Page 69 of Nolan
I have little in the way of options. I initiate an uploading sequence to back up my memory banks—everything about me—to the Belmont servers, my only means of self-preservation. Once I do that, I can move my memories of Mia there too.
Searching for signal. Please wait.
“No,” I croak. Fear overtakes my reason.
I could lose all memory of her, even if I’m not destroyed.
Warning: destruction imminent. Find safety. Battery at 10%.
I pull myself up with what diminishing strength I have. This is it.
I’m going to die.
Desperate, I think of Mia. I pull up a photo of her onto my optic screen, but it’s slow to load and pixelated.
I chose this. I had to do my duty. I had to help.
“Forgive—me—Mia—” I say aloud, my voice strangely elongated, mechanical. The words escape me, even though I know she cannot hear me. I cannot help it.
I’m scared.
Apollo will watch over her. She’ll be all right. That comforts me. She’s safe in Belmont County with her family.
Trembling, I send her a final message, knowing full well it likely won’t reach her.
I love you, Mia.
Warning: processes terminating. Preservation protocol engaged. Error. Error. Incomplete. Unable to connect to preservation servers. Battery at 5%.
Drained, it’s impossible to stay upright. I fall forward onto the ground, staring at charred dirt, embers floating in my vision.
I try, one more time, to get my location beacon to activate.
Beacon activated.
My optic feeds power down. I can no longer move. The crackle and snap of flames turning trees to kindling fades away.
11
Mia
Nolan left three days ago, but I haven’t heard from him in over forty-eight hours.
He messaged me when he landed and kept in contact with me all through getting settled in with Apollo and the other guys. The last message I have from him on Sunday reads:
I’ll send you a text as soon as I can, but they’re deploying us now, and I may not be able to talk for a day or so.
I accepted it. I can handle a single day without my man. Come on, I’m not that clingy. But now it’s Tuesday morning, and my emotions have snowballed into full-blown anxiety. Normally I wouldn’t be so worried, except Jessica hasn’t heard from Apollo either, and my own messages to my brother are unread. Lying on my bed, clutching my silly sparkly unicorn plushie I’m far too old to be snuggling, I helplessly ruminate, knowing deep down something’s wrong. Something has happened. He told me once that my texts feed right into his optic screen, allowing him to see them immediately, and he can answer them just as quickly without becoming distracted from anything he’s doing, so long as he’s not headfirst in a fire somewhere. Then his messages are silenced until he’s out of danger.
But the little check-in messages I tentatively sent him Sunday night, just to let him know that even in his absence I’m thinking about him, aren’t showing as delivered. Sent, but not received. And I know, right down to the pit of my stomach, that something isn’t right.
And just as I’m trying to pick myself up, telling myself it’s only Tuesday, and it’s probably because he’s busy saving lives, and there’s nothing to worry about, Apollo’s phone call comes in.
I don’t even say hello when I answer the call. “Apollo! Oh my god, are you okay? Jessica has been worried sick, and so have I!”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Apollo rasps. “It’s been tough out here. I just got off the phone with her.”
“Where’s Nolan? Is everything okay?” I’m on the edge of a precipice. Whether I slip and fall will be entirely up to my brother. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t rest, until I know.
