There's a dent where Eli's body hit the passenger door. I'm not surprised when a guard checks on him and pronounces him dead. The impact would have killed anyone, Mod or not. I don't know what happened to him, but Blaine does. He steps in front of Marcus and punches him across the face.
Marcus reels back but stays on his feet. He doesn't look surprised, and it takes me a few seconds to understand why. Marcus did this to Eli. Just like when he struck Rudolph and sent him flying, he used his power to kill Eli. Only he didn't have to strike anyone this time. He used his ability with his mind like he was always meant to.
"You must be out of your mind," Blaine says, his fisted arms tense at his sides. He looks exactly like Marcus does whenever he's angry. "I didn't spend eight years training you to fight Blanks so you would behave like a jackass now."
The sound of flesh connecting with flesh makes me flinch.
"I didn't lose my wife to stand by and watch you defend one of them." Another punch jerks Marcus's face to one side. His mouth is bloody. "And I certainly didn't join Gardiner and claw my way to the top to allow more of their kind to exist in our world."
Breathing heavily, he stands over Marcus and rubs his knuckles. I stay on the ground, holding my throbbing nose. I'm forgotten for the moment but my terror isn't going away. Blaine resumes delivering blows, alternating between fists as he hits him over and over. I'm certain he's going to kill him when a voice rings across the compound.
"That's enough, Jonathan!"
He pivots to face Sam as he approaches the trucks, flanked by at least a dozen armed guards. He's dressed in dark trousers and a white button-down shirt, looking nothing like the man I've known for most of my life. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his strong forearms and his usually-slick hair is tousled. He looks as imposing as Blaine.
"We'll take it from here," he says to Blaine.
I never thought I'd be relieved to see Sam, but there's no denying the way the knotted fear in my stomach unfurls just a little. There's still too much history between us, but between Blaine and Sam, I'd pick Sam every time. At least there's a method to his brand of madness.
"I'm still in charge, Parker," Blaine replies. "Don't forget that."
Sam doesn't react to his harsh tone. "I know. Who else has the authority to order the men to shoot down my helicopter on the pretext that it was hijacked by teenage escapees?"
"I would do no such thing. And that's not the issue right now." Blaine jabs a thick finger in Marcus's direction. "Look at what you did to this boy. I know you were trying to turn him against me, but all you've succeeded in doing is confusing him."
"Disobeying your orders doesn't make him a traitor."
"But killing one of our men to protect a Blank does."
"A Blank?"
"Your stepdaughter," Blaine says, his outrage giving way to snide satisfaction.
I see Sam's cold blue eyes clearly in the dark. "Come here, April."
I trudge toward him, knees shaking, and startle when Sam's guards swing their rifles in my direction. Even Reed, the skinny man who drove me to and from the research facility numerous times, has his weapon trained on me. I recognize the bearded one to my right. He's the guy who was shooting up at the helicopter earlier. I guess Sam talked him out of it.
"Did you take the serum?" Sam asks me.
"N-no. I wasn't having symptoms at the time, so I gave it to someone who needed it. I only became like this after Eli—"
"You did what?"
I step back, surprised. I've never seen Sam so furious. "I gave it to someone."
"You're still going on about that serum, Parker?" Blaine asks. "I thought I told you to stop wasting time on a condition that we all know can't be reversed."
"It was a personal project," Sam murmurs. "It's not important."
It's not unimportant, but Blaine has me in his crosshairs and he won't allow himself to get sidetracked. "I'm sure that you agree she can't be permitted to remain alive."
"Her transformation has halted," Sam answers. "It's worth considering, Jonathan."
I focus on Blaine's dark boots, trying not to think about the critical way they're both eyeing me. "It doesn't matter," Blaine says. "She already blanked. There's no guarantee she won't do so again. And the next time it happens, we might not be around to stop her."
Sam draws in a slow breath and opens his mouth. But no words come out. That's when I have a very sobering realization. No matter how powerful Sam has always seemed to me, there are some things even he can't do. And saving me from his organization is one of them.
Under normal circumstances, snatching a handgun out of an armed guard's holster is beyond stupid, but it's the best I can come up with right now. In one surprisingly fluid move, I pull the weapon free and aim it between Sam's eyes. "Nobody shoot!" I shout, hoping my arms and my voice remain steady. "Or I'll blow his brains out."
Marcus looks startled. The guards tighten their circle around us, but they obey my order. The look Sam's giving me is undecipherable. This goes beyond defiance. But considering that I've been threatened with death more times than I can count today, I decide to take my chances. Even if the idea of going up against Sam makes me want to throw up.
"Do you have a plan to back up this bold move of yours, or are you simply this stupid?" he asks me in an infuriatingly calm manner.
Heat creeps into my face. I'm faltering when Willow steps up beside me. She stares at Sam with what looks like a combination of guilt and fear and resentment. Her lips part. There's so much I know she wants to say to him. He used her, manipulated her, and ruined any chance she'll ever have at being normal. This is her last chance to get answers from him.
"We need trucks. Two of them. Give us keys."
Sam's eyebrows twitch at her brazen tone. He studies her as if he's seeing her for the first time, and I wonder if I'm imagining the look in his eyes. That glint of what I would call approval coming from anyone else. He cocks his head in Blaine's direction. "You heard them, Jonathan."
I'm almost certain Blaine will refuse when I see the fury emanating from his imposing frame. I can tell the thought has crossed his mind, judging by the way his fingers flex near the gun at his waist, but some sense of camaraderie or fear of backlash from Gardiner makes him decide to back down. He snaps at a nearby guard to fetch the keys.
The rest of our companions decide to act. It starts with Janie, who leaps to her feet and dusts off the knees of her pants before holding a hand out to one of the guards. Across the distance, I'm almost certain her amber eyes are glowing. "Hand it over, darling."
The man's face goes slack. I know he's feeling that brain-numbing sensation of being encompassed by her presence. Janie snatches the assault rifle from slack arms and holds it with a level of confidence that tells me she's just as experienced at handling weapons as Marcus.
One by one, the others swarm the guards and strip them of their handguns and rifles. I'm certain Blaine is going to have an aneurysm as he watches his base practically get taken over by teenagers. Marcus is also frowning at them. His plans are falling apart right before his eyes. I get a flash of twisted pleasure underneath the awful ache of betrayal.
"Give them to me," Marcus says when the guard returns the keys.
I tense when he snatches them, expecting him to return them to Blaine. Instead he looks me in the eye and says, "What are you waiting for? We need to leave while we still can."
"We?" I demand, outrage heating my body. "There is no—"
"April," Sam says in a tone I haven't missed. The one that's capable of reaching into my head and stifling all rebellious thoughts. "This is neither the time nor the place for a tantrum. You'll need someone like Marcus on your side. If you plan on doing something as reckless as going out there, you won't last a day without him."
"Are you encouraging them to leave, Sam?" Blaine asks.
"There's nothing we can do to stop them at this point. Marcus is skilled and experienced. He's shown us time and again that he's capable of handling anything. Without him, who knows what sort of havoc they will wreak upon the world?"
We're just a bunch of teenagers, for God's sake. "It's not your decision to make," I grit out.
"No," he agrees to my surprise. "But it's not yours either. Your judgment was compromised the moment you blanked."
The reminder of what happened back there is like a heavy and frigid fog wrapped around me. Its cold tendrils sink into my bones and pulse from deeper within me. The teenagers dash around, cramming themselves into the two trucks we've been given. I lick my lips and falter for a moment as I consider how to ask him this. "The serum. You expected me to take it. Why? Isn't it meant for people who are experiencing symptoms of blanking?"
"It is," he replies.
Those two words are powerful enough to change everything. If the serum was intended for me all along, it can only mean one thing. I was changing long before Eli attacked me with the stun gun. Maybe long before I came to the facility.
"Since when?" I ask softly.
His voice is a whisper between us. I don't think he intends it for anyone else. "That night on the bridge."
My hand is shaking. I shift the gun to my other hand. "You've been giving me the inhibitor serum for the past year."
All those weekends Sam brought me to the research facility. The endless physical examinations, the vials of blood they took from me, the injections that Sam never bothered to explain. All to control and monitor my transformation.
Those who haven't made it into the trucks yet are shouting around us, more eager to get away from this place than to make sense of it. I'm floating in a haze, feeling so shattered inside that I'm surprised I haven't fallen to pieces. Somewhere in front of me, Blaine is chastising Sam for being so negligent with me. He's threatening to punish us all if we try to leave.
"Come on," Willow says fearfully as she tugs on my arm.
I try to pull out of her firm grip, desperation in my voice when I ask, "Is there any chance to stop myself from blanking?"
"Control yourself," Sam replies.
At first I think he's ordering me to get a grip on myself, to stop letting my frustrations take over. But then I realize he just answered my question. The noise treatment and electricity both agitate whatever's going on inside our bodies. They trigger it. So do intense emotions, based on what Alec told me.
It would explain all these years. His lack of affection, his intolerance for emotional displays. The commands he's drilled into my head. Stop crying. Pull yourself together. Swallow your anger. Don't let anyone get close. Failure is not an option.
He was trying to prevent me from blanking. And then I had a meltdown on the bridge that night, and all his efforts amounted to nothing.
"I've failed you." The words tear through my throat.
Sam is silent for a moment, watching the last of the kids bustle around the trucks. "This base was meant to be your new home. A haven for all of you while you adjusted to being Mods and grew stronger. I raised you, took care of you, taught you everything you know, and protected you, because, as I've said before, I wanted you to lead them when the time came.
"But sometimes, no matter how much we plan for the future, things don't work out the way we want them to. The best thing we can do is to keep trying to get it right."
I don't think I'm leader material. I messed up so much today: by trusting the wrong person, by not foreseeing Eli's atrocities, by letting too many people die and being too pathetic to save them.
And yet . . .
Even though I don't believe I'm fit to lead anyone, his unexpectedly consolatory words send a warm pulse through me. There was a greater purpose for me beyond just existing and surviving. Something noble to channel my strength into.
And in spite of it all, I still want that.
I don't get a chance to revel in my discovery. The startling bang of a gun explodes through the air. I recoil when something warm and wet splashes across my neck and half of my face. The strong metallic smell of blood saturates the air. I brace myself for searing hot pain that never comes. I wasn't hit? But then who—?
Sam hits the ground. I'm grateful that it's night: the darkness obscures most of the damage. But I see enough to haunt my dreams for a long time to come. His head. The gaping wound in his temple. The blood everywhere.
In the seconds before the world erupts into chaos, I look up and my eyes fall on the last person I expect to find. Alec is leaning against the doorframe of the building next to the office. He's bare-chested, a thick white bandage wrapped around his middle. His hand is gripping the handgun that's still aimed at where Sam stood.
"No," Willow moans, her hands pressed to her mouth.
Blaine doesn't waste time looking surprised. He slugs one of the remaining kids in the jaw and takes his rifle. I startle when he executes him right before us. Everything falls into disarray. People run in every direction, guards and teenagers alike. Shots ring out around me. Marcus finds me and pulls me toward the trucks, and I go with him without protest. My head's stuck in the seconds before and after Sam's death, reliving that soul-piercing reverberation from the gunshot that ended my stepfather's life.
"Adam!" Marcus barks.
Buzzcut steps in front of the trucks and projects a shield that keeps us safe from the shower of bullets. His barrier is the only thing keeping us alive, but the way he's grunting and the strain on his face make it clear it won't last.
I dive into the cab of one of the trucks, scooting over so that Marcus can get into the driver seat next to me. Willow barely slams the passenger door shut before he sticks the gear into reverse. The tires squeal as we back up next to Buzzcut.
"Get in!" Marcus hollers for him.
He drops his shield and leaps headfirst into the back of the truck, scrambling for cover behind the heavy green tarp as we pull away from the buildings. The other truck races after us down the dirt road. I watch the side view mirror and catch sight of Alec slumped over at the same spot he stood when he shot Sam. And just twenty feet from him is Sam. Dead.
Willow is sitting ramrod straight, her eyes overflowing with tears, but I don't allow it to hit me just yet. There's something else in the side view mirror that chills me. Two cargo trucks and a jeep pull out and take off after us.
"It's not over," Marcus says grimly as we fly through the trees.
No, it's not. I don't think this nightmare will ever end.
I wipe my throbbing and bloody nose and curl my fingers around the edge of the seat, bracing myself for a bumpy ride.