“Hey, hey,”
Someone pats my cheek three times. I moan and shrink away, squeezing my eyes.
“Marci, you did well.”
My eyes spring open. Aydan is hovering over me while he holds my head up, a hand at the nape of my neck. I’m on the ground, moist grass tickling my arms. I blink, trying to understand why we’re in this awkward position.
“You did well,” he says again.
I clear my throat and paw my way back to the bench, away from this closeness.
“Here.” He tears the wrapper off one of the chocolate bars and hands it over.
I take a huge bite and let it melt on my tongue. “I feel weird.” I crack my neck. “I felt in the zone for a little bit there, then I just … I don’t know.”
Aydan walked me through it all, instructing me to wipe my mind clean, to focus on my diaphragm and the way it moves up and down. Little by little, I cleared my mind, dismissing every thought that tried to push its way through, feeling lighter as nothingness reigned. For a few moments, air was the only thing that mattered, as it traveled in and out of my lungs, cleansing me, making me feel infinite and absolutely at peace.
Then, an image of Xave filled my vision and all the peace turned to loss and chaos. And, after that, I guess I passed out. Still, maybe some benefits will come out of trying, even if I ended up twitching like a half-dead bug.
I put a hand over my forehead and squeeze.
Aydan pushes my other hand toward my mouth. “Take another bite.”
The bittersweet scent of chocolate fills my senses.
“You managed to hold on for a few minutes,” he says. “Much better than the last time. What broke your concentration?”
I shake my head, not wanting to discuss it, afraid of the pain and its sharp, sharp edges. “Was it like this for you?” I ask.
“It’s been like this for everyone, even James. You know that.”
They told me this before, but I can’t help feeling it should be easier.
“How long before I can try this on my own?” I ask.
“A handful of times. That’s not so bad.”
A brackish breeze blows from the lake, making me shiver. Aydan pulls his hoodie’s zipper all the way up.
“You know, I still have your backpack. It’s been in my car since they took you. I haven’t looked in it,” he adds in a hurry.
“Do you mind keeping it? I can’t bring it with me. There’s only one thing in there that really matters to me. It’s a book. It was my dad’s.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this.
“I’ll keep it safe.” He never questions how a simple book can be so important to anyone.
“Thank you.” His offer moves me, and I find myself wondering about him again, wanting to know who he truly is. I know little about Aydan or anyone else in IgNiTe. When I was with them, I was so focused on understanding Eklyptors and what it meant to be infected that I never spared a moment to think of anyone else but myself.
God, how selfish.
Suddenly, I’d like to change that, except I’m not sure how. I’ve never known how to be open with people. I grew up keeping secrets even from those closest to me, and I think it must be the same for all Symbiots. Secrecy as a way of life. But what else is there to hide at this point? I’m tired of it.
“How, how is your family?” I ask, then regret it. I don’t even know if he has a family.
Aydan gives me a sideways glance and, for a moment, I fear my lame attempt won’t go anywhere. But in the end, he seems as willing to come into the open as I am.
He stares at his hands. “I wish I knew, but I haven’t seen them in a while. I left before they decided to disown me, or lock me up.” He chuckles sadly. “After I was infected, I became a big disappointment to them. You know how that goes.”
I nod, finding that—for the first time—I understand someone one hundred percent.
“I’m the youngest of three brothers,” he continues. “They both excelled in college, and when I couldn’t stay on that path, my parents weren’t very happy with me. My father came from Italy when he was five years old. His parents struggled—not knowing the language and all. Dad never got a chance to go to college, had to start working at an early age to help out. When I couldn’t follow in my brothers’ steps, he didn’t know how to deal with it. I was seventeen when I was infected by a teacher, someone I was supposed to trust. I tried to cope but, at first, I had no idea how. I did my best, but my parents freaked out.”
Aydan pulls up the long sleeves of his hoodie to expose his arms. Even in the dim light I can see the scars criss-crossing his forearms. There are hundreds of them. He puts his head down, embarrassed and with a faraway look in his eyes as if he’s remembering his family’s reaction to his self-inflicted injuries. I had suspected this, had imagined he’d used pain to keep his focus, but hearing him talk about it leaves me feeling raw inside.
He pulls the sleeves back down. “They sent me to so many doctors I lost count. When nothing worked and my grades kept slipping, they started talking about this place where people with problems go for a while. Even as confused as I was, I knew a place like that wouldn’t help. I knew that wasn’t the answer, so one night I left. All I took was my laptop and the clothes on my back.
“I spent a few months in homeless shelters. When I was having a good day, I’d go anywhere with a free Wi-Fi connection and try to find others going through the same, but …” Aydan shakes his head to indicate how futile that was. “There are so few of us,” he says in a quiet, dismayed tone. “So very few.”
Without thinking, I lift a hand and rest it on his shoulder. I understand him so perfectly. I feel the loss of his family, his despair, the struggle he went through, as if they are my own. Because in a way they are. I know exactly how he felt every step of the way.
He accepts my touch, acknowledging it only by slightly turning his face in my direction.
“I gave up looking and instead started using my moments of clarity and control for other purposes. I did small jobs online to earn some money. Hacks, you know. I saved every penny I got and eventually got enough to rent a little place of my own. Coding helped me. I became more stable, almost … functional. I lived like that for a little over a year. Then Silica Rush had a hacking contest. Whoever got through their firewall first got a job with them. By then, I’d gotten really good. The agent helped, I guess. So I won. That’s where James found me.”
“Impressive,” I say, then feel like an idiot for not offering something better than that.
“You would have gotten through, too,” he says.
“Before you?”
He shrugs. “Probably not.”
I laugh and he does, too. We’re quiet for a moment, until I finally decide to give something back. “I hope your family is okay. They would be proud of you now. I’ve lost everyone, too,” I say, trying not to choke on the knot in my throat.
“Not everyone.” Aydan looks me in the eye and holds my gaze. For once, I don’t feel so alone.
“Thank you.”
I gaze at the distant electric skyline of a city that looks normal and perfectly ours. We made this place, this world. Not Eklyptors: the damn cuckoos who want to steal our nest.
“What will happen to our city? To the world?” I ask. “It seems so hopeless.”
His gaze drifts over the lake with mine. The illuminated buildings reflect off the water, creating the silhouette of a submerged, phantom city. The moon, round and brilliant yellow, shines to the right of the Space Needle: a postcard-perfect view. So beautiful.
Except, it isn’t. The city is at war. Eklyptors are hunting the other half of the population, killing them if they resist, infecting them if they are captured. I fear the possibility that they already outnumber us, fear the day when everyone becomes nothing but a vessel.
But even if some people are naive enough to seek help with the “authorities” others aren’t going down without a fight. Several groups have formed, banding together to protect each other, militias whose members dig old weapons from under their beds, raid supply stores for ammunition, and engage in street fights where the law is kill or die. It’s all Elliot’s men talk about in the mess hall. Their conversations both excite me and terrify me.
“Everyone is trying very hard,” Aydan says. “Don’t lose faith.”
It’s hard to keep your conviction after you’ve lost everything. I think of Xave, and also Dad whom I might lose twice if I don’t hold onto him, to the memory of his strong presence and his love for me. “His eyes lit up every time he saw you,” Karen told me many times, jealousy thick in her voice. Even she could see the invisible bond between Dad and me. So if her coldness toward me means she knew I wasn’t her daughter, then Dad’s unconditional love must mean the opposite.
If there’s any faith left in me, this is what I choose to believe.
I face Aydan. His angular profile is stern and hard, but oddly comforting. “Do you? Still have faith, I mean?”
“We have Kristen.” A concise, confident answer that makes me feel steadier, capable of more. I imagine her in her lab coat, working tirelessly to find a cure, a vaccine, something.
Stuffing another piece of chocolate in my mouth, I stifle the many questions that crowd at the tip of my tongue. I wish I could learn all about IgNiTe’s efforts, but I can’t, and it would be unfair to ask.
So all I say is, “Keep her safe.”