CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Angelique:
A blanket covered me. A blanket of dark sky and bright stars. My skin prickled, every inch of it like needles carving stories on my flesh. My eyes were closed, but I could see Isabelle sitting in the corner, humming while she colored pictures of fairy tales. Snow White, I think. Or Sleeping Beauty.
Coloring pictures of me. Sleeping.
Chaz had put me to sleep, then left Isabelle and me here. With Pete.
Darkness descended, rolled over me in waves. Something dangerous was coming, I could feel it. I had to break free, had to wake up. I pushed my way through layers of gray and blue, layers of cotton and flesh. Voices swirled around me, sharp, staccato. Somebody was upset.
Wake up.
I shook off the dream, felt a cold chill wash over me and a surge of nausea. I leaned over, still fighting nightmarish tentacles, opened my eyes. I was alone in the bedroom. Isabelle stood in the doorway, looking out. Sucking her thumb.
Voices in the other room.
a€?Did you see that?a€?
a€?What the hell is going on?a€?
a€?Shuddup! Listen.a€? The last voice was Pete.
Isabelle glanced at me and smiled. I held my finger to my lips as I crept toward the door. I heard the electronic echo of a VR screen. Pete and some of the guards were watching something, some news broadcast. I peeked around the corner. No one was looking in my direction. They all stared at the screen.
a€?Wea€?re going to play that video again,a€? a woman newscaster said. a€?This time wea€?ll explain what we think happened.a€?
A gritty video began to play, electronically enhanced to compensate for the failing light.
a€?This is the City of the Dead,a€? she said. a€?A man was found dead here this morning, apparently mauled to death by a pack of wild dogs. And this video camera captured what happened afterward. If you notice, right now, both of the dogs appear to be dead.a€?
A massive black German shepherd sprawled on the ground, his body ripped and torn. It was Omega, it had to be. I fought the emotion that rushed over me, fought against what I saw. He couldna€?t be dead. Just then the camera wizards went in for a close-up. His face was shattered, his muzzle gone. I covered my mouth with my fist, fought against a sob.
a€?Watch this. Here.a€?
But I couldna€?t watch. Instead I pulled Isabelle into my arms, turned her face away so she wouldna€?t see it either.
a€?Look. Do you see that?a€? the newscastera€?s voice continued, brazen, boasting. a€?His face is justa€|just rebuilding itself. And if you notice the gaping hole in his chesta€”a€?
I opened my eyes.
a€?Criminy! What the hell is goina€? on with that dog?a€? one of the guards said.
Pete held up his hand to silence him.
The doga€?s face had almost completely reconstructed itself. And the wounds in his chest had disappeared. It looked like he was breathing. Low and shallow.
a€?Now look at his eyes,a€? the newscaster said.
Omega opened his eyes. Moaned. Took a deep breath. He struggled to his feet, shaky at first.
The dog jogged over to the silver wolf, sat beside her, nudged her with his nose. She didna€?t move. He licked her face, licked her wounds, nudged her again. He lay beside her, his head on her chest, licked her wounds another time. After a few moments, he howled, a long heart-wrenching cry to the heavens.
And then the dead wolf came back to life.
a€?But that cana€?t, it cana€?t happen, bossa€”a€?
a€?Thata€?s not resurrection, thata€?s not what we do, not the way that other doga€”a€?
a€?I tolds ya€?all, shuddup!a€? Pete yelled.
Omega and his mate circled the area once before slipping away with their pack, before they became invisible in the morning shadows. One more time he trotted past the video camera, brushed his nose against the lens, testing it, probably attracted to the light.
But a shiver ran over my skin. It seemed as if the dog knew that I was on the other side of the lens, as if he was looking right at me. As if he wanted me to knowa€|
Suddenly I remembered. I couldna€?t breathe for a couple of seconds as the last memory came back, the final missing piece.
I knew what I had done with the last dose of serum.
I glanced down at Isabelle as she leaned against my leg, her soft hair falling in curls over her shoulders, her soft life spilling all over the room like blood. I remembered the attack, how she had almost died from the liquid light. The monsters who broke into her bedroom would come back. They wouldna€?t stop until they got what they wanted.
I knelt beside her, pulled her away from the door so the others couldna€?t hear me.
a€?Isabelle, I have to go somewhere,a€? I whispered. a€?Will you help me?a€?
She nodded, but her dark eyes said no. Some part of her didna€?t want me to leave.
a€?Ia€?ll come back,a€? I said as I gave her a hug. a€?I promise.a€?
Then I told her what to do, how to distract Pete and the guards so I could sneak out. All the while, hoping that I would be able to keep my promise and come back.
?
I was running again, just like the night I was killed. Down the hallway, away from the suite I shared with Chaz, my Babysitter. My protector.
I kept reminding myself why I was leaving. Every step got harder. I could feel my thoughts begin to scatter, voices on the nether wind. All of my lives seem to blend into a winding blacktop road that stretched out forever over unfamiliar hills.
The elevator snapped open up ahead.
I froze, suddenly afraid. I was too scared to get inside. Instead I slipped into a nearby shadowed doorway, clenched my knuckled fists to my chest, every muscle shaking. I forced myself to be still, to be calm. I was leaving my Babysitter. And it took all my strength to fight the need to go back. It was programmed so deep that I started to feel sick. I curled over.
I needed to get back to the City of the Dead. Ita€?s there. I had to go back.
Then I heard voices as a second elevator opened; people were coming toward me.
One of them was Russ.
I turned my face away from the hallway, tried to imagine that I was invisible. One of my hands slid over the door handle and instinctively pushed. The door opened. A stairway stretched before me.
I quickly slipped inside and started running down, running away. Russ couldna€?t find me, he just couldna€?t. Because if he did, he would kill me.
Again.