“How was the tree climb?” the Voice asks suddenly. “Did the technique come back to you?”

I tense, and the wood scrapes against my skin. She doesn’t fool me. My older self doesn’t ask idle questions; she has no time for small talk.

“Fine,” I say shortly.

And still, she pauses. Still, she hesitates. A drop of sweat rolls down my neck, and an ant crawls off the bark and onto my knuckles.

“I didn’t want it to come to this, Alice.” The sentence dips in and out of focus. “But we have no other options.” She sighs. “Maybe you’d better sit down.”

I obey, settling my butt in the V of the branches and anchoring my back against the trunk. My heart ratchets up with each passing second that she doesn’t speak; my breath wheezes in and out like a punctured tire.

My future self remains annoyingly silent.

“What is it?” I ask impatiently, and when she doesn’t respond immediately, I can’t stop myself from repeating them. “What is it?”

“It’s simple, really,” she finally says. “In order to save the world, you must kill a person. Now, in the present, before the Maker has a chance to invent the virus.”

I shake my head. And then shake it again. There must be gnats in my ears, ’cause there’s no way I heard correctly.

“I’m sorry, what?” I attempt a fake laugh. “It sounded like you said I had to kill someone.”

“I did,” she says quietly.

“No.” The gnats push into my brain and buzz around my bloodstream, scattering my thoughts, mocking my protest. “There has to be another way.”

“I promise you, there isn’t.” She sounds weary, as though she’s not just ten years older but a hundred. “We’ve spent the last six months exploring every other avenue, but nothing has worked.” She enunciates her words carefully and oh so deliberately. “I know this is hard for you to hear. The last thing either of us wants is to kill someone. But we have to make this impossible choice. It’s either us. Or them.”

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

I sag against the trunk, every knot digging into my spine. Did I think the temperature was cool? Ha. The air I’m swimming in is as thick and hot as soup. I can’t breathe. My eyes dart from branch to twig, from a tattered bird nest to the disappearing tail of a squirrel. If my feet weren’t braced against two branches, I’d slide right off and crash to the ground.

“Alice. Say something,” the Voice pleads.