Chapter 27: No Need
I'M RUNNING IN the snow. Running blindly, without direction. There is nowhere to go, but I have to get away from where I am. Away from this desperate, madness-inducing place. Away from what I don't want to become. Death's wormy fingers cling to me, threaten to implicate me in the tainted business of our nonchalant self-destruction. I slip and slide on the packed snow and ice, but manage to keep going, completely shutting everything else out but the wind tearing at my face, the cold air taking away what's left of my breath, the energy pouring outward, into the world, instead of inward, crushing me under its weight.
This is how I end up a target. I'm running. Shouts. Behind me, in front of me. A pack of Matt's men, closing in. They have guns, but they don't fire. Their knives are drawn. They will finish me the quieter way, if possible, rather than deal with the Sentries.
I experience a strange detachment from the idea of dying. Does it really matter? It's just the inevitable finally coming for me. But I'm angry. Angry about so many things, and now, in this moment, I have someone to take it out on. They don't want the Sentries to be involved. So that's exactly what I want. I draw my knife and try to bolt past one group, toward the next intersection, where Oscar was taken. Two men block my path. I slash an arm. One of them nicks my face. Our red blood is striking against the silver of our blades, the white of the snow. Behind me, footsteps rapidly approach. I scream at the top of my lungs.
Everyone freezes. I continue shrieking. The footsteps behind me run in the opposite direction, now. The two men in front of me look wide-eyed down the street as the Sentry comes into view, haloed in a shimmer of aether blue, taking quick, thunking strides toward us. They try to run, which is a mistake, because it goes for them first, moving faster than they could possibly evade. Its metal fist slams into their skulls and tosses them into a pile. It turns to me. I wait for it to come. Its dark mirror registers the blood-dripping blade in my hand, confirming my guilt. My mark is scanned next, deciding my punishment. Death. It moves toward me.
Its metal fingers are peculiarly warm, closing around my waist, my ribcage. I struggle for breath as it scoops me toward it, getting ready to strike the final blow. Adrenaline, fear, and despair riot in my head. The buried rage, the smoldering ember of pure hatred, bursts suddenly to full flame, eager to consume the object of its scorn. I slip my blood-wet blade into a thin crevice between the plates of the Sentry's chest, using it like a pry bar. I jerk the hilt sideways, throwing my weight into it. Metal grinds against metal, a battle between the strength of my blade and the strength of the Sentry's armor. There is a pop, and the plating flies open. I sink my fingers into the working of silver tubes and wires beneath, moving around them— moving around things that cannot be hurt. Deeper. Searching. I get hold of the crystal, my fingers scrambling to find the hidden release buttons. I activate all three, in the correct order. My fingers tighten on the crystal, and heave. The metal fist aiming for my head stops mid-blow. We creak, and sway, groaning iron and freezing blasts of winter wind. Then, all at once, everything crumples in on itself. We crash toward the snow-packed pavement in a heap of haphazard metal limbs.
I scramble to my feet, staggering, and look down on the corpse of the thing that took Oscar from me. There is no satisfaction in it. My shoulders slump inward. I have undone nothing. There is no victory, when I can't have him back. I stare, unmoving, until I hear the sound, still far away, but recognizable. Metal. Way off, at the end of the street, another Sentry is coming, called to this one by whatever brotherhood links their empty lives. I run. I'm not sure why, but I do. I know I will not make it far. The distance closes behind me. I tear down the ice-slicked street toward the Rustler, barrel through the door. I shoulder straight through Arthur Adner, who is too busy gaping to protest, and pry open the trap door to the tunnels. I drop into the dark chill and slam the door shut.
Above me, I can hear metal footprints on the floorboards. Everyone is silent. The Sentry walks the span of the place, and goes out the back door. I close my eyes against the pressing pit of darkness, and start counting backward from one hundred, forcing myself to breathe evenly. When I reach zero, I can climb back out. Find my way to the safe house. I am only at ninety-five when I hear chairs scoot against the wood. Footsteps head toward the trap door. Matt.
I bolt into the void, blade in one hand, crystal in the other. I'm running blind, so I shove my knife into its sheathe and drag my hand on the wall until I find a turn. I take it, and the next, and the next, trying to lose any pursuit. When I can run no more, I stop, and try to catch my breath. Where am I in this dreadful maze of tunnels? Is there any way out? But I've really lost myself. I feel around in the dark, one hand still gripping the thing I've pulled from the Sentry, and find a deep alcove. This part of the tunnels is unfamiliar. I close my eyes and try to fight down the panic, imagining the open air. I'm not closed in. I'm not in the dark. I can see the blue sky, the way the white puffs of clouds are carried by the wind. That's when I hear footsteps. I cock my head, trying to determine their direction, but the way things echo down here, I can't tell which way they are coming from. The piece of Sentry bites into my palm as my fists clench tighter. I have to hide it. I have to get rid of it.
My fingers scramble over the wall, find a loose brick in the alcove. I pull it out, put the crystal in its space, and shove the brick back in. I move away, down the passageway, hopefully in the right direction. It turns out that it doesn't matter. Light appears ahead of me. I turn around. There is a glow from the other way as well. They're closing in on me. There is no point in fighting, now. I'm done. I'm standing there, arms crossed, as they move in. Fate wants to kill me today, it seems, and who am I to argue with her? But to my surprise, they don't kill me. They take my weapon, pat me down, bind my arms and shove me roughly through the passageway. We turn left, then right. I try to remember the way we're going, not that it matters. Not that I'll be coming back for the crystal. I focus on every turn, how far we're going. It keeps me from thinking about the closeness of the tunnel. It keeps me from losing it.
At long last, we arrive at a metal door that's far too familiar. It's open, waiting. And inside, Matt is waiting, too. Crossed arms, narrowed eyes, smug little smile. "Probably not the best hiding place," he says. "My tunnels."
His men shove me forward until I'm standing in front of him, but I say nothing. I can't blame him for hating me. I claimed to be his friend, then chose to be his enemy. And maybe I made the wrong choice. Or maybe, it doesn't matter. We're all as good as dead anyway.
Matt looks toward the chair, his eyes scanning over it, then turns back to me, studying me in the same way. I feel the shiver work its way slowly up my spine.
"Tell me what I want to know, Eden," he says softly, "and I'll make it easy for you. You don't have to suffer."
I swallow, shake my head. "I don't know anything about their operation. Jonas was telling you the truth. They're my friends. I couldn't let you just—"
His soft laugh cuts me off. He shakes his head. "The Sentry."
I stare at him, lips parted, not knowing what to say.
He takes a small step toward me, places his hands on my arms. As always, his quietness is chilling. "Tell me what you did," he says. "Tell me how you killed it."
I gaze up at him, registering for the first time the wild hunger in his eyes. The Sentries are the only thing in the Outpost that have kept his power in check. Without them, who knows what he could or would do. He could attack Jonas with no fear of interference. He could make his own laws. Enforce them with an unrestrained hand.
"I- I didn't," I whisper. "It just fell. It just— It just fell. Maybe it malfunctioned or something."
His eyelids flicker, but the rest of his face doesn't change. His fingers press ever-so-slightly into my arms. He looks, again, at the chair. "It's very effective, you know," he says. "I'm sure you have s
ome idea of what it's capable of."
We stare at it together.
His fingers slip down my arm to the rope that binds my hands. Hooking his fingers around it, his other hand on my back, he guides me across the room— not toward the chair, but toward the second door set in the wall. "Sometimes, though, I find that the real thing is just... well... better." He pulls the door open. The blood flees my face, my knees buckling. He pushes me into the box.
I shake my head at him, heart racing, eyes wide. Words don't want to come, but I try desperately to force them up my throat.
He places one finger on my lips to silence me before I can begin. "I'm going to let you think about it," he says. "You should know, you will tell me. One way or another. So make the right choice." He kisses my forehead, his breath warm against my skin, then lets his fingers slip off of my cheek, reach for his knife. He slides it along the rope between my wrists, and the fibers spring away from each other one by one. For an instant, while he works, sadness flickers behind his eyes, but then it's buried, like the dead beneath the snow. The rope falls to the floor. When he looks at me, his voice is laced heavily with regret. "In a perfect world, we would have died together." He turns away. They leave. The door behind them closes, the lock clicking into place.
I slump against the wall, my head spinning, my legs shaking. I cannot give Matt free reign over the Outpost, unrestricted by the Sentries. Not even if his reign is about to come to an end. Matt is a wild card, but Grey is evil. When he takes over the Outpost, if there are no Sentries.... I can't even bring myself to think about it. I take in the darkness around me, the closed-in chamber. Sacrificing myself to madness will do no good. Matt is right. He will make me tell him. There is only one way to keep my secret. I stare wide-eyed across the room, to the machine that is capable of breaking both minds and bodies.