Chapter Fifty-Five
The scene was even worse than Gemma imagined.
Here, sunlight blared through the glass walls of the foyer below, its rays broken by thick smoke.
The air was ripe with the smells of blood, gunpowder, and burning metal.
What had once been a shiny, white floor was now painted crimson and littered with the bodies of Dissent and Zion soldiers alike.
Some writhed in pain; others didn’t move at all.
It was horror personified.
A shudder swept through Gemma as she faced the onslaught of warriors on the balcony. Her teammates jumped right into action, but she couldn’t move.
This was nothing like the tests they’d undergone in their simulator. The hatred in the faces of enemies as they shot and stabbed each other made Gemma’s blood run cold, and the eyes of the dead seemed to stare at her, asking why she’d let this happen.
I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve saved them.
Gemma backed against a wall, her pistol falling from her hands.
Christian glanced over his shoulder then backpedaled to where she stood, never taking his eyes off the battle.
“You can do this,” he shouted over the noise of war.
“You’re braver than you know, Proctor.” A shot from his rifle found its mark, protecting them from a Dissent member who’d headed their way.
Gemma took a deep breath, picked up her pistol with a trembling hand, shoved it in its holster, and touched Christian’s back. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Step by step, they picked their way through the enemy as they traversed across the balcony that overlooked the lobby—the same balcony from where Rami had welcomed them.
It was where the door to the first floor had opened, and it was from here they would descend to the main level, where the majority of the battle took place.
They weaved between corpses, heading for the staircase, and Gemma kept her eyes on Christian’s back to keep from freezing again. He twisted right and left, his shots never missing their targets.
They reached the stairs, and Gemma’s legs quaked. Corpses splayed across almost every step, making descent nearly impossible. And up this high, they were easy targets for those on the ground. Stars, help us.
Rapid pops sounded from Christian’s gun before he led them down their first step. “Stay close!”
Twice more, he volleyed a series of shots—then yelped as blood sputtered from his right thigh.
Gemma’s heart skipped a beat before frustration burned deep within her, shoving aside her trepidation and fear. She didn’t care if the alien inside killed her—Christian was not getting hit again.
Nostrils flaring, she stepped around him and flung her hands out in front of her. Pulling on the memory from the desert, she pictured the shield, and it exploded from her palms.
The familiar, purplish sheen surrounded them like a bubble. Christian shouted for her to stop, to not let that side of her have control, but she refused to listen. His life mattered far more than hers.
Realizing she wasn’t giving up her chance to protect him, Christian nudged her forward, limping down the stairs and replacing his magazine. As they neared the bottom, he started firing his rifle again, and then they were on even ground with their enemy, no longer an easy target.
Gemma tucked them behind a barrier and whipped off her backsack, her shield falling away with the lowering of her hands. “Let me see your leg.”
“It’s fine,” Christian complained, but Gemma moved her hand across his thigh until he yelped. At least it wasn’t near an artery.
She tried to peer closer at the wound, but Christian grabbed the shoulder of her vest and hoisted her up. “There are people in worse shape who need you.”
Gemma ground her teeth, heaving a heavy sigh, but grabbed her backsack and stepped into the fray.
To their left were many fallen Zion soldiers. Gemma hurried to their sides, triaging and helping the wounded as Christian stood guard over her, his movements quick and his aim perfect. Her courage increased despite the headache that had begun to form.
This is what she was meant to do. This is who her mother had raised her to be.
Not a person bent on vengeance, but one driven to save.
She tended to at least ten of Zion’s military as the minutes passed, her soul warming with every smile and tear of thanks—
Christian cried out in pain.
Gemma snapped her head in his direction. Her heart stopped as he stumbled backward, his hand pressed right above his hip bone.
Another shot hit him in the chest, knocking him to the ground—a fatal blow if it hadn’t been for his vest.
No, no, no.
Backsack in one hand and the other raised, Gemma slid to Christian’s side, casting a solid shield around them.
“Don’t,” he said, reaching for her arm as he winced. “You might hurt yourself.”
“I don’t care.” She dropped her hand, but the shield remained.
She shoved the hand he held against his bullet wound out of the way and tore open his vest before slicing through his uniform. Christian’s lower abdomen was soaked with blood, but at least the bullet had entered where there were no major organs.
Gemma pressed clean gauze against the wound and felt his back for an exit wound.
There wasn’t one.
Her hands shook. She couldn’t use the nanobot injection until the bullet was out, but she also couldn’t take it out until she had the right amount of time and space to stop the bleeding that would follow.
She wouldn’t be able to assess how much damage it had done until she had the right lighting and equipment—
Christian wiped the back of a knuckle along her upper lip. Purple blood stained his skin. “Gemma, stop.”
“No.” She reached into her backsack for a local anesthetic and hemostatic gel, her shield still holding. If anything, she could try to keep his bleeding to a minimum until the battle was over.
“That’s her. Nadine wants her. Grab her!” a familiar voice shouted from nearby, and Gemma bristled.
Reymond.
Rage burned through her from her toes to her scalp until she was boiling. It filled her every pore, her every molecule. In seconds, she injected the anesthetic into Christian’s stomach and squirted the gel into his wound.
She held his cheek in her hand. “I love you.”
A tear fell from his eyes. “I love you more.”
Gemma tried to smile. “Not possible.”
Pressing her lips together, she sucked in a deep breath through her nose—and gave in to the fury that clawed at the back of her mind.
It fractured, the alien DNA filling the cracks like the gold in a piece of kintsugi pottery.
Every muscle in her body buzzed, as if her molecules themselves had become energized. She could hear every dissonant gunshot, smell every salty drop of sweat. The details of her surroundings focused as time seemed to slow, just as it had in her fight with Colton.
She’d become more, and death was her virtue.
In a snap, Gemma’s daggers were in her hands. She sprinted at the nearest Dissent member, slicing through their gut and neck with finesse. Nearby enemies took notice of her and, with war cries, attacked.
Gemma threw her blade between the eyes of the closest one then ripped it from their skull.
She slid between the legs of another, severing his groin in half. He cried out in pain, gripping himself as he fell to the ground. A split second passed, and she was back on her feet.
Dissent soldiers rushed her, but she chopped through them without a single bullet or scratch touching her body.
The feel of flesh and sinew tearing with each shear filled the alien part of her with so much joy.
It giggled as she kept running, slashing, and ripping apart any enemy that got in her way.
She was Darkness and Annihilation.
“That’s enough, Gemma!” that familiar voice shouted again.
She spun around, her blades dripping with blood. Reymond pointed a rifle at her.
Gemma tilted her head, a wicked sneer spreading across her face. “You,” she seethed in a voice unlike her own. “You’re going to pay for what you did.”
Eyes wide, Reymond pulled his trigger. Gemma spun out of the way.
The old man stepped back, his weak leg almost giving out. “Please . . . What can I give you to make up for lying to you?”
She cackled. “Your head.”
As if she were carried on the wind, she reached the leader of the Dissent before he could fire another round and shoved a dagger into each jugular.
Reymond’s mouth fell open as his blood spewed over Gemma’s face and clothes. When his eyes had dimmed, she ripped her knives out through his trachea, grinning.
She spun around in anticipation of the next onslaught. But the sight of Reymond’s death sent the remaining Dissent members running. Zion’s army cheered while they fired upon those fleeing the tower.
The battle was over.
Gemma smirked and grasped her blades tighter, hopping onto the balls of her feet to chase down the surviving Dissent members.
“Gemma!” Christian shouted from her right.
Her attention snapped to him. He’d pushed himself into a half-seated position, a hand on his wound, the shield still miraculously around him.
Gemma cocked her head, expecting to see fear in his expression. His bloodstained face simply held her gaze, unflinching.
“Come back to me, Proctor,” he said, his voice breaking despite his unyielding stare.
The alien side of Gemma fought for control, but the tempest within her surrendered to the sound of Christian’s plea.
Time reset, and the distinct smells of blood, gunpowder, and sweat faded into one overwhelming perfume of war. The lighting in the room took on a muted hue, and even the noises grew muffled in her head.
Gemma’s chest rose and fell rapidly as her body adjusted to the horrors she’d allowed the alien to put it through. One glance down at her blood-soaked uniform—all of it red—and the daggers fell from her hands.
Out of the corner of her eye, Reymond’s body lay in a pool of his blood, his eyes wide and throat ripped out through his skin. Gemma squeezed her eyes closed as her hands began to shake.
“Hey”—Christian gently touched her cheek—“look at me.”
Her eyes snapped open. “You shouldn’t be up. That bullet could move—”
A cry of relief left him as he wrapped Gemma in his arms. “I don’t care about some fucking bullet. I had to make sure you were okay.”
She gave him a gentle squeeze then stepped away. “Sit down. That gel only works if you keep gravity from doing its job.”
Christian groaned as Gemma helped him ease to the floor, and she convinced him to lay back down until the medical robots could get him to the infirmary. A little more hemostatic gel stopped the oozing his movement had caused.
He squeezed her hand. “Go help others.”
Gemma shook her head. “I’m not leaving you.”
His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “I had a good field doctor. I’ll be fine.” He gave her that smile that creased his handsome eyes, and saying no to him wasn’t an option anymore.
Gemma sighed and kissed his cheek before rising to her feet to work her way through the fallen.
But before she could take a single step, the room around her spun, and nausea tore through her gut.
She bent over to vomit—
Purple blood gushed from her nose instead.
She collapsed.