The Hunt

3

Ariane

THE SHOWER HAD GONE COLD a few minutes earlier, but I couldn’t convince myself to move. Hunched at the far end of the tub, with the spray hitting between my shoulder blades, I had my injured arm stuck out from behind the curtain to keep the bandages dry.

I should have been crying. Sobbing, even. But instead, my eyes were burning dry. I felt numb, empty. As if a protective shell had formed over all my wounded feelings and now there was nothing.

I wanted to be relieved, but I knew it was only temporary. Eventually, days from now or maybe just hours, that shell would break and everything would flood in, throbbing and angry, inescapable.

Zane wanted to kiss me. I closed my eyes. Oh God, even after everything, even after what he’d learned, he still wanted me. Me. The freak made in a lab. The science experiment. The nonhuman. Or, the not-completely-human, anyway.

But none of that seemed to matter to him.

I opened my eyes and looked at my arm, his careful work on my wounds, the straight lines of the white tape against the indistinct edges of the dark bruises.

He was protecting me, taking care of me the best way he knew how. And I was endangering him. Every second I stayed with him brought him closer to death.

And yet protecting him in return would mean leaving him, the only person I had left in my world.

I felt the first crack in the shell.

I stared up at the black-mold-speckled ceiling, shouting in my head at the supposedly benevolent force that controlled the universe. How am I supposed to do this? Why do I have to? How is this fair? I hadn’t done anything to deserve this—nothing except survive in the twisted and messed-up world that had created me.

And maybe that right there was proof that the supposedly benevolent force didn’t exist at all. I was on my own, truly alone for the first time in my life. Yet somehow it was not the blissful freedom I’d always imagined.

My teeth were clacking together now in a steady but uneven rhythm. I had to move, get out of the shower at least. Eventually, Zane would come knocking, wondering if I was okay. Not to mention there was also the distinct possibility of hypothermia if I kept this up for too much longer.

I knew what I was doing—hiding. In here, I could hold on to the illusion that the world had stopped, that I could avoid making decisions.

But it was just an illusion. While I shivered in here, Dr. Jacobs had teams out there looking for us. And once Laughlin and St. John heard about my escape, there would be three times as many people looking for us, if there weren’t already.

I had a mental image of black vans pulling silently into the motel parking lot, vomiting out retrieval teams, while I sat in the bathroom, too focused on my feelings to hear them approach.

That was enough to motivate me to get out of the tub and shut the water off.

Shaking with the cold, I wrapped one of the thin bath towels around myself, struggling a little with securing it, thanks to my injuries.

Zane had been right; it would have been tough to bandage my own arm. I could have done it, but not nearly as easily or well as he had.

I opened the bathroom door. “Sorry it took me so long,” I said, my throat dry and tight. “I just—”

I stopped short at the sight of a pile of clothes, neatly folded, at my feet.

Zane. He’d pulled them out of the bag for me so I wouldn’t have to cross the room in a towel and dig through the bag for them.

Taking care of me again.

Looking to the left, I noticed something else. A ragged but thick phone book wedged under the room door. It wouldn’t keep someone out forever, but maybe long enough for us to get away through the window, assuming we could manage the drop to the ground.

Smart. I wasn’t sure where Zane had learned that trick. Maybe something he’d discovered to keep his brother out of his room? It hadn’t been a technique that I’d been taught, but it would be effective.

He wanted me to feel safe.

My lower lip started to shake, despite my best efforts. The initial fracture in my shell spiderwebbed out, weakening the entire structure.

I stepped out into the room, to find him and say thank you. If I could speak without breaking into tears, that is.

But Zane was asleep on the bed, his breathing slow and even. His feet would have hung off the end, so he’d curled up on his side, facing me. His hands were tucked under his arms, as if for warmth. He’d taken off his shoes, one white-socked foot resting on top of the other. The cuts and remaining smudges of dirt on his face showed up even more clearly against the white of the pillowcase.

He seemed so much smaller. So vulnerable.

So human.

The sight of him like that hit like a punch, and the protective shell around my heart shattered, breaking my heart along with it.

Tears welled hot and fast, pouring down my cheeks and dripping off my chin. I wanted to crawl in behind him and curl up as tightly as possible, like maybe if I could get close enough we’d disappear into each other and the rest of the world would just fall away.

The ache in my chest radiated outward, taking over my whole body. But I made myself scoop up the clothes from the floor and retreat into the bathroom.

I scrubbed my hand over my face, pushing away the tears even as they kept flowing. How could I live with myself if something happened to Zane because of me? Because I’d been too selfish and kept him with me? Because I’d stayed when I should have gotten as far away from him as possible?

I already knew the answer to those questions: I couldn’t. It would kill some part of me if he were hurt, or worse, because of my choices.

Which meant only one thing—I couldn’t stay.

Something inside me wailed at the idea, but that didn’t change the facts.

It’s safer for him without you. And you’ll be able to move faster on your own, said the cool, logical inner voice. My alien heritage speaking.

I hated that part of myself more than ever right then. But I couldn’t deny the truth it espoused. I might have been willing to take on more risk for myself, but not for Zane.

Besides, what were mere feelings compared to his living or dying?

Everything! My emotional—human?—side insisted. They make life worth living; they give you something to fight for. And it’s not your choice; it’s his.

But that voice.…It sounded too good to be true. I couldn’t trust it.

With trembling hands, I pulled on my clothes—a plain, long-sleeved T-shirt and nondescript jeans that I hadn’t noticed missing from the dozens just like them in my room—before bending down on wobbly legs to put on my shoes, a blue pair of imitation Chucks that I thought my father had thrown away months ago for being “too ratty-looking.” He’d been relentless about anything that might draw attention to me. All part of an act, it turned out.

And yet seeing those shoes, being reminded of my old life and the lies, brought on a sharp stab of longing. Made me wish I could somehow step back into the last moment I’d worn them, before all of this had happened, when everything was still a possibility. When I’d still have a chance to make this end differently.

But I couldn’t.

So, I had to go. Now. Before they caught up with us. Before Zane woke up and my resolve faltered. Before I threw caution to the wind and did what I wanted instead of what I knew was right.