THERE WAS SO MUCH BLOOD, AND ORY COULDN’T STOP IT. HE kept his hand pressed against Imanuel’s neck, but the wound was too ragged, too big. Red was oozing out between his fingers, so hot it made him shudder. Bile curdled in the back of his throat.
“To the second floor,” Malik was saying as he helped Ory carry Imanuel’s limp frame into the lobby of the Iowa.
“No,” Imanuel coughed, his voice full of liquid. “Lay me here.”
“We need to get you behind secure doors,” Ahmadi said from behind them.
“Doesn’t matter,” Imanuel replied. “Won’t survive.”
“Imanuel,” Ory argued.
“I know” was his response. He could say only so many words in one breath now. I’m a doctor was what it meant. I can tell.
They tried to keep carrying him, but Imanuel’s words had power in them. They couldn’t unbelieve. Once he’d said it, things slowed—he was too heavy, the stairs too slick, their legs too exhausted. They edged forward but didn’t make it very far. They hadn’t meant to set him down, but then Imanuel was on the marble floor, propped in Ory’s lap. Ory ran his hand over his friend’s brow, to stop the blood from trickling into his eyes. He could feel Imanuel’s neck strain against his hand every time he breathed. “Please don’t go,” he whispered. “I just found you.”
“I’m sorry,” Imanuel managed. His eyes were wide with fear. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop trying to talk,” Ory said.
“About Paul,” Imanuel continued, ignoring the order. His voice was soft enough that Malik and Ahmadi couldn’t hear. He tried to swallow and choked. “Sorry about Paul. Should have told you.”
“Imanuel, stop.”
“I tried. To kill him,” he stammered. “Almost. But I couldn’t.” He gasped at the pain.
“I couldn’t have done it either, if it had been Max,” Ory replied softly. “You made it further than I ever could.”
Imanuel’s eyes shone with tears. “I let him go. I made. All this. I made. Him.”
“No, you didn’t,” Ory said. He pressed his forehead against Imanuel’s. He tried not to think of how it would have gone with Max. If they too had reached a point where she had forgotten too much to remember that Ory was trying to keep her safe, not imprison her—or if, unthinkably, she had begged him in her last lucid moments to end her misery, but then forgotten by the time Ory had worked up the courage to do it. The last thing she would know was fear. A corrupting, animal terror, pointed at the wrong person. Ory could see now how Paul had become what he had become: the two of them, Paul and Imanuel, standing outside in the darkness the night Imanuel knew he couldn’t wait any longer, or risk the lives of the rest of the Iowa. Imanuel gently trying to take Paul’s book of poetry away from him before he ended the yawning darkness of his amnesia. Trying to give love and accidentally causing exactly the opposite—which became the only thing Paul had left.
A huge bang shattered the stillness. The Reds chasing them had reached the front steps of the Iowa.
“Ory,” Imanuel said, his voice thick, as though coming from underwater, “Red King won. Too many. Everything on fire.” Blood was bubbling in the corner of his mouth. “Books are all we have left. Take them to New Orleans. Save the books.”
“The door is breaking,” Malik said behind them. “The iron bar is still locked, but if they make a hole in the wood, they can hit us through it.”
They stared at each other. I can’t leave without her, Ory wanted to say.
“Ory,” Imanuel begged. Ory could see what he meant in his expression. Max is gone. “Save the books. Go to New Orleans.” She was never here.
“Door is breached!” Malik warned. A loud boom shook the marble lobby. The glow of firelight danced in the corners. “We need to make a final stand or run.”
“Ory—” Be happy that you never found her. Be happy you never saw. Be happy your memory of her can’t be tarnished by whatever she became before her end.
Ory leaned down to Imanuel and put his forehead against his again. “I’ll go,” he said. “I’ll go.”
Imanuel grew heavier in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he said again, breathless. “I’m sorry. You have to. Remember all of us now.” His eyes brimmed with tears. “No one to help.”
“It’s okay,” Ory wiped his face again for him. Max. Paul. Imanuel. “It’s okay.”
Imanuel took one more gasp, eyes unfocusing. Then the light went out behind them.
Ory held him for a while longer.
“We have to go now,” Malik finally said. He touched Imanuel gently on the shoulder. Behind him, Ory heard Ahmadi hiccup, to stop a sob.
“Just one more second,” Ory said. Max. Paul. Imanuel. He tried to see every line of his face. Every dark, quiet edge of his shadow, a perfect outline of him, still there flat and cold against the floor. He looked until it began to blur. Imanuel. “I have to remember.”
THEY RAN.