Renegade (The Elysium Chronicles #1)(80)

“I don’t think. I know.” I gesture to the bloodstained walls on either side of us.

He stares wide-eyed at the corridor to our left. “What are they?”

“More of Mother’s victims, I think,” I say, turning to face him, then stumble back as a huge black wave of hate flows over me. I give myself a mental shake. “The one tearing up that girl was spouting off Conditioned responses. Apparently Nick wasn’t the only failed experiment. She must be experimenting on all the Guards.” I pause as another idea comes to me. “That’s why she wanted to shove that Guard on me to couple with. He must have been the only one who hasn’t gone crazy!”

Gavin gives me a sad look and I clench my teeth as rage rolls around my head.

He’s a manipulative, dangerous Surface Dweller, my mind screams at me. Why am I trying to save a Surface Dweller? His kind destroyed the Surface. He hunts for fun. Life means nothing to him. You’re nothing to him. Kill him. It’s your duty.

I close my eyes and take deep calming breaths. No. That’s not true. He’s not like that.

Surface Dwellers are all the same.

I squash down on the thoughts. My fists clench and I bite down so hard on my bottom lip I taste blood.

Finally the voice inside my head quiets and the only things I hear are my somewhat uneven breaths and the sounds of metal clinking against metal.

When I open my eyes, Gavin is kneeling next to his pack and digging through it.

“What are you looking for?” I ask. He glances up and suspicion surges through me. I struggle to ignore it.

“Ammo,” he says after a second. “I want to make sure I’m prepared.”

“Plasma ammo is in the things that look like small air tanks.” I press a hand to my now-aching forehead.

He quickly grabs two of the silver cylinders. They’re the size of his hand, but fit in his pocket. Then he grabs his Reising and slings it over one shoulder and an ammo belt over his other.

He looks just like the pictures of the Surface warriors that were part of our training, and I suddenly want to shoot him. To attack him with my bare hands. Anything to bring down the threat my body is convinced he poses before he does the same to me.

“The plasma is probably more than enough,” I say through clenched teeth.

He gestures for me to hand him my pack. “It’s better to be safe than sorry,” he says, and hands me the Reising from my pack without even looking up. He doesn’t realize how hard I’m fighting with myself.

Knowing he’s right, I take it and dig through my bag for my own ammunition. I slip a gun belt out of the pack, hook it around my hips, and fill the pockets full of ammunition for both guns, before shoving a fresh clip into the Reising and hooking it around my shoulder.

When we’re both finally ready to go, I make him stay behind me. I can protect him easier if I’m in front … and it’s easier to forget he’s a Surface Dweller if I can’t see him. Not to mention I don’t need the light anymore. Somehow the click has made it so I can see easily in the dark. And I figure it’s safer not to use the light in case we run into more of Mother’s experiments.

We continue down the darkened hall and little noises make my ears twitch. There’s a scuttling noise ahead of us, as if there’s a large rodent infestation in the walls. I’m not particularly surprised when I realize it’s another of the failed experiments; this one is by himself but covered in blood like the others. He seems even worse, though, scrabbling on his hands and feet instead of walking, and his tongue keeps flickering out.

He tilts his head when he “tastes us,” and Gavin and I come to a wary stop.

“Help me,” he whispers. “Mother promised … to make me smarter … pain … so much pain.… please.” He looks at Gavin and alarm crosses his face. “Surface Dweller … protect Elysium…” He crouches lower to the ground.

Without warning, he springs up, growling with his teeth bared.

I don’t hesitate. I raise my gun hand and bring him down with one shot of the plasma.

Then we’re running from the screaming mass of fire-soaked flesh.

“He wanted to be smarter,” Gavin says.

“Only whatever they did, it obviously didn’t work,” I finish for him.

“So, Nick went ballistic because she messed with his head.”

“They all went crazy because she ‘messed’ with their heads.”

There’s silence behind me, and the only proof I have that he’s still with me is the slap of rubber against concrete and the wheezing of his breaths.

“I heard about soldiers going crazy during Vietnam. Collecting scalps and teeth and stuff like that.”

“Vietnam?” I ask.

“Never mind. I’m just saying people can do a lot of crazy shit if you put them under enough pressure. I bet the Conditioning makes it easier for these people to go crazy like this,” he says, almost to himself. “Like your brain is made of clay and it can be shaped into anything. Even a monster.”

We finally reach the dead end and turn left. Both sides are dark, but that’s not what stops me in my tracks. It’s the pile of bodies littering the floor. More bodies. Wonderful.

After a quick study, I realize that most, if not all, of the bodies are no longer living, and we walk quickly through the mess. It looks like another massacre, but this one was not merciful. Most of the bodies are torn to pieces and their parts strewn about as if a child has had a temper tantrum and torn apart her dolls.