He’d known that was a possibility. It had loomed over them for weeks. But he never really thought it would happen. There was no conception. It was just this abstract horror that loomed in the spaces between his thoughts—like the idea of deep space. Something sounfathomablethat his brain couldn’t even begin to process it. So it didn’t. It accepted the concept and moved on.
Now he was staring it in the face. He couldn’t see specific people from where he was standing, but he could see that the Metro station entrance was gone. And somewhere down there was Gabriel.
Blake choked on the guilt. He was going to lose Gabriel. No, he killed him. He ruined all their plans just because he thought hesawsomething. Because he trusted his stupid brain.His stupid brain that has always been a curse, but he foolishly believed that for once he could?—
Don’t say you’re sorry.
His mother’s voice cut through his misery. So loud and clear he almost looked around, expecting to see her behind him. Her pin-straight hair swung just above her shoulders, and her thin eyebrow raised. He even imagined that faded tattoo on her ankle that peeked out from under her socks.
She wasn’t there, but if she were, she’d have her arms crossed and that exasperated look on her face.Don’t say you’re sorry.She’d said that to him when he had apologized for getting kicked out of another summer camp. That time had been for asking his counselor when she was due. Apparently, the woman hadn’t known she was pregnant, and it was the married camp director who had gotten her that way. He thought it was obvious. Couldn’t everyone see the beard burn on the woman’s face or the way she turned her body toward him when he spoke?
It was the third camp he’d been kicked out of, all for similar reasons. His mother’s face had been stony when she picked him up. Blake had slouched down in the passenger seat and apologized.
Don’t tell me you’re sorry, Blake.She’d said, never looking away from the road.Be sorry.
At the time, he’d chalked it up to his mother not understanding. To being an unreasonable adult. But now he knew what she meant—words were cheap. They didn’t mean anything if you didn’tfeelthem. If they weren’t genuine.
If you didn’t do something about it.
He stepped up onto the junk wall and peered down. There had to be something. Anything. His stupid brain did this, now it could fix it.
Blake’s brain caught on before he did, and he was leaping off the wall, running back toward the door. He snagged hisbackpack and gun on the way, thundering down the stairs and into the office building. Sucking in musty air, he careened around corners and bounced off walls as he found the building’s main stairs and jumped down three at a time.
He saw how Phin got out on the second floor. A broken window on the other side of the building. It would have dropped him into a side street on the other side of the wall. Blake ignored it.
Shouldering open the building’s main doors, he stumbled onto the street and glanced around to get his bearings.
There. Crushed under tons of rubble, a matte black leg stuck out at an odd angle. The dead Off Former looked more like a dented can of soda than an alien. It must have heard the Queen’s shrieks and come to investigate, only to be crushed when the building came down. Blake dropped his backpack and jogged toward it.
Blake climbed up level with the Handler’s torso. Luckily, it was mostly intact, with its dangerous end stuck under debris. Crouching, Blake ran his fingers over the body, trying to find a seam or edge he could use.
One dent was particularly deep, and he could get his fingers under it, but he wasn’t strong enough to peel it back. The Monkey Cats had made it look as easy as opening a can. Blake jumped down and looked around. There had to be something he could use.
He found a long piece of broken pipe. Fisting it, Blake returned to the Off Former and wedged the broken end of the pipe into its chest, bearing down with all his weight. It sank a few inches. Planting his foot on the Handler, he pulled back on the pipe. Metal groaned as the carapace started coming free. With every pull, Blake had to shove the pipe in deeper. He was drenched in sweat, arms shaking. Blood had started pouring down his arm again, warm and sticky.
Finally, the armor peeled back enough that he could see what he was looking for. Wires criss-crossed the innards, but like the Monkey Cats, he reached in and yanked them free. They slapped his wrist as they pulled free of their moorings. Then he saw it.
The Heart Cell.
It was stranger up close. Even though the Handler was dead, it was still glowing. Heat was coming off it in waves. The liquid inside pulsed in a steady beat, almost like a heartbeat. Blake dry swallowed and reached for one of the thickened membranes.
The sac between the fibrous membranes felt delicate. Like he could pierce it with his fingernail. Blake pushed the curled piece of armor further away from the heart cell and scrambled back down to the street. Pulling the gun from his pants, he returned to his backpack and reloaded it.
Blake forced his hands to stop trembling. This was his only chance to fix this. If he was wrong—no. He had tobe sorry.He had to believe.
Blake had to believe that this would work.
His arm throbbed as he lifted the gun, legs braced, he aimed at the cell nestled between the rubble. He kept his eyes open, focusing on the glowing green cell.
When the Monkey Cat had ripped the Heart Cell from that dead Handler, the fluid inside had burned right through the street. What would happen if he shot it?
Blake took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
“Watch your three o’clock!”
