Burn (Pure #3)(109)

And then there’s Bradwell’s voice. “How soon before he’s able to get up and move?” El Capitan can barely see their faces through the slits of his eyes.

“They suffered dehydration. But they’re taking fluids. They should be on their feet soon—or his feet, I should say.”

The dust in the air—the char of pages, bindings. How much time has passed? El Capitan can’t tell if it’s been hours or days.

Bradwell is at his side, kneeling. The other person leaves. Bradwell straightens El Capitan’s jacket. “How you doing?”

“Fine,” he mutters.

“Helmud? You okay?” Bradwell says.

El Capitan feels the bob of Helmud’s head.

“Good,” Bradwell says, and he backs up and takes a seat on his footlocker.

“Where did that come from?” El Capitan asks.

“I had to go and get it from headquarters. You know how I am about it.”

“One day, you’ll let it go,” El Capitan says. He’s let go of his own past. He’s clean of it.

“One day.” Bradwell raps his knuckles on the top of it. “In this footlocker, my parents are still alive in a way. I started rewriting their manuscript. We have more proof. I wrote a lot of stuff, Cap. I needed to. I’m glad you’re better.” Bradwell stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I was worried.”

“You’re still worried,” El Capitan says. “I can tell.”

Bradwell looks around the room, crosses his arms on his chest. “I went back to the vault.”

“Why?”

“I hid the bacterium there in one of the slots that used to be a safety deposit box.”

El Capitan feels like a balloon has erupted in his chest. “Thank God!” He feels like crying. “I thought…” He decides not to confess to losing it. Why admit such utter failure? “That was smart.”

“I got the bacterium off you while you were drunk. Didn’t think you were in the best shape to keep it safe. And I had just enough time to hide it as they came storming in.”

“Thanks and sorry about that,” El Capitan says.

“Well, there’s just one more thing,” Bradwell says.

El Capitan knows he doesn’t want to hear this. “What?”

“It’s gone.”

“Gone?” Helmud says.

“Are you sure you checked the right slot?” El Capitan says. “The wall was filled with slots.”

“I checked them all.” Bradwell runs his hands through his hair. “Someone took it.”

“Gorse?”

“I’ve talked to all of the people who were in that vault. They’re on my side now. They’re acting like I’m a god. It wasn’t any of them. I’m sure of it.”

He’d like to reach out and choke Bradwell—an ancient instinct. But, of course, he thought he was the one who’d lost it. He can’t really blame Bradwell, and he doesn’t have the strength to choke anyone right now anyway. And then he realizes how he really feels about the bacterium. Maybe he actually wanted it gone. “I’d be relieved that it’s out of our hands,” he says, “except that means it’s in someone else’s.”

Bradwell looks at him, confused. “Why would you be relieved?”

“We can’t take down the Dome.”

“What?”

El Capitan wants to tell him that he’s been forgiven. He’s clean. “I can’t go back.”

“Back to what?”

“Who I used to be.”

“We have to do it, Cap.”

“Why?”

“So there is no divide. Aren’t you tired of being nothing? Of being something left to die?”

El Capitan can’t look at him. He’s been nothing for so long he can’t imagine anything else. “There will always be a divide. There will always be us and them. And if this divide disappears, there will be another us and them.”

“They have to face up to what they did.”

“Why?”

“They’re all waiting for me—Dome worshippers, revolutionaries, OSR, even some of the mothers. Solidarity will save us—you said that. Even the Dome worshippers believe that this could be a way for them to join the Pures, in their own screwed up way. They’ve come down from headquarters and up from the city and out of the woods and Meltlands. They want me to lead them.”

This hurts. El Capitan has been trying to amass an army all these years, and Bradwell comes along and takes it from him. He knows it’s not the point, but still. “How many are there?”

“Too many to count. And now I’ve got nothing.”

El Capitan sits up, leaning Helmud’s back against the wall.

Helmud says, “Count.” Maybe Helmud thinks they need to know exactly how many they’ll have if they end up heading into some kind of battle.

“Now is the time,” Bradwell says. “We need the bacterium. How else will the Pures learn?”

“Do you mean how else will you get a chance to punish them? Are you really playing God?”

“Willux played God—not me.” He grinds his boot heels into the dirty floor. “Pressia’s locked in there, Cap! You want me to just abandon her?”