Sherry Ficklin - Extracted

Crying out, I try to shake them off. The others aren’t faring any better. As a matter of fact, the Peacekeepers are attacking them even more ferociously. That’s when I notice Alexei’s leg. It’s a prosthetic steam machine. I’m too distracted fighting off the Peacekeepers to ask any questions, but just seeing him like this hurts. And now I remember why.

I was supposed to protect him. Papa told me to find Alexei and take care of him. The realization hits me like a brick. I stumble back, barely keeping myself from falling.

I’ve failed.

Whatever this is, whatever he’s become, it’s my fault. And if he doesn’t get out of here soon, the Peacekeepers will kill him.

The emotions override me, like being in the middle of a typhoon. I am being pulled this way and that. The brand on my arm burns as I remember the last order Tesla gave me. His voice floats through my head: “Let the boy die.” Inside me, the fighting ends in a snap and the decision is made.

There is no way I am going to let my brother die.

Not again.

“Alexei, do you have what you came here for?” I scream over the chaos.

He holds up what looks like a large, oval lightbulb.

“Then you have to go, now!”

He shakes his head. “Not without you.”

I rush at him, throwing my arms around his neck. He smells like sweat and grease and something underneath that I can’t put my finger on.

“I can’t go with you,” I whisper, pushing myself away. His face hardens.

Another wave of Peacekeepers charges us, pulling him away from me. They slice at his arms and face.

“Make sure it’s turned off,” I yell and he nods, tucking the lightbulb under his arm.

I’m bleeding from where the machines are sawing at my legs, but the pain is nothing, absolutely nothing compared to what I feel inside right now. Alexei screams something and they all pull out their pills, ready to swallow them.

Pulling the EMP grenade out of my pocket, I look at my little brother as he fights off the metal monsters before putting his own pill on his tongue.

And it’s my fault.

If guilt could kill, I’d already be dead on the floor. Pain rolls in my stomach, threatening to force the contents up my throat and out my mouth. Tears roll down my cheeks and into my mouth. They’re like bitter saltwater on my tongue. I blink, searching for my brother’s face like a lifeline in a storm.

I look at him, catching his eye one last time, and mouth, “I love you.”

Flipping the EMP over in my palm, I close my eyes and press the button. A bright light flashes, and then everything goes black.

LEX

“Claymore would like to debrief you, Lex,” Gloves says, glaring at me so hard it’s like he’s trying to read my mind. Not possible when I’m so tired and confused I can barely see straight.

“Didn’t he talk to you already?” I ask, my head tucked into the crook of my arm.

The tattered purple lounge chair is really comfortable. I don’t want to deal with Claymore at the moment. I don’t want to deal with anyone. It feels like all my old scars have been ripped open again and I am slowly bleeding to death. The feeling is part cold, part numbness, like tiny crystals of ice swimming through my veins.

I can’t get her face out of my mind. I keep trying to match it up—the face of the girl from the vault and the face of my sister. She looks different. Harder, somehow. Her hair is the same, long and brown like our mother’s, and her eyes are the color of hot chocolate on a winter’s morning. Only the narrow bridge of her nose that slopes into her mouth looks like Father’s—like mine.

“I did,” Gloves answers, folding his arms across his chest. “He wants to talk to the leader of the mission, and that would be you.”

I scratch the scar on my neck and jaw. It’s as real and painful as the image of my sister that’s now burned into my brain. For the first time, I wish my leg would seize up so that I would have an excuse to stay in the common room staring at the empty half-pipe. The others have given me a wide berth since we got back. That might have something to do with the monumental disaster I made when we got back. I practically ripped the place apart with my bare hands. I wish I could tap into that fire now, anything to warm myself.

Painfully I stand and hobble up to Claymore’s office, trying not to look at the random faces I pass by. I know they’re staring, waiting for me to say something about what happened, waiting to see if I’ll fly off the handle again. Honestly, I haven’t ruled out the possibility. I kick an abandoned skateboard that has been staring at me from the center of the room. It crashes into the wall and chunks of plaster fall to the floor. Taking a deep breath, I wait to feel something. But nothing comes.

“Oh, and by the way, I took the liberty of telling Claymore about your sister,” Gloves calls after me. It’s like he threw a ball at me without bothering to give me a “think fast.” That dude is a sieve. He can’t hold information if his life depends on it.

Still, it’s probably for the best. If I’d had to see Claymore when we first got back, I probably would’ve ripped that diver’s helmet right off his shoulders. As it is, the first stirrings of returning anger rolls in my gut. My sister, my сестра. My family. Their faces float in and out of my mind like balloons. In the back of my brain, a vague plan is forming. It looks a lot like me going back for Stein, and then going back for my family. Only the how is fuzzy.

My geared leg begins to hurt, so I use the cane Nobel gave me to take away some of the pressure. It’s tempting to turn around and beat Gloves with it, but I don’t want to damage the cane. Nobel tells me that my upgrade is almost ready. The pain should go away with the addition of the new prosthetic.

Walking down the dim hallway, I can almost feel Anya next to me. The link between us is deeper than just being brother and sister. She was my best friend when I was young. We played and talked, and more often than not, she read me stories and tucked me in at night. My lips begin to turn up at the corners as I remember the nursery rhymes she used to recite in her singsong voice. I can remember perfectly every time she held my hand while Grigori poked and prodded me, searching for a cure to the illness that plagued me as a child. Hemophilia, Nobel tells me. Something he was able to take care of with a series of genetic therapy injections. Then another memory invades—the look of shock on her face in the vault. I stop, closing my eyes, and reach forward. As if I think, somehow, I can reach through time and space and touch her. Rifting runs in our blood now. The time stream created us in its womb. We are bound to it and to each other. The air around me feels thin, so very fragile. If I can just reach out…

Breathing in, I can taste the smoke of the vault from the night before. I can hear her heart beating slowly, like a clock ticking backward. Just a little further and—

I’m thrown from the vision so hard I almost fall forward. Only my cane stops me from spilling face-first onto the floor. Shaking my head, I open my eyes and blink. She felt so close for a second. But whatever it was has passed, and I can’t put this off any longer.

Even though the sun is shining outside, the hallway to Claymore’s office seems darker than ever. I wonder absently what the Tower looked like back in its heyday. Back when Tesla and his assistants lived and worked here. Back when everything was new and shiny. We have placed it in a time loop created years after the facility was abandoned. Now it’s barely standing. Even the radio tower itself is nothing more than a tall, rusty jungle gym.

I hear the ticking before I even enter the room. Not only is Claymore already waiting for me, he has put something on the arrivals and departures board.