Page 132 of The Last Hope
There aren’t any robotic prosthetics on Saltare-3.
“This is the latest model of the Power 3400. It has the strength offifteenmen.” He grins. “Let’s try this again, shall we? Come aboard or drown—”
Pain attacks me. I scream through my gritted teeth and stare wide-eyed at my quivering hand. Something stabs my palm—his palm.
Court.
I scream angrily. A fierce puncture throbbing my flesh.His flesh.
“Mykal.” Stork has a hand on my back. “Hold on.”
Gods dammit, I gotta go find ’em—I peel out of Stork’s hands and I charge at the security guard. I punch his gut.
He hardly flinches. Doing nothing to me. Just standing there like a rock on a dock.
I’m strong. I’ll be shoving him down. I push.
Nothing.
Nothing.
I twitch as fear rakes down my back.
“What’s wrong with that one?” The lady inhales a disgusted, uncertain breath.
I’m in a tunnel.
Stench all around me. Sharpness impales my palm again—no.Tears prick my eyes. “RUN!” I growl into a scream.You better be running. You better be moving.
Court mouths to me,it’s fine.
I shake my head over and over. They’re not all right, and I’m too far away.
“Something is not right with him, Florian,” the lady tells her companion. “I don’t want him, and the other is too peculiar.”
Florian sighs. “Fine. We’ll find another.”
She lets out a disappointed breath. “What a waste.”
THIRTY-TWO
Court
Today has been terrible.
I pull out the nails and bandage our hands with fabric from our shirts. The rest of the night we search for Lulencrest by canals. Once we find and enter the rusted metal structure, Franny and I meet bleak news. No newborns. As we make our way back to the hostel, I feel as if I failed us both. Pain sears in both our palms, not even having enough time to stop and suture the gashes closed.
“Can you stop?” Franny mutters, feeling my guilt mount up in her. “It was the only way, Court. They had us blocked in, and we couldn’t have overpowered them both… they had weapons.” She pulls at my shoulder to make me stop and face her. “I’m serious.”
“There could have been another way,” I say. Maybe if I had more time. If I could have thought of something better. If we just didn’t go down in the tunnels to begin with.
Franny’s brows knot. “No.”
“That’s it?” I snap.
“That’s it,” she agrees. “So stop fretting over this before I start a real stew. It’s just a silly wound.” She waves her bandaged hand. Blood dotting the cloth. “The nail is gone.”
“You can’t close your fist,” I remind her.
