Evolution Read online

  By shutting me out of his mind, Kai left me with no other way to reach him than through a message—one I had to pass hurriedly to his friend Freja. She knew I spoke the truth; I’m sure of that. When you speak directly into somebody’s mind, survivor to survivor, it’s hard to do anything else. And she said she’d tell him what I said.

  Please, Kai: believe Freja. Even though you wouldn’t believe me.

  The plane soon starts to descend, and I glance across the aisle at these followers of Xander’s. Gold glints at their necks like it does at mine. The pendant, a gift from Xander, is a model of an atom—the mark of Multiverse—and although the chain hangs loosely, it feels like a noose slowly tightening around my throat.

  One of his followers must feel my gaze; he turns and smiles. There is respect for me that wasn’t there before, now that he knows I’m Xander’s daughter. Like the rest of them, he seems calm, gentle—kind, even. But I know they killed easily enough when they rescued us from the army. There is something about that combination—casual violence with a smile—that makes me shiver.

  Admit it, Shay, if only to yourself. You’re scared.

  I want to step back in time to get away from these people, but I must find Callie. It’s the only way to make Kai see I’m doing all of this for him.

  CHAPTER 3

  LARA

  I OPEN THE DOOR, breathless from my headlong dash through the woods back to Community. Cepta is at her desk. Her dark hair covers her face as she leans over whatever she reads, and I know there is no point in rushing her.

  Time ticks slowly by. Just as I’m wondering if she’d notice if I left again, she looks up and smiles. Despite the way she made me run and then wait, the warmth of her smile makes me happy.

  “There you are, Lara,” she says, her soft voice gentle and chiding. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Nowhere. I went for a walk.”

  She nods. Her eyes are careful. “Where did you go?”

  She knows. She always knows. Why does she ask? “To the edge.”

  “Why do you go there?”

  “I don’t know. I’m telling the truth!”

  Her eyebrows go up slightly; she tilts her head to one side. “I know, Lara. At least, I know you think that is the truth, but there is more behind both my question and your answer. Come here.”

  She holds out a hand, and I step forward. Her hand closes over mine. Her skin is warm; the soft white sleeve of her tunic brushes my arm. The gold of her necklace—the mark of Multiverse—glints in the lamplight and holds my eyes. I used to have one, but she took it away.

  “You know I’m only trying to help you.” And as she says it, I know it’s true, and yet…and yet. What?

  “Have you been practicing your mindfulness while you walk? Before you sleep?”

  “I try,” I say, and that much is true.

  “Try harder. Earn your place among us. You can do it.”

  But she doesn’t really believe that, does she?

  She knows that I am tainted, that I will fail. And so do I.

  Later I’m sitting upright, cross-legged on the floor. I breathe out slowly, feel the air leave my lungs, then breathe back in slowly too. I am here. Like the floor, the air, my lungs. No before, no after, only now. Thoughts flit through my mind, but I don’t have to let myself get tangled up inside them. I breathe, in, out, and any tension left in my body drains away.

  Cepta’s light touch on my mind is approving, but then nothing ever changes, does it? I never change.

  Negative thoughts are only mental events. Cepta explained they don’t define me. I accept and acknowledge them, and they drift away as I breathe out once again.

  Soon Cepta judges I am ready, and I rise, slip into bed. I focus on the feel of the cool sheets on my skin, the weight of the blanket, each breath, in and out.

  Sleep well, Lara, Cepta whispers inside my head, and then she’s gone.

  CHAPTER 4

  SHAY

  I ALWAYS HATE THAT FEELING of deceleration when you’re coming in to land; it just feels plain wrong to slow down in midair.

  Xander is good at this, though. We touch down with barely a bump. Out the window it is still dark, but it is that moment of hushed stillness that comes just before dawn.

  I unclip the seat belt and stand, lifting Chamberlain in my arms. He’s one heavy cat. Xander waits at the front of the aisle like some sort of flight attendant.

  “That was a difficult flight. Is everyone all right?” he says, aloud this time.

  Elena has lost her fear now that he is looking at us. “Of course,” she says. “Never had any doubt that we would land safely.”

  He laughs like he knows how scared she really was.

  “I’m fine,” Beatriz says, “but I wish Spike were here too.”

  I’ve been so consumed with thoughts of myself, of Kai, I haven’t been thinking of Spike, and I’m stricken. He’s part of us, part of our group, and he’s not here. He’s not anywhere anymore. And it’s my fault.

  Elena must catch my thought or read my face, because she takes my hand. She knows that Spike pushed me to the ground, away from the army bullets that ended his life. Spike wouldn’t have been who he was if he hadn’t done everything he could to save you, would he? Her silent words, said in my mind.

  But she doesn’t understand; she doesn’t know what I did. I’m a coward. I hide it down deep so she won’t see it.

  We climb down the steps to the runway, if you can call it that. It’s grass and not much wider than the wingspan of the plane. Xander must really know what he’s doing to land here.

  The sun is just creeping up, casting first light on tall trees at the edges of the field. Low houses are built in their shadows, the sort with living roofs: plants and grasses grow across them. Maybe to obscure them from anyone flying above? Chamberlain squirms, and I bend to put him down. He rolls on the earth in delight. Oh, to be a cat.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “Scotland. A remote highland community we built a few years ago; none but us know where it is. We’ve managed to stay isolated from recent events.”

  “Do you mean the epidemic hasn’t found it?” Elena asks.

  “Yes. It’s stayed clear.”

  So. They’ve built a place in the woods, complete with an airfield that looks like a meadow, that no one has found or infected. It must have been hard to stay hidden to start with, no matter how remote. Clearing most of the country with the epidemic has likely made it easier—it has suited them.

  “How many people live here?” I ask.

  “In the inner community, about a hundred. Outlying, almost two hundred.”

  Is one of them Callie? I say to Xander, and only him.

  Patience, he answers the same way. His eyes move from mine to the trees above us; someone is approaching—a woman.

  “There are over two hundred now—two hundred and nine,” she says when she reaches us, her voice soft and lilting. “We’ve had a few more join us since your last visit, Xander.” Welcome, she adds to all of us, silently—she’s a survivor.

  Dark hair cascades down her back, and her aura is one of the brightest I’ve seen, save perhaps Beatriz’s. It pulsates and shines. She wears a white tunic and dark leggings, a Multiverse necklace around her throat, and a wide smile that is all for Xander.

  “Cepta,” he says, his voice warm. He bends to kiss her cheek, and there is a sense of a quick, silent exchange between them—one they don’t share with the rest of us.

  He turns to us. “This is Cepta. She is Speaker for this Community.” He introduces Elena and Beatriz, and then there is a dramatic pause as Cepta looks at me and wonders who I am.

  He puts his hands on my shoulders.

  “And this is Shay. My daughter.”

  Cepta’s surprise is complete. “Your daughter?” She looks between me and Xander and back again, won
der in her eyes. There is another swift, silent exchange between them.

  She turns to me and smiles widely. “Welcome, Shay.” She bends to kiss my cheek now too, and she’s shining clean and smells lovely and makes me feel like an unkempt rat fresh from a night in the sewer. The marks of blood, death, and battle stain me inside and out.

  “Come,” Cepta says. “I’ve prepared a guesthouse for the three of you—even though Xander never told me who it was for!” She laughs.

  “I like to keep anyone as curious as you in suspense,” he says, but he looks at me as he says it. Was that comment meant for me?

  He links his arm in Cepta’s as she leads us to one of the houses. They leave Beatriz, Elena, and me at the door, saying that today we should rest. Tonight at sunset there will be dinner and a meeting. Xander and Cepta leave us and walk off hand in hand.

  On the other side of the door, everything in the guesthouse is simple, and so clean and white that I’m afraid to touch anything. There’s food set out on a low table. Beyond are three small bedrooms—I sigh in relief when I see the shower in the bathroom. I start to ask if anyone minds if I go first, but Elena just shakes her head and pushes me toward it.

  I’m inside, door shut. There’s no lock, and I wish I could lock it, even though there is no sense of danger or that anyone would intrude. Besides, Elena and Beatriz are out there. If anyone came, they would let me know. I make do with moving a freestanding towel rack in front of the door.

  I strip off and kick my clothes into the corner, hoping there will be other things to wear when I’m done. I never want to touch mine again—they’re dirty, stained by the day, like I am. A day I can’t keep out of my mind any longer.

  Spike: he pushed me down to the earth when he was shot. He saved me, and he died. Spike, my friend: gone. I’d tried to rub his blood off my skin, but it is still there; I can wash off what I can see, but it will always be there. Then I see the soldiers I killed, so many of them, using my mind—their blood didn’t touch my skin, but I still feel its mark.

  The water is hot, and there are old-fashioned, big bars of soap—I scrub and scrub my skin red-raw. With the shower still running, I sit down underneath it and draw my knees up to my chest. I rest my head on my knees.

  So many died. Then Jenna came, and she protected me—her cool darkness flowed over me and Chamberlain and stopped the bomb from killing us—but it destroyed her. I still can’t believe she’s really gone.

  And all of this was too much, way too much, to bear.

  But then Kai came, and somehow I found I could bear it as long as he was close. These lips, Kai kissed. These hands, he held. These arms were tight around him, and now all I hold inside them is myself. The water is hot on my back, my head, but I’m trembling.

  Tonight will come. I’ll have to go to this meeting, whatever that is about. Tomorrow will follow too. I’ll be strong then. I’ll gain Xander’s trust; I’ll find Callie; I’ll find a way out of here for both of us.

  But not now. Now, I let my tears fall: I cry for Spike—I could have saved him, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to kill to help us get away, and then what happened? More death. I cry for Jenna, who we thought was Callie—she saved my life, mine and Chamberlain’s.

  And I cry for Kai most of all, for the empty arms that are mine—now and tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow. The days stretch before me in unending loneliness, and I have to accept that it may be this way forever. Even if I find his long-lost sister, will he forgive me for all the things I never told him?

  Later, somehow, I will find hope—I’ll have to, or I won’t be able to go on. But right now all I am is despair.

  CHAPTER 5

  LARA

  A SMALL SQUARE ROOM, windowless and dark.

  No, not again: I can’t bear it.

  I struggle against the restraints that strap me to the chair, even though I know there is no point; I can’t help myself. No one can.

  One wall starts to glow.

  Beads of sweat break on my brow.

  I know I’m dreaming; I know this isn’t real. I should be able to change what happens, like Cepta has been trying to teach me—my subconscious is in control. Isn’t it?

  Flames erupt from the wall.

  I imagine the door bursting open—firemen, hoses. The ceiling magically sprouting a major sprinkler system. Or even getting beamed out of here to a starship in the sky at the last, crucial moment.

  But no matter what I try, nothing works.

  I’m burning, my flesh is burning, I’m screaming…

  SCREAMING

  There is no help, no way out, no rescue…

  What am I screaming?

  WAKE UP.

  A command, straight to my mind.

  As I open my eyes, tendrils of the nightmare fall away, cobwebs that I push through until they’re gone.

  I sit up, throwing off a sense of uneasiness. I frown. There was something unpleasant in my dream—horrible, even. What was it?

  Lara, come. It’s Cepta, and there isn’t just the usual impatience coloring her thoughts this morning; there is some sense of anticipation or excitement.

  I get up, throw the curtains open. Last night’s storm is gone. The world is washed and shiny new under bright morning sunshine.

  And something else is new: a plane has landed on the airstrip on the field below.

  CHAPTER 6

  SHAY

  SHAY, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? It’s Elena—from the other side of my bedroom door.

  It’s just a headache, I lie. I’ll be out in a minute. I do have a headache, but it’s that dull heaviness that comes from too much crying rather than anything being medically wrong. If the world would just leave me alone, I’d stay in this bed and not move again forever.

  Chamberlain bats my cheek with a paw, and I open my eyes. He rubs his head against my chin.

  Well, maybe not forever. I reach out a hand to stroke him.

  Is there anything I can do? Elena’s concern washes over me, but sometimes someone being nice is the last thing you need—it’s like being granted permission to stay in bed hugging a pillow, whimpering, for eternity. Mum always knew, didn’t she, if it was time for a hug or a push. An acute stab of missing her fills me again. Right now I need a push.

  Shay? Elena again.

  No, there’s nothing you can do; I’m fine, I answer.

  I make myself sit up, and my headache intensifies. I put my head in my hands. Am I up to this? I need to have my wits about me. Xander isn’t easily fooled: I can’t let him see that the only reason I’m here is to find Callie and take her home. I need to make him trust me.

  Maybe I could beg off this meeting thing and stay behind…

  No. Fix it, Shay. Reach inside, find the pain, and fix it. Not the Kai-shaped pain—that’s beyond what can be dealt with this way, or it should be, anyway. But how my head feels, now that I might have a chance with.

  I close my eyes, focus, and reach within—to travel along with my blood, swirling and rushing through my body. Like it always does, this takes all my attention—so that weirdly the most inward-focusing thing I can possibly do eases my attention away from myself, or my feelings, at least. Just the act of reaching out calms the emotional maelstrom inside and leads me to another sort of storm: I spin with blood cells, molecules, atoms, particles—particles that become waves, waves of healing. I soothe and ease swollen sinuses, sore nose, puffy eyes; even out red and blotchy skin; edge my mind and body toward awareness, wakefulness, readiness. And—as an afterthought—I make a slight adjustment to neurotransmitters, bumping up my serotonin levels a little. This’d be a great skill for a psychiatrist: no antidepressants needed. They could just fiddle with your brain a little instead.

  By the time I open my eyes, I’m ready to face the world. Or this weird corner of it, at least.

  I stand and pull a fresh tunic over my head. After my endl
ess shower, I’d been relieved to find clean clothes had been put out for me, but the uniform could get boring: white tunics and black leggings, along with the cool feel of gold hanging around my neck.

  I open my door, and there, waiting in the hall, is Xander—dressed more or less the same way, but his tunic is a deep blue that brings out the color of his eyes. No sign of Elena or Beatriz?

  “They’ve gone ahead with Cepta,” he says, answering my unspoken question.

  “Am I late?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I thought we should have a moment on our own.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “I know the last few days have been difficult. And that it was hard for you to leave Kai behind.”

  “Yes. It was.”

  “But apart from that, is being here—is everything all right?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, answering him honestly. “I don’t know how I feel about anything right now.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” The same question Elena asked, but the effect is different: he’s not someone who would be a good shoulder to cry on, and that’s not what he means anyway. He’s asking for something specific to fix the unfixable.

  Though there is one thing. He could answer my questions, especially the most important one: where is Callie? But that look he gave me earlier, when he said he likes to keep anyone curious in suspense—it means no. Asking won’t help. It might even make it harder to learn what I need to know. I shake my head, hold my tongue.

  “Time to go, then.” He holds out his arm, and I take it. He pats my hand and holds it closer to his arm. He’s warm and I’m cold, and there is something about that simple gesture that touches me inside. I don’t understand how I’m feeling, but I can’t think about why or what those feelings mean when he is close like this; he’ll read it. I have to save it for later.