Part 27 (2/2)

”And I'll write my side of the story, too,” Peyton piped in. ”After all, I had reasons for what I did. I wasn't the evil b.i.t.c.h this one sometimes makes me out to be.” She poked him in the side playfully and he chuckled.

”We know, we know,” Chase replied. ”You had to save the world and stuff.” He kissed her on the nose to let her know he was just teasing. She kissed him back.

The dinner bell rang and the Hive Writers Club gathered their things, exiting the room. Soon it was only Peyton and Chase left behind in the cla.s.sroom.

”How are you feeling?” he asked, looking deep into her eyes, glad he could once again peer into their depths. See her expression of love when she looked back up at him. He loved the blue of her irises. Her very human irises.

”I feel great,” she said. ”Never better. And you?”

”I'm great, too. A little sore, but good, all things considered.” As a member of the rehabilitation team, Chase spent long hours above the surface each day hunting for Others who had been cured by the antidote team. When the survivors regained their humanity, they were confused and lost and scared. It was Chase's job to round them up, give them an explanation and bring them home. A pied piper of sorts, just as his brother had been before.

It had been almost a year since the scientists first extracted the antidote recipe from Peyton's head. They'd cured Chase of his own infection-he'd demanded they use it on him first, as a test in case it didn't work. After that it was all about production, creating ma.s.s quant.i.ties of the antidote to be distributed above ground. Over the year they'd cured an estimated four hundred Others, integrating them into Hive society. The underground city was bursting at the seams these days and there was much talk of going back above ground. Rebuilding the world, one town at a time.

”And your father?” Chase asked, leading her out the door and into the dining hall.

”I visited him in the prison this morning before the meeting,” Peyton told him. ”He's getting better every day. I think the meds are really helping.” She sighed.

Chase gave her a rueful smile. He knew it'd been hard on her to turn him in. To report the part he'd played-her own flesh and blood-in destroying the world. Luckily the council had been understanding of Ian's obvious mental breakdown and illness. They gave him a comfortable cell where he could live out his remaining days and plenty of rations. And to his credit, he'd more than earned his keep and tried to make amends best he could, offering the Hive scientists valuable insights into the plague and the antidote. Without him, they wouldn't have been half as far along as they were. For that, even Peyton could allow for a small shred of forgiveness, even though Chase knew she was still humiliated and embarra.s.sed about the whole thing.

”We've all made mistakes,” she'd grudgingly say. ”Some bigger than others. But if we want to survive as a species, we have to stick together and move forward.”

”He may have been misguided,” Chase reminded her gently, ”but he really did want to save the world. And here, he'll have his chance. We all have another chance.”

”Right,” Peyton agreed. ”In the meantime, we worker bees will just keep plugging away.” She grinned.

”You find it impossible to rest, don't you?” Chase teased her. ”Always working toward the next big thing. What are you going to do when everyone's cured? When your mission is finally over for good? What then?”

”Well, Chris Parker, I can tell you one thing,” Peyton said with a laugh. ”I'm sure as h.e.l.l not going to Disney World.”

~~ The End ~~ ALTERNITY Sneak Peek Coming soon: Alternity, another exciting dystopian adventure by Mari Mancusi.

Imagine waking up in a post-apocalyptic, nightmare world-and being told your whole life is but a dream. Skye Brown thought she was your typical teen-good grades, hot boyfriend, and an afterschool job that pays her to play videogames. But then she started having the dreams.

In her dreams, there is no Earth. Only Terra, a bleak, underground wasteland where people live in squalor and oppression. In her dreams, there is no Skye-only Mariah, a rebel leader fighting against a vile, dystopian regime. And then there's Dawn, a handsome, but haunted solider who sees her as but an empty sh.e.l.l of the girl he once loved-a betrayer he vows to hate forever, despite what she sees deep in his eyes.

Now, ripped between Dark Siders and club kids, the mundane and the mystic, Skye finds herself in a fight against time-to learn who she really is, where she belongs...and why. The shocking truth will have her questioning her own reality...and her heart.

An excerpt Running. I am running for my life. That much I know as my silver stiletto boots clink a rapid, repeating staccato beat against the metal floor. But where am I? Who's chasing me? And, most importantly, why?

I have no idea.

Run faster. Run harder. Run from the moon.

A strange voice echoing through my brain seems to mock me as it begs for speed with an urgency I can't comprehend. Endless demands competing with my own frantic thoughts skitter across my brain like a dog's claws on slick linoleum.

Where am I? Run faster. Who's chasing me? Run harder. And why? Run from the moon.

But there is no moon. The corridor is black, skyless, deep underground. And I'm already running as fast and as hard as I can.

I suck in a breath and take in my surroundings trying to think, to process, to find a shred of familiarity in the dark steel beams crisscrossing the black ceiling, the mammoth fans cut into the walls every few feet, expelling hot, sour air that my already burning lungs struggle to accept. It all seems so familiar and yet at the same time completely foreign. Like a deja vu p.r.i.c.king at the dark recesses of your brain, or a name on the tip of your tongue-the one you always remember at 3:00 a.m., when it no longer matters.

Except, this time I think it might still matter. And 3:00 a.m. may be too late.

”Don't let her reach the hatch!”

My heart slams against my chest as I realize my pursuers-whoever they might be-aren't far behind. Sweat pools in the hollow of my throat, then drips down, soaking my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. My muscles burn, my lungs refuse to take in air, I can barely swallow, and my vision has gone spotty. Soon I'll have to stop. To take a break.

But to stop is to die. That much I know. And so I keep running.

I turn a corner and my bleary eyes catch sight of a ladder in front of me, embedded firmly into the wall, a potential salvation ascending into the darkness. Where does it go? Could it lead to the hatch my enemies seek to keep me from? To stop and check it out will eat up valuable time-time I don't have. But I have to take a chance. I can't run forever.

I throw myself against the ladder, wrapping my hands around each rung as I climb, step after step. The ground falls away, and with it the dim tunnel lighting, and soon I am engulfed in blackness.

A few seconds later I bang my head against something, almost falling off the ladder from the impact. I steady myself, then reach up with one hand, fingers exploring the ceiling until they come upon a latch. More frantic exploration reveals a handle. There's definitely some kind of trapdoor.

”Up here! Get her!”

I hear feet clanging against the metal rungs as my pursuers start up after me. I don't have much time left. Wrapping my hand around the trapdoor handle, I yank on it with all my might. This is my one chance to escape.

It doesn't budge.

I pound on the door, my heart exploding in my chest as I realize that I likely have precious seconds to live. Surprisingly, my life does not flash before my eyes; in fact, I'm still having difficulty remembering any life at all. Who I am. What I do. How I got into this mess.

Run from the moon, the mysterious voice in my head demands.

”Shut up,” I mutter, tired of its useless advice.

The first man reaches me, paws at my feet through the darkness. ”We've got her!” he cries. And indeed, it seems he has.

Not willing to give up without a fight, I slam my foot down on his hand, the stiletto heel driving into his palm. A crunch of bone. A yelp of pain. I repeat the blow, then follow up with a wild kick to where I estimate his head to be, all the while clinging to the ladder for dear life. I don't miss. Knocked off balance he loses his grip, falls backward, and hurtles screaming down into the blackness. A sickening thud, followed by silence, tells me he's likely met his maker below.

But his death is not enough to save me. The second guy is right behind him and much more prepared for my alley cat tactics. There's a flash of light-a crimson beam cutting through the darkness-then a sharp, icy pain spreading up my ankle, shooting through my veins at a lightning pace, reaching my toes, my fingers, my brain simultaneously. My grip loosens, my head swims, my muscles fail. At first I fear he'll just let me fall, hurtle down to my death. But my attacker grabs on and starts dragging me down the ladder.

Not good.

At the bottom, the men flip me over so I'm lying on my stomach, spread-eagle on the ground. I can't move at all, my body is Jell-O, my muscles completely useless.

But I can see. I can hear. I can feel.

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