The ringing in my ears reaches an instant blinding peak. “This wouldn’t be happening if you’d gone home!”

A sharp snap.

We all jump.

Kitty squeals.

A shard of glass separates from the now-cracked mirror and clatters into the sink. We stare at it and I press my hands over my ears. The light stings, everything razor-edged and heightened, my pupils expanded with the flood of adrenaline. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just … I just need you to cut it out. Now. Okay? So we can leave.”

Aiden stands rigid with shock, mainly because Kitty still grips his forearm; she grabbed him, without thinking, in her fright.

Teary, she releases him and gives me a small tremulous nod.

“Thank you. I have no idea what their response time is like. They could land a helicopter in the parking lot and we’re screwed.”

“I don’t understand how it works.”

“It’s not magic. They can’t find me without the tracker, not without a Warden. And they can’t just whip up a Warden because there’s a whole procedure they need to do to boost their signals. If we destroy the tracker, they’re blind. Miriam and Jamie are the only people who know what we’re up to and even then they’re guessing. Miriam won’t tell them anything unless they perform a Harvest, but I think we have to assume Jamie will have told them about Aiden and that means they’ll search this area. So, let’s not be here when they come.”

A tear slips down her cheek. “I’m so, so sorry.”

I lean again over the sink. “I know. Now, please.”

“Shouldn’t we sterilise the blade?”

“I have mutant DNA. Germs aren’t a problem.”

She moves close to me, bringing her trembling fingers either side of my neck. I shiver at her icy touch. She should be warm after her shower, but adrenaline and fear has made her cold. She shivers too but doesn’t hesitate, bringing the tip of the scalpel to my neck. I grip the edge of the basin as it pierces my skin.

Incredibly, Kitty remains silent. She cuts upwards, her hand now steady with purpose. The pain is nauseating, especially when the scalpel hits the implant. “Oh!” She scrabbles at the back of my neck. “It popped out! Ugh, there’s so much blood.”

“Here.” Aiden staggers forwards.

She grabs a wad of cotton pads and jams them on the wound. My eyes nearly roll up into the back of my head, but I cling to the basin.

“Holy–” she whispers. “I actually did it.” She holds the tracker between her thumb and forefinger so I can see. A tiny metallic sphere with ridges around the circumference and a blinking yellow light, covered in blood. My insides turn. I retch into the sink. Kitty drops the tracker in the pinkish bile. I slump over the vanity, rattling the whole frame. Taking the broken piece of mirror, I drive it into the tracker, smashing it. I open the faucet, blood on my palm, and the bile and broken pieces slip past the glass and down the drain.

“Evs, you don’t look good.”

My stomach won’t stop heaving, though there’s nothing left for me to bring up and painful contractions keep me slumped over the sink.

“Aiden,” Kitty says. “Hold her. I need to cover the wound.”

“I’m fine.” I’m not. I can barely hold myself up.

Aiden moves beside me and supports my shoulders, swaying himself. “She needs stitches.”

“No!” I spit into the sink. “There’s no time. I’ll heal.”

Kitty quickly cleans away the blood and fixes a thick bandaid over the wound. I go to stand, but the bathroom spins away from me, everything goes black and I hit the ground. I can still hear Kitty calling my name, Aiden asking her to move out of the way, my own groaning as he hoists me up into his arms, banging me against the vanity, then on the doorframe, but I can’t see a thing. He drops me onto the bed, almost landing on top of me. I curl on my side, my whole body quaking, painful palpitations contracting my chest.

“She hasn’t slept in two days. I don’t know when she last ate. I think she’s exhausted,” Kitty says, her weight behind me, her hand on my arm.

“Carrying me all that way can’t have helped,” Aiden says.

“I didn’t think they could get sick.”

“I’m n-not sick,” I say, mumbling into the quilt. I’m spent, my system taxed beyond its capacity. I’ve denied it fuel. Food. Water. And let’s face it, Jamie. A day without contact can give me withdrawal tremors, our signals now so accustomed to Synergist Coding. Dependant. I push that thought away. It’s the backlog of sleeplessness, dehydration and adrenal fatigue that tipped me over the edge.

How did I let it get to this?

Why didn’t I force myself to eat?

You would have brought it up anyway.

Miriam’s warnings about my metabolism taunt me.

The short-term solution is Fretizine to suppress the adrenal gland, supplement healing and maximise signal regeneration after trauma, but the cost is weakness, dulled senses, slow reflexes.

I cry out in frustration.

Kitty strokes my arm. “What do you want us to do?”

“You should take her to hospital,” Aiden says. “She needs–”

“No!” I jerk my head up and glare at him, but I can only see black swirls and popping lights. “I need Fretizine, there’s another dose in the … in the case. Just … hurry, we–”

A blackout.

Blissful nothingness.

…

The prick of a needle.

The sweet sting of Fretizine.

And I’m back.

I blink once, twice, and the black swirls gain some blurred colour. Panting, I say, “We have to go. We have to go now. Aiden, you think you can drive? I can’t see properly. Kitty, you have to stay here. Call your folks. They’ll come for you.”

“Are you out of your mind?” she says. “There is no way I’m letting you go by yourselves. Aiden’s half-stoned! How are you going to get the blood sample to Doctor Sullivan? It’ll be hours before you can drive.”

It’s like a punch to the gut.

How will we get the sample to Doctor Sullivan before they come for us? I planned to take it to him myself. It’s the middle of the night in Hicksville; it’s not like we can call FedEx and wait.

“Evie’s right,” Aiden says. “It’s not safe. You should stay here.”

“You don’t get a vote! It’s my car and I’m the only sober driver!”

MONSTER

“I think I saw something that time.” Aiden, from the back of Kitty’s car. His speech sounds less slurred or maybe my hearing has grown less muddy. I squint up at him from the reclined front passenger seat, curled on my side, my vision clear in the centre but fuzzy on the fringes. He leans his forearm on the driver’s seat. “Is it KMT or KMH?”

Kitty’s focus shifts briefly from the road to Aiden. Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I watch her but I don’t think it’s fear, more like heightened awareness. She bites her lip and looks back at the dark, wet road to Boston.

It’s been raining since we left the Daisy Chain. I glance at the clock. We’ve been on the road forty-five minutes. The drive out of Roxborough, a breath-held nightmare. Aside from a couple of big rigs we saw no other cars until we hit the freeway. I’m tempted to turn on the radio but I don’t want to hear any news reports. I can’t check my phone because I left it at the motel. Kitty left hers too, in case they try to track our cell signals like they do in movies. It cut me in two parting with mine, the archive of photos of Jamie and me lost for good.

“It’s KMT, my physical memory. Though with drugs in my system my transference is probably crap. Rain messes with the reading too. Even if I was touching you, I’m not sure it would make much difference.”

“Can we try?” Without waiting, he takes my hand and closes his eyes.

Kitty and I exchange a look. His hand in mine gives me a warm feeling in my chest and I think stupid blubbery thoughts like this is my brother. Kitty presses her lips together, not quite a smile in the context of fleeing in terror but an expression of empathy.