stagger against a trolley behind me. It topples, and I reach out and clutch at it, pulling it down with me as I crumple to the floor. The trolley clangs beside me as surgical instruments clatter across the concrete. My mind is reeling, and I suddenly feel so incredibly weak and powerless. I screw my eyes closed, and I can see their faces. Millie; Dean; Amy; Miss Cole; Sherrie; Ashley; poor Karla Bassano; Percy, our brave tour guide; Professor Francis; and worst of all . . . Ryan. All of them gone. All because of me.
I look down and see speckles of blood peppering the paving stones beneath me. I look up and see Carlo’s father, Javier Delgado. He’s wearing a military uniform with a Captain’s insignia on the shoulder and standing at the top of an open cargo ramp beneath a large gray transport. He shouts to someone inside. The turbines throttle up, and the transport suddenly begins to lift off. I see Ryan. He’s facing a gathering of angry soldiers, all of them swaying unsteadily on the open cargo door as the transport rises. The aircraft leans sharply; Ryan loses his balance, and the rifle he’s holding slips from his grasp and clatters at his feet. Captain Delgado suddenly pulls a pistol from a nearby soldier’s hip.
As he raises the gun toward Ryan’s chest, the horrific memory slows down to an excruciating crawl. The folds of the Captain’s camouflage sleeve tighten as he straightens his arm and takes aim. His top lip curls up over his clenched teeth, his nose wrinkles into a sadistic sneer, and his knuckles turn bloodless white as he grips the gun tightly and pulls the trigger. The jolt from the recoil ripples his hand, and a smoking shell casing spits from the side of the pistol. The tiny brass cylinder tumbles through the air as a bloom of sparks erupts from the barrel of the gun, lighting up Captain Delgado’s face like a demonic mask captured in the flash of a camera. Ryan’s body jerks with the impact of the bullet. He staggers and trips, then finally, with his hair flurrying from the downdraft of the turbines . . . he topples backward off the edge of the ramp.
I remember Ryan falling.
I saw him hit the ground.
I remember watching him die.
“Finn!” shouts Bit as she lunges toward me.
My heart races; my vision swims. There are footsteps from all directions. I reach out to Bit, but Jonah’s face comes into view as he kneels beside me, and all of a sudden hands are grabbing me and hoisting me up. “They’re all dead,” I murmur. “Everyone is dead.”
“Not everyone,” a familiar voice says from behind me. I turn and see Percy’s face at my shoulder, his hands under my arms helping to lift me to my feet. Behind him I see Professor Francis rushing into the room from a side passageway.
I stare at Percy and Professor Francis. Both of them are wearing coveralls that are draped in cobwebs and smeared with streaks of rust. I feel a warm current of relief rise from the depths of an ocean of guilt. “You’re alive,” I stammer.
“Yes, I’m glad to say that we are,” says Percy. “And I’m also happy to see that you’ve finally woken up, albeit a little unsteady on your feet.”
“Help me get her onto the table,” says Jonah.
Jonah and Percy lift me onto the metal slab, and I sit on the edge, trying to catch my breath and process the horror that’s just been pulled from the mire inside my head.
“Are you OK, Finn?” Bit says, fussing over me. “Be careful of your hand! It’s—” Bit freezes midsentence.
Dr. Pierce quickly sets a tray of sutures and bandages down on the table, pushes past Percy, and grabs me by the wrist. “It’s . . . completely healed.”
“Incredible!” exclaims Percy. “If I hadn’t seen your severed hand regenerate with my own eyes, I would never have believed it.”
“Severed? As in amputated?” I gasp.
Percy nods emphatically.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” grunts Dr. Pierce. “Finn had an accident while you were in the
I look down and see speckles of blood peppering the paving stones beneath me. I look up and see Carlo’s father, Javier Delgado. He’s wearing a military uniform with a Captain’s insignia on the shoulder and standing at the top of an open cargo ramp beneath a large gray transport. He shouts to someone inside. The turbines throttle up, and the transport suddenly begins to lift off. I see Ryan. He’s facing a gathering of angry soldiers, all of them swaying unsteadily on the open cargo door as the transport rises. The aircraft leans sharply; Ryan loses his balance, and the rifle he’s holding slips from his grasp and clatters at his feet. Captain Delgado suddenly pulls a pistol from a nearby soldier’s hip.
As he raises the gun toward Ryan’s chest, the horrific memory slows down to an excruciating crawl. The folds of the Captain’s camouflage sleeve tighten as he straightens his arm and takes aim. His top lip curls up over his clenched teeth, his nose wrinkles into a sadistic sneer, and his knuckles turn bloodless white as he grips the gun tightly and pulls the trigger. The jolt from the recoil ripples his hand, and a smoking shell casing spits from the side of the pistol. The tiny brass cylinder tumbles through the air as a bloom of sparks erupts from the barrel of the gun, lighting up Captain Delgado’s face like a demonic mask captured in the flash of a camera. Ryan’s body jerks with the impact of the bullet. He staggers and trips, then finally, with his hair flurrying from the downdraft of the turbines . . . he topples backward off the edge of the ramp.
I remember Ryan falling.
I saw him hit the ground.
I remember watching him die.
“Finn!” shouts Bit as she lunges toward me.
My heart races; my vision swims. There are footsteps from all directions. I reach out to Bit, but Jonah’s face comes into view as he kneels beside me, and all of a sudden hands are grabbing me and hoisting me up. “They’re all dead,” I murmur. “Everyone is dead.”
“Not everyone,” a familiar voice says from behind me. I turn and see Percy’s face at my shoulder, his hands under my arms helping to lift me to my feet. Behind him I see Professor Francis rushing into the room from a side passageway.
I stare at Percy and Professor Francis. Both of them are wearing coveralls that are draped in cobwebs and smeared with streaks of rust. I feel a warm current of relief rise from the depths of an ocean of guilt. “You’re alive,” I stammer.
“Yes, I’m glad to say that we are,” says Percy. “And I’m also happy to see that you’ve finally woken up, albeit a little unsteady on your feet.”
“Help me get her onto the table,” says Jonah.
Jonah and Percy lift me onto the metal slab, and I sit on the edge, trying to catch my breath and process the horror that’s just been pulled from the mire inside my head.
“Are you OK, Finn?” Bit says, fussing over me. “Be careful of your hand! It’s—” Bit freezes midsentence.
Dr. Pierce quickly sets a tray of sutures and bandages down on the table, pushes past Percy, and grabs me by the wrist. “It’s . . . completely healed.”
“Incredible!” exclaims Percy. “If I hadn’t seen your severed hand regenerate with my own eyes, I would never have believed it.”
“Severed? As in amputated?” I gasp.
Percy nods emphatically.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” grunts Dr. Pierce. “Finn had an accident while you were in the
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