Push
Page 63
I stare at them for a millisecond. I’m no good to anyone kneeling here on the floor, whimpering. Jackson’s risking his life for Carly, for me. The least I can do is buy him time, keep him alive long enough to do the deed.
I have one working arm. The other hangs useless by my side, a vortex of pain thanks to the Drau hit I took earlier. I grab my sword, surge to my feet, and chase after my team.
Light zips up the hallway toward me.
I don’t think, can’t think. I move on autopilot, letting instinct guide me. I bring the blade down with all my might, splitting the Drau’s skull like a melon.
The second wave of Drau surges out of a room at the far end of the hall. Lien wings one, despite the fact that she had a clear shot to take it out. She steps aside and it’s Kendra who claims the kill with a head-shot.
Proof that Luka was right.
Tyrone glances at them and snarls; then he surges forward, shooting. Drau fire rains down on him, hitting him with a thousand tiny points of pain. He jerks but keeps moving.
“Miki!” Jackson shouts. “Get down.”
But his warning comes too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THERE’S AN EXPLOSION OF LIGHT AND A SHATTERING DETONATION of sound. My retinas burn, the light tearing into my skull, the sound pulverizing the tiny bones inside my ears.
I’m blinded and my equilibrium is shot. The floor feels like it’s falling out from under me. A hand catches my elbow and guides me down before I fall. Lien? Kendra?
Words come at me in disjointed sound bites like bits of coherence couched in radio static. I string them together as best I can. “I—ot—her.”
I know that voice. It’s the girl. The same girl.
“Lizzie?” I whisper. Or maybe I yell. My hearing’s so messed up I can’t tell the difference.
No answer.
The Drau . . . where are they?
I can’t see, can’t hear. I can’t defend myself. Or Jackson. Or Carly. I almost slash wildly, blindly, in case I manage to hit something, but what if that something is Tyrone or Lien or Kendra?
In the end, I just sit there on the floor, chest heaving, trapped inside myself with only my fear for company.
The Drau? Where are they?
I open myself to the gut instinct that always screams the alarm when they’re near. I get nothing. Radio silence.
Panic threatens. I shove it down, push the lid onto the pot, but it’s bubbling and twitching, trying to break free.
I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I get up on my knees, push my palms along the floor, sweeping them side to side, hoping I encounter Jackson . . . Carly . . . someone.
I don’t know how much time passes. A second. A year.
The roaring in my ears fades to a buzzing, then to a faint hiss.
I’m scared to call out. Instead, I shimmy along the floor in the direction I think will take me to Jackson.
How long have I been doing this? It feels like an hour, an agony of waiting for my vision to come back online in spangled increments, for the buzzing/roaring in my ears to dull and fade. I’m terrified the Drau will get us, that my team is already gone.
I bump up against something. A shoulder.
I feel a vest with pockets but no big, round circles. Not Jackson. Luka. I find his hand. Squeeze. He squeezes back.
Now what? Wait it out? Keep moving?
I feel around until I hit the doorframe—Luka must have dragged himself this far. Then I create a map in my mind of where Luka was in relation to Jackson and Carly.
Using my elbows, I drag myself along, combat style, relying mostly on one arm because the other’s still weak and numb.
On the floor in front of me, a small shadow shifts, dark against the light floor. I freeze. It freezes. I move. It moves.
My hand.
I’m seeing my hand as I drag myself forward on my belly. It isn’t much, but it’s something.
Relief trickles through me in a weak stream. I focus on my hands, willing myself to be able to see my individual fingers.
I do. I see them.
I lift my head and manage to make out a doorway, the subtle shift in light enough that I can see a dark rectangle.
I try to make out any bright flares against the background, a hint of the Drau.
Nothing.
Pushing to my feet, I sway, dizzy. I take a step, stumble, almost fall, but catch myself at the last second as my shoulder bumps something solid. The wall.
Blinking, I stand there, enraged by my helplessness, desperate for control.
“Miki?” Jackson’s voice, camouflaged by the drone of a thousand nonexistent bees. I turn toward the sound, toward him. His arms come around me, solid, safe. I close my eyes.
“Carly?” I rasp.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get to finish what I started.”
“The Drau?”
“If there were any still here, would we still be breathing?”
He has a point.
“Can you see?” I ask.
“Just shadows.”
“Same as me. Where’s—” I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Where’s Carly?”
“Back here.” Jackson shifts me a few feet forward, but Carly’s not there. Not that I can find.
“Are you sure she’s this way?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
He hesitates. “I don’t know.”
I get down on my knees and move forward, hands outstretched. I turn right. Left. I can’t find her. Without my sight, I can’t find her.
“Wait,” Jackson says. “Stay still. Just let your eyes adjust. We’ll find her. Just give it a minute.”
I have one working arm. The other hangs useless by my side, a vortex of pain thanks to the Drau hit I took earlier. I grab my sword, surge to my feet, and chase after my team.
Light zips up the hallway toward me.
I don’t think, can’t think. I move on autopilot, letting instinct guide me. I bring the blade down with all my might, splitting the Drau’s skull like a melon.
The second wave of Drau surges out of a room at the far end of the hall. Lien wings one, despite the fact that she had a clear shot to take it out. She steps aside and it’s Kendra who claims the kill with a head-shot.
Proof that Luka was right.
Tyrone glances at them and snarls; then he surges forward, shooting. Drau fire rains down on him, hitting him with a thousand tiny points of pain. He jerks but keeps moving.
“Miki!” Jackson shouts. “Get down.”
But his warning comes too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THERE’S AN EXPLOSION OF LIGHT AND A SHATTERING DETONATION of sound. My retinas burn, the light tearing into my skull, the sound pulverizing the tiny bones inside my ears.
I’m blinded and my equilibrium is shot. The floor feels like it’s falling out from under me. A hand catches my elbow and guides me down before I fall. Lien? Kendra?
Words come at me in disjointed sound bites like bits of coherence couched in radio static. I string them together as best I can. “I—ot—her.”
I know that voice. It’s the girl. The same girl.
“Lizzie?” I whisper. Or maybe I yell. My hearing’s so messed up I can’t tell the difference.
No answer.
The Drau . . . where are they?
I can’t see, can’t hear. I can’t defend myself. Or Jackson. Or Carly. I almost slash wildly, blindly, in case I manage to hit something, but what if that something is Tyrone or Lien or Kendra?
In the end, I just sit there on the floor, chest heaving, trapped inside myself with only my fear for company.
The Drau? Where are they?
I open myself to the gut instinct that always screams the alarm when they’re near. I get nothing. Radio silence.
Panic threatens. I shove it down, push the lid onto the pot, but it’s bubbling and twitching, trying to break free.
I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I get up on my knees, push my palms along the floor, sweeping them side to side, hoping I encounter Jackson . . . Carly . . . someone.
I don’t know how much time passes. A second. A year.
The roaring in my ears fades to a buzzing, then to a faint hiss.
I’m scared to call out. Instead, I shimmy along the floor in the direction I think will take me to Jackson.
How long have I been doing this? It feels like an hour, an agony of waiting for my vision to come back online in spangled increments, for the buzzing/roaring in my ears to dull and fade. I’m terrified the Drau will get us, that my team is already gone.
I bump up against something. A shoulder.
I feel a vest with pockets but no big, round circles. Not Jackson. Luka. I find his hand. Squeeze. He squeezes back.
Now what? Wait it out? Keep moving?
I feel around until I hit the doorframe—Luka must have dragged himself this far. Then I create a map in my mind of where Luka was in relation to Jackson and Carly.
Using my elbows, I drag myself along, combat style, relying mostly on one arm because the other’s still weak and numb.
On the floor in front of me, a small shadow shifts, dark against the light floor. I freeze. It freezes. I move. It moves.
My hand.
I’m seeing my hand as I drag myself forward on my belly. It isn’t much, but it’s something.
Relief trickles through me in a weak stream. I focus on my hands, willing myself to be able to see my individual fingers.
I do. I see them.
I lift my head and manage to make out a doorway, the subtle shift in light enough that I can see a dark rectangle.
I try to make out any bright flares against the background, a hint of the Drau.
Nothing.
Pushing to my feet, I sway, dizzy. I take a step, stumble, almost fall, but catch myself at the last second as my shoulder bumps something solid. The wall.
Blinking, I stand there, enraged by my helplessness, desperate for control.
“Miki?” Jackson’s voice, camouflaged by the drone of a thousand nonexistent bees. I turn toward the sound, toward him. His arms come around me, solid, safe. I close my eyes.
“Carly?” I rasp.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get to finish what I started.”
“The Drau?”
“If there were any still here, would we still be breathing?”
He has a point.
“Can you see?” I ask.
“Just shadows.”
“Same as me. Where’s—” I swallow against the lump in my throat. “Where’s Carly?”
“Back here.” Jackson shifts me a few feet forward, but Carly’s not there. Not that I can find.
“Are you sure she’s this way?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
He hesitates. “I don’t know.”
I get down on my knees and move forward, hands outstretched. I turn right. Left. I can’t find her. Without my sight, I can’t find her.
“Wait,” Jackson says. “Stay still. Just let your eyes adjust. We’ll find her. Just give it a minute.”
