He snags me by the arm, his hands shaking, and everything he fears spills out of him. He’s afraid of death, of what he’s done, and that he won’t be able to fix it. “You can’t go out there,” he says. “You were supposed to stay in the hospital, but I guess you’ll just have to stay here for a little while.”
I turn my head to look at him. “Why?”
“Because,” he struggles. “It’s what Monarch wanted—needed you to do today. You need to stay out of the Highers watch for a little while.”
“It’s too late for that,” I mutter. “I did something to Gabrielle.”
His large face twists with confusion. “What do you mean? What did you do?
I try to pull my arm loose, but his bulky fingers refuse to let go. “You can’t go out there right now. It’s too dangerous—you’re too unstable.”
The next few minutes of my life are unclear, not because my memories leave me again, but because all I can see is red. But somehow Taggart, a man four times my size, is lying unconscious on the floor.
My hands are as steady as a rock as I leave Taggart and the infirmary behind. I leave everything behind in that room that smells of death. I walk the hall, marching for the Highers quarters—marching for Gabrielle. I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there, but I’m eager to find out.
I never do, though, get to find out because the sirens go off.
It’s time for the Gathering.
Chapter 8
People flurry down the hall like robots, rushing for the Corridor. I barely remember the last Gathering. All I have are foggy images of Bellators getting taken. I asked Monarch about it once, why I couldn’t remember it. All he would say is that it’s a part of life and that when people leave sometimes their memories leave with them.
Watchers, dressed in their black jumpsuits and army boots, herd the Colony members like sheep. I keep my head down, trying to blend in, as I weave my way to the Corridor, knocking into bodies.
“Kayla.” Someone touches my arm and I whirl, ready to attack. But it’s just Nina.
Her eyes widen at the sight of my expression. “Kayla, what’s wrong? You look …” She peeks around, terrified that a Watcher will overhear us.
Slipping my arm from her hand, I leave her dumbfounded and shove my way through the bodies of people. Inside the tight space of the Corridor, bodies are smashed together in the area that surrounds the oval stage. The air is dank and smells of fear, just the way the Highers like it. I stand at the back, trying to stay inconspicuous. People are talking, not about the Gathering, but about the Bellator who attacked a Higher in the hall.
“She’s probably dead by now,” a stubby, rounded lady with a bob cut whispers to her husband, who nods in agreement.
I tap my foot, waiting for it to all be over.
“She deserves to die,” someone else says.
I turn to see who it is, but a soft voice shivers against my ear. “Not yet.”
I’ve heard this voice before. But glancing over my shoulder, all I see are vaguely familiar faces of Colony members none in particular stand out. But I sense someone watching me. I start to push my way through, but the Highers enter, rows and rows of white in a sea of black. I stand back, lowering my head, but watch them through hooded eyes. They’re almost identical, only the tiniest variations make it so they’re not the same person; slightly paler eyes, shorter hair, sharper cheekbones.
For a split second, I think I recognize Monarch walking amongst them only he’s dressed in a robe and looks just like them. But I blink and the image is gone.
They file onto the stage, standing shortest to tallest. Gabrielle’s in the middle, carrying a black box. He advances to the center of the stage and drops the black box on the floor.
“Welcome to the Gathering, everyone.” His cold voice slithers the room. “It’s a pleasure for you to all come.”
Like we have a choice.
Gabrielle keeps talking, but I’m already measuring my options. Two Watchers guard the exit, their hands suspended above their Tasers, itching to use them. And even more line the back of the room. There’s a group of them standing in the doorway, whispering through their masks. Then, suddenly, all of their eyes land on me.
My time’s up. Either it’s now or never. I know I don’t stand a chance. I’ll be caught in seconds and probably executed on the spot. But I don’t care. Through the throng of people, I catch Tristan’s eye.
Bye, I mouth.
His eyebrows knit together as I rip my gaze away. I glide my knife out of my pocket, not afraid, but not hollow. In fact, I’m more alive than I’ve ever been.
Chapter 9
My eyes shoot open. It’s dark and grogginess plasters my mind and my body. I’m covered in plastic. It’s all over me, touching my skin, smothering me. Where am I? I run my finger along the plastic until I feel the teeth of a zipper. I realize right away what this is. A body bag. I’m trapped in a God damn body bag.
Tracing the track, I find the zipper handle and battle to unzip it. But I realize it’s going nowhere and I give up and tear at the plastic, digging my fingernails into it until I break through to the outside. I don’t know what to expect, but I’m prepared for the worst. It’s something Monarch taught me. Always expect the worst, that way you’ll be prepared for anything.
Monarch. Thinking of him makes me choke.
I decide not to think about him for a while, until I can get myself together. I collect myself and slash the rest of the way through the body bag. I’m surrounded by enormous, jagged, and fiery red rocks. The land is rolling hills of sand and the sky is dark with clouds and smoke, but less hazy than in the city, like the sun can almost break free.
“Where am I?” I mumble, searching for the city. The last thing I can remember is moving to kill Gabrielle.
“Help!” Someone screams.
I spin. Just a few feet in front of me, lying in the sand, is another body bag. And it’s moving. I reach for my knife, surprised to find it’s still in my pocket. I squat down next to the body bag and give it a gentle tap. “Who’s in there?”