Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(48)

Seconds pass. We wait for it to come back and kill us.

The seconds become minutes.

Bishop finally releases Aramovsky, then steps to the corner and peeks out. I’m watching him, but as soon as he stops moving, his camouflage soaks him into the night’s shadows like water vanishing into a sponge.

He waves us forward.

—

We crest the vine wall, look down at our shuttle. We made it. Circle-stars rush out to help. Gaston beats them to us, goes straight to Spingate. Someone carries O’Malley. Hands help me, I’m not sure whose.

The shuttle’s warmth welcomes me. Someone lays me down in my coffin. Then Smith is there, asking me questions in a harsh, clipped tone. I answer as best I can: no, I’m not hurt; you’re holding up three fingers, now two; yes, I just want to sleep. Then she’s gone, saying she has to operate on Spingate’s elbow.

Just like before, O’Malley is in the coffin to my right, Bishop in the one to my left. They’re both already asleep. I lie back in mine.

My lid closes. It’s dark, cramped, but this time I don’t care. As the world around me goes quiet, the questions in my head roar out loud.

Who were the people in the Observatory? Are they Grownups? Or are they young people like us, blank kids who somehow found a way down here before we did? Could they be a group that has nothing to do with the Xolotl at all, perhaps people who were here before that ship’s thousand-year journey even began?

Ometeotl said Matilda was a hero, that she saved lives. That’s a lie…isn’t it? Was Matilda fighting against evil, at least in the beginning? Part of me desperately wants to believe that. A bigger part of me wants to block out the thoughts of something even more disturbing—what if Matilda started out doing the right thing, protecting people, then power changed her, made her into a monster?



If power changed her, power could change me.

I try to push the thought away but it refuses to let go, right up until exhaustion finally drags me into darkness.





I wake to bad news, and from an unexpected source.

“Get up, Em,” Zubiri says. “The mold has spread.”

I roll over, nestle my face into my coffin’s padding. If I ignore her, maybe I can sleep for another fifteen minutes.

A hand on my shoulder, shaking me.

“Em, it’s serious.” Gaston’s voice.

I groan. I roll to my back, blink against the shuttle’s bright lights. Gaston and Zubiri are leaning in over me. So is skinny Borjigin. I notice that his face is smooth, hairless. All the other boys my age are showing some stubble—even little Gaston—but not Borjigin. I wonder if that’s the way his creator made him.

The two boys look worried. Their eyes are flicking around the room, as if to watch out for anyone listening too close. Zubiri is as calm as can be. Few other people are up; it must be early in the morning.

“How serious?” I ask.

Borjigin looks at his inner forearm. His sleeves are rolled up—he’s written numbers on his skin.



“We have one day’s worth of food left,” he says. “Maybe. And that’s if we cut everyone’s rations in half.”

One day?

I try to sit up. Thunderous aches in my legs stop me. My thighs feel like they’re made of bricks—I’m so sore from the Observatory climb. Gaston grips my shoulders, helps me rise.

“You’re counting wrong,” I say to Borjigin. “We have to have more than that.”

Gaston shakes his head. “He has a full inventory of everything on the shuttle. He knows our food situation down to the calorie.”

I don’t care. Borjigin hasn’t been part of the decision-making process. It’s been me, O’Malley, Bishop, Gaston and…

I notice Zubiri is wearing a golden bracer.

“Where’s Spingate?” I ask.

“Medical,” Gaston says. “Her elbow will be fine. Smith wants her to rest a little longer, though.”

It’s one thing after another. Why can’t someone bring me good news for a change?

“We had five days left,” I say. “What happened?”

“I told you, the mold,” Zubiri says, her tone matter-of-fact. She runs her hand over the bracer. “Spingate was hurt, so I asked Gaston if I could use this. I adjusted the sensitivity levels so I could scan food that was still inside sealed containers.”

Her little face…so innocent. She can’t be right—she’s just a child.

“Zubiri surprised me, too,” Gaston says. “She knows how to use the bracer better than Spingate does.”

We’re all the same age, basically, but I guess I assumed that because we looked older, we were smarter. That was stupid. I need to trust that the younger kids are just as capable as I am.

“I think the mold is a weapon,” Zubiri says. “Bioengineered to destroy food stores. It secretes a chemical that makes microscopic holes in the bins so it can get at the food.”



A weapon? If Zubiri is right, that explains why all the food in the warehouse was bad. And come tomorrow, I’ll have hundreds of hungry people on my hands.

I think we only have three options: defeat the mold ourselves, find safe food, or find the fire-builders.

Spingate and Zubiri should keep working in the lab. Maybe they can figure it out. The jungle is full of life—if we search, we might discover plants or animals that are safe to eat. And, while doing that, we can return to the fire pit. Visca is a tracker…maybe he can track the fire-builders.