Feuds Page 5

  “Hamilton,” Worsley interrupted. “Be quiet and sit down. You’re not helping.” Worsley’s voice sounded strained, as though he were speaking from a distance. He adjusted his glasses with one hand.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Cole said to no one in particular, hating himself for how weak he sounded, how afraid. “I thought she was about to die. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” Cole sat down heavily on a kitchen chair, unable to process everything he was hearing. He gave his brother a long look, and Hamilton’s expression softened. He crossed the small space to join Cole at the table.

  “You really didn’t, did you?” Hamilton asked, the rage gone from his voice. Cole shook his head, and Hamilton laughed ruefully, shaking his head, too. “Only you, little brother. I don’t know how you get yourself into these things.”

  He patted him on his shoulder. “Go lie down,” he told Cole, his voice kinder now. “We’ll take care of this. It’ll be okay.”

  As much as Hamilton could be hard on him at times, he was still his older brother, and Cole knew that when things got really, really bad—like now—Hamilton had his back. Grateful, he nodded up at him, breathing more easily.

  “What’s happening to her?” William, a friend of Hamilton’s—the one who’d given Caitlyn the washcloth—broke in. He pointed a trembling finger at Caitlyn’s inert form. His expression was of pure terror.

  Cole turned his attention back to Caitlyn, whose face now looked mottled, as though her capillaries had begun to burst. Worsley bent over her just as the redness in her skin began to form long, jagged cracks that split and leaked until her whole face was covered in fissures and blood. It looked like her face was a mask that had begun to break apart. Cole took a small step back and stumbled. He gripped the wall for support.

  “Narxis,” Worsley said, straightening up. The room went silent. “I had a professor in West Freedom who talked about it. There were rumors, mostly—no tangible evidence. But this is exactly what he described.” Worsley’s face was ashen.

  “Narxis,” Cole repeated, afraid to keep looking but unable to look away. “What’s going to happen to her?”

  Worsley met his eyes. “If it really is Narxis,” he said, “she’ll die. There’s been no research for treatments. There’s no cure. Everyone who gets Narxis will die.”

  “Die.” Cole allowed the word to roll off his tongue and sink into his head. He glanced toward Caitlyn’s body, where it lay prone on the floor. Her face was now bleeding so heavily that he could no longer make out her features. He sank to the floor and knelt beside her, wanting to grab her hand but afraid to touch her now.

  Hamilton crouched next to Cole and draped his arm around his shoulders. “It’ll be okay,” he told him. “You were right. You did the right thing, bringing her here.” It was what Cole needed to hear. He turned his head, fighting the tears that pooled in the corners of his eyes. A gagging sound came from the corner, and then a splatter; it was William, vomiting into the sink.

  “Can’t you do anything?” Hamilton asked Worsley, his voice rough. “Can’t you at least make her more comfortable?”

  “She can’t feel anything,” Worsley told them. “She’s too far gone.”

  A hacking sound came from the pallet where Caitlyn lay. Blood gurgled from her mouth onto the towel Cole had wadded up next to her. Then a rush of more blood, and then she was still.

  “It’s over.”

  Hamilton disappeared and came back moments later with a sheet, their only spare. He draped it over Caitlyn’s body, taking pains not to touch her. Cole had been in a hundred fights, but he’d never seen anyone suffer so violently.

  “I’m sorry,” Hamilton said, gripping Cole’s shoulder. Cole knew that was his way of saying he wished he hadn’t been so hard on Cole.

  “What is … Narxis?” Cole asked Worsley.

  “It’s an infection,” he replied. “I haven’t ever seen a case myself. It’s … it’s…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

  “Tell us,” Hamilton said. “Please. I want to know what we’re dealing with.”

  “One of my professors claimed to have treated patients with Narxis,” Worsley explained. “But everyone thought Professor Alkem was senile, and he never had any evidence to support his claims. Prior bodies aren’t supposed to be vulnerable to anything. But my friend Jensen swore Narxis was a result of all the manipulations Priors do. The experiments. Jensen had met with Professor Alkem, who said denial was an inherent part of the disease. Priors would never be able to recognize the symptoms in time to contain the virus and prevent it from spreading.”

  “So why haven’t we heard of it?” Hamilton wanted to know.

  “Politics. The Priors suppressed it. They thought they’d gotten rid of it—ironed out the kinks in the technology. Alkem’s findings were never recognized. They were never included in any official diagnostic handbooks.”

  “What does that mean?” Cole’s voice sounded far away, even to himself.

  “It means they’ll die,” Worsley said quietly. “Every one of them.”

  5

  DAVIS

  It was Monday, the day of the PAs, and Davis’s dad was late.

  “Rock that body, girl,” called out Sasha, winking as she passed Davis in the courtyard just outside Excelsior. It was her way of saying good luck.

  “Thanks,” Davis called out weakly, wishing she could manage a smile.

  If Davis didn’t qualify for the ballet trials … She pushed the thought out of her mind. She would. She had to.

  She sat down on the shiny steps of her school’s main entrance, adjusting her sunglasses against the afternoon glare, trying to focus her swirling thoughts and steady her shaking hands. She zipped up her light jacket, fiddling with the small pig charm she’d threaded onto Vera’s braided leather cuff. Fia had given her the little silver pig that morning, a solemn look on her face as she’d pulled it from a chain of her own. “Pigs are good luck,” she’d said before wrapping her arms around Davis’s waist.

  “You’re all the luck I need,” Davis had told her, kissing her lightly on the cheek before dashing out to face one of the biggest days of her life. Now she waited, staring at the ground, breathing deeply, hoping that luck would work. Her shadow on the limestone slabs was dwarfed by the imposing stone administration office, its peaked roof supported by pillars as thick as tree trunks. A long iron gate marked the school’s circumference, separating it from the rest of the city.

  Even trying to count the rungs on the gate, she couldn’t keep her mind from buzzing all over the place: The party. The boy. The way he’d kissed her … Davis had replayed the events of Friday night over and over again pretty much all weekend. She couldn’t get him out of her head. Vera had thought there was something weird about him, didn’t get a good vibe. Davis winced at the memory of her friend’s disapproval. There was something different about him … but for some reason it made Davis’s adrenaline spike in a good way. Still, maybe Vera was right that it was just the unexpectedness of it all that had been so exciting. Vera had even offered to hook her up with Oscar’s cousin Joaquin, who was going to be home on break from college next month. She knew Vera was probably right that Cole couldn’t be trusted. But then why was the memory of it as fresh as if it had happened moments ago? Why did it still, days later, make her weak with excitement? Why were these thoughts interfering with everything she’d done since, from brushing her teeth to making breakfast with Fia to practicing for the PAs?

  Five minutes passed. Then ten. Davis felt her toes reflexively curling, flexing, pointing. Curling, flexing, pointing.

  Where was he?

  “Hey,” said a male voice, and Davis turned, half expecting to find Frank waiting to escort her to her dad’s car.

  Davis’s heart jumped a little, making her even shorter of breath. Not Frank.

  Him.

  It was the guy from the party. Cole. Like the mere power of thinking of him had brought him to her. He wore a blue button-down and jeans, a silver dog ta
g decorating his neck. His sleeves were rolled up almost to his elbows. Interesting DirecTalk; Davis hadn’t seen the military style before.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said as Davis stood up. His brown eyes, the color of dark wood, bore into Davis’s with an unusual intensity.

  “I wasn’t scared,” she replied, instantly feeling something buzz between them—almost as though the kiss Friday night had just happened, like they’d pulled apart only seconds ago. “Just startled,” she added, trying not to stare at his lips.

  She straightened her shoulders, running one hand through her silky hair in order to tame it. “Are you heading to the PAs, too?” She looked at him then looked away, having trouble meeting his eyes. Was she the only one who thought the kiss was incredible? Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just her imagination, tricking her into believing something she wanted to believe. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about it? Especially now of all days, when focus was more important than ever?

  A flicker crossed his eyes, and just as fast, it was gone. “Nah,” he said, keeping his voice even. “I’m done with all of that.”

  So he must be older. Strange how he’d just appeared when she’d been trying so hard not to think of him. Like he had stepped out of her subconscious.

  “Are you okay?” Cole asked abruptly, and she couldn’t stop herself from blushing. “The other night, it was … scary.”

  “Sure,” she told him, pasting a smile on her face. “Absolutely.”

  “It’s just…” He reached for her, almost as if he meant to touch her, and then pulled back before he could make contact. He let his hand fall back by his side. “Anyone would be shaken up.”

  “What happened with Caitlyn after the party?” she asked then. “I called her parents and they said she’s fine but they wouldn’t let me talk to her. Did you find her house okay? Was she okay?”

  “Yeah,” Cole said, avoiding her eyes. “I mean, I assume so. I dropped her off on, ah, Sherman and rang her doorbell, just like she asked.”

  Davis nodded, relieved. That was one weight off her shoulders. “I guess it was some optimizer she’d taken … I don’t know. I guess she’s freaked since we’re so close to PAs.”

  Cole nodded, but his brow was furrowed, like there was something he couldn’t figure out. Which was understandable. The whole thing was weird, what they’d experienced together. The kiss, then Caitlyn almost OD’ing—at least Davis assumed that’s what had happened …

  An image of Caitlyn at the party flashed through her mind. Blood coming from her mouth. She’d never seen blood like that before. She’d never even really seen anyone get sick before, aside from one time when Fia was a toddler and her temperature had reached dangerous highs. Back then, Terri and her dad had been thrown into a panic. Davis thought she knew now how they must have felt. The terror, an overwhelming rush of helplessness. Feeling out of control. She shuddered.

  “I’m glad I saw you,” Cole said, looking concerned. “I was a little worried.” He stumbled over the last sentence, and Davis felt her face heating.

  “Really, I’m fine,” she told him again, burning all over from his previous words. Everything he said seemed weighted, like his words held greater significance than they could possibly convey. “I promise. I’m really, really glad you were there to help.” It was an understatement.

  Even more than that, he’d found her again. She hadn’t dared hope to see him again, but she’d wanted it badly. And now he was here, and the space between them was magnetic.

  “I’m glad I was there, too.” His eyes met hers, burning her with their intensity. Her body filled with the same indescribable heat she’d felt kissing him. Even a look from him rivaled a touch from anyone else she knew in its ability to make her skin react. She wondered if he’d kiss her again. She wondered if he had this same effect on everyone; the thought made her stomach turn, and she took a reflexive step back.

  A loud beep interrupted them. Her dad’s vintage Rolls-Royce, dating from the first half of the twenty-first century, was just rolling through the gates to the school. Davis took a large step back, praying her dad hadn’t seen anything. If he had, there would be an awful lot of questions. Impeccable timing, Dad.

  “That’s my ride,” she told Cole, but he was already starting to turn from her. “Hey, Cole?” she called after him. “Wait a sec.” He stopped but didn’t move any closer. She trotted the few steps between them to close the gap. “Will I … see you again?”

  “Yeah,” he told her, smiling a little. “I’ll be around.”

  Her heart sank. Maybe he hadn’t felt what she felt, after all. Maybe he’d just checked up on her as a courtesy, not because he cared. If he’d cared, he would have made plans to see her again, asked for her number … or at least her last name. With cold shock, she realized that maybe Vera was right. Maybe he couldn’t be trusted, and she’d fallen for something false—based on what? Her own feelings, and that was it.

  “Davis!” her dad shouted through an open window. “Hurry up. We’re running late.”

  “Obviously. Whose fault is that?” She muttered it under her breath, but Cole had heard her; he looked back and grinned, and she gave him a small wave, trying hard to smile in return, but failing.

  “Wow, Dad,” she said, sliding into the backseat next to him. She ran her hand across the car’s leather interior. “You really pulled out the big guns for my PA. Sure this isn’t a publicity stunt?” She hadn’t meant for her words to come out with such bite, but there it was. Her dad never picked her up on a typical day, and she suspected this “special treat” had a hidden agenda.

  “I’m here because I care about you,” he responded, his voice gruff. “This is what a good father does.”

  Davis swiveled around to glance out the rear window, but Cole had disappeared. Her stomach clenched again. He didn’t want to see her, it seemed clear. So if she happened to run into him again, she’d keep her distance. The dismissal was already too painful, and she barely knew him. She couldn’t let her guard down like this again.

  She turned back around in her seat and sighed, firmly pushing Cole out of her thoughts as best she could. She refocused her attention on her dad’s words: This is what a good father does. She knew what a good father did. Her father had always been good. He’d sat through her practices when she was little, wrapped her feet with gauze on the rare occasions her toenails yielded to the pressure of the pointe shoes, made her pancakes for dinner in the years before her stepmother came along, held her when she’d had bad dreams. His whole life had revolved around her and Fia and making them happy.

  Even his campaigns—the recent pull on his attention—were motivated by his love for them. At least that’s what he’d always told them—that he wanted to make Columbus a better place for them to grow up in.

  Even though he’d tried to hide it, before he met Terri, her father had been lonely. She’d seen it in his eyes, in the way he’d stared at the pictures of her mother and a few pieces of her clothing hanging in his closet next to his, as if nothing had changed. She’d seen his pain. Sometimes she still caught it; because you never really get rid of the sadness of loss.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Just nervous, that’s all.”

  “You’ll be perfect,” he told her, reaching for her hand. For a minute, Davis felt like she was going to cry. She had to win the Olympiads. Her dad would be so proud; it would mean so much. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed until the feeling passed.

  “So,” her dad said after a moment. “Who was that boy you were talking to?”

  So he’d noticed. Embarrassing. “It was just a friend of Emilie’s,” she said, turning toward the window. “He was at the party the other night.”

  “Ah,” her dad responded, giving her a sidelong glance. “Someone special?”

  “Dad. Stop,” Davis said, rolling her eyes and trying hard not to blush. “I just met him myself.” Her words were deceptively casual; she couldn’t believe how convincing they sounded, when insid
e she was spinning and fluttery at the very thought of him. He derailed her, and she’d only just met him. Davis bit her lip, willing herself to maintain a placid exterior.

  There was a long silence, and then her dad squeezed her hand harder. “Just be careful,” he told her. “Boys are devils. Particularly around girls like you.”

  “What are ‘girls like me’?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

  “Pretty ones,” said her dad.

  “Oh, whatever.” She sighed. “We’re all pretty.”

  “You’re especially pretty,” he responded. “And I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  She swallowed. Sometimes it was hard, knowing how much he cared, how much he worried. She wanted to assure him that she would be fine, that no boy would ever break her heart.

  But for the first time, she wasn’t sure if that was true.

  Outside, Davis heard the muffled sounds of chanting and shouting. She squinted out one of the tinted windows.

  “What is that?” she asked. “What’s going on?” There were crowds of people, some holding signs she couldn’t quite make out.

  “Protestors,” her dad said. Davis pressed her forehead to the window. One of the signs read INTEGRATION MEANS FULL EQUALITY, and they drove by another that someone pressed up right against the car, causing her to shift back in her seat toward her father while the chauffeur drove on. That one said: WE SHARE YOUR STREETS—WE SHOULD SHARE YOUR SCHOOLS.

  What would it be like, to have the Imps at school? Would it be dangerous? There was talk that Parson Abel wanted to relax current segregation laws; Davis’s dad was working hard to make sure that wouldn’t happen. Davis had heard that the Imps were unevolved, prone to violence and aggression and unable to control their impulses. It was their carelessness—their lack of attention—that had killed her mother. She knew her dad’s stance sometimes seemed a little harsh, but she could understand why. He would never let what happened to her mother happen again, to her, or to Fia, or to anyone. He just wanted a better world, a safer world, for everyone.