My stomach turned. “I don’t want to go back either.” I racked my brain for a solution. “Maybe he can help us escape? He’s a guard. He would know how to get out, right?”
“0556. This is bullshit.” Rik pulled out the straws, discarding one. He shuffled and then offered first draw to Cecile.
“Please,” I said. “Don’t shoot him. He doesn’t even know we’re here. How can you kill him in cold blood?”
“One of us is graduating today,” said Rik.
Cecile glanced at me with watery eyes. “I wish I could help you, Ida, but I want out. Living in that cell is killing me.”
My mouth went dry. They refused to help me. I couldn’t change their minds.
But neither could I stand by and watch them kill Peterson. He wouldn’t know what hit him. If it were me, I’d at least want a fighting chance. A warning.
Rik drew the short straw. “Hot damn.” He snapped his fingers and reached for his rifle.
“Rik, no…” I gripped his shoulder. “He was nice. Gave me a candy bar. Peterson doesn’t deserve to die.”
“He’s a guard at this hellhole. The man deserves to die.” Rik took aim.
I scrambled to my feet, sending up a cloud of dust. “Peterson!” I screamed. I kicked sand into Rik’s face, causing him to sputter and rub his eyes. Then I ran down the hill toward the valley, but the rocks shifted beneath my feet and I lost my footing. I slipped about a meter, struggling to regain my balance and stay upright. “Run, Peterson!” I gained my balanced and jogged down the slope.
Peterson's head reared back as he spotted me stumbling down the rocky terrain. “Run, take cover!” I bellowed. Next to the truck, he flinched and bent his legs. He scanned the hill and gripped the hood. Run, you idiot!
Something large and heavy crashed into me from behind. A force sent me rolling, cascading painfully over rock and scrub. Rik’s face contorted as we tumbled down the slope, out of control. As we descended in a clumsy frenzy, he grabbed me and punched my shoulder.
From the top of the ridge, a booming shot like thunder rang out and echoed across the canyon. Cecile.
Wrestling with Rik, I crashed to a stop at the bottom just in time to see Peterson stagger and crumple to the ground.
Twenty-One
“You bitch!” Rik launched his body at me. I was bruised and disoriented from the fall, but his lunge was clumsy and unsteady. I dodged out of his way and landed a sharp front kick to the small of his back. He crashed to the ground, then rolled over, panting. His left foot twisted at an odd angle. “That was my shot, and you ruined it. Sand in my face? What are you, ten?”
Rik was right to be pissed, but I couldn’t let Peterson die without warning. I didn’t regret my actions at all. I sprinted over to Peterson. His wide, glassy eyes stared at the sky. I crouched down beside him, touched his hairy arm. Still warm. My hand traveled to his wrist where I searched for a pulse. It throbbed faintly, but it was there.
He coughed, saliva bubbling from his lips.
“Peterson?” Blood from his chest wound seeped onto the dirt beneath him. “Hey, I’m sorry this happened.”
His gaze fixed on me; he blinked and moved his lips.
“Don’t talk.” All I could do was comfort him in his final moments. Did he have family? Would anyone miss him?
I glanced over my shoulder. Cecile had traveled down the hill with our rifles and attended to Rik. She’d shot a man—a stranger. Did she care? As I stared at her, she lifted her chin and gave a nod. I knew what she was. A survivor. I’d encountered girls on the street like her. Meek and delicate on the outside, but steeled nerves inside. She would do what it took to survive.
I hoped I never saw her again.
Turning back to Peterson, I wondered why they wanted him dead. Had I caused this? He’d given me the knife. Somehow, Kenmore must have known and doled out his sick and twisted punishment. Murder by the inmates he’d guarded.
I didn’t care that Peterson wasn’t entirely human—that he was part wolf. I laid my cheek against his chest, wishing to comfort him in his final moments. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling the faintest tingle in my shoulders.
In the distance, a whirring sound interrupted the still air. Kenmore’s drones, and what I assumed was his army, cruised through the early morning sky, on their way.
The prickling sensation grew and spread into my arms. I thought of the mouse and how my skin had felt when I cradled the dead creature in my palms. Like this… Could I touch Peterson and help his body heal?
Ridiculous.
A shiver washed over me, coursing through my limbs. I pushed Peterson’s arm aside and leaned over him. “Stay with me.”
He blinked again.
Examining my forearms, I saw the things crawling under my skin. What had Kenmore called them? Nanobots. Whatever they were, their energy pulsated inside me. Like a flooded stream about to burst, they wanted me to act. The creatures propelled my hands to Peterson’s chest and took control of my fingers, maneuvering them to tear apart the cloth shirt and expose the wound.
Then my palms covered the hole in his rib cage, and my eyelids fluttered shut. Darkness surrounded me. The energy of a thousand tiny lights lifted me, weaving and bobbing, between blood and cells. I became one of those lights, and I jumped—if that was the right word for it—into Peterson’s body. Fused with the other nanos, I repaired the damage near his heart when the bullet had ripped through his skin and exited his back. The bots soared through the insides of his cell walls and welded torn tissue. I felt a part of something bigger. As the miniaturized beings fixed broken ligaments and
