Human Error

BOOK 2 // FOURTEEN: Red Alert

            By the next morning, the worst of the storm had passed, meaning we were able to venture outside and survey the damage.

The biggest relief: there wasn't much. Debris had been washed across the streets by rising water, and there was evidence of flood damage on some of the weaker buildings, but structurally the place remained intact. A couple of miles to the west, a large tree had fallen, but the only building hit was already out of bounds; even before the storm it had looked ready to crumble. Perhaps the biggest miracle was that the generator had survived – and thanks to Art's repair job, there was no lasting damage.

Like everyone had assured me, we'd got through it.

With the storm now behind us, normal life resumed remarkably quickly. Even that morning, there was no time to be wasted – and after a slice of toast each made from the sandwich leftovers, Nova sent us on our way to pick up our usual jobs.

Just like that, life outside the capital continued.

It was easy to slip back into routine. Most mornings, I'd be up before the crack of dawn to help prepare breakfast, stifling yawns alongside Erica as we slaved over the latest batch of lab-grown scrambled egg. I got a short break in the middle of the day, which was usually spent taking a power nap in my room, or, weather permitting, catching some rare sunlight on a patch of grass outside – before being launched straight back into work for the afternoon.

It wasn't so bad. I was at least kept occupied, and my brain had something productive to focus on when there were a million other places it could've lingered. The last thing I needed was headspace to think over the events of the last few days, chasing my tail as I speculated hopelessly about where it all might lead.

And yet today, when I found myself alone in the communal bathroom armed with a bucket of bleach, I couldn't quite stop my brain from going there. I tried, but after holding everything back for days, holes were starting to appear in the dam – and one by one, the intrusive thoughts and endless questions gushed in.

I couldn't stop them.

Your abnormal genetic sequence, a voice in my head reminded me. You could drop down dead at any minute.

What about Nova's side effects? You know they could turn dangerous, even if you don't want to admit it.

Not to mention the fact that you'll probably never have a real relationship with her again.

And that's before even getting started on Jace, and where his loyalties lie...

Frustrated, I scrubbed harder at the shower tiles, like this might bleach some of the toxicity in my head. The harder I pressed with the sponge, the easier the dirt came off, revealing the original white colour beneath the grime. And yet the harder I tried to push my thoughts away, trying to break away from my own form of torture, the more force with which they came back.

It was pointless. And if I kept going, I would drive myself mad.

Several hours later, after my intensive scrubbing had given the bathroom its gleam of fifty years beforehand, I had to admit there was no more left to do. As I packed the cleaning supplies back into the storage unit, my stomach grumbled loudly; only then did it occur to me how hungry I was. Figuring it was probably about time for dinner, I headed straight for the dining hall.

The place was busy, and once there I grabbed a tray and moved toward the hot food hatch. On offer was some kind of stew, being ladled out from a silver vat, which looked like it contained minimal meat and a lot of bulky veg. I spooned out enough to fill my bowl and turned to face the rest of the room.