Meredith McCardle - The Eighth Guardian

I come to in the back of an ambulance. It feels as if someone took a hammer to both of my temples. The door to the ambulance is open, so I see it’s parked in the middle of Peel’s quad.

“Hey,” a voice breathes next to me. I don’t have to look to know who it is.

“Abe,” I whisper. “What happened?”

Abe’s face appears over mine. He looks older to me. There are dark-blue bags under both of his eyes and dirt caked on his face. No. Not dirt—smoke. The explosion. I suck in my breath as it all comes back to me.

“Alpha?” I ask.

Abe presses his lips together. “Dead.”

I close my eyes and squeeze them as hard as I can. “He tried to surrender to me. He . . . he seemed truly sorry.” Life’s not black-and-white. Nothing ever is. There are very many shades of gray that litter the spectrum. Alpha wasn’t on the white side, but he wasn’t on the black side either, I’m starting to realize. Somewhere in there was a man who got caught up in something he couldn’t control. And while what he did is unforgivable, I did see glimpses of the man he could have been had he made better choices. I open my eyes and look at Abe.

He’s quiet for a few seconds. “If it’s any consolation, Vaughn survived. He’s pretty banged up, but he’ll live to answer for his crimes.” Then Abe’s face changes. “Close your eyes!”

I obey without question, and several moments pass before Abe finally says, “Clear.”

I open my eyes and raise an eyebrow.

“Investigators. Dozens of them. State and federal and higher-ups that you would not believe. They all want to talk to you. I figure you want to be left alone for a little while.”

“Talk to me?” I ask. “You mean interrogate me?”

“Probably.”

“It’s still my word against Vaughn’s, isn’t it?” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Nothing’s changed.”

Abe’s fingers interlace with mine, and he brings one of my hands to his mouth and kisses it. “Everything’s changed. They found a notebook by Vaughn. Half of it had been burned but the other half had a bunch of numbers and dates in it, and they’re trying to figure out what it all means. Plus, Annum Hall is probably being torn apart as we speak. Vaughn’s the one under investigation now, not you.”

I think of what Alpha said before he . . . before he died. One of his ramblings. XP knows. XP. I wonder if that’s related to Vaughn and Eagle Industries. It has to be. Why else would Alpha mention it? I wonder if XP is anywhere in that notebook.

Suddenly there’s a voice outside the ambulance. A crotchety, no-nonsense voice.

“I don’t care that you don’t want me in there; I’m going in there. Now stand aside.”

Ariel appears in the back of the ambulance.

“Abraham, help me up,” he says. Abe extends his hand to his grandfather and pulls him up into the ambulance. And then Ariel’s warm, familiar arms are around me. He’s holding me so close it’s like he’s my own family. And I realize that he is. He is my family. He always has been and always will be. I wrap my arms around him.

“You came through for me,” I say.

“I did.” Ariel sits up. “And I also failed you. I knew who you were the second Abraham called and said he’d met a girl. I knew and never told you. You were right. I knew the Guard was going to take you, although I had no idea they’d take you so soon.” He looks at Abe now. “I knew where she was, and I didn’t tell you.” His old eyes are sad, regretful.

“You didn’t know what Alpha was up to.” Abe says it like a fact, not like a guess.

“I did not.”

“Maybe I should have told you in 1963.” My voice is weak. My mouth is dry. I swallow. “Maybe you could have stopped Alpha from the start. Maybe then my dad—”

“Let your father go,” Ariel says. “I didn’t want you to tell me about the past, because I didn’t want it to influence my future behavior. And I’m glad you didn’t tell me, because now I’ve been able to watch the organization unfold over three generations; and there is no doubt in my mind that I no longer believe in it and will fight to shut it down.”

“But you founded it!”

“When I was very young and very naive. Back when I thought changing the past was the right thing. I no longer think it is. There’s a reason I never let my son join, as well as a reason the president himself received a phone call when I found out they’d taken Abraham.”

Abe takes my hand. “But I’m in the Guard now. If Amanda is in, I’m in.”

“No, you’re not,” Ariel says. “You’re done, and you’re going back to school, and you’re moving on with your life.”

“Grandpa!” Abe protests.

Ariel squeezes my hand again. “I can’t make that call for you. But I hope you’ll make the right decision.” Then he stands up as much as he can in an ambulance and backs his way to the door.

“We’re not done talking about this!” Abe throws at his grandfather.

“Yes,” Ariel says as he climbs down, “we are.”

Abe’s head whips back to me, and he leans down close. “I meant what I said. If you’re staying, I’m staying.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whisper. It’s the truth. My head is spinning in a million different directions. Between Alpha and Yellow and now Ariel and Abe, and I just want it to stop. I want it all to stop.

“Abe, I don’t know if I can do this.”

He takes my hand. “If it’s what you want, I’ll help you. We’ll both be Annum Guard together. And if it’s not what you want, we’ll both be CIA together. And if you’re sick and tired of everything, then we’ll just go be normal together. Go to college. Get a place together someday. You and me.”

Once upon a time that idea would have filled me with excitement. But now I don’t know. I don’t understand anything anymore.

“Abraham!” Ariel’s voice booms from outside the ambulance. “Now!”

Abe squeezes my hand. His eyes are moist. “I’ll find a way for us to be together. It will happen, Amanda. It will.”

I nod my head. Tears are forming in my eyes, and I don’t know how to hold them back. Abe lets go of my hand, breathes a good-bye, and disappears from the ambulance.

And then the tears fall. I don’t try to stop them. I cry for my dad, for my mom, for Yellow, myself, even Alpha. And especially for Abe. It’s as if the universe doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know how long I can keep fighting it.

Abe’s gone. He’s gone. And I don’t know when I’ll see him again. Whether I’ll ever see him again. I choke.

“Abe!” I yell after him.

He doesn’t respond. But someone does. Many someones. And then the secretary of defense, the director of National Intelligence, the National Security adviser, the FBI director, and the vice president all squeeze into the back of the ambulance and shut the door.

I don’t go back to Annum Hall. I don’t want to. I’m so tired. I lost my leader, then my boyfriend, and maybe even my friend. I went through a whole night’s worth of questioning. It’s seven in the morning, I haven’t slept since Dallas, and I don’t want to contemplate anything: Vaughn, CE, XP, the charred notebook. I just want to go to Mass General. So I do. To the reception area.

“My friend was shot,” I tell the very no-nonsense woman with frizzy hair sitting behind a computer. “I need to find her.”

“What’s her name?” the woman asks as she places her fingers over the keyboard.

I open my mouth, then close it. Because I don’t know. Somehow I’m going to doubt she’s here under “Yellow.” But then I remember Indigo’s anguished screams piercing the sky. The name he called her. The name he yelled over and over again.