Evolution (15 page)

"Matt?" I ask weakly.

He beams another of his grins at me.  "I get the
feeling that you weren't entirely put off by his attention."

I swallow hard, then feeling half-drunk, I admit, "I
kinda like Matt."

"Aha," he says.  "I knew it."

I shake my head.  "It's hard not to like Matt. 
But it doesn't matter.  I know better."

His eyes narrow on me.  "What's wrong with
Matt?" he asks, like he couldn't give a million reasons himself.

Briefly, I suspect he’s testing me.  I expect my answer
to come out sarcastically in response to that suspicion, but instead, it's very
serious.  "He kills people."

Apollon looks at me for a long time.  Then he says,
quietly, "So do I."

And it hits me hard in the face.  I’m not just
implicated.  I’m a killer.  I shot Grey's men in a fire-fight. 
I enabled Matt to reprogram the Sentries that have undoubtedly killed
more.  I may as well have put the gun in Matt's hand when he executed
those seven people.  I may as well have shot them myself.  The memory
of our bloody footprints floods through my brain.  All of that is on
me.  I'm a killer.

Apollon must see the blood draining from my face. 
"What do you do when it's you or them?  You kill.  Or you
die.  Neither of us are dead yet."

I shake my head.  "I don't want to be a
killer," I whisper.  But it does not change the fact that I am. 
I think of the death I have seen.  I have caused.  The pool of frozen
blood in front of the Rustler.  Elaina Sumter's pretty face scrunched up
in despair, staring down the barrel of a gun.  "Apollon," I
choke out, unable to hold the thoughts back any longer, "I never meant for
it to happen.  Elaina...."  I can't get a single word more
through my throat.  I'm suddenly certain that he's hiding his pain. 
That he must hate me for what I could not stop.

But he just shakes his head, looking uncomfortable. 
"Really, Eden."

"It's my fault."  My words sound like a
demand.  "Why don't you hate me?"

"Because I don't," he snaps.  "You're my
friend, OK?  I don't hate you."

"Elaina was your friend," I say.  "She
was more.  You knew her better than you let on."

"Well, you're my family."  He fixes me with a
serious gaze.

We stare at each other in the flickering light of the
cavern.  The gift of his words sinks in.  We’re family.  I have
a family.  That bond goes beyond the friendship I was worried about. 
There are a few things in this fragile world that cannot be broken.

Apollon lets out a long sigh, then admits, "It was
tragic.  I'll miss her.  I mean, she was really good in bed. 
But things happen and you can't change them.  You just move on."

My mouth drops open.  "That might be the most
chauvinistic thing I've ever heard you say."

He snorts.  "I'm sure it's not."

And then we're laughing again, even though it's tainted by
uncertainty and guilt.  When it dies down, Apollon gazes at the floor just
a little too long before smiling again.  He's not really OK, but I think
he
has
truly forgiven me.  “Elaina was a shark,” he finally
says.  “She knew exactly how to use people to get what she wanted. 
You think her
dad
was cannibalistic?  At any rate, they had hopes
that Matt’s defeat would spell more power for the Sumter family.”  Apollon
pauses to shrug.  “It was a stupid move on their part, but we weren’t
about to dissuade them when we needed all the help we could get.  I didn’t
give a damn that Elaina’s ultimate goals were different than mine.  She
was a means to an end, and I was the same for her.  She knew exactly what
risks she was taking.  Just because I liked her doesn’t change that.”

For a long time I consider his words.  Despite all his
talk of Elaina’s tougher qualities, I hear the current underneath: Apollon
admired her, if nothing else.  Her loss has brought my friend pain. 
"I'm sorry." I need to tell him this.  "I'm sorry
anyway.  Even if you don't hate me.  I'm still sorry."

He gives me a little smile, though it looks a touch
sad.  "I'm sorry it came to that," he says.  "But you
made the right choices.  Maybe not everybody sees that, but you did."

My eyes dart to his face, searching for the understanding
that I hear in his voice.  I want so badly to believe that he truly feels
the way he sounds.  To know that our bond is not sheer dedication, but
shared perception.

He looks over and meets my gaze, and his face grows
serious.  There’s a darkness that comes over it quite suddenly.  He
hesitates, then he says, “I’ve done some horrible things, Eden.  Things
that had to be done.  At the time, they seemed the only thing to do. 
Looking back… wanting to change them now… it doesn’t change how they were at
the time.”

My brow furrows as I register the way his voice is not quite
steady.  “What are you talking about, Apollon?” I whisper.  “You
haven’t done anything even close to what I did....”

He tosses his head back and laughs, but there is no humor in
it.  Just bitterness, regret.  “You want to know what I was up to
during the battle?”

I nod, but I’m not sure I do.

He leans in, amusement coloring his face, a ruse to cover
what he’s really feeling.  “Are you sure?”  The words sound like a
warning.

My stomach turns over as I realize that he is going to tell
me something truly unpleasant.  Nonetheless, I have to hear it.  I
nod again solemnly.

My friend sighs and looks away.  Perhaps he was really
hoping he wouldn’t have to tell me.  But I can see the part of him dying
to unburden his soul.  We pass a long time without talking before he
finally begins.

“We were sure Grey was going to win,” he says quietly, his
voice low and dark.  “We all knew it would be horrible if he did, but
there didn’t seem to be any other choice.  The reality was, you and
Miranda would not be safe.  No one would, but especially not you.”

He stops, and the memories of it sink in.  I feel the
reality of our despair.  Of knowing that our future would consist of
hiding, running.

“We had to think of a way to weaken him,” Apollon
says.  “A way to strike at his power without drawing attention to
ourselves.  Enough to give us a chance to get away while his focus was
elsewhere.”

I nod, trying to consider what Apollon could possibly do to
strike at a force like Grey.

“We couldn’t tell you, Eden,” he says.  “Knowing
anything would have put you in even greater danger, if things went wrong. 
The plan was so far from perfect, but we knew we had to do something.  So
we positioned ourselves on his side.  True, his trust was quite limited,
but it was enough.  When his forces broke into the Outpost, I connected
with one of his men.  I lured him into an alley.  Neveah conked him
over the head for me from behind.  Then we dragged him down into the
tunnels.

My eyes go wide at the image of gentle Neveah hitting anyone
over the head.  I guess war changes us all.  “You told Neveah?”

He shrugs.  “It was a last-minute adaptation. 
Jonas had to be elsewhere.”

I nod, frowning.  Everything runs through my mind in a
blur of images.

“We took Grey’s guy to Matt’s VR machine,” Apollon
says.  Before I can ask the question, he supplies, “You’d be surprised
what we were able to learn with all our contacts in the Outpost.”  He
flashes a quick grin before his face becomes somber again.  “A little
messing around with some brain-scrambling, and we had a willing puppet.”

I close my eyes against the memory of my self-inflicted
ordeal in the VR machine.  Particularly against the memory of lying
smashed on the pavement after falling from the sky, feeling every broken bone
in my body as if it were real.

“After that,” Apollon continues, “it was simply a matter of
giving him his instructions and making sure he got out of the Outpost
alive.  I left Neveah in the tunnels, because it was safer, and I went
with the guy until we were safely outside the wall.  Unfortunately, Grey’s
men were fleeing, then, and I got caught up with them.  I had to go
along.  It wasn’t easy to separate myself from them on the road, but
eventually I managed to slip away.  I walked back to the Outpost…
slowly.  I wasn’t sure what I would find there, either.  Whether it
would be safe.  I was having a peek from the distance when the Sentry
snatched me up.”

I nod, but I’m squinting at him, too.  That brings us
back to the point where our paths intersected once again.  But I still
don’t understand.  I frown.  “So… what was the thing with the guy?” I
ask.  “What did you tell him to do?”

Apollon’s eyes freeze on mine for a second before he looks
down.  For a moment, I think he’s not going to tell me the rest.  But
then he does.  His voice is hoarse, choked out the best he can.  “I
gave him one of the vials.”

I stare at him and stare at him.  “One of the vials,” I
finally manage.  “You had him release the plague in Outpost Two.” 
The weight of it falls over us.

After a long silence, Apollon rubs his eyes and looks
away.  “It’s not really the plague,” he murmurs.  “But yeah. 
That’s what I did.  See.  I make you look like a virgin princess.”

My eyes flicker to him, drawn to the attempt at humor in all
this seriousness.  I try out a smile.  It’s uncertain, tentative, but
it’s there.  Somehow, despite the gravity of the situation, I feel a new
kind of kindredness growing between us.  We’ve both done horrible
things.  Our actions have cost lives.  We both carry the same burden
of guilt, and though it was born out of the need to protect, it does not leave
us any less stained.  Though I shouldn’t be, I’m deeply grateful that I am
not alone in my flaws.  That Apollon can truly understand me, and I can
truly understand him.

He looks up now, and he sees it in me.  I just
know.  And he, too, is grateful.

A sudden rush of affection overwhelms me.  I want to
hug him, but I stay where I am.  I poke the coals with my stick and relax,
letting a long sigh escape me.  I’m not alone.  I haven’t lost Apollon. 
Somehow, despite all the tests, our bond has grown even stronger.

***

We're tromping through the snow, and the wind is whipping
straight at us.  It's cold enough to shut us both up for once, but that
works to our advantage.  We stop suddenly.  In front of us, the
rabbit freezes, hiding against a bush as if we won't see it in plain
sight.  But I'm as startled as it is.

Apollon nudges me surreptitiously with his elbow while it
watches us with one round eye. I have to try.  I wiggle my fingers gently
out of my glove and reach slowly, slowly for my knife, wondering how in the
hell I'm going to hit this thing.  My mouth waters at the thought of
food.  My heart races.  My mind is a mad dash searching for the
knowledge and skill that can tip the odds of our survival.  But in my
stomach, doubt is a powerful force of erosion.  I feel my fingers
trembling before I can even get to my knife.  I fumble as I try to grasp
it.  My movement is too much for the rabbit.  It bolts.

And then it falls.  My blade sticks out of its side,
blood flowing freely into the snow.

"HahaHA!" Apollon laughs in delight, heading for
our prey.  Only now am I registering the movement of my body, the swift,
sure trajectory of my arm.  I stare as Apollon plunks my knife from the
very dead rabbit.  "I knew you could do it."

I take a moment to quell the shock.  "I killed it,
you clean it," I finally say.

"Happily," Apollon agrees, practically bouncing
back toward me with the rabbit and my knife.  He's already wiped my blade
clean in the snow, and dry on his pants.  He passes it to me, handle
first. "I think it's time to build a shelter, anyway."  He
glances up at the sky.

I nod without looking.  It's getting colder.  We
begin breaking branches off of the nearby bushes, piling them up.  We're
getting good at this shelter-building thing, and it hasn't been that
long.  We find a low-growing tree nearby and weave in our extra branches
until we have a small enclosure.  We pack snow around the branches to make
a wall.  On the non-winded side, we leave room for a fire, and in what
seems no time at all, we're comparatively cozy, away from the worst of the
elements.  I lounge on a bed of leaves and pine needles, watching Apollon,
settled in just beyond the fire, skin the rabbit.  In no time, I'm blinking
to stay awake.  I decide not to try too hard and allow myself to drift
off.

Moments later, I’m awakened by the sound of a shriek and
some kind of struggle.  I bolt upright, my body feeling groggy and unable
to respond.  I stagger out of the shelter and to my feet.

Apollon is cursing, engaged in some kind of tug-of-war over
the rabbit with a whitish creature that looks to be a cross between a dog and a
cat.  Hanging on to the rabbit by the ears, Apollon rips it from the mouth
of his adversary, swings, and whaps the creature over the head with the
rabbit.  It yelps, ducks underneath, grabs some sort of discarded rabbit
organ, and runs off into the snow.

"You’d better run!" Apollon hollers after it,
brandishing the rabbit.

I collapse into a pile of laughter.  Only then do I
begin to wake up and realize I should have helped.  We could have eaten
that thing, too.  Which is exactly what Apollon says when he's done
grumbling.

"I'm sorry," I say, trying not to laugh
anymore.  "I was half asleep."

"No worries," he says, and starts to move back to
his skinning spot, but I see that he's rubbing his wrist.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, suddenly somber.

"It bit me."  He sits back down to his
work.  "But don't worry.  It's not bad."

I study his back doubtfully, but there's not much we can do,
anyway.  I try to take his advice and not worry, spending my energy on
building up the fire instead.

Not much later we eat most of the roast rabbit.  We
save a small portion for breakfast.  Apollon wraps the guts up in the skin
and stashes it in the tree above us.