Bartie shoves me, hard, with both hands on my chest. I stagger back, hitting the cart with the back of my legs. He hurls a handful of square, pale green med patches at my face.
“Did you do this?” Bartie shou
ts. He towers over me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. ”
“Those ‘special’ med patches are full of Phydus, you chutz. ” Spit flies in my face as he growls the words at me.
“I—I know,” I say, looking over his shoulder where the patches he threw at me lie scattered on the ground.
“You know? You’re not even going to deny it? You know? How could you let Phydus back on the ship? You—you—swore that you wouldn’t use it again! You stupid frexing chutz!”
“How did you get any?” I shout back. I don’t like the way he’s in my face, the way he won’t back up, give me room to breathe. I try to lean up, but he doesn’t back down.
“How could you?” Bartie sneers. “You prance around here, talking about how great you are for letting the people all get off Phydus, and then you just slather some frexing med patches on them and call it done! Anyone get in your way—anyone cause too much trouble—just slap a frexing patch on them!”
Bartie spins away from me. But just as I take a step toward Doc, who’s standing on the curb, too shocked to do anything, Bartie turns back and shoves me hard so that I slam against the side of the cart again.
“You’re worse than Eldest, you know that? At least he treated us all the same. You’re just picking us off as you choose. ”
He turns to go, shaking his fist out.
“Wait a frexing minute!” I shout. Bartie stops but doesn’t turn; his back is stiff and straight, and his fingers curl into fists again. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Didn’t do anything wrong?” Bartie sneers without turning around. “Tell that to Lil. ”
He strides off. The people on the street are silent, watching us. As soon as Bartie turns the corner, they start whispering.
“Lil?” I ask Doc as I gather up the patches from the ground, stuffing them into my pockets. They may be scattered throughout the rest of the ship, but at least I can make sure these don’t fall into the wrong hands.
Doc’s face is creased in a dark frown, but he’s glowering at where Bartie walked off, not at me. “She’s the one Kit found dead. ”
I rush up the stairs to Harley’s childhood home. I don’t know what I expect to find there—his mother is already dead. Lil’s trailer is exactly as it was before—messy and slightly smelly. When I enter her bedroom, Lil’s just where Amy and I left her, sprawled on the bed.
Across her forehead are three pale green patches. One word on each patch.
Follow the leader.
“You know what that means, don’t you?” Doc asks. When I don’t answer, he adds, “This was murder. Someone killed Lil. For you. ”
“For me?” I can’t take my eyes off her body. It seems to melt into the bed.
“Follow the leader. It’s a warning to others—to those who don’t. ”
“But Lil wasn’t rebelling. She wasn’t involved with Bartie’s group, and she never spoke against me—”
“She wasn’t working,” Doc says. He sits beside Lil on the bed, peeling the patches off one by one. They cling to her skin, lifting it up a little and making a schlick sound as they pop off her. “Anyone not working, anyone not fulfilling the needs of the ship . . . they’re not following you. ”
Doc waits until I tear my eyes away from Lil’s body. “She was murdered for you,” he says clearly, slowly, as if to make sure that I understand the weight of her death rests on my shoulders.
34
AMY
I CAN’T KEEP STILL. I MAY HAVE GIVEN UP RUNNING, BUT I can’t think cramped up on the cryo level, with all the locked doors mocking me. I have to move. When I get to the Hospital lobby, though, I’m surrounded by shouting patients, angry nurses, and a crowd that seems to grow by the minute.
“It’s safe!” Doc’s apprentice, Kit, tells a woman loudly. “Just one is fine!”