the lid of my crate. See the damage of everything that’s been knocked loose. Rain pours down the open door like a sheet. Like the waterfall Lucas dreamt up for Greenwood. It hides something valuable. Something waiting to be found.
It’s like I can feel him before I see him. A dark shape appears, passing through the rain as he hauls himself up. Lucas stumbles as he comes closer. He’s lost his hat. Dark hair is plastered to his pale, panic-stricken face. His eyes meet mine and he gulps down a shuddering breath. His whole body sags with relief as he pulls off the crate that’s crashed onto mine.
What are you doing? I want to scream. Why didn’t you stay in the truck? You weren’t supposed to turn around.
Someone yells. I can’t make out her words, but Lucas does—he goes rigid again, whirling back. I see his fist clench at his side. The smell of smoke fills my nose, and, for a second, I think I can see it rising off him.
What are you doing?
His eyes are blazing. He still thinks he can get us out of here.
What are you doing?
“No—” I choke out.
“Stop!” A woman screams the word. “Red—M27!”
I see him make the decision. I see how fast fear turns to fury as he raises both hands. Lucas, no, Lucas, please, just—He can’t run, he can’t do anything, they’ll kill him, they’re going to kill him for this.
Fire coats his hands, races up his arms. I’m caught in its glow. I bang on the crate in horror. Why did he get out? Why did he—“Lucas!”
I am still screaming, still beating on the crate’s lid, trying to break out, when the tint of the sky warms to a horrifying red-gold, and the panicked outrage outside turns deadly.
“No!” It was working—it was working—we were getting out—the mud—the rain—
If it had been clear skies—
There are never clear skies here.
The world explodes with White Noise. It spikes into my temple like a ratchet, and for the first time, I’m able to ignore the pain in my leg because everywhere else hurts that much worse. There are shadows closing over me. I can’t keep my eyes open. I turn my face against the crate as the monsters in black rip the lid off the crate and iron hands clench my arms, dragging me out. Freezing rain slaps my skin, my eyes burn with tears at the intensity of the White Noise and the overcast light. I smell burnt skin. There are PSFs on the ground, screaming, rolling in the mud. There are more pouring out of the gate—the gate—God, we were almost through, the rear of the truck only needed to move a foot more, and we would have been past it. The truck sits low in the mud, half the wheels hidden by the black, grasping earth.
I’m dropped into the watery earth like a bundle of dead limbs. I force my eyes open, searching, but my vision is splitting in too many ways.
“Sam!” The sound of his voice tears at my heart. It’s ragged, lanced with the same desperation that’s pumping through me. “Sammy!” At first I think there are ten PSFs surrounding Lucas, but they seem to duplicate the longer I search for him.
I have to get him out of here. I have to save Lucas. He can’t die here. He can’t die for me.
He’s on the ground at their feet, his hands pressed against his skull as though they’re the only things to keep it from splitting in two. I recognize one of the PSFs—the woman who must have recognized him, shouted for him. She’s the one that put me in the cage. Who hit me over and over again in the Factory, in front of everyone. Cut my hair. Don’t act like I want it. There’s a White Noise device in her hands, pointing down toward Lucas, and of everything she’s done or said until now, nothing makes me hate her more.
“Sam!” He is still calling for me, still fighting against the sound blistering his mind, even as they drag him away.
This can’t be it. This can’t be the last time I see him. Hear his voice. Not Lucas, please, God, not him.
I try to push myself up out of the mud. Water is collecting in the deep wells feet have left behind. I’m going to drown in an inch of water. I try to reach for him, but it’s too far, he’s too far away, and everything, every last hope