He wouldn’t still be talking in my head if he were free.
Beside me, the boy keeps his hand on the dead girl’s throat, like he believes that if he just waits long enough, her heart will start to beat again. Another streak of light comes at us. I surge to my feet, aim, shoot. Miss. Something big and solid flies toward me: a broken chunk of desk. It slams against my leg. Pain blossoms, a poisonous flower.
I gasp and stagger, my injured muscles betraying me.
The Drau keeps coming. I bolt forward with a kiai shout, taking my weight on my good leg, my gait lumbering and uneven. I’m firing and firing, the recoil slamming my shoulder like a sledgehammer, the force of my will sending black death at the Drau. It’s gone, but not before the points of light that spewed from its weapon lodge in my flesh, burning like acid. And not before I hear its tortured scream.
Biting back a groan, I lurch away and sink back to the ground, grateful for the wall at my back protecting me and offering support.
That’s when I notice the quiet. I can hear my own panting breaths, melding with those around me.
My team is close enough that I can call to them. My team. Like I’m some sort of leader. I remember all the times Jackson told me he didn’t want me to be a team player. No. Of course not. He needed me to be a team leader. The thought makes me want to laugh like I did that day on the driveway with Luka. Instead, I focus on what needs to get done. I need to know how many Drau are left on this floor, and how many humans.
“Luka. Tyrone.” When they look my way, I jerk my head to the left. “Recon.” They move off in that direction.
“Kendra. Lien.” I jerk my head to the right, sending them to scout on the far side of the wall.
I push to my feet so I can offer cover to both pairs as they check to see if the floor’s clear. My thigh screams in agony. I glance down. No blood. That’ll have to do for now. Beside me, the boy with the black hair, the one I saved earlier, struggles to stand. His face is streaked with sweat, or maybe tears. But his features are set with determination. He moves to stand at my side, so we’re two instead of one, strangers united by a common foe, a common goal.
“This floor’s clear,” Tyrone says as he and Luka return.
A minute later, Kendra and Lien offer the same report.
“We go up,” I say.
“Which stairs?” Luka asks.
“Were there stairs at that end of the corridor?”
He nods.
I glance at Lien. “And at the end you checked?”
She nods as well.
With the stairs we took to get here, that makes three sets.
“We should split into teams and each take a set,” Luka says, his gaze sliding curiously to the silent boy at my side.
“We should stay together,” Lien argues, reminding me of the caves and the way I said that to Jackson. I remember the way he acted, like he wanted me to figure out what course we should follow and be the one to make the call. I didn’t get it at the time, but I do now. He was getting me ready to take his place. It hurts to think about that, to think about him, so I don’t.
“Safety in numbers,” I murmur. “But if we don’t cover all the exits, there’s a chance some of them will get out without us noticing.” I hate the decision I’m about to make. I hate letting my team fragment into pieces. But in the big scheme of the mission, it’s the best choice.
“We split,” I say. I look at the black-haired boy. “What’s your name?”
“Tom.”
I nod. “Miki.” I don’t bother to introduce the others since we’ll be splitting up and the chances of him remembering everyone’s name are pretty slim. “Show me your cons.” They all hold out their wrists. Everyone’s con is now a shade of yellow, some more orangey than others. Their clothes are torn, dust and sweat streaking their faces, eyes shadowed and grim. I figure I look pretty much the same as they do.
Before I can say anything, Luka grabs my wrist and turns it so my con is visible. The little map with the triangles is still in the corner. The live feed of our surroundings still takes up most of the screen. The frame is nowhere near the swirling green it was when we started. It’s a dark yellow, shaded by orange.
Luka’s eyes meet mine. I don’t give him the chance to say a word.
“Luka, Tyrone”—I jerk my head toward the corridor they just checked—“Kendra. Lien”—I nod at the corridor they pronounced clear. “Tom, you’re with me.” I pause and take a second to meet each of their gazes in turn. “Remember what I said about orange.”
“You remember, too,” Luka says with a hard look, and then they’re gone.