On his knees before the double doors is David, a gun barrel pressed to his temple, blood trailing down his chin. And standing among the invaders, wearing the same mask as the others, is a girl with a dark ponytail.
Nita.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
TRIS
"GET US IN, David," Nita says, her voice garbled by the mask.
David's eyes slide lazily to the side, to the man pointing the gun at him.
"I don't believe you'll shoot me," he says. "Because I'm the only one in this building who knows this information, and you want that serum."
"Won't shoot you in the head, maybe," the man says, "but there are other places."
The man and Nita exchange a look. Then the man shifts the gun down, to David's feet, and fires. I squeeze my eyes shut as David's screams fill the hallway. He might be one of the people who offered Jeanine Matthews the attack simulation, but I still don't relish his screams of pain.
I stare at the guns I carry, one in each hand, my fingers pale against the black triggers. I imagine myself trimming back all the stray branches of my thoughts, focusing on just this place, just this time.
I put my mouth right next to Matthew's ear and mutter, "Go for help. Now."
Matthew nods and starts down the hallway. To his credit, he moves quietly, his footsteps silent on the tile. At the end of the hallway he looks back at me, and then disappears around the bend.
"I'm sick of this shit," the red-haired woman says. "Just blow up the doors."
"An explosion would activate one of the backup security measures," says Nita. "We need the pass code."
I look around the corner again, and this time, David's eyes shift to mine. His face is pale and shiny with sweat, and there is a wide pool of blood around his ankles. The others are looking at Nita, who takes a black box from her pocket and opens it to reveal a syringe and needle.
"Thought you said that stuff doesn't work on him," the man with the gun says.
"I said he could resist it, not that it didn't work at all," she says. "David, this is a very potent blend of truth serum and fear serum. I'm going to stick you with it if you don't tell us the pass code."
"I know this is just the fault of your genes, Nita," David says weakly. "If you stop now, I can help you, I can-"
Nita smiles a twisted smile. With relish, she sticks the needle in his neck and presses the plunger. David slumps over, and then his body shudders, and shudders again.
He opens his eyes wide and screams, staring at the empty air, and I know what he's seeing, because I've seen it myself, in Erudite headquarters, under the influence of the terror serum. I watched my worst fears come to life.
Nita kneels in front of him and grabs his face.
"David!" she says urgently. "I can make it stop if you tell us how to get into this room. Hear me?"
He pants, and his eyes aren't focused on her, but rather on something over her shoulder. "Don't do it!" he shouts, and he lunges forward, toward whatever phantom the serum is showing him. Nita puts an arm across his chest to keep him steady, and he screams, "Don't-!"
Nita shakes him. "I'll stop them from doing it if you tell me how to get in!"
"Her!" David says, and tears gleam in his eyes. "The-the name-"
"Whose name?"
"We're running out of time!" the man with the gun trained on David says. "Either we get the serum or we kill him-"
"Her," David says, pointing at the space in front of him.
Pointing at me.
I stretch my arms around the corner of the wall and fire twice. The first bullet hits the wall. The second hits the man in the arm, so the huge weapon topples to the floor. The red-haired woman points her weapon at me-or the part of me that she can see, half hidden by the wall-and Nita screams, "Hold your fire!"
"Tris," Nita says, "you don't know what you're doing-"
"You're probably right," I say, and I fire again. This time my hand is steadier, my aim is better; I hit Nita's side, right above her hip. She screams into her mask and clutches the hole in her skin, sinking to her knees, her hands covered in blood.
David surges toward me with a grimace of pain as he puts weight on his injured leg. I wrap my arm around his waist and swing his body around so he's between me and the remaining soldiers. Then I press one of my guns to the back of his head.
They all freeze. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat, in my hands, behind my eyes.
"Fire, and I'll shoot him in the head," I say.
"You wouldn't kill your own leader," the red-haired woman says.
"He's not my leader. I don't care if he lives or dies," I say. "But if you think I'm going to let you gain control of that death serum, you're insane."
I start to shuffle backward, with David whimpering in front of me, still under the influence of the serum cocktail. I duck my head and turn my body sideways so it's safely behind his. I keep one of the guns against his head.
We reach the end of the hallway, and the woman calls my bluff. She fires, and hits David just above the knee, in his other leg. He collapses with a scream, and I am exposed. I dive to the ground, slamming my elbows into the floor, as a bullet goes past me, the sound vibrating inside my head.
Then I feel something hot spreading through my left arm, and I see blood and my feet scramble on the floor, searching for traction. I find it and fire blindly down the hallway. I grab David by the collar and drag him around the corner, pain searing through my left arm.
I hear running footsteps and groan. But they aren't coming from behind me; they're coming from in front. People surround me, Matthew among them, and some of them pick David up and run with him down the hallway. Matthew offers me his hand.
My ears are ringing. I can't believe I did it.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
TRIS
THE HOSPITAL IS packed with people, all of them yelling or racing back and forth or yanking curtains shut. Before I sat down I checked all the beds for Tobias. He wasn't in any of them. I am still shaking with relief.
Uriah is not here either. He is in one of the other rooms, and the door is closed-not a good sign.
The nurse who dabs my arm with antiseptic is breathless and looks around at all the activity instead of at my wound. I'm told it's a minor graze, nothing to worry about.
"I can wait, if you need to do something else," I say. "I have to find someone anyway."
She purses her lips, then says, "You need stitches."
"It's just a graze!"
"Not your arm, your head," she says, pointing to a spot above my eye. I had almost forgotten about the cut in all the chaos, but it still hasn't stopped bleeding.
"Fine."
"I'm going to have to give you a shot of this numbing agent," she says, holding up a syringe.
I am so used to needles that I don't even react. She dabs my forehead with antiseptic-they are so careful about germs here-and I feel the sting and prickle of the needle, diminishing by the second as the numbing agent does its work.
I watch the people rush past as she stitches my skin-a doctor pulls off a pair of bloodstained rubber gloves; a nurse carries a tray of gauze, his shoes nearly slipping on the tile; a family member of someone injured wrings her hands. The air smells like chemicals and old paper and warm bodies.
"Any updates on David?" I say.
"He'll live, but it will take him a long time to walk again," she says. Her lips stop puckering, just for a few seconds. "Could have been a lot worse, if you hadn't been there. You're all set."
I nod. I wish I could tell her that I'm not a hero, that I was using him as a shield, like a wall of meat. I wish I could confess to being a person full of hate for the Bureau and for David, a person who would let someone else get riddled with bullets to save herself. My parents would be ashamed.
She places a bandage over the stitches to protect the wound, and gathers all the wrappers and soaked cotton balls into her fists to throw them away.
Before I can thank her, she is gone, off to the next bed, the next patient, the next injury.
Injured people line the hallway outside the emergency ward. I have gathered from the evidence that there was another explosion set off at the same time as the one near the entrance. Both were diversions. Our attackers got in through the underground tunnel, as Nita said they would. She never mentioned blowing holes in walls.
The doors at the end of the hallway open, and a few people rush in, carrying a young woman-Nita-between them. They put her on a cot near one of the walls. She groans, clutching at a roll of gauze that is pressed to the wound in her side. I feel strangely separate from her pain. I shot her. I had to. That's the end of it.
As I walk down the aisle between the wounded, I notice the uniforms. Everyone sitting here wears green. With few exceptions, they are all support staff. They are clutching bleeding arms or legs or heads, their injuries no better than my own, some much worse.
I catch my reflection in the windows just beyond the main corridor-my hair is stringy and limp, and the bandage dominates my forehead. David's blood and my blood smear my clothes in places. I need to shower and change, but first I have to find Tobias and Christina. I haven't seen either of them since before the invasion.
It doesn't take me long to find Christina-she is sitting in the waiting room when I walk out of the emergency ward, her knee jiggling so much that the person next to her is giving her dirty looks. She lifts a hand to greet me, but her eyes shift away from mine and toward the doors right afterward.