Page 86 of Generation Omega: Revealed
“I’ve got you, baby girl.”
Then Gideon moves like a starter pistol fired and he’s the most competitive man in the race. I’m in his arms, being carried down the stairs, where ashen-faced Thatcher waits, gripping his messenger bag. I briefly wonder what happened to him or whether the very real danger just occurred to him. But the truth is, I really don’t care what his deal is.
“We’ve got to get to the roof,” Thatcher declares as he eyes the screen beside the elevator. “They’re in the lobby. They’re getting into the elevator. Others will already be in the stairwells.”
“This way.” Gideon walks down a hall, while Thatcher trails behind us.
I can’t feel Gideon’s fury now. All I feel is calm certainty. Acceptance. Gratitude. He’s not afraid to die. He’s afraid of losing me, failing me, surviving to live a life he no longer wants. Was there only one bridge off his island? I always thought I was the only one who lived like that. What if we all live like that at some point in our lives? Maybe we all retreat when we can no longer discern friend from foe. When betrayal comes, maybe we burn down all our bridges so we never have to feel abandoned ever again.
We reach the emergency exit and Gideon shoves the door open, moving swiftly toward the stairs. Stomping boots echo through the stairwell from below, and I know I should be afraid. But I have no fear. Part of me is standing on the edge of the cliff, pulled to jump, to call out to my enemies, to run toward them and discover what happened to all the other omegas, even if I have to suffer the same end.
The reason I don’t—the reason I nuzzle against Gideon’s neck instead—has everything to do with who he is and nothing to do with who I am. He doesn’t deserve that betrayal.
Do I? Did I ever?
I’m abruptly dragged back to the conversation with Ethan at the convention—the unanswered question is painfully relevant now.
If I loved the omegaverse so much, why didn’t I want to reveal as an omega?
I want it to be true, just not for me.
I said that and I meant it, but the reason didn’t have anything to do with the omegaverse. That’s why I didn’t want to discuss it at the convention—I didn’t want to discussthem.
I’m forced out of my thoughts by the wind whipping at my hair as we step onto the roof. In perfect action-movie style, a helicopter with blades spinning awaits us.
Thatcher rushes ahead, hunching beneath the rotor blades and jerking the side door open when he reaches the helicopter. Gideon follows, crouching with me still in his arms. He lifts me into the cabin and sets me on a seat, and then climbs in and sits beside me. While Thatcher closes the door and secures the latch, Gideon buckles me into the seatbelt and shoulder harness. By the time he does the same for himself, we’re already airborne and flying over the city.
I avoid looking at Thatcher’s pale face and death grip on his bag. I certainly don’t look at our familiar pilot, who,of course, has her own helicopter. Sage and Thatcher don’t get any rescue points for saving me from the maze they created. But gratitude almost overwhelms me at the sight of the thousands upon thousands of tiny figures, everyone daring to stand in the streets and use their voices to demand a better world. They are the heroes. Not me.
When I shiver, Gideon, who left without a shirt or shoes, studies me, worry in his eyes. Our hands are intertwined, the only warmth I feel coming from him. I lean toward him, and he wraps his arm around me as best he can.
If it wasn’t so loud, I would tell him to make sure Ethan knows how sorry I am. If the worst happens, hanging up on Ethan will be my greatest regret. Like a clock moving backward, memories begin to flash like a surreal nightmare, taking me on a journey through my past—the destination, my life before Ethan.
I want it to be true, just not for me.
I never dared to dream of a friend like Ethan. I never dared to dream at all, not until Ethan proved that it was safe to dream of him. He was my best dream, not the omegaverse, and now, I may have lost him forever. How do you keep living when your favorite thing about life is gone? It’s not fair to keep him, but it’s unimaginable to let him go.
A shudder racks through me and fear finally seizes hold, but it’s not of our enemy—at least, not the enemy striving to end our lives. No, this enemy is inside me, tearing me apart. I whimper and press my hand over my heart, as I fight to draw even the shallowest breath over the most excruciating pain I’ve ever known.
Gideon’s hand squeezes mine. “What’s happening?!” he bellows over the engine and the wind dancing with the rotors.
I clutch my chest, as though I can hold myself together against this wrenching violence. It’s not a fist around my heart—this agony has claws and it’s slashing me.
Gideon and Thatcher yell, but their words don’t make any sense. Only the pain registers, blotting out everything, even the view of Alcatraz, the Golden Gate bridge, and the great, wide ocean.
“Tillie, talk to me,” Gideon pleads as I grip his hand so tightly my fingers may break.
What caused this pain?
Why?
What have I done to deserve this?
My weather-station heart provides the clues, as always.
I can only mouth the words. “Kazimir—I’m leaving him behind.”
Thatcher and Sage shout at each other, while Gideon’s voice seems to be inside my head. “Just breathe, baby girl. Breathe for me. We’re almost there.”
