Torn (7 page)

“Holy crap,” the figure shouted. “Wait a second!”

Davis lowered her arm, her whole body trembling. It was just Mercer.

“Don't do that!” she yelled, swatting him playfully as he laughed. “Jesus. You scared the crap out of me.”

“You're just an easy target,” Mercer teased. Davis couldn't help grinning up at him.

“A new shipment's arriving tomorrow,” he told her now, grinning wide. “Are you ready?” He said it every week. And every week, she told him it was impossible. They had to wait until they weren't contagious. And now she wasn't.

“I was born ready,” she told him, hands on her hips. “This was my plan, after all.”

She laughed as his face went white.

“Wait—you're serious?” He was so used to her telling him no.

“Mercer,” she told him, running to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I'm not contagious anymore. If I'm not, surely you're not, either. Our health has improved at the same rate. They give both of us free rein at the facility. He said I haven't been contagious for weeks. Let's do this. I'm ready.” She pulled back and walked over to the air vent in the corner of the room and pulled out the map they'd been crafting for weeks.

“Everything's set,” Mercer said, eyeing the map. “It's foolproof.”

“Is it?” Davis asked, standing up to stretch her legs. She knew from experience the dangers of assuming anything was foolproof. She moved across the tiny room, doing a series of stretches, and finally, a running leap. When she landed, Mercer was in front of her; he lifted her up, using the momentum of her leap to hold her over his head briefly. She giggled and squirmed out of his grasp.

“Looks like you've got some ballerina in you,” she said to Mercer, laughing. He smiled, but it was solemn.

“You look beautiful when you dance,” he told her. “You're perfect.”

Davis felt the full weight of the word, and it was like a cloud descending over them, illuminating instead of obscuring her current physical state—weakened from Narxis, a shell of what she used to be.

“People like us can never be ‘perfect,'” she told him, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. They were both Neithers. It was the one thing he should understand.
Perfect
was the one word he should have avoided.

“You know what I meant,” he told her. “You're perfect to me.”

Davis smiled, turning away awkwardly. She knew he was waiting for a response, but she didn't know what to give him. Sometimes when he made those comments … it was like he was pushing for something. But she was still dealing with Cole's death and trying to shake the feeling of inadequacy she had only just begun to grow used to. She couldn't consider it. She wanted his friendship, that was all. At least for right now.

There was so much else to think about. She still couldn't believe there were so many Neithers out there. The fact that Priors and Imps had relationships often enough for an entire population of Neithers to exist blew her mind. It also gave her hope for a future in which her romance with Cole wouldn't have been doomed.

The thought of Cole caused her heart to quake.

But she had her family to think of now. Her father and Fia and Vera to be strong for.

“Let's go over the maps once more,” she suggested. Mercer nodded, and they pored over the maps for the millionth time, firming up their plan. Davis would escape, and when she did, she'd be prepared. She'd bring Dr. Hassman and the Durham scientists as much information about the disease as she could gather. She couldn't save Cole. But while there was hope of helping the others she loved, she'd never stop trying.

6

COLE

There was a loud explosion outside, and Cole startled, nearly dropping the portable radio he'd been holding. It came again—and this time it sounded like a series of guns firing. Were the Slants under attack? Cole's entire body tensed. When the third round of firing went off—this time much closer—he dashed out of his hideout before he could second-guess himself. Seeing a crowd amassing on the gravel path leading from Michelle's father's general store to the housing compounds, he ducked his head and stepped into a narrow alleyway between buildings. He felt suddenly terrified, exposed. The explosions fired again, and around him people gasped. There wasn't fear in their voices, though. No one screamed and ran as they might have if they really were under attack.

Finally, Cole got the courage to lift his head, exposing his face to the sky. There, above him, was a giant blimp. It was apparently the source of the sounds, which seemed designed to get their attention. But what got Cole's attention were the gigantic words emblazoned across the fluttering banner it heralded.
FIFTIETH ANNUAL OLYMPIADS,
it read in neon green lettering.
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HISTORY, GEN COMPETITORS WELCOME
!

The crowd around him murmured, their voices rising in pitch. Gens had never been welcome in the Olympiads, and frankly, it seemed silly to think of Gens competing against Priors, who were engineered for peak performance.

Still. Hope bloomed inside of him. If he could compete in the Olympiads—and win—his world might open up again. Once again, a different future—far away from Columbus, maybe with Davis—would be possible.

Except it was impossible for a dead man to compete.

He waited for the blimp to recede and the crowds to disperse before moving out of the alley and ducking back into his hideout. His thoughts were swirling. He was so distracted that he nearly missed the rattling sound of the door opening a few minutes later.

He whirled, panic-stricken, certain he'd been caught. But it was only Worsley, holding a bag of something delicious-smelling. Cole had been famished a few hours ago, but now there was only one thing on his mind.

“What do you know about the Olympiads?” he asked.

“You saw.” Disapproval flashed through Worsley's eyes. “You risked getting caught.”

“I wasn't thinking,” Cole said. “I thought we were under attack. What was I supposed to do, stay here and die? But Tom, is it true?”

Worsley leaned toward Cole, his face serious. “It's true. The city is reinstating the Olympiads. But this time, Gens can compete. It's some publicity stunt,” Worsley added, but Cole was already sitting straighter.

“Compete? Compete how? In which events?”

“It's just their way of boosting morale after the Narxis outbreak,” Worsley told him. “You choose your individual event. If you win, you compete in the triathlon. The winner of the triathlon wins the whole thing. The prizes are huge.”

“Money?”

Thomas nodded. “More money than FEUDS. More than you can imagine.”

Cole was at his feet before he realized what had happened. He fought a wave of dizziness that overcame him briefly. He'd been inside for too long. He should have been outside, training. Worsley saw him falter.

“You'll have to train again,” he said.

“I'll be able to travel,” Cole whispered. “I'll be able to go to the Everglades.”

“Cole,” Worsley cautioned. “We don't even know if she's still alive.”

“I need to see for myself,” Cole said. “And my mother.…”

“I saw her yesterday,” Worsley said. “She's okay.”

They both knew “okay” was a stretch. No longer able to pay for her tiny house, she'd been living in a home for destitutes along the far reaches of the Slants, not far from where dead bodies were still being discarded daily by Priors. Setting his mom up somewhere comfortable—where she'd never have to work or worry again—had been Cole's dream for as long as he could remember.

“It won't take me long to get back in shape,” Cole told Worsley confidently. “Boxing has a lot to do with muscle memory. When's the competition? A couple of weeks at the gym, yeah—and food. Protein, if you can get it. It won't take me long to get strong again, like I was.”

Worsley was shaking his head. “Boxing isn't one of the events,” he said. “You'll have to pick something new. I wasn't even going to tell you. I didn't want to get your hopes up. You'll have to train in a new sport, disguise your DNA … disguise your appearance somehow. You're notorious, even if everyone thinks you're dead. Once they see you, they'll know we faked the whole thing at the morgue. It's next to impossible to pull off, you sneaking into the competition.”

“We've got to try,” Cole told him. “I'll try anything. What can we do? Can we alter my DNA somehow? Is there some way to—”

“Cole. I can't do much. I need to finish my work on Narxis. I can't put that in jeopardy.”

Cole took a breath, nodding. Anything he could accomplish by winning the Olympiads would be undermined if Worsley's work on developing the vaccine were interrupted.

“We'll think of some way to get you in,” Worsley assured him, getting to his feet. “I need to get back to the lab. But there's this guy, Braddock. You should talk to him.”

“Braddock. Why does that sound familiar?”

“He won FEUDS a long time ago. Maybe forty years. But then he went on to coach seven FEUDS champions and even two Olympiads champions before he disappeared. People say something happened with one of the Prior families—one of the kids he was coaching. It was amazing, being hired to train Priors. But after the second Olympiads champion, he was gone.”

Cole raised an eyebrow.

“Not actually disappeared,” Worsley corrected. “He's just off the circuit. He's kind of a hermit now. Keeps to himself. Lives in the woods. He's the only guy I can think of who would know exactly how to train you. He's seen both competitions, knows the drill. He's the best of the best. But if you go to him, you have to make sure no one sees you. No one can know you're alive, Cole. If somebody sees you sneaking out to Braddock, they'll know exactly what you're thinking of doing. Even if they're on your side, rumors get around.”

“Where is he?” Cole asked.

“Past the Slants. In the Open Country. Beyond the old stone house. At least, that's where he was last. I have no idea if he's still there.”

“I'll leave tonight,” Cole said.

“You'll have to be careful,” Worsley warned him. “There's radiation everywhere. It's a wasteland; the reason it's never been developed is because it's not suitable for human life. The soil and water have been tested a million times by Prior developers who want to expand, and it's never been possible. They say the radiation content in the soil would wipe out a population in a matter of months.”

“So how does Braddock survive?”

Worsley shrugged. “That, I don't know. Maybe he hasn't. He may not even be there anymore, Cole. Don't get your hopes too high.”

Cole opened the paper sack Worsley handed him, as Worsley settled himself atop the cracked blue bucket that Cole used as a makeshift stool. It had been nearly two weeks between Worsley's last visit and now. Cole's supplies—some tins of food along with a case of water—had been diminishing. He'd been about to panic when Worsley showed up that morning. It was a reminder that he couldn't hide forever, and it made him even more eager to cling to what Worsley told him about Braddock.

The smell of meat—chicken, maybe—wafted from the bag. Cole couldn't help himself; he pried open the food from its plastic confines and shoveled as much as he could into his mouth with his bare hands. The flavors of cumin and coriander and orange peel overwhelmed him. After days on end of canned soup and tuna fish, he almost cried at the taste of it.

“Vera's been very cooperative,” Worsley commented as Cole ate.

Cole flushed. He couldn't believe he'd neglected to ask about Vera. He'd been so excited over the news about the Olympiads that he hadn't thought of her at all. He felt awful.

“How is she?” he asked. “Is she healthy? Is she in good spirits?”

Worsley unscrewed the top of a bottle of water, his face brightening. “She's nearly five and a half months along, now. The baby will be here before we know it. It's all going well. The fetus is developing just as it should at this stage. I'm hopeful.”

“I asked about
Vera,
” Cole reminded him sharply. He was shocked by Worsley's callous discussion of the fetus as if it were nothing other than an experiment—though he couldn't deny that the development of the Narxis vaccine was just as important to him as to Worsley, if not more so. Still, Cole felt guilty for thinking first of the cure, and not Vera herself. If Davis were there, she'd only be wondering how her friend was.

“Vera's good,” Thomas said, ignoring Cole's tone. “She's strong, healthy. I'm making sure she gets all the right nutrients. She's a little pale from lack of sun exposure. But that can't be helped. She needs to be concealed. If anything—” Worsley cut himself off. “Well. You know how important this baby is.”

Cole nodded. “I'm still not exactly sure how the baby is going to help with the vaccine's development,” he told him. Now that he was satiated, he felt drowsy, foggy. Stronger, but less sharp.

“The baby needs to be born a Neither,” Worsley explained. “Like Davis. It needs a natural resistance to Narxis, because I plan to give it Narxis once it's born.”

Cole leapt to his feet. “What?” he said. “Why would you—”

“Relax.” Worsley held up a hand. “I'm going to inject the baby with a diluted strain. My hope—no, I'm sure of it—is that the baby will develop a natural immunity, and I'll be able to develop a cure from there. I still have some of Davis's blood,” he said, avoiding Cole's eyes. “I took samples when she was in my lab. I'm planning to use her exact strain of Narxis on the baby. I just need to perform a few more tests to figure out whether it needs to be weakened further for the infant's immune system to tolerate it.”