The Host_ A Novel - Stephenie Meyer [120]
Even as I imagined finding these things, tasting them again, being full for the first time since I’d left civilization, I felt guilty for thinking of it. Jared hadn’t risked his life and spent weeks hiding and stealing to feed me. This food was for others.
I also worried that perhaps this wasn’t the entire haul. What if they had more boxes to stow? Would Jared and Kyle be the ones to bring them? It didn’t take any imagination at all to picture the scene that would result if they found me here.
But wasn’t that why I was here? Wasn’t that exactly what I’d needed to be alone to think about?
I slouched against the wall. The rice bag made a decent pillow. I closed my eyes-unnecessary in the inky darkness-and settled in for a consultation.
Okay, Mel. What now?
I was glad to find that she was still awake and alert. Opposition brought out her strength. It was only when things were going well that she drifted away.
Priorities, she decided. What’s most important to us? Staying alive? Or Jamie?
She knew the answer. Jamie, I affirmed, sighing out loud. The sound of my breath whispered back from the black walls.
Agreed. We could probably last awhile if we let Jeb and Ian protect us. Will that help him?
Maybe. Would he be more hurt if we just gave up? Or if we let this drag on, only to have it end badly, which seems inevitable?
She didn’t like that. I could feel her scrambling around, searching for alternatives.
Try to escape? I suggested.
Unlikely, she decided. Besides, what would we do out there? What would we tell them?
We imagined it together-how would I explain my months of absence? I could lie, make up some alternative story, or say I didn’t remember. But I thought of the Seeker’s skeptical face, her bulging eyes bright with suspicion, and knew my inept attempts at subterfuge would fail.
They’d think I took over, Melanie agreed. Then they’d take you out and put her in.
I squirmed, as if a new position on the rock floor would take me further away from the idea, and shuddered. Then I followed the thought to its conclusion. She’d tell them about this place, and the Seekers would come.
The horror washed through us.
Right, I continued. So escape is out.
Right, she whispered, emotion making her thought unstable.
So the decision is… quick or slow. Which hurts him less?
It seemed that as long as I focused on practicalities I could keep at least my side of the discussion numbly businesslike. Melanie tried to mimic my effort.
I’m not sure. On the one hand, logically, the longer the three of us are together, the harder our… separation would be for him. Then again, if we didn’t fight, if we just gave up… he wouldn’t like that. He’d feel betrayed by us.
I looked at both sides she’d presented, trying to be rational about it.
So… quick, but we have to do our best not to die?
Go down fighting, she affirmed grimly.
Fighting. Fabulous. I tried to imagine that-meeting violence with violence. Raising my hand to strike someone. I could form the words but not the mental picture.
You can do it, she encouraged. I’ll help you.
Thanks, but no thanks. There has to be some other way.
I don’t get you, Wanda. You’ve given up on your species entirely, you’re ready to die for my brother, you’re in love with the man I love who is going to kill us, and yet you won’t let go of customs that are entirely impractical here.
I am who I am, Mel. I can’t change that, though everything else may change. You hold on to yourself; allow me to do the same.
But if we’re going to -
She would have continued to argue with me, but we were interrupted. A scuffing sound, shoe against rock, echoed from somewhere back down the corridor.
I froze-every function of my body arrested but my heart, and even that faltered jaggedly-and listened. I didn’t have long to hope that I’d just imagined the sound. Within seconds, I could hear more quiet footsteps coming this way.
Melanie