaxed. An instant later, I heard the sound of a body hitting the floor.

“Once,” said someone, more irritated than angry, “just
once
it would be nice if you did what you were told.”

I opened my eyes. The guard standing before me, Taser in hand, had coal-black hair, a familiar, exasperated scowl, and green eyes filled with tears.

“Addie?”

“Obviously,” she said, moving swiftly to unlock my handcuffs. “Can you walk?”

“I think so. I . . . don't . . .” I stared at her, at the bad dye job and the stolen uniform and the flat, determined line of her mouth. “How?”

The door swung open, and a second familiar head poked in.

“Hurry up,” said Simon.

Despite the pain, despite the woozy feeling in my head and the spinning, swooping room, I was across the cell before I'd drawn my next breath. “Which one?” I demanded.

He kissed me in answer, brief and hard, anger mixed with relief.

“Make out later,” Addie ordered, pushing me into the corridor “Which cell is Rose's?”

“I don't know.” But as I oriented myself, my gaze fell on the cell that led to Monty's room. Lattimer would take pleasure in the symmetry. “That one. She's on the other side of a pivot, though.”

“Then go get her. We'll stand guard.”

“But . . .”

“Del, you're not in any condition to fight, and we don't have time to argue. Go get Rose.”

I threw open the door to the cell—empty, as expected—and dashed toward the pivot. I couldn't feel my injuries anymore. Everything had moved into a dazed, distant, unreal place.

Rose stood as I came in, mouth open. A bruise bloomed along her jawline, and the thin skin of her arms was mottled with welts and black marks. One hand was wrapped in a dirty, sagging bandage. Her eyes were red rimmed, her back stooped, and she took a single, shuffling step closer to me.

“Addie,” I said. “And Simon.”

She nodded once and slipped an arm around my waist. I did the same, and we headed out.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Simon shouted, waving us into the hallway. We dashed toward the elevator, where Addie was doing something to the elevator controls. The second guard—the one Simon had handled, I assumed—was unconscious and cuffed to a nearby door handle.

“Addison,” Rose said, and Addie's head came up.

For a moment, Addie froze. “Grandma?”

“You have your mother's eyes.”

She nodded once, sharply, filing away whatever emotion was making her hands shake. “I can't
believe
Monty was right” was her only response before she bent over the control panel again.

I leaned against Simon. “How did you guys—”

“Later,” he said shortly. “Can you run?”

I nodded, and he touched my uninjured cheek. “Del—”

“I thought I was going to die,” I said. “Lattimer told me the truth. He said it didn't matter, because I was going to die.”

“He was wrong.” Simon took my hand.

“We're not out yet,” Addie warned.

“But he thought I was going to.” I laughed—the kind that sounded hysterical, even to my ears. “It was my interrogation, but he confessed.”

“We'll make him pay,” Simon promised. “But we have to go now.”

“He admitted to everything—the cleavings, the Echoes, lying to the Walkers. It's on tape.”

Rose's head snapped up. “Where?”

“Here.” I shoved open the control-room door.

“Del, we don't have time,” Simon said, but he and Rose followed me inside.

The room was filled with computers, each screen displaying an empty interrogation cell.

“That . . . is a lot of laptops,” Simon muttered. “Which feed is yours?”

“That one,” I said, pointing to a screen near the end of the row. The feed showed an overturned chair and blood smeared across the floor like crushed petals. “That's where—” My throat closed.

“How do we get the file?” he asked.

I slapped the cover closed and yanked, the power cord falling away with a pop. “Like that.”

“Guys!” Addie shouted from the hallway. “Move!”

The elevator doors stood directly across from the control room. Addie was hauling on one of the doors, trying to keep it open, frantically pressing buttons at the same time.

“They're trying to override the system,” she said. “If the doors close, they can bring it up to the ground floor express; we'll never get out.”

Simon braced himself between the doors, blocking them. “Does that help?”

“I think so.” She ran an ID card through the reader.

“You did have a plan, didn't you?” Rose asked.

“I always have a plan,” Addie said coldly, and popped open
the control panel. “But it didn't involve Del attacking a guard. I had to move up the timetable before they called in reinforcements.”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “It's not like I knew you were coming.”

Addie shrugged and went back to messing with the elevator controls. I asked, “Can we pivot out, like with Monty?”

“They're expecting it. They've cleaving any Echo generated from this building right now.”

“We need to get to the parking garage,” Simon said, his voice strained from the effort of keeping the doors open.

“Let the elevator go,” Rose said.

“We'll be trapped down here,” Addie said.

Rose waved a hand impatiently. “Elevator shafts have ladders. Once they've taken control of the elevator, they'll raise it up to the main level. We'll follow behind and climb up to the parking garage. They'll watch to make sure you don't sneak out the roof again—but they won't be able to see underneath the car, which is where we'll be.”

“Which means we have to get out to the parking garage before they bring the elevator back down, or we're pancakes,” Simon warned.

“Can you climb?” Addie asked me.

“Yeah. Rose?”

“Of course. We'll need a distraction. Something to keep the Consort occupied while we slip out.”

“Already on it,” Addie said, and checked her watch. “Eliot hacked into the fire alarm system. In about three minutes, the
alarm will sound for every floor in this building, and the fire department will pay a visit.”

“Nice,” I said.

“So we're doing this,” Addie said, voice shaking. “Sending the elevator without us. If it doesn't work . . .”

“It will work,” Simon said firmly, and took my uninjured hand. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Simon stepped out of the elevator and Addie pulled her key card away. Instantly the doors slid shut, and we heard the car begin its ascent. Addie and Simon pried the doors open.

There was a small drop to the bottom of the elevator shaft. Simon took my hand and swung me down, careful of my injuries.

“Rose?” He helped her down, then jumped next to us, Addie right behind.

“We need to go first,” Addie said, looking at me apologetically. “We'll have to pry the door open at the parking garage.”

“Stop talking and climb,” Rose said.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Simon asked, but we were already starting up the ladder, so I gritted my teeth and nodded.

“How many sublevels?” asked Rose.

“Three,” Addie called, already past the first door. Simon was close on her heels, but Rose and I lagged behind. The climb was harder than I expected, especially carrying the laptop.