“Let’s hide out in one of these houses,” Ash says, pointing to a colonial house painted a pale pink color. He dismounts and approaches the house. He’s about to slide open the iron grille blocking the front door when—
“Stop!” Elijah shouts. “The grilles are electrified.”
Ash snatches his hand back.
I strain my ears, listening for the telltale hum of electricity. It’s faint, but it’s there.
“We’ll need to turn the power off before we can go inside,” I say.
“Maybe we can turn off that annoying sonic alarm while we’re at it,” Elijah suggests.
Ash gets back on the horse, muttering thanks under his breath to Elijah. We ride down the street and cross the rusting train tracks, which lead into a railway tunnel carved into the mountain, about thirty feet away. The tunnel entrance has been hurriedly boarded up. I vaguely recall my father mentioning that they used the passageway to bring supplies into the camp from the depot on the other side of Crimson Mountain.
The instant we cross the tracks, the conditions in the camp deteriorate. This is where the Darklings lived. In place of three-story houses are a hundred run-down prison barracks, with no windows, and armored doors. Instead of gardens are open sewers and wooden stocks stained with dark blood.
Elijah covers his nose with his hand, trying not to breathe in the stench. Despite the fact that the camp’s been out of use for over a year, the smell of death and decay permeates the air. I try not to think about all the suffering that went on here as we ride toward the administration buildings at the end of the camp, but it’s impossible not to imagine the Darklings crammed like sardines in those metal huts, baking in the heat with no air, no food, no hope. I swear I can still hear them crying, but it’s just the wind whispering in my ear.
“How did my aunt survive this?” Ash murmurs.
We dismount the horses, and Elijah softly pets their noses, talking to them in that strange, soothing voice, until they lie down and go to sleep.
We enter the main administration building. Inside is cool and still and painted clinical white, with the occasional portrait of Purian Rose hanging on the walls. The offices are still packed with furniture, books, computers, overflowing In trays—it’s like the bureaucrats just got up and left halfway through their working day. Maybe they did. I know once the cease-fire was announced, they had to immediately shut down the camp, but I’m surprised they didn’t clear out their offices. The only evidence of a cleanup is the remnants of burnt paper in the fireplaces, where I presume the most incriminating documents were hastily destroyed. I guess Rose intended to keep the camp in working order, in case he ever needed to use it again. It was always his plan to continue his persecution of the Darklings.
“Let’s find the generator room,” Ash says.
We head down a flight of stairs and find ourselves in a hospital wing. There’s a strong smell of antiseptic mixed with the metallic tang of blood. Ash swallows, flicking me a hungry look, and I can tell he’s struggling to deal with his thirst. It pains me that I can’t help him, but I can’t risk it. Not until I know for certain if I’m infected with the Wrath. Elijah turns on a few lights, and we hurry onward, locating the generator room at the end of the hallway.
The room is boiling hot, and the sound of the generator’s whirring fan is deafening. The silver machine reminds me of a heart, with a complex series of valves and tubes. I circle the generator, trying to work out how to turn it off.
“Which one?” I shout at Ash, indicating three levers: one red, one green, one blue.
“Turn them all off, just to be safe,” he says, yanking on the red lever. Elijah picks the green one, I take blue. All the lights in the building go out, plunging us into darkness. The fan slows down, and I can finally hear again.
“It’s odd they kept the electricity on when there are no prisoners here,” Elijah says in the gloom.
“They probably forgot to turn it off. They seem to have left in a hurry,” I reply.
We head outside again and search for the horses, but they’re nowhere to be seen.
“Fragg! Where are they?” Ash says.
“Something must’ve spooked them,” Elijah replies.
“Let’s not stick around to find out what it was,” Ash says.
We sprint back to the stately houses and hurry to enter the first one we reach. The house is cold and smells of rot, but it’s better than being outside in the unforgiving desert. Elijah takes the master bedroom without even asking, leaving me and Ash to sleep in a smaller room. Ash washes his face while I nudge the twin beds together. We climb into bed, fully clothed, and snuggle under the blankets. Somewhere in the distance, a wild dog howls at the moon, and I squeeze closer to Ash.
He draws little circles on the back of my hand with his fingertip. It’s such a faint touch, but it makes my body ache for him. Ash props himself up on his elbows so his face is just inches from mine.
“You know, you look surprisingly good in boys’ clothes,” he says, unbuttoning my jacket. “But I prefer you out of them.”
“Nice try, lover boy,” I say, stopping him.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he replies.
He smiles, melting the last of my resistance. I draw him toward me. His kiss is soft, slow, tender. Perfect. I don’t stop him this time when he unbuttons my jacket, or the shirt underneath, or even when his fingers tug at the bandages around my chest. The fabric unravels, and I’m a girl again. Ash dips his head, his rippling hair tickling my bare skin as he plants feather-light kisses down my body. I sigh, my fingers digging into the mattress, and for a moment, I forget where I am, forget that I could be sick. Then it hits me.
You might be infected . . . You could kill him . . . Don’t risk it . . . Stop . . . Stop—
“Stop,” I say, roughly pushing him away.
I know we made love recently, but that was before I suspected I might have the Wrath. I’m not sure if it can be sexually transmitted, but I won’t chance it again. I scan his flushed face, looking for any of the telltale signs of the Wrath, but there’s no gangrene or yellowing of the eyes. If he had the virus, he would’ve started showing symptoms by now, like the other Darklings did in Black City. I think it’s affecting me differently because I’m human—assuming that I am infected. Ash sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s agitated.
“Sorry, I misread the signals,” he mutters.
I stretch a hand out to comfort him, to tell him that I love him, but I snatch it back. What excuse can I give for pushing him away? I don’t want to tell him my fears about being ill until I have all the facts. There’s no point worrying him unnecessarily. There’s a way I can find out, though. I can test my blood in the science laboratory I saw earlier. Then I’ll know for sure.
“I’m just tired. It’s been a long day,” I say, buttoning up my shirt.
He nods and kicks off his shoes, getting into bed without saying another word.
“I’ll keep first watch,” I say.
“Thanks.”
“I love you, Ash,” I say quietly.
“I love you too,” he murmurs, turning his back to me.
I wait until he’s asleep before creeping out of bed. I sneak down the corridor and pass Elijah’s room. The door is ajar. He’s sitting on the window ledge, reading Lucinda’s letter. He must be so worried about his mother. Elijah looks up, sensing me.
“Natalie?” he says.
I hurry away before he comes after me, and head outside, glancing toward the wrought-iron gates leading out to the crucifixion fields. Shadows creep through the forest of not-trees, almost like they’re slinking toward me, but I know it’s just a trick of the eye. Even so, it gives me chills. I imagine millions of tormented Darkling souls haunting their final resting place.
I go straight to the hospital wing in the administration building, using the moonlight to search the laboratory for a microscope, a scalpel and some glass slides. I feel at home in the laboratory. Science was the one subject at school I excelled at. I even got on the Sentry’s science Fast Track program and spent some time as Dr. Craven’s intern back in Black City. He showed me samples of the Wrath virus, so I know what to look for.
I cut my finger and put a drop of blood on a microscope slide. I prepare the blood smear the way Dr. Craven taught me, and place the slide under the lens of the microscope, flipping on its battery-powered light. The C18-Virus’s particles are large enough to see under an optical microscope, so I should be able to spot them if I’m infected. I take a deep breath, then peer through the lens.
Please don’t let me find anything, please, please . . .
I twist the focus knob and the cells come into view.
All the typical things you’d expect to see are there: red blood cells, leukocytes, platelets. But there’s something else there too. Amid the blood cells are the unmistakable spiky-rimmed virions characteristic of the C18-Virus.
I stagger back, clamping my hand over my mouth to muffle the scream. My legs buckle, and I drop to the cold floor. I draw my knees up to my chest and sit there for about ten minutes as the truth slowly sinks in.
I have the Wrath.
I bury my head in my hands and let out a pained wail. I’m sick, and there’s a good chance I’m going to die. Oh God. My stomach turns over, and I’m sick into a nearby trash can. There’s not much to bring up—I’ve hardly eaten in the past few days—and I slump back against the desk, shaking all over. How am I going to break the news to Ash? It’s going to kill him.
Think, Natalie. You’re in a science lab. This is where the Sentry created the Wrath; perhaps there’s a cure. I drag myself to my feet and start scouring the laboratory. I open up filing cabinets, poring through documents, trying to find anything related to the C18-Virus. The Sentry scientists must have left some files on their research, and maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll find some clues about a possible cure. I can’t believe they would develop something as deadly as the Wrath virus without also developing a vaccination against it, in case it ever spread to humans. They must’ve foreseen that as a possibility, surely.
I have no idea how the virus is going to progress; clearly it’s not affecting me in the same way as the Darklings, considering it took two months for my first symptoms to surface. I think about all those kids who took the Golden Haze—the ones who didn’t immediately die from it, that is—and wonder if they’ve contracted it too. There haven’t been any reports of humans getting sick from the Wrath, but maybe they haven’t started showing any symptoms yet.
I sit cross-legged on the floor and start reading through all the documents I’ve found. I toss file after file onto the ground, my hope fading with each dead end. One of the files catches my eye. It has a bright red butterfly on it, similar to the crates at Dusty Hollow. I scan through the document. It appears to be a lab report about something called Chrysalis. There’s no mention of the C18-Virus, but I’m curious about what it could be—knowing the Sentry, it can’t be good. I rip off the top sheet and tuck it into my pants pocket to read later.
The rest of the documents are notes from the other sadistic experiments they did on the Darklings. Actually, I wouldn’t call them experiments; they were vile acts of torture, performed by the very men and women who had taken a vow to help the sick. Frustrated, I fling the documents across the laboratory, accidentally hitting Elijah on the leg as he enters the room.
“I wondered where you’d gotten to,” he says. “I checked in on you and Ash, and you weren’t there. I was worried.”
I wipe my eyes, hoping he can’t tell I’ve been crying. “Sorry.”
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
I stand up. “Just doing a spot of bedtime reading.”
He picks up the documents. “You call this bedtime reading?”
I shrug, tucking a curl behind my ear.
“What were you really doing here?” he presses.
I look into his concerned golden eyes. It’s the same look he gave me after we found Polly. We shared that experience, that horror. He was such a support to me then, and I really need some comfort now. I could go to Ash, but I haven’t got the strength to deal with the fallout of that devastating conversation. What I want now is someone who can just listen to me, who will let me be selfish and cry and feel what I’m feeling without worrying about how the news is hurting him.
“I’ve got the Wrath,” I blurt out. I show him the bite mark on my leg and explain about how I was bitten. “I’ve been feeling sick ever since, but I didn’t put two and two together until I saw my eyes.”
I start to cry again, and Elijah pulls me into his arms, holding me against him. He smells like sandalwood and the earth. His hair is coarse against my cheek, his full lips soft as they whisper assurances into my ear. I allow myself to fall deeper into his embrace, needing the comfort. Elijah tenses slightly, but he doesn’t let me go.
“What are you going to tell Ash?” he asks.
“Nothing. At least not yet. He’d be devastated,” I whisper.
“You can’t keep this from him. He needs to know,” Elijah says.
I shake my head. “It’ll break his heart.”
“Natalie—”
“I just need some time,” I say. “You can’t say a word to him. Promise me.”
Elijah places a finger under my chin, tilting my face up to look into his. Pale moonlight glows off his bronzed skin, accentuating the brown markings down the sides of his chiseled face. His tousled hair has an almost purple tinge to it in this light, and it falls in unkempt waves to his shoulders.
