In my ear, Diego roared but I couldn't make out what he said for the wind pummeling my eardrums and the hail of bullets being poured down from the three on the roof and the train, the train most of all, coming around the bend in the tracks like a rhino on steroids, like a jet taking off, like a-Whoof!
I hit the roof of the second car and nearly flew over the side. I managed to rake the top with my nails-oh, my poor, bleeding nails-and then gripped the narrow ridge that ran down the center of the roof like a spine. Bullets bit into the roof around me, leaving jagged pockmarks of twisted metal. My hair, wild with kinky curls yanked loose from my French twist, streamed around my face and neck. The Midori Building streaked away with sickening speed; the men on top of it disappeared almost immediately.
I clung to the roof for a moment, unable to move, unable to breathe, staring with wide, unblinking eyes that were quickly filling with tears, partly from the numbness in my body, partly from the wind blasting them. Tokyo poured past me on both sides, all glittering glass and white metal and flashing neon. I listened for Diego, realized my earpiece was gone, likely torn out by the impact of me hitting the train. I felt a tinge of regret-those earpieces had been one of our more expensive investments. Then I remembered that of my fierce little squad of four, only I remained. Even if I had all the earpieces in the world to choose from, there'd be no one to talk to. The thought struck me like an arrow, leaving a sharp sadness buried in my heart.
Eventually, my brain managed to find a way through the dam of pain and shock that had temporarily disconnected it from my body, and I woodenly began working my way backwards, helped by the wind, drawing on the last reserves of strength and tactility left in me. When I reached the back of the car, I shimmied down and landed heavily on the narrow ledge in front of the door. A fall like that would have ordinarily made me shriek with pain, but I couldn't feel anything.
A Japanese girl dressed Harajuku style (white Lolita wig, lacy blouse, perfect pink spheres of blush on her cheeks) looked through the window, saw me, and laughed. She said something to the similarly-costumed girl beside her and they laughed together and stared at me, probably discussing how weird Westerners were.
I banged on the window and, still laughing, they opened the door. I fell inside, landing in the midst of their ruffled skirts and high-heeled Victorian boots, drawing the attention of the older, more stern passengers as I did. The Harajuku girl shut the door and said something to me in Japanese-I don't know what, languages are Diego's talent, not mine.
"Arigatou," I said breathlessly. "Arigatou gozaimasu," which was about the extent of my Japanese.
The girl repeated her words, and her friend joined in. They looked anxious now, not laughing, and they pointed at my leg.
I looked down. Saw the bullet wound in my paralyzed right calf. The blood pouring onto the floor of this nice, clean Tokyo train. I hadn't even felt it hit me, and still couldn't feel it. It might as well have been someone else's leg altogether.
The girl pulled out a bedazzled cell phone and I knew at once that she intended to call whatever the Japanese version of 9-1-1 is, which I couldn't let happen. I couldn't go to the hospital. That was the first place Corpus would look for me. Well. After the morgue, maybe.
"Please, don't," I said. I shook my head and tried to lift my arm to stop her, but it wouldn't move off the floor. It may as well have detached itself for all the control I had over it. But the girl seemed to get the message. She lowered the phone and exchanged an uneasy look with her friend.
"Daijobu?" she said.
I shook my head, not understanding.
"I can't... breathe." I had to focus all of my energy on my lips in order to form the words; it was like speaking through a layer of cement. My body was useless to me, and soon my face would be as well. I knew how curare worked; I'd had Diego read up on it for me after I stole it in the first place. In seconds, I'd be as immobilized as efficiently as if I'd been encased in ice. I needed a way to breathe or I'd suffocate.
YOU ARE READING
Savant
Teen FictionHaving escaped a Corpus laboratory, four teens decide to track down the scientists who experimented on them, leaving them with incredible abilities but erasing the memories of their lives before the lab. In the process, they learn far more than they...