In the Afterlight - Bracken Alexandra (онлайн книги бесплатно полные TXT) 📗

When my eyes opened again, the next face I saw was Chubs’s; the word on his lips was shock. And Cate—there was Cate, her cheek bruised, tears in her eyes. She held my face between her hands and was talking to me as I was lifted off the ground.

The red, blue, red, blue, white lights stained their skin. I knew we were running, but I couldn’t feel anything, even as I was lifted again, higher this time. Onto a soft surface. Unfamiliar faces. Lights flashing, snapping sounds, voices, Liam—

Ambulance. Liam tried to climb into the back with me, but he was forced out as two of the assault team members were loaded on—two men, one clutching a unnaturally limp arm, the other bleeding profusely at the brow.

“I’ll come find you!” Liam was shouting as he backed out. “We’ll find you!”

The EMTs strapped me down, pushing me back onto the stretcher. Liam stood a few feet away and Chubs had his arms around him, trying to talk him down, hold him in place. He saw the panic surging in him clearly as I had.

The doors slammed shut and the siren switched on.

“—tell me your name? Can you tell me your name?” The EMT was a young woman, her expression serious as she studied me. “We have a possible transverse fracture of the right tibia. Four—five—six lacerations, ranging from four centimeters to six on the upper and lower body—look at me. Can you tell me your name? Can you speak?”

I shook my head, tongue like stone.

“Are you in pain?”

I nodded.

“Blood pressure low, rapid pulse—hypovolemic shock—can you—?” One of the men on the floor was blocking the drawer she needed to get into, but pried it open with his good arm, passing her what looked like a large sheet of tinfoil. The EMT spread it over me as another put a line in my arm and began bandaging.

The strange blanket trapped in a little pocket of warmth. I began to tremble as the pain woke up again.

“What happened to your leg?” I grunted as she lifted it into some kind of brace. “Can you tell me what happened to your leg?”

“Hurts—” I choked out.

She held my face in between her hands and I felt wild, almost unhinged, as I looked into her eyes. “You’re okay, you’re safe. We’re going to take care of you. You’re safe.”

One of the soldiers on the floor reached up, his blood-stained hand coming to rest softly over my wrist. “You’re a good girl,” he said, “you’re a good, brave girl. You did a good job.”

“You’re safe now,” the EMT repeated. “We’re going to take care of you.”

The wall I’d built up against the well of pain and fear and anger finally collapsed, and I began to cry. I sobbed, the way I had in the garage of my parents’ house on that last morning before they took me, I bawled, because it was such a relief not to have to hold it in any longer, to have to pretend.

I didn’t have to stay awake when the first pull of peaceful nothing came.

27

FOR DAYS, I FELT LIKE I was trapped inside my own body.

There were moments, few and far between, where I could sense I was waking up, coming close to the surface of reality. Unfamiliar sounds, clicking, wheezing, beeps. Faces behind blue paper masks. Ceilings passing overhead. I had the most vivid dreams of my life, haunted by people I hadn’t seen in years. I rode in the front seat of a black van, my forehead against the glass. I saw the ocean. The trees. The sky.

In the same way that the earth always hardens again after the rain, I felt myself solidify again, becoming a whole made of pieces. And one morning, I simply woke up.

To a room full of sunshine.

I blinked, body and head heavy and slow as I turned toward the source of the light. A window, the curtains framing the flowering arm of a nearby dogwood tree. The walls were painted a soothing light blue, a strange contrast to the dark gray machinery beeping and glowing around me.

Hospital.

I dragged myself up, meeting the resistance of the wires attached to the back of my hand with a few gentle tugs. Someone had draped a thin white sheet over me, and I had to use my left leg to kick it off in order to inspect the new, unexpected weight around the right. A plaster cast. A long, flannel pajama shirt. Beneath it, my arms were heavily bandaged, and I felt the pull of tape along my collarbone; I reached up to feel the gauze padding.

I let myself relax, listening just for a moment to the sound of the street below, the stream of voices on the other side of the wall. Some part of me knew that I should be afraid, but I was too exhausted to try. When I couldn’t stand the sour, dry feeling of my mouth and throat any longer, I reached for the water glass on the stand nearby and downed it in one go, nearly knocking over a small vase of flowers.

There were crutches leaning against the opposite wall, under a TV mounted from the ceiling. But the moment I started to swing my feet over the side of the bed, the door cracked open.

I don’t know who was more surprised—me, or the petite, steel-haired woman who stepped inside with a small tray of food. Green eyes widened.

“You’re awake!” She shut the door quickly behind her, then turned back to me, absolutely glowing.

I stared at her, devouring the sight. She mistook my silence for distress—or confusion, I thought—because she quickly set the tray down and dragged a nearby chair over. “Do you know who I am?”

The word burst out of me. “Grams.”

She grinned, taking my hand and holding it between her soft, paper-thin skin. For a long time, we did nothing but study each other. Her face was softer now, and she’d let her dark hair lighten completely. But there was this look of mischief in her eyes that was so uniquely hers, I felt myself choke up at the sight.

“You’ve seen some trouble, haven’t you?”

I nodded and she leaned over and kissed my forehead.

“You’re here,” I repeated, somehow dumbfounded by this. “You found me.”

“Little girl, after they took you, we never stopped looking for you. The moment they released the list of children and the location of the camp, we were in the car speeding straight for you. It took us hours to find out which hospital you were in. You had quite the crowd guarding you, they almost didn’t let me and your folks in.”

I shook my head, unable to process this. “They don’t remember me.”

“No, they don’t. It’s very odd, but they...how do I say it? They can’t drum up the details, but you’ve always been there. Deep down. Not here,” she said, tapping her forehead. She moved her hand down to cover her chest. “Here.”

I almost couldn’t get the words out. “Do you know what I am?”

“Well, for starters, you’re my darling, precious girl, who can do something a little peculiar with her mind,” she said, her soft Southern accent stronger than ever. “You also seem to be somewhat of a media darling.”

I sat back at that, suspicion working a slow path through my mind.

Grams held up a finger, walking over to retrieve a newspaper from a purse I hadn’t noticed by the door. “It’s been a feeding frenzy outside of the hospital for days. You have two armed guards posted outside of your room at all times, a whole wing to yourself, and still a vulture tried to sneak in and take a photo of you.”

The New York Times had run with the news of the camp hit and the subsequent fallout. I spread the newspaper out over my lap, apprehension already cutting through my hard-won calm. In the time I’d been gone, Alice’s original idea for an information package had changed, blossoming into the complete story of what had happened in Los Angeles, and at the Ranch. It was pages of her photographs of us, all of us—planning, playing, working. The road code. She’d written about why the deceptions had been necessary, and what editors and media bosses had worked with us to cover up the truth until the Thurmond camp hit began. There was a long profile of Cole, his face grinning up at me in black and white.