The Choosing (17 page)

“How am I supposed to leave her?” Carrington feared she would explode right there. Remko must have sensed her desperation because he began to pull her away. Her legs moved
 
—she knew this because the walls on either side of her were passing by
 
—but she didn’t feel it. All she felt was pain.

The cool night air touched Carrington’s face and chilled the tears on her cheeks. Remko had shown her a way out of the dungeon that was typically left unguarded and asked her to meet him at the back of the building. He had to leave the way they’d come
 
—and alone
 
—in order not to raise suspicion. Some part of her had comprehended his words and done as he’d asked, but she moved in a haze.

If someone asked her to retrace her steps, she wasn’t sure that would be possible. Her feet had moved, her brain had led, but her heart and soul had been caught up in the sickness developing in her chest.

By the time Remko reached her, she was already slumped against the wall, struggling to breathe. Her mind was running a race it couldn’t win, hurdling questions that kept sending her crashing facedown. How could Larkin survive that place? How long would she be forced to whittle away? How could Carrington save her? How could the Authority be so cruel? How could she marry a man Larkin feared so much?

Remko laid his hand on Carrington’s shoulder and without a single thought she collapsed into his arms. She
could feel his momentary resistance, but it evaporated quickly and he closed his arms around her. He held her close, trying to give her comfort as her tears leaked into his shirt. Carrington’s knees felt weak, but he held her tight.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, but when she pulled away her face ached from weeping and her body felt limp and drained. Her mind hurt
 
—the memory of Larkin’s face burned at the edges. Remko touched her cheek and brushed away the hair that was plastered to her skin. His eyes found hers and she nearly fell back into his arms. She found it odd that his look could make her feel weak and strong all at once.

Again he said more with a look than most people could with a dictionary full of words
 
—as though he were actually whispering words of comfort, words that could protect her, calm her, make her feel for a moment that maybe things would actually be okay.

They were close, their bodies only inches apart, and when he lowered his face, her womanly instincts took over.

She had never been kissed before, but that didn’t stop her lips from reacting in kind when his landed on hers. Fire spread into her cheeks and down the back of her neck. She burned, but in a way that made her long for it to continue. Her mind stilled for a moment as her body relished the way his fingertips lingered on her lower back, the way his cheek touched hers, the way his hair fell across her face, blocking out the moon.

When he pulled away, her body resisted. It called for
him to return, but the cool night air blew over her lips and she opened her eyes to see that he had moved several steps back. The realization of what had happened settled over her like a blanket, heavy and daunting. She was engaged to another man, to an Authority member, no less.

The same thought must have circled through Remko’s mind as well because his cheeks flushed and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Neither of them said anything. What could they say? After a long second Remko turned and left Carrington shivering against the stone wall.

Remko couldn’t find sleep. The sound of the other soldiers’ breathing was usually a soothing melody, but tonight it was a noisy racket. He stared up at the springs lining the underside of the bunk above him. Without Helms’s body to strain them, they lay undisturbed.

It was impossible to keep his mind from spinning. Every thought that entered his mind twisted down a road that led him back to the burning in his lips. The empty mattress took him to Helms, which led him to Larkin, which reminded him of Carrington. The closed window that Helms would have insisted stay open brought him to fresh air, which made him recall the lingering night breeze, which again ended with Carrington. The moon shining through the skylight brought to mind the tears on her cheeks, the color of her eyes, the glistening of her hair.

He tried to clear his mind of all thoughts, but his flesh
took over and his fingers ached from where he had touched her, and his body tingled from the heat coming from hers, and his lips . . .

He wrenched his legs free of the comforter and sat up. He wasn’t going to sleep, and without a distraction for his restless mind, he would run after her all night. Remko quietly dressed and left the bunker filled with sleeping guards. He had seen Helms that morning, but if anyone else was struggling with rest it would be him, so he decided to try for another visit.

Helms was being held in the city prison, and the ride to the structure was a peaceful one. At this time of night there was little activity on the streets. The city was held to a nightly curfew that very few broke; only a couple of stragglers ever wandered the dark streets and usually these individuals were highly intoxicated. A run-in with a CityWatch guard scared most enough to send them straight home. For the others, a night in a cell usually did the trick.

Remko reached the prison without seeing another soul and parked his car in the assigned lot. He nodded to the few guards on duty and walked through the main door and around to the side entrance. He knew Stark would be standing watch and would let him in even at this hour.

Stark was an older man who had been serving in the CityWatch for as long as Remko had been alive. Back in the early days of development, Stark had been an eager star rising through the ranks. He was clearly headed for promotion until a street robbery claimed the bottom half of his
right leg. His bitterness had nearly taken his life, but as the years passed, he had found his place among the guards as the most highly acclaimed trainer. Every new CityWatch member prayed to be in his division class, and Remko had been one of the lucky ones.

He saw Stark leaning against the wall. He was whistling a tune Remko recognized and cleaning his weapon. Stark still held the record for being able to break down and reassemble his weapon in the shortest amount of time.

Stark’s head shot up and his hand went to his weapon, then eased as recognition set in.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on an armed soldier; pretty sure we covered that in training,” Stark said.

Remko smiled and dipped his head in respect.

“It’s a little late for a stroll, Remko.”

“I’m here for a vi . . . visit.”

“That’s kind of you to come by, but you know I prefer to be alone.” Stark raised his eyes from his gun, a long strand of wheatgrass gripped between his teeth. “But then, I guess you ain’t here to see me.”

Remko shook his head.

“Something important happen? Or can’t you go a day without seeing your boyfriend?” Stark chuckled to himself.

“Just couldn’t sl . . . sleep.”

“Join the club.” Stark gave him a once-over and then opened the side door. “If anyone asks, Pullman up front let you in.”

Remko nodded his thanks and stepped into the dark
hallway. He tried to remember exactly where Helms’s cell was and where he was in relation to the front door he had come through that morning.

The inside of the prison was very similar to the underground floor of the Stacks third building. Gray stone lined the walls and floor; dim lighting littered the lengthy tunnel while a strange cold seemed to seep into Remko’s clothes and skin. He could hear footsteps echoing as someone headed toward him. He ducked into another hallway and waited until the sound was gone.

He reentered the open hall and continued until he came to a familiar split. Veering right, he found very little movement from the people caged behind each cell door. Most of them were fast asleep or keeping to themselves, hunched in corners. Remko remembered that he’d walked nearly the length of the hall before he’d come to another right turn and then seen Helms. As he continued forward, a scream echoed through the stone structure and caused him to stop.

An eerie silence fell over the place but was disturbed by a bone-crunching thud that made the hairs on Remko’s neck stand at attention. Something was wrong. More boots sounded behind him and a contingent of guards passed him quickly, another set close behind. They took little notice of him as they moved by and Remko followed quietly. More voices bounced off the walls. Their tones were harsh but muffled by the rock barriers that separated them from Remko.

The commotion was happening up ahead but before
Remko could reach the corner a commanding voice yelled for someone to get the doctor. Iron screeched in the dark and boots fell heavy against the stone. Remko rounded the corner to a screen of panic. Five or six guards were moving through an open cell. Several of them knelt over a body while others struggled with another body in the corner. The smell of blood hit him with overwhelming force, but the light was too weak to make out what specifically had happened.

Then a horrifying thought settled over him. The cell filled with activity was the same one he’d visited earlier. Panic pulled his legs forward into the square, barred room, and he saw Helms cradled in the arms of a guard. Another guard held his hand tightly across Helms’s throat.

Remko took two large strides and was on his knees beside his fallen friend. A chill filled his fingertips as he touched Helms’s arm. His friend’s face was pale, his mouth gasping for air as thick red streams poured down his neck.

“Remko, what are you doing here?” the guard with his hand over Helms’s throat asked.

Remko ignored him. “What hap . . . hap . . . hap . . . ?” He tried to calm his thundering heart so he could manage the words, but it was impossible.

“Remko, you can’t be here!”

“What happened!” Remko could feel heat spreading up his neck as Helms’s ragged breath became more faint.

“We’re losing him!” the guard shouted. “Where is the doctor?”

“Get out of my way,” another voice yelled. Remko glanced up to see Dodson Rogue’s stocky frame. He glanced at Helms and his face flashed remorse momentarily before transforming back into his regular void expression. “We need to get him out of here.”

“We can’t move him, sir; he’s lost too much blood,” one of the guards on the floor said.

“What happened?” Dodson asked.

“The details aren’t completely collected yet, sir.”

“Give me the short version then; and where is my doctor?”

“Two men broke in and slit his throat with a bone knife.”

Dodson uttered an oath under his breath. The other three guards in the corner escorted a captured man forward into the light. His face was scarred from temple to chin in a near-perfect diagonal line. One of his eyes was mangled, his teeth were missing in the front, and he spit blood to the side.

“This one of the men?” Dodson asked.

“Yes, sir. The other ran off. Rivers and Elmer went after him.”

Helms gasped violently beside Remko and recaptured the room’s attention.

“Take him away,” Dodson said quietly and then turned to Helms. The group of guards moved out of the cell with the captured villain. A second later a small man with a beak for a nose and wire-rimmed glasses rushed to Helms’s side and pushed the other men aside.

The guard putting pressure on Helms’s throat released
his hand and blood flowed onto the stone. From the way the doctor was shaking his head, Remko feared the worst.

“No, no, no,” the doctor said, grabbing Helms’s face. “He’s losing consciousness. I need someone to keep him awake.”

Remko, still kneeling in front of the other two guards, gripped Helms’s hand. Dodson cursed above him and asked another guard what Remko was doing there. Remko blocked them all out and squeezed Helms’s hand. He placed his other hand on Helms’s shoulder, and blood immediately coated his palm.

“Helms,” Remko said, moving his face to link eyes with his suffering friend. Helms’s eyes seemed to be locked on something above Remko’s head. “Brother, loo . . . look at me.”

Helms heard Remko’s voice and shifted his eyes to meet Remko’s. Remko smiled and nodded. “Good. It’s go . . . going t . . . t . . .” The anxiousness crowding Remko’s chest made it more than difficult to speak.

He dug his nails into Helms’s palm and kept his eyes glued to his friend’s face. The doctor was cursing and the guards’ voices overhead rose in panic, but Remko tried to push past the other noise.

Even if he had the use of his voice he wasn’t sure what he would say right now. Would he tell Helms not to worry, that death would be easy? Would he beg his friend not to leave him suffering through this world alone? Would he remind him of the times Helms had saved his life or the
millions of moments he’d saved his sanity? Could he even express the way his heart would break if Helms died?

The light in Helms’s eyes started to fade and they rolled back toward the top of his head.

“No, Helms,” Remko yelled. He shook the man’s shoulder and Helms seemed to return for a moment. The whole room went still around Remko as Helms flashed him a half smile and then faded. Remko saw motion over him and to his side, felt the others pulling him away, heard the doctor pounding Helms’s motionless chest and Dodson yelling in rage when Rivers and Elmer turned up empty-handed, but he watched it all unfold through a blurred film; his ears felt stuffed with cotton, his mind unable to register reality.