He shakes his head, looking completely befuddled. "It's nothing. It's just ... There are a ton of empty cars and not a single person in sight. It's so crammed, yet it's not."
I step to the side of him and sneak a glance around the corner. Then my jaw nearly smacks against the pavement.
Broken and crooked glass and metal buildings of various sizes crowd the streets and block the sunlight. Rusted cars and trucks form a maze down the road; garbage, glass, and debris litter the torn-up ground; and a tangled mess of vines has overtaken almost everything. One thing is missing from the scene.
"There's nothing alive out there," I mumble, turning back to Blaise.
"Yeah, I noticed that, too." He reclines against the wall with his boot propped against the brick. "They could just be hiding. People do that a lot in the Broken City."
My pulse quickens as I frantically peer around. "Hiding from what?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. I mean, in the Broken City, I know people hide from the Grim. But this place doesn't look the same at all. It's too quiet."
I gulp. "What if this place has something like Trackers around, and that's why everyone's hiding?"
He straightens from the wall and inches toward the end of the alleyway while pushing me back behind him. His spooked behavior instantly puts me on edge and leaves me with a heavy sense of dread.
"Blaise, what happens if you get hurt or die in the Oblivion?" I whisper. When he doesn't respond, I gulp. "You die in real life, too, don't you?"
He doesn't look back at me but nods his head once.
I swallow the lump swelling my throat, wondering if the laws of the machine apply to someone who heals rapidly. Since the Kiss of Death is currently killing me, I question if other things exist that can kill me, too. Maybe I'm not as invincible as I thought.
"We'll be fine," he promises, as if reading my mind.
I pick at my fingernails. "Maybe you should go back, just in case there's something bad here."
"I can't. Not until you wake up." He pushes off the wall and faces the street. "And even if I could, I wouldn't." He signals for me to follow him. "Come on; let's go see what this place is. Just make sure to stay close to me."
I nod, though he can't see me, and remain only a step behind him as we leave the shelter of the alley and enter the desolate streets of what I'm assuming used to be a city.
Fragments of glass and charred metal crunch under our boots as we proceed cautiously up the sidewalk.
When we reach the first car blocking our path, Blaise reaches behind him and threads his fingers through mine. His steady hold brings me a drop of comfort until I peer inside the missing windows of a car.
Sitting in the driver's seat is a woman, her clothes filthy and torn, and her skin covered in dirt and blood.
"She's dead," I whisper in shock.
Blaise moves back to see what I'm looking at, then his fingers spasm. "She died pretty recently."
I press my hand over my aching chest. "How can you tell?"
"Because her body hasn't started rotting yet." His head snaps up, his gaze skimming the cars around us. "The question is: what killed her?"
Sparks of shock zap across my flesh as I whirl around and scan the street. The cars and buildings are too thick to see very far, but I'm overpowered by the strangest sensation we're being watched.
"Blaise ..." I say in a low tone as my gaze darts from the vehicles to the buildings to the rooftops. "I think someone's watching us."
His back goes rigid as he wiggles his hand from mine. Then he moves in front of me, backs me up until I'm pinned between the car and him, and spans his arms out to the side, using his body to shield me. From what?
"You can't remember anything about this place? Nothing at all?" he asks in a low tone, his eyes trained ahead of us.
I shake my head. "Why?"
He reaches back and protectively places a hand on my hip. "Because I want to know what we're up against."
My heart slams against my chest. "You have the feeling that someone is watching us, too?"
He shakes his head. "No, but I can smell it."
I shut my eyes and take a measured breath as images stab at the back of my mind.
Steel skeletons with glowing red eyes wreak havoc through the streets, collapsing roofs, shattering windows. So much blood. On the streets. The cars. The buildings. Me drenched in blood from head to toe. But it's not my blood.
"What does it smell like?" I whisper, opening my eyes.
"Like rust and fear and death ..." He breathes in then out. "Like murder."
Chapter 8
The Orders
He smells murder? Oh, God.
For an insane moment, I fear he's somehow smelling me. Then I take a whiff of the air and the stench of rotting, potent blood floods my nose.
"What do we do?" I whisper, clutching Blaise's arm.
His muscles constrict underneath my hands, and I start to pull away, worried the reaction is from my touch. Then his head whips to the right, and he snags ahold of my hand.
"Run," he says, then hauls me with him as he races off in the direction we came from.
Our boots slap against the ground as we wind between the cars and hop over fallen lampposts.
"Blaise, what did you see?" I ask, struggling to keep up.
Instead of answering, he quickens his pace. So, summoning a restless breath, I dare a glance behind me, and immediately regret my curiosity.
Jumping along the tops of the cars at an alarmingly inhuman pace is a herd of steel figures with glowing red eyes, all locked on me. They dent the roofs with each spring of their feet, the pavement vibrating from the impact, concaving.
I spin back around, my eyes wide. "I've seen those things before."
Blaise dodges around a giant hole in the ground. "So have I."
"Where?" I ask breathlessly.
"Back in the Broken City. They're called Grim's Orders, and they're kind of like the Watchers justice system. They keep order in the streets. And by order, I mean, they kill anything and anyone who does something the Grim thinks is unfit."
I bang my arm on the front bumper of a car and wince. "Why are they here, then?"
He skitters around a motor wedged between two cars and pulls me around to the side of him. "That's a good question." He increases his pace as his gaze zeroes in on a large, silver bus. "We need to hide until I can come up with a plan."
He screeches to a stop in front of the bus's door and kicks it open. Then he ushers me inside, rushes in after me, and locks us in.
"I need to find something to put in front of the door ..." He trails off as he grabs one of the seats, ripping it from the floor and tossing it in front of the door.
I know I've seen his strength, yet my jaw still hangs agape as he repeats the action again with two more seats. Once he seems satisfied the door is barricaded, he snags my hand and tows me down the aisle. I try not to look at the dead bodies in the seats, the blood pooling the floor, or breathe in the stench of decay in the air, but my senses are assault by death.
Death everywhere.
"What do we do now?" I say, out of breath.
Blaise releases my hand as we reach the back door, checks the lock, then turns in a circle, as if searching for some hidden answer in the walls. "I'm not sure yet."
I rack my brain for a plan. I've been here before, in this place, which means I've survived these creatures, right?
No, maybe not. I could've died and came back to life.
"Maybe I should just go out there," I suggest, wiping my damp palms on the side of my jacket. "They were looking at me. I don't know why, but it felt like they wanted me."
He gives me a blank stare. "Yeah, that's not happening."
"Why not?" I grasp the back of a nearby seat as a cluster of Orders collide with a window and the bus rocks from the impact. "I probably won't die."
"Unless you can give me a definite, I'm not going to agree to that. Ever." He scratches the bronze plating on his chest. "And I probably w
on't die, either, so if anyone should go out there, it should be me."
I flinch as more Orders bash against the windows. "You can't go out there. Besides, they want me."
He looks at the Orders banging their heads against the glass, all their eerie red eyes fastened on me. "I could lead them away from you, like I did with the Forsaken."
With my other hand, I grip the back of the seat as the bus tips back and forth like a teeter-totter. "I don't like that idea. You could get hurt."
His gaze melds with mine. "I should be fine. This is what I do--have done for years now."
I hate that he's being self-sacrificing for me, as if my life means more than his, which it doesn't. Plus, this is my memory, my mess. I need to be the one who fixes it.
I raise my chin defiantly, ignoring my sprinting pulse. "Well, unless you can turn that 'should be' into a 'will be,' then I'm not going to let you go out there." As soon as I say the bold words, worry spills through my veins. That worry only magnifies as rage flickers in his eyes.
"Are you giving me an order?" He takes a deliberate step toward me. "You should know that I don't like to be bossed around. The only person who really gets away with it is Reece."
"Um ..." A bit of fear creeps up, but I hold my ground. "Yes, I'm giving you an order."
His eyes narrow. "And you think I'd just, what? Listen to you?"
Smashing my quivering lips together, I shrug. "Hoping, maybe."
He angles his head to the side, his eyes boring into mine. "I didn't really think you had it in you to be so bossy."
"Me, neither." My fingernails claw into the seat fabric as the bus jerks and red eyes flare wildly through the cracked windows. "Blaise, the windows aren't going to hold up for much longer. I think you should just let me go out there."
He tears his gaze off me and takes a good look around. "You're not going out there."
Tears pool in my eyes at the thought of him dying, all because he didn't want me to come in here alone. "You'll die if I don't."
"Maybe not."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, time in Oblivion runs a little differently than in the real world. While we've only been in here for maybe an hour, we've been in the machine for probably over a week. So maybe, if we hold on for just a little bit longer, we'll be pulled out." His gaze meets mine, and the corners of his mouth tip downward. "Why are you crying?"
"I'm worried." Feeling silly, I lift my hand away from the seat to wipe the tears from my eyes.
The second my fingers leave the fabric, the bus abruptly tilts from the front, sending me falling into Blaise. My chest crashes into his and our legs tangle as he catches me in his arms. He loses his footing, and we slam into the back door so hard that the glass cracks against our weight.
I barely have time to worry before the front of the bus drops back to the ground, and we sail in the opposite direction with suitcases and bodies flying around us. We tumble halfway down the aisle before stopping, my back slamming against the floor. A second later, Blaise lands on top of me, bracing his weight with his arms and softening the collision.
Pushing back on his hands, he inspects my face, neck, and arms. "Are you okay?" he asks through ragged breaths.
"I think so." I eye him over like he did me, searching for wounds. "Are you?"
He bobs his head up and down, swallowing hard. "Always."
I suck in an inhale then free it, the scent of him overwhelming me. He smells so wonderful, like life. I take another inhale and another, my head drifting upward.
Just one little taste ...
He trembles as I near him, and my hunger pains blaze into a desperate starvation.
Put your lips to his and drink him ... See what he tastes like ...
A frown etches across his face. "Allura?"
"Hmmm ...?" My voice sounds so far away.
"Snap out of it." His sharp voice wrenches me out of my trance.
Realization and shame douses over me like a bucket of ice water to the face. Oh, my God, I was about to taste his life.
"I-I'm sorry," I sputter, pressing my hands to his chest to push him off me.
He bends his elbows, lowering his body back down until my arms are squished between our chests. "Don't be sorry." His chest crashes against my hands with every uneven breath he takes. "I think the stress is making you lose control. Take deep breaths and stay with me, okay?"
Closing my eyes, I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. In. Out. In. Out. Once I feel calmer, I crack my eyes open and find Blaise watching me with fear and something undecipherable in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, wanting to make his fear go away. "You don't have to be afraid of me. The hunger's gone now." Or, well, at least more controllable.
A crease forms between his brows. "I'm not afraid of you."
My hands are resting against his chest, and I can feel his heart thundering underneath the metal plate. "Your heart is racing."
"That's not because I'm afraid." He remains still for a heartbeat longer before quickly pushing off me. After running his hand over his head several times, he offers me his hand yet doesn't make eye contact with me. When I lace my fingers through his, he lifts me to my feet then releases my hand. "They're gone."
"Huh?" My gaze flies to the windows spider-webbed with cracks. Not a single Order is in sight, but the emptiness sends a shiver up my spine. "That's strange. Why would they take off?"
"Maybe something scared them off." Scooting a dead body onto the floor, he kneels on a seat and peers out the window. "What the ...?" He jerks back and shoves me down to the ground, right beside a dead, middle-aged woman with red hair and half her cheek missing. She must have died recently, too, because her blood isn't completely dry yet. "Stay there and pretend you're dead."
"Why? What's going on?" I keep my gaze fixed on him, attempting to pretend I'm not lying less than a foot away from a dead body.
"We're about to get hit hard." He wipes his hand over the dead woman's cheek until his fingers are soaked in blood, and then smears it across my face.
My body twinges in revulsion, but I manage to keep my gag reflex under control by reminding myself of all the gross situations I experienced back at the channels. Like the time I watched a Warden split open a Visitor's chest with his bare hands over an argument about payment. His heart landed by my feet and strangely kept beating for quite some time. What made the situation even more disgustingly appalling is that the Warden ate the heart afterward.
"Whatever happens, don't move, okay?" Blaise says then takes off toward the front of the bus.
The air grows quiet as I lie perfectly still with the scent of blood, sweat, and spoiled flesh making my eyes water. The longer the eerie silence possess the air, the more worried I grow that perhaps Blaise decided to leave the bus and sacrifice himself.
Panic sets in, and I start to get up to go look for him, when the windows of the bus explode as Orders dive through the openings, landing on the seats and aisle. I fall back to the ground as glass spritz through the air like a heavy rainstorm. The sharp edges tear at my face and legs, and blood oozes out for a second before my healing ability kicks in and new flesh grows over the gashes.
"Where is she?" The robotic voice sounds like it's coming from one seat over.
"She's in here somewhere," another one replies from a little farther away. "I saw her come in."
"You know what she looks like, right?" another one asks.
"Of course I do," the first robot snaps.
Their footsteps clink against the floor as they move around the aisle.
Fearing they'll recognize me when they pass, I angle my head toward the dead woman next to me, latch on to her arm, and drag the body over until my face is hidden underneath her shoulder. Then I trap my breath in my chest and slacken my body.
Click. Click. Click. The footsteps get closer.
"What was that thing she was with?" The mechanical voice is unnervingly close, and it takes every ounce of my strength not to quiv
er.
"A human, perhaps."
"No, it wasn't human." Click. Click. Click. "At least, not completely human."
"You think it was part machine?"
Thump. Crack. Boom.
Blaise part machine? Shock briefly rises inside me, but hastily fizzles. If he is half-machine, it would explain his strength, mind-bending ability, and the metal pieces embedded into his flesh.
I twitch as an object bumps my foot, and then I bite down on my lip to keep from breathing loudly.
What the hell are they doing out there?
"It could be. Although, I haven't seen a Forbidden in centuries."
The word dances in my mind. Forbidden. Forbidden. Forbidden.
No, don't call them that. Call them Greystelies.
I have no idea where the voice comes from or what the word even means, but I hardly time to make sense of it as an icy, hard object whacks me in the foot.
"Well, if it is, we need to take it to Leader," one of the robots insists.
A metal object brushes my bare leg, causing goose bumps to sprout across my flesh.
"I really wish you'd stop calling him that." Metal smacks into my leg hard, and I battle back a wince.
Squeak. Clink. Thump.
"Why? That's what he is."
"He has a name and has asked you to call him it a thousand times."
"Leader is a better name."
"You're a moron."
"Yeah, well you're a--"
The noise of metal scraping metal scratches through the air, making my brain rattle inside my skull. My eyes roll back as my eardrums explode and blood gushes out of my ears. The pain is unbearable. My stomach clenches, and vomit burns at the back of my throat. I want to cry out in pain, but I'm too afraid to move.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I remain motionless, drowning in vomit-inducing pain with my face underneath the dead woman's shoulder. With no eardrums left, I can't hear anything, leaving me blind and deaf to what's going on.
Every time something brushes against my leg or bumps into my foot, I nearly crawl out of my skin. Still, I don't move and hardly breathe until the woman's body is thrown off me.
Instinctively, I lift my foot up to fight, but realize mid-kick that Blaise is standing at the end of my seat, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. When he spots my foot heading toward his knee, he darts his hand out, and his fingers enclose around my ankle. Then his lips begin to move, but the sound of his voice doesn't reach my ears.