The Wildlings were giving us space. But I need help. I need…
Anders’ field serum.
Maya did something funny with the serum the last time we were all together.
She put it in the beer fridge.
I stumble down the steps, catching myself on the couch before making my way through the sunken living room. Up the stairs to the beer fridge in the large island that divides the kitchen from the living room.
A small pouch with injectors and a packet of that black polymer, right next to the Shiners.
Hilarious.
“Don’t ever inject the red one.”
Got it.
“Blue is true.”
I slide out the blue injector pen and twist on the needle. I aim for the back of my head and inject it directly into the wound.
Fucking ouch.
The ringing intensifies.
I throw upagain.
Okay. Okay. I blink a few more times. The serum works fast. I can feel my fucking skull knitting back together.
My thoughts, so scattered, begin to stitch themselves into one coherent thought.
I need to get upstairs. Now.
Grabbing the silver case and the polymer, I book it back to the stairs. The serum gives me a temporary boost, and I start taking the stairs two at a time.
I burst onto the rooftop into a nightmare scenario.
Cupcake, bleeding on the ground. The dads, all bleeding on the ground. And Oakley grappling…with me.
A gun spinning on the concrete floor.
My mind empties, and I close the distance, climbing onto the back of this person who looks like me, but isn’t. I grab his jaw, locking eyes with Oakley. He drops his chin and puts every bit of his weight into pummeling the man’s ribs.
When Not-Me is wheezing, out of oxygen, I break his neck, dropping him to the ground.
His skin is free of tattoos, his eyes are white, and he looks like I did in high school.
That’s just fucking creepy.
I hold up the case. “Who’s the worst?”
“Erik,” Oakley chokes out, gasping for air.
My heart drops, and I race over to find him shot in the chest. Through and through. I follow the bullet’s trajectory, and that’s when I see Ant. He’s been shot in the arm, and it’s hanging funny. He’s pale and his hands are shaking.That’s shock, I think.And a broken arm.
I grab the scissors from Maya’s kit and zip a line straight up Erik’s T-shirt. Not bothering to switch out the needle, I make several quick injections of the blue in a circle around the hole in his chest.
“Papa is next. He’s got a pretty bad leg wound. Lots of bloodloss,” Oakley says, two fingers to the artery in Thane’s neck. “He’s still breathing. His heart’s beating fast.”
