Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
As much as I’d like to dig into every detail of just how broad his shoulders looked in those pads, fatigue tugs on my eyelids, my neck and back still sore from my day in the garden yesterday.
“Thanks for letting me have your bed,” I say.
Nodding, he pushes off the doorway, closing it behind him. I pull off one sock, then the other. Still sitting on the edge of the bed, I try to process the events of the last couple of hours. Vance is dead. If Nova hadn’t been patrolling the housing block as part of her watch, and if she or Marcus hadn’t believed me, things would have turned out much worse for me.
This place is harsh. There are countless ways to die. But I’m still here. And while I don’t wholeheartedly trust anyone yet, I know Amira is my friend. I know Olin is too. And I believe Marcus, Nova and Ellison are all decent people trying to make fair decisions.
I’m better off than I was at Rising Tide. And if I’m not fighting Virginia alone, my chances of defeating her are better.
Is death the only way to truly defeat her? Maybe she could do some soul-searching from the hole she kept me prisoner in.
“Briar,” Marcus barks from outside the door.
“What?”
“Lock the damn door so I can go take a shower.”
Lightness flutters in my stomach as I get up to walk over to the door. He really seems to be looking out for me, which is nice.
There are three different locks on the door—two dead bolts and a metal bar. Once I’ve secured all of them, there’s no way anyone could get through the door without a bomb or a pretty killer axe.
So that’s something. I’m finally completely alone and safe for the first time since I got to this island.
I lie down in my clothes, covering myself up to the waist with the blanket. Maybe tomorrow will be boring, I think as I drift off to sleep.
Somehow, though, I doubt it. Especially if I spend any amount of time around Marcus.
27
Test subject horses showed dramatic increase in aggression and agitation. We are moving too quickly on trials, but Mr. Whitman is insistent that we have a usable compound within the next sixty days. The team is operating on very little sleep.
– Excerpt from the journal of Dr. Randall McClain
Lazy swirls of drifting snowflakes float on a light breeze as I wait outside the tunnel for Ellison several hours later. On this steamy day, the flakes fizzle and disappear as soon as they hit the ground.
It’s bright and sunny, the snow falling from a massive dark cloud that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the clear, blue sky. I’ve added artificial microclimates to the growing list of things on this bizarre island I wish I could talk to my mom about.
“Briar.” Ellison greets me with a bright smile. “It’s good to see you. Let’s go to my office.”
She leads me down into the tunnel, keying in a code to open the door. I can’t help thinking about the last time I took this path, with Vance beside me.
Ellison nods to two men who are walking in the opposite direction, waiting until they’re out of earshot to say, “How are you feeling today?”
“I’m fine. I got a few good hours of sleep.”
“Good.”
It took me no time at all to fall asleep in Marcus’s bed, and I didn’t hate waking up surrounded by the scents of saltwater, leather, and soap on his bedsheets. He was already gone when I unlocked the door and left in search of a bathroom.
On the table, he left me a fresh bar of soap, a towel, toothpaste and a toothbrush, a piece of paper on top of the pile bearing a handwritten note.
Briar,
You’re off work duty in the garden until further notice. Take the time you need. Find me if you need anything.
Marcus
Reading my name in his handwriting gave me butterflies. Ridiculous. I feel like a teenager with a crush, only I’m a grown-ass twenty-four-year-old woman who knows better.
Acting on feelings is a death sentence in the new world order. Even though I rely on logic, intuition, and experience, I’ve had several near misses with an eternal nap. I have to stay sharp, which means no more closing my eyes and breathing in the smell of Marcus’s pillow like a lunatic.
Ellison leads me down a hallway and through another secured door that requires a code for entry, and then into a room that takes me aback.
Shelves on the walls are lined with plants, artificial lights above casting them in wide arcs of brightness. Other shelves hold glass jars of medical supplies like gauze, pills, and dried, crushed plants.
There’s a loveseat with a blanket folded neatly over one side, and colorful paintings crowd the walls. It’s maximalist, with no rhyme or reason. An oil painting of a Black woman carrying a basket on her head hangs next to a watercolor of a portly pink pig with aviator goggles flying through the sky, his wings minuscule.