His admission that this cave likely poses a threat to us is both comforting and unnerving.
A hint of bluish green glows on the water up ahead. “Whoa,” I breathe when we get closer, and find that the cave curves around sharply to the right. It is like someone has scattered stardust all over the ceiling, a constellation of fireflies. As dark as the cave was before the bend, it is now bathed in a dim, ethereal turquoise glow. A droplet of something sticky lands on my forearm, followed by another on my knee. If I listen closely, I can hear the droplets as they fall into the water. Hope’s eyes are wide as she takes everything in, as wide as my own.
Lonan’s radio beeps again, and again after that.
“It’s okay,” I say. “They might be trying to warn us of something.”
His radio light rises, and a loud crackle echoes through the chamber. “Phoenix?” Our canoe slows down now that Lonan’s not paddling. I let my paddle hover above the water. “Everything good up there?”
No answer.
Another crackle—not from Phoenix’s end. “Cass? Alexa?”
Nothing.
Lonan mutters a curse. “If you can hear me, and if you’re in trouble, don’t worry about us. Do what you need to survive. We’ll find you later.” One last crackle fills the cave.
But the blue radio light never makes it back to Lonan’s waist. Our boat dips sharply to one side as Hope springs from her bench like a black widow has just landed in her lap, and then the radio is airborne. And then waterlogged. The light glows blue for about half a second before it dies.
“Holy—”
Lonan’s voice is the last thing I hear before I am overtaken. Hope is fast, fierce: her thin frame has some force to it; her fingers are vises. I choke on her hair in my face as she forces me overboard and follows me into the water.
I kick, I thrash, I struggle against the urge to breathe underwater. Stars prick at my vision, reminding me I’m not dead yet. I break the surface, gasp for air, but she plunges me right back under. There are no water moccasins—there is nothing but Hope and hopelessness. Water moccasins would have been preferable, in a way. A quicker death without the pain of betrayal.
The turquoise glow isn’t so dim anymore, at least. Every time Hope’s forearms meet water, it amplifies the faintly glowing wolf on her skin until it is a shimmering and iridescent hologram. My death will have its very own spotlight.
I fight back, pry at her fingers, dig my nails into her skin until I’m sure she’s bleeding. This buys me a little bit of air, a chance to get away. When was she compromised? How long has she been this way, how did we miss it? This starlit bend in the cave has to have been the trigger—the sticky droplets that fell on us, maybe?—but before that, she seemed so with us.
Lonan is in the water now, too. His arms show no trace of light, no trace of wolf. This is the most air I’ve taken in at once, likely because he’s put himself in Hope’s path. It’s also the first time I notice how shallow the water is. When I’m completely stretched out, my toes graze the bottom.
“Sedate her!” he shouts. He succeeds at keeping Hope from me, but she is quick—I see the glow of her hologram as she slips from his grasp on her, as she darts to his unguarded side. He’s quick, too. She doesn’t get through, can’t take him down.
“I can’t,” I say, breathless. “No syringe.”
“In my pocket—left side.”
I swim back toward him. Hope grabs my wrist and she yanks, hard, pulling me directly into Lonan’s backside. My pulse races for all the wrong reasons as we collide—or all the right reasons, if you’re looking at it from a reasons to stay alive perspective.
Focus, Eden.
Syringe. Syringe first, out of the water next. Lonan after that.
I work my hand into his pants pocket. It’s a tight fit, not much room for anything but the syringe. I find it with little effort.
Lonan has finally forced Hope to hold still. I go to where the hologram glows brightest, run my hand up her arm until I’m sure it’s her shoulder—she and Lonan are tangled together, shadow on shadow, and I don’t want to accidentally sedate Lonan.
Hope is like a fragile bird, all bone-wings and feathery hair. I plunge the needle into the spot where she has the most muscle, and immediately, the wolf goes black. Lonan shifts to support her limp weight.
We are breathing hard, hard in this echo chamber of a cave. Everything spins like a time-lapse video of a clear night sky.
“Still afraid of snakes?”
Yes, I want to say. Phobias don’t just go away because there are even greater things to fear.
FIFTY-EIGHT
“THEY MUST HAVE done something to her that night they took Finnley,” I say as I guide our canoe to a shadowy strip of water that isn’t so bright. Best to stay as hidden as possible, given that we’ve taken down one of their HoloWolves this close to the lodge.
“It makes sense, now that I think about it,” I continue. “Of course they wouldn’t let us wander the island without some means of keeping an eye on us. But why wouldn’t they just take us all at once?” I struggle to climb back up into the canoe without tipping it over. It isn’t easy to do in the dark, especially since Lonan has his arms full of Hope. One desperately awkward maneuver later, I finally land myself back inside. It was likely not the most flattering thing to watch, and for once, I find myself grateful for the dark.
“I can think of a few reasons they might not have taken you all at once.” Lonan’s voice is closer than I expected. “A little help here first?”
I feel around in the direction of his voice. My hands find his face, the stubble on his perfectly angular jaw. His lips.
I am still grateful for the dark.
“On three,” he says as I move my hands south in an attempt to find Hope. “Grab under her arms and pull—I’ll push from here.”
The canoe dips slightly as I reach for her, but not so much as to cause disaster. With a bit of grace and a lot of effort, we settle Hope onto the floor of the canoe. An inch or two of the murky water has found its way into the boat; at least she is unconscious and won’t notice it grunging up her hair.
Lonan climbs in so effortlessly I don’t even realize he’s out of the water until he speaks again. Since he lived on the ocean throughout the whole war, it’s not surprising. Climbing in and out of boats is probably as second nature to him as it was for me to climb into my bed at barracks.