Surviving Patorum

Chapter 17

Adrenaline courses through my veins as I sprint down the hallway. My heart is about to burst out of my chest, and I can't tell if it's from anger or anxiety.

I cannot believe I cut off the Founder's hand. I feel blood soaking my leg through my jeans pocket. I'm afraid to look down; the last thing I want is to puke everywhere.

My feet carry me to Dally's residence, and once I get there, I press my finger onto the scanner. My whole body shakes as I wait for Dally to open the door.

What did I do? Paige will hate me forever, and I probably ruined our friendship. Now I am a criminal. I assaulted someone. And it was the Founder. They're going to lock me back in that cell. And once they figure out how to get the reanimation serum to work on other people, they will kill me like they wanted to. How could I be so stupid?

The door slides open, and Dally stands in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. He's wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt that's too small and blue pajama pants with a hole in the knee. His dark hair is a nest on his head, and it comes down in front of his eyes in knots. He moves the hair with his fingers and looks at me. When he sees the state my jeans are in, he grabs my shirt and pulls me inside.

"Are you hurt?" He asks, his eyes inspecting the rest of my body.

"No," I say, my lungs aching for air.

Dally's residence is an exact copy of mine. A living space with a small kitchenette is the main room, and there's a bedroom and a small bathroom off shooting the residing space. The room smells of old engine oil, making my nose wrinkle.

Dally walks over to his bedroom, and I follow. The room is a mess. Clothes pile on the floor next to the two twin mattresses pushed together. "What happened?" He says, digging through the clothes. He finds another pair of jeans and throws them at me.

I reach into my pocket and pull out Mr. Smith's hand. The fingers are stuck in a curled position, and the muscles are frozen. A ring adorned with tiny diamonds is on the hand's ring finger. The wrist is still oozing blood, dripping onto my hand's skin. The tips of his manicured nails turn a dark plum from the lack of blood. I grip it, my hand trembling as the warmth disappears from the skin. I place it on the nightstand next to Dally's bed. The lamp makes the blood pooling on the table shine—the crimson red reminding me of Dr. Chapman on the bathroom floor.

Dally jumps back, his face full of horror. "Is that a fucking hand?"

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. "Yes. It's Mr. Smith's."

"What!" Dally shouts. "Please don't tell me you're the one that did this."

"I did, and I plan on using it to open the control room door."

"Are you crazy? There could have been other ways to get his fingerprint." Dally stares at it, his eyes blinking fast as if he wishes it could vanish.

"We have to act fast. The guards will be looking for me soon, and if we want to open the gates, we have to go now."

"What do you mean we? I'm not doing anything."

"Dally, please, I need your help opening the gates. I don't know how anything works in the control room."

"And you think I will?"

"There's a possibility! You work in Mechanical and might know what all the buttons do."

Dally shakes his head. "I work with machines, not tech, and I won't know what to do or how it works. Besides, how will you distract the guards? There's always someone stationed out of the control room's doors."

'With this," I pull the gun from my waistband, holding it out to show Dally.

Dally puts his hands over his mouth. "Where the hell did you get that?"