Rush (33 page)

No team. Every man for himself
. Jackson’s mantra. The only way he could keep going. My blood thunders in my ears and I’m drenched in horror, knowing what he’s going to say next and wishing he wouldn’t say it. That it had never happened. If wishes were pennies . . .

“I did it. I was twelve years old and terrified. I didn’t want to die. She told me I’d be able to stop. She sounded so sure. I believed her and I did what she said. I looked in her eyes and thought about how I wanted to live, thought about taking what I needed. I can’t explain what it felt like. I became a whirlpool, a vortex. My skin sparked. My nerves hummed like transformer wires. I was so amped I was shaking. The next thing I knew, my con was yellow and hers was red and there were Drau everywhere around us, shooting, hunting. A second later, I was on my feet, hunting them.”

His gaze locks on mine, his pain stark and bare. “We fought on. We lost three more. And I couldn’t take her with me when we were done. I tried. I held her. I looped my harness around us both thinking that would bring her along. It didn’t. In the end, I left her lying there, her con bright red. I didn’t get a choice.” His jaw sets in a tense line, then he goes on. “I left my sister there, but I brought one of
them
back with me. By accident. I thought they were all dead. We shouldn’t have made the jump if they weren’t. But somehow it was alive and it came along. Back to the real world. I had it by the throat and I wouldn’t let go.”

I glance at his arm, and though his shirt covers the scars I see them in my mind’s eye. I know they’re there. He hates himself for that, too, blames himself for bringing a Drau back to the real world. I wonder what happened to it, how he escaped its grasp. He was only a kid. But I don’t ask. I feel like if I ask, if I say a single word, he’ll shut down and tell me nothing.

“I left her there,” he says, “and the Drau took her and they put her on machines and kept her body alive long enough to create an army of shells in her image. And three times now, I’ve had to go back in and kill my sister all over again.”

My legs give way and I’m on my knees, tears streaking down my cheeks. I hold my hand out to him, feeling his pain, aching to heal him. “Jackson,” I whisper.

He shakes his head and backs up another step. “No, I’m not done. You think that’s the worst of it? It isn’t. I didn’t just kill my sister, Miki.
I did this to you
. I doomed you to this. I’m the one. I found you. I convinced them to take you. All because I thought it was a way out. I thought I could trade you for my freedom. I convinced them to take you even though they don’t usually take kids that have no siblings.” He offers an ugly laugh. “How ridiculous is that? They think that if a family loses one child, it’ll be easier if they have a second one. A spare.” The words are harsh and guttural. “They don’t understand humans. Not at all.”

I stare at him, trying to understand. “But they took you. They took both of you. Lizzie and you.”

Jackson stares at me for a long moment. “I volunteered. Like I had a choice. It was volunteer for the game or die in that car.”

I wrap my arms around myself, chilled to the core, my emotions stretching and recoiling like an elastic band. From the euphoria of Jackson’s kiss to this, to the tears tracking down my cheeks and the pain in my soul.

“So, I’m in the game because of you?”

“Yes.” His beautiful mouth twists. “Hate me now, Miki. I deserve it. I told you my motives were anything but pure.” I gasp and flinch when he spins and slams his fist against the wall. He stands there, chest heaving, head bowed. Blood drips from his knuckles. “I’d change it if I could. I’d give my life for you if I could.”

He doesn’t look at me. I don’t know how much time passes. A minute. An hour. Then he says, “And it was for nothing. They’ll never let me go. They’ll never let either of us go.”

I want to go to him. I want to run from him, from this place, from the tangled mess my life has become. I don’t know what to think, how to feel. I’m angry and hurt. Betrayed. Appalled. Part of me hates him for what he’s consigned me to. Part of me only knows that his pain hurts me, too.

He’s been doing this for so long. I can’t imagine how desperate he was to escape.

My brain is on overload. I can’t process everything I’ve learned.

“Do you remember in the park when you told me not to feel guilty that I was alive when Richelle and Mom and Gram and Sofu were dead? Do you remember that?” I watch as another fat drop of blood slides from his split knuckles and hits the ground.

“You have nothing to feel guilty for,” he says, his voice low, vibrating with emotion. “You didn’t kill them.” He turns to face me then, his eyes blazing. “And you didn’t consign the girl you love to this hell.”

The girl he loves.

I open my mouth to tell him I hate him for what he’s done to me. Or maybe it’s to tell him I love him, too. To tell him I forgive him. I do. I forgive him. Don’t I?

I need to tell him that maybe he wasn’t the one who killed his sister. That maybe the Drau who were attacking them killed her with their weapons.

But the wooziness I recognize too well hits me. I try to push to my feet. I try to speak. Then the world spins into color and light and bright, sharp pain bursting in my head as I make the jump.

THE RESPAWN IS TERRIBLE. NOT PHYSICALLY—I’M USED TO that part now. But my emotions are tied up in ugly little knots, choking me. I open my eyes to leaves and grass and two familiar boulders; Luka’s sitting on one, Tyrone on the other.

“What the hell happened?” Luka asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Something went down at the pizza place. Were you and Jackson pulled before me?”

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, how much I’m allowed to tell him. So I tell him the truth. “I don’t know what I’m allowed to tell you.”

He stands up and closes the space between us. I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. They’re blue now, squinting a little as he studies me, his brows drawn in a frown. I look from him to Tyrone and back again.

Fear congeals in my gut. “Where’s Jackson?” I ask, my voice a harsh rasp.

Luka rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “I was going to ask you that. He’s always here before us.”

Panic surges. I slow it down, deep breath, hold, release. Jackson brought me into this to buy his freedom. Maybe it worked. Maybe the Committee accepted the trade. Part of me hates him for that, for sacrificing me like a trussed lamb. But part of me wants that, wants Jackson to be free, safe, away from all this. That’s what he wanted. Why he did this to me. But the wiser part of me knows the likelihood is small. Something else is going on here.

“You okay, Miki?” Luka asks.

I want to laugh, or maybe sob. I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again. I open my mouth to tell him that when I get a weird sensation tingling through me, a portent.

“Incoming,” I say, not sure how I even know that. I’m already turning before Luka can reply. Two girls I’ve never seen before stand together, looking at me.

Kendra. Lien. Transfers from another team
.

The Committee is talking in my head. I hear them, feel them, the scent of their words tickles my nose, the flavor bursts on my tongue.

I swallow and walk over to the two girls. Transfers, not new recruits. That means they know the score. No explanations needed, just introductions.

“Lien, I’m Miki,” I say, offering my hand to the girl on the right. She’s about my height with straight dark hair to her shoulders. Her features are delicate and sweet. Her eyes are blue, but we’re in the game. No way to know what color they are outside of it, but my guess would be brown. I turn to the other and offer my hand as I incline my head and say, “Hey, Kendra.” She’s tiny, maybe five feet, with long, blond ringlets and a round face.

Tyrone gets to his feet and crosses the space in two strides. “Wait . . . you know them?”

“Kendra, Lien, that’s Tyrone,” I say, with a jerk of my head in his direction, “and that’s Luka.” I look at Tyrone. “I know them now. And I guess you do, too.”

Tyrone’s watching me with narrowed eyes. I’m torn between telling him about the Committee being all chatty-chat in my head or saying nothing at all. Kendra and Lien are standing close together, shoulders touching, watching the three of us warily.

“They’re transfers. From another team,” I say.

Tyrone’s brows arch high.

“Seriously?” Luka asks. “We’ve only ever had new recruits.” He glances at Lien. “How long have you been in the game?”

“A year,” she says.

“Three months,” Kendra says.

“Do you know why you were transferred?” Luka asks.

The two girls exchange a look, and Kendra’s eyes well with tears. I know what her answer will be even before she says it. “Everyone died. We’re all that’s left.”

The silence is deafening. None of us knows what to say to that. Then I find words, pulling them out from somewhere deep inside. “You’re part of our team now. We’re in this together.”

Lien swallows. Kendra nods, a single tear leaking out to trace down her cheek. On impulse, I grab her hand and then Lien’s and squeeze. Human contact. Silent reassurance. The same kind Richelle offered to me that first night in Vegas. The same kind Jackson offered when he brushed his fingers along the back of my hand.

My throat feels thick.

Gear up
.

Not the Committee this time. That’s Jackson’s voice in my head. I close my eyes for a second, not sure how I feel. Glad to hear his voice. Sad that his plan didn’t work. I think the words
Where are you?
But there’s no answer.

I take a deep breath and face the group.

“So where’s Jackson?” Tyrone asks.

“Guess he’s sitting this one out.”

Tyrone’s eyes widen. No one gets to sit one out. We all know that.

“Looks like we’re the team now.” I look at each of them in turn, meeting their eyes. “Gear up.” They all stare at me. “Now,” I say, in a near-perfect imitation of Jackson. Then I lead by example and grab my harness, loop it, buckle it down. When I stride to the weapons box, I find something unexpected. There, on the ground, is a kendo sword.

I pick it up and slide it from the sheath. The blade is black, like the blade of Jackson’s knife. I push the sword back in and strap the sheath to my back at exactly the right height so I can easily reach back and grab the handle.

When I lift my head, I find that no one has moved. They’re all watching me.

“Miki?” Luka asks, and I see the wariness in his eyes.

“Jackson’s not coming.” Just saying the words makes me feel sick. I’ve been on exactly two missions and now I’ve been dropped in as leader. The Committee doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing. If Jackson hadn’t been watching out for me on the other missions, would I have even made it through? I’m no leader. I’m barely a fighter.

What makes you think you get a choice?

He’s there, in my head again. Or is it only my memories? Doesn’t matter. We’re going to be pulled whether I’m ready or not.

Furious, terrified, aware of the futility of fighting any of this, I grab a harness and toss it to Tyrone. He’s my responsibility. They all are. “Gear up, or we’re going in without.”

Maybe that threat gets their attention, or maybe it’s my tone, but they do as I say and get their harnesses and weapons on. I glance at my con. Green, with a little map in the corner that has five green triangles.

“Scores,” I say, knowing the screen’s going to appear before it does. They finish getting their harnesses on and move to the center of the clearing. I couldn’t care less about my score because zero points or a thousand, I’m not getting out of this. Maybe none of us are. Maybe the whole thousand points thing is a lie. The Committee was kind of hedgy about that. They never answered me when I asked directly if anyone had ever made it out. But I’m not about to share that info with my team right before we go in.

I follow them to the screen in the center of the clearing for one reason only. I want to see if Jackson’s score shows up.

I wait, heart in my throat. There’s 3-D Tyrone and Luka. Then 3-D Kendra and Lien. Finally, my picture in its black border.

But 3-D Jackson doesn’t come. Disappointment sits like lead in my chest. I bury it and focus on the moment. Kendra and Lien have fairly high scores, better than mine. Good fighters, then. That’s a bonus.

Or is it? I remember what Tyrone said about the boy I replaced, about the way he stole points. I hope I don’t have to deal with that. Right now, I can barely face dealing with going on a mission at all.

I’d feel intimidated about having the lowest scores if I hadn’t already seen that Jackson’s sucked, too. Jackson. I close my eyes and take a breath, wishing—

Jump in thirty
.

Now I know how Jackson always knew things the rest of us didn’t. Direct line to the Committee.

“We jump in thirty,” I say.

Luka shoots me a glance. “How do you know that?”

“Does it matter?”

He tips his head, looking at me like he doesn’t recognize me. In this moment, I’m not sure I recognize myself.

We respawn in a tight group. Respawn—come back to life in the game. So what’s the game now? This, or the life I used to know?