Prodigy by Marie Lu Page B

something
     to be excited about, right?”
    Suddenly there’s pounding on our front door. I jump. John pushes me behind him. “Who
     is it?” he calls out. The knocking gets louder until I cover my ears to block out
     the noise. Mom comes out into the living room, holding a sleepy Eden in her arms,
     and asks us what’s going on. John takes a step forward as if to open the door—but
     before he can, the door swings open and a patrol of armed street police barge in.
     Standing in front is a girl with a long dark ponytail and a gold glint in her black
     eyes. Her name is June.
    “You’re under arrest,” she says, “for the assassination of our glorious Elector.”
    She lifts her gun and shoots John. Then she shoots Mom. I’m screaming at the top of
     my lungs, screaming so hard that my vocal cords snap. Everything goes black.
    A jolt of pain runs through me. Now I’m ten. I’m back in the Los Angeles Central Hospital’s
     lab, locked away with who knows how many others, all strapped to separate gurneys,
     blinded by fluorescent lights. Doctors with face masks hover over me. I squint up
     at them.
Why are they keeping me awake?
The lights are so bright—I feel . . . slow, my mind dragging through a sea of haze.
    I see the scalpels in their hands. A mess of mumbled words passes between them. Then
     I feel something cold and metallic against my knee, and the next thing I know, I arch
     my back and try to shriek. No sound comes out. I want to tell them to stop cutting
     my knee, but then something pierces the back of my head and pain explodes my thoughts
     away. My vision tunnels into blinding white.
    Then I’m opening my eyes and I’m lying in a dim basement that feels uncomfortably
     warm. I’m alive by some crazy accident. The pain in my knee makes me want to cry,
     but I know I have to stay silent. I can see dark shapes around me, most of them laid
     out on the ground and unmoving, while adults in lab coats walk around, inspecting
     the bundles on the floor. I wait quietly, lying there with my eyes closed into tiny
     slits, until those walking leave the chamber. Then I push myself up onto my feet and
     tear off a pant leg to tie around my bleeding knee. I stumble through the darkness
     and feel along the walls until I find a door that leads outside, then drag myself
     into a back alley. I walk out into the light, and this time June is there, composed
     and unafraid, holding her cool hand out to help me.
    “Come on,” she whispers, putting her arm around my waist. I hold her close. “We’re
     in this together, right? You and me?” We walk to the road and leave the hospital lab
     behind.
    But the people on the street all have Eden’s white-blond curls, each with a scarlet
     streak of blood cutting through the strands. Every door we pass has a large, spray-painted
     red
X
with a line drawn through its center. That means everybody here has the plague. A
     mutant plague. We wander down the streets for what seems like days, through air thick
     as molasses. I’m searching for my mother’s house. Far in the distance, I can see the
     glistening cities of the Colonies beckoning to me, the promise of a better world and
     a better life. I’m going to take John and Mom and Eden there, and we’ll be free from
     the clutches of the Republic at last.
    Finally, we reach my mother’s door, but when I push it open, the living room is empty.
     My mother isn’t there. John is gone.
The soldiers shot him,
I remember abruptly. I glance to my side, but June has vanished, and I’m alone in
     the doorway. Only Eden’s left . . . he’s lying in bed. When I get close enough for
     him to hear me coming, he opens his eyes and holds his hands out to me.
    But his eyes aren’t blue. They’re black, because his irises are bleeding.
    *   *   *
    I come to slowly, very slowly, out of the darkness. The base of my neck pulses the
     way it does when I’m recovering from one of my headaches. I know I’ve been dreaming,