Chapter 15

When Zane came to, there was a soft glow emanating from a faintly translucent window inset into the ceiling. It was harsh and bright at first glance, but dimmed as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.

The second thing he became aware of was the searing pain in his leg. It throbbed nonstop, sending wave after wave of nausea into his brain. His eyes watered as he forced his vision to remain clear. He moved his head, and found his left ear was able to hear again. The shock of the terribly loud noise had passed and his brain had cleared slightly.

The shirt was tied tightly around his leg to staunch the bleeding. The bullet had torn right through his leg, so there was no bullet to remove and his chances of infection were far less. He repositioned his body, struggling to find a position less painful.

"Just lie still, mate," came Marcus's voice from nearby. It was soft and soothing, but also unnecessarily loud in the silence.

Zane twisted his head so he could see the other boy. Marcus was seated on a backpack just behind Zane's head, his arms crossed over his chest. His cowboy hat sat askew upon his red hair, which appeared almost brown in the dark. His marvelous green eyes had a dark and brooding sheen to them, making him look older and more mysterious. His overall mood had grown darker. Zane recalled the fact that he had been experimented on long before Wawrzynski had perfected his serum. Zane couldn't help but feel Marcus's mood shift was long overdue.

"Where are the others?" Zane asked curiously. He gazed around, but his eyes did not fall upon them. He only saw darkness after a few feet that were illuminated from the skylight.

"They scouted ahead, mate," Marcus stated factually. He tapped his foot on the floor, and the small noise echoed throughout the cylindrical tunnel. "We also couldn't carry you any further."

Zane winced. "I'm sorry to be a burden," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Nonsense," Marcus said, but there was an underlying note to his voice that suggested it wasn't nonsense. His gaze shifted so he was looking absentmindedly at the roof. Zane grimaced, knowing he had slowed them down. After several moments, Marcus said, "Joseph was really worried about you."

Despite the turn the conversation had taken, something else preyed on Zane's thoughts. I killed a man. Once again he saw the gun go off in his hand and the soldier slowly topple to the ground. He knew he shouldn't feel so bad, because the soldier was trying to kill him. But he couldn't help thinking that if he hadn't pulled that trigger, the soldier would have gone home to his family. Zane had stolen his future from him to preserve his own life.

What made Zane's life more important than his? Did Zane deserve more in life than any ordinary soldier, or would it have been better if he had died, if he had been the one to lose his life to preserve another? He didn't know.

Zane sat up slowly, his leg protesting vehemently. "Where are we?" he asked, disregarding the previous path the conversation had been following. He longed to reach down and unwrap the shirt from his leg. He wanted to see how bad the injury was. He managed to still his hands by taking in his surroundings.

There wasn't much to see. The minuscule amount of light illuminated very little. He had been laid at the very bottom of the rounded floor, and his backpack lay where someone had placed it under his head. Marcus was half leaning, half sitting on the curved wall, his legs crossed in front of him. In either direction was darkness as far as Zane could see. "Which way did we come from?" he asked Marcus, looking back and forth.

With one thumb, Marcus pointed to his left. "That way," he said. Zane squinted into the darkness, but could not discern any noticeable features. "The others scouted in that direction." Marcus's thumb pivoted a perfect one hundred and eighty degrees to face the opposite way.

Zane felt elated at the possibilities laid out before him. He was no longer confined. Even in New Vancouver, his life was planned out perfectly, and he was contained and restricted from many places. Here, even though there was only one direction he could go, he felt truly unrestrained. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and the excitement of it clawed at the back of his mind.

"Is your leg alright, mate?" Marcus inquired as Zane struggled to stand. He reached forward, meaning to aid Zane, but shrunk back as he waved him off plaintively.

"I'm fine, I just need-" he cried out in pain as his leg gave out and he collapsed back onto the solid and stiff floor of the tunnel. He ground his teeth in frustration. He tore the shirt from his leg, revealing the angry, inflamed wound.

Zane almost gagged. The sight of his raw flesh was unnerving and disgusting. The bloody muscles undulated beneath his skin as he wiggled his toes. The area around the entry wound of the bullet was puffed out and bright red. Caked blood coated much of his upper leg. His vision blurred as it flaked off his skin like red snowflakes. The hem of his pants, pushed to his thighs, was soaked through.

"It might not be alright," he amended, biting his lip. Marcus leaned closer.

"It's not infected. It should heal in a couple of months." He readjusted his hat, his eyes blazing.

"We don't have a couple months," Zane said fiercely. "Wawrzynski is after us."

The other boy seated himself in front of Zane, squatting low enough to get a good look at the wound. He scrunched his eyebrows together in concentration. "A couple soldiers came into the tunnel after us. They must have access to these passages." He reached forward and pressed two fingers softly onto the swelled skin. Zane winced and whimpered in pain.

"What happened?"

"Joseph took care of them," Marcus said quietly, almost a whisper.

I don't want to hurt anybody. Joseph's words ricocheted through Zane's brain. A tear pooled at the corner of his eye. He had assured Joseph there would be no need to hurt anybody. He had lied. Joseph had rescinded his words to protect him.

"He didn't kill them, did he?"

"No." At least there was that. "I did."

His words startled Zane. He had said it very calmly, almost as a passing comment. Zane watched him cautiously, admiring his stony expression. No matter how often he tried to take Marcus seriously, the cowboy hat and boots always got in the way. Such a statement from such a comically looking person was hard to take literally. "You killed them?" he managed to choke out.

"Yes," Marcus responded. "If you may have forgotten, I was trapped here for over a year." Zane had not forgotten. "There's no lost love between me and Wawrzynski. If I can do anything to break him, I will." Marcus removed his prodding fingers from Zane's leg.

When Zane looked up, he saw Marcus flash him a sly grin. "Also, Daisy would kill me if I ruined the, and I quote, 'pureness of Joseph', for you," he said, his smile lessening into one of friendship.

Zane sighed heavily, his resolve fading. "Daisy told you?" he asked, exhausted.

"She told me I was an involuntary wingman," he said, scratching his head through his hat. "And then she called me a wombat for some reason." He stood up, brushing the dust from his jeans. "Crazy aerodynamic maniac," he muttered under his breath, stalking away.

Zane managed to chuckle despite the glaring pain in his leg. "Involuntary, huh?" he asked. He rolled his blood-caked pant leg further up to his hip.

Marcus was silent for a moment. "For what it's worth, I hope it works out," he said softly. "You need him, and he definitely needs you. I never had anybody to help me through difficult parts of my life. You do. Don't lose it."

Zane dropped his head, and his gaze landed on his leg. He had no time for injuries. An idea struck him, a hopeful lightbulb in a time of darkness. He just hoped it could work.

He hovered his hand over the bullet wound. Marcus watched curiously as he closed his eyes and concentrated, channeling the power Wawrzynski had cursed him with. His hand shook as spots danced in front of his eyes. He pursed his lips. He pictured the faucet, dripping slowly at a reserved pace. He twisted the tap, releasing a steady stream. He felt pure power and adrenaline flow through his veins as he directed it toward his leg.

He nearly vomited when he opened his eyes and the puffy skin and shredded flesh sloughed off him like liquid. "Excuse me," Marcus said, clapping his hand over his mouth. He rushed away, presumably to lose his lunch. Zane was tempted to laugh.

Zane forced himself to watch as the red liquid-like substance oozed off him and separated into many small particles. When he felt no shred of the previous pain, he closed the faucet. An almost white piece of bone was visible in the gouge he had disintegrated from his leg. He cocked his head curiously. At least there was no pain.

He found he had limited movement over his leg. He had taken away vital muscles responsible for moving his leg. He found it extremely intriguing that he could not bend his knee. He must have removed several tendons as well.

Despite the human anatomy lesson before him, he concentrated the particles back on his leg. It looked as if his cells were knitting back together, reintegrating their missing comrades back into his flesh.

When his leg was whole again, there was no bullet wound, no gaping entry hole or intense unbearable pain. It was simply his leg, with the small covering of dark hairs and a faint pink spot to indicate where the wound may have been. He exhaled deeply, flexing his toes, and this time they cooperated. He smiled softly, bending his knee, and his movement was no longer restricted.

Marcus came back moments later clutching his stomach. "Please don't ever do that again," he said feebly. His eyes were half-closed and he was breathing through his mouth. He averted his eyes. "Is it over?"

Zane laughed. "Yes," he said, chuckling under his breath. Marcus wasted no time glowering and sat down in front of him, where his legs were now crossed due to his renewed movement. Zane ran a hand through his dirty hair, and thought of how desperately he needed a shower. He had washed his hair multiple times in the sink of the homely bathroom, but his body needed a full cleaning. His hair was also longer than normal, hanging over his forehead, nearly obstructing his vision. He swept it out of the way frustratedly.

The silence that fell between Zane and Marcus became uncomfortable.

Marcus broke it. "What was it like, living in New Vancouver?" he asked quietly. "Without having any way to express yourself or know who you were?"

Zane closed his eyes, not expecting such a question from Marcus, who never seemed like the intuitive ,or even bright, kind. He tried to remember his life even a month ago, but it all blurred together when there was nothing to remember. "I didn't have anything to worry about," he said, rubbing the spot of the now non-existent injury. "My whole life was planned out, down to every day of every month of every year. It was predictable, which is definitely not the worst thing in the world."

Marcus sat expectantly. Zane continued. "We were prohibited from having any hobbies or skills until we were assigned our jobs, and even then they had to be directly related to our jobs. We weren't allowed to prefer one person's company over another besides parents, spouses, and children." He thought for a second. "Joseph said his mother was rebellious and did things just to spite the governors. He thinks that's why Wawrzynski took him for the experiment."

Marcus removed his hat, and his short ginger hair was revealed. Zane had never noticed before, but he had faint freckles dotted like stars across his pale cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. It made him seem more childish, like maybe he hadn't been the subject of human experiments for a year. He laid his hands on his lap. "When you say your life was planned out, what do you mean?" he asked hesitantly, apparently not sure if prying was the wisest option.

"I mean we had deadlines for certain things. We had to have our job assigned before we turned seventeen, and work it five days a week for eight hours until we were sixty." He found himself slipping into the present tense, as if he were still leading the life he was describing. "We have to be married by the time we're twenty-five, and to someone chosen by the governors to produce the most 'genetically gifted' children. One child is required by law, but a couple can have up to three, but they have to be born before either person is thirty-five."

Marcus's sly smile appeared again. "Guess that wasn't happening with you, eh, mate?" he asked, chortling.

Zane plastered a fake serious expression across his face. "Oh, it happened, Marcus," he said disdainfully. Then he took a deep breath to keep from smiling. "I'm pregnant."

Marcus laid a hand over his heart in mock surprise. Then he burst out laughing. Zane couldn't contain it anymore either and joined in. It felt good to laugh, as if he was shrugging his worries out the window. Marcus sure knew how to dispel anxiousness and nausea.

After they had ceased their raucous laughter and wiped the tears from their faces, Zane was smiling exuberantly. He may be in a damp tunnel, hunted by government soldiers, and have an unpredictable and dangerous power, but he was having the time of his life.