Shatter Me - Tahereh Mafi Page 0,78

sort of victory.

Because this time the blood is not Adam’s.

FORTY

Warner is down.

I am up and running away with his gun.

I need to find Adam. I need to steal a car. I need to find James and Kenji. I need to learn how to drive. I need to drive us to safety. I need to do everything in exactly that order.

Adam can’t be dead.

Adam is not dead.

Adam will not be dead.

My feet slap the pavement to a steady rhythm, my shirt and face spattered with blood, my hands still shaking slightly in the setting sun. A sharp breeze whips around me, jolting me out of the crazed reality I seem to be swimming in. I take a hard breath, squint up at the sky, and realize I don’t have much time before I lose the light. The streets, at least, have long since been evacuated. But I have exactly zero idea where Warner’s men might be.

I wonder if Warner has the tracker serum as well. I wonder if they’d know if he were dead.

I duck into dark corners, try to read the streets for clues, try to remember where Adam fell to the ground, but my memory is too weak, too distracted, my brain too broken to process these kinds of details. That horrible instant is one mess of insanity in my mind. I can’t make any sense of it and Adam could be anywhere by now. They could’ve done anything to him.

I don’t even know what I’m looking for.

I might be wasting my time.

I hear sudden movement and dart into a side street, my fingers tightening around the weapon slick in my grip. Now that I’ve actually fired a gun, I feel more confident with it in my hands, more aware of what to expect, how it functions. But I don’t know if I should be happy or horrified that I’m so comfortable so quickly with something so lethal.

Footsteps.

I slide up against the wall, my arms and legs flat against the rough surface. I hope I’m buried in the shadows. I wonder if anyone’s found Warner yet.

I watch a soldier walk right past me. He has rifles slung across his chest, a smaller sort of automatic weapon in his hands. I glance down at the gun in my own hand and realize I have no idea how many different kinds there are. All I know is some are bigger than others. Some have to be reloaded constantly. Some, like the one I’m holding, do not. Maybe Adam can teach me the differences.

Adam.

I suck in my breath and move as stealthily as I can through the streets. I spot a particularly dark shadow on a stretch of the sidewalk ahead of me and make an effort to avoid it. But as I get closer I realize it’s not a shadow. It’s a stain.

Adam’s blood.

I squeeze my jaw shut until the pain scares away the screams. I take short, tiny, too-quick breaths. I need to focus. I need to use this information. I need to pay attention—

I need to follow the trail of blood.

Whoever dragged Adam away still hasn’t come back to clean the mess. There’s a steady spattered drip that leads away from the main roads and into the poorly lit side streets. The light is so dim I have to bend down to search for the spots on the ground. I’m losing sight of where they lead. There are fewer here. I think they’ve disappeared entirely. I don’t know if the dark spots I’m finding are blood or old gum pounded into the pavement or drops of life from another person’s flesh. Adam’s path has disappeared.

I back up several steps and retrace the line.

I have to do this 3 times before I realize they must’ve taken him inside. There’s an old steel structure with an older rusted door that looks like it’s never been opened. It looks like it hasn’t been used in years. I don’t see any other options.

I wiggle the handle. It’s locked.

I shift my entire weight into breaking it open, slamming it open, but I’ve only managed to bruise my body. I could shoot it down like I’ve seen Adam do, but I’m not certain of my aim nor my skill with this gun, and I’m not sure I can afford the noise. I can’t make my presence known.

There has to be another way into this building.

There is no other way into this building.

My frustration is escalating. My desperation is crippling.

My hysteria is threatening to break me