Antitype by M. D. Waters Page A

according to the coms, we’re in control of the facility. That doesn’t mean there won’t be any stragglers. I turn corners carefully, prepared for anything, until the end of the line comes into sight.
    Violet is near the end. I recognize the frightened look on her face, and my heart clenches. No more of that after tonight. She’ll be safe and well cared for if it’s the last thing I do. The older girl taking up the rear has her back to us, her dark, low-hanging ponytail swaying. She aims her rifle into the empty corridor, watchful for guards.
    Violet lets out a sob and races toward me. I swing her up in my arms, cradling her to me, running a gloved hand over the back of her head. The longer I hold her, the more she cries.
    â€œEverything’s okay. Promise,” I tell her.
    The back of my neck prickles, and when I turn, it’s Her. The girl who had been guarding the rear has turned and stands watching us with the most beautiful round eyes. I don’t know Her name, and I’m damn sure She’s too young for me—She has to be Hannah’s age—but
I know.
And I’m not alone in our connection. I see it in the way She refuses to take Her eyes off me.
    I’m in an entirely new vortex, and this time, I don’t want to escape.
    Violet sniffles in my ear, waking me from my trance. I clear my throat. “Hey,” is all I can think to say. It’s as if She’s stolen my entire range of vocabulary.
    She steps forward and starts to pass me the rifle She must have stolen from a guard. “Switch with me?” She says with a nod at my sister.
    I grin, realizing She must assume I would prefer a weapon over my precious cargo. “No, I’m good. You?” She looks at home with that rifle, but for all I know, She’d rather be without it.
    She smiles, but it’s crooked and shy. She’s absolutely stunning. “I guess.”
    No, there’s no guessing about it. She’s good, and so am I. Perfect, actually, because I know just how this story ends. One day, when She’s older and I’m braver, I’m going to kiss Her until neither of us can breathe.
    â€œI’m Noah.”

A CKNOWLEDGMENTS
    I somehow ended up with an entire team of eyes behind this one, working at the speediest of paces to help me clean these few pages. Thanks to Charissa, Jodi, Melinda, Tracy, and Christina for dropping EVERYTHING to cross my T’s and dot my lowercase J’s. I’ll never forget it!
    Thank-you, Jennifer Weltz and Denise Roy, for not looking at me like I was crazy when I decided to write this at the VERY last possible second. You knew I could do it, and you knew I could do it with time to spare. And so I did. Your faith in me means everything.

Read on for an excerpt from
Archetype

Chapter 1
    My mind wakes, but the words essential to describe the stirring of my consciousness escape me.
    I blink.
    White light fills my vision, blindingly bright, darkening my peripheral to pitch. I have no words for variations, either, because while I understand shifts of color and luminescence in my surroundings, I cannot hold knowledge in my mind.
    Voices articulate words—
No, we don’t need her anymore; put her with the others
—and I struggle to make sense of them to no avail. I know what they say is important. So important. Vital. Yet all meaning flashes through the vast darkness of my mind, fleeting streaks of lightning. Alluring, coaxing, but gone before I can decipher patterns in the chaos.
    I blink.
    Dust particles float in the air, a fluid, graceful contrast to the vibrating hum of the light hanging above me. The motes dance around my slim, pale fingers, escaping my grasp, frustratingly transitory, like everything else I experience.
    A hand pushes aside the sterile aluminum lamp seconds before a face appears. Cold fingers pry up the lid of one of my eyes. Gray eyes stare, unblinking, between a green cap and surgical mask. A pinprick of