The Vault (A Farm Novel) by Emily McKay Page A

my throat, choking me. Ely is not my friend. He was Carter’s friend. Once. Me, he tranqed and tried to deliver to Roberto.
    On the other hand, if Ely had succeeded, I might not be transforming into a Tick right now.
    But on the other hand, if he had succeeded, Josie would be dead. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep Joe and McKenna’s baby alive, including sacrificing my own life.
    And on the other hand, wouldn’t I have betrayed a friend to protect Mel?
    But wait, that’s too many hands. Too many ifs and fears and buts for my Tick-ish mind to take. And not enough getting our asses out of here before the mercenary-Neanderthals wake up.
    “I’m a friend of Ely’s,” I repeat, and this time I try to sound like I mean it. “I know he would do anything to protect you. I would do anything to protect my sister, too.” This is easier to believe when I say it. “I know you’re scared. I won’t hurt you.”
    I know that’s a promise I can’t keep, but I make it anyway.
    I won’t hurt him. Not as long as I’m me. Not as long as I can hold on to the shreds of myself.
    Finally, he drops his arms, leaning forward to get a better look at me from within the shadows. “Are you one of them?” he asks. “Are you a . . .”
    “A Tick?” I ask, when he leaves the question hanging. Jesus. How do I answer that? “I don’t know. Not yet.” I can’t lie to the kid. He needs to know what I’m becoming, what’s he’s becoming, too. But we’ll get to that soon enough. So I tell him what I do know. “I was exposed to the virus. I will turn, but I haven’t yet. I was put in a coma. I think you were, too. We were being brought to a Farm, but the helicopter crashed.”
    I tried to sneak in the bit about him, but he catches on and crawls forward to get a better look at me. “Then I’m one, too?”
    “Neither of us is yet.”
    His gaze meets mine for only a second, then he juts his chin out just a little and nods. There’s a quiver to his jaw, but he’s trying so damn hard to be tough, it about breaks my heart.
    I might hate Ely. I might have been damn close to killing him. Hell, I left him unprotected and without transportation in the middle of nowhere. He may be dead already. But no matter how much he pissed me off, he would have done anything to protect this kid. And now, somehow, it feels like it’s my job to do so, too.
    “We gotta get out of here,” I tell him. “You and I both woke up, that means those other guys will soon. We can’t be here when they do.”
    He nods, but he doesn’t come out the rest of the way. “Are you gonna just eat me?”
    “No. Not yet anyway.”
    Either my answer or my honesty must reassure him, because he ducks his head and starts to climb out. He braces his hand on some kind of support beam, and before he can even cross under it, the whole thing shifts. It tips toward me, and instinctively, I thrust up an arm to catch it. The weight of the metal slams into my palms, but somehow I manage to hold it up. My muscles strain and tear, but I keep it from crushing us.
    I don’t have to tell the kid to get out of there. He scrambles out from underneath the twisted metal, and as soon as I see he’s clear, I let go and spring free from the falling wreckage. I fall and roll, landing maybe ten feet away. My heart is pounding, and I’m struggling to suck air into my lungs, but I’m free.
    I push myself up and glance around. Ely’s brother is maybe five feet away, but from the way he’s staring at me, I know he’s still afraid. I don’t blame him. I glance down at my hands because that’s where he’s looking. Deep cuts cover my palms from where I grabbed the helicopter. Blood drenches my hands, but I can barely feel the pain. It’s nothing. No worse than a scratch. A cut like this, in the Before, and Mom probably would have taken me to get stitches. But it’s not like we can just call 911.
    For once, I don’t bother trying to clean the wound, but just shove my hands in