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The very thing he risked his life for. Handed over. Just like that?
“Rhys?” The name slips past my lips before I can stop myself, but he doesn’t bother to look at me as he slides the strap of the bag over his head as if already resigned to the idea of handing it over.
Valdys lurches forward, and when he pauses beside me, I twist to see the Legion officers standing behind us, all of them pointing guns at the remaining Alphas.
Holding out Jed’s satchel, Rhys offers it up as if the whole purpose for going down there is suddenly lost to him.
My gaze flits to Wren, whose eyes fill with tears.
The man orders one of his soldiers to retrieve the satchel with a jerk of his head, and Rhys hands it off without hesitation.
The soldier rifles through the bag and removes a small black case, opening it on three syringes tucked inside. Removing one of the glass syringes, Szolen holds it up, twisting it as a taunt. It slips from his fingers, crashing to the floor, and he crushes it under his too-shiny black shoes. The chuckle that follows must strike like blades along Rhys’s nerves. A second syringe is held up, and once again, he allows it to fall, where it smashes against the hardwood floors, and he grinds it beneath his shoe.
Rhys lurches, stopped short by the barrel of a gun at his chest. “’The fuck are you doing?”
“Do you honestly think a cure for the disease is going to make you better? Or that I would sit back and let a bunch of savages try to purify themselves? To become one of us? The pure. The uninfected. The only true human species left on this planet.”
He holds up the last syringe, its clear liquid no indication of the power it possesses. Power that a man like the one standing before us is willing to seize and destroy.
“Please.” There’s a shaky quality to Rhys’s voice, unfitting for a man so strong and impenetrable-looking.
“I hold the last shred of hope for your kind. Without this, you don’t stand a chance of surviving. I’m told third generation hasn’t produced viable offspring, which means your dirty, infected, savage kind will die with you.” He tips his head, examining the syringe’s content, and my heart is racing at what he’ll do with it. Throat dry and hands trembling, I pray there’s one small shred of decency in this man, and he’ll preserve the last dose for Wren.
Instead, he keeps his eyes on Rhys, letting the syringe crash to the floor. “It’s painful, isn’t it?” Bending down, he smiles, and lifts a small piece of the broken glass.
From where I stand, I watch Rhys’s eyes follow the man pushing to his feet, holding up a shard of the syringe, mocking his hope. “Perhaps this could’ve saved thousands of you. But it’s a good reminder of the power I wield, that I could …” His words are broken by a cough, and he clears his throat, dropping the piece of glass. “That I could ...” Another cough sends him bending forward, and he grabs the back of Gregor’s chair. “That I could crush … your chances … beneath my … feet.”
“Sir, are you okay?” One of the Legion officers steps forward, offering him a glass of water, which he bats away. The glass flies out of the soldier’s hand, shattering against the desk.
Szolen coughs in the man’s face, yanking a handkerchief from his suit pocket that he holds to his lips. “I’m not drinking out of a savage’s glass!”
Blood trickles out of his nose, and when he coughs again, the stained red spittle hits his crisp white shirt. He sets the back of his hand to his nose, leaving a streak of blood where he wipes. “What have you done?”
Rhys smiles, staring back at him, and shakes his head. “I knew the moment you called it a cure that you didn’t have a clue what it was. You designed a weapon that you know nothing about.” There’s an air of confidence in his voice that tells me he knew what he was doing all along. He must’ve learned something about the contagion during his time with Jed. “The moment you lifted the syringe out of the case, you exposed your precious immune system. The truth is, this contagion is everywhere. You’ve managed to evade it while living in your sealed bubble. But now? It’s finally made its way into your perfect little community, too.”
The Legion soldier who retrieved the bag coughs, as well.
“You guys had it wrong this whole time. All of you did. You can’t get rid of this disease … or the diseased.” Rhys turns around to face the Legion soldiers who remain on guard, and when I turn to look at them, their faces, twisted with fear, betray the loyalty to which they’ve sworn. “Unless you want to be infected, I suggest you get the fuck out of here. Now.”
There’s some hesitation at first, exchanges of glances. A few of the men in the back retreat, perhaps hoping to go unnoticed by their superiors, but it’s as if they don’t know what to do.
“Only takes a couple minutes to spread through the air. Most of you won’t be immune,” Rhys adds.
“Kill them!” Szolen screams from behind us, before he collapses to the floor. Something red and meaty flies out of his mouth on a cough and lands on the floor before him. Thick and gelatinous, the sight of it turns my stomach, and it seems to be enough for the other men to back themselves out of the room, guns at the ready.
The room empties of all the Legion soldiers, except the one on the floor, coughing blood beside Szolen.
“Jed told me some secrets. Ones I’m guessing you’d kill to keep from spreading around. But that’s the danger of virulent things--they’re hard to contain. Take you, for example. You built a weapon. A weapon that got out of control and killed millions of people.”
“We were … studying … an ancient … contagion.”
“One that was virtually harmless, until you made it contagious.”
“We didn’t … know.”
“You didn’t. I believe that. You fucked with something you didn’t understand.” Rhys crouches down in front of the man, tipping his head to gain his attention. “Shit thing about karma, isn’t it? She doesn’t give a damn what you didn’t know.”
On a groan, Szolen falls forward, coughing again, and when he rises to his knees, his eyes are black, the whites of them pooled with blood. He lets out a growl, and Six grips the back of his neck.
