Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,85
No way Casler was putting his son in that thing.
“Clive, watch the drift,” said Casler, his voice closer. He appeared over Aaron, his gaze radiating warmth. “How you feeling, bud?”
“What the hell did you inject me with?”
“A chemical agent. Like I said, it’s dissolving that scar tissue into your bloodstream. Give it three more minutes.”
“How much is going to dissolve? A sample, or the whole goddamn lump?”
Casler just smiled, patted Aaron’s shoulder, and returned to his station. And Aaron had his answer. Of course. The chemical agent was dissolving the scar tissue that had kept Aaron alive for eighteen years—dissolving all of it. Casler was simply removing the plug from Aaron’s severed channel. Without the scar tissue, Aaron would suffer half death. Of course the doctor was immune; he had a half.
Three minutes. Aaron had three minutes before his clairvoyance started to evaporate, before his soul leaked into the gaping hollow at the back of his head.
Well played, big man. If there was any flaw in Casler’s execution, it wasn’t that he had gone through all the trouble of starting the machine, then not used it. It wasn’t that he’d lied unnecessarily. It wasn’t even that every smile and every word that crossed his foul lips stank of treachery. It was only that he might have warned Aaron, given him half a minute, thirty seconds—just to contemplate his own death.
And to remember Amber.
Aaron collapsed on the floor, muscles limp. His cheek slapped cold stone. He could already feel something flowing out the back of his head, but the sensation was painless, surreal. Peaceful almost.
The machine whined ever faster, but Aaron had already done what was required of him. At least Amber was safe.
Fatigue weighed on his eyelids, closed them.
“Clive—” It was Casler’s voice, somewhere high above him. “Bring Amber back down here, would you? The machine’s ready for her.”
FIFTEEN
Plus 3 Days, 0 hours, 12 minutes
Aaron opened his eyes. The machine wobbled in and out of focus. It was his imagination, he hadn’t heard right. Dominic was upstairs. This was his house. The rugby player wouldn’t let Casler touch her.
Even so, the fight would be two on one without Aaron. He willed himself to move. First his pinky, then his whole hand. But with each passing second, his body weakened. He didn’t know how much longer the scar tissue would hold out.
“Clive, go get her,” said Dr. Selavio, “or is that too much for you to handle?”
“You said we wouldn’t,” said Clive.
Casler peeled off his mask and gloves. “I’ll get her myself.”
But Clive intercepted him on his way to the stairs. “Father, she won’t be the same afterwards—”
“She’ll be obedient!”
Clive didn’t budge. “But you promised,” he said.
Meanwhile, Aaron twisted, scrunched every muscle and dragged himself an inch across cold, grimy stones. His heart missed beats. Even his eyeballs slumped in their sockets.
Above him, the machine screamed like a jet engine.
Dominic reappeared at the foot of the stairs. “You guys trying to wake the dead, or something? Turn that shit down.”
“Would you bring Amber down here?” said Casler.
Dominic’s eyes flicked to Aaron, crumpled on the floor, then to the machine ten feet away from him, still unused. “What’s going on?”
“No, you’re not, fuckface. It’s number eleven or no one.”
“Boys, she’ll be fine,” said Casler.
“Fine?” said Dominic. “She’ll be just like your half—the goddamned walking dead.”
“That’s extremely rude,” said Casler.
Dominic stepped around him and leaned over the laptop. “I’m turning this thing off.”
“Amber wants the operation.” Casler rested his hand on Dominic’s arm. “You know that.”
“Bullshit,” said Dominic, scanning the green lines of code. “That was for number eleven.”
Aaron inched closer to them, stronger now.
“Dominic—” Casler moved his hand up Dominic’s arm and massaged his shoulder. “She’s going to be fine, I promise.”
Dominic shrugged off his hand. “That’s a lot of promises, and I haven’t yet seen you keep one.” He lowered his eyes to the keyboard and started typing. “I’m turning this thing off and calling my parents.”
It happened very quickly after that.
Casler’s hand jumped two inches to the left, and he closed his giant fingers around Dominic’s throat. “Dominic—” he whispered, his smile barely faltering. “Please don’t touch my things.”
Dominic gurgled and scratched at the bulging tendons in the man’s wrist, but Casler only tightened his grip. In a split-second, though, Dominic clicked open his switchblade and sank the knife into the side of Casler’s neck.
Finally, Casler dropped him. He stared at the rugby player, bewildered, then struck him in the