releasing him as Pierce opened fire. Bullets sprayed, covering Koenig. He stepped back and Colt lunged, trying to take its legs out.
Ah, sweet rage. Do you not see how it empowers us? It makes us stronger, so nothing can stand against us!
“I’m nothing like you!” Colt screamed as he pounded Koenig’s jaw with his fists.
That’s it. Let it flow. Embrace what you’ve become.
As the beast within threatened to take over, Colt fought to hold on to his humanity. My name is Colt McAlister. My parents were Mary and Roger McAlister. My grandpa’s name is Murdoch McAlister, and my best friends are Oz Romero and Danielle Salazar.
Surrender and live.
“Never.”
Then behold your destiny.
Before Koenig could move, Colt grabbed his jaw. Koenig shook his head and flung Colt against the wall. Pain shot down Colt’s spine as Koenig sprang and, in one quick motion, ripped Colt’s helmet from his head.
Look for the soft spot, Colt thought.
Koenig bit down on Colt’s shoulder, and his teeth cut through the skin of Colt’s neck. Searing pain was followed by nausea, and for a moment Colt thought he was going to pass out.
Gunfire. A flash of light, and the Thule cried out. He burst past them and ran down the hall toward the elevator.
: :
CHAPTER 24 : :
The Trackers had destroyed half of the academy’s campus before air strikes took them out. By last count five Secret Service agents, twelve agents from the DAA, and thirty-four spectators were dead. The injured were too numerous to count.
The commissary had become a makeshift triage where Dr. Roth and his medibots, along with a handful of medical volunteers who had been sitting in the stands, applied bandages, set broken bones, and attempted surgical procedures without the necessary tools—including anesthesia.
Colt lay on a table looking up at Dr. Roth, but he could see Grandpa leaning against a pillar out of the corner of his eye. “Did they find Koenig?” he asked, nausea churning in his stomach.
“Not yet,” Grandpa said.
“What about Lily?”
“She’s a bit scared, but she’ll be fine.”
“I need you to stop talking,” Dr. Roth said through his surgical mask as he poked at the bite marks on Colt’s neck. “Does that hurt?”
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to talk,” Colt said through the pain.
“Answer the man,” Grandpa said.
“Yeah, it hurts. Is it infected or something?”
“The scans show increased activity in the part of your brain that controls aggression, and we think it’s due to a virus that was passed into your system when Koenig bit you.”
“What does that mean?” Colt said.
Dr. Roth looked over at Grandpa, who nodded. “I’m afraid the change is accelerating,” he said.
Colt felt the panic rise as he pictured four extra arms growing out of his back, not to mention a tail. He ran his tongue across his teeth to see if they were sharp, and he looked down at his hands and feet, wondering if his body was covered in scales.
“Relax,” Dr. Roth said.
“Relax? You’re not the one who’s turning into a monster.”
“I think I can help. That is, if you’ll let me.”
“How?”
“I’d like to introduce a mixture of interferon and some other viral agents that I believe will slow it down.”
Colt took a series of shallow breaths. His mouth was dry. “Fine,” he said. He didn’t want to play the part of the guinea pig, but he was even more scared of becoming a monster. Panic welled inside of him, threatening to burst like an overripe thundercloud. His jaw clenched so tight that it started to spasm, and he didn’t even realize that he had bit his own tongue. His mouth filled with the iron taste of blood. Distant thoughts, familiar yet strange, flooded his memory.
He was five years old, and he was in an examination room strapped to a table. Terror made his heart flutter like a hummingbird that had overdosed on sugar. He fought to break free, but the straps were too strong.
“It’s okay . . . we’re right here.” It was his mother, and though her words had been meant to reassure him, the fear in her voice had the opposite effect. He fought even harder, desperate to break free, and he was certain that his mother was crying, though she was trying to hide it.
“He’ll be fine,” Colt’s father said, trying to offer strength. Even his voice was laced with an uncertainty that Colt had never heard before.
Someone—a doctor, or maybe another lab technician—walked into view. The details of his face were obscured, but Colt would never forget that smile. It