The Dead-Tossed Waves (23 page)

He presses his nose against the crook of my collarbone and inhales deeply. I gag again. It’s too much—him so close, his body so tight against mine.

“And trust me, there are rumors,” he adds with a leer. “At least, there will be soon.”

My mind spins uncontrollably. Trying to take in the
situation. Trying to figure out what I can say to protect myself. I have to get away from him. I have to escape and he’s too close and too strong and I feel totally helpless.

“There will definitely be rumors about why your mother isn’t at the ceremony today. Or why she wasn’t doing her job the night of the storm,” he says, his lips within a whisper of my jaw. “Someone’s bound to start asking questions, don’t you think? They’re already suspicious with her being an outsider. Of course, if you’re mine, no one’s going to look too deeply.”

He pulls back and examines me, his face an ugly jumble of anger and glee.

“Sometimes things just work out the way they’re supposed to, Gabrielle,” he says in my ear. “Sometimes you’ve got to learn to give in to the inevitable.”

The word sparks in my mind:
inevitable
. It was the same thing Cira said, the same excuse she used for giving up. Fire begins to storm inside me, seeping through my muscles, causing me to clench my jaw until I feel as though my teeth will break.

It’s the need to do something—anything—to regain control of myself, of my situation, of this world and this man in front of me.

I turn my head toward him until our lips are barely touching. I lean in ever so slightly, feeling his hips press against mine. I can sense his smug satisfaction. He thinks he’s won. He thinks I’m his. The taste of it is sour and acrid in my mouth.

And then I let my body go limp, forcing his arms to hold me still. It throws him off balance on his bad leg and for just a moment his hand loosens around my wrist.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just reach for Elias’s knife on my hip and flick my arm until the blade is pressed against Daniel’s flesh.

Time stops. I’m sure the waves on the beach pause before crashing, the trees stop their tussle with the wind and every bird turns our way. Daniel’s eyes open wide, the realization closing in fast.

It’s so much easier than I ever thought it would be to slide the knife into his body, to do it without thinking. And at the same time it’s so much harder to force the blade to slice the skin, cut through muscle and glide along bone.

His body tenses, his lips purse. And then my muscles contract, driving Elias’s blade deeper.

We stand together for a moment, he and I. I feel the heat seeping from him, the damp spilling onto my chest and stomach. We’re suspended just that one heartbeat: him and me and nothing else. His life everywhere around us.

I remember then all the times I’d seen this boy made fun of. All the times I watched as the other kids taunted him. Spat insults at him. All the times I turned my head, pretending not to notice him watching me. All the times I never defended him.

I remember when he stepped forward to join the Recruiters and they rejected him in front of the entire town because of his bad leg. I remember the humiliation of it as if I can taste it.

I want to tell him I’m sorry. For this and for everything. But I can’t find the words. He starts to slump and I help him to the ground. He doesn’t grab for me or try to stop me as I pull the blade free. He says nothing as I turn away and climb the Barrier.

When I’m at the top, just about to jump over to the other side, I look down at him. Hands clutched over a blooming red on his chest. His bad leg tucked underneath him. His eyes on me.

I know in that instant we’ll forever be connected. It’s as if we’re the same person sharing the same blood. I want to tell him I’m sorry, to beg forgiveness, but he just stares at me.

And then I jump over the wall and am careening through the amusement park to find Catcher. I don’t care that I’m covered in blood, that the scent of it will draw the Mudo even more. I only care about Catcher and running from the terror of what I’ve just done.

I race through the cracked streets of the ruins, trying to find my way back to Catcher’s. This time it’s daylight and I see the distinctions I missed when I was here the other night. I weave through the streets until I find Catcher’s building and then I take the steps two at a time, not caring about the darkness or my reeling heart.

At the landing outside the closed door to his room I force myself to stop and wipe my sweating hands along the edge of my shirt. My fingers tremble slightly as I grip Elias’s knife in front of me.

After coming all this way, after everything I’ve risked, I’m terrified to open the door. What if he’s died and Returned and I have to kill him? I don’t know if I could. What if I fail the way I did with Mellie? The way I did on the beach?

I press my ear to the door, the air in the hallway musty and still. Sweat drips along my spine. I can’t hear anything. I take a shaky breath and push it open.

I
stand in the doorway and stare, dropping the bloody knife in despair. The room is empty. For a moment I wonder if I’m in the wrong place. If in my terror and fear I ran to the wrong building, got turned around in the ruins the way I had before. But I can still smell a hint of him in the air. I can still see fragments of his presence around me. The dust on the windowsill is scattered where he stood, his hands pressed against the opening as he stared out toward the lighthouse and the town.

He’s gone. The room is silent. I collapse onto the floor, overwhelmed.

He wouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t have gone anywhere—he knew I was coming back. Which means that Elias must have been here. I squeeze my eyes closed. I don’t want to imagine Catcher as one of the Souler Mudo; I don’t want to think of his mangled face. Of the pleading moan. Of him being tugged around on a leash.

I don’t want to think that Elias could have done that to him. I’ve been hoping that Elias was somehow different.

I let my head fall back against the wall, banging it to get the image of Catcher as Mudo out of my mind. But it doesn’t work. I failed him. Just as I failed Cira by leaving her behind. And my mother by letting her go into the Forest alone. And everyone else.

I have to find him. I promised him I wouldn’t let him be Mudo. I have to at least follow through with that.

Pulling myself to my feet, I stumble back into the dark hallway, down the stairs and into the blazing midday. I retrace my steps through the streets toward where I saw the Soulers last, my feet dragging and the sun scorching my head.

Heat hovers along the stretch of concrete, rising and brushing my legs as I walk toward the three arches of the amphitheater. As before, I tuck myself in the shadow of one of the arches, creeping forward on my hands and knees, my knuckles scraping the ground where I clutch my knife. I hear the moans before I see anything. The remains of the Souler Mudo, the ones they left behind when they came to Vista, are all tied in a pack in the shade of the stage’s large dome.

Holding my breath, I scan their sagging faces. From this distance it’s hard to see details, their appearances blurring. My body buzzes with the hope that Catcher won’t be there. That I’m wrong about Elias.

But then I see the flash of his hair, the white-blond of it shimmering in the shadows. I see the familiar curve of his cheek, the line of his shoulder.

Catcher shuffles through the herd of Mudo, stopping to stand among them, his lips parted as if he’s moaning. I press my palm to my mouth, biting it to keep from screaming.
I didn’t realize until now just what it would mean to see him like this. The pain and the horror are unbearable. I shove my fists into my eyes, wanting to claw out the vision of Catcher as Mudo.

My hands start to shake and I can’t force them to stop. I try not to stare at my fingers, at the blood that’s dried in the cracks of my skin. Not my blood but someone else’s. The enormity of the last few days slams into me—the walls between the compartments where I’ve stashed each bit dissolve. I toss the knife aside, scarlet red still blurring the blade.

I’ve just stabbed someone and his blood coats my skin and clothes. I wipe my hands on the ground until they sting but still they’re stained crimson. Catcher’s gone. Returned. Mudo. I never got to tell him good-bye.

Everything is wrong. Everything has changed. I’ve lied and broken rules and killed someone. I’ve broken my promises and failed. I don’t know who I am anymore.

And then the sobs break over me. Painful, they flatten me to the ground. I don’t have the energy to fight anymore.

I startle when arms wrap around me but I don’t bother protesting. I’m too ready to give up on everything, willing to let whatever happens to me happen. But then I can tell by the way he pulls me to himself, by the way he holds me as if he could push the pieces of me back together again, that it’s Elias. I can tell by his smell and his strength and the way he leans his cheek against my hair.

I don’t know how he found me—how he knew I was here—and I don’t care. I want to hate him; I should hate him for who he is and what he’s done to Catcher. But for just a moment I allow myself to soak in his comfort because I need his strength. To fall into the feeling of him against me, another
heartbeat with mine. And then I take a deep breath and lash out. Pushing him away.

“You monster!” I sound feral, my voice a tear-fueled growl. I take everything and channel it into rage as if he’s the reason for all my pain. Wanting someone else to blame other than myself.

He stares at me without answering and I lunge at him. “You horrible monster!” I pound on his chest. “I hate you I hate you I hate you!” It feels so good to scream. To feel as though I could tear apart the world.

He takes my wrists in his hands and pushes me away. He sees the blood along my arms, across my chest. His eyes flare wide, his breath a gasp. He throws me to the ground.

“Where are you hurt?” he demands. He pulls at my shirt, his fingers searching the skin along my stomach and sides. I writhe against him but he straddles me, keeping me on the ground.

Fury boils over inside me and I scream. He grabs my face, holding my head steady. His fingers dig into my cheeks, forcing my gaze on him. “Gabry, where are you hurt?” I’m surprised to feel the way he trembles and I realize that he’s scared, that he’s panting with fear. I feel the fight drain out of me.

“I’m not,” I whisper. But I want to tell him that I hurt everywhere, that I hurt so deeply I don’t know how to fix it.

He sits back on his heels, still straddling me, looking down at me. I take advantage of his hesitation and gather all my strength and buck my hips up, throwing him to the side. I roll and grab the knife. I pounce on him, holding the blade against his throat.

“You’re disgusting.” I have a hard time finding the words I want to say. “What did you do to Catcher?” I shake him and
his eyes bulge a little as the blade nicks the corner of his jaw. “What did you do?” I shout into his face.

Our breathing is like a storm, my heart the thunder.

“Nothing,” a voice behind me says.

Everything stops. My throat hitches. I don’t want to turn around. I don’t want it to be a trick or a joke. I don’t want confirmation that the hope charging through me is a lie.

I stare down at Elias. He smiles, just barely—a painful sort of smile.

I swallow and turn slowly. Catcher stands there, half in the shadow of the arch, hesitating before he runs toward me. The air compresses in its familiar way before our bodies collide and he grabs at me and I grab at him, not understanding what’s going on—how he’s still alive and for the moment not caring. He’s here in my arms now and that’s all that matters.

His skin is almost unbearably hot against my own but he feels strong and his heartbeat reverberates through me. He’s nothing like the weak, dying person I left a few days ago.

I push away from him and stand back, glancing between him and Elias, who still lies prone on the ground. It’s hard to find the right words. “What’s going on?” I ask. “I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be …” I can’t say it.

“Dead.” Catcher says it for me.

“Mudo,” I whisper.

He smiles. “Same thing.”

I can’t help but let my eyes trail down his neck to the spot on his shoulder where the bite mark is. It’s still an angry red welt, scabs stretching over where each of Mellie’s teeth punctured the skin.

“It’s been almost a week since you were bitten,” I say, shaking my head. None of this makes sense; he’s supposed to be
dead. The Infected aren’t supposed to last that long. A bare sort of singing feeling starts to weave through me: hope. Catcher’s still here. He’s still alive.

“I was there, I saw it. You told me.” My voice rises, all the pain and fear and regret that built up in me ever since that night breaking free. “You told me you were infected.”

“I was,” he says.

“He still is,” Elias says from the ground. I look over at him. He’s sitting, one arm draped around a knee. Remnants of three scratches trail down his face from the first night I met him in the ocean and a bruise blossoms around his eye from the other time I attacked him on the beach. Now he presses a hand to his side where I just hit him and a small red cut from my knife edges along his jaw. There are traces of blood on his white tunic from where he held me, where Daniel’s blood seeped from me to him.