Shades of Gray - By Jackie Kessler & Caitlin Kittredge Page 0,22
rant he swayed and fell over, his head cracking against the metal lockers in front of him.
“Bloody hell.” Lester bent over George, while he bellowed toward the practice room: “We need a medic in here!”
George’s eyeballs twitched under his lids. His pulse was racing like a hover engine when Lester pressed two fingers against his neck.
“Blackout. Blackout. George.” Lester shook him. “Come on, son. Wake up.”
George’s arm whipped out and caught Lester by the front of his shirt. His eyes were full of Shadow, black like someone had spilled ink across them. Lester felt his heart twitch in shock, but he let George hold on to him.
“Make them stop,” George hissed. “I hear them and they never stop. I can’t keep fighting, Les …”
A medic crew burst through the door and moved Lester to the side, working on George with smelling salts and a portable cauterizer for the cut in the back of his head.
“He lose consciousness?” one of the medics demanded.
“For a moment.” Lester watched George’s gaunt face. “He said he was …” He bit his tongue just in time. “He said he was feeling dizzy.”
The lie rolled seamlessly out. Lester’s father, a man obsessed with honesty to the point of lit cigarettes and leather straps, had impressed on him his need to be a superlative liar.
Of course Lester should report George’s incident.
Make them stop. I hear them and they never stop. I can’t keep fighting …
Of course George needed help if he was hearing voices.
But there was real fear in George’s eyes, and Lester wouldn’t be the one to condemn him to that barbarian Moore ripping out his brain, his innermost thoughts and secrets laid bare. Secrets were all somebody like George Greene had.
“Take care of yourself, yeah?” he told George. “And look on the bright side—maybe Holly will come and kiss you better.”
“Screw you, man,” George rasped, but his eyes were his own again, and he managed a weak smile.
Lester breathed a small sigh of relief. His teammate was going to be all right.
He had to be. Otherwise, Lester had just lied for a man who needed psychiatric help desperately, who could endanger the very people he was supposed to watch over, and Corp would bury them both.
CHAPTER 10
NIGHT
Aaron is fascinated by the Shadows. If it were up to me, we would lobotomize the both of them. They scare the hell out of me.
—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #18
Night stormed down the hallway of Squadron headquarters, ignoring the pissants and lapdogs who tried to stop him with their tedious social obligations. He had no time to be bothered with “How are you?” or “Terrific collar” or “Who do you like for the series this year?”
Blackout was in the hospital wing.
Blackout, from the little that Luster had mentioned upon Night’s return from battle, had lived up to his designation and blacked out. Just for a second or two, Bradford had insisted, playing up how quickly the medics had arrived and how strong Greene was and no worries, mate, he’ll be back in black, tally ho.
Luster, for all his tactical brilliance, could be a fucking idiot.
No, Night allowed as he stomped down the last corridor. Not an idiot. Lester Bradford was many things—egocentric, proud enough to put peacocks to shame, and smart enough to do Corp to the letter whenever anyone was watching. But idiotic? Not Luster.
So when Night had returned from defeating Gold Digger and Luster had gamely by-the-byed Blackout’s “episode,” what Luster hadn’t said had spoken volumes. Of course Bradford had tried to make light of it; that’s what he did, in his sardonic way. But Night could almost smell Luster’s apprehension, could nearly taste Bradford’s unease. For all his bravado, Luster had been concerned—even scared.
Night’s lips pulled into a quick, tight smile. If Luster ever saw the Shadow for what it really was, then he’d know what fear truly meant. Then he’d know what it was to fear the Dark.
But the Lighters never thought about the Dark, not really. They thought their little power could banish the Shadow and make the world safe and sound. Lighters, as a class, were a joke. At least Bradford was a genius, which made him interesting, and even a worthy teammate. Sometimes.
But whether Light or Earth or Water or Fire, or any other power, they were all weak before the Shadow. They would all crumple, gibbering their way to madness. No one was infallible—except for those born with the ability to handle, to master, the Shadow. Like Night.