Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,89

Blood sprayed everywhere. And only then did Aaron see the damage he had caused him earlier with the monitor.

His lips were shredded, split open. Foaming.

But Casler moved fast, terrifyingly fast. He dropped his shoulder and plowed Buff into the desk, snapped it clear in half. But Buff wasn’t the best rugby player in the league for no reason; his feet were quick. Casler went down first. Buff and Aaron descended on him together.

Buff landed his second blow—and winced. He must have punched wrong, because he rolled off to the side and massaged his fingers. Casler rose from the haze of splinters, his thick limbs swaying like battering rams. But Aaron was there. He thrust down his elbow, nearly broke it on Casler’s skull. The man grunted.

Twenty five seconds.

“Buddy, hold his arms!” said Buff, sliding the knuckles onto his other hand.

“Not happening—”

Casler’s fist struck Aaron’s chest, and he felt his feet leave the ground. He landed on his back and gasped for air.

Casler leaned over him, his face twisted and bloody, and actually held out his hand.

“How about we talk this out?” he said. “Call off your friend.”

“Stop the machine,” Aaron spat.

“Aaron, you’re dying,” said Casler.

“You first,” said Aaron.

Twenty seconds.

Casler tried to smile, but his shredded, foaming lip twisted his face. Blood collected in his laugh lines. “You and Amber would have been perfect together,” he said proudly. “So obstinate—”

The machine roared. They looked up at the same time. Something was off.

Because Clive hadn’t made the adjustment—the four degrees counter clockwise. The field drifted. It was a feedback loop. Once unstable, it slipped. Four degrees became five, then six. Then ten.

A grinding screech of metal split the air. The cavern lurched, then sank a whole foot. The ground tilted, and racks of beakers slid away, capsized. Bottles exploded in fumes.

Yet the machine stayed statue-still, its edges solid, anchored. It was everything else that shook.

Casler stumbled towards the machine. Aaron grabbed his ankle and yanked him back, got a mouthful of boot heel. More blood.

Once again, he found himself on the floor, his cheek cemented to frozen stone. Clive’s body—Aaron blinked. Clive’s body was gone.

But there was something else right in front of him. An inch from his nose, still bloody. Dominic’s switchblade.

The hilt felt good in his palm.

Casler stepped up to the machine and closed his fingers around the wheel. But Buff tackled him, crunched his face into the floor, and delivered two left-handed punches, his fists a blur. The brass knuckles ripped into Casler’s scalp, muddied his skin into red pulp. One more would kill him.

Aaron rose to his feet. He could smell the high voltage, the raw odor of ozone. Arcs of electricity splayed tendril-like from the machine’s core, sizzled, and vaporized. His hairs lifted and pointed toward the operating table, where Amber lay perfectly still, watching it all in horror.

Maybe the machine would break. Maybe she would be safe.

Maybe it would screw her up worse.

Fifteen seconds.

He had to free her. Or shut it down.

To his left, Buff raised his arm, torqued his body, and took aim for the brittle part of Casler’s skull. This one would kill him.

Except Buff never landed his punch.

The halogen lights died, blackness swallowed them. Clive, in the shadows. Buff missed his target, and Aaron heard the scrape, then his friend’s yelp as his fist struck bedrock.

But there was still light from the dimmer bulbs. Aaron’s eyes adjusted, and he saw Casler rise again. His wounds steamed and tinted the air deep crimson. Casler gripped the wheel. He was going to right the machine.

Aaron jumped on him. He landed on his back, looped his arm around his neck, and pulled the switchblade as hard as he could. The knife sank an inch into Casler’s throat, then stopped, as if he’d reached steel cable. Warm blood spilled down his wrist, but it wasn’t enough. Aaron dropped the switchblade, and it clinked on the stone—he couldn’t do it.

Casler fell to his knees, and saliva dribbled down his lip. “Tell my son to be patient and loving,” he gurgled. “She’ll be completely helpless at first—”

Aaron grabbed the switchblade and finished the job, and Casler collapsed dead at his feet.

Ten seconds.

Above the machine, the cave ceiling liquefied and rippled. Over the operating table, a blue arc of electricity hissed from the tip of the metal spike, coiled through the air and slithered, snakelike, towards Amber’s head. She watched it grow, trembling, her eyes wet and terrified. It brushed her cheek, and she squirmed against the straps, pressing herself