Demitria Lunetta - In the End

With some difficulty, I transfer Brenna from the couch into the bike trailer. She moans and mutters, and her wound reopens, staining her already bloodied bandage a deeper shade of red, but she finally settles in.

I take off on the bike, pulling her behind me. She’s heavy, so the pace is slow. I do what I can to keep my pedaling even so that the noise is a constant hum, but I still have to shoot a Florae before we’ve gone a mile. I wonder how many more we’ll see along the way, drawn to the area by yesterday’s rampant gunfire.

We pass a gas station, and I stop for a moment, silently entering and surveying the store. My Guardian glasses act as night-vision goggles, and I’m thankful again to Kay, for what she’s given me to ensure my survival. All the good supplies have been scavenged, of course, but there’s a first aid kit hidden behind the counter that’s better stocked than the one I have from the auto lot office.

I rebandage Brenna’s wound, cleaning it with hydrogen peroxide first. The skin on her hand looks papery and is streaked with red marks. I make her swallow eight pain pills, though they expired years ago.

Before we get back on the road, I use a pair of scissors I snagged from the office to cut my hair short, leaving it a little longer on top, just like Baby cut it for me. Then, turning my head over, I dump the rest of the peroxide on what’s left of my hair. I hope the color will change—if not to blonde, to orange. After all, Tank and Pete likely aren’t the only thugs Doc sent after me, and I don’t want to be immediately recognizable.

I debate whether to try to change Brenna’s appearance, but her short hair makes it harder. Pete and Tank aren’t going to tell anyone that I was with Brenna. I think back to our leaving Fort Black. . . . Only a few people saw us together. Even if they tell the Warden that Brenna is with me . . . I’ll have to take that chance.

I check Brenna before we head out again. The moonlight reflects off her damp skin. She looks so pale, but she’s at least a little coherent for the moment. She smiles weakly, then snaps her eyes over my shoulder, holding up four fingers on her good hand.

I turn and see the Floraes, too—shuffling along the road toward the gas station, hunting. I slip into the bike trailer with Brenna and pull the flap over us. Moving my head from side to side, through my amplifier I hear a low snarl, a damp huffing, the unmistakable scrape of Florae claws on pavement as They approach.

I stay completely still, curled next to Brenna, who thankfully remains quiet, no longer shivering. The Floraes pass us, but still I wait. I could shoot them, but if we can take cover, I’d rather save my bullets for a more dire situation, for when hiding isn’t an option. It’s how I survived so long in the After, by being patient and careful. Finally Brenna opens her eyes. “They’re gone,” she whispers.

I carefully remove myself from the bike trailer and stretch, searching the road behind us. There’s no sign of Them. Getting back on the bike, I pedal on, slow and steady, in the direction of Fort Black.

As I scan the horizon for Floraes, my mind slowly turns over my options. First I’ll find Jacks, who can help me. Then I’ll bring Brenna to Ken. He’ll study her blood, maybe develop a cure from it. Or maybe he already has the cure—maybe it was the latest vaccine that’s saved Brenna.

But why didn’t my mother find the formula sooner? Why didn’t Rice? My mother created the original bacterium strain that started all this, and Rice is the smartest person I’ve ever met. The labs at New Hope are well equipped and staffed. How could Ken, working alone in his Fort Black lab, succeed where they failed?

No. Like Baby, Brenna has to be immune because of that long-ago testing.

After a few hours, the prison walls are in sight.

I circle around to the garage entrance and stop the bike outside the door. Brenna’s lucid enough to keep up on her feet when I haul her from the trailer. Supporting most of her weight, I lug her to the door and kick at it.

I feel eyes on us through the door, and then the guard cracks it open.

“Oh, hell no,” the guard says. All I can see are his wide eyes and the end of his rifle barrel. “You’re not bringing her in here. She looks like crap. She’s bitten, isn’t she?”

“Get Jacks,” I say, leaning Brenna against the wall. “Hurry.”

“But—”

“Now!”

The door shuts, and Brenna slides down the wall into a sitting position. I give her some water, thinking it might already be over. If the guard goes to Doc instead of Jacks—and that’s probably protocol, with a probable infection at the gate—it will be. Long minutes pass before the door opens again, but it’s Jacks who’s standing on the threshold with the guard.

My heart presses against my chest. To my surprise, my eyes fill with tears.

“Well,” he says. “I don’t usually like blondes, but . . .” His eyes flick to Brenna and his smile fades. “Brenna? What happened?”

“She’s sick. Help me with her.”

The guard still doesn’t like it. He keeps his gun trained on Brenna while Jacks and I hoist her to her feet and bring her inside. His eyes bore holes into our backs as we make our way through the garage. Sweat beads on my forehead. How long will it take him to call the Warden?

Jacks and I take Brenna around the wall to one of the examination rooms and place her on a bed. “I’ll go get Doc,” he says, turning to leave, but I grab his arm.

“No, wait. Not Doc.”

“Why?”

“Well—” How do I explain that his father wants me dead?

But before I say anything, he pulls me in for a hug.

“When I read that note, I thought I’d never see you again.”

The hairs on my arms are standing on end. “Brenna was bitten by a Florae,” I whisper into his ear.

He releases me, eyeing Brenna, and then a needle on a metal tray across the room. The potassium chloride.

“You don’t understand.” I put myself between him and the tray. “Brenna was bitten yesterday afternoon.” He stares at me, uncomprehending. “Jacks, it’s nighttime now. It’s been about thirty hours since she was bitten. She hasn’t changed. She isn’t going to change.”

Jacks shakes his head. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s not impossible. It’s happened.” I step closer to him. “Don’t you see? Brenna could be the key to a cure. She could end it all—New Hope, Fort Black . . . People wouldn’t have to live like this anymore.”

I watch as he struggles with what he’s just heard.

He looks over at Brenna. “Amy, this means . . . ,” he says, understanding dawning on his face, “humans can take back the world.”

“I have to get Doc,” Jacks is telling me for the third time. “If her wound is infected—”

I cut him off. “Can’t you help her?”

“I’m not a doctor, Amy.” Jacks stares at me for a long time, then looks away. “I don’t know what to do. I know finding out about all his experimentations bothered you. . . . It freaked me out too. But he’s still a doctor. He still helps people.”

“But—”

I stop myself. Doc and the Warden are trying to keep Jacks safe. If Doc is taking orders from Dr. Reynolds, Jacks will be a lot safer if he doesn’t know about the failed assassination. Even his father may not be able to protect him from Dr. Reynolds. Because if I tell him, he’ll definitely confront Doc about it. That’s just Jacks.

“Doc is unreliable. You know that better than anyone else. Can’t you just find Ken?”

“It took you three weeks to find him before, and that’s only because he wanted to see you.” He looks at my bleak gaze and softens. “But I can ask Doc to contact him. Tell him I need to ask him about an incoming patient, or something.”