Arise (Book Three in The Arson Saga) (11 page)

Chapter Fourteen

R
uth insisted that Emery
leave Adam’s side and take a shower, to allow her brain a much-needed reprieve, but what was the point? All of her hope lay defenseless on a stranger’s sofa. She had cleaned most of Adam’s wounds, but even that felt futile. Not to mention, the only thing circling her mind was the messed-up situation they were in. After a lot of second-guessing, though, Emery cautiously walked down the hall and into the bathroom to take Ruth up on her offer.

She stayed in the bathroom for nearly thirty minutes; only fifteen of those minutes were spent showering. Scrubbing out the syrupy blood stuck to her hair and cheek was manageable, and she scraped her face extra just to make sure all the dirt and filth had been exiled from each pore. Her eyes, however, were the hardest. Two desensitized spheres appeared concave upon reflection, as if their very souls had vacated. She sank to the floor, towel swaddling her midsection, hair sweating droplets onto the patterned grooves, slowly dissolving into the crevices and grout. She sat. She thought. She wondered, but that wonder had a short life, and guilt eventually took over. Maybe she might never see Arson again, and a terrible reality that was, but at least Adam was still here, in her presence. She could touch him if she wanted. Maybe he didn’t speak. Maybe he wasn’t breathing. But he was real, and his body wasn’t yet decaying. That had to count for something.

A warm breath of condensation slid into her nostrils and open mouth, like fresh milk. She got changed and met Ruth at the table.

“Better?” the woman asked sweetly.

Nodding, Emery’s fingers clung to her sleeves, and she took a seat. “Thanks for letting me use your clothes.”

“Thank my son. One of his girlfriends was about your size. ’Course, they broke up, went their separate ways. When kids are together for years, they start to sorta share houses, you know? Some of his stuff gets left at her place, some of her stuff gets left here, and the mother just loses track of the score. Oh, it is what it is, I s’pose. You know, my son joined the service right after it happened, nasty split it was. He loved her dearly. But a man’s gotta do what he sets out to, and he high-tailed it outta here and didn’t ever look back. Memories can be sad sometimes. Ain’t seen either of ’em since.”

“Oh. That makes me feel just peachy,” Emery said, giving no consideration for how sardonic her remark might have come across.

She noticed a picture of the man she assumed was Ruth’s son beside the stovetop. In the photograph he was kissing a girl who wore a smile from ear to ear. It was easy to put two and two together. Though it was a bit odd that her host kept a picture of her son’s ex-lover. Unless the two were close. And the more thought Emery gave to her speculation, the more likely it seemed to be the case.

“It is so…well,
interesting
, I guess is the appropriate word,” Ruth continued, “how the choices of one can affect so many others. The power of one choice. It’ll make your head spin if you think about it too much.” Ruth stirred the pot of sauce one final time before tossing in some oregano. Then she dipped a ladle into the hot red pool and drizzled the sauce over a dish of prepared pasta. “Sorry about all that, dear. Family drama. It’s all probably, what is it…? T.M.I. That’s what the kids are sayin’ nowadays, right?”

Ruth handed her the meal. Her attempt at proper teenage vernacular was amusing. Emery inhaled the bowl of pasta in about two minutes and asked for a second helping. Ruth smirked, grabbed the plate, and moseyed toward the stovetop then added pasta and sauce to Emery’s plate. “As you can imagine, I don’t get very many houseguests, not since my son left, oh, about six years ago, now.” She was lost for a second. Then she wandered back. “That being said, it’s mighty nice to see my cooking hasn’t suffered as a result.”

“Thanks,” Emery said with a full mouth, not bothering to glance up. The truth was that it could’ve been laced with rat poison, and her stomach still might have demanded she eat just as much. “It’s…good.”

Ruth stabbed a few pieces of ziti and guided the fork to her mouth. “Gina. That was her name. I knew it’d come back to me. I’m old, but this noggin’ still has a bit of life left, tell you the truth.”

Emery analyzed the glow that filled the woman’s face when revelation hit. There were love and kindness trapped behind years of obvious sorrow and loneliness. Once Emery had swallowed the food, torn a piece of bread loaded with butter, and dropped it in her mouth, she paused to eye her host a little longer. Ruth didn’t realize; she just savored the meal. It was weird, like she was appreciating it, really appreciating it for a reason.

“You always eat so slow?” Emery asked.

“You always eat so fast?” came a quick reply.

“Fair enough.”

“Time moves so fast. You ever think about it? It’s a blink, really. I’ve learned to slow it down every now and then. You never know what’s around the corner.” The portrait of her son and almost daughter-in-law, Emery imagined, came back into focus.

It was time to change the subject. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in…” Emery’s eyes glazed over. “A long time.” She started to shiver and rubbed her arms with opposite hands, pretending Adam was doing it. Her eyes left the table and drifted to the sofa for a second. Nothing changed. She blinked about a thousand times, biting her lip, hoping it might split open and bleed.

“Feel like talking about it some?” Ruth’s light voice trickled out. “I listen good.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

The elder seemed offended slightly by the abrupt sarcasm.

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’m just a nosy old crow. I should mind my own business and let guests be guests.”

Emery sipped her Sprite slowly. She didn’t mean to say what came next. Never meant for it to spill out of her. It was the last thing she wanted to bring to life again. But in a way, she knew she had to, to move toward freedom from it. “We got out,” she uttered almost inaudibly. “They didn’t want us to. They chased us, but we got out.”

Ruth’s countenance shifted. Putting down her fork, she watched Emery’s tears retreat.

“We were prisoners. They messed with our heads. Sick doctors. Psychos.” She bit a sliver of flesh from her lip then lazily dragged her tongue across so it would sting. “I hope they burn in hell.”

“Who? Tell me, what happened to you, child?”

“I was kidnapped.” Her thoughts were so loud and violent. “I don’t remember who did it. Crap, I don’t know. Never saw their faces, at least I don’t think I did. But there’s this image on freaking repeat, playing inside my head. I’m walking out to meet my parents. Gonna tell them something important. All of a sudden, I’m claustrophobic. These strong arms swallow me. I can barely breathe. Something pricks my neck. I wake up in a room I’ve never been in before. It’s so dark in there, and cold.” Emery’s teeth began to chatter. She looked down at her arms, at the tiny bubbles blanketing the skin.

“The same thing happened to him?”

“They took Adam too, but I’m still a little fuzzy as to how it happened for him. For months, I didn’t know there was anyone else. But he was there too. I wasn’t alone.”

“Who would do something like that?”

“Twisted creeps hell-bent on world domination.”

“Now, calm down. Just whaddaya mean? There wasn’t any financial gain to it? No ransom, no nothin’? Why would somebody just kidnap two kids? You weren’t…
touched
…by them, were you?”

“No, at least I don’t think so. They wanted something else.” Hesitation held Emery still for a long moment. The next part felt awkward leaving her lips. “They wanted our blood.”

Ruth studied her, puzzled.

“They think we’re special.”

“Special? I’m not following.”

“Think, Emery. How can you say this without sounding insane?” After a deep breath, she went on, “Okay, these deranged, sick people believe that he and I have…abilities. That we’re, I don’t know, superhuman or something.” The tears were starting to dry, and now all Emery felt bubbling up inside her was a deep, unsatisfied hatred.

“The marks on your arm…”

“Needles. They tested me for months.”

Ruth didn’t blink for nearly twenty seconds. Maybe it was fear, maybe confusion. Emery just wanted something to break that stare. “Cut it out. I’ve spent most of my life being stared at like a lab rat.”

“Sorry. It’s not my intent to make ya uncomfortable. I just don’t understand. Abilities, testing? It all sounds a little like science fiction.”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s not fiction anymore. This crap is actually happening, and not just in one place.”

“What in the hellfire is this world comin’ to? You’re kids. For heaven’s sake, you’re just babies. Have you any idea what they were gonna do with it? Your…blood?”

Emery heard the inflection in Ruth’s voice, like she could hardly come to terms with the concept. Her words came out together, but she imagined her thoughts as a sea of crashing waves, collapsing any semblance of a ship that might lead to shore.

“I guess they’re gonna change the world.”

“Change it?”

Stop.
She knew she should stop divulging information. She didn’t know this woman, but she had to tell someone. It was gnawing at her. “Modify the people,” she added. “Make the human race something more capable of withstanding a global catastrophe or decay, old age. But apparently, only some will be changed; the others…”

Ruth wrung her hands, gently feeling the wrinkled skin. “By escapin’, maybe you stopped them some, hmm?”

A smirk nudged Emery’s mouth. “Not sure they can be stopped.” She was stunned. In the scenario that played out in her head, she’d watched Ruth chuck a knife at her forehead and attempt an exorcism. All the gawking notwithstanding, this version proved slightly less intense, and she was glad for that.

“Where’d they do it?”

“I don’t know the exact location. But the facility is called Salvation Asylum.”

“Never heard o’ such a place.”

“Shocker.”

“I try to keep to myself. Only go into town when I need to. Nobody bothers me; I don’t bother nobody else.”

“It’s not you. It’s probably the way they want it. Low profile means nobody snoops around. To the public, they’re just a mental hospital. But to us it was—”

“Hell on earth.”

Emery nodded.

Ruth cradled her chin, still in terrible awe.

“So you believe me? Like, really believe me?”

“I’ve heard some elaborate stories in my day, but nothin’ like this. If you’re lyin’, that’s a mighty creative story.”

“I wish it were a lie. Look.” Emery pulled back her eyelid and waved Ruth closer.

Her host gasped when she saw the tattoo. “218. What’s it mean?”

“It was the way they identified us. A number, a subject. They marked Adam too.”

Ruth brushed her hair back and sat down, looked at Emery then at Adam then back at Emery. “I’m not sure how to ask this, but—”

“What?” Emery snapped.

“When you say
abilities
…what exactly do you mean? What can you do?”

Emery laughed halfheartedly. “Nothing. They were wrong. I don’t have any.”

“But you said—”

“Ironic, right?” She forced her eyes wide for emphasis. “Those scumbags took me for no reason. They ripped me from my home, my life…” Her mind splashed to life with a memory of Arson. “They don’t care about the human race. They just want to experiment with it, alter it to their satisfaction, and kill whoever’s left. A new world, a new order to control. Adam said they were planning something big.”

“Which is why they won’t just quit.”

“Exactly. These doctors…agents…scientists, whatever they are… They’re powerful, connected. They were put in place for a reason. And I get the feeling they don’t like to lose.” Images of the stuttering doctor putting a gun to his throat and firing off a shot exploded in her subconscious. A sliver of red meat rippled out the back of his neck, along with the bullet that died God only knew how far away.

“They took everything.” Emery stomped her heel on the floor. “They tested us and messed with our memories, stuck us with needles!”

“What about him?” Ruth asked, pointing to Adam. “Is he…different?” The question seemed like it had an aim, an aim to identify whether Adam, should he wake, would in fact be a threat.

Emery dragged several strands of hair behind her ear prior to answering. “He’s everything. The beginning—at least, that’s the theory. Ha… They thought
I
was like him. It’s insane to think I could ever be that strong.”

Ruth’s curiosity wasn’t satisfied. “Is he dangerous?”

“He was. To the wrong people.”

“What exactly is he capable of?”

“His body emits energy, enough to…well, enough to hurt people if he has to.” Emery deliberately left out his other talents. Somehow, Ruth didn’t look like she could handle mind control and superhuman strength just yet.

“Oh my,” the woman gasped.

“He’s not a monster.”

“No, of course not.” Ruth flexed her jaw, eyes drifting.

“He’s obviously wounded now. It scares me seeing him like this. He used too much to protect us. His body, it’s like a battery or computer, I think. It’s supposed to get rid of the energy and then reboot. But it’s not happening. I don’t know where he is or if he’ll come back. This is too much. I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t.” She reached for her glass and chugged the remaining soda. The sting at the back of her throat soothed.

“Will those agents come here looking for you?”

Emery could lie and say no, or she could tell the truth. Neither reply would calm an erratic pulse; that much was obvious. She inhaled a deep breath and swallowed, saying nothing. Her eyes, however, volunteered everything.

Silently, Ruth stood up and went to a closet in the hallway. She pulled on a metal chain, and the bulb illuminated a cramped space. Emery watched her host reach past the hanging coats. Behind one of the cedar planks that covered the interior wall, there was a box and, in that box, a shotgun. A couple of shells spilled onto the floor upon retrieval.

Emery leaned back in her chair, immediately tense. She sprang to her feet at once and flew to the coffee table, where she’d left the handgun. Frantically picking up the weapon, she waited, ready to fire it if she had to.