Feuds (29 page)

Five minutes later, they were knocking lightly on the door to Worsley's lab. It was still early morning, but in another twenty minutes or so, people would be rising for the day. Cole had to put his plan in motion, fast. Worsley answered, bright-eyed. He was a hard worker; Cole guessed he'd probably been up for hours already. Surprise crossed his face when he registered Cole and Michelle. Surprise turned to shock when Cole said, “We need a body.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Worsley shook his head but ushered them inside anyway. “What are you thinking, Cole? Haven't you gotten yourself into enough trouble?”

“Just listen.” Cole laid out his plan point by point, watching Worsley's face shift to skepticism and, finally, to reluctant agreement.

“There is a body,” he said, sucking down his second cup of coffee. Cole had accepted his own gratefully, only to find that nerves and adrenaline had made his stomach too hopped up to drink anything at all. Cole breathed a sigh of relief, then hated himself for doing so. Another body meant another victim. The virus was continuing to spread. “It was dumped yesterday. Still hasn't been identified.”

“How bad is it?” Cole felt like such a jerk asking it, but it was essential that the body be damaged enough that it couldn't be identified on sight alone.

“Bad,” Worsley said. “Completely mangled.” Michelle winced. “But you know how it is, Cole. These families are so eager to disassociate themselves from the disease. No Prior wants to admit what's happening.”

“It would be easy enough to switch identities,” Cole said, and Tom nodded.

“No one will care to ask questions. We just have to get your information into the system.”

“But who's in charge of doing that?” Cole wondered aloud. This was the crucial part of his plan. He knew Worsley had something to do with identifying and tagging the bodies, but he didn't know how easy it would be to circumvent the system. To his surprise, Worsley shrugged.

“I'm handling most of it,” he said. “No one else in the Slants understands DNA coding. It would be easy for me to make this happen. I'm not on board ethically, but…” He trailed off, his eyes softening as he looked at Cole. “You know I'd do anything for you. No one's claiming these bodies anyway.” Cole's throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. Worsley was like a brother to him, but Cole was asking a lot. The fact that Worsley was on board—even enthusiastic—was the key to his survival.

“So what do I have to do?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“I can do it right now,” Worsley said. “I don't have the body in my lab, but I can get your information sorted out here and link it to the photos of the body. They're already registered in our database. I'll find a way to leak the news to the media later today.”

“That's perfect,” Cole told him. “You have no idea how much—”

“Don't worry,” Worsley told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “I would have done much more. You two need to get out of here now, before there are too many people out there.”

“Who are you, now that you're ‘dead'?” Michelle asked as they exited Worsley's lab en route for Michelle's dad's general store.

Cole took furtive glances around them; people were definitely awake—he could see shadows in profile through trailer windows and smell coffee in the air—but so far, the streets were still empty. Still, he quickened his pace. “We'll figure that part out later,” he said. “A new name is all I need, really.”

“You can stay here as long as you want,” she said, unlocking the door to the store, a small, one-story concrete structure. “No one ever goes down to the basement, even with deliveries. It's too damp down there. Food was rotting and all the paperwork was mildewed. Just don't make too much noise. It opens at ten
A.M.
every day, and closes at seven. If my dad hears you…” She hesitated. “I can't be sure he won't turn you in.”

“I'll be careful,” Cole assured her. She opened the trapdoor to the basement and the stench of mold and rot assaulted his nostrils. He took a deep breath and began to lower himself down the rickety wooden ladder into the darkness. “If he does catch me, I'll tell him you had nothing to do with it,” he said. “I'll make sure he thinks I broke in myself.”

“Okay,” she said, already backing away. “Okay.”

“Wait,” Cole called out, pulling himself back up the few steps to say good-bye.

“Thank you.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. When he pulled away, her eyes were sad.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” she asked. Cole looked at her, questioning. “If I were your girlfriend,” she started, not meeting his eyes, “and I heard that you were dead, I'd be heartbroken.” She stopped, but Cole was still confused. Then it dawned on him.

“I have to get her a message,” he said. Michelle was right. But how? “It's so risky.”

“I can get it to her.” He looked at her in shock, but now she was looking at him directly, her gaze steady. “You have to tell her. Believe me. I know what it would be like.” Her tone was firm, but her eyes looked pained. He knew what this offer was costing her.

“I want to,” he said. “But you've already done so much. If someone finds the note, finds out it's a lie…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “If someone finds out you're involved, I'd never forgive myself.” There was so much at stake. But she was right. Davis would be devastated if she thought he was dead. She might leave the hospital … she might forget her promise to him to keep herself safe. “Are you sure?” he asked. Michelle was so brave. And this, he knew, was the ultimate sacrifice.

Michelle nodded. “You're forgetting who you're dealing with,” she said, cracking a smile. “I don't
get
caught.” She dug a pen and paper out of her satchel and he scrawled a quick note to Davis.
I love you,
he wrote.
I'm okay.
He was hoping it was direct enough for Davis to understand but vague enough that, if it were found, it wouldn't mean much of anything to anyone else. He handed the note to Michelle. Giving him a wave, she lowered the trapdoor hatch over him as he descended again, careful not to pull the latch.

Then she was gone, and he was left alone in total darkness.

 

19

DAVIS

Davis climbed back through the window, wriggling her form through the narrow gap and awkwardly descending, hands first, into the room. Thoughts of Cole consumed her: how to clear his name, how to get him out of trouble. She was so distracted that she was nearly to her feet by the time she looked up and caught sight of the silent figure sitting in a chair on the left side of the room. Davis had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle a gut-reaction scream. But it wasn't one of the security guards sitting there, or her father, waiting to take even more extreme measures to keep her locked up. It was Vera.

Vera raised an eyebrow, smirking at Davis's disheveled appearance. “I've never seen you look so ungraceful,” she commented, careful to keep her voice low. Davis half laughed, half gasped, her pulse thrumming wildly. Then she covered the narrow expanse of the room in just a step or two and threw herself into her best friend's arms.

“How are you here?” she wanted to know, pulling back to look at Vera. Vera looked as beautiful as ever; her dark hair swept into a careless knot atop her head, her slight frame dwarfed by a green tunic over tights. Slouchy black boots completed her style, which Davis had long ago dubbed “accidental chic,” like Vera had just happened to throw on the exact random things that worked together and worked on her. But Vera's face was creased with worry, and her smile seemed more tempered than usual.

“What's up? Why
are
you here?” Davis asked again, pulling back to examine her friend's face. “It's got to be”—she took a quick glance at the digital monitor on her wall—“oh, my gosh. It's barely eight. You're late for class.”

“I was worried,” Vera said, bringing a thumb to her mouth and gnawing on its cuticle. Davis could see that her other fingernails were ragged. Vera had grown out of the habit years ago. It touched Davis to know that her friend's distress was so real. “You weren't answering your DirecTalk, so I called Terri. You just left the other night, without any explanation. You could have waited to say good-bye…”

“I'm sorry.” Davis shook her head. She'd been an awful friend; there was no question of that. “I just … there's been so much going on. I've wanted to tell you, but it's like it's happening faster than I can control it. I'm so sorry. I haven't known how to handle it. But I should have talked to you sooner.”

“Why are you here? Are you sick?” Vera wanted to know. Davis took several steps back, nodding. She realized belatedly that she'd hugged Vera, maybe risking her friend's exposure. Even being in this room could be a threat to Vera's health.

“I think so,” Davis explained, wary of being too specific. She settled on the edge of her bed. It seemed like a safe enough distance from where her friend stood in the living area of the room. “You probably shouldn't be here. It might be contagious.” Vera's eyes widened at this. “Where are the security guards?” Davis continued. “I'm surprised they let you in here.”

“They weren't too hard to convince.” Vera shrugged. “I just smiled a lot. I think they put in a call to your dad and he okay'd it as long as you stay inside.”

“Didn't they see the window?” Davis gestured to the windowpane, which was still ajar, causing the flimsy white curtains that bordered it to lift in the breeze.

Vera shook her head. “They didn't watch me; I came in alone. And when I saw it I figured you'd climbed up to the roof.” She smiled a little, her eyes warming. “We used to do it all the time,” she reminded her. “It's kind of your MO.”

Davis smiled. It was true. Climbing things had always sort of been the easiest way to circumvent authority. The roof of her apartment building had practically been their secret headquarters. Going up there undiscovered had always given her a rush, kind of like roofing. And Vera had never shied from adventure.

“So,” Davis said, wanting to address the obvious elephant in the room. She looked at her own hands, her own cuticles—ragged not from chewing but from climbing, and just generally being places she wasn't supposed to be. “I guess you've seen the pictures.”

Vera was silent for so long that Davis thought she hadn't heard her. Then she spoke, staring Davis straight in the eye. “I wish you'd told me.”

Her words conveyed the hurt she must have been feeling for a while. Davis realized how it must look from her friend's perspective. She'd been secretive, distant. Vera probably felt cut out. “I'm sorry,” she told her. “I wanted to say something. I just … didn't know how. And I didn't want to get you in trouble.”

“You know, Davis,” Vera said, her eyes troubled, “I'm stronger than I look. I've met Cole. I don't think he's a bad guy. The papers … I think they're exaggerating all of it. Because they don't know him. I understand why you've kept it a secret, but I wish you'd trusted me. I've … I've really needed you lately. I feel like you just up and disappeared when everything's been such a mess.”

“What do you mean?” Davis felt alarmed; was Vera sick, too?

“Olympiad results came in,” Vera said. “But you already knew that.”

“No,” Davis told her, shocked. “I didn't have any idea.”

“Really?” Vera wrinkled her brow. “I can't believe no one said anything. Because you qualified.” She paused, and Davis waited for some sort of reaction to sink in. But the news felt wooden, meaningless. Vera could have told her it was about to rain and generated the same response. It just didn't matter. None of it mattered when Cole was in danger, and she might be fighting Narxis, and her fate and her love hung in the balance. The Olympiads felt trivial, like a problem from someone else's life. It was amazing that it had once been the most important thing in her life, Davis realized.

“Davis?” Vera looked at her, astonished. “Aren't you happy?”

“Of course,” Davis said, mustering a smile. A month ago, she would have been deliriously happy at the prospect of dancing with the best, like her mother did, and making her father proud. But now the news just felt inconsequential. Still, it mattered to Vera. The Olympiads always had. Her dreams of becoming a classical musician rested on it, and her family was counting on her. They'd always had that in common. “But what about you? What's a mess? What's going on?” A growing feeling of dread had begun to form in the pit of her stomach. Vera looked miserable. Her heart went out to her friend; all she wanted to do was wrap her in her arms, but the knowledge that she might be contagious held her back.

“I didn't qualify,” Vera whispered, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I—I was distracted. Nervous. I screwed up.”

“Oh, Vera.”

“My parents won't talk to me,” she went on, choking out the words. “Oscar can barely look at me. Everything's horrible.” She broke down, sobbing.

“It'll be okay,” Davis told her, trying her best to soothe her friend, wanting desperately to wrap her in her arms. Davis felt herself tearing up at the thought of the pain Vera had been going through, and how alone her friend must have felt. “I'm so sorry, Vera. I wish I'd been there for you right away. I'm so sorry you've been dealing with this alone. Your parents will get over it, though, I promise.” Even as she said it, she wasn't sure; Vera's parents were strict, dogmatic. They had never been as sympathetic to Vera as Davis's dad had been to her.

“It's okay,” Vera said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know you've had your own things going on. Clearly.” She laughed a little. “But it's just … I wanted to talk to you. I've been feeling weird lately.”