Chapter 25
Senator Bowen lay on a table, unconscious. The stump of his left leg was wrapped in bloody bandages where it was missing from the knee down.
“He’s going to make it,” Stacy said. She was sitting across the room, plastic tubing running from the crook of her elbow into a plastic bag that was rapidly filling with blood. “He just needs some blood before they can transport him out of here.”
“What kind?” Colt asked.
“Not yours.”
He frowned.
“Look, even if the needles could puncture your skin—which they can’t—your blood is . . . well, you know.”
“Contaminated?”
“Different.”
In other words, I’m a freak, Colt thought to himself. “Have you seen Pierce?”
Stacy frowned and looked away, her eyes focused squarely on the linoleum floor.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just that . . . well, he’s out looking for the rest of his dad’s leg.”
“Where?”
“The stadium.”
Colt started to walk out the door, but Stacy grabbed his hand.
“Wait,” she said. “I need to tell you something.”
His heart started to pound.
She took a deep breath. “This is totally embarrassing, so I’m just going to come out and say it,” she said. “I need to apologize.”
“For what?”
“I know you still have feelings for Lily and . . . well, I need to respect that,” she said. “Danielle told me that you two are perfect for each other, and I don’t want to get caught in the middle of it. It’s not fair to either one of you.” She pulled him toward her and kissed him on his forehead. “Good night.”
Numb, Colt thought as he walked down the path back toward his dorm. Numb to the touch of Stacy’s lips. Numb to the devastation on the campus. Numb to the storm of sirens and flashing lights. Numb to the body bags.
The skin of his soul thickened with the skin of his body. And this, he thought, this is how the Thule did it—a singular focus on the mission set before them and no extra thought or feeling or pain given to anything except that mission. He knew what their fury tasted like. It sat in the back of his throat now, metallic and strangely sweet. Pain was only spice to this sugar, devastation like yeast.
“No! Please, no!”
Colt stopped when he heard Glyph’s voice cut through the cool mist.
“I’m not one of them,” Glyph said. “I’m . . . please. You can’t.”
Colt ran off the path and into a grove, where he saw Glyph backed against a tree. Pierce was holding a gun to the alien’s midsection, which according to their xenology textbook was where the Fimorian brain was located.
“What are you doing, Bowen?”
“Back off, McAlister!” Pierce said without so much as looking at him.
“Please . . . ,” Glyph said, his voice weak.
“He’s on our side.”
“No, he’s not. He’s one of them!”
“I’m more Thule than he is, so if you want to shoot someone, why don’t you shoot me?” Colt walked toward Pierce with his arms held wide to show that he wasn’t armed.
“Don’t tempt me,” Pierce said.
“Your dad is going to make it,” Colt said, each step slow and methodical. “They’re moving him to Fort Meade. Doc Roth even said they could get him a prosthetic that will look and act like the real thing. It even has nerve endings.”
“I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work.”
“Listen, just give me the—”
“Shut up, okay? Just shut up!”
Glyph winced as he closed his eyes.
“The universe is bigger than we thought,” Colt said, trying to keep a steady voice. “But that doesn’t mean everyone and everything out there is our enemy.”
“Think, McAlister. Sooner or later they’re all going to turn on us.”
“No, we won’t,” Glyph said, his voice feeble as a tear ran down his cheek. “Please, we came to help you in your fight. You . . . you must believe me.”
“Liar.” Pierce curled his lip into a snarl.
Colt leapt. He snatched the weapon away, tossed it, and had his fist cocked to flatten Pierce when Glyph called out, “No. Don’t. He’s scared, that’s all.”
Pierce exploded, but not in anger. Sobs, so consuming Colt thought the cadet would rip his lungs out. Glyph’s long arm snaked around Pierce’s ribs and he pulled him tight. “Come,” he said. “Let’s go find your father.”
Pierce nodded and let Glyph lead them in the direction of the commissary.