Your One & Only(76)
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“It’s her!” Jonah said, his voice for the first time losing its cool composure. He pointed to Althea through the glass. “She’s the only reason you’re saying this. You’ve never seen what monsters they are. We’re brothers, Jack. Don’t choose her over your own blood.”
“If she dies,” Jack said, “we’re not brothers anymore.”
“Whatever you do here won’t matter,” Jonah said. “The Ark will still be destroyed, and Althea too.”
“Then I’ll make sure we all are.”
The cool eyes appraised Jack. “I don’t want to hurt you, Jack.” He took off his jacket and flung it to the floor. “But I will if I have to.”
Then Jack and Jonah, in twin explosions of movement, came together, each meeting the other halfway.
Chapter Twenty-Three
ALTHEA
Samuel had unlocked the door. Althea was no longer trapped, but the explosives and the trigger were attached to her. If she left the Sample Room, she’d only put everyone else at risk along with her.
Jonah said her sisters had done the Bonding, that Jack had actually seen it, but she’d felt nothing. A few weeks ago, if Althea-318 had a headache, Althea’s head throbbed. If Althea-311 sneezed, her own nose tickled.
Fracturing felt nothing like she’d expected. She’d thought it’d be something terrible, sudden as a falling ax, but this had been gradual, and she didn’t feel much different in the end. As she examined this new feeling, she discovered she wasn’t sorry about it. She was maybe scared of what was to come, but the world looked new. It seemed clearer somehow, the colors brighter.
In that brightness, the two boys fought.
They met with no weapons, body to body, fist to fist. They reminded Althea of the dogs in the book she’d read that night in Jack’s cell, all blind rage and violence.
They both fought well. It was clear the two boys were brothers, and not just because they were mirror images of each other. They were equal in all things—height, strength, cunning, and speed. The outcome would be determined by things less obvious, it seemed to Althea.
Jack struck Jonah, and Jonah spit blood. The splotch of pink with a darker red swirling in the center hit the clear wall and dripped down. It would have hit her foot without the wall to catch it. It dribbled to the floor, thick and slow.
It was human blood. Every ounce of their blood was human. It must be, if they could feel love for each other, as she knew they did, and yet hurt each other this way. As much as Jonah tried to hide it, he couldn’t hide from Althea that he needed Jack as much as Jack needed him. Yet still they fought.
Althea carefully switched the trigger to her other hand, being sure to keep the black button continuously pressed down. Once it was secure, she stretched out her freed fingers, her thumb aching with how hard she’d been pressing.
Althea gasped as Jonah slammed Jack into the wall, making it shudder. Jack grabbed him and spun them both, so now Jonah struggled between Jack’s fist and the barrier separating Althea from them. Jack stumbled and went down, grimacing when his broken arm hit the floor.
Jonah was reckless, and too often left himself exposed. Even now he stood with his shoulders wide, his shirt torn, leaving Jack a clear opening. Althea was sure Jack saw it too, but then Jack backed away, the opportunity gone.
That’s when she knew Jack couldn’t win. Because what did Jack have that Jonah didn’t? He had the Inga—that was the difference. The Inga’s letter had brimmed over with love for Jack. She’d died protecting him. From her, Jack had learned kindness and mercy.
And he had Samuel as well, who could only stand by helplessly, just like her, as the two boys did what they each thought they had to do.
There was something else Jack had, of course. He had her.
She could end this.
The device was strangely cool and heavy in her hand. She’d never held such a thing. It should be more menacing, this object that could end all their lives. The door had clicked shut, though, and the walls were strong. Surely they would contain the blast. It would be quick. One bright, fiery light, and it would be over. There’d be a Binding Ceremony for her, one they would have had anyway now that she was fractured, and her sisters would reach for one another’s touch and sigh regretfully about the next Pairing Ceremony’s uneven numbers.
The black tube blurred in her cold fingers. Less than a minute had passed, but it felt like forever, like time stretched before her slipping away, time she would have taken to discover who she was, this new, fractured person who read poetry and heard music and felt a burning in her chest that belonged only to her, this Althea.
She closed her eyes, and the world became distant and muffled, drained of all sound except the sound of Jack’s music in her mind. The sound became more beautiful for the pain of knowing she would miss the next time Jack played and caught her watching him, that crooked smile curling his lips, his fingers thrumming to the beat of her too-fast heart.
No, she couldn’t think about that. It made it too hard. It would be easy to just let go. What had the poem said, over and over, about losing everything?
It isn’t hard.
It isn’t hard.
It isn’t too hard . . .
A hand closed over hers. Her eyes still shut, she took one breath, and then another, before looking up. Samuel-299 gave a minute shake of his head. His hand drew hers away from the tube, her shaking finger from the depressed black button as his own held it down, and then the device was his.