Creators(83)

“It’s soundproof,” Henry said from behind me. So he had made it through the chaos.

I immediately snatched Lockwood’s gun from his shoulder and pointed it directly at Henry. A large gash cut across the side of his head and blood trickled down his neck.

“Open. It,” I demanded. My hand clutched so tightly around the rifle that my knuckles turned white.

“You’ll have to shoot me,” he challenged, moving deeper into the room.

I didn’t hesitate. I remembered what Eric had told me. Remember my stance. Steady my aim. Focus. I emptied a bullet right into his leg. Henry dropped to the floor, screaming in agony. I shifted the gun so it was pointed straight at his head. “Open. It,” I repeated.

“Tess! You can’t be serious. What are you doing? He’s your friend,” Lockwood said.

“No. He isn’t,” I choked out. I narrowed my eyes at Henry. “You have three seconds. One. Two—”

“I don’t know how to. I swear. They didn’t tell me that much,” he yelled, holding his palms up in surrender. Lockwood scrambled over to him, placing his hands over Henry’s wound to stop the bleeding.

“What did he tell you?” I hissed.

“Abrams. He put a device in every chosen one ever created. He told the creators it was for tracking, like the one they put in us. Each device is connected to that system in there. Once they enter the code, the device implanted in the chosen ones will release a toxin. At first they’ll feel lightheaded. Then, it will slowly paralyze them. Finally, it will stop their hearts.”

I staggered away from Henry. I spun around on my heels and pointed the rifle straight at the glass. I pulled back the trigger and shot. I had to get their attention.

But whatever the glass was made of stopped the bullet from penetrating; it ricocheted off and lodged in the wall above my head.

“Let’s…not try that again,” Lockwood said shakily.

I stumbled over to the window and pressed my forehead against the glass. I reached up and touched my fingers to it, and I prayed. I never really knew if I believed in God. Wasn’t he just another creator who abandoned his people? Made them think they were special only for them to realize how expendable they really were?

But I prayed to him in that moment.

Let him turn around.

Let him turn around.

Let him turn around.

My father bent forward and typed something onto the keyboard. Then he stepped away from the system and turned his back on the chosen ones who were taking their destinies into their own hands. He turned and saw me. I banged with all my might against the window. I screamed and yelled for him to let me in, but he just sat there and stared at me. He glanced at the door once. Only once. He gave me just enough hope to show me that he could just as easily rip it from me. Then, he bowed his head and turned away.

My chest heaved. I felt so much emotion I thought it might cause me to explode, taking down the window with me.

Let him turn around.

I continued to pray.

Let him turn around.

I stared daggers into his back, and then he started to shift. It was a slight movement at first. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck. It was enough to make my whole world freeze.

Let him turn around.

Then his fingers twitched by his side.

Let him turn around.

His head turned slightly to the left. And then he was staring right at me. He rushed to the window. Sobs shook my entire body. He smiled through the tears that streamed down his own face. He reached up and placed his hand against mine through the glass. Despite the barrier between us, I could feel him. Every touch he had ever given me rushed through my body.

I would get to keep him.

This wasn’t the end.

But then I realized he hadn’t made a move to the door. I started to pound on the window again. “You don’t have to do this. We can make it. We can fix it,” I screamed. I knew he couldn’t hear me, just as I knew the promises I made were empty. I didn’t know how to fix this world.

Suddenly, James jumped. He turned to face the men behind him. I followed his eyes to where George lay seizing on the ground. Blood pooled under him. The gun in my father’s hand was still smoking.

My father had shot George right in the chest. I couldn’t hear what he yelled over George’s twitching body, but reading his lips, it seemed to be something along the lines of: this is for my daughters.

Apparently, my father did care. Just not in the way I needed him to.

George wouldn’t get to decide his ending after all. He had become the thing he feared most—powerless.

My eyes darted to James. My father’s action would be the final proof that he needed. Another reminder of what his kind did to mine. He could only see the bad. I could only see the good. Neither one of us entirely right. Neither one of us entirely wrong.