Alive (19 page)

“You think I’m a coward? Come and find out if you’re right.”

Bishop doesn’t hesitate. He raises his thighbone and strides toward O’Malley.

I slam my spear shaft against a coffin lid. The sound echoes sharply off the stone walls, makes everyone jump, makes Bishop stop. These boys are going to tear each other apart if I don’t do something.

“That’s
enough
!
You
”—I point the spear at Gaston—“will stop insulting everyone, and
you
”—I point it at Bishop—“will stop puffing up your chest every time someone says something you don’t like, and
you
”—I point the spear at O’Malley—“will
stop
pulling that knife, or I will take it away, and
you
”—I point it at Aramovsky—“will stop talking about gods and magic and other such
foolishness
.”

When the echo of my words dies down, there is no noise. No one speaks.

O’Malley stays quiet. My rant doesn’t seem to have bothered him. He lowers the knife. Bishop looks down at the floor. So does Gaston.

Aramovsky stares straight at me, his nostrils flaring.

“We are in a magic prison,” he says quietly. “Monsters have taken Bello. I will keep quiet for now, but if you think that what we have seen is
foolishness,
then you do not believe what your own eyes show you.”

Spingate and the others watch the five of us, waiting to see what happens next.

Bishop is all emotion. He wants to rush off without thinking, without making a plan. His passion is contagious, but I can’t let it sway me. We have lost three people—I can’t bear to lose any more.

O’Malley is the opposite of Bishop. He always seems to think things through. I need his opinion.

“I saw Bishop kill the monster,” I say. “He’s right, O’Malley—our circle-stars are faster and stronger. So why do you say strength and speed don’t matter?”

“Because of the bracelet,” he says. “If the monster was going to shoot you with it, that means they can hit us from a distance. Now that we’ve killed one of theirs, I doubt if they’ll let us get close again. Strength and speed don’t matter if the monsters can shoot us before we get near them.”

That didn’t occur to me. We don’t know what the bracelets do, but we have to assume whatever they “shoot” can hurt us, maybe kill us. O’Malley is right.

Bishop doesn’t give up.

“Then we stay quiet and hidden,” he says. “We slip into the Garden, sneak into the woods, and we find Bello.”

He’s desperate to go after her. He’s ashamed he left her behind. So am I, but I can see it’s worse for him. It’s tearing him apart. I want to save her, too, or at least find out if she’s dead, but if those bracelets really are weapons, we…

Wait a second—Gaston’s story about the haunted room, with the three unbroken pillars.

“Bishop, the spear,” I say. “You found it stuck in a body. Gaston said that body had something on its arm. Gaston, what did you call it?”

“A shackle,” Gaston says. His eyebrows rise, he looks at Bishop. “The monster’s bracelet, was it the same thing we saw on that body?”

Bishop thinks, then nods. “Yes. I should have thought of that, but when I saw that thing attacking Em, I…well, I should have thought of that.”

My thoughts race, but this time, it isn’t about boys or who wants to lead, it isn’t about who is the prettiest.

It’s about staying alive.

We walked in a circle. It doesn’t matter if that was because of magic, or gods, or by some means Spingate can’t quite explain. What matters is we wound up back where we started. As far as we know, there is no way out. We could be here for a long time. If we are to survive, we need food and water, and there’s only one place we know of that has those things.

The Garden, where the monsters are.

Monsters who have weapons that we don’t.

“We’re going to the haunted room,” I say. “We need to find that bracelet. I’ll go. Bishop, you come with me, and we’ll bring—”

“No.”
His word is a roar. His gray face clouds over. “We go after Bello, and we go
now
.”

The room is silent. Bishop stares at me. I stare back at him.

“The bracelet in that room could be a weapon,” I say. “It’s important.”

I see the pain and conflict in his eyes. I ordered us to run away, yes, but doing so was his idea before it was mine and he knows it. He feels responsible.

“Bello is
more
important,” he says. “They could be killing her right now. We can’t wait. We’ll beat the monsters, Em. Lead us to the Garden.”

To everyone else, I know he sounds strong and confident. But his face, his eyes…he is pleading with me. He wants to fight.

I’m suddenly so grateful O’Malley talked me out of quitting. We don’t understand how we wound up back here, but that doesn’t mean walking straight was the wrong choice. I did the right thing. I did the smart thing. I kept us together.

O’Malley said it best: Bishop
acts,
I
think
.

And as badly as Bishop wants to redeem himself, I can’t let him, not yet.

“This isn’t only about Bello anymore,” I say. “It’s about all of us. We need to survive. I am going to the haunted room, Bishop, and you will take me there. We need to go with strength, but we also need to protect the people who will stay here. So, you decide who goes with us, and who guards this room.”

Our stare-down continues. We are on the edge of coming apart, of the group splitting in two. That smile Bishop gave me back in the Garden, I doubt I will ever see it again—right now, he hates me.

He can hate all he wants, as long as he does what I need him to do.

Finally, the stare breaks. Bishop looks around the room.

“El-Saffani comes with Em and me,” he says. “And Visca. And Bawden.”

The tension in the room eases slightly, but it’s not gone. The others are glancing my way. They think we should go after Bello. They are angry we left her behind. I led these people in a circle, so I can’t fault them for doubting my decisions.

Bishop points his club in turn at two circle-stars. “Farrar, Coyotl, you guard this room.” To my surprise, he then points at two more people. “Okereke, Smith, you help Farrar and Coyotl.”

Okereke and Smith are surprised to be chosen for this duty, honored to be recognized by the biggest of us all. They aren’t circle-stars, but I understand Bishop’s choice. Okereke is strong and has an air about him that makes him lean toward danger rather than shy away from it. Tall, skinny Smith moves with grace and speed. She never stumbles or falters. Maybe she’s a fighter as well as a healer.

Bishop then points the club at Gaston.

“And you,” Bishop says. “The door to the haunted room only opened for you, so you’ve got to come.”

Gaston puts his hands to his face. “Crap. I forgot about that.”

Spingate shakes her head. “Gaston shouldn’t go. He’s too little, there are monsters now, and—”

“I’m not
too little,
” Gaston snaps. “They can’t get in if I don’t go.”

She shakes her head again, harder this time. She holds up the scepter. “They can take this, I don’t care. I’ll show them how it works.”

“It didn’t open with a scepter,” Gaston says, his voice kinder now. “It opened for
me
. If I don’t go with the group, there’s no point in them going at all.”

Spingate looks like she’s fighting back tears. I can tell she has a hundred questions about how the door works, why someone else can’t open it, but Gaston’s face is set—he’s going.

“Spin, we need him,” I say. “Bishop will make sure he stays safe.”

She looks at the gray-faced boy. “You better.”

Bishop nods once.

“I’ll go as well,” O’Malley says.

His tone is hopeful, but not as firm as Gaston’s. I think O’Malley already knows what he’s going to hear.

“I need you to stay,” I say. “You’ll be in charge while we’re gone.”

Aramovsky huffs. “Really? Yet another terrible idea. O’Malley, do you believe in the gods?”

O’Malley shakes his head. “There’s no such thing.”

Aramovsky looks around the room, spreads his hands as if to say:
There, you see?

“Em wants someone who thinks the gods don’t exist to be in charge,” he says, playing to the crowd. “Do you think the gods are going to like that? I don’t. I should be in charge while she’s gone, wouldn’t you all agree?”

Some heads shake, but most nod.

A wave of fury wells up in my chest. He wants to take leadership away from me? I wonder what it would feel like to shove the spearpoint into Aramovsky’s throat. If he contradicts me again, I could kill him just like I killed Yong.

No…Yong was an
accident
. I didn’t kill him, he ran into the knife. That’s what happened.

Isn’t it?

I give my head a hard shake, clear my thoughts. Yes, Yong was an accident. I’m not going to kill Aramovsky for speaking his mind—that’s crazy.

I think back to the Garden, to Aramovsky standing tall. People sat around him, watched him reverently, listened to his words. What was he saying to them? And, more importantly, what will he say while I’m gone? Bishop is in danger of splitting the group, but I don’t think he means it or even knows he’s doing it. Aramovsky, on the other hand, knows exactly what he’s doing.

So it’s best not to let him do it.

“You can’t be in charge here, Aramovsky, because you’re coming with me.”

He’s surprised. He wasn’t expecting that.

“But I would be no help in a fight,” he says. “It doesn’t make any sense for me to go.”

“You seem to know religion better than the rest of us,” I say. “What if we run into something we don’t understand, and we do the wrong thing? We might accidentally anger the gods if you’re not there to give us guidance.”

When he first spoke of gods and magic, many heads nodded. Those same heads nod again—they believe in him, think it makes sense for him to come along on this important mission.

Aramovsky’s eyes harden. He knows I’ve used his own words against him. If he doesn’t go now, he’s basically telling everyone he doesn’t give a damn about his gods.

“Fine,” he says, and forces a smile. “I’ll do my part.”

“Then let’s not waste another second,” I say, and walk to the door.

We move out, the eight of us—Bishop, El-Saffani, Bawden, Visca, Aramovsky, Gaston and me. I’m trying to do the smart thing, but the truth is I’m acting on a hunch. The bracelet
might
be a weapon,
might
let us take the Garden and hold it against monsters or any other threat.

Hunch or no hunch, I’ve made my decision.

And if I’m wrong, I know it will be the last decision I get to make.

W
e run uphill.

There are many footprints in the dust. The biggest ones are Aramovsky’s, the medium-sized ones are from O’Malley and Yong and Spingate.

The smallest ones are from me and Bello.

I see the same bones, the same burn marks on the walls, the same open archway doors. Through those open doors, I see coffins. I know corpses lie inside them.

There are new footprints as well, along the corridor’s edges. Those are from El-Saffani. The twins are once again out in front of us, ready to be the first to face any danger.

El-Saffani is shirtless, as is Bishop. All the circle-stars—Bawden included—wear only pants. They have covered their faces, chests, arms and hands with caked gray dust. The twins had beautiful, caramel-colored skin. Bawden’s was a light brown. Visca’s had that pinkish hue.

Now all five of them are the same color.

Bishop is at my right side, the thighbone clutched in his hand. Aramovsky and Gaston are behind us. Bawden and Visca bring up the rear.

We move in silence for a long time. We move fast, or at least as fast as we can with Aramovsky and Gaston. They were slow to begin with and are already tiring. They will have to keep up. We have a long way to go to reach the place where we met Bishop and his marchers.

When we first made this trip, we were walking, we didn’t know where we were going, and we moved cautiously because we didn’t know what would come next. Now the distance goes by so much faster, although there’s still plenty of time to think.

Latu told me her coffin was already open when she awoke. I haven’t had a chance to ask the others about their experience—did anyone else have to fight for their life?

“Bishop, tell me about when you woke up.”

He explains as he runs.

“We were in a cradle room. El-Saffani, me and Coyotl. The door to our room was shut.”

“How did you get out of your coffins? I mean your
cradles
.”

He shrugs. “They were open.”

Same as with Latu. “There was no pain? What woke you up?”

His brow furrows. It’s strange to carry on a conversation with him now: his eyes look so white in contrast with the gray paste caked on his skin.

“I think there was a little tingling sensation,” he says. “I woke up kind of slow. A little bit at a time, you know? The cradle was open, so I got out.”

Sounds like the same mild electrical shock that woke Spingate.

“And the door to your room? How did you get that open?”

“After we were awake for a little while, it opened by itself,” he says. “We walked out and started running into other groups. That’s when I got everyone organized.”

No snake-tube attacking him, or Latu or Spingate or anyone else. No needle. No pain.

So why
me
?

We run on in silence. It isn’t long before we leave the archways behind and see nothing but blank white walls on either side—we will be at the place where our two groups met much sooner than I anticipated.

I hear Aramovsky breathing hard behind us, hear Bawden hissing at him to pick up the pace, and I can’t help but smile.

We keep moving. I figure we’re more than halfway there when Bishop glances at me.

“Savage, you know what’s funny?”

“I think you can call me
Em
now, Bishop.”

He considers this, then shakes his head. “I can’t remember much, but I know what the word
savage
means. It fits you.”

I blush. He doesn’t mean it as an insult. Coming from him, from a circle-star, I think it’s a compliment.

Maybe it is, but not to me. I think of how I lost my temper back in the coffin room, how I pointed the spear when I yelled at Bishop and the others. Was I doing that to make things clear, or was I implying a threat against anyone who would not do what I said?

Bishop grins. His teeth seem so bright compared to his darkened skin. “Savage, you kind of lose track of things a lot, you know that?”

I nod. “Sorry.”

“So, do you want to know what’s funny or don’t you?”

“Sure,” I say. “What’s funny?”

“If we took a vote now, with the people in
this
group, I wonder who would win.”

I don’t break stride, but his comment chills me. What does he mean by it? He came with me to get the bracelet, but it was a close thing. The next time he disagrees with me, will he go his own way, and will he take the circle-stars with him?

I look over my shoulder at the people following us. How long have we been awake? Gaston and Aramovsky look the same, but in the short time since we came out of our coffins the circle-stars have transformed into something else. It’s not their gray color alone—it’s in the way they walk, in their hard eyes. They carry bones as weapons, and look ready to use them.

If we voted now, Bawden, Visca and El-Saffani would choose Bishop.

I face forward and keep walking. My grip tightens on the spear.

The thought of Bishop trying to take over…it makes me
angry
. Just like it made me angry when Yong wanted to be the leader. Just like it makes me angry when Aramovsky plays his word games in front of everyone. I was ready to stab Aramovsky when he suggested he should be in charge. I was ready to
kill
him.

Bishop was the leader once. Does he feel the same anger toward me that I feel toward Aramovsky? That I felt toward Yong?

Out of all of us, only Bishop and I have taken life.

I realize why his comment affected me so: if he really wanted to lead, he wouldn’t need a vote. We’re far from O’Malley and the others. The circle-stars seem to follow Bishop, not me. If he kills me here, he can make up any story he likes when he gets back, then simply declare himself the leader. Maybe someone would call for a vote, and maybe Bishop would make them back down. He used force to take over his group of marchers—what’s to stop him from doing it again?

I shake my head. I’m being crazy. Bishop wouldn’t hurt me. He likes me. He said so. And it’s not as if he tricked me to come out here, away from O’Malley and the others. I asked him to come, basically
made
him come. Still, I hope we finish this search soon so we can rejoin the group.

My crazy thoughts, how I lose track of things…since I woke up, it’s been so hard to control my emotions. I’m happy and laughing one second, sad the next, paranoid and ready to kill someone the moment after that. I wasn’t like this before, I’m sure of it. I don’t need to remember the faces of my parents to know I was a good girl. The way my mind seems to change directions…that frightens me even more than Bishop does.

After a time, I see the intersection where Yong died. A wide splotch of mostly dried blood-slush is all that remains. Our footprints lead away from that spot.

Bishop glances my way. I told him how I killed Yong. He must realize that this is where it happened.

El-Saffani looks back at me, asking if we need to stop here. I point the spear straight down the hall:
Keep going
. They do.

When I pass by the intersection, I’m careful not to step on the dried blood-slush. Down that hallway to our right is an archway door, and through it, a coffin that holds Yong’s body.

We leave the intersection behind.

From then on, no one says a word for a long time, until we reach the second intersection, the one where our two groups met. Instead of going straight like we did before, we turn right, toward where Bishop came from.

My legs recognize the difference instantly. Just like in the Garden, we’re now walking level. We must be going down the length of the cylinder instead of up the curve.

We walk for a long ways, following two neat, dense rows of footprints. When Bishop was the leader, he made his people march in orderly lines. Those footprints make it easy to retrace his path.

It’s dimmer here. The ceiling doesn’t glow as bright. In some places, round patches of it are completely dark.

I think of rot. I think of the monsters.

Hallways start to branch off. There are so many directions we could explore, but we came here for a specific reason. We follow the footsteps. Sometimes we go straight, sometimes we turn.

It isn’t long before we see bones.

The carnage begins with a few skeletons. At first I think Bishop and the others overreacted when they told us how bad it was in their area.

Then it gets worse.

The archways gape open, the stone doors neatly out of the way in their wall slots. We can see into the poorly lit rooms that we pass by, see the horrors left by the Grownups.

We had bones outside our coffin room, evidence of an intense battle, but it was nothing like this. Here, room after room is littered with death. Some of the dead are skeletons, some are withered corpses of dried flesh. Everywhere we look, it seems, skulls grin back at us.

Many of the bodies wear the clothes they had on when they died. These Grownups did not dress like us. They all wear a one-piece outfit that is both pants and shirt together. The outfits are in different colors: orange, yellow, blue, red, some greens, and, once in a while, purple. Dark stains dot the fabric. Judging from the fact that those stains are darkest where an arm or a leg is missing, I realize most are from long-dried blood.

Some rooms have tangled bodies stacked so deep I can’t even guess how many lives the twisted limbs once represented. Other rooms don’t have full skeletons at all, only teetering piles of bones—arms and legs, severed before or after death, thrown together haphazardly like children’s toys.

One room makes me stop and stare, because there is nothing but skulls. They are neatly stacked into a shape I recognize—the same squat, stepped pyramids that were carved into my coffin.

The Grownups turned death into art.

I look at Aramovsky, wondering what he thinks of his angry gods now. The skulls frighten him, but also
excite
him. He finds all of this fascinating.

As we walk, as we look through open doors, things get worse: skeletons hanging from the ceiling by metal rings around their wrists and ankles; a room with nothing but the bones of a hundred left arms arranged in pinwheels of overlapped hands; a room where skeletons sit in chairs, facing each other, held in permanent poses by stiff, curling wires.

El-Saffani continues to walk ahead of us, but the twins don’t seem as brave anymore. They’re scared, just like me, just like Bishop, just like the rest of our group. I think we’re all waiting for the skeletons to move, to laugh, to rise up and come after us.

After a while, I try to stop myself from looking into the rooms full of mangled people, but every time I fail. I notice a pattern: a few of the shriveled dead still have dried skin on their faces. On those corpses, I can sometimes make out forehead symbols.

And every symbol I see, every last one, is an empty circle.

My symbol.

I stand closer to Bishop, close enough that I keep bumping against him as we walk. So many dead. So many bones—broken, blackened, shattered, sawed and chopped.

Why did the Grownups do this to each other?

Up ahead, the twins hesitate at an intersection. We catch up to them and I see why they stopped. My stomach flutters at the sight: two neat rows of footprints going both left
and
right.

“Bishop,” I say, pointing to the tracks, “did you cross over your own path on the way here?”

He scratches his cheek. A little of the dried gray dust flakes away. I shiver as I realize the dust covering the circle-stars is basically the same stuff as the dead bodies we’ve passed by.

“Yeah, I guess,” he says. “We turned around a few times. Maybe we walked the same halls more than once.”

Is he lost? Did we waste precious time coming here?

“Bishop, focus,” I say. “We need to find the haunted room. You said it had three pedestals and a ladder, remember?”

I’m hoping those details will jog his memory, but as he again scans the footprints and the hall, I don’t see a flicker of recognition.

He leans into an archway, looks around, leans back out. He seems confused.

“It’s close to here,” he says. “I’m pretty sure.”

Gaston steps forward.

“I know where the room is.”

He speaks quietly, as if he’s afraid that simple statement will somehow anger Bishop. Gaston’s eyes keep flicking toward Bishop’s bone-club. Maybe Gaston realizes—like I did—that we’re far away from the others, that Bishop and the circle-stars could find a way to make him vanish and no one would ever know.

Bishop stares down at the smaller boy. I brace myself for yet another argument.

This time, however, there isn’t one. Bishop sighs and nods.

“I really don’t remember,” he says. “Gaston should take over.”

Gaston lets out a held breath, sags as the tension leaves him.

“You got us most of the way, Bishop,” he says. For once, he’s not poking fun. I could be wrong, but I think he’s trying to make Bishop feel better about getting lost.

Gaston examines the footprints, thinking. He points down the dim hall that leads right.

“At the corner up there, we turn left. At the end of that hall we turn right.” He looks at me, speaks quietly. “On the way there, you’ll see four archways. I wouldn’t look in the third one if I were you.” He shifts his gaze to Aramovsky. “Both of you…just don’t look.”

I see Bishop shudder. The twins stare at the ground. Visca and Bawden drift close to each other, so close their shoulders touch, as if the memory of what they saw drives them to seek comfort.

Whatever waits in that room, it must be beyond anything we have seen so far. How it could be worse, I can’t imagine.

Bishop nods. “Gaston is right. I remember what’s in there. You don’t want to see it. El-Saffani, lead the way.”

The twins head down the hall. We follow. We turn left.

Bishop is giving orders now? Maybe he does want to take over. I’ll need to be careful and pay attention to everything he does.

We pass four archway doors. At the third one, I think of following Gaston’s advice and keeping my eyes straight ahead. No, I don’t have the luxury of ignoring things. I am the leader: I need to know everything that we face.