Using the last of my strength, I pushed hard. I heard Hayden yell my name, but I focused on Mr. Theo. He fumbled with the gun. With all the burns, he moved in halting jerks. Anger and desperation propelled me across the slick floor. The pain didn’t matternothing did but stopping Mr. Theo.

He leveled the gun, not at me, but at Hayden. I stretched out, running my hand under the hem of his charred pants and circling the sticky flesh of his ankle. He jerked once, twice. His entire body went rigid, even his fingers. The gun slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a sharp rattle of finality. I held on.

Mr. Theo dropped to his knees, arms splayed out like some kind of fallen angel. A grayish color raced over his skin, veins bulging and darkening as if someone had taken a charcoal pencil and traced the fine lines. He turned his head and stared down at me, mouth gaped in a silent scream. In that heartbeat, our eyes met.

I felt my lips spread into a smile.

A great and terrible spasm rolled through his body, then his eyes rolled back and he fell face-first into a cold puddle. Mr. Theo didn’t move again.

* * *

Over the next couple of hours I slipped in and out of reality. When I woke in a warm place, I reached for Hayden. My fingers curled into the empty air until someone gently guided my arm back.

Cromwell moved into my line of vision. “Hayden’s all right. Just getting checked over again.”

I blinked and my head rolled in the other direction. A white curtain fluttered and a machine beeped. There were voices far away. Or were they close? Things were kind of foggy from there on out. Someone in medical scrubs shot a syringe into the IV tube snaking from my arm, which didn’t help with my observation skills at allnot to mention I felt like I was floating halfway off the bed.

“Don’t touch her skin, whatever you do.” CromwellI was pretty sure that was Cromwell. Talking to the doctor, I guessed.

I couldn’t open my eyes again. I felt pleasantly numb. Detached. A door opened and closed. I hoped it was Hayden. I held my breath, waiting, hoping, waiting, floating some more.

“So this is Project E?” said a female voice I didn’t recognize.

“Yes, this would be her.”

“Do you want us to take her? We have a place for her immediately.” The woman’s voice was soft and melodious. She sounded like Mom. I liked that.

“No,” Cromwell answered after a stretch of silence. “She’s one of mine now. And she’s very important.”

“You should take better care of her, then. It would be a shame to lose this one, too.”

Then I floated up and up, past the ceiling and into a bright, warm nothing.

* * *

“It hurts. I can fix it.”