After the End(83)

A light goes back on behind Juneau’s empty eyes, and a smile blooms on her lips. She leans toward me, and I take her in my arms for a hug while she nestles her head against my neck. After a long moment, she pushes back a little so she can look at my face, and traces it with her fingertips, running her fingers lightly over my eyes, nose, and lips.

We’re so close that I can feel her warm breath on my face, and then she lifts her head slightly so that our lips meet. And she kisses me. Her skin is so soft, it’s like brushing my mouth against flower petals. I taste her and she tastes like the lemon drops that the nurse has set by the bed in a bowl.

This kiss isn’t urgent and needy like the last one. It’s a slow kiss that promises more to come. Which is exactly what I want: more Juneau. More time.

“We need to get you out of here,” I say finally, forcing myself to pull away from her embrace.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she says.

“I am going to tell my father that you were too tired to talk,” I say. “That I can try again in a few hours.”

I start to get up, and she squeezes my hand to stop me. “Miles?”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting. Keeping a totally straight face, she says, “Even though you make a crappy fire and wouldn’t survive more than ten minutes in the wilderness, there isn’t anyone I’d rather be with at a time like this. You’re my desert island friend.” And she grins.

I laugh. “Even though you could probably kill me in fifteen different ways with a table fork, and even though you barbecue bunnies, I like you, too, Juneau. So let’s get out of here and get our butts to New Mexico.”

“A very good plan,” she says. I stand and lean over the bed and kiss her forehead. She gives me her crooked mouth-closed smile, and I feel a rush of relief. She’s going to be okay.

My dad is waiting in the den, wearing his “caring father” expression. “Did she tell you anything?” he asks expectantly.

He probably thinks I can’t see through his act. Well, I learned my lying skills from the very best. I rearrange my face to show concern and disappointment. “She was too tired to really talk,” I say, and his face falls. “But she did mention that you said something about her eye being a genetic mutation?” Dad nods and, leading me into the kitchen, grabs a bottle of apple juice out of the fridge. He pours us both a glass and takes a swig from his.

“The girl’s eye is a mutation, and if all the children in her clan have the same one, as she claims, it means that their parents all did something that would produce that dramatic of an effect in their offspring.”

“And you think this has something to do with a drug.”

“What I was told, Miles, is that a group of greenie scientists were working on a drug to solve the problem of endangered animals. To help species that were dying out resist disease and extinction. They tried it on themselves and found that they were immune to every illness they tested. It would have been at least a year—nine months, of course—before they could find out that it had an effect on a developing fetus. And when they knew what they had, they escaped America for somewhere they could live undetected, in seclusion.”

“Just to hide their kids’ eyes?” I ask doubtfully.

My father sets his glass down on the counter and looks at me intently. “I’m guessing that they didn’t initially know what they had. But they stayed when they discovered they had stopped aging.”

“So that’s what Amrit is,” I say, confirming my theory from before—from when I saw Whit with my own eyes. “It’s a drug that stops aging.”

“If you want to get technical about it, Amrit doesn’t completely stop aging. But it slows it down to an imperceptible rate—at least that’s what Dr. Graves claims. It’s the holy grail, Miles. The fountain of youth. They have figured out how to cheat death.”

I just stare at Dad, at the greed on his face, and feel sick. “Not only do I think you’re all crazy,” I say, “but I think you’ve been duped.”

Dad holds a finger up, like he’s scolding me. “Believe it or not, it’s true. I’ve seen the test results. I’ve seen Mr. Graves himself. I know what’s possible with this drug, Miles. And Blackwell Pharmaceutical will own its patent.” He turns and leaves the room.

I’m not going to let this happen. When I hear his office door close, I sneak away to the carport and start cleaning out my car, leaving all the camping gear in the back. We’re going to need it. Hopefully soon.



UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE