Then the panic set in and Lucy kicked her legs and felt the pain of death in every inch of her body. There was no air, no relief. Her body flailed and rippled with spasms; she tore at her clothes and her chest. In her head, she was screaming, but in reality, she was making no sounds at all.
Her body felt heavy and she couldn’t even find the strength to move; she just let the water travel into her lungs, and she sank to the bottom of the tank—she looked at the mismatched tile beneath her.
The pain subsided, the panic drained from her. She resumed breathing, in and out, and there was a coolness in her body, like she had swallowed an ice cube and could feel it traveling past her lungs and settling in her stomach. But then she realized: she didn’t feel afraid anymore. She just kept trying to fill her lungs with water to feel the cold. Lucy thought she might have smiled as she embraced the calm and the peace of knowing this was the end.
She let herself float now. Her body bobbed. Keeping her eyes trained on the cement above her, Lucy watched the gray ceiling move further away and then her body hit the floor. She closed her eyes and thought of her family—she had come so close and she was sorry that she wouldn’t be able to say goodbye. Her life was not flashing before her eyes but the images of Harper, the twins, Galen and her mom and dad did float past her vision. They would be sad. She hoped they would find comfort.
But she wasn’t sad. Death isn’t so scary, she thought as the ceiling blurred and everything around her went white.
CHAPTER SIX
Water poured out of her in a rush. She vomited pure liquid and it escaped her involuntarily and seeped out onto the tiled floor, pooling beneath her already wet clothes. Her lungs seared with sharp, shooting pain and her throat burned as the water fled from her. No matter what, she couldn’t stop herself from coughing and choking. Snot streamed down her nose and her wet hair lay in a tangled mass.
She was on her side; her shoulder bone rested on a groove, she tried to shift away, but everything hurt.
“We have to get her to the medic pod.”
“Gordy…” Blair’s voice was whiny and afraid.
The young man spun, one hand still resting on Lucy’s back. “That entitled whimpering might work with dad, but not with me. Are you out of your small, ridiculous, mind?”
“Don’t lecture me. Not now. You don’t think I know how bad this is?”
“Call the hospital on Floor F. Get the medic pod to get a room for her. Do it now.” He pointed at the door, but Blair didn’t move. He muttered imbecile underneath his breath.
“What about the boy, Gordy? He’s a survivor.” She spat the word like it was poison.
“Leave the boy. He’s not our concern right now.
“Grant—” Lucy said, and then she coughed, more water dribbling down her chin and to the floor; she thought she tasted something metallic and rusty. She thought of Grant and then to the pain in her chest and then back to Grant. She felt panic, like bile, gurgling up her throat.
“He’s fine. Just sitting in the tank,” the man named Gordy answered Lucy, but he didn’t even glance down at her. His hand on her shoulder felt mechanical, rigid. He had saved her, this Lucy knew. His face was the face she saw first when she was pulled from the abyss, and she focused in on his crystal blue eyes, the stubble on his chin. She had been in a place of peace, a place absent of pain, and then she felt drawn back—there was the sensation of touch: wetness, roughness, sharpness. Then she saw Gordy’s face and had the uncontrollable urge to vomit.
Whatever peace found her in those moments in the tank were gone. For a second, she wished he had just let her die.
She went to wipe her mouth, but her hand felt weighted down to the floor.
Lucy coughed again. And again.
“Get her up,” Gordy commanded.
“Get the guards to do it. They can say they found her.”
“You think they’re going to take the blame for this?”
Blair was quiet.
“Gordy, please—” she whispered. “Dad—”
“You better hope the girl lives. If she dies, Dad will never forgive you. Breaking the rules is one thing, but murder Blair. Murder?”
Blair scowled and climbed off the ground of the tank. “That’s rich, Gordy. That’s hilarious,” she seethed and pointed at him. “Maybe Dad will only love me if I murder seven billion people. God forbid I tank one person.”
Gordy shot up off the ground and walked right up to his sister; he leaned down over her and backed her up against a wall. His movement was quick, deliberate, and Blair didn’t have time to maneuver away from him. She cowered as he pressed his hand against her shoulder. “Don’t you ever say anything like that ever again or I will tank you. The Kings are members. And you know that it’s different. You know it, Blair. Call the medics.”
“Even you didn’t think they should be allowed to stay,” Blair challenged in a small voice. “Don’t get all high and mighty now…you wanted them dead once. You didn’t trust Scott. Remember that O-Mighty-One?”
Gordy gave Blair’s shoulder a second push into the cement wall and then walked away from her, leaving Blair to rub her shoulder. Her chin quivered.
Lucy coughed and coughed; she gasped for breath. She wanted to shout at them to shut up; she wanted to tell them she was in pain.
“It’s done. The decision was made long before and it’s done. Call the medics, Blair. Or I’ll have the guards tank you and bury you in the Sand Hills.”
“Gordy—”
“Call the Goddamn medics!”
Blair bristled and huffed, and then sauntered out with her fear disguised with defiance. But Gordy—who was her father’s age, somewhere in his early forties, maybe younger, but not by much—now leaned over her, his eyes narrowed, his face still. He opened his mouth to address her and then shook his head, thinking better of it.
“I’m sorry,” was what he finally said and Lucy looked at him.
“Where am I?” she asked. It hurt to speak. She coughed and leaned over the tile flooring.
“There are many ways to answer that—”
“I want to see Grant,” she demanded, pushing the words out through the ache.
“It’s difficult to explain, but Grant is not a member. It’s not as simple as just letting him out of the tank. He has no family here.”
Lucy shook her head. “He’s my family. A brother.”
Gordy smiled, not unkindly. He exhaled out his nose and patted her on the shoulder. “That’s a sweet sentiment and I’m sure it’s served you well these past weeks. But the System doesn’t work like that.”
“What system?”
“The System. This place. Where you are now…”
“My family?”
“Is here.”
“I need to see them—” Lucy started to push herself up from the floor, her knees wobbled underneath and her hands slipped against the wet tile.
“Easy, easy,” Gordy hummed and kept his hand trained on her.
“Take me to them now,” she demanded and as her tone challenged him, she couldn’t help but feel like Gordy was amused by her; it was like she was a four-year-old demanding an extra cookie and he was entertained by the suggestion.
“Lucy King, you are like your mother, aren’t you?” Gordy laughed at this. His own private joke.
The mention of her mother sent an icy trickle down Lucy’s spine. “I need her. Is she here? Please,” Lucy begged, attempting a different tactic.
“In time. There are protocols. They will be alerted of your arrival soon…there are things that need to happen first.”
“No,” Lucy shook her head, and hot tears stung her cheeks. “That’s not fair.”