Page 72 of All Saints Day
I feel my stomach turn over, cold and queasy as Lowry's gaze flits to me before returning to Louise.
“And if you don't?” I allow my hands to travel down her arm to the soft hollow of her neck—my palm resting over her bobbing throat as I draw my face back. “There'll be no return from where they send you, Louise. Once you're no longer useful as breeding stock, you'll suffer just like this. Desperate and touch-starved until it drives you mad… Or you die, whichever comes first.”
I can feel resonance beneath my outstretched hand letting me know Louise understands through the muffled vibration of our connection—I can just feel the others urging Louise to hold on for a little bit longer.
Suddenly, Louise's face crumples—her eyes screwing shut, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as her lids remain pressed closed.
Her lower lip buckles, and Louise begins to sob.
“They did it,” she whimpers, trembling in her bonds, her knees going soft—the iron shackle at her midsection biting into the soft curve of her hips through the thin fabric of her hospital Johnny.
“They did what?” I growl, pressing her to continue, though my hand stays frozen, feather-light over the column of her throat.
“My parents, they found a cure, but only because they infected me and the other children,” she begins to wail. Lowry's hands fly to her mouth in breathless shock and horror.
“How do you know they found the cure?” I hiss, bringing my forehead so that it presses against hers.
“I saw proof in the records when I was with you and the Saints—I just hid it from you.” She begins to bend the truth, Lowry none the wiser.
“And you didn't think to share this with anybody?” I bark, her whole body shuddering under my grip as she does her best to resist me.
“Did you find it? Did you find the formula?” Lowry sputters, crowding in close to the two of us.
“No. I didn't find the formula. But I did find details of their research, and I saw my own medical records that had been sealed by the FBI.”
Susan goes so quiet, so still—I wonder if she might be holding her breath.
“But the cure came at a cost,” Louise's voice breaks, her body going slack in the cuffs and shackles as she hangs on the mahogany St. Andrew's Cross.
“What do you mean came at a cost?” I move my hands, posting them flat against the wooden X beneath Louise's stretched arms.
To Lowry, it'll look like an act of intimidation, but I'm actually trying to support Louise's body weight. Thin streams of blood flow from the iron wrist cuffs that bite into her tender skin, suffering from being kept in bondage so long.
At this, Louise gulps down her bawling to cast a sidelong glance at Susan.
“It changed me. It changed my designation.”
“What?” Susan hissed beneath her breath, horrified.
“Not just me, but all the other children in the sample group. We may have started off as one designation, but after infection by the Zeitnot virus and treatment with the cure, every single one of us shifted our designation.”
“But that's not possible.” Susan shakes her head in disbelief, slowly drifting backward toward the windows; the sun, round and golden, dropping toward the horizon—the purple mountains and shadowy dark green canopy of trees appearing to rise behind her.
“I was born an omega, Susan. The Zeitnot threatened to burn me inside out. The cure forced me to become something else entirely.”
Susan's hands crawl up and over her face, shrouding her momentarilyfrom view.
“You should know after all—Fed stooges like you and Compton—you know all about the secret projects my parents had been involved in for the Department of Reproduction. The suppressant melters, the scent replicators. That magical super serum meant to produce perfect soldiers,according to the military—or a eugenics tool to produce the next generation of shadow government rulers, if you ask a cabal like the Windmill,” Louise accuses with the last vestiges of her strength.
Susan emerges from behind her curtain of wrinkled, gnarled fingers.
“The formula! If you found all this, you must have found the formula!” she exclaims.
Louise surprises even me with the sickly sweet, high-pitched giggle that escapes her.
“You made me a deal, Lowry, and I've given you quite a bit already, but I'm not giving you the rest until you make good on your part,” Louise trembles, her voice thready.
“Yes, everything that you've given me is very good, Louise, but unless you can at least point me in the direction of the formula for the cure, I'm not sure how much I can do this late in the game. The Windmill had already assumed that you were somehow integral to the cure—hence our prioritization of returning you to our custody.”
