Oblivion (Broken City #3) Page 6

  “Why? What’s going on?” I keep my gaze fixed on him, attempting to pretend I’m not lying less than a foot away from a dead body.

  “We’re about to get hit hard.” He wipes his hand over the dead woman’s cheek until his fingers are soaked in blood, and then smears it across my face.

  My body twinges in revulsion, but I manage to keep my gag reflex under control by reminding myself of all the gross situations I experienced back at the channels. Like the time I watched a Warden split open a Visitor’s chest with his bare hands over an argument about payment. His heart landed by my feet and strangely kept beating for quite some time. What made the situation even more disgustingly appalling is that the Warden ate the heart afterward.

  “Whatever happens, don’t move, okay?” Blaise says then takes off toward the front of the bus.

  The air grows quiet as I lie perfectly still with the scent of blood, sweat, and spoiled flesh making my eyes water. The longer the eerie silence possess the air, the more worried I grow that perhaps Blaise decided to leave the bus and sacrifice himself.

  Panic sets in, and I start to get up to go look for him, when the windows of the bus explode as Orders dive through the openings, landing on the seats and aisle. I fall back to the ground as glass spritz through the air like a heavy rainstorm. The sharp edges tear at my face and legs, and blood oozes out for a second before my healing ability kicks in and new flesh grows over the gashes.

  “Where is she?” The robotic voice sounds like it’s coming from one seat over.

  “She’s in here somewhere,” another one replies from a little farther away. “I saw her come in.”

  “You know what she looks like, right?” another one asks.

  “Of course I do,” the first robot snaps.

  Their footsteps clink against the floor as they move around the aisle.

  Fearing they’ll recognize me when they pass, I angle my head toward the dead woman next to me, latch on to her arm, and drag the body over until my face is hidden underneath her shoulder. Then I trap my breath in my chest and slacken my body.

  Click. Click. Click. The footsteps get closer.

  “What was that thing she was with?” The mechanical voice is unnervingly close, and it takes every ounce of my strength not to quiver.

  “A human, perhaps.”

  “No, it wasn’t human.” Click. Click. Click. “At least, not completely human.”

  “You think it was part machine?”

  Thump. Crack. Boom.

  Blaise part machine? Shock briefly rises inside me, but hastily fizzles. If he is half-machine, it would explain his strength, mind-bending ability, and the metal pieces embedded into his flesh.

  I twitch as an object bumps my foot, and then I bite down on my lip to keep from breathing loudly.

  What the hell are they doing out there?

  “It could be. Although, I haven’t seen a Forbidden in centuries.”

  The word dances in my mind. Forbidden. Forbidden. Forbidden.

  No, don’t call them that. Call them Greystelies.

  I have no idea where the voice comes from or what the word even means, but I hardly time to make sense of it as an icy, hard object whacks me in the foot.

  “Well, if it is, we need to take it to Leader,” one of the robots insists.

  A metal object brushes my bare leg, causing goose bumps to sprout across my flesh.

  “I really wish you’d stop calling him that.” Metal smacks into my leg hard, and I battle back a wince.

  Squeak. Clink. Thump.

  “Why? That’s what he is.”

  “He has a name and has asked you to call him it a thousand times.”

  “Leader is a better name.”

  “You’re a moron.”

  “Yeah, well you’re a—”

  The noise of metal scraping metal scratches through the air, making my brain rattle inside my skull. My eyes roll back as my eardrums explode and blood gushes out of my ears. The pain is unbearable. My stomach clenches, and vomit burns at the back of my throat. I want to cry out in pain, but I’m too afraid to move.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I remain motionless, drowning in vomit-inducing pain with my face underneath the dead woman’s shoulder. With no eardrums left, I can’t hear anything, leaving me blind and deaf to what’s going on.

  Every time something brushes against my leg or bumps into my foot, I nearly crawl out of my skin. Still, I don’t move and hardly breathe until the woman’s body is thrown off me.

  Instinctively, I lift my foot up to fight, but realize mid-kick that Blaise is standing at the end of my seat, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. When he spots my foot heading toward his knee, he darts his hand out, and his fingers enclose around my ankle. Then his lips begin to move, but the sound of his voice doesn’t reach my ears.

  My lips part. “I can’t hear you.”

  He flinches as if I yelled. Then his lips move. “Why?”

  I lift my hand and unsteadily point at my ear. “Whatever that metal scraping noise was made my eardrums burst. Don’t worry, though; I’ll heal.”

  At least, I hope. I don’t say that aloud, though.

  A frown forms on his face as he eyes me. Then he extends his hand toward me. I slip my fingers through his, and he easily lifts me to my feet as if I weigh nothing. When his fingers leave mine, he brings his hands to my shoulders and rests his forehead against mine.

  Can you hear me? His voice fills my head.

  I jump, startled, and he starts to pull back, but I put a hand on his hip and guide him back to me.

  Yeah, I can hear you, I think, hoping his ability is a two-way street.

  He shuts his eyes. Are you okay?

  My ears hurt a little bit, but other than that, I think I’m okay.

  Good. I think we should be okay for a while.

  Why? Where did the Orders go?

  They ran away because of that noise you heard, he explains

  What was that noise? I ask.

  A noise I learned to make when I was very young. My mom taught it to me after our house was raided by Orders. Told me if I ever needed to send a bunch of them away to make the noise. His breath dusts across my cheeks, tickling my skin, and my fingers on his hips twitch, skimming the strip of flesh right above his pants.

  A shiver rolls over me, and not necessarily in a bad way. The strange, new sensation sends warmth over my skin and, not knowing how to react, my body shudders again.

  You’re shivering. Blaise pulls back to look me in the eye, placing his fingers on my temple. Are you sure you’re not hurt?

  I nod, my cheeks heating for reasons I can’t comprehend. I’m fine.

  He studies me with a pucker forming at his brow, and I squirm under his scrutiny, again for reasons I don’t understand. Or maybe I sort of do, but I’m just confused.

  My thoughts wander to the guy I once thought I loved, who later found out what I was and hunted me. From what I can remember, I shivered this way around him whenever he touched me or looked at me a certain way. I liked the feeling at the time, but loathed it after he crushed my heart.

  Heartbreak … I know that feeling.

  Blaise presses his lips together.

  My eyes pop wide. Did he just hear that?

  We should probably go before the Orders come back, Blaise pushes his voice into my head again. I’m going to move my fingers away from your head. If you need anything, just tap me on the arm, okay?

  When I nod, he walks toward the front of the bus. I follow, moving slowly as I cautiously step over the dead bodies and glass all over the floor. With every step, my ears pulsate with pain, but I keep a straight face every time Blaise looks back at me, not wanting to worry him.

  When he reaches the door, he picks up the seats and tosses them out the broken windshield. Then he bashes the door open with his foot, hops outside, and motions for me to come down.

  I trot down the tilted stairway and stop at his side, grabbing his arm.

  Now what
? I ask tensely, looking around at the glass on the ground and the upside-down vehicles.

  He presses his fingers to the side of my head. Now we try to find a place to lay low until Reece pulls us out of here. We can also look around and see if you can remember anything, but only if we’re careful.

  When I nod, he moves his fingers away and steps back. He doesn’t offer me his hand as he starts up the road in the direction we were before we were attacked by the Orders. I find the move a bit strange, since he’s been holding my hand most of the time we’ve been here. He’s probably on overload from all the touching we did while rolling around on the bus’s floor.

  Telling myself not to look too much into his behavior, I jog to catch up with him. Then we walk side by side, our guard up, as we zigzag around broken down vehicles and the occasional dead body.

  The sky gradually begins to shift from a grimy grey to a pastel orange pink, illuminating the land with a sunset glow. The sight would be breathtaking, except for the corpses lying in the road, in the cars, and on the sidewalks.

  I try my best not to look at the dead bodies, but the air reeks of rotting meat left out in the sun for days. The smell makes my eyes water and my soul ache. So much death in this place. So much pain. So much destruction.

  Caused by you.

  The voice that nudges into my thoughts isn’t my own, yet I’ve heard it many, many times before. Like most things, I can’t place from where.

  Who are you? I silently whisper.

  My only response is soundlessness.

  Sighing, I fix my concentration of the collapsed stores and office buildings surrounding us. The feeling that I’m being watched creeps up on me again.

  I think we’re being watched, I tell Blaise once I hop over a tipped-over shopping cart and lightly touch his arm.

  He inches closer to me until his shoulder touches mine. Then he reaches around and places his finger to my temple. I think so, too. Keep an eye out for anything that looks out of the ordinary.

  I nod, questioning what is considered unordinary since everything about this world feels different.

  We continue hiking up the road, on edge, and remaining fairly quiet since I can’t hear. A thousand questions burn at the tip of my tongue. I want to ask him where we are heading, how long before the Orders come back, how long does he think we’ll be in here.

  After what feels like an eternity, my hearing sluggishly returns, starting with the intake of my breath to the thudding of my clunky boots hitting the pavement, then to Blaise singing.

  Wait? Blaise is singing?

  He has an amazing voice, soft and soothing, and the tragically, sexy and beautiful lyrics make my stomach do weird kickflips. I listen for a while, feeling a tad guilty for eavesdropping, but not enough to declare the regrowth of my eardrums and ruin the moment.

  “You can hear again, can’t you?” he announces, cutting off the song mid-chorus.

  “What? No.” Warmth spreads across my cheeks as I realize that in my answer, I’ve outed my lie.

  He glances at me, the light of the sunset glinting against the piercings in his face. “For how long?”

  “I don’t know … Only, like, five minutes or so …” I pull a guilty face. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. It’s just … your singing made me feel calmer than I have in a while.”

  He slows down, whirls around, and walks backward in front of me. “You know, if someone else had spied on me while I was singing, I’d probably put them in a headlock.”

  I slow down before I run into him. “Are you going to put me in a headlock?”

  “You don’t sound the slightest bit afraid of the idea,” he says with a cock of his brow.

  I sigh dramatically. “I thought we already established that I’m not afraid of you, just like you’re apparently not afraid of me.”

  He comes to a stop in front of two large, rusted trucks. “I’m not.”

  “I’m starting to believe you.” I halt in front of him and fiddle with the zipper of my torn jacket. “So maybe you should start believing me when I say I’m not afraid of you.”

  His muscles flex as he folds his arms, the bronzed metal on his chest a shimmering gold against the fading sunlight. “You still aren’t, even after what you heard on the bus?” His eyes are devoid of all emotion, his tone flat, but tension radiates from his body.

  “Are you talking about what the Orders said?” I ask, and he nods. “Of course I’m not afraid of you. I don’t really care what you are, Blaise, and I’d be a hypocrite if I did.”

  “You’re not worse than me.” He sinks down on the hood of a car and stares at a fallen billboard blocking the rustic, beamed entrance to a slender building. “You have no idea of all the stuff I’ve done …” His throat muscles work as he swallows hard. “Horrible stuff.”

  “I could say the same thing to you,” I say quietly. “I’ve seen—and heard—some stuff from my memories that makes me believe I was once an awful person.”

  His gaze skirts to mine, and the pain in his eyes causes my breath to hitch. “Allura … I’ve killed people with my bare hands.”

  I swallow an uneven breath. “I think I have, too. And back on the bus … when I wanted to … drink your life … If I went through with it, I probably would’ve killed you.”

  He shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Shame crushes my chest, and I lower my gaze to my feet. “Back when we were in the Forsaken tent … when I tried to take that guy’s life … I think I once tried to do that when a guy kissed me. I have a feeling I have more memories like that locked away in my head.” I glance around the desolate streets. “Maybe while we’re in here, they’ll come out.”

  He doesn’t utter a word, and his silence makes me extremely nervous.

  I start to look at him when he whispers, “I can prove it to you.”

  Confusion swirls in my mind. “What do you mean?”

  An unsteady breath eases from his lips. “I mean, I can prove to you that you won’t kill someone, even if you completely and utterly tempted to drink their life.”

  My perplexity soars. “How?”

  His gaze drops to my lips, and he audibly gulps. “By showing you.”

  One, two, three seconds tick by before what he’s saying clicks.

  “You want to kiss me?” My squeaky voice is worse than the scraping metal noise that made me go deaf.

  His eyes enlarge as he sputters, “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” He stands up. “You know what? Forget I said it. I have no damn clue what I’m thinking.” He turns his back on me and starts to walk off mumbling, “Ryder was right; I seriously misread people.”

  Feeling awful, I rush around in front of him. “That’s not what I meant.” Tiny, erratic breaths rush from my lips as self-doubt and nervousness surges through me. “It’s just … I’m afraid you might be wrong. And that little bit of fear makes me hesitant to try.” I reach out and twine our fingers together. “Unless I know that I definitely won’t hurt you, I can’t take that risk, even if I want to.”

  He studies me with suspicion. “Are you sure that’s not the only reason? Maybe, deep down, you’re afraid of me, and you’re just realizing it.”

  “No, that’s not it at all,” I admit truthfully. Sure, I’m afraid, but of myself, not him. Besides, kissing is … well, foreign. While my memories are a jigsaw puzzle with tons of missing pieces, I’m almost positive I’ve never kissed anyone before. Not fully, not without hunger ending it quickly. “I don’t want to hurt you—”

  His lips collide with mine, silencing whatever I was going to say, and a thick haze instantly clouds my mind as my eyes close.

  Kiss … I’m kissing someone … Kissing Blaise.

  The kiss is rough, reckless, and we’re both a bundle of nerves, unsure where to put our hands or what to do with our mouths. But for an unordinary moment, I feel content, at peace, warmth cascading over my bod
y.

  His lips are so soft.

  He tastes so good.

  I want more …

  A spark ignites in my chest; a powerful flame that craves more fuel.

  Taste. Drink. Live forever.

  I suck in a breath and grasp his arms, obeying the hunger.

  No! Don’t! a familiar voice screams through my mind. You can’t do this to him or yourself!

  My eyes snap open, and I start to pull back, but my lips magnetize toward his again, seeking more.

  Peace.

  So at peace.

  I part his lips with my tongue, and a husky noise escapes the back of his throat as his trembling fingers dig into my waist.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

  Blaise and I both tense at the same time, and a shiver slithers up my spine. Not the good kind of shiver. It’s the foul, sickening, this-is-terribly-bad kind of shiver.

  That voice … I know it.

  My heart nearly stops as my mind makes the connection.

  The guy who murdered me in my memories.

  Chapter 9

  The Time Traveler

  “Kissing, Allura?” he tsks. “I thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

  Blaise and I jerk back at the same time. I start to spin around, but Blaise seizes me by the waist, practically lifts me up, and deposits me on the ground behind him.

  “Stay away from her,” he snarls with his arms expanded at his sides.

  “You act like I’m here to harm her.” Amusement dances in the stranger’s tone. “Yet, you know nothing about me.”

  “You’re a stranger in a strange world filled with death,” Blaise snaps, the veins in his arms bulging. “That’s all I need to know.”

  I stand on my tiptoes and peer over Blaise’s shoulder to look at the guy’s face, which has been a mystery to me both times we’ve crossed paths.

  He’s casually leaning against one of the over-sized trucks with his arms folded across his chest. His black jeans blend in with his black boots, hoodie, and gloves. With the hood drawn over his head and the collar of his jacket pulled over his mouth, I can’t see his face, only the shadow of his eyes and nose.