Burn (Pure #3)(116)

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pressia says.

“You want to do the right thing.”

“I want a lot of things,” she says.

Weed locks his hands behind his back. “Tell me what those things are, Pressia. Maybe we can work a deal.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“What do you want? Start there.”

“I want Lyda to be able to get out of here. I made a promise.”

Weed shakes his head. “I don’t get it. You want to live out there, Lyda?”

“I don’t care if you get it or not.”

“Is that why you turned your back on Partridge? Because you wanted to leave him behind?”

“I never turned my back on him.”

“You didn’t return any of his letters, though.”

“Did he send me letters?” Lyda asks. “Arvin! Did he write me?”

“Lots of them,” Weed says.

Lyda takes a deep breath. She holds it in her lungs. Her eyes flash around the room. “I need to see him. I need to see him before I leave. Now,” she says. “I need to see him now!”

“Wait, Lyda.” Pressia turns to Weed. “I know that you Purified people here. I know that you created Special Forces but that those enhancements turn on people. The children you Purified…”

“What about them?” Weed says.

“They’re dead. You killed them. You have the ability to Purify, but that process…”

“It erodes the body’s most basic functioning.” Weed holds his hands out flat in front of him, palms down. They tremble, ever so slightly. “Willux made me take the brain enhancements. He wanted me to use my mind to save him.” He reaches out and holds Pressia’s wrist, lifting the doll head. “Maybe it’s not too late for either of us.”

Pressia is breathless. Her heart feels like it’s rising weightlessly in her chest. “I have what you need—a vial of my mother’s serum and the formula. You can Purify, and I have what it takes so the process doesn’t have any deadly side effects. There was another piece. That’s what the formula is for and—”

“We have all we need, Pressia,” Weed says. “I could start with you.”

This is the moment Pressia’s been waiting for. The doll head can be removed. She can be free of it. She can be whole again—herself, completely. And they can save the other survivors.

Lyda interrupts. “There’s no time.”

“We don’t know when they’re going to attack—if they even have the courage to try it,” Weed explains, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Maybe we have time. Maybe we don’t.”

“They haven’t gotten a message from me yet. They’re waiting,” Pressia says.

“No,” Lyda says, looking away from them all. “The message has been sent.”

“I didn’t send it,” Pressia says defensively. Does Lyda not believe her? “I didn’t!”

“I did,” Lyda says quietly.

“What did you tell them, Lyda?” Pressia says, grabbing her by the elbow. “What message did you send?”

“You know what I told them,” she says, pulling her arm from Pressia’s grip. “I told them to do what they had to do. I used the words you told me to and I drew a picture of a swan—so that Bradwell would know it was from you.”

“Lyda, why? Why did you do that?” Pressia stares at the ground, trying to process everything—the shifting facts, the repercussions outside of the Dome—and coursing through it all, she feels betrayed. “You got me to tell you the code words. How could you do that to me?”

“I did it for all of us,” Lyda says. She reaches into the bin, pulls out two spears, and hands one to Pressia.

“I’m not taking a spear, Lyda. Do you even know what you’ve done?”

Lyda reaches into the bin again and pulls out a piece of metal knit out of hangers. She puts her arms through the straps she’s rigged. It fits snugly over her chest and stomach—where the baby is just starting to take shape. It’s armor, handwoven. Lyda had to have made this—how? Pressia doesn’t know, but it fits her perfectly. “I’ve done what I had to do,” Lyda says.

“We’ve got to get you two to safety,” Weed says, rubbing his jaw, obviously trying to piece together a strategy.

“I have to see Partridge,” Lyda says again emphatically.

“That’s where I’m sending you. But first”—he looks at Pressia—“I can protect the research labs, Pressia. There’s an extra protection built in. If you give me what you have, I can keep it safe.”

Pressia can feel the metal box against her ribs. “Do you promise to do the right thing?”

“I promise.”

Pressia looks at Lyda. “Do you trust him?”

Lyda says, “Trust requires a leap of faith. Right now, what else do you have?”

Pressia reaches up under her uniform jacket and pulls out the box. When she hands him the vial and the formula within it, she’s stricken with fear. Her hands shake as if she, too, is breaking down.

“Partridge is going to want you to call off the attack. The Pures have everything to lose, so he’s going to throw everything at you—everything you would ever want. Be ready for it.”