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I spend the rest of the day restless. There is nothing to do in the warehouse, which makes me realize why they try to entertain themselves with drills. After the morning excitement is over, there’s little else but a snack of peanut butter crackers and endless card and domino games.
At some point, I find out that James left with Jori and Spencer, taking an unconscious Blare with them. Kristen said they had an errand to run, and James didn’t want Blare causing any more problems when she woke up. When I asked about the errand, she just shrugged and walked away. Margo also left, taking the families away and leaving only a few, fight-capable men behind.
By dinner time, my nerves are hot-wired. All day sharp knives have been flashing across my vision, making the cut on my neck smart to attention. It’s driving me nuts.
“Let that be!” Aydan smacks my hand away from my neck. We’re sitting on the floor in the dining area again, bowls of canned soup steaming on our laps.
The cut is already healing, so it itches like crazy. I make an effort to ignore it by concentrating on the fat noodles floating in the soup. “It might sound crazy, but I think I’d rather go back to Whitehouse headquarters. At least I feel useful there.”
I wait for a reprimand from Aydan but, instead, he says, “I know what you mean. I feel like we’re wasting our time here. I mean, if Kristen is close to finding a cure, I understand why James wants us to hang back, but is she really getting there?” He sounds like he’s afraid to get his hopes high on this too-good-to-be-true prospect.
“It sounds like she is. Where is Sal?” I ask, noticing his absence for the first time.
“He comes and goes between cells, helping with communications and stuff like that, even travels back to L.A. from what I hear. He and James have singlehandedly kept the two cities alive.”
“What do you think James is doing? He’s been gone all day.” I find that I’m worried about him, more than usual.
Aydan shrugs. “I’ve learned not to ask. He’s still as secretive as ever, more actually.”
“I guess that’s my fault,” I say, scooping a lonely carrot with my spoon.
“Not really. There have been several non-Symbiots who have been captured and infected. They spilled what they knew faster than you can imagine.”
“That’s of little consolation to me.”
Aydan sets his empty bowl to the side and squares his shoulders in my direction. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”
“Everyone keeps saying that, but I think I always will.” The honesty in my voice surprises me. “I was weak. I should have been able to keep the agent at bay.”
“Do you think it—”
A small commotion from the entrance to the dining area interrupts our conversation. “They brought back Eklyptors!” someone shouts.
Aydan and I exchange a glance, then we’re on our feet, jogging through the door toward the larger, adjoining warehouse. The few still left follow, feet shuffling as they try to funnel through the narrow door. We spill out onto the other side, craning our necks.
At first, I don’t see anything, so I take a few tentative steps, peering around one of the wide, supporting columns. The buzzing in my head picks up, climbing several notches all at once. First, I spot James—who accounts for some of the noise but can hardly be responsible for such a steep spike.
As I take another step, I spot Blare, Spencer, and Jori, flanking two men dressed in black military wear. They are on their knees, hands bound behind their backs.
“Shit,” I say under my breath as I recognize one of them.
Gecko Man!
His bug eyes find their way to me as if magnetized. “You?!” he exclaims in disbelief. His face disfigures into a mask of hatred. Looking ready to lynch me, he tries to stand, but Blare puts a hand on his shoulder and forces him back down.
“You’re fuckin’ Fender,” he growls. “You’ll pay for this.”
Jori lightly butts him in the back of the head with the back end of his rifle. “Shut up or the next one will knock you unconscious.”
I don’t recognize the second Eklyptor but, judging by the black uniform, he must also be one of Elliot’s. He’s just a foot soldier, though. His buzzing signal is low and, considering his perfectly human appearance, I guess he hasn’t been infected for very long.
“What’s going on?” Aydan whispers close to my ear.
I shake my head. “I’m as clueless as you.”
The tap, tap of heels brings our attention to the decisive figure of Kristen Albright as she approaches. Everyone watches in hushed interest as she comes to a stop in front of the two kneeling men. She’s wearing a lab coat and rubber gloves.
Her sharp, green eyes take inventory of the Eklyptors for a moment, then turn to James. She nods, as if in approval. Without a word, she digs in the front pocket of her coat and pulls something out. To get a better angle, I take a step forward. A capped syringe is in her hand, held firmly.
A cure? Is she going to test a cure?!
I clutch at the first thing I find, and I’m surprised when it clutches back. Aydan’s hand! Our eyes lock. The same desperate quality that I feel burrows in the depths of his black eyes. Unconsciously, we move closer to each other, looking for strength in proximity as we face this unprecedented moment.
“Him first,” Kristen says, pointing the syringe at Gecko Man.
Jori and Spencer grab the reptilian Eklyptor by the arms and force him to his feet. He struggles to get free, squirming and swinging his weight from side to side.
“Damn you!” Jori curses.
They try to keep him still, but Gecko Man is strong. Pleasure shining in her eyes, Blare steps forward, aims the end of a rifle to the back of the Eklyptor’s neck and releases a quick jab. The creature jerks, arms flailing, and falls back to his knees. He sways and seems about to drop flat on his face, but Jori puts him in a chokehold and manages to keep him upright. Gecko Man’s bug eyes roll back and forth, his long tongue lolls.
Wasting no time, Kristen takes a knee in front of the Eklyptor and decisively wraps a wide rubber strip around his upper arm. In a matter of seconds, she finds a vein and plunges the needle into the crook of his elbow. The amber liquid in the syringe disappears.
“No, no!” the other Eklyptor says, recoiling from Kristen. “What is that? What is it?!” he demands.
The entire room goes eerily quiet. I know we’re all holding our breaths because you can’t hear the slightest inhale or exhale. Our entire future as individuals, as a species, seems to hang on an interminable second in which we stare at the slack face of this once-human.
My mind races as I imagine the amber solution traveling up the man’s arm, making its way to his lungs, his heart, his brain—where the agent resides. Will Kristen’s concoction kill the parasite? Will the long-trapped, human consciousness survive? Is that even desirable? The body’s rightful owner knows nothing of what’s been done to him: the enormous eyes, the flickering tongue, the utterly alien appearance, the nightmare!
God, is it right to do this? Is it fair to snatch the captive host from his mental prison to dump him into this horrid reality?
I squeeze Aydan’s hand with white-knuckled strength, wondering why I never asked myself these questions, why I never realized I might have to play God in the name of my survival.