Blink.
Flash.
Blink.
Flash.
The room doesn’t look the same glowing red as it does in the pause between lights, and the surging bursts of color set me off balance.
“Everyone under, now!” Mr. Pace shouts.
Anne-Marie crawls over from her desk, tugging my hands away from my ears where I’ve covered them.
“Marina, come on,” she begs, as we scramble into the huddle at the back of the room.
We become a massive khaki tangle, with a single heartbeat and breath we all try to hold, like everyone but me holds hands. The Fade want me bad enough to risk death under the high beams, so tonight, my peers shrink from me more than usual.
And still Tobin sits, waiting. The stylus in his hand finally snaps, staining his hands and uniform. He catches me staring and looks away.
Mr. Pace uses the bracelet on his wrist to unlock a cabinet we aren’t allowed to touch and reaches for the high-powered rifle kept there. He checks the scope, palming a couple of clips to stash in the long pocket of his camo pants. He snaps one into the gun with a loud click before shouldering it with the sight trained on the door—our human fail-safe, in case the locks don’t hold. Not that a flesh-and-blood man will be much of a barricade if concrete and steel crumble, but if he’s willing to stand between us and death, we’re willing to pretend it’ll make a difference.
“Where are they?” someone on the other end of the tangle whispers.
“What’s going on?”
There are plenty of questions, but no answers. This can’t be all I get.
My time’s been spent adjusting to my wounded leg and figuring out how much medicine it takes to kill the pain without killing me. Weeks and weeks of fielding questions about my life before the Arclight, shrugging my shoulders when I get tired of saying “I don’t know what happened.”
I just got my life back; it’s too soon to lose it.
I know I’m supposed to be dead, and I know the others would be better off without me, but allowing the Fade to kill me won’t bring back the ones who died for me.
“Tobin, get under,” Mr. Pace orders, checking to see if we’re in position.
Tobin doesn’t say a word, but his posture screams defiance while the rest of us cower beneath our useless shelter.
No one survives the Fade.
I hear those words every night, but my survival tells me there’s a chance. Why should we accept defeat? Why not fight back? Why not live?
I rise to a crouch, with my weight on my good toe, ready to spring when the time comes, and try to fill in the blanks of my memory. All I need is a jolt to start me in the right direction.
Gunfire ignites in the hall outside our door, though I’m not sure anyone else recognizes the clustered pops for what they are. Practice hasn’t prepared my classmates for the terror of live ammo flying overhead; they don’t know the hot sting of a bullet ripping flesh and muscle, nearly breaking bone. To them, it’s a lesson—one I hope they’ve learned.
I tip forward until the weight of my body burns my fingertips, tilting my head to catch the sounds beyond our room and breathing deep to center my nerves. Gunfire’s a good thing, I tell myself—only humans use weapons, so there are still humans left.
“Tobin!” Mr. Pace tries again, but he doesn’t abandon his post. “We’re running out of—”
Everything goes pitch-black.
Time. We’re running out of time.
There’s a scream, just one, but it comes from everyone and everywhere at the same time. This is the worst part, even in practice. Humans can’t see in the dark, but the Fade can.
At least I can still hear. Our elders tell us the Dark is dead silent, and that my time there made my senses sharper. When I first came here, my eyes weren’t much better than a Fade’s for taking light, but they’ve adjusted. So far my hearing hasn’t, and I don’t want it to.
“Shades!”
Mr. Pace shouts over our panic, and the training sequences take over. We reach into our pockets for the tinted glasses kept there, so we’ll be prepared when the lights turn back on.
If the lights . . .
“Gloves!”
Mr. Pace turns this into a drill. Compliance is automatic.
“Hands!”
Everyone stands and we sort ourselves out in the dark. Jonah emerges from the jumble first, pulling himself hand to hand along the crowd until he’s at the door and calling out his name to say he’s in place. We’ve done this so often, I know how he fidgets, and the way he hunches to look smaller.
Another hand grabs mine as the next of us moves into place.
“Anne-Marie,” she yells back. If she’s keeping up, she’ll be sliding her right hand onto Jonah’s shoulder so she can follow him blind, and the routine continues. The only pause comes when Tobin doesn’t take his place.
“Marina,” I shout in turn, claiming my spot at the end of the line.
Silver’s tall enough that I have to stretch my arm up to grasp the loop on her uniform. There’s an expected twitch of her shoulders rolling under my hand as she ties her hair up so it won’t hit me in the face when we run.
“Tobin!”
The feel of his hand on my shoulder makes me jump, but I force a scream down. No one’s supposed to go behind me. And yet his hands are on my shoulders and his fingers are tugging at my jacket.
“Step,” Mr. Pace orders.
Everyone takes one measured step forward, closing the gaps between us.
“Can you march?”
Tobin’s voice comes as a breath beside my ear, his face pulled low and close. We’re not supposed to talk in step, so I don’t answer.
Those who speak become prey.
“Can you?” Another warm puff tickles the inside of my ear. “With your leg?”
I nod; we’re close enough that he should feel it.
There’s comfort in having warmth behind me, an illusion of protection I’ve never had with my back exposed. My skin pimples up as an odd electric shock races down my arms, and I can almost convince myself he’s concerned about me rather than the likelihood I’ll trip and bring the whole line down.
“I’ll be f—”
Something huge and solid slams the window from outside, shaking the room. Another scream goes up as a horrible truth sets in—they didn’t come in from the front. The Fade always come in from the front during our drills, but this one came straight to me.
Mr. Pace spins, the toe of his boot sliding against the tile so he’s facing the window before the echo has a chance to die. Claws scrabble against a surface with no traction, trying to dig through, but the shutters hold behind a half-foot of bulletproof glass set into concrete.
This is really happening.
“I’ve got you,” Tobin says against my hair. His hand drops around my waist. He pulls me tight until I feel his chest at my back, shuffling forward so I won’t lose my grip on Silver. The surprise of unexpected contact sends my heart beating through my back so hard I’m sure he can count my pulse.
Pressure’s building at the back of my skull, creating sparks behind my eyes. This is too much like my snatches of before, all screams and terror and confusion. I grab for the disc on the chain around