Dead Water Zone - Kenneth Oppel [45]
He sucked in his breath, as if in pain. His head cleared. It was selfish. It was utter loneliness. And it would never be enough.
“Let’s leave. Together,” Paul said. “Right now.”
“Listen to me! I’ve been working toward this moment for years. I’m almost finished. Besides, where would I go, Paul? Back to Governor’s Hill? Like this? Look at me. I’m a freak, a horror. What would the neighbors say? Say I stopped taking the water, say there were no aftereffects. How many years do I have? Twelve, if I’m lucky? It’s not enough! Stay, take the water with me!”
“I can’t do it, Sam.” He had to force himself to say the words.
“You owe me this!”
In Sam’s voice, Paul thought he heard a very small child, resentful, bitter, raging. The same boy that was in him, too. He’d hated Sam when he’d left home; he needed Sam too much.
He had to turn away. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
The movement was so sudden Paul recoiled in shock. Sam grasped the shackles around his wrists, buckling the metal with his fingers. He then dropped to his knees, breaking his ankle chains.
“Leave, then.”
Paul hesitated.
“Get Monica out, and leave.” Sam threw a ring of keys at his feet. “But you do it without me!”
“Sam, please!” He was in agony. How could he just leave, knowing what Sam was going to do? He seized his brother’s arm. “Come with us!”
But Sam gave him a punch in the face that sent him sprawling, a grunt of surprise still locked in his throat.
“My work here isn’t finished yet!”
Paul touched his cheekbone in amazement.
“Get going!” Sam said. “Before I change my mind.”
“Wait, listen—” But Sam punched him again, hard.
“All right then, let’s fight.”
They squared off. Paul didn’t know why he was doing this; he knew he’d lose. He made a halfhearted lunge, which his brother easily avoided, jabbing him under the chin. Paul staggered back, dizzy. He was a ninety-pound weakling getting sand kicked in his face.
He pushed himself forward, hoping to knock Sam over, but his brother darted effortlessly behind him, pinning his arms against his sides. Paul writhed to get free, but Sam held him in the steel hoops of his arms.
“This is important,” Sam breathed against his ear. “I need to do this for myself.”
“You don’t,” Paul choked. “Let me go! Come with us!”
“No.”
Sam’s grip loosened slightly, just enough so that it no longer hurt. Paul could feel their bodies moving in tandem as they both gasped for breath. He could feel the faint tremor of his brother’s pulse beating against his back. And Paul suddenly knew Sam wasn’t fighting with him anymore. He was hugging him, holding him fiercely in his arms.
“Go!”
Paul whirled around, but Sam had already disappeared.
14
HE SHOULD HAVE paid more attention earlier. Which way? Right or straight ahead? What if she’d picked the other locks, set herself free? She might have left the ship already. He tried to think straight. He’d have to go back to the cell to make sure. But Sam. How could he leave him here? He felt bruised where he’d been hugged.
The canted floors sent him teetering against the walls. Up ahead, thick crossbeams sagged precariously from the low ceiling, forcing him to stoop to get past. He remembered this part. A map was drawing itself in his head. Down another set of steps and he’d almost be there.
On the lower deck, he felt along the wall in near darkness. There. The door. He fumbled with the keys. It took him three tries to make the match. He flung the door open and rushed inside. With a surge of relief, he made out Monica’s shape against the wall.
“Sam’s letting us go,” he whispered, touching her skin.
It felt hard, icy cold. Bone, plastic tubing. The insect hum welled up around him, deafening.
“I thought you’d come back for her,” said David Sturm.
The stench of rot wafted over him. Smell of death, he thought in terror. Sturm was dying, like Sam said. Dying from the inside out. Before Paul had time to