Champion (Legend #3)

Champion (Legend #3) Page 36

Pascao wants to explain himself further, like he’s frustrated that he doesn’t know how to put his answer into the right words. But I understand him already. I shake my head and stare out toward the Lake sector, remembering June’s brother. “Yeah. Me too.”

After a while, we finally head back inside the hospital. I take off the suit and change back into my own clothes. Plan’s supposed to kick into effect starting with Anden’s surrender announcement. After that, it’s all one day at a time. Anything could change.

While Pascao heads off to get some rest, I retrace my steps down the hall and back toward Eden’s room, wondering if the lab teams have sent up any new results for us to look at. As if they’ve read my mind, I see a few of them clustered outside Eden’s door when I arrive. They’re talking in hushed tones. The serenity I’d felt during our brief night run fades away.

“What is it?” I ask. I can already see the tension in their eyes. My chest knots up at the sight. “Tell me what’s happened.”

From behind the clear plastic of his hood, one of the lab techs tells me, “We received some data from the Antarctican lab team. We think we’ve managed to synthesize something from your brother’s blood that can almost act as a cure. It’s working—to a degree.”

A cure! A rush of energy courses through me, leaving me dizzy with relief. I can’t help letting a smile spill onto my face. “Have you told the Elector yet? Does it work? Can we start using it on Tess?”

The lab tech stops me before I can go on. “Almost act as a cure, Day,” he repeats.

“What do you mean?”

“The Antarctican team confirmed that the virus has likely mutated from the original one Eden developed immunity to, or that it may have combined its genome with another genome along the way. Your brother’s T cells have the ability to shift along with this aggressive virus; in our samples, one of the cures we’ve developed seems to work partially—”

“So I can understand you,” I say impatiently.

The lab tech scowls at me, as if I might infect him with my attitude. “We’re missing something,” he says with an indignant sigh. “We’re missing a component.”

“What do you mean, you’re missing something?” I demand. “What are you missing?”

“Somewhere along the way, the virus that’s causing our current outbreaks mutated from its original Republic plague virus and combined with another virus. There’s something missing along the way, as a result. We think it may have mutated in the Colonies, perhaps quite a while ago. Months ago, even.”

My heart sinks as I realize what they’re trying to tell me. “Does that mean the cure won’t work yet?”

“It’s not only that the cure won’t work yet. It’s that we don’t know if we can ever get it to work. Eden’s not Patient Zero for this thing.” The lab tech sighs again. “And unless we can find the person who this new virus mutated from, I’m not sure we’ll ever create a cure.”

I AWAKE TO THE SOUND OF A SIREN WAILING ACROSS our apartment complex. It’s the air raid alarm. For a second, I’m back in Denver, sitting with Day at a little lantern-lit café while sleet falls all around us, listening to him tell me that he’s dying. I’m back in the panicked, chaotic streets as the siren shrieks at us—we’re holding hands, running for shelter, terrified.

Gradually, my room fades into reality and the siren wails on. My heart begins to pound. I jump out of bed, pause to comfort a whining Ollie, then rush to turn on my screen. News headlines blare out, fighting with the siren—and running along the bottom of the screen is an angry, red warning.

SEEK COVER

I scan the headlines.

ENEMY AIRSHIPS APPROACHING LOS ANGELES’S LIMITS

ALL TROOPS TO REPORT TO THEIR LOCAL

HEADQUARTERS

ELECTOR PRIMO TO MAKE EMERGENCY ANNOUNCEMENT

They’d predicted that the Colonies would still take three more days before making a move on Los Angeles. It looks like they’re ahead of schedule and preparing for the end of the three-day ceasefire, which means we need to put our plan ahead of schedule. I cover my ears from the siren, rush over to the balcony, and look out at the horizon. The morning light is still weak, and the cloudy sky makes it difficult for me to see properly, but even so, the dots lining up above California’s mountain skyline are unmistakable. My breath catches in my throat.

Airships. Colonies, African—I can’t quite tell from this distance, but there is no mistaking the fact that they are not Republic ships. Based on their position and speed, they will be hovering right over central Los Angeles before the hour’s over. I click my mike on, then rush into the closet to throw on some clothes. If Anden’s preparing to make an announcement soon, then it will undoubtedly be the surrender. And if that’s the case, I’ll need to join Day and the Patriots as quickly as I can. A fake surrender will only work for so long before it turns into a real one.

“Where are you guys?” I shout when Day comes onto the line.

His voice sounds as urgent as mine. The echo of the siren sounds out from his side too. “Eden’s hospital room. You see the ships?”

I glance again at the horizon before lacing up my boots. “Yes. I’m in. I’ll be there soon.”

“Watch the sky. Stay safe.” He hesitates for two seconds. “And hurry. We’ve got a problem.” Then our call cuts off, and I’m out the door with Ollie close at my side, galloping like the wind.

By the time we reach the Central Hospital’s lab floor in the Bank Tower and are ushered in to see Day, Eden, and the Patriots, the sirens have stopped. The sector’s electricity must have been switched off again, and aside from the main government buildings like the Bank Tower, the landscape outside looks eerily black, swallowed nearly whole by damp morning shadows. Down the hall, the screens show an empty podium where Anden will be standing any minute now, poised to give a live national address. Ollie stays glued to my side, panting his distress. I reach down and pat him several times, and he rewards me with a lick of my hand.

I meet Day and the others in Eden’s room right as Anden appears onscreen. Eden looks exhausted and half conscious. He still has an IV hooked up to his arm, but aside from that, there are no other tubes or wires. Beside the bed, a lab tech is typing notes onto a notepad.

Day and Pascao are wearing what look like dark Republic suits meant for physically demanding missions—it’s the same sort of suit I’d once worn back when I first needed to break Day out of Batalla Hall, when I spent a late night skimming building roofs in search of Kaede. Both of them are talking to a lab tech, and based on their expressions, they’re not getting good news. I want to ask them for details, but Anden has stepped up to the podium already, and my words fade away as we turn our attention to the screen. All I hear is the sound of our breathing and the ominous, distant hum of approaching airships.

Anden looks composed; and even though he’s only a year older than the first time I met him, the weight and gravity on his face make him look much more mature than he actually is. Only the slight clench of his jaw reveals a hint of his real emotions. He’s dressed in solid white, with silver epaulettes on his shoulders and a gold Republic seal pinned near the collar of his military coat. Behind him are two flags: One is the Republic’s, while the other is blank, white, devoid of color. I swallow hard. It’s a flag I know well from all my studies, but one that I’ve never seen used. We all knew this was coming, we had planned this and we know it’s not real—but even so, I can’t help feeling a deep, dark sense of grief and failure. As if we are truly handing our country over to someone else.

“Soldiers of the Republic,” Anden begins addressing the soldiers surrounding him at the base. As always, his voice is at once soft and commanding, quiet but clear. “It is with a heavy heart that I come to you today with this message. I have already relayed these same words to the Chancellor of the Colonies.” He pauses for a moment, as if gathering his strength. I can only imagine that for him, even faking such a gesture must weigh on him far more than it already does on me. “The Republic has officially surrendered to the Colonies.”

Silence. The base, filled with noise and chaos only a few minutes ago, is now suddenly still—every soldier frozen, listening in disbelief.

“We are now to cease all military activity against the Colonies,” Anden continues, “and within the next day, we will meet with the Colonies’ leading officials to draft official surrender terms.” He pauses, letting the weight settle over the entire base. “Soldiers, we will continue to update you on information regarding this as we proceed.” Then the transmission stops. He doesn’t end with Long live the Republic. A chill runs through me when the screens are replaced with an image of, not the Republic flag, but the Colonies’.

They are doing a stellar job of making this surrender look convincing. I hope the Antarcticans are going to keep their word. I hope help is on the way.

“Day, we don’t have much time to get these bases ready to blow,” Pascao mutters to us as the address stops. The three Republic soldiers with us are geared up in a similar fashion, all ready to guide them to where the air bases will be wired. “You’re gonna have to buy us some time. News is that the Colonies will start landing their airships at our bases in a few hours.”

Day nods. As Pascao turns away to rattle off some directions to the soldiers, Day’s eyes flicker to me. In them, I see a strained sense of fear that makes my stomach churn. “Something’s gone wrong with the cure, hasn’t it?” I ask. “How’s Eden doing?”

Day sighs, running a hand through his hair, and then looks down at his brother. “He’s hanging in there.”

“But . . . ?”

“But the problem is that he isn’t Patient Zero. They said they’re missing something from his blood.”

I look at the fragile boy in the hospital bed. Eden isn’t Patient Zero? “But what? What are they missing?”

“It’d be easier to show you than try to explain it. Come on. This is something we’ll need to alert Anden about. What’s the point of staging this whole surrender if we won’t be able to get help from Antarctica?” Day leads us out and down the hall. We walk in a tense silence for a while, until we finally stop in front of a nondescript door. Day opens it.

We step inside a room full of comps. A lab tech monitoring the screens rises when he sees us, then ushers us over. “Time to update Ms. Iparis?”

“Tell me what’s going on,” I reply.

He sits us down in front of a comp and spends several minutes loading up a screen. When he finally finishes, I see two side-by-side comparisons of some slides of what I assume are cells. I peer more closely at them.

The lab tech points to the one on the left, which looks like a series of small, polygonal particles grouped around a large central cell. Attached to the particles are dozens of little tubes sticking out of the cell. “This,” the lab tech says, circling the large cell with his finger, “is a simulation of an infected cell that we’re trying to target. The cell has a red hue to it, indicating that viruses have taken hold inside. If no cure’s involved, this cell lyses—bursts open—and dies. Now, see these little particles around it? Those are simulations of the cure particles that we need. They attach to the outside of the infected cell.” He taps the screen twice where the large cell is, and a short animation plays, showing the particles latching on to the cell; eventually, the cell shrinks in size and the color of it changes. “They save the cell from bursting.”