Page 77 of Across the Universe (Across the Universe 1)

With their sweating, pulsing bodies, with the up-and-down rhythm, with their hungry eyes and clutching hands.

I have to, I whisper to myself.

But my hands won’t stop shaking.

I let my head fall against the cool wall. I am panting from the effort of standing close to the barrier between me and them. I want to call Harley or Elder to me, but I don’t have that ear button they use to communicate. And besides, Harley can’t save me every time.

I punch the button. The door zips open. Before it has cleared the doorway, I punch the button again, and the door slams back shut just as quickly.

I plan the route in my mind. I imagine myself running, running, running so fast no one can catch me. I can see the path so clear before me that I think I could run it without opening my eyes at all.

My hand slips over the button, and the door flies open. The hall is, thankfully, free of people. I rip open the glass common room door, and hold my breath as I race past the people who are too distracted to notice me streaking by them. My neck screams at me for the number of times I whip it around, looking for danger over my shoulder. I slip inside the empty elevator. And for the first time since I left my room, I allow myself to breathe again as I push the button for the fourth floor.

That hallway is deserted, too, and I send a silent prayer up for that. Still, I run past the locked doors, part of me fearful that they will swing open and reveal rooms full of eager men hungry for something other than food. I don’t relax until I’m in the other elevator, sinking down below the madness of the ship, into the deathly quiet of the cryo level.

I want to see where they are. That’s all. I tell myself, that’s all.

I run, first. But as I get closer and closer, my steps drop off to a walk, then a slow, rhythmic thud. . . thud. . . thud of each individual step on the hard floor.

I come to a complete stop at the row. I stare at their numbered doors: 40 and 41.

And then I run to the doors. I fall to my knees, and my hands are uplifted, one on each door. And I’m sure it looks as if I’m in rapturous praise of something holy, but all that’s inside me is a scream ricocheting around my hollow body.

For a long while, I stay on my knees like that, with my arms up and my head down.

I just want to see them. That’s all, I tell myself, that’s all.

I stand. I wrap my hands around the handle of the door labeled 40, and I shut my eyes and grip the handle and pull it open. Without looking at the block of ice exposed, I spin on my heels and jerk open number 41, too.

There they are.

My parents.

Or. . . well, at least their bodies are there. Under the blue-flecked ice.

The room is cold, so cold, and I shiver. My arms prickle with goose bumps. The glass coffins are cold and dry. My fingertips skid across the top as I run my hands over my mother’s face.

“I need you,” I whisper. My breath fogs the glass. I wipe it away, a sheen of wet sparkling on my palm.

I squat, my face parallel to hers. “I need you!” I say. “It’s so. . . strange here, and I don’t understand any of them, and—and I’m scared. I need you. I need you!”

But she is ice.

I spin to Daddy. Through the ice, I can see the stiff bristles of his beard. When I was little, he’d rub his face against my bare stomach, and I’d scream in glee. I’d give anything to feel that now. I’d give anything to feel anything but cold.

The glass is fogged and the ice isn’t crystal clear, but I can see where Daddy’s hand is. I rub my pinky against the cold glass, pretending that his finger will wrap around mine in a promise.

I don’t realize I’m crying until the tears splash on the coffin. “Daddy, I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t get up, Daddy. They were too strong. If it wasn’t for Harley—” My voice cracks. “Daddy, you said you’d protect me! You said you’d always be there for me! I need you now, Daddy, I need you!”

I pound my fists against the cold hard glass surrounding the ice. My hands crack and bleed, smearing crimson across the glass.

“I NEED YOU!” I scream. I want to break through the glass, to rub life back into his bristly-bearded face.

My body falls limp. I curl up under their cold, lifeless forms, draw my knees to my chest, sob dry, empty sobs, and scrabble to fill my lungs with air that is too thin and weak.

One giant droplet of condensation slips off the glass and plops onto my cheek.

I rub it, and the warmth of my hands brings life back to me.