water. I scrubbed my neck and chest raw. After months of bathing in a frigid creek, it should have been amazing. But every time I looked down, all I could see was blood.
I couldn’t think of anything except Amory slaughtering those carriers one by one. It wasn’t the killing that bothered me; killing them was unavoidable. It was the vacant look in his eyes. He was so . . . detached. Whatever happened in Isador, it had changed something fundamental inside him.
As I got out of the shower and dried myself, I half expected the white towel to come away bloody, but all traces of the carrier had been washed away. I found some more mismatched clothing in the closet and padded out into the living room. Amory was still gone. I knew I should go offer to help him dispose of the bodies, but I wasn’t ready to face him yet.
Collapsing onto the sagging couch, I watched the early fringes of sunrise peeking around the blackout curtains over the living room window. It was hard to believe that in one night, we had broken Amory out of Isador, run from the PMC, and killed a dozen carriers. My whole body felt as though it had been beaten, and I was tired of fighting.
Some time later, the front door creaked open. Amory stood in the doorway, looking far worse for the wear than I remembered. His arms and face were covered in dried blood, and several bruises were forming on his face. His shoulders sagged, but not from exhaustion alone. Something about the way he carried himself told me he was also burdened with shame and guilt.
Our eyes met across the room, and he sighed heavily, almost a shrug. He looked lost, but I didn’t know what to say.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and broken. “Something’s wrong with me.”
I didn’t speak. I was at a loss for words.
Then Amory turned. His shirt was ripped, and I saw deep bloody marks forming a crescent pattern across his shoulder. A carrier had bitten him.
“Oh my god. When did that happen?”
Amory glanced down to see what I was referring to. He shook his head. “One of them got me pretty good from behind.”
“I need to clean that.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been vaccinated. Besides, that one didn’t even have the sores yet.”
“It can still get infected.”
I went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet to find some antiseptic. Amory removed his shirt and stood still while I swabbed the angry red marks. As I cleaned the bite, I took the opportunity to survey his other injuries. A hand-shaped bruise snaked around his neck, and another was blooming on his jaw.
Running my fingers over the back of his neck, I felt a raised bump just beneath his hairline. I touched it. It didn’t feel like a random cut from battle. It was a raised square scar just as my CID mark had been, and it was shiny and tender, almost a burn.
I sucked in a huge burst of air, remembering how it had flared up when Amory had come within range of the rover’s frequency.
“I think I just found where they inserted your CID.”
Amory’s hand clamped around the back of his neck.
“Get it out!”
He reached down to his pile of bloodstained clothing where he had dropped his holster and drew out a small knife.
“Cut it out. Please!” he said, shoving the knife into my hand.
“I can’t,” I whispered. Holding the knife between my fingers, I wanted to. I wanted to cut out his CID and end the pain — end the PMC’s hold on his life. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to find it. You could bleed out and die before I ever get it out.”
“No. They just inserted it there so I wouldn’t be able to cut it out myself.” Amory jerked around, cupping my hand that held the knife. “Please. Do it, Haven. They made me this way. I don’t want to be their puppet anymore.”
I stood there, weighing the possibilities. I didn’t want to tell him that removing the CID wouldn’t solve all his problems. We were nowhere near a rover. The way he slaughtered those carriers was likely the
I couldn’t think of anything except Amory slaughtering those carriers one by one. It wasn’t the killing that bothered me; killing them was unavoidable. It was the vacant look in his eyes. He was so . . . detached. Whatever happened in Isador, it had changed something fundamental inside him.
As I got out of the shower and dried myself, I half expected the white towel to come away bloody, but all traces of the carrier had been washed away. I found some more mismatched clothing in the closet and padded out into the living room. Amory was still gone. I knew I should go offer to help him dispose of the bodies, but I wasn’t ready to face him yet.
Collapsing onto the sagging couch, I watched the early fringes of sunrise peeking around the blackout curtains over the living room window. It was hard to believe that in one night, we had broken Amory out of Isador, run from the PMC, and killed a dozen carriers. My whole body felt as though it had been beaten, and I was tired of fighting.
Some time later, the front door creaked open. Amory stood in the doorway, looking far worse for the wear than I remembered. His arms and face were covered in dried blood, and several bruises were forming on his face. His shoulders sagged, but not from exhaustion alone. Something about the way he carried himself told me he was also burdened with shame and guilt.
Our eyes met across the room, and he sighed heavily, almost a shrug. He looked lost, but I didn’t know what to say.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and broken. “Something’s wrong with me.”
I didn’t speak. I was at a loss for words.
Then Amory turned. His shirt was ripped, and I saw deep bloody marks forming a crescent pattern across his shoulder. A carrier had bitten him.
“Oh my god. When did that happen?”
Amory glanced down to see what I was referring to. He shook his head. “One of them got me pretty good from behind.”
“I need to clean that.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been vaccinated. Besides, that one didn’t even have the sores yet.”
“It can still get infected.”
I went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet to find some antiseptic. Amory removed his shirt and stood still while I swabbed the angry red marks. As I cleaned the bite, I took the opportunity to survey his other injuries. A hand-shaped bruise snaked around his neck, and another was blooming on his jaw.
Running my fingers over the back of his neck, I felt a raised bump just beneath his hairline. I touched it. It didn’t feel like a random cut from battle. It was a raised square scar just as my CID mark had been, and it was shiny and tender, almost a burn.
I sucked in a huge burst of air, remembering how it had flared up when Amory had come within range of the rover’s frequency.
“I think I just found where they inserted your CID.”
Amory’s hand clamped around the back of his neck.
“Get it out!”
He reached down to his pile of bloodstained clothing where he had dropped his holster and drew out a small knife.
“Cut it out. Please!” he said, shoving the knife into my hand.
“I can’t,” I whispered. Holding the knife between my fingers, I wanted to. I wanted to cut out his CID and end the pain — end the PMC’s hold on his life. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to find it. You could bleed out and die before I ever get it out.”
“No. They just inserted it there so I wouldn’t be able to cut it out myself.” Amory jerked around, cupping my hand that held the knife. “Please. Do it, Haven. They made me this way. I don’t want to be their puppet anymore.”
I stood there, weighing the possibilities. I didn’t want to tell him that removing the CID wouldn’t solve all his problems. We were nowhere near a rover. The way he slaughtered those carriers was likely the
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