Eve Silver - Push

“Weapons,” Jackson says, knife in one hand, weapon cylinder in the other.

I grasp my weapon cylinder, feeling it warp and shape itself to my hand, but leave the sword in its sheath for now.

“What about Tyrone?” Luka asks.

Jackson checks his con. It shows three triangles—us—and another three triangles somewhere southwest of us, moving along the edge of the building.

“They’re looking for a way in. Any thoughts on how we can connect with him?” Jackson asks, not sarcastic—serious.

Luka shakes his head. “In that pandemonium? Not hardly. What do we do?”

“We can’t wait,” I say, the Drau’s presence squirming inside me, almost painful in its intensity.

“Agreed,” Jackson says.

Luka takes a breath. “I’ll miss having Tyrone at my back, but I’m not sure going in without Kendra and Lien is a loss. I don’t trust them. Well, one of them. Kendra. She’s a griefer.”

Gaming term. Luka explained it to me before. A griefer steals points, lets other players wear down the target, then takes the kill. I shake my head. It’s hard to believe that of Kendra. But her score . . . I remember thinking that it was freakishly high. And I remember other things. Fleeting expressions I caught on Luka’s face or Tyrone’s. And Tyrone saying something to Jackson right before he took Kendra and Lien outside. They must have suspected this for a while.

Luka glances at me. “I think Lien’s helping her.” He pauses. “Out of love. I think she wants Kendra out of the game before one of her freak-outs gets her—or someone else—killed. I’ve noticed that she’s giving Kendra her kills, not just helping her steal ours.”

“It’s a problem we’ll have to deal with after we deal with the Drau,” Jackson says. “If they do catch up with us, watch your backs. A griefer on the team’s bad news.”

He and Luka exchange a look, and I know it’s because they’ve dealt with a griefer before—the boy I replaced.

“Let’s go.” Jackson heads down the hall, through the double doors at the far end, then through a second set of doors to the stairs. Luka and I follow.

MY SENSES ARE HEIGHTENED, THE FEEL OF THE BANNISTER under my palm sharp and clear, the sensation of my feet pounding the stairs jarring and stark. My heart rate’s amped. My breathing’s fast and shallow. Adrenaline rush.

Deep inside me the writhing awareness of the Drau ramps up, like a nest of snakes. They’re somewhere ahead of us. I can’t see them, but they’re here. I feel it in every cell of my body.

And it’s me, Luka, and Jackson against an army. I’m not liking the odds.

We follow Jackson to a door, then down more stairs to the basement. I’ve been down here once before, last year, when the drama teacher had me and Carly help go through some boxes to find costumes.

The walls on either side are painted white, the stairs here narrow and steep. At the bottom is a long corridor, dim, empty, shadowy doorways marking the walls.

The Drau could be anywhere, in any one of these basement rooms.

“Trap?” I whisper.

“Maybe,” Luka answers.

“What do we do?”

“We go in,” Jackson says.

I open my mouth, then close it. I already know what he’ll say: What makes you think you get a choice?

He’s right. My gut’s telling me this is a bad idea, that the Drau are playing us, leading us into a trap. Why run through the dance like that? Why create pandemonium only to hide here?

And why be here at all? Why Glenbrook High?

Again, the ugly possibility that the Committee planned it this way, that they’re sending a message to me, to Jackson, worms through my thoughts.

Doesn’t matter. I have to keep going. We have to keep going. And not just because that’s the instruction the Committee’s feeding Jackson.

It’s because the Drau pushed into my world, my real world. They are threatening my friends. I have to stop them.

Jackson holds a hand up to signal a halt when we come up on the first door. It’s open. The room beyond is dim but not dark, a single naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. It’s more a large closet than a room, and it’s empty.

We move to the next door. He signals Luka, then me. We flank the two sides of the door, weapons ready.

I hold Luka’s gaze, feel eerily calm despite the thud of my own pulse and the energy pushing me to move.

Jackson gives the signal.

Luka and I round the doorjamb into a crouch, weapons aimed. And there it is: the kick of my heart, the depth of my breathing, the singular focus, my eyes taking in every detail, my ears straining for sounds. I’m in it now. Scared. Agitated. Exhilarated. In it with everything I am.

Game on.

There’s nothing here. No movement. No threat.

But they could be hiding.

We go in, me right, Luka left, Jackson straight ahead. The concrete floor’s gray and discolored. The far wall has four thick, black pipes sticking out of it. There’s a pile of stained and frayed cream-colored cushions tied together with rope in the middle of the room. But there are no Drau.

Jackson gives the thumbs-up: clear.

We continue along the hall, clearing rooms, tension drawing tighter as we go.

Another door opens to a huge room with two black metal boilers and tons of thick pipes sticking out of the walls, the floor, spanning the ceiling. Lots of places the Drau could lie in wait.

We fan out exactly the way we’ve done every other room so far. Luka left. Me right. Jackson straight ahead.

I check behind the boilers, behind three thick pipes. Nothing.

Jackson gives the thumbs-up again.

We turn to go.

A wave of fear and bone-deep revulsion hits me, violent, shocking, like ice in my veins. It comes out of nowhere, intense and powerful.

Drau.

Here.

I spin. Spin again.

Where are they?

Trap! Move! I hear Jackson’s voice inside my head as we sprint for the door.

Light comes at us from both ends of the hallway. The Drau are everywhere.

My weapon cylinder hums to life, obeying my will, the dark, deadly stream catching a Drau in the chest. I switch it to my left hand, the shape changing subtly to account for the differences. I shoot. Shoot again. Not even taking time to aim.

I throw my weight forward onto my left foot, kick back with my right, my heel connecting with the bottom of the sheath hanging between my shoulder blades.

The handle of my sword flies up and I grab it and clear the scabbard, bringing the blade into position. I crack it down on a Drau’s forehead, yank it back, and slam it down a second time.

Hiraki-ashi : pivot.

I take out two Drau that come at me from the side.

My skin burns where their weapons hit me, droplets of pain that sink into every part of me.

I fire. Fire again. My weapon cylinder is like a living thing, like a part of my arm. I realize that instinctively Luka, Jackson, and I have arranged ourselves in a tight group with the wall at our backs.

We’re surrounded.

There are so many of them.

And it isn’t just our lives at risk. Everyone who hasn’t yet evacuated the dance is only a floor away.

They have no clue what we’re up against.

I don’t want them to have a clue.

I’m just praying Carly and Kelley and Dee made it out. Maylene. Aaron. Shareese. So many kids I’ve known almost my whole life.

I have to win. Have to take out the enemy.

Lives depend on me.

I surge forward, my blade sweeping across my attackers. Shards of light fall on me, penetrating skin and muscle, pain bright and sharp clear through to bone.

Black ooze pulses from my weapon in a powerful stream, eating a Drau, pulling it in headfirst. The way it screams is familiar now. I cringe, then lock those feelings away.