Scarlet

Thirty-Six

Cinder’s smile froze to her face. Peony’s name was like a stone on her chest, pressing the air out of her lungs as memories fell across her vision. Peony scared and alone in the quarantines. Peony dying, with the antidote still in Cinder’s hand.

The pain was instant, fire ripping through her muscles. Cinder cried out and gripped the table, nearly falling out of the booth.

The officer stumbled back and his female comrade yelled, “It’s her!”

Cinder felt the table being shoved toward her as Thorne jumped up. It took a moment for the burning to dwindle. The taste of salt lingered on her tongue and someone screamed and in the muddle of her brain she heard chair and table legs screeching across the floor. The woman’s voice: “Linh Cinder, we are taking you into custody.” Red text flashed across her retina.

INTERNAL TEMP ABOVE RECOMMENDED CONTROL TEMP. IF COOL DOWN PROCEDURE DOES NOT ENGAGE, AUTOMATIC SHUTDOWN WILL OCCUR IN ONE MINUTE.

“Linh Cinder, slowly place your hands on top of your head. Do not make any sudden movements.”

She blinked past the bright fog in her vision, barely making out the officer with a gun pointed at her forehead. Behind her, Thorne was swinging a punch at the nose of the young man with the port, who ducked, then swung back. The third officer had his gun on the two men as they collapsed in a brawl onto a nearby table.

Cinder took in a deep breath, glad that only a residue of the pain lingered beneath her skin.

FIFTY SECONDS UNTIL AUTOMATIC—

She released the breath, slowly.

SHUTDOWN COUNTDOWN PAUSED. TEMPERATURES DROPPING. COOL DOWN PROCEDURE ENGAGED.

“Linh Cinder,” the woman said again. “Put your hands on top of your head. I have been authorized to shoot to kill if necessary.”

She forgot that one of her fingertips was open, ready with a dart as it passed her gaze.

“Slowly come out of the booth and turn around.” The woman stepped away to allow Cinder room to maneuver. Behind her, Thorne grunted as a punch collided with his stomach and he slumped over.

Cinder recoiled at the sound, but did as she was told, waiting for her guts to stop churning, for the weakness to pass. She tried to prepare her brain for the attempt, knowing she would only get one more chance at it.

She stood from the booth just as they were ratcheting handcuffs around Thorne’s wrists. Cinder turned around. From the corner of her eye, she saw the officer reach for her belt.

“You don’t want to do that,” Cinder said, again cringing at the lovely serenity of her own voice. “You want to let us go.”

The officer paused and stared at her with hollow eyes.

“You want to let us go.” The command was directed at all the officers—at everyone in the tavern, even the frightened patrons who had pushed themselves against the back wall. Cinder’s head buzzed with the return of strength and control and power. “You want to let us go.”

The female officer dropped her arms to her sides. “We want to let you—”

A guttural cry ricocheted across the tavern. Beyond the officer, the man with the blue eyes moved to stand, but then collapsed over his table. The table legs snapped from the weight and he crashed to the floor. The other customers pulled away from him, everyone’s attention diverted. Cinder glanced at Thorne, who was watching the spectacle with his hands locked behind his back.

The stranger snarled. He was crouching down on all fours, saliva dripping from his mouth. Beneath dark eyebrows, his eyes had taken on an eerie luminescence and a crazed, bloodthirsty expression that twisted Cinder’s stomach. He curled his fingers, pulling his nails across the hard floor, and peered up at the terrified faces surrounding him.

A growl rolled up from his throat and his lips curled, revealing teeth that came to a fine point, more canine than human.

Cinder pressed herself against the bench, sure her momentary meltdown had fried something, that her optobionics were sending crossed messages to her brain. But her vision didn’t clear.

In unison, the military officers rounded their guns on the man, but he showed no concern. He seemed pleased at the horrified cries, the way the crowd surged away from him.

He lunged for the nearest officer before he could pull the trigger. His hands wrapped around the officer’s head—a loud snap and the officer fell lifeless to the ground. It happened so fast, every movement a blur.

Screaming filled the tavern. There was a stampede for the door, customers struggling over the crashed tables and chairs.

Ignoring the crowd, the man smirked at Cinder. She stumbled back into the booth, trembling.

“Hello, little girl,” he said, his voice too human-like, too restrained. “I believe my queen has been looking for you.”

He leaped for her. Cinder pulled back, unable to scream.

The female officer jumped between them, facing Cinder, her arms spread out wide in protection. Her face completely, entirely blank. Her lifeless eyes peered down at Cinder, even as the man howled with rage and grabbed her from behind. He wrapped one arm around her head, yanking her back and sinking his fangs into her throat.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t fight.

A bloodied gurgle erupted from her mouth.

A gun fired.

The crazed man roared and picked up the officer, swinging her around like a dog would a toy and tossing her halfway across the tavern. She crumpled to the ground as another shot rang out, catching the man in the shoulder. Bellowing, he whipped forward, snatching the gun away from the remaining officer with one hand. He swiped with the other, his fingers curled into a claw that left four red gashes on the officer’s face.

Heart hammering, Cinder gaped down at the woman as the life drained out of her eyes. Her gasps stuck in her throat. Her heart was pounding so hard it was sure to break out of her chest. White spots specked her vision. She couldn’t breathe.

“Cinder!”

She searched the room, dazed, and found Thorne scrambling out from behind a toppled table with his hands still latched behind his back. He collapsed to his knees beside the bench.

“Come on, the cuffs!”

Her lungs burned. Her eyes stung. She was hyperventilating.

“I—I killed her—” she stammered.

“What?”

“I killed—she was—”

“This is not the time to go crazy, Cinder!”

“You don’t understand. It was me. I—”

Thorne threw himself at her, his forehead hitting hers so hard she yelped and fell back onto the bench.

“Pull yourself together and help me unlock these things!”

She grabbed on to the table and hauled herself back up. Head aching, she blinked at Thorne, then at the officer who lay slumped against the wall, neck dangling at an odd angle.

Her brain struggling to grasp on to reality, she lurched forward, dragging Thorne with her through the toppled chairs. Crouching beside the first fallen officer, she grabbed his arm and held up his wrist. Thorne twisted his hands toward her and the cuffs blinked and fell open.

Cinder dropped the limp hand and stood. She bolted for the door—but something grabbed her ponytail and hauled her backward. She cried out, falling onto a table. Glass bottles shattered beneath her, water and alcohol soaking into the back of her shirt.

The crazed man hovered over her, leering. Blood was dripping out from his lips and his bullet wounds but he hardly seemed to notice.

Cinder tried to scramble backward, but she slipped—a shard of glass slicing through her palm. She gasped.

“I would ask what brought you to little Rieux, France, but I think I already know.” He smiled, but it was haunting and unnatural with the jutting canines slicked with blood. “So sad for you that we found the old lady first, and now my pack has you both. I wonder what my reward will be when I bring your leftover pieces to my queen in a plastic box.”

Thorne roared and heaved a chair upward, breaking it over the man’s back.

The man spun around and Cinder used the distraction to roll off the table. She collapsed to the floor, looking up just as the man buried his teeth in Thorne’s arm. A scream.

“Thorne!”

The man pulled away, chin dripping with blood, and let Thorne collapse to his knees.

His eyes glinted. “Your turn.”

He took two sauntering steps toward her. Cinder upended the table, creating a blockade between them, but he kicked it aside with a laugh.

Standing, she raised her hand and fired a tranquilizer dart into his chest.

He snarled and yanked the dart out like a minor annoyance.

Cinder backed away. Tripping over a fallen chair, she cried out and collapsed backward onto the warm, unmoving body of the officer who had managed to get off two useless bullets.

The man grinned sickeningly, then paused again, paling. His cruel smile vanished and, with one more step, he crashed face-first on the ground.

Cinder stared, stomach in knots, at his still form amid the wreckage.

When he didn’t move, she dared to glance at the dead officer whose blood was leaking onto her collarbone. Rolling off him, she grabbed the gun that had been tossed onto the floor and shoved herself back to her feet.

She seized Thorne’s elbow and stuffed the gun into his hand. He moaned in pain but didn’t fight her as she hauled him to his feet and shoved him toward the door. Rushing back to the booth, Cinder tucked the power cell under her arm before running after him.

The street was chaos, people screaming and barreling out of the buildings and crying hysterically.

Cinder spotted the two policemen who had been inspecting the podship, trying to direct a fleeing crowd. A window shattered as a man threw himself through the glass—the creepy man from the parts store—and tackled one of the police in the same movement. His jaws latched on to the officer’s neck.

Nausea welled up in Cinder as the maniac released the officer and turned his bloodied face up to the sky.

He howled.

A long, proud, ominous howl.

Cinder’s dart caught him in the neck, silencing him. He had time to turn his glower on her before he collapsed onto his side.

It didn’t seem to matter. As Cinder and Thorne ran for their abandoned podship, the man’s howl was picked up by another and another, half a dozen unearthly calls being sent up in every direction to greet the rising moon.