Imagine Me (Shatter Me #6)(10)

They look beyond us.

Their eyes go round, their lips parting as they gasp. I crane my neck to see what they’re seeing and realize that there’s a tidal wave of fire headed straight toward us.

I think I’m going to collapse.

My body is worse than unsteady. By this point, my legs are made of rubber. I can barely support my own weight, and it’s a miracle I’m holding on to J at all. In fact, a quick glance at Warner’s clenched, insanely tense body is all it takes to realize that he’s probably doing most of the work right now.

I don’t know how any of us are going to survive this. I can’t move. I sure as hell can’t outrun a wave of fire.

And I don’t really understand everything that happens next.

I hear an inhuman cry, and Stephan is suddenly rushing toward us. Stephan. He’s suddenly in front of us, suddenly between us. He picks J up and into his arms like she might be a rag doll, and starts shouting at all of us to run. Castle hangs back to redirect water from a nearby well, and though his efforts at dousing the flames aren’t entirely successful, it’s enough to give us the edge we need to escape. Warner and I drag ourselves back to camp with the others, and the minute we cross the threshold into the Sanctuary, we’re met with a frantic sea of faces. Countless figures surge forward, their shouts and cries and hysterical commotion fusing into a single, unbroken soundstorm. Logically, I understand why people are out here, worried, crying, shouting unanswered questions at each other—but right now I just want them all to get the hell out of my way.

Nouria and Sam seem to read my mind.

They bark orders into the crowd and the nameless bodies begin to clear out. Stephan is no longer running, but walking briskly, elbowing people out of his way as necessary, and I’m grateful. But when Sonya and Sara come sprinting toward us, shouting for us to follow them to the medical tent, I nearly launch myself forward and kiss them both.

I don’t.

Instead, I take a moment to search for Castle, wondering if he made it out okay. But when I look back, scanning our stretch of protected land, I experience a sudden, sobering moment of realization. The disparity between in here and out there is unreal.

In here, the sky is clear.

The weather, settled. The ground seems to have sutured itself back together. The wall of fire that tried to chase us all the way back to the Sanctuary is now nothing but fading smoke. The trees are in their upright positions; the hurricane is little more than a fine mist. The morning looks almost pretty. For a second I could’ve sworn I heard a bird chirping.

I’m probably out of my mind.

I collapse in the middle of a well-worn path leading back to our tents, my face thudding against wet grass. The smell of fresh, damp earth fills my head and I breathe it in, all of it. It’s a balm. A miracle. Maybe, I think. Maybe we’re going to be okay. Maybe I can close my eyes. Take a moment.

Warner stalks past my prone body, his motions so intense I’m startled upright, into a sitting position.

I have no idea how he’s still moving.

He’s not even wearing shoes. No shirt, no socks, no shoes. Just a pair of sweatpants. I notice for the first time that he’s got a huge gash across his chest. Several cuts on his arms. A nasty scratch on his neck. Blood is dripping slowly down his torso, and Warner doesn’t even seem to notice. Scars all over his back, blood smeared across his front. He looks insane. But he’s still moving, his eyes hot with rage and something else— Something that scares the shit out of me.

He catches up to Stephan, who’s still holding J—who’s still having seizures—and I crawl toward a tree, using the trunk to hoist myself off the ground. I drag myself after them, flinching involuntarily at a sudden breeze. I turn too fast, scanning the open woods for debris or a flying boulder, and find only Nazeera, who rests a hand on my arm.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “We’re safe within the borders of the Sanctuary.”

I blink at her. And then around, at the familiar white tents that cloak every solid, freestanding structure on the glorified campsite that is this place of refuge.

Nazeera nods. “Yeah—that’s what the tents are for. Nouria enhanced all of her light protections with some kind of antidote that makes us immune to the illusions Emmaline creates. Both acres of land are protected, and the reflective material covering the tents provides more assured protection indoors.”

“How do you know all of that?”

“I asked.”

I blink at her again. I feel dumb. Numb. Like I broke something deep inside my brain. Deep inside my body.

“Juliette,” I say.

It’s the only word I’ve got right now, and Nazeera doesn’t even bother to correct me, to tell me her real name is Ella. She just takes my hand and squeezes.





ELLA


JULIETTE





When I dream, I dream of sound.

Rain, taking its time, softly popping against concrete. Rain, gathering, drumming, until sound turns into static. Rain, so sudden, so strong, it startles itself. I dream of water dripping down lips and tips of noses, rain falling off branches into shallow, murky pools. I hear death when puddles shatter, assaulted by heavy feet.

I hear leaves—

Leaves, shuddering under the weight of resignation, yoked to branches too easily bent, broken. I dream of wind, lengths of it. Yards of wind, acres of wind, infinite whispers fusing to create a single breeze. I hear wind comb the wild grass of distant mountains, I hear wind howling confessions in empty, lonely plains. I hear the sh sh sh of desperate rivers trying to hush the world in a fruitless effort to hush itself.