Torn Read online

  “That there. Peeking out from behind the yellow house. Here. Move to your right.” Davis took a few steps toward the man and peered in the direction he was indicating. Sure enough, there was a gray cement structure rising up about a mile away, further back toward the outskirts of town.

  “You’re sure Worsley’s there,” she said doubtfully. “How do you know?”

  “Take it or leave it,” the guy said with a shrug. “Everybody knows Worsley. He’s the only doctor we got. Surprised you need the advice in the first place.” He raised an eyebrow, and Davis bit her lip, afraid of giving herself away.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said to the man. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Happy to help,” the guy said, turning to hobble back inside his shack.

  Davis made her way to the parking garage, a little nervous about what she might find. She wandered through three levels before she spotted an old office in one corner of the fourth level—the kind that must once have been used by valets and parking monitors before everything became automated. The door to the office was slightly ajar and the window was covered with an opaque metallic shade. A narrow beam of light leaked from the gap between the door and the door frame, and as Davis approached, she heard low voices. One of them was feminine. Davis moved closer, her heart beating ever faster. The voice was lilting and soft. It was as familiar to Davis as her own.

  Davis burst through the door to find Vera and Thomas Worsley sitting opposite one another in a small, sterile room lined with medical equipment. She paused, sucking in a breath. Vera was pale, drawn, and very pregnant.

  In the space of a few seconds, everything fell into place: Vera’s disappearance, her parents’ silence, their reluctance to search for her. Davis drew a hand to her mouth, stunned.

  “We had a conversation,” Davis started, thinking aloud. “Just before I was taken away. You said you had news.”

  “Davis,” Vera breathed, struggling to stand up. “I wanted to tell you.” Thomas offered Vera an arm, and Davis rushed to her friend, wrapping her up in a hug.

  “You’re okay,” whispered Vera.

  “You’re okay,” Davis replied. “I’m such a fool. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner, you being here … being pregnant.” None of it felt real. Shock roiled across her, and she struggled for air. She’d hoped against hope to find Vera, but now that she had, her friend seemed like a product of her imagination. She was thinking this through her tears, when she realized her arms reached only partway around her friend’s formerly petite frame.

  “But are you healthy?” Davis asked, her voice anxious as she moved away again to examine Vera’s belly. “You’re pale, Ver. You look a little thin, aside from your belly. I’m worried about you.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Worsley broke in, holding Davis’s gaze. Davis nodded, wanting with all her being to trust him. She couldn’t think of the alternative, now that she’d found her friend again.

  “I was going to tell you,” Vera said, frowning. “I wanted to so badly. I was just frightened. And then you were gone and I didn’t have the chance. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “No,” Davis said. “Please don’t be. I’m just glad to be here with you now. And I’m so happy for you, Vera. I just can’t believe it.”

  Vera smiled shyly, looking down at her belly. She rested a hand atop it, massaging gently. “Would you like to feel?” she asked, looking suddenly hopeful. “Sometimes the baby kicks.”

  Davis laughed. “Of course I want to feel,” she told her friend. “Are you kidding?” She placed a palm on Vera’s belly. Her friend’s skin was taut and smooth and blessedly warm feeling. Sure enough, the baby kicked—a little impression that nudged Davis’s hand for an instant, and then it was gone. Davis had never thought she could feel so much joy in the midst of so much turmoil.

  “Vera, is it…”

  “It’s Oscar’s,” Vera told her, her face darkening. “Have you seen him?”

  “No. I only just got back. My God, Ver. How are you? Are you feeling okay? Are you healthy? How is the baby? My God,” she repeated, shaking her head. “I just can’t believe it.”

  “Vera needs to rest,” Thomas interjected. “Davis, I’m so glad you’re well.”

  “Oh, Tom, I’m sorry,” she said. “I just … it’s such a shock.” She turned to him, giving him a hug. “You’re right. Vera, we can talk more tomorrow. Now that I’ve found you, we have all the time in the world. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Vera smiled, clasping Davis’s hand in her own. The simple gesture brought tears to Davis’s eyes. She led Vera back to her narrow bed and helped her lie down, tucking her in. Vera’s eyes were already closing as Davis adjusted the blanket around her. She looked, suddenly, like a ghost to Davis.

  “Tom, you’ve got to tell me. Why is Vera here? Is she okay?” Davis spoke in a low whisper, careful not to disturb Vera. She felt her heart sink as Tom bit his lip and looked down at the ground, avoiding her gaze.

  “She’s sick, Davis,” Tom said. “I thought I could help her. I thought I could use her baby to create a Narxis vaccine to save her and eliminate this awful disease. It’s…” he ran a hand through his hair, clearly distressed. For the first time, Davis noticed how puffy and bloodshot his eyes were. It looked like Tom hadn’t slept for days. “I just don’t know what to do,” he finished. “I was so close to figuring this thing out. I thought I could save her. But my experiments failed. Something’s missing; I can’t figure it out. She’s not doing well.”

  “But she’ll be okay?” Davis waited for him to reassure her, and when he didn’t, fear took hold of her heart. “Tom, will she be okay?”

  Tom shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. Davis paled, her entire body turning cold.

  “The baby?” she asked.

  “It’s too soon to say,” Tom said. “But it doesn’t look good for either of them. Still,” he said, “I’m glad to see you’re holding up. I’d heard what happened to you.”

  “I’m cured,” Davis said.

  Worsley’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  Davis took a deep breath, steadying herself. There had to be a way. There could still be a way to beat this thing. Silently, she cursed her father’s guards for finding her before she could find out anything real about Narxis. She racked her brain. There was very little she could do, but she could tell Tom everything she knew.

  “No,” he said when she was done. “It’s not possible.”

  “It’s true,” she insisted. “I’m no longer contagious.”

  Worsley stared at her, his face flushed.

  “What is it?” she asked, leaning close. He furrowed his brow, thinking intently. He held up a finger, motioning for Davis to give him a minute. Finally he raised his glittering eyes to meet hers.

  “I think I understand now,” he whispered, breaking into a grin. “I can use your DNA strands—cured of Narxis—to create the vaccine. Since you’ve developed antibodies and I have both your old blood and your new, healthy blood, it should work. I can save the baby. But I’ll save the baby and develop a cure. Davis, don’t you see? This is what we needed. It’s your blood that’s special. I never thought I’d see you again. I never knew for sure there could be a survivor, and I certainly thought no one with Narxis would ever make it home. But if you’re really cured as you say you are, then you must carry the antibodies in your blood.”

  “It must have been what Hassman needed,” she said.

  “Hassman?” Worsley looked confused. “Dr. Hassman, the famous researcher?”

  “Never mind,” Davis told him. “It isn’t important. What’s important is that you can save Vera,” she told him, her voice urgent. “And develop a cure for Narxis here.”

  “I don’t know. But this is the first time in a while that I’ve thought there’s a chance. I’d hoped … well, I wanted you home. I thought it was nearly impossible, but I hoped for it.” Davis nodded. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would be enough until she knew Vera and her baby
were safe. But it was something to hinge hope on.

  Her eyes were drawn to a flash across the small TV set mounted on the opposite wall. What she saw sobered her. There it was again, and this time Davis leapt from her perch on the floor and raced over to the television set, eager to adjust the volume.

  The Olympiads banner flashed across the screen, followed by the faces of the remaining competitors. Cole’s face was among them.

  “What is this? Tom? What does it mean?” She felt panicked, shaky. Her legs gave out from under her, and she reached for the wall to steady herself, but it was too late. She sank to her knees on the floor, hugging her stomach.

  “You didn’t know,” Worsley stated in astonishment, wonder crossing his face. “You thought he was dead?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Cole is very much alive, Davis,” Worsley told her, crouching beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “He’s been competing today. He assumed his friend Brent’s identity to enter.”

  “Alive.” Davis whispered it, and Thomas nodded. “He’s just about to start the ropes.” Worsley joined her in front of the set. She couldn’t process what he was saying. Cole was alive. It was everything she’d dreamed of. He was there, only a few miles away from her, and she had to get to him. There was no way he could compete against Priors on the rope course and stay alive. He was lucky just to have made it through the other lethal tests the Olympiads were famous for. If she didn’t get to him, she’d lose him again. She knew it with as much certainty as she knew she loved him. The Olympiads were not designed for Gens … unless they were designed to kill them. Davis’s hands went cold. To see him like this, to know he was alive, and then to lose him … she wouldn’t survive it. The rope course was nearly impossible for the average Prior, let alone a Gen.

  “They misreported his death,” Worsley said as photos of Cole and the headlines for the event results flashed across the street. “He’s managed to lie low.”

  He’d been alive all this time. The whole time she’d been mourning him, he was okay. Davis gasped, and Worsley pulled her into him. Then she struggled away from him and to her feet. There wasn’t a second to lose. There was hope for Columbus. Never had she thought there would be hope for her to be reunited with her love.

  She had to get to him now, before the rope course began. Davis felt happiness and fear flood through her in powerful juxtaposition. Cole was alive, and he needed her help. She had to go back to the Olympiads. She had to save him.

  20

  COLE

  Cole’s palms burned each time he heaved his body upward. His hand, swollen from his fingerprint surgery, throbbed. The coarse ropes stretched from the tenth story of one high-rise to the twentieth of another. So far, Cole had made it to the fifteenth story, but his muscles burned and his arms threatened to give out. There were no knots on the rope to help him propel his body forward. He had only brute strength, but he knew there was no way he’d make it to the end. His lungs were heaving, his arms burning and shaky. And Landon was at least two stories ahead of him, climbing the ropes like a monkey might climb a vine.

  Cole stopped, panting. He had to last at least until Landon won. He couldn’t let go—literally couldn’t, or he’d plummet to the pavement fifteen stories below. There were no safety nets this time; the stakes were life or death. Worsley had told him that, for the Olympiads to keep running, there had to be fewer than three deaths. There hadn’t been any deaths that day. The audience was restless. Cole guessed the sponsors had felt free, then, to remove any precautions, heightening the stakes for the crowd.

  Landon moved deftly ahead of him, fueled by seemingly endless reserves of energy. Cole faltered, watching him, and his grip shifted on the rope. Cole’s body weight dipped sideways, and his feet scrambled for a hold. He cried out, terrified, as the rope swayed precariously. For a split second, it seemed futile. He was certain he was going to fall. In his panic, he fumbled for the rope, his sweaty palms slipping across it. It may as well have been slicked with oil, given how impossible it was to retain a grip.

  Cole could hear a collective gasp from the distant crowd. He knew they were watching a projection of the events, but without the immediacy of it, some part of him had been able to pretend he and Landon were alone on the ropes, engaged in something more than a performance bent on regenerating a city he no longer felt any loyalties to. It was a city he’d only loved for Davis.

  Davis’s face flashed through his mind, producing adrenaline. He couldn’t give up, not while she was still out there somewhere. He had to stay alive for her, to take care of her. The thought of dying like this—never being able to see her and hold her and touch her face again—was unfathomable. Cole used every last ounce of his strength to right himself, listening to the jeering cries of the crowd. He knew they were cheering against him, not for him—still, they seemed more hostile than usual. He steadied himself, trying not to look at the sheer drop below. He couldn’t let himself think of how close he’d come to falling.

  He moved forward an inch and looked up at Landon again. Landon was now mere feet from the finish line. It was all over. Cole swayed in the breeze, on the rope, feeling his future slip away from him with every rocking motion. Part of him had wanted to let go, he realized. He wanted to stop struggling. It had only been Davis’s face flickering through his mind that had prevented him from giving up altogether.

  Landon looked back at him and laughed, outwardly mocking him. He hammed it up for the cameras, hanging from the rope with one arm, then pulling himself up again. The crowd was going wild; Cole could hear them cheering loudly, egging him on. Landon pointed at Cole, then moved into what looked like a side plank, with one arm and one leg balanced on the rope. He grinned and waved in the direction of the cameras with his other hand as he swung into a one-armed pull-up.

  Sweat trickled into Cole’s eyes, obscuring his vision. In that moment, he hated Landon with his whole being. Landon, who had been given every advantage and had done nothing to deserve it. Cole had simply been born without. That was it. He’d worked so hard, and he’d come this far—almost to the finish. But “almost” wasn’t enough to win the prize and save everyone he loved.

  The breeze picked up and the rope swayed beneath him. It felt good—calming—against the heat of his body. It wrapped itself around him more powerfully, causing the rope to rock. What was happening? Cole gripped the rope tighter between his arms and legs, feeling unsteady. When he heard a roar from the crowd, he assumed it was because Landon had finally reached the finish line. The wind had really picked up by then, and Cole held his ground, moving only to look up toward Landon.

  But the screams of the crowd grew louder, and Cole squinted to see Landon dangling by one arm, his body being whipped around by the wind as if it were flimsy as paper. Landon struggled, flailing for the rope with his other hand. Cole moved forward, bent on helping him, but the ever-stronger wind made him clamp his body firmly in place, holding on with all his strength. A weaker person than Landon, in his same position, would have fallen already, Cole realized. He heard a whirring sound and looked up to see an emergency chopper heading their way. Landon just had to hang on for a few more seconds.

  But the wind gusted harder, and Landon’s fingers slipped, releasing the rope.

  He screamed as he fell, passing mere feet from Cole, who reached out a hand in a desperate attempt to grab him. Landon’s fingertips brushed Cole’s, and for a split second, his eyes met Cole’s. It was enough time for Cole to register the panic of a doomed man. Cole turned, steeling himself against the sound of impact fifteen stories below. There were screams from the crowd, and then sobs.

  The Olympiads were over, Cole realized.

  He was the winner.

  The breeze quieted, and Cole pulled himself slowly along the rope, aware of the eerie, oppressive silence that surrounded him. His arms still burned and he gasped for breath, but without the need to quicken his pace for a competitor, he was able to inch his way to the finish line. Once there, h
e hoisted himself up and flopped to the ground, gasping for breath.

  A line of four or five imposing men and women stood before him, arms crossed over their chests. But they didn’t bear the official Olympiads crest. They stared at him, their mouths hard. Cole pulled himself to his feet with some difficulty. His eyes narrowed in confusion.

  “I’ve won,” he said. “I’m the winner, right?”

  “Cole Ethan Everest,” one of the men said. It was all Cole needed to realize what was happening. He’d been identified. “It’s over. Turn yourself in.”

  “No,” Cole said, backing up. “No. I won. I fought to be here. I won my right to be here. Where is my prize money? I deserve this.” His voice rose, panicked, but it was met with silence. Cole took another step back, then realized: any further and he’d plummet to his death right behind Landon. There was nowhere to go but forward, into the lion’s den. Again, he thought about death. He’d struggled so long and so hard. But the thought of abandoning Davis was too much. He stepped forward, holding out his arms. That’s when he saw the Taser. They were going to take him, he realized. They would arrest him now and do who knows what to him later.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, faltering. “What are you going to do?”

  “You’ve been convicted of kidnapping and impersonation,” one of the guards informed him. “The penalty is execution.”

  “What about a trial?” Cole’s heart stopped. He eyed the glittering Taser gripped tightly in the arm of the man next to him. Another guard, a woman, was closing handcuffs around his wrist.

  “You’ve been found guilty already,” she told him. “As a fugitive, you have no recourse.” Two firm hands gripped his shoulders, pushing him to his knees on the ground. Cole cried out as the man next to him raised the Taser in the air and commanded the others to surround him.

  And then the truth of the situation landed within Cole’s gut, solid as lead. He still had an out. He would die either way, but he could still determine the nature of his death. He could die with dignity, on his own terms.