The Network ( Book One of the Grounders Series )

10

It was as if we'd jumped through two different times zones. One second we were caught up in a vicious battle and the next we were safely behind a sealed wall.

Adrenaline pumped through my blood, causing my to tremble uncontrollably.

My eyes become blurred and I realize I'm crying. Tears streak through the grime on my cheeks.

Then Cicada's face fills my entire periphery vision. "We need to get you out of the open."

She laces her fingers through mine, and guides me toward a narrow, vacant alleyway. Soldiers are swarming the streets of Verro, bewildered to the battle raging outside.

We walk down the alleyway that ends in a tiny square alcove. There is a crack through the floor, just big enough for probably someone my age could slip through.

"There is a network of rivers below us," Jonah says, "this is one of the entrances to one of the tunnels they eroded below the Network."

Jonah is the first to slip through.

"We'll be down in a second!" Cicada calls.

Then she pulls me off the the side. Her brown eyes are wide, her gold stripe flashes in the light filtering through the alley. "Are you alright?"

My mouth literally falls open. "No." I want to say more but I can't will myself to, my mind is in a trillion different places right now.

"I know you know what's happening?"

Over and over against I see my fingers flexing around the neck of the possessed villager man, my blade slices, blood spills. Blood spills onto my palms. I have blood on my hands.

I look down at my hands, that have started to shake again.

Cicada reaches out the grab them, but I pull away, stepping over the crack to crest distance between us.

"Don't," I say, "I'll hurt you."

"That's crazy, Al, why would you hurt me?"

"I'm a killer, Cicada. I have blood on my hands." I raise my hands in front of my face so she can see.

"Al, there's only dirt on your hands."

I look up. My hands are covered in dirt and grime, no blood, but I saw it, I saw blood. I saw blood on my hands. They were covered in red.

Cicada reaches up and folds her hands in mine. Her touch is warm against my icy fingers. How are they cold it there's blood on them?

"It's alright, Al, you're safe."

My body trembles uncontrollably and the tears return, pouring from my eyes shamelessly.

She closes the gap between us, wrapping her arms tightly around my thin frame. Her warmth consumes me and I find myself calming.

Some time later, I am hiccuping, the aftermath of crying. Cicada and I sit propped up against the wall, not cringe if Jonah is down in dark tunnels by himself. I'd just finished filling Cicada in on everything that had happened since I was Putin Detention in Verro.

"I'm a skilled killer," I say pitifully. A tear breaks and falls. My stone facade of passiveness has turned to glass and shattered, and now everything is coming out. I have a hold on nothing anymore.

"You're not a killer at heart, Al," Cicada says.

"What's the difference if I'm a killer at mind or heart if I've killed men?"

"Alaric, a killer is someone vile, someone who is dark. You are a survivor. You don't trust yourself enough to follow those instincts. We push them away because you think you're some kind of monster, so your body does it for you."