Mortal - Chapter 23

Premise: In this young-adult dystopian novel, people can no longer die. But they still feel pain, and suffer--and it's maddening. Because of the chaos that ensued, the US Government created a program to figure out how to kill people. When Garrett, a teenager, falls into a coma for weeks as a result of an experiment, the Program sets its malicious sights on him.

This is the twenty-third chapter of the novel, Mortal. Click here for the beginning of the story. Or, click here to view all chapters.

I pretend that I see stars.

Looking past the glass of the window, up into the night sky, there are lights. Mostly white, but every now and again I spot a red, or a blue. Some of them are blinking, and the rest remain constant glowing orbs within the darkness. Many of the lights I see don’t stay in my line of sight for too long, but there are a few I have noticed that don’t seem to be moving at all.

I can’t see anything wrong with calling them stars.

Am I lying to myself? No. I don’t know what they are. I have my suspicions, my previous knowledge, but does that mean something?

I don’t think so.

After all, I have my suspicions, my previous knowledge, that I cannot die. And I don’t think that means something. Project Eden doesn’t seem to.

Is it just as easy to prove these stars airplanes, than prove my life immortal? Or what about the roles reversed. If there is proof that these stars are stars, would I believe it? Maybe. But would anyone else? Can someone just forget and ignore their suspicions, their previous knowledge? Surely, someone would need more proof. But how much proof would be needed?

I jerk my head when I hear Lucy stir in her seat. Her head is pressed to the side of her shoulder. Her hoodie is wrapped around her arms. She sighs softly, but it’s obvious she has no plans of waking up.

Edward’s sleeping now too. Bern and he switched seats almost an hour ago. He has his feet propped up, and the back of his seat is nearly touching Lucy’s knees.

Bern keeps glancing back at me, wondering if I’m still awake. I can tell by the look in his eye that he’s wanting me to curl up and sleep as well. Lately, I’ve been ignoring his almost patterned glances.

The thunder has stopped, but sometimes I can still see the quick flash of light illuminating the back window. It’s still raining, however, it’s now soft, almost peaceful.

Surprisingly, there’re quite a few cars on the highway at two in the morning. Their tail lights create an eerie, red mist in the rain as they pass our own car. The traffic is moving pretty smoothly, but sometimes there’s a lull in the road every once and a while.

What if we had enough proof that some of the stars were stars? Would that help prove that all the stars are stars even though it may be much harder to prove those stars stars than the former stars?

We don’t really question it anymore. That every other forms of life can die except us. We burn trees, mutilate and then devour animals, but when it comes to humans, we’re untouchable. Well…not untouchable.

I wonder if Arthur Paracot pretends he sees stars. I think he does. He knows these planes are stars. And he needs to convince everyone else.

Most people see planes, and so they feel trapped. There’s nowhere to go. Mankind is blocking the way to the unknown. Maybe this is why people try to commit suicide. No one likes to feel trapped.

So I’m not quite sure I can blame the Secretary as strongly as I have been. He sees them, the stars.

He sees hope.

 I awake to the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Eyelids fluttering, I pull my face away from the cool window and shudder, straightening my sore limbs. I struggle to swallow, my mouth swollen with a sour taste. I can’t remember falling asleep, but I can’t say I’m surprised, for the last time I checked the digital clock on the speedometer, it was four in the morning.

Edward’s driving again. The sun has barely peeked over the plain, but he’s already wearing his sunglasses. Lucy’s awake too, her back hunched as she scrolls down the screen of her cell phone. Bern’s on his side, his jacket covering his head, casting himself in darkness.

I look out my window. The corn fields are endless. I can’t decide if they make me feel vulnerable or not. After all, all I’ve ever known is endless. I squint into the windshield, and to my dismay, it looks the same as it did last night. The highway is endless. There are no towns in sight and no signs foretelling them either. And although it’s not raining anymore, massive white clouds enclose us in an eerie pallid.

I sigh pitifully, running a hand through my hair before leaning up against the door again. Lucy’s gaze shifts to me from her cell phone and a soft smile plays on her lips before she returns to tapping her finger on its screen.

“Jesus Christ,” I hear Edward mutter and he reaches for the dial on the radio, increasing the volume of the soft voices that I had heard when I awoke.

“The death penalty can no longer be an option, Bill. Which is why the government is trying to formulate an equivalent form of punishment.”

“An equivalent to death?” Bill questioned aloud, “That sounds a bit ominous, Gary.”

“How so?”

“Well, it sounds illegal.”

“No shit,” Edward voices angrily. I look past his seat to see his hands clenching down on the steering wheel, knuckles paling white.

            “Times change. This generation knows that better than any other. The framers of the Constitution understood that, too. The U.S. government will be able to find a loop hole.”

            “A loop hole in the Bill of Rights?” Bill scoffs, incredulous.

            “Abe Lincoln suspended habeas corpus,” Gary replies matter-of-factly.

            “Very true…So I suppose that means—“

            “Son of a bitch,” Edward growls out before turning off the radio and leaving us in tense silence.

            By the flushed skin reflected in the rear-view mirror, I can tell Edward is fuming. Bern stirs, pulling his jacket off his face and straightens in his chair. He turns to face the editor, jaw tightening, “What’s the matter?”

            “The damn system, that’s the matter,” Edward exhales raggedly, shaking his head.

            Lucy and I share a glance. Confusion prickles my scalp as my brow begins to furrow. Edward’s upset, and I finally gasp when I realize why. The radio hosts were talking about torture. Since the death penalty is no longer reliable, the government is searching for a punishment worse than life in prison. If they’re allowed to do that…then…what happens to our battle with Project Eden?

            “Can they actually do that?” I choke out, suddenly feeling sick. If torture becomes legal, then it won’t matter anymore. Project Eden will just find a way to make all the patients look like sick bastards and then no one will care. No one will ever care.

            “Yes,” Edward grits out.

            “How come?” Lucy asks, “The government just can’t ignore the Constitution.”

            “They won’t be,” Edward responds quietly, “But they can bend the rules just like Lincoln did.”

            “They’ll play the crisis card,” Bern adds, and I’m surprised he is able to catch onto the conversation so quickly.

            Edward jerks in his seat, his jaw clenching, “The tricky little bastards,” he breathes, “The government is going to get this, get a little ticket to step right through the 8th Amendment, and once one is messed with the others won’t stand a chance.” I think I’m the only one that can see Edward Gild trembling. He’s terrified.

            “Why do you say that?” I ask softly, dread seeping into my veins. If Edward is scared, then…

            “Because the government will use you, Garrett,” Edward responds gruffly, “You’ve given them hope that this crisis is only temporary, that it is, in fact a crisis, and not life.”

            I press my forehead deeper into the window, scrunching my eyes shut. What kind of game is the world playing? I, who escaped Eden in order to stop it, might be the one who saves it?

            “We’ll stop Eden before it comes to that,” says Lucy evenly.

            Everyone’s quiet, and it’s clear that no one shares her optimism. I look over at Lucy, tiredly, wondering if she believes it herself, or if it’s just a mechanism to make everyone else believe she’s okay, that she’s sane.

 The cry of tires screeching against the asphalt causes me to jolt upright in my seat. Lucy reflexively grips the headrest in front of her and gasps, pressing her head into her arms right as Edward slams down hard on the brakes. My fingernails dig into my seatbelt as I look ahead, seeing a cluster of scattered cars spread over all four lanes of highway.

Edward rips off his sunglasses and rubs a hand down his face, “Everyone all right?”

I nod stupidly, knowing he can’t even see me, my head curling into my shoulder protectively. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of a collision among the cars, but people are opening their doors and stepping out onto the road and towards the farthest car up ahead.

Hastily, I click the latch of seatbelt and rip it off me, pulling open the door.

“Garrett?” Lucy’s glazed eyes focus on me.

I slide out of the car, ignoring her and straighten my sweatshirt. I squint in the direction of the forming crowd. They’re looking down at something and I frown, worry seizing my body. Cool wind hits my face as I begin to walk towards whatever they’re looking at. I hear a car door slam behind me and turn to see Edward pulling on his blazer as he strides up to me.

“Garrett, what the hell?” he asks calmly, blue eyes misty, when we’re only feet apart.

My face blushes, and I look towards the ground. He wouldn’t understand. No one understands. “Someone’s hurt,” I say quietly, before glancing up at him and flutter my eyelashes when wind brushes hair into my face.

He stares at me, wide-eyed, before scratching his bristled jaw.

My eyes narrow bitterly, and I turn away from him, towards the injured body, trying to smother the flaring anger that I only seem to have.

“Garrett,” I hear him protest exasperatingly from behind.

My fists clench around my sweatshirt and I turn my head over my shoulder, only slightly slowing my pace, “Someone’s hurt, damn it!” I see the realization split across his face and glimmer in his eyes. Gritting my teeth in frustration, my eyes refocus on the prone form on the highway. A red pool is starting to soak into his jacket.

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey,” Edward runs up to me and grabs a hold of my arm, turning me to face him.

I rip my arm free and glare at him. No one understands. Someone is hurt. Someone is dying, but never will. And no one cares. No one cares that pain is worse. No one cares that when blood is seeping through your fingers and you can barely stand, and when no one but looks at you with cold, dead eyes, you lose everything. And I don’t want this someone to lose everything…like I have. I gag on the lump in my throat and duck my head, embarrassed by my irrational fears, my irrational hopes.

Edward replaces his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye. A weak, sympathetic smile tugs at his lips. “Then let’s go save the damsel,” he says, patting my shoulder encouragingly before releasing me.

I nod, gratefully, but never meet his gaze.

The crowd is forming a circle around the body. Most of them are just staring at the crippled form. Others are glancing down at their cell phones or rummaging through their purses. Some have their cameras out, and I can’t help but be reminded of how Lucy and I first met not more than a few days ago.

I swallow thickly, before pushing past two, young women giggling about something and settle by the man’s side. I’m careful not to touch the puddle of blood as I search the old man for the most prominent injury. My gut clenches when my hand recoils from a large gash in his shoulder, slick with blood.

I glance around the scene, searching for anything useful. I hear the roar of blood in my ears when I notice the shattered windshield not five feet from the man. Glass speckled with blood forms a morbid path to the victim. I curse inwardly, closing my eyes and lifting my chin upwards, feeling utterly helpless. Something I was hoping to prevent.

“Has anyone called an ambulance?”  Edward’s voice breaks through the soft murmurs of the people around me.

“They’ll come for this?” a young boy asks incredulously.

“Yes,” Edward hisses out, irritated, before muttering, “Jackass.”

“I did a few minutes ago,” a woman speaks up, “But…they didn’t know how long they’d be.”

“What does that even mean?”

I frown, blocking out their voices, and with trembling fingers I brush the white locks away from the man’s scrunched shut eyes. If he just knew that someone cared, then maybe…that would mean something.  “It’s going to be okay,” I whisper to him. And it is going to be okay in the real meaning of things. He is going to live, no matter what.

I bite my lip hard as I pull my sweatshirt over my head. “This might hurt,” I say aloud, not sure if I’m trying to talk to him or just keep myself calm, “And if you have glass in your shoulder, it’s really going to hurt, but it’s better than bleeding out, believe me.” Leaning over him carefully, I wrap the sweatshirt around his shoulder and tighten the sleeves as hard as I can, earning a pained gasp and the flickering of clear, blue eyes, watching me.

The murmuring around me increases as they see that he’s awake. I try ignoring their words, knowing that they are only words of amusement. The lack of compassion is sickening. I smile weakly at the man and return to my kneeling position beside him.

“Garrett?” Edward’s voice is threaded with concern.

I don’t bother glancing back at him, “I’m fine.”

“I know you.”

I blink at the man, brow furrowing. His voice is so soft, but there’s not even the slightest tremor within it. He’s calm, I realize. “You know me?” I repeat, and then I remember that my face has been plastered all over national news, “I don’t doubt it,” I manage a light chuckle.

“Are you all right?” I persist, gently. Finally I force myself to look back at Edward and the others. He’s watching me carefully, body tense with arms crossed over his chest. Edward is the only one looking at me; everyone else has eyes on the man.

“Will be,” he responds.

The tone of his voice is what returns my gaze to him. My stomach twists uneasily, unsure of the hidden meaning behind his words, but I force a smile for him, “Yeah? Good. An ambulance is on its way. We just have to wait a little longer.”

He struggles to sit up, and I reach for his uninjured arm, steadying him. “Easy, there. You just got hit by a car, you know.”

The wrinkles around his lips tighten as he stares at me with those pale eyes. He clears his throat absently, before lowering his gaze to the mutilated ground around him, “Blood,” he mutters softly, jerking his head back to face me.

I nod grimly, resting my mostly clean hand on his shoulder. “I know,” I say, “You’re injured pretty badly, but you’re going to be fine. I promise.”

“You know me,” the man murmurs to me.

I cock my head at him, brow furrowing. There’s no way I’d know him. I’ve been contained by Project Eden for five years, and to be honest, I can’t recount for much before then either.

People are talking again. I hear them walk away, bored, followed by a car door slamming shut. The man’s no longer spiking interest, and I let out a sigh of relief. Good. He shouldn’t. He should spike compassion and concern, worry and generosity. But he doesn’t, for some reason, so this is the next best thing.

I flinch when I still see he’s staring at me, expectant. A gust of dry wind runs into us, and I frown, brushing my hair away from my eyes. “I…I don’t think so,” I reply.

He grips my arm with a shaky hand and pulls me towards him with strength I didn’t think he possessed. I gasp, my whole body tensing, when I feel warm blood sinking into the fabric of my pants.

“Garrett!”

“It’s…okay,” I breathe out awkwardly, reassuring Edward, closing my eyes and trying to calm my nerves. Bern definitely won’t be happy about the pants, but…this man has just been hit by a car. He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s scared. Bern…and I will just have to get over the blood stained jeans.

I open my eyes finally, and the man’s still staring. No, his eyes are burning with intensity, enough to make my skin crawl. I’m beginning to think that perhaps this man knows me much more than from a picture on the news.

“You know me,” he says angrily, warm breath spilling into my face.

I can’t ignore the fear gnawing at my stomach any longer, and I pull away, yanking hard, and I fall onto my back with a wince. Before I can even sit up, Edward’s beside me, searching over me with concerned eyes. With trembling fingers, I offer him my hand, and he pulls me to my feet.

The injured, old man is laughing. He coughs and gags between each bout of wheezy cackles. Edward steps in front of me, glaring. The spectators still there start to whisper harshly again. My shoulders curl inwardly as I watch the man watching me.

“Hit hard in the head, Geezer?” Edward demands bitterly.

The man smiles, toothy and wide. “You know me,” he says again, and he squirms slightly in his position, his hand digging at his side. It’s too late before I realize what he’s doing. It’s too late before I can do anything to stop it. But when he states, “I know you,” and I see the glint of a pistol clasped beneath his bony fingers, I know what’s about to happen.

But I can’t prevent the pull of the trigger or the hollow boom that sounds after. And I can’t prevent the splatter of blood.

My voice scrapes against my throat, but deteriorates into a moan before it leaves my lips. My knees buckle, and I stagger to keep upright. I don’t understand it. I can’t understand it. But it happened. My head throbs, and I weakly press my palm into it dizzily.

“Holy shit,” Edward exclaims flatly, the shock stealing away any emotion he once had.

The man had shot himself in the stomach. I had tried to help him, to make him feel not so alone. And he had shot himself.

He lays flat on his back now, unmoving. The pressure of the bullet from close-range, ripped his stomach, creating a bloody strew of muscle and flesh. The sight and the stench finally bring me to my knees. I ignore the cries from the people around me; it is now very real to them. I hold my stomach tightly, rocking slowly, trying to soothe the swell of nausea in my gut.

From the corner of my eye, Edward walks towards the man. He leans over him carefully, before kicking away the pistol and grabbing his right wrist. I see him glance up at me, before dropping the wrist and returning to my side.

“Garrett,” he says calmly, and I feel his cool hand on the back of my neck, “Let’s get back to the car.”

Edward lifts me up by my forearms and pushes us through the remaining crowd of surprised people. Most of the blockade has cleared, so that there’s now a steady stream of cars in two of the lanes.

I breathe through my nose raggedly, slouching into Edward’s loose hold on me. The cool breeze is a welcome relief on my skin, but my thoughts are still feverish… “Edward,” I croak, “That man is a Corpse, isn’t he?”

There’s a drawn pause before Edward replies, “Yeah, kid. He is.”

Tears slip through my eyelids as I choke on the rising bile in my throat. The man is a Corpse which means that accident wasn’t an accident. He hurt himself to hurt me. They’re still after me, and I don’t have the slightest idea why. That man…he played on my weaknesses. He knew I wanted to help him, and when I thought I had, when I thought I had made a difference in someone’s life, he shot himself. He made it perfectly clear that what I did meant absolutely nothing. Nothing.

“I’m going to be sick,” I mumble tiredly, my cheek brushing against Edward’s shoulder.

“What did I tell you about the vodka, Garrett?” Edward asks sarcastically.

“Please,” I whimper back, shaking inside the length of his arm.

Edward glances down at me, grimacing, “Okay.”

He steers me offside the highway, into the dry brush and helps lower me to my knees. I gag on my empty stomach, heaving and shaking. Nothing I do will ever make a difference, that’s what the Corpse showed to me today, that I am at their mercy. Project Eden and VitCorp, whether they’re in an alliance are not, they’re destroying me, ripping apart anything that matters…to me. And I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t think I can.

When I’ve stopped gagging, I glance up at Edward who lifts me back onto my feet. I frown, lowering my gaze. He rests a hand on my back, “Are you all right?” he asks.

I clear my throat slightly, attempting to make room around the swollen lump, “No,” I shake my head.

“Right,” he agrees, “But you will be.”

Will be.  

I tense at the words and wonder how similar our situations are, the Corpse's and mine.

Not unalike at all, it seems.

 Thanks for reading everyone! See you next week with more chapters! xoxo, Liv