“Your mother?” He has the audacity to try to look confused. “Theo, she caught the virus; I’ve told you that before. Remember when we talked about how it wasn’t just those Naughts you care so much about who get sick? Your mother got sick, and there was nothing they could do to save her.”
“No, she didn’t. You killed her. You got rid of her the same way you tried to get rid of me.”
“Theo, son, think reasonably.”
“You did it, didn’t you, Dad? You killed my mother the same way you tried to kill me. She was in your way, and you needed to have a strong, consistent platform to get elected. She went against everything you were trying to do, so you killed her.”
“Talen, you need to just think for a minute,” he says. “You’ve never taken enough time to stop and think about the big picture and neither did your mother. You were both so busy worrying about individuals that you never saw what was happening to our entire race!”
“You admit it, then. You killed her.”
“I most certainly did not.” He straightens his shoulders and stares down at me.
“Of course not,” I say with a nod. “You’d never get your hands that dirty. You had someone do it for you.”
“You never understood the need for sacrifices,” he says, unable to control his anger any longer. “There is a greater good here…”
“A greater good?” I laugh. “You only sacrifice others to bring you more power. You never sacrifice yourself. You wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”
“You’ll never understand, will you, Theo?”
“I understand that you’re going to die.”
“Oh, my poor, misguided son.” Again, he shakes his head at me. “What do you think you are going to do?”
“I don’t ask others to kill for me,” I tell him. “I do it myself.”
“You don’t have your knives,” my father says. “You can’t keep a hold on me while you get them from Ford, and this mountain is about to blow. Time to face facts, Theo—this is over.” He smiles his big, smug, self-satisfied, narcissistic smile. “For now, anyway.”
“Yes,” I say softly. “It is.”
I flick the tiny cork out of the top of the vial and lunge at him. Landing on top of him, I grab him by the hair and wrench his head back. I take the vial and shove it between his lips, still holding his head back to force the powder into his mouth and down his throat.
As he struggles below me, I hold his jaw closed until I feel him swallow. I wait until he swallows again, just to be sure, and then jump off of him. I take several steps back as he rolls to his hands and knees, spitting on the ground.
“What did you…?” He coughs, then gasps.
“Cyanide,” I say simply. “Ford was only exposed to a small amount. You, however, just swallowed about twenty grams.”
He reaches out but can’t maintain his balance. He falls to his side, sputtering as his eyes bug out, and he claws at his throat. His body jerks violently; his face turns blue, and my heart pounds as I watch the gruesome spectacle.
President Harrison LaGrange digs his fingers into the dirt around him and then goes still.
“That’s for you, Mom,” I whisper.
The ground below me begins to vibrate.
Without another glance at him, I return to Ford and retrieve my knives and his gun. He reaches for me—unsuccessfully—and then rolls to his back, still gasping for air.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “It should be over soon.”
I rush over the rocks and through the trees in the direction Aerin had been taken. It only takes me a minute to catch up, and as I do, I hear the rumble of a motorized vehicle in the distance.
Aerin, Jennifer, and the two remaining guards stand on the side of a gravel road. Aerin struggles as one of the guards holds her bound hands behind her, and Jennifer yells at him to be careful with her daughter.
“Mom, you can’t do this!” Aerin yells.
“I’m so sorry, Aerin, but I have to get you out of here. If we just have a little more time, I’m sure you’ll come to understand.”