Firstlife Read online

  "Wait." I tighten my grip on Clay's wrist to hold him in place. If we get in the middle of two savage animals intent on killing each other, we won't be walking away--we'll be crawling. And that's if we're lucky. And...and...

  Are the vibrations at my feet getting stronger?

  "How many times did we sit on the sidelines and do nothing when other inmates needed us?" Clay's eyes beseech me. "I can't sit on the sidelines anymore." He pulls from my clasp as Sloan gives me another tug.

  The counterforce sends me careening. I don't mean to, but I take her to the ground with me. The impact is jarring, and even maybe knocks a little sense into me. Clay is right. No more sitting on the sidelines. If I can help Archer and Killian, I have to help them--before they send each other into Second-death.

  As I stand, another loud boom echoes from above. I look up and realize this one didn't come from the sky but the mountain, heralding the beginning of an avalanche. The sky is nothing but snow, ice and rock--and falling straight for us.

  chapter eleven

  "Without an end, you cannot have a new beginning."

  --Myriad

  Life is all about the numbers.

  Today those numbers are the seconds we have to reach safety. The tons about to crash down upon us. The feet/yards/miles we're about to fall, unable to stop ourselves.

  "Come on." I grab the end of Sloan's rope and run as fast as I can. She isn't prepared, and I have to drag her behind me. When I reach Clay, I grab his rope and drag him, too. We aren't yet connected, but I try to remedy that as I run; I'm shaking too badly. "Archer! Killian! Come on!"

  Numbers never lie, and the center of a mass like this is always heaviest, so that's where the avalanche will move the fastest and hit the hardest. If we can get far enough to the side, we can maybe, hopefully, avoid being buried.

  I glance up. Zero! We're not going to get far enough to the side.

  There are no trees nearby to act as an anchor for our ropes. Not that we'd have time to tie ourselves to the trunks. What should we do next? Brace?

  The rumble of snow grows louder until I'd swear a freight train is hidden beneath the flakes. Yes. Brace. I recall a book I read and shout, "If you're swept away, start swimming uphill as soon as you can." The longer we're buried, the harder movement will be. "Don't stop until--"

  Impact!

  I'm thrown down, down, down by what seems to be ten thousand pounds of snow. I grip the ropes with all my strength as I tumble around like clothes in a dryer. Common sense tells me to keep a hand in front of my face--I might need to dig a tunnel to breathe--while keeping the other lifted above my head to help with disorientation. But I have a choice, always a choice. Help myself or help my friends by maintaining my grip on their ropes.

  I maintain my grip.

  When finally I stop, snow and debris are piled on top of me. I try to catch my breath but there's not enough oxygen. Desperate, trying not to panic, I thrash with my legs, propelling up...up...

  Am I going the right way?

  Does it matter? If I'm buried under a foot or more, I won't make it to the top on my own. That's just fact.

  What seems an eternity later--yes!--I break the surface and suck back as much air as my lungs can handle. I'm frantic as I scan the sea of white, seeing no sign of the others. "Clay! Sloan!" No response. "Archer! Killian!" Again, no response.

  I tug one rope, then the other, and realize the two are on top of the snow, both facing the same direction. I use the lengths to fight my way through the rest of the deluge...

  "Ten!" Clay calls, beyond frantic. "Help me. You have to help me."

  I lumber to my feet and follow the sound of his voice...skidding to a halt when I reach the edge of a cliff. Hanks of snow and rock fall over...and just keep falling.

  "Ten!" He's clinging to a tree that's been knocked over the edge, the roots the only thing keeping it in place.

  "I've got you." I dig in my heels and try to pull him up with the rope. "Don't worry."

  "Ten... Ten..."

  A whimper at my right. I turn my head and see Sloan, and I almost lose my breakfast. She's hanging over the same cliff, and like Clay, she's white-knuckling a tree branch with every bit of strength she possesses.

  "Pleeease. Help me."

  My panic returns with a vengeance. I won't be able to pull them up at the same time. They're simply too heavy. I have to pick one and pray the other holds on just a little longer.

  Another hated choice. A sob lodges in my throat, constricting my airway.

  I love Clay. We've laughed together, and we've cried together. He's kind, honest and, as he just proved today, willing to help when needed. I can picture him at my seaside home, surfing alongside me.

  Sloan, on the other hand, has been a thorn in my side for a little over a year. She's a pain in every sense of the word. She's irritating and combative, and I can't imagine ever trusting her at my back.

  But Clay now knows where he's going when he dies. Sloan will wind up in Many Ends.

  "I'm so sorry, Clay. I'll pull you up next, okay? Just hang on. Hang on!" I release his rope, hating myself, and grip Sloan's with both hands. As my feet slip, I look around--everywhere but at Clay. There are no boulders or rooted trees within reach, which means I can't anchor myself. Okay. All right. Can't be helped.

  "Ten," she cries.

  "Let go of the branch," I shout at her. "Please."

  "No, no--"

  "Do it! I can't pull you up if you're clasping the tree." A tree that is teetering. "Sloan! I've got you, promise. Just let go!"

  "I can't," she says as she weeps.

  "You must. Help me help you."

  She only weeps harder.

  Rage joins my deluge of emotions. "At the count of three, I'm helping Clay. One. Two."

  She lets go, giving me the full brunt of her weight. My feet slip closer to the edge, leaving me unable to balance. I crash to my butt and slide faster. A terrified yelp escapes her.

  Come on, come on. I dig my boots as deep into the snow and ice as I can, managing to stop my momentum and pull with all my might. I gain an inch...then another...she can't weigh more than one hundred and twenty pounds, but my shoulders burn and shake as if they're lugging a couple of tons. Muscles I didn't know I had spasm.

  Survival instinct demands I release her and save myself, but I just keeping pulling...pulling...

  Just a little farther...

  So close to assisting Clay...

  When the tops of her hands reached the edge of the cliff, I grit out, "Grab the side and climb up."

  As soon as her grip is steadyish, she kicks up a leg. A few seconds later--an eternity--the top of her body clears the side.

  "Hurry! Please." Mist dances in front of my face as I pant, and tears well in my eyes. I glance at Clay as snow topples over the cliff edge. He is desperately trying to inch his way along the tree trunk--a tree trunk that teeters a little more with his every action.

  "Ten." Clay's panic is worse than mine. "Please."

  "Sloan," I plead. "Come on!"

  Her arms shake and strain as she claws the rest of the way, finally safe. Thank the Firstking! I release her rope and reach for Clay's, the movement sending another mound of snow over the edge. He's close enough now that it hits him right in the face...and it's strong enough to knock him loose.

  "No!" I dive down, my arm extended. I'll catch him, I have to catch him, but something latches on my ankles, keeping me from going over the edge as I encounter air, only air. "Clay!"

  He shrieks as he falls...falls...and the sound rips me up inside, but it's better than the terrible silence that comes next. No. No, no, no. He's not--he can't be--but I see him. He landed on another plateau, and he's unmoving, a crimson pool growing around his oddly contorted body.

  Horror overwhelms me. I just found him, and now he's gone?

  Sloan pulls me up. "We can't stay here. It's not safe." She bands her arm around me, forcing me to stand. "Move with me!"

  Now she's in a hurry? I fight
to remain in place. I can't leave Clay. I just...can't.

  From the time he lost his grip on the branch to the time he hit the bottom of the mountain--roughly eight seconds. If I'd had two more, if I'd let go of Sloan just a little sooner, I could have caught his hand.

  Two. Seconds. That's all I needed.

  She slaps me across the face. "Ten!"

  I taste the copper tang of blood, but I don't care. He's down there. My friend is down there. He deserves so much better.

  "You listen to me." She grips my shoulders and shakes me. "I'll drag you kicking and screaming if I must, but we're leaving. You saved my life. Now I'm saving yours."

  I saved her, but I didn't save Clay. There's nothing I can do to bring him back. But her words have the desired effect. Finally I allow her to lead me away. Dead, I'm no good to Clay.

  "We're going to be okay," she says through chattering teeth. "After what you did for me, I'm basically your bitch for life. I'll get you out of here even if I have to sleep with a bunch of sexy guys to do it. I know, I know. I'm a giver."

  As I go numb, I lose track of time. I know we descend the mountain. I know Archer joins us when we stop to rest, but not Killian. Archer explains we're hidden from the ML, but I don't respond. I don't care. I know we stop a second time so Sloan and I can eat, but I don't know where we are or what I put in my stomach.

  "--going to be okay?" Sloan asks.

  "She's strong," Archer replies.

  Strong? Me? I'm not. I'm the weak link. I let my friend die--but I'm not the only one to blame.

  Flames of wrath spark, melting some of the numbness.

  "You didn't save Clay." I shake my head, blink and meet Archer's copper gaze head-on. Melting... "You promised to be there for him, to be his family, his brother, to help him when he needed you. Well, he needed you!"

  Archer flinches. His Shell is damaged, but nothing like before, the flesh--or whatever it is--once again in the process of weaving back together. "I can do a lot of things, Ten, but I can't be everywhere at once, and I can't override free will."

  Melting...gone! "Are you saying Clay chose to die? I assure you, he didn't. He begged me to save him." He begged me, and I failed him. My tears return, my chin trembling.

  "He begged you, but didn't ask me."

  I'm about to punch him when he adds, "I'm saying this is my fault, not the fault of my realm. I was told Killian neared, and I wasn't to engage. I disobeyed, and my new brother died because of it. I'm saying I chose to engage my enemy rather than call for reinforcements, a fact that will haunt me for the rest of my days. A mistake I'll never make again. I'm saying you had two options, and you did the right thing."

  "I let my friend die," I say slowly, softly. "That will never be the right thing."

  "He's not in any pain. He's happy, preparing for his homecoming."

  I try to picture Clay smiling. I just see him lying in a pool of his own blood.

  "I would have found myself in Many Ends," Sloan says, wrapping her arms around her middle. "Have you ever...visited?"

  We're seated inside another four-by-four square, but I take no comfort in the warmth. I deserve the cold.

  "No. I've tried," Archer tells her. "We hear the screams of the people inside, and we've even attempted to follow spirits through the veil, but we're always blocked."

  Sloan shudders, and maybe she even rethinks her no-realm stance.

  "If there's a way for one to enter," I say, my tone now hollowed out, "there's a way for others to enter."

  "You would think so, yes." He stands, lifts his hand, the star in his palm glowing. He types inside the light, saying, "Come. We have four more miles to traverse."

  The walls around us fade, and the cold sweeps in.

  We remain silent as we hike, and I'm glad. My mind is churning. Like Sloan, I'm one of the Unsigned. If I die right now, I'll end up in Many Ends, most likely exchanging one torturous existence for another. But...

  Maybe that's better than the alternative.

  Archer failed to rescue Clay. Strike one, Troika.

  Killian's actions led to the avalanche that put Clay in danger in the first place. Strike one, Myriad.

  My parents. Enough said. Strike two, Myriad.

  Rules that prevent TLs from saving a human life without being asked. Strike two, Troika.

  We make it to the little town Archer mentioned about two hours after sunset. Heaters mounted to the tops of silver poles line the streets and illuminate our path with a soft red glow. Golden light shines from a multitude of box-shaped buildings carved into the side of the mountain. Every building is connected through some type of tunnel. There are no windows, no real personality.

  Archer stops as the light in his hand flares. He moves into a shadowed corner to type.

  "What are you doing?" I demand.

  "Responding to a message from my leader."

  Jellyair creation...communication between Earth and a realm. What else can the device do?

  "I have to make him understand..."

  Archer's frustration is clear, and I'm suddenly glad the cell phone implanted behind my ear was deactivated the day I arrived at Prynne. Vans hoped to make me feel isolated. Trapped. His mistake. If I can't be reached, I can't be tracked or ordered around.

  "While you're wasting our time," Sloan says, batting her lashes at him, "would you be kind enough to tell us where we are?"

  "The Urals." His typing speed increases, his fingers jabbing at invisible keys.

  The Urals. A mountain range that runs through western Russia. My mind whizzes back to one of my first history lessons. Almost a century ago, snow covered the mountains, but unlike every year before, the deluge didn't melt with the change of season. The climate worsened, becoming so harsh trees and wildlife soon died. The realms finally stepped in and planted sustainable foliage.

  "This town is like any other. There's a mix of Troikan and Myriad loyalists as well as Unsigned. A few weeks ago, there was a riot among the three and tensions are still high." The light fades, and Archer drops his arm to his side. His shoulders slump as he turns and shoves a bag of coins into my hand. "I'm sure the asylum has people living here, as well, to keep tabs on the citizens and in case inmates escape and live long enough to get here."

  Wonderful. "We need weapons. Good ones."

  "And you'll get them. At the end of the street is a bed-and-breakfast. I know the owner. He'll have everything you need... He'll get you wherever you want to go."

  "He's trustworthy?" Sloan asks.

  "He is."

  Good. "You can go now," I tell him. I'm done with him, with all of it.

  He opens his mouth only to snap it closed. He can't override free will. Part of the "love people unconditionally" law, I'm sure.

  "Goodbyes are sad," Sloan says, dragging her fingertips down her cheeks in her signature move. "Let's wrap this one up before we start craving ice cream and start nomming on the streets."

  I meet Archer's gaze, the copper irises haunted--and haunting. "We'll be okay on our own."

  "Will you really?"

  I'll make sure of it. "Go."

  "I have a minute or two of leeway before I'm forced to obey." He offers me a sad smile. "Without me, Killian will be able to reach you. And he will. He's coming for you."

  "I can handle him." It's the truth. It has to be the truth. "Who's the girl? Dior?" I'm not sure why the question leaves me now. Actually, I do. Killian is coming for me, and I want all the info I can get. Information is power.

  A slight hesitation before Archer says, "Invite me back, and I might tell you."

  "Oh, no. You don't get to play the intrigue card. You owe me."

  "Just as you owe me."

  How dare he! "I don't owe you any--"

  "You're lying to yourself, or you're lying to me. Which is it?" He doesn't give me a chance to reply. He places his right hand over his heart and his left over his right, and a second later, he's gone.

  MYRIAD

  From: P_B_4/65.1.18

 
To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: Daily Means DAILY

  Not only did you kill Vans before we finished with the resource, you have now missed several reports, Mr. Flynn. Miss Lockwood is important to me--to all of us. Tell me how you're progressing with her NOW. After your fight with Archer, the Generals are debating your reassignment, among other things.

  I'm debating whether or not to forget the identity of the person Fused with your mother.

  Madame Pearl Bennett

  MYRIAD

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: P_B_4/65.1.18

  Subject: Threaten Me, and I'll Ruin You You want to reassign me? Please. I've been in the field since the age of fifteen. That's four years, in case you're having trouble with the math. In those few years, I've bagged more Firstlifers than Laborers who've worked for centuries. The Generals need me, and they know it. No one else will get through to this girl. No one else had better try. They do, and I'll kill first, ask questions later. She's mine.

  She's different from anyone I've ever dealt with, and I need more time to figure her out.

  Also, if you try to use my mother against me again, I will do as I promised in the subject line.

  Killian Flynn

  MYRIAD

  From: P_B_4/65.1.18

  To: K_F_5/23.53.6

  Subject: WHO Are You?

  Usually you make snide comments, but you rarely become angry. And you've NEVER cared if we allowed another Laborer to take a shot at your assignment. You've always seen it as a personal challenge, a way to prove your superiority.

  Are you falling for the girl?

  That makes sense, I suppose. The General she's Fused with is my daughter, Killian. You loved Ashley once. Remember? Because I do. I've never forgotten.

  Work harder to sign Ten. Please. The longer she remains Unsigned, the more time Troika has to win her. We can't allow her to side with the enemy. We just can't.

  I'll kill her myself before I allow that to happen. Then I'll kill your mother.

  I, too, make promises rather than threats.

  MYRIAD

  From: K_F_5/23.53.6

  To: P_B_4/65.1.18

  Subject: Your Inner Bitch Is Showing What I remember? Nine Generals died in a single battle. Yes, your daughter was among them, but she was like a sister to me. Nothing more. She isn't the one Fused with Ten Lockwood. I'd know it; I'd feel it.