Chapter 25

That night, I lay awake in my bunk, listening to Rosalin snore. I wonder again, how likely we are to find a three bedroom apartment if Jaela moves in with us. If we don’t, then I might be forced to find a good set of earplugs.

I stare at the ceiling for a while and then resigned to the fact that sleep isn’t coming, I get up and tiptoe from the room. I wave my hand over the wall monitor on the way out and I’m surprised to see it’s only twelve forty. It feels like I’ve been lying awake for hours.

I pad to the bathroom, wishing I had thought to pull on a pair of socks. The concrete floor is always cold at night and the chill creeps up my legs. I shiver and rub my arms to keep warm. In the bathroom, I run the water until it’s hot and splash my face a few times. I dry off and examine myself in the mirror. I tilt my head one-way and then the other. Still not beautiful. I raise an eyebrow at myself and then laugh at my own silliness. That’s when I catch a glimpse of something Cenric must see. A certain allure that lies dormant until I’m responding to the world around me. I stop laughing and my face returns to its natural state of plain. I remember it’s been four days since I spoke to Cenric, that I haven’t seen him since he was knocked unconscious in the depths of the underbelly. He could be dead or in prison. I have no way of knowing. My face drops.

I collect my towel and leave the bathroom, determined to get some semblance of sleep. There’s no use working through problems and unanswered questions in the middle of the night. They take on a ghoulish cast and seem entirely unsolvable.

That’s when I remember the message from Head’s tablet.

Pick up at 0100.

I know I should go back to my room, that I should stay as far from Head as I can, but there’s a part of me that won’t let go, a part of me that’s convinced there’s an answer buried in that message.

I start walking to the loading dock, not because I know that’s where Head will be, but because that’s the last place I saw him this late at night. There are a thousand reasons why that won’t be the case, but I don’t know where else to start.

When I get close, I slow down until I can tiptoe to the doorway and peek my head around the corner.

I glance at the time. 1:04am

The area is dark and silent and I start to wonder if I’m on a pointless chase. Maybe Head is meeting some where outside of TWOC. It was even silly to assume he’d be here in the first place. I’m about to turn away when I hear the whine of a lock releasing and then the rumble of the large entrance door sliding open. A light flickers on in the room and I duck out of its glare.

I hear footsteps and the sound of something dragging along the floor.

“You’re late.” Head’s voice is low but unmistakable.

“Smule is off duty tonight,” the voice is rough and insolent. As if the person resents his nighttime trip to welfare.

“Then use the incinerator. I can’t leave this lying around here.”

“What if someone sees me?”

“I don’t care, just get it out of here.”

I hear grumbling and then silence.

I risk peeking around the door. Head is standing on the far side of the room, his back to me. A shorter, stockier man is bending to lift something off the ground. When he stands up, I see it’s a black bag the size of a suitcase. He hoists it onto his shoulder with little effort and turns to go. As he swivels around, he looks directly at me and I feel my heart leap into my mouth. I spin away from the door and press myself against the wall and out of sight. I listen intently, but I hear nothing. I’m convinced the man and Head are sneaking towards me, their hands just about to reach around the door frame and grab me, but nothing happens and after a moment I hear the rumble of the entrance door sliding shut. I take a breath and let it out slowly.

I’m still not safe standing in the hallway and I think I’ve seen enough for one evening. I don’t know what the man was picking up and I don’t know who was watching. I almost don’t want to know. But what would need to be incinerated or discarded outside the perimeter? I try to convince myself this was a case of routine trash removal, important documents perhaps, some other incriminating evidence, gambling debts or pornography. But I think it’s much worse than that. I shove the thought away and walk uneasily back to my room. I try not to think about what I’ve just seen as I climb back into bed and I surprise even myself when I fall asleep minutes later.

It’s a rare day now when Jacobo joins us in the cafeteria. He’s sitting next to Jaela, a mirror of his sister. Rosalin and I sit opposite them. I tell them about the scene I witnessed the previous night and they listen wide-eyed. Even Jacobo withholds his usual comments.

“Dead bodies,” he says.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jaela says.

But his comment stops me cold. I don’t want to believe it but pieces of the puzzle are dropping into place. The license manager, the disappearing children, Head.

“I have to go,” I say and bolt from the room.

“But what about the ceremony?”Jaela shouts after me. “Arela, we have tickets!”

I ignore them. I don’t stop running until I reach the library.

I head straight to the locker and the hidden tablet. I’m out of breath when I make it to the roof and my hands are shaking as I turn it on and connect to the wifi.

I slump against the brick retaining wall and start hacking my way into the network. I navigate to Thaddeus Grant’s file and start opening death certificates. The two most recent I don’t recognize but the third one I do. Malyssa Smyth. And the fourth, Henrik Franzig. Cause of death, heart failure. There are four more that look vaguely familiar, Phillis Mortin, Melina Guhta, Timothy Fulton. No further details. I flip to the birth license catalogue. I don’t recognize any of the names but the licenses have been granted far more frequently in the last six years than the previous eighty.

Head is killing the children at TWOC so Thaddeus Grant can reallocate the birth license. How much are they being paid for each child? Who would knowingly buy one? I think of the underbelly and realize there are plenty of people in Osiris who would circumvent policy to get exactly what they want. But did they know they were killing one child to have another? And how are they getting away with it? Every body is tagged and scanned at the mortuary and then delivered for cremation.

I remember the surly voice from the night before.

Smule is off duty.

I navigate to the mortuary staff list and see a Frederik Smule as third undertaker. Is he part of this plot to process corpses without asking questions? How many people are involved? And who is next on the list? Who is Head planning to make disappear?

I don’t even bother shutting the tablet down, I don’t detour to the locker room to hide it. I take it with me as I bolt back to TWOC. I fidget restlessly on the mono and avoid looking at the few other passengers. Beads of sweat break out on my forehead and a tight coil of panic settles in my stomach. I try to keep it suppressed but it feels dangerously unstable.

It’s 11:42 by the time I arrive at TWOC and I’m drenched in a cold sweat. I burst through the front entrance, I don’t care who sees me, and bolt for the mod-screen room. The twins and Rosalin should be completing course work before the lunch break, but the room is empty. I stop in confusion. Where is everyone? I spin on my heels and head for the cafeteria. It’s empty too. I stand in the doorway for a moment and I realize TWOC is eerily quiet. That’s when I remember the crowning ceremony. They have tickets.

How could I forget today is October 1st, I think. I want to slap myself for being so stupid.

I need to warn them before they’re ferried back to TWOC and into Head’s reach. But first, I need to get rid of the tablet I’m still carrying in one hand. If I’m sneaking into the ceremony, I’ll need both hands free.

I head deeper into the welfare building and try to maintain a fast walk. It’s unlikely I’ll see anyone, but if I do it will be easier to explain myself if I’m not bolting through the hallways.

I’m two turns away from my room, when a voice stops me.

“Why aren’t you at the ceremony?”

My stomach lurches.

“Arela, look at me.”

I turn around and face Head. He’s standing in the middle of the corridor, staring at me intently. He’s flexing his fingers as if getting ready to grab something. I take a step backwards.

“Answer me.”

I take another step, spin around and lunge away from the man I now know is capable of murder. But Head’s height gives him an advantage and he’s quicker than I expected. I barely reach the end of the corridor before his hands are on me, clutching at my shoulders, dragging me backwards so that I lose my balance and drop the tablet to the floor.

“Help!” I scream. I thrash my arms and legs hoping to connect with something. I don’t. Then his hand is crushing my mouth and nose, cutting off my air. He grips me around the middle with his other arm and lifts me off the ground. I try to wriggle free but he’s strong and with my breathing restricted, I’m starting to feel woozy.

I struggle feebly as Head carries me through the deserted corridors. In seventy seconds, he’s reached his intended destination. He ducks into a supply closet and closes the door behind us. When the door clicks shut, we’re plunged into darkness. Head releases his hold on my mouth and fumbles with something behind him. The overhead light blinks on and I can see the metal shelves lining the narrow room. It’s cluttered with cleaning supplies, a mop, a container of bleach. My eyes linger on the last item and I feel a chill run down my back. Does Head use that to clean up after himself, to remove the evidence of his murders?

“Help!” I scream again and renew my thrashing. Head spins me around and slams my left temple against the door. Stars explode across my vision and I feel myself crumple to the ground. The world turns liquid around me, sounds and colors are muted and a loud ringing fills my ears. My limbs feel like they belong to someone else.

I’m only half aware of Head dragging me further into the room and propping me against one of the metal brackets. He has my hands cinched behind me, tying them to the shelf.

A deep throbbing starts to build in my head and tears leak from my eyes. I blink, trying to clear my vision, but a grey haze persists. I feel nauseous.

“Try screaming through this,” Head mutters as he shoves a strip of cloth in my mouth and binds it behind my head. He grazes the tender spot on my skull and I cry out in pain. The nausea intensifies.

“No one will hear you now,” he mutters, giving the binding a final, painful tug. He stands up.

“Don’t get too comfortable. I’ll be back soon, right after I retrieve that device. No telling what you’ve got on it.” He steps away from me, flicks the light off and leaves the room in darkness.

I shake my head, trying to clear it, but stop immediately when pain radiates through my skull. I try shouting, but it comes out as a muffled squeak. I pant for a few moments, willing the wooziness to pass. It doesn’t.

I’m trapped.

Panic spikes through me, and the adrenaline finally clears my head. I test the binding around my wrists and it gives less than an inch. I try pulling my wrists out but they don’t budge.

The panic accelerates into full force and I scream and thrash against the binding, against the metal shelf. Head is seconds from returning and I don’t care about the pain. He is coming back to kill me and I won’t be able to stop him.

I’m close to tears when I feel the binding catch on the metal bracket and I feel a glimmer of hope. The panic subsides a little. I move my hands down until I feel the binding grow taut and there’s a small ripping sound as the material gives away. I twist and pull at the binding but it’s not enough. I run my hands up and down, willing the material to break each time. Sweat is pouring into my eyes and I’m shaking, the panic is a roiling mass waiting to take me back. With a final tear the binding splits and my hands are free. I drag the cloth out of my mouth and it hangs limply around my neck.

I’m getting to my feet when the door opens and a sliver of light snakes into the room. I duck behind the shelf, grab the bottle of bleach and twist the top off with shaking hands. Head steps into the room. His hand reaches for the light panel at the same time he sees I’m not on the floor where he left me. His mouth drops open and his eyes go wide, and as the light blinks on, I shake the open end of the bottle at him. The liquid comes out in shimmering bursts, tiny droplets that look futile against this imposing man, but a thin spray reaches his eyes and that’s all it takes. He screams and recoils, his hands fly to his face and he stumbles backwards against the half shut door. It flies open and he staggers into the hallway where he loses his balance and topples onto the floor. He’s still screaming when I burst out of the room. I throw the bottle at him, kick him once in the side and then dance away as he blindly swipes at my ankle.

“Murderer,” I hiss at him. “They’ll exile you for this.”

I retrieve the fallen tablet and tuck it into the waistband of my pants. I don’t dare risk hiding it in my room. I don’t have time.

I take one last look at Head writhing on the floor, clawing at his eyes, and feel a grim sense of satisfaction. This man has been killing children for six years, longer perhaps and he deserves worse than to lose his eyes. He deserves exile. He deserves death.

I know I should tell one of the other proctors but I need to warn Rosalin and the twins first. I need to warn them it’s not safe at TWOC and then I need to report Head and Thaddeus Grant and everyone else involved in the plot. They need to stand trial.

I sprint for the exit, taking a round about way to avoid bumping into anyone and when I’m outside, I head directly for the monorail. The streets are deserted now. Everyone is either at the ceremony or watching it on their own private mod-screen.

I tap my feet impatiently as the mono glides past the six hundred empty blocks. I’d much prefer to be running, using my legs and breathing fresh air. The mono cabin is spacious enough but it’s still too small, it reminds me too much of the supply closet. I rub my wrists, trying to soothe the chafing left by the too-tight bindings. I realize I still have the cloth tied around my neck. I’m grateful for the empty carriage as I untie the knot and discard the cloth under my seat.

When the mono pulls into station one, I leap off the chair and slide between the barely open doors. I sprint out of the station and down the stairs. I’m going too fast and there’s a terrifying moment where my feet catch beneath me and I think I’m going head first into the street, but I catch myself on the railing and I make it to the bottom without falling. I hit the pavement and use my forward momentum to propel myself along the street. The five blocks to Square One seem to take endless seconds but I know it’s exactly sixty-four by the time I round the closest corner of the recently erected stadium.

I’ve seen an almost completed version on the mod-screen but it’s more impressive in person. From the outside, it towers six-three feet above me. I feel dizzy just looking up at it.

I skirt the outside, surprised the entire perimeter isn’t ringed with guards. The Conservationist party doesn’t usually take risks with ceremonies, and with the recent unrest, I’m surprised they aren’t more vigilant.

I approach the southern entrance to the stadium. Two guards stand on either side of the opening but their attention is focused inside.

“Hi,” I say and they both swivel around. They look like I’ve caught them at a game of dice. “Sorry I’m late. I have a ticket.” I hold my wrist out and they scan it, barely looking at me as I skip past.

- FROM THE VENERABLE WILLIAM SAUER, OSIRIS TREASURER.

The crowd erupts into cheering and I wince at the boom of sound. Every seat is filled with people waving small Omega flags, a rustling sea of green and white. A small dais has been erected in the center of the stadium. I’ve entered the eastern end and from my vantage, I have a side view of the portly, middle-aged man taking the stage.

MY FELLOW CITIZENS, WELCOME.

The crowd cheers again. They sound almost delirious with fervor.

TODAY IS THE DAWN OF A NEW DAY, A NEW ERA, A NEW FRONTIER FOR OUR WORLD. FOR OSIRIS.

I tune the minister out and scan the crowd. It takes me three minutes and forty seconds to find them. They’re sitting ten rows from the bottom, on the northern side of the stadium, directly in front of the dais. A surprisingly good position for a group of orphans. I count nine familiar faces and one empty seat. Mine.

I consider waving to catch their attention but they’re focused on the proceedings, their little flags fluttering above their heads. I move along the lower barrier, ignoring the hissing remarks from people as I block their view of the dais.

When I reach the northern section, I take the first stairway up. It takes me two minutes to reach them and when I slump into the seat next to Rosalin she jumps in surprise.

“Arela! What happened to your face?”

Jalea leans around her and glares at me. “Where have you been?”

“Shhhh,” the person behind us hisses.

“We have to leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Jacobo cranes his head around Jaela. All three of them are staring at me uncomprehendingly.

“I can’t tell you here,” I say. “Come on. We have to go.”

They stay seated.

AND NOW, IT IS MY GREAT HONOR TO PRESENT EGELHARD SAUER JUNIOR, SECOND LEADER OF OSIRIS.

The cheering reaches a fever pitch and my gaze is drawn back to the dais. Egelhard Sauer takes the stage. He looks slim and sharp in comparison to the minister. He’s one hundred and four but he looks eighty. The Sauer family mount the dais behind their leader, and range themselves behind him. His wife stands to his left, his son and daughter in law to the right and his grandson-

I stop. A flash of cold runs through me.

His grandson. Cenric. Cenric Sauer.

Vendel is his mother’s maiden name. I’d seen Cenric Sauer on the list, I’ve known the name for years, but I dismissed it immediately. His mother Veronica Vendel, the woman from the painting, the woman in the blue gown, married Sevril Sauer and had one son. Cenric Sauer. Cenric is now third in line to lead Osiris, right after his father Sevril.

The crowd is still cheering but I suddenly feel cocooned in a muffled silence. I feel like my chest is caving in on itself. I want to cry out, sob, scream but I’m frozen to my seat. I’ve forgotten why I cam here. All I can see is Cenric standing on the stage, his blonde hair gleaming in the spotlights they’ve erected to shine on the dais. He looks beautiful and impossibly young, but he also looks like a Sauer. I wonder how I could have missed the likeness. I’ve been staring at it for weeks.

And then he lifts his face and looks directly at me. His eyes go wide and he opens his mouth. I see his hand twitch as if to reach out to me. A wave of apprehension spasms his face and I wonder if he’s worried I’m going to make a scene, worried I’ll run down the stairs and across the dais and stab him with one of the tiny white flags.

“Arela, what is it?” Rosalin asks but she’s drowned out as Sauer Senior starts talking.

WE ARE HERE TODAY TO CELEBRATE THE CONTINUATION OF OUR GREAT NEW-

The roar of an explosion splits the air and the stadium rocks unsteadily beneath us. Flame and smoke billow from the southern end of the stadium and people start screaming.

Chapter 26

A second boom follows seconds later and the tiered seating beneath us starts to collapse. I grab Rosalin’s hand and as we lurch out of our seats, I see the city guard diving to cover the leading family. They’ve been knocked off the dais and are sprawled on the ground. Smoke is billowing in great black waves and I can no longer see Cenric.

I glance behind me and see Jaela and Jacobo are stunned but unharmed.

“Come on!” I wave at them to follow.

I tug Rosalin towards the stairway but the tiers of the stadium are lurching beneath us and I can’t keep my footing. I fall to my knees and crash against the row below. My teeth clack together and I bite my tongue. My mouth is instantly flooded with the copper taste of blood. I fling my hands out as I start sliding along the metal flooring. I feel something strike my back and then Rosalin’s hands are wrapped around my waist. The both of us slide into the aisle, where we collide with people tumbling from their seats.

I grab at the stairway railing and drag the two of us to our feet. Rosalin is still pinned to my back and I can feel her weight pulling me down.

“Rosalin, let go!” She doesn’t.

I clutch at the railing and use it as a guide as I try to stay upright on the tilting structure. A shrieking man ricochets off me and I notice his shirt is on fire. He tumbles down the stairway, trampling and shoving people on the stairway as he goes.

There’s a loud screech of rending metal and the joint between the stairway and the tiered seating separates. The railing tips over and Rosalin and I are plunged into the widening crack.
I hear Rosalin scream as her hands slip from my waist and then she’s gone.

“Rosalin!” I shout but I can barely hear myself over the din.

Would she survive a drop from thirty feet? Would I? I’m about to let go of the railing and take my chances when someone grabs me by my left wrist.

I look up. Harlow.

He grimaces as he hauls me out of the opening in the stadium floor. He has one arm looped around a seat leg and his feet braced against the railing.

“Hold on!”

When I’m high enough I grab at his ankle, then his thigh, then his belt.

“Climb over!” he shouts and pushes me onto the closest seat. The structure is tilting at a forty-five degree angle but I manage to haul myself onto the seat and stay upright. I start clambering down the leveled chairs. Billows of smoke waft towards us and I try to cover my nose and mouth. It’s doesn’t help. My eyes are streaming and no matter how much I cough, I can’t seem to clear my lungs.

The structure dips and lurches dangerously and every time it moves, I freeze for long seconds, waiting for the entire thing to crash to the ground.

“Faster!” Harlow gives me another shove and I tumbled down the last five levels. I scrape the skin off the palm of my right hand and twist my ankle painfully, but I’m on the ground and it’s blessedly solid. I want to stay pressed against the unmoving surface but Harlow grabs the back of my shirt and hoists me to my feet.

I look around me, bewildered. People are rushing in every direction, their faces smeared with soot, open wounds pouring blood, their mouths open in silent screams. I close my eyes to block out the sight but then Harlow is dragging me forward and I open them so I can see where we’re going. He’s shoving us through the mill of people, moving purposefully to the exit. Another blast rocks the stadium and he ducks, pulling me down beside him.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” he mutters and I’m not sure I’ve heard him correctly over the noise.

When the ground steadies, he tugs me up and keeps moving.

I suddenly come to my senses and stop, pull away from him. He grabs my arm and holds me.

“We have to go back. Rosalin, the twins.”

“No.”

“I’m not leaving them!”

Harlow’s face hardens and he starts reeling me in. I struggle against him, but I’m breathless and weak.

Then there’s a loud crack and Harlow jerks and lets go of my arm. A bright spot of blood blossoms on his shoulder and he falls to his knees. He looks down at the wound in surprise and then topples face first onto the ground. I stand unsteadily, undecided, but there’s nothing I can do to help Harlow.

I spin around and head back to the northern tiers, towards my friends. I fight against the crush of people, through the waves of smoke. I feel the heat of a large fire to my left and skirt around it. I’m disoriented by the shouting and the haze. I don’t even know where I’m going. I’m lost inside the stadium, surrounded by chaos.

Then something strikes the back of my head and I see the ground rise up to meet me.

I wake up and immediately wish I could return to unconsciousness. I’m overwhelmed by a cacophony of pain, a searing, rolling sea of pain. I squeeze my eyes shut and try breathing slowly. It doesn’t help. I start cataloguing the hurts. A pulsating pain starts at the back of my head and travels around my skull to meet a sharp jabbing sensation in my left temple. My right ankle is clamoring, both knees feel tender and my ribcage is throbbing in time with my heartbeat. I crack my eyes open and peer at the palms of my hands. They’re scraped raw, the skin peeled off in a ragged, red rash. An IV line is attached to the back of my wrist and the catheter tugs painfully at the skin.

I lay my hands gingerly at my sides and close my eyes. I immediately see the chaos of the burning stadium. I see screaming faces and the flash and pound of explosions. My eyes fly open. Better to stare at the ceiling.

“How are you feeling, dearie?” A woman in a medic uniform leans over me. Her grey hair is pinned into a bun and her smile runs into a thousands creases on her face. She looks like she’s a hundred and fifty years old. Too old to be working in an emergency ward.

“Oh they called me in for reinforcement duty. We need all the hands we can get right now.” She says, as if reading my mind. I look away uncomfortably.

“I’m sure you’re thirsty.” She holds up a plastic bottle with a thin tube sticking from one end. She places it between my lips. The skin around my mouth feels dry and cracked and the movement is painful, but I suck at the liquid gratefully. I don’t remember ever feeling so thirsty.

“You’re dehydrated from over exposure to the heat,” the woman says as I suck on the tube. The water tastes like liquid gold when it hits the back of my throat. The pain in my head subsides a little and my vision starts to clear.

“Where…” I croak, when she takes the bottle away.

“You arrived last night. They picked you out of the rubble and delivered you to the closest medi-vac unit. You’re lucky. No serious injuries, just a nasty concussion and two broken ribs. You’ll be uncomfortable for a few weeks but you’ll be fine.”

I shake my head.

“The others… Rosalin Clanden, Jaela and Jacobo Thaler…”

The woman wrinkles her brow at me. “I don’t know about them dearie. I’m just here to make sure you don’t go into cardiac arrest or develop complications.”

“Can you find… out?”

She tips her head to the side and considers me for a moment. “I’ll see if they’re listed in the medical records. No guarantees though.”

I relax back into my pillow, exhausted from the effort of speaking.

“Now you need to get your rest. You’ve got a while before they send you back home.”

I twitch a little at the mention of home. The memory of my encounter with Head comes back to me and I wish I could swipe it away. I don’t want to think about his plot or the dead children. And I don’t want to think about Cenric. Cenric Sauer, the liar. I just want to forget everything and lie still.

“This will help you,” the woman says and fiddles with some thing behind my head.

I’m still trying to think of nothing when the sedative hits my blood stream and plunges me into a deep sleep.

I wake in the middle of the night to an intense itching all over my body. It’s worst in the palms of my hands and I rub them on the blanket, trying for a small amount of relief. I hiss as the scabs tear away and I can feel fresh blood welling to the surface.

“Help,” I try to shout, but it comes out barely more than a whisper. I lift my head and see I’m in a small temporary cell, the walls glow an eerie green in the soft nightlight set above my cot. I reach above my head and gasp at the stab of pain in my chest. I’m panting by the time I hit the call button. I slump back, my eyes squeezed shut. Breathe.

“You should be asleep, dearie.”

I open my eyes. The old woman is bent over me and I catch a waft of mothballs. How old is this woman?

“Don’t you look at me like that missy. I’m the one with your pain meds.”

I grimace and blink my eyes in an effort to clear them. I don’t know if it’s the dim light, but my vision is suffering a permanent grey haze.

“My hands…” I hold them up to her.

She looks down and tsks at me. “You’ve gone and rubbed it all off. You won’t heal like that. We’ll have to reapply.”

She moves out of my sight for a moment and when she returns she’s holding a tube of heal-gel in one hand. I hiss when she smooths the gel onto my palms, but I try to hold still. It’s almost impossible not to writhe in response to the searing pain running in bright sparks up my arms.

When she finishes, I slump back, my hair damp with sweat, my jaw tight from gritting my teeth. The woman pushes the button above my head and I feel myself sucked under again.

The next time I wake, the lights are on and I can hear the bustle of the medi-vac unit around me. It must be daytime, although I’m not sure. Without a window, it’s hard to tell what time of day it is.

I shift in the bed, stretch my shoulders back and circle my ankle. The worst of the pain has subsided. I have a mild headache and my ribs feel tender, but the palms of my hands are covered with fresh skin and my ankle moves freely.

I push the call button and when the woman enters the room, I prop myself up on the pillow. I try to look alert and healthy.

“Did you find my friends?”

“Yes. They were treated for minor injuries and discharged the same day.”

I feel a spike of alarm, knowing they’re back at TWOC.

“I need to leave today, please.”

The woman laughs. “Oh dearie. You won’t be going any where for at least a week. Those ribs of yours, we wouldn’t want you to puncture a lung now, would we?”

“But I feel fine. Wouldn’t I be better off recovering at home?”

She frowns at me. “You’ll be discharged when the doctor gives the okay. Not before.”

I try a different tack. “Do you have any personal items for me?”

The woman shakes her head. “We had to cut off your clothing. Most of it was singed away.”

I must have dropped the tablet in the stadium. It’s probably a crushed piece of rubble now. A wave of disappointment runs through me. My evidence of the killing plot is gone.

“Has anyone come to visit me?”

“We don’t allow visitors in the temporary unit. If you’re transferred to the main facility you can have visitors there.”

“Has anyone tried?”

“I don’t know dearie, that’s out of my field.”

“Does anyone know I’m here?”

“You ask some strange questions missy. They add you to the public log when you’re admitted, so I suppose any number of people might know you’re here.” I can tell she’s getting exasperated. If I’m not careful, she’ll push the sedative button again.

I force myself to ask the next question. I’m not sure I want to know.

“The leading family… are they… were they killed in the explosion?”

“Dearie, you shouldn’t be worrying your head about these kinds of things. You should be resting. Getting your strength back.”
“Can’t you at least tell me if they’re alive?”

“Well, the city’s been in a bit of turmoil since the attack. They took the Sauers into hiding but they haven’t released their medical status.”

“But you would know,” I insist.

The creases around her mouth deepen as she depresses her lips in a frown. “I’m not that important. I’m here to check your blood pressure and keep you hydrated.” She sounds bitter.

“Can you find out?”

“You’re a pushy one, aren’t you?”

I smile lopsidedly at her. “I’ve been told that before.”

She huffs and fiddles with her medic belt.

“No guarantees.” She pauses in the doorway. “And I’ll see if you have any visitor requests.”

She leaves me alone.

I immediately pull the covers back and slide my feet out of the bed. My ribs protest at the movement but I grit my teeth against the pain. I’ve been mostly unconscious for two days and that’s a two-day head start Mr. Smit has against me. I need to leave now.

I lever my legs off the bed and sit panting against the pain. When my head clears, I tip myself off the bed and when my feet touch the ground my legs buckle and I topple over sideways. My IV line, never meant to stretch that far, tears out of my wrist with a fine spray of blood. My head hits the concrete floor and I feel my nose crunch from the impact. Pain shoots through my head and my vision explodes with stars. I hear a loud beeping sound and then running footsteps.

“Dearie! What are you doing?” The woman is tugging me up by the armpits and I want to tell her to stop. It hurts too much.

“Some help in here!” she shouts.

“Where did you think you were going?” She asks again.

“Bathroom…” I mumble, my voice sounds muffled, squished by my rapidly swelling nose.

“We have bed pans for that. Look at the damage you’ve done.”

Two men dash into the room and help the woman lift me back onto the bed. They fuss around me for long minutes but I keep my eyes closed and try to breath through the pain. If I just hold on for another minute it will calm, it will stop its roaring, its fire brand clawing. It will stop.

I feel them jab the IV in my other hand but that small pain is distant in comparison to the uproar of all my other injuries.

And then the sedative starts flowing into my veins and I’m flooded with a golden edged sense of relief.

No visitors, I think. No visitors means I’m safe. Safe for now.

I don’t think about Rosalin or the twins. Hopefully Head will focus his efforts on me and leave them alone.

Then the sedative overwhelms me and I’m gone.

Next Chapter: Chapters 27 - 29