air, handle over blade, and struck his skull. His eyeballs flared in shock right before bursting into dust along with the rest of his body.
As the blood-soaked weapon thudded against the sand, Remo said, “We need to find that apple.”
“Or I can gas him when he comes back.”
Remo’s bare, sweat-slickened chest puffed with heavy breaths. “What if you can’t asphyxiate him down here?”
“Then we’ll find the apple.”
He pillowed my cheeks between his bloodied palms, and even though they smelled like death, I leaned into his touch. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Amara. I promise.”
“I know.”
He brought his mouth down hard on mine as though to stamp that promise into my flesh.
35
New Clothes
We’d finished hanging the various cuts of tigri meat on the nearest tree when Kiera came to tell us dinner was ready.
“Dinner?” I flicked my gaze to the bright sky. “What time does the sun set?”
“It doesn’t.” Her eyebrows drew together. “How have you not noticed this? You’ve been through other cells, right?”
“We have.” I glanced at Remo. “But we were locked in the windowless basement of an inn—”
“An inn? How fancy . . .” Her dreadlocks bled water into her top, which looked clean-ish.
Remo frowned. “Did you not go through the cell that looked like Rowan?”
“No one goes through the same cells.”
“What sort of cells did you go through?” I asked.
“Quinn and I got a Jurassic Park themed one. Then there was the frozen lake cell.” Her mouth hooked to the side in thought. “The Honey I Shrunk the Kids one where we were the size of ants. Oh, and the landmine one. That one was especially annoying. I think Quinn got blown up six times and me four before we made it to the train.” She shuddered. “Oh, and the cell with the shipping crates that fell from the sky was quite memorable.”
“So five cells?” That was one more than us.
“Five?” She snorted. “More like fifteen. How many did you go through?”
“Four.”
“Lucky you. Almost as lucky as Cruz. He reached this one in three.”
“How is this number determined?” Remo asked.
“Your grandfathers built this place. How is it you guys don’t know how it’s rigged up?” Her suspicious gaze raked over us.
“Neither of us even knew it existed until we got here,” I admitted.
“So you didn’t come to break us out.” It wasn’t a question. “I knew you two were lying.”
I displayed the bracelet on my wrist. “These are called Infinities. They’re powered by our pulse and used for everything, including tracking. However, whatever jams our powers here jams the band’s electromagnetism.”
“So, what you’re saying is: it’s useless?”
I looked toward Remo. “Not useless, per se. The only reason for the band to stop broadcasting is if the wearer dies. We’re hoping our parents won’t jump to that conclusion and will launch an investigation.” I sighed. “And if that fails, your brother knows where we are. Hopefully, he’ll tell someone he sent me here.”
Although the lines of her body remained hard as ice, her sapphire eyes seemed to glow a little brighter. “The number of cells is determined by how you cope with the tests thrown at you and how many times you die.” Was answering Remo’s question a peace offering to thank us for giving her hope?
“How come neither you nor Quinn ever ate the apple?” he asked.
She stared at the jungle, her eyes a little unfocused. “Gregor warned us about it before tossing us in here. It was his only warning.”
“A practical one, at least,” Remo said.
Her dark blue eyes slammed into Remo. “I really really don’t like your grandfather, Remo, so if you’re going to be defending him—”
Remo raised his palms. “That wasn’t me defending him, Locklear; that was me stating a fact.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t look convinced. “Anyway, you might want to get cleaned up before dinner. You both stink.”
Frank, much?
“Kingston mentioned extra clothing in the caves we could borrow,” Remo said.
She nodded. “I’ll drop some off at the beach for you.”
As she turned, Remo asked, “Is Kingston back?”
“He is. And with more bites.” A diminutive smile tugged at her lips. But as fast as it had appeared, it was gone. “He has the apple, so be careful.”
“He mentioned it a few times,” I said.
She drummed her fingers against a trunk the color of wet clay from which hung the chops of tigri, swinging among the odorous panem leaves. Even though I’d always enjoyed the doughy taste of the leaves, the mere smell was turning my stomach.