Until the Beginning

I’M NOT HUNGRY. FOOD IS THE LAST THING ON my mind. I’m only eating to keep my strength up for whatever comes next. Because at the moment, I have no idea how things will play out.

 

I chew the pasta and vegetables that I found in the refrigerator in a bowl labeled “pasta salad.” It looks appetizing, but once in my mouth tastes like sawdust. I can’t get past what I just witnessed. I can’t believe that Whit told Avery—a man we don’t even know—things he never told me. The betrayal leaves me wounded, like a fiery brand has been pressed against my skin.

 

I shove these thoughts aside to think about later. It won’t help to dwell on them. I need to be thinking about things I can control. There are so many different scenarios I need to plan for. I categorize them in my mind.

 

 

Scenario 1: Avery wakes up in eight hours. There’s no way he’ll let us go while he’s still paralyzed, so that’s another four days of sitting around. And once he’s up and about, if he actually does keep his word, my clan will be released and he’ll help us get to our next destination—wherever that is. I’ll think about it once we’re outside the electric gates. Or maybe the clan has already decided. But that’s the rosy version of things. We could be stuck with:

 

 

 

 

Scenario 2: Avery awakes, we wait four days for the end of his death-sleep, and he decides to default on the deal. I find a way to escape, get Badger, and rescue my people without getting shot by Avery’s troops.

 

 

 

 

Scenario 3: Avery doesn’t awake. I find a way to escape, get Badger, and rescue my people without getting shot by Avery’s troops.

 

 

Whatever happens, I should prepare for the worst. While imprisoned in the house, I can at least locate Badger and scope the building for escape routes. I pat my back pocket to check that the scalpel’s still there, and make sure the back of my shirt is covering it. It’s not much of a weapon, but it’s all I’ve got.

 

I sense someone approach from behind me and wait until I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn and see the eyes of my former mentor, inches from my own.

 

“So what’s wrong with him?” I ask.

 

Whit doesn’t even have to ask what I’m talking about. “How did you know?”

 

“His hand shakes, and he tries to hide it.”

 

“He has Parkinson’s, stage one,” Whit responds.

 

I don’t remember reading about that in the EB. I wonder if it existed in 1983. “It’s a degenerative disease,” Whit fills in. “I didn’t know he had it when I offered him the Amrit. I didn’t know that’s why he was interested in buying it from us—he’d been working on options for life extension even before he was diagnosed. It’s just made the matter more . . . urgent for him.”

 

I nod, wondering if that would really have made a difference to Whit if the price was right. “You’ve gotten what you want from me,” I say, “now go away.”

 

Whit gives a slight shrug, and I can see in his eyes that it’s not true: He hasn’t gotten what he wants from me. He still needs me, or he’d be too chicken to come over and talk to me.

 

“Oh, of course,” I say, realization dawning. “You need more blood. Am I going to be your own personal supply from now on? Or, make that Avery’s?”

 

“No, of course not,” Whit says, looking pained. “We only need enough blood from you to serve as a sample for testing so that we can find a functional substitute.”

 

“So now you and Avery are a ‘we’? It’s comforting to hear that your new ‘partner’ knows more about the clan and our beliefs than I do.” I can’t tear my gaze from his neck—I’m longing to grab it and squeeze as hard as I can.

 

“Juneau, there are so many things I couldn’t tell you,” he says, clasping his hands together like he’s pleading.

 

“Whit, there’s a difference between not telling me something and creating a whole system of lies.”

 

“Like, for example?” he asks.

 

“Don’t even get me started,” I say. “We already had this discussion up on the mountain.”

 

We sit in silence for a moment, and then I can’t hold it in any longer. “How can you say that the Yara is a lie when there is solid evidence that it works?”

 

“If you’re referring to Reading,” he says, “I didn’t tell Avery about that—or Blackwell either. I thought it would complicate the sale of Amrit if I mentioned a side effect that probably wouldn’t be discovered by most of its users.”

 

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