Trapped (Here Trilogy) (20 page)

I could feel the blood drain from my face; maybe even from my heart. I swear, it stopped beating. “What are you talking about?” I was shaking now, shaking and sweating and crying and pacing. “Why wouldn’t you want Nick around?” My voice cracked. “You just said that he’s a leader!”

Diego shook his head. “His thoughts are exceptionally difficult to decipher. I’m not sure what he is. I’m curious. I will admit that. But I don’t know. And I don’t have time right now to look and see.”

“Well you need to make time! You can’t leave him that way!” I needed him!

“He’s not asleep. He’s simply in a state of non-existence.”

“Bring him back,” I cried.

Diego shook his head. “You should regain control of your emotions. I can see they’ve gotten away from you. Humans,” he mused. “Perhaps with effort we could redesign your DNA, a tweak.” He arched a brow.

I shook my head. “I want to see my mom! And wake up West! You can’t just come in here and…take control!”

Diego smiled a little. “I can do just that. In fact…” He looked at Sid. “I see no reason to spare the life of this one.” He nodded at West, and my heart stopped.

Vera jumped up. “That human aided us as well.”

“Be that as it were…” Diego shrugged, and West’s eyes widened. “Dude, please…”

Diego smiled a little, stiff and formal, as if he was greeting his host at a dinner party. Then he pulled a gun out of his pocket and pulled the trigger. West flew back, crimson blooming on his shirt as he crumpled.

“WEST!” I flung myself on him, frantically pressing on his chest in an attempt to put some pressure on his wound, but I couldn’t even see where the bullet had hit him. Blood was everywhere. The room tilted around me. So much blood… Like Dad. I turned him on his side, climbed on top of him, and tried to clamp my knees around the wound, but his body started shaking—then went very still. My fingers, painted red, peeled his eyes open, but all I could see was white. I pressed against his throat, looking for a pulse but feeling nothing.

“West, please… West please, please! Oh no, God…please. God, please.” I curled over him and clutched his shoulders, sobbing violently.

From somewhere far away, I could hear Vera’s voice. From somewhere far away, I could hear screaming and banging, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except West. That is, until I remembered Nick…

I lifted my head just in time to see Agent Orange step through the locker room door. He looked at Diego. “Ursula is outside. She’s flipping out to be let in.”

The door behind him shook, and I could hear Ursula screaming. With one final look at my poor Nick, I dashed to the door and played the only card I had. “Ursula, HELP! They’re aliens! Sid, Diego, Ariel! HELP me, please!”

Alien Ariel tackled me from behind, slamming me to the floor, but she couldn’t shut me up.

“URSALA, THEY’RE ALIENS!” I sobbed.

I heard punches of gunfire as Ariel yanked my hair and I kicked at her. Another round of rapid-fire; clearly a machine gun. Then the door flew open. Ursula stood there, panting, with McIntire behind her. Her gray eyes flew to Ariel and me, then from Diego to Sid.

I glanced up, and through the blur of my tears saw Diego aim his gun at the doorway. McIntire fell dead. Ursula returned fire, and Sid, Diego, Ariel, and even Vera hit the ground.

Nick had never even moved.

“Take care of this,” Diego barked. Arial and Sid rushed Ursula, who took off running.

I curled my body around West’s, hoping the next bullet was for me.

It wasn’t.

I lay there sobbing, caressing West’s frizzy hair, ripped apart by my desire for Nick, Nick who was gone. Nick was gone and West was dead.

“Oh God no. God no. I can’t take it anymore!” I couldn’t get my mouth to quit moving, so I just kept screaming, each word fractured by my sobs. I felt no fear as Vera and Diego whispered somewhere nearby. I felt no fear until I looked down at my bloody hands. So much blood. The smell… I crawled away from West and vomited on the tile floor.

I started to crawl back to West, but one look at his face and I could feel it in my soul that he was gone. Regret slammed through me like a bullet. I had done this to him. I had murdered West. The pain was debilitating. Too much for me to bear. Too much for me to bear alone.

I crawled slowly, painfully to Nick.

He looked beautiful sitting there, so solemn and real. So very alive. I wrapped my hands around his legs and cried, “Come back! Come back, Nick! Please come back! I can’t do this without you. I can’t live without you. Please, Nick…please.”

I could feel the warmth of his legs through his khaki pants. I could feel him inhale and exhale. “Please come back, Nick. Please, please, don’t leave me, I can’t do it! Nick, please, please…”

I curled up in a ball and pressed my cheek against the floor. “Nick come back,” I murmured, over and over.

I heard some people talking. What were they saying? I didn’t care. Voices rose and fell like the music of an opera. And finally, I could hear Nick’s voice among them. I could feel his arms around me, lifting me up, holding me close.

“Milo. Milo, baby. I love you Milo.”

I opened my eyes and saw his beautiful face, and I didn’t care if it was real or not. I smiled up at him. Then I saw Diego. He reached over Nick’s shoulder and put his fingers to my cheek.

I HATE THE alarm. It’s not a radio alarm; it’s one of those old-fashioned bell alarms. I helped Dad fix it when I was in sixth grade, and that’s why I keep it. Otherwise, that clanging demon would have been yard-sold years ago.

I hate the alarm even more today, because it wakes me, as it has every morning for three weeks, from my dream.

The same dream, every night, always about him.

I don’t know what he looks like; it’s dark and steamy, and we’re swimming in water that feels just perfect. I do remember what he feels like. Broad shoulders. Strong arms. Smooth skin. Soft lips.

I remember the way he made me feel, too. Important. Cared for. Beautiful.

It’s the weirdest dream experience I’ve ever had. I’m thinking about booking a visit with Dr. Sam to talk about it, because I just don’t get it. Every morning I wake up wishing I could fall back asleep. It’s a terrible feeling, and reminds me of waking up months after Dad died and, for just a few seconds, not remembering that he did. Then, the crushing disappointment, except this time I’m disappointed to be awake, which might be something else to talk to Dr. Sam about.

It’s overcast outside. I groan, because the sky has been cloudy for days, and each morning seems darker and gloomier than the last.

I try to remember my dream as I shower. I try to get the water so it feels like a second skin, but I’m always disappointed. Still, it’s easier to remember him in here, when everything’s steamy. My dream boy.

Finally, after what turns out to be almost forty minutes in the shower, I blow dry my dark hair, throw on a sweater and jeans, and trot down the stairs. Mom’s stayed to make breakfast, something she’s done each of the three mornings since they released her from quarantine.

She pours me some orange juice and slides waffle onto the table in front of me. “Did you sleep well?” she asks—and I can tell she’s worried about me.

I give her my brightest smile, because she deserves it after what she’s been through lately, first with the turbines all malfunctioning at once, and then with her getting the new, human version of swine flu.

“I did,” I tell her.

She drizzles syrup over her own waffle. “Do you have any plans this weekend?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I think I might just stay home and read or something.” I arch my back and reach toward the ceiling, moving my arm over my face so maybe she won’t notice the yawn that accompanies my stretch.

“I think I’m going to start a new project,” she announces after a moment of silence.

“Wow—you’re kidding.”

It’s been a long time since my mom started working on new art. We spend the rest of breakfast discussing her plans, for a sculpture made of rubber bands and paperclips.

Mom drives me to school, because she says she’s tired of being cooped up indoors after her quarantine, and that’s fine with me. I’ve been feeling kind of lonely lately, so I appreciate the company. We’re mostly quiet as we ride. A lot of people are in town, unable to drive into Denver to work, but most of them are in their homes, so Golden feels kind of like a ghost town.

Most of the people who are out are commando-looking guys with automatic rifles, or the occasional doctor type in a white lab coat. They’re the ones who figured out a vaccine, and were the first to get inoculated.

A lottery for the rest of us started yesterday, and they’re doing high school kids first.

“Maybe you’ll get the shot today,” mom mused.

“I hate shots.” Just thinking about that needle made my skin crawl. “Honestly, I’m not sure if I want it or not.”

“If they draw your name, you’re getting it,” she tells me.

I shrug. “Okay.”

I walk the hall in a haze that seems permanent these days. I have homeroom with Halah, who sits one seat back and one row right of me. I still don’t want to see her. We’re kind of fighting, although I’m not sure about what.

She’s deep in a conversation with Amy Jones, another cheerleader, and doesn’t even look up to say hi.

Fine. I’m in no mood to pretend anyway.

I stare out the window. The overcast sky is a perfect complement to my mood. I’ve been in the dumps for going on two weeks, and I just can’t figure out why.

The rest of the class file in through the next five minutes, and the ringing bell is followed immediately by the crackle of the intercom. Dr. Martin, the assistant principal, announces the next ten students that will be receiving the vaccine.

No one from our homeroom is named, and we all groan. S.K., who is in Ms. Stamp’s homeroom with Bree,
is
on the list, which means, of course, that she gets to go home for the day, but even better, after twenty-four hours, she gets to leave Golden. She’ll no longer be under quarantine.

“Ugh, I hate S.K.,” moans Halah. “It’s so unfair.”

Technically, it was a random lottery, but I kind of feel the same way. Even though I don’t like the idea of actually getting the shot, I like what it will mean: that I’ll be able to drive into Denver if I want, or go to Boulder. They think they’re going to be through our whole school by the end of next week, and my luck, I’ll be the last one.

“Dr. Bryant, the Stinking Bagpipes are playing at Red Rocks this weekend and I’ve had tickets for week,” says Donny Eddins, Junior Class Secretary and someone who once told me he was the busiest person in school.

Riiiight.

I tune him out and look back out the window, but Dr. Bryant, once done with Donny, calls my attention back to the front.

“We have a new student, and I’m sure she wishes she had come at another time. So please help us welcome Laura…”

She’s a beautiful girl that I am instantly certain is Japanese. She’s dressed stylishly, but I’m not really in the mood to brand-check her, so I turn my eyes back to my notebook.

Halah, on the other hand, is gawking openly. “Look at those amazing boots!” she hisses to Amy.

Dr. Bryant is still talking, but I’m not paying attention. I stare out the window, trying again to remember the dream, when I realize the girl is walking toward me. Her outfit really
is
stunning; she’s wearing a red silk tunic over very skinny jeans, which are covered at the bottom by her tall, brown leather boots. Her black hair is layered and hangs past her shoulders.

I forgot that the seat beside me was open; for some reason Daren Andrews was moved to Ms. Stamps homeroom yesterday.

Laura takes her seat, and immediately Halah is on her.

“Oh my gosh I looooove your boots,” Halah gushes. “And I love your purse, too. Or is that a handbag?”

“It’s a handbag I guess,” the new girl says. “It’s Vera Wang.”

For some reason, this has catches my attention. I turn, to see this Vera Wang handbag, but instead I find myself staring at Laura.

“Hello Milo Mitchell,” she says, in a voice that sounds amazingly familiar.

“Do I…know you?”

“You did,” she says softly. “And I’m here to make sure you do again.”