Kingdom of Cages(192)

Nowhere to go. Nowhere to go. Eden struggling in her arms until she could barely hang on.

“Stop, stop it!” She ducked sideways toward one of the sterilizer tables. Lopera froze again. Without taking her eyes off the tailor, Chena fumbled at the table until her hand came up with a scalpel. She held it out toward Lopera. “You’re going to let me go.”

“She might,” said Dionte calmly. She stayed in the doorway, blocking the only way out. “But I’m not. We need you as well, Chena Trust.”

Dionte’s words drew Chena’s gaze to the doorway for just a split second, but it was enough. Lopera lunged. Her hand clamped around Chena’s wrist, forcing the knife up. Eden shrieked and struggled and Chena could not hold him anymore. Eden fell and Lopera shoved Chena backward, slamming her hand against the wall. Chena grabbed a fistful of Lopera’s hair at the base of her neck and yanked down hard. Lopera screamed and her grip loosened. Chena slashed the scalpel down, slicing through the flesh at Lopera’s throat.

Blood. Blood everywhere. In Chena’s eyes, down her face, all over her tunic and hands. Lopera gurgled and fell, clutching at the scarlet fountain welling from her. Chena backed away, unwilling to believe what she was seeing, what she had done. But Eden shrieked and Chena looked up in time to see Dionte fleeing through the door.

Chena launched herself after the hothouser. She tackled the woman, sending them all sprawling, and knocking the air from her own lungs. Eden scrabbled out from under them as Chena and Dionte rolled over, and Chena realized she did not have the scalpel. Silver flashed in Dionte’s hand and Chena threw herself sideways. Not far enough. The hothouser grabbed her tunic and hauled Chena backward. Chena struggled, her heels peddling uselessly against the floor, seeking purchase, but Dionte knelt on her chest.

“Maybe I don’t need you alive that much,” said the hothouser slowly, as if it were a revelation coming over her. “I already have your sister’s eggs. Your womb should keep for a few hours while we get your body to storage.” Her teeth gleamed in the lamplight. “I see it now,” she panted. “I see everything. This is what we should have done with your mother.”

Chena screamed and smashed her free hand against the base of Dionte’s nose. Dionte screamed and fell backward. The next thing Chena knew, she knelt over Dionte with the scalpel in her hand and she drove it into Dionte’s belly, drove it deep, drove it hard, slicing the hothouser’s flesh, burying her hand in hot blood, muscle, and offal. She screamed, the hothouser screamed, someone else screamed, and the screaming would not stop. Then the smell hit her, the sick, acrid, coppery smell of her mother’s death.

Chena choked and pressed her bloody hand against her nose, scrambling away from the smell until her back pressed against the stone. She tried to breathe, but she just choked until finally all she could do was vomit.

When she was finally empty, Chena lifted her head. Someone was still screaming. Who could be screaming? She had killed everybody, hadn’t she?

No. Eden, the hothouser’s thing, the thing that had killed Mom, was still alive. She would not believe he was her brother. She would not, would not, would not! The words screamed themselves inside her head. Not my brother, never my brother!

He had curled himself into a ball in the corner, his arms over his head, barely muffling his screams. The sound filled her mind, along with the hideous smell, until she couldn’t think.

“Stop it,” she said hoarsely, taking a step toward him. “Stop it. I need to think.” Think about how to get out of here. Think about how to get away from the blood and the smell. Think about how to get away from the world before it ate her alive.

Eden uncurled just enough to look at her with one eye. The eye widened and a fresh scream burst from him. He scuttled backward, trying to get away from her.

“Stop it!” Chena saw her hand go up, and she saw it come down. Eden fell sideways. She heard the crack as his skull hit the rock. Then Eden lay still.

Chena crouched next to him. She realized she still held the scalpel. She could kill the thing that had killed Mom. She could end it all right here. She looked down at the still boy.

“Why did you have to look so much like Teal?” she murmured, and reached out to touch his hair. The blood coating her hands was already beginning to darken from scarlet to rust. The death smell clung to every inch of her. I need a bath, she thought dizzily. But really, she would have to drown herself in a world of water before she would ever be clean.

That was it. Chena felt quite still. Eden had been taking her out toward the water. Water was a friend. It hid you from the cameras. It washed the insects from you. It would take her away from the world. It would save what was left of her family from the hothousers, and give her all the revenge she needed. They wouldn’t catch her in the water, ever. It would all end in the water. Finally.