Page 85 of Uncontrolled

“What plan would that be?”

I struggle to ease my weight off her, but I’m not sure how long I’m going to remain standing. The only reason I’m leaning on her at all is because I need my strength for what’s coming.

“You’ve got to let me take the hits, Allie,” I tell her. She tenses underneath me. “If you die, they’re going to kill me anyway. Our only chance is you. If you live, you can resurrect me.”

We both know the first resurrection takes a syringe of blood. The second, a transfusion. She told me she’s never heard of a third resurrection on the same person being attempted, let alone being successful. Which means if my plan works, after this, my place in her future might be a lot shakier than either of us is ready to admit. To my surprise, she doesn’t immediately argue, so I go on.

“You’ll have three hours to kill them, get what you need to resurrect me, and do your thing. Plenty of time.” It’s painful to talk. “Even with delays, we’ll escape long before the Doctor gets here.”

“But if something happens to me, I won’t revive in time to—”

I attempt to draw her face into my hands, but only one of my arms will work, so I settle for cupping her cheek. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’m going to be your human shield.”

A sharp sting sears my side as Allie touches the stab wound between my ribs, the one I didn’t tell her about. Then her fingers sink to the one closer to my stomach.

I nod. “I’m already done.”

“God damn it,” she murmurs, but she blinks any tears away before they can fall.

“You’re the better fighter,” I tell her. “But you know we’re stronger together. This will work.”

She stares at me for an impossibly long moment before she gives me a sharp nod.

“Compromise,” she says, shifting my weight as she starts us down the hall. “We head for the front door. If we’re stopped, we’ll use your plan.”

“Deal,” I say. My head feels muddled. If I die, there won’t be a plan at all.

The staircase leads to the main floor of the house and spills us into the middle of the room.

Once we leave the carpet, every sound is amplified. We don’t bother attempting to hide our retreat, the creaking stairs, the snapping pops as the old banister adjusts to our weight.

Every movement shoots agony through another part of my body. I don’t dare complain. We can’t stop for me to rest. Instead, I hold my breath and force my feet down each step, praying I don’t pass out before we reach the bottom.

“Almost there,” Allie whispers encouragingly. All we have to do is cross the room and move through the entryway. Sunlight streams through the decorative panels on either side of the door, reflecting bright enough off the wooden floor to blur my vision.

Or maybe I’m hallucinating, I think. Maybe it’s the blood loss. I grip my stomach with my good hand as if it’ll help.

“Still with me?” Allie asks.

My head’s slumped. Instead of answering her, I push forward, one foot sliding awkwardly when my knee gives out. My skin prickles, senses firing in warning. We’re not alone anymore. “Behind you,” I say.

Gathering the last of my strength, I shove Allie. Zen aimed her knife for Allie’s heart. It hits me a couple inches lower and to the side. I grab a fistful of dark hair and yank Zen to me, tangling my fingers in the strands to keep her from breaking free.

When my legs buckle, Zen falls with me. She screams, the sound close enough to my ear to send it ringing, dulling the thumps Allie makes as she rains down on Zen’s back with the sharp stick of a weapon until the other girl goes deadweight.

“Christopher?” Allie shoves, tumbles Zen’s body, and I catch half a breath before she adds pressure to my wounded ribs and fire races through my chest.

I clasp at her arm, an unspoken plea. When she nods that she’s okay, exhaustion floods my system.

“We did it,” she says. “I’m going to—” Her relieved expression freezes and fades as the color drains from her cheeks. Allie raises her hands as she stands. “Don’t.”

Lifting my head, I see Keeley come around the bottom of the stairs from the study. In her hand is the decorative pistol from the shadowbox I saw on the wall the first time I came here. I want to tell Allie it’s okay, tell her the gun probably doesn’t even fire, that Keeley is just a stupid, desperate kid.

But then I hear the shot.

Allie stumbles.

The gun clatters to the floor. Keeley flees. Her shoes send plaster and dirt skittering before I hear the slam of the screen door.

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