Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(76)

My mouth parts on sawing breath, and I take a halting step, peering down, my attention fixing on his eyes. Still open. Glassy. The life behind them gone, vanished. The color changes. Like a curtain dropped, the brown dulls into something flat . . . makes him appear mannequin-like.

Several carriers let out loud whoops. No doubt, they wouldn’t have hesitated or required manipulation and threats to fire. They wouldn’t feel the bile rising up in the back of their throats. They wouldn’t have to bend over to empty their stomachs.

The gun slides from my hand and thuds to the ground as I retch until there’s nothing inside me to purge. Throat raw and aching, I lift my face.

Sean’s there. So is Gil. Both pat my back. Sean makes small shushing sounds.

“See, Hamilton. That wasn’t so bad.”

I look up, breathing harshly, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. Harris smiles benignly, and it’s a clawing swipe in an already bleeding wound.

I did it. I killed.

Exactly what he wanted me to do. Exactly what they all thought I would do. Everyone in here. Everyone out there in the world. A world so afraid of carriers, it makes killers out of the innocent.

“All right, people. Turn in your packs. Show’s over for the night. Return to your rooms. Lights out in ten.”

I rise and slide my pack off my back with numb movements, letting it drop where I stand.

“Davy,” Sean and Gil both say my name. I ignore them. In my periphery, I glimpse Sabine, watching me, wringing her hands like she’s too afraid to approach me. After what just happened, it’s no wonder. They used Sean, threatening to shoot him if I didn’t kill the target. Because they knew I cared about him. She’s probably questioning whether being my friend is a good idea. I don’t blame her.

Sean and Gil fall in step beside me. We start for the building, passing Sabine. Their presence is a comfort. At least I still have them. Right or wrong. For their well-being, I can’t help thinking that it’s wrong. Not that I can do anything about that anymore. It’s too late. We’re always together. Everyone knows I care about them.

I move one leg after the other, eager to close myself up in my room. To hide from what I’ve done—what I am. Even as this enters my mind, I know it won’t work. I can’t ever hide from this night. No matter that I did it to save Sean’s life, I am what everyone always thought.

A killer.





UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers ..................................................................



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HTS Detention Camp Code 11B: Any child born to a carrier shall be tested for HTS at birth. Infants found positive shall remain in the detention camp of his/her birth. If found negative of the gene, they shall be remanded to the state for placement with relatives or an appropriate foster agency.





TWENTY-EIGHT




I TAKE A QUICK SHOWER, INDIFFERENT TO THE ten-minute warning. I just killed a man. Those brown eyes are all I can see. I could have let him go over the wall. If I’d known who he was . . . what was going to happen. Yes. I could have let him escape. I would have given him a boost myself. If I had only known.

I stand beneath the spray of water, letting it beat down on my flesh, wishing—there I go again, still senselessly wishing—that it could wash away the day. Undo everything that happened. I search inside myself, reaching for the music that’s always there.

Silence.

I try harder, struggle to find the familiar notes, lyrics, anything, some whiff of a song, a tune. It’s no use. There’s nothing there except silence.

Dusty’s voice inside the bathroom startles me. I lift my head from the spray. “That you in there, Hamilton?”

“Yes.”

“It’s almost lights-out. Get out of there now.”

With a sigh, I turn off the water and step from the shower onto the cool tile, wrapping a towel around myself. I face Dusty numbly, gaze dispassionately at her sun-weathered face.

“That was good work today.”

Winning the challenge. Taking a life. For her, it’s one and the same. “Yeah. All in a day’s work,” I hear myself reply.

She frowns, and I’m guessing she doesn’t care for my flippant tone. I should be properly flattered at the praise. I had wanted to do well and impress them so much before. Too late, I know the price of doing well in here now. She looks me up and down where I stand, dripping wet.

“I’ll give you another thirty.” Then she will lock me in my room for the night. Another cage.

I nod. “Thanks.” She leaves the bathroom and I dress quickly. Going through the motions thoughtlessly. Clothes. Hair. Teeth. I pause at my reflection. The bandage is gone. I removed it while in the shower. All that remains is a short, jagged tear in my cheek. A bright scratch of red in my otherwise pale face. My dark blonde hair looks almost black plastered wetly to my head. I tie it in a quick braid, my fingers moving as nimbly as they once did over the piano or guitar strings.

Finished, I gather up my stuff. Stepping out into the hall, I cross to my room.

I’m at the door, turning the knob, beginning to push it open when I feel someone at my back. At first I think it’s Dusty, but then I’m being shoved inside, propelled into the room.

I drop my things and whirl around, not about to get trapped alone with a carrier bent on hurting me. Today’s been bad enough. I use my fists, whacking, slapping. Too tired to call up my recent training, my movements are wild.