Deviants (17 page)

I don’t believe what Gage said about the dust healing—and I don’t want to. A shudder runs through me. If I inhaled enough dust to mend my ankle, I’d be one step closer to becoming a Shredder. It was easy to see how crazed it made Gage.

As I slowly move toward the Shredder camp, searching for Burn, the noise rises along with my fear. Reaching a pile of twisted metal, instead of going around or over, I carefully climb through it. Midway a sound makes me jump. A rat scurries in the corner and my shoulders relax. At least now I know where to come for a meal.

I duck under a beam. The sharp edge of a metal sheet glints in a sliver of moonlight and I lean to avoid slicing my face. The light’s brighter ahead, and I’m almost out of this bizarre den-like structure.

Reaching the edge, I start to flip down my visor then stop. Without a fully covered face, dust might sneak under the filter’s edges or enter my body through my tears, but I need the
extra visibility.

The outpost building is about fifty yards straight ahead, but shouts and screams from the camp make it seem much closer. Their fire casts an orange glow on the dust and the building’s sides. Various piles of concrete and steel jut out at intervals—some in light, some in shadows—but there’s no way to tell whether anyone’s lurking behind one. Even Burn. The nearest hiding place is at least twenty yards away. As soon as I move, I’ll be completely exposed.

My best option is to sprint to one of the piles that’s far to the side. From there, I’ll gain a vantage point to peer around the building. Burn might have been captured, but for all I know he’s in cahoots with the Shredders, maybe making a deal to turn Gage or me over, in exchange for safe passage.

I don’t really believe that, but I’m in the dark, in more ways than one, and need information to form a plan.

Focusing on the shadows, watching each potential hiding place, I choose a direction then keep low and run. Reaching my target, I press myself against the far side of the crumbling concrete.

The distance was short yet my chest heaves, and I concentrate on pulling in air through the filter to get my breath back. Pressed against the slab to minimize my shadow, I move to its edge and look.

At least twenty Shredders are gathered around a huge fire. They’re all male, as far as I can tell. And on the far side of the fire, two Shredders are shouting at each other in hideous, grating voices that assault my ears with noise, but no detectable
words. The smaller of the two picks up the big one and tosses him into the fire.

The burning Shredder roars and my hands fly to my ears, certain my eardrums have shattered. He crawls out of the fire, but as he rolls on the dust to extinguish the flames, he bumps into the legs of another Shredder who kicks him back into the fire.

My stomach revolts. There’s still no sign of Burn. I crane my neck to see more of the crowd. A few are stretched out on the ground, and another fight has broken out between six or seven Shredders between the fire and the building. It might be a trick of the light, but it looks like one of that group has metal spikes protruding from the backs of his hands. Not from gloves, from his actual hands.

Nausea rises in my throat and fear grabs my chest. On the far side of the fire, a man—or a Shredder; it’s hard to be certain—is strung up between two posts, his limbs bound. Is he alive? Someone shifts and the flickering firelight illuminates the captured man’s body. I back away, hiding my face behind my concrete barricade.

Dead. He must be, seeing how his insides are hanging out.

My back pressed against the concrete, I bend at the waist, pull off my mask, and heave for air, struggling to regain my composure. If I don’t, I’ll be their next victim.

Recovered, I replace my mask and slide to the other side of the concrete, where I’m better hidden. Burn wasn’t around that fire. From here, I could race to the wall in minutes, but not without being spotted by the Shredders, and I have no
idea whether or not the door will be locked. Plus, I have no idea how to find my brother once I’m on the other side. Like it or not, I need Burn. I need to go back. Maybe he’s already returned.

I’m working up the courage to run when a huge shape—like a monstrous boulder—lands in the dust between me and the Comp building. A cloud of dust rises around the shape, but I can’t figure out what it is.

More shapes appear from around the far side of the outpost, and they’re easier to identify: Shredders. I press against the concrete, keeping as much of my body behind the slab as I can, yet still being able to see.

The three Shredders head toward the lump. When they draw close, the lump expands and rises. It’s man-shaped. But huge. At least seven-and-a-half feet tall and wider than any human I’ve seen—even Burn. The shape raises its arms and turns in a slow circle.

I gasp. It
is
Burn.

At least this huge monster-like creature is wearing Burn’s clothes. His normally loose coat, which I’ve seen brushing the tops of his boots, now strains to contain his body and hits above his knees. The creature’s palms look ten inches across, fingers thick and menacing.

Burn leaps forward and brings his arms, the size of steel girders, down on the shoulders of one of the Shredders. Its body crumples under the blow like its spine was snapped. The Shredder falls to the ground, but the others continue forward, flinging weapons.

Burn roars and bends to pull what looks like an ax from
his leg. He limps forward, grabs the ax-throwing Shredder, lifts him above his head, and throws him nearly twenty feet. The Shredder’s body slams into a concrete wall and slides down in a seemingly lifeless lump.

The previously crushed Shredder gets up and throws a metal spike that lodges in Burn’s shoulder blade. Burn roars again and tries to reach around to pull it out, but the bulk of his thick arms blocks his attempt. He runs forward, grabs the Shredder’s head and twists, ripping the monster’s head off of its shoulders. He tosses it aside like a ball.

I cover my mouth to capture my scream.

The last Shredder’s more cautious and steps forward, carrying a long chain like the ones I saw wrapped around Gage, but thicker. Each time Burn steps forward, the Shredder swings the chain. Burn grabs for it but, with his thick arms and huge hands, he seems less coordinated and can’t catch the flicked chain.

When Burn gets close, the Shredder turns and flings the chain so it wraps around Burn’s body, binding his arms. The Shredder drops a loop at the end of the chain over a piece of steel sticking up from the dust. Burn tugs and strains, and I almost think he might break the chain, but his pulling only tightens its hold. The Shredder takes another long metal shard from a sheath on his back and hurls it toward Burn.

Distracted by the chain, Burn doesn’t dodge the sharp-edged projectile, and it lodges in his upper left arm. Before my eyes, Burn shrinks back to his normal size. As he shrinks he struggles against the chain and it tightens around him, holding him fast. If he’d stood still as he shrank, the chain
might have dropped from his body. But he didn’t.

Burn is as good as dead.

The Shredder pulls out a long knife, but instead of plunging it into Burn, he picks up the end of the chain and tugs, yanking Burn down onto his face in the dust. The metal shard sticks up from Burn’s back. The Shredder seems amused by this and drags Burn toward the wall.

I gasp, realizing what’s about to happen. Right now, Burn is facing one Shredder—the one he threw against the wall hasn’t risen and one’s missing its head—but if the Shredder pulling him manages to get Burn around the building, he’s dead.

I run toward Burn as fast as my feet will carry me.

With his heavy load, the Shredder isn’t moving quickly, but I need to do something to draw his attention. It’s too dangerous to yell, so I stop to pick up a brick. Taking careful aim, I wind up and throw as hard as I can. It misses the Shredder but lands on a nearby pile of dust. He stops and turns toward me.

I continue to run, gathering my hate and anger. This stupid, sadistic creature will not kill Burn. He will not kill my chances of getting my brother to safety.

“Go back,” Burn says when he sees me, and the Shredder tips his head back and laughs.

“You look tasty.” He mouths a kiss and my anger builds.

I remove my mask and step forward. “Let him go.”

The Shredder smiles at me and the edges of his nearly black lips break and crack. Then, he makes a mistake.

He looks directly into my eyes.

I lock on, and let my anger and hatred build. Fear invades, too, but I’m not sure if that’s useful, so I focus on my anger, my rage, my utter disgust.

The Shredder’s head tips back a few inches and the tendons in its dried-out neck strain as it tries to look away from me, but I won’t let that happen. Its heart beats slower than a rat’s or a human’s, and its blood seems thick and slow. I grab on to its heart with my curse and squeeze. Blood rushes to my head. I’m dizzy but refuse to stop.

The Shredder drops to his knees. The world darkens and fades like someone threw a blanket over the moon, and my breaths come so quickly that my chest nearly vibrates. I can’t do it. I can’t stop him. The Shredder’s too strong.

But then I feel it. The creature’s heart stops.

I squeeze one final time. Everything goes black.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

^I
  
OPEN MY
eyes. It’s dark. I’m trapped. I’m bound by heavy ropes surrounding my body. I can’t move. They’ll skin me alive.

I struggle against my bindings, fighting with every ounce of power and energy.

“Hey, hey, hey, easy,” a deep voice growls in my ear, and I realize I’m bound not by ropes or chains, but a heavy, warm body—Burn.

We’re sitting inside the den of twisted metal I crawled through earlier. He’s leaning back, and I’m curled up between his legs, pulled in tightly against his hard body, with his oversized coat wrapped over us both. But that’s all I can figure out.

“What?” I can’t form a full question. My voice is weak and hoarse and my head pounds. I can’t remember what happened.

“You hurt?” Burn asks.

“I don’t think so.” I shift slightly and his hand slides from
my shin to the side of my thigh. I feel the heat, but he moves it off quickly. I feel so safe, so warm, and the sensation of being held is at once familiar and foreign. Like I’ve come home to a place I’d forgotten.

“What happened?” I ask.

Burn picks up the hem of his coat and pulls it back over my shin, resting his hand there. “You’re safe.”

“But…” My mind’s thick and foggy, like the air near the top of the dome in the hottest months.

“By the way…” Burn’s voice is strangely soft. “Thanks.”

“What for?”

“You saved my life.”

“What?” I pull back to see if he’s kidding.

“You killed him,” he says.

“Killed who?”

“The Shredder.”

My heart rate increases. “No.” I can’t remember what happened, but it can’t have been that. I remember watching some Shredders attack Burn—not much else. Is it possible? I wish I could remember what happened. Another downside of my curse.

I rub my temple but it increases the pain. “How did I end up here?”

“I carried you.”

“When?”

“Six or seven hours ago. It’s almost morning.”

Through the dim light I see a blood-coated shard of metal and the remnants of a homemade spear. Images from last night flash in my mind. “You were hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“But I saw…” What
did
I see?

“Gage helped me get the metal out of my back. I’m okay.”

“How is that possible?” The shard is blackened with blood. “You were badly wounded.”

“Took in some dust.”

I turn, leaning into his chest. “Does the dust heal?”

He nods.

“How? Tell me.”

“Don’t know how. It just does.”

I shake my head. “Dust kills.” My mind’s a muddle.

“Too much kills some people, not us.”

“Deviants?”

He stiffens. “I hate that word.”

“Chosen, then.” I sort through Burn’s words. “If the dust doesn’t kill the
Chosen
, then why bother with masks?” I pull forward, looking for mine.

“It’s over there.” He pulls me back. “You don’t need it now. You’re fine.”

But I’m not fine. I’m confused and utterly exhausted even though I just woke.

Burn leans his head back on the metal sheet. “The Chosen can take in some dust. Small quantities heal, make us stronger. Why do you think your ankle got better?”

I look upward to see if he’s joking, but he’s not. Not that I can tell. I’m not sure of much anymore.

He puts his hand on my back. “Important thing to remember with dust is: don’t take too much.”

“What happens then?” I ask softly. “Will we become
Shredders?”

“Too much gives you dust madness,” he says. I take that as a yes. A yes that neither of us wants to dwell on. A yes that means both of us have the potential to be monsters.

My body tenses as a memory floods back—
Burn as a monster
. “Is that what happened to you last night? Dust madness?”

“No,” he says sharply. “That…It’s…It happens sometimes.” He straightens his leg and bends the other one. “When I lose control, I become a monster.”

He says this as if he’s ashamed and on some level I understand. But if he’s got an inner monster, I’m glad the monster’s on my side. “Is what happened…I mean, how you changed…is that your curse—I mean gift?”

“Yes.” He remains silent for several minutes. My body rises and lowers along with the pace of his breathing.

“How do you—” He pauses. “How do you control it?”

“Control what?”

“Your gift. That thing you do with your mind.”

I twist to see his face to confirm he’s teasing, but unless I’m reading this all wrong, he isn’t. He’s serious. There’s blood on his cheek and I resist the impulse to reach up and clean it off. “You think I can control it?”

“Better than I can.”

I sit still for a moment. He’s so wrong but I don’t want to argue. My headache’s subsiding, but I still can’t remember what happened, not fully. “Did I really kill a Shredder?”