Page 13 of Across Eternity

I told Henri I would keep Marie safe, and I will. And if Katrin doesn’t survive…odds are I won’t ever be born.

“Lie down,” I tell them.

Marie shakes her head. “No, you should go. I’m too weak anyway.”

“You are not going to be able to time travel in a few weeks. You’re losing your spark, and I am not. I’m still fine. Lie down. Go back to your brother. If I can escape I will. Go to America like we planned and swear on your life that you’ll never return to 1918.”

She presses something into my hand—her mother’s necklace, the one she found in a pocket when we arrived here. She was certain it would bring us good luck, though I’m not sure it has.

I turn to Katrin. “Good luck. Hopefully this hasn’t changed your future or mine too much.”

She gives me the smallest, saddest smile imaginable, and runs her hand over her stomach. “Not to worry,” she says. “Your future is now secure.”

I blink, not able to understand, at first. And then I do: she is pregnant.

It all begins to make sense —her recent illness, her quiet. She’s been pregnant since the first time she slept with him and lying about it so she’d be able to escape.

There’s no time for questions and not even time to process my shock. I dive to the back of the room just as the guards walk in and hold my breath as they begin to lift the bodies on the cart, waiting for someone to notice that two of them are still warm. They don’t, too busy bickering about who will drive and who gets a weapon.

The bodies are thrown carelessly, as if they are sacks of flour. The door slams as they go.

And then my shoulders shake and I begin to cry. For Marie and Katrin, my only friends here. And because Katrin has just confirmed one of my worst fears: the terrible piece of me is real. I’m a Coron.

8

SARAH

I wake to find myself being turned out of my bed. The guards are kicking my stomach, my back, my face, demanding to know where Katrin and Marie are. If I’m still here, Katrin must have survived. I hope that means Marie did too.

I accept the blows, but along with the pain I feel that familiar rage as well—blistering, making my blood heat until it’s reached a boiling point. I’m going to kill you all, I think as they aim their boots into my stomach and back and face. I’m going to kill you all and I’m going to make it so long and so painful you’ll beg me for a quick death.

And then I’ll say no.

My body is so bruised and broken that I struggle to get back to my feet when they’re done. The only thing propelling me forward—limping, unable to stand straight, drooling blood down the front of my shift—is knowing that there will be a bullet in my brain if I don’t.

And a bullet in my brain means I can’t make them pay.

Outside the room, I discover that Marie and Katrin’s disappearance is not the only upheaval. Several guards and kitchen workers are gone, presumably fired, though they all disappeared without a word. I can only think of one reason why they’d be letting staff go: because there will soon be fewer of us here. They are preparing for the next stage—getting rid of all but the pregnant women.

There is now only a single cook and she’s furious that she has to do everything on her own. She yells at us, asks the guards why they can’t help, why the cattle can’t serve themselves. I take my food and limp to the table.

It’s too painful to chew the bread and I worry that my jaw is broken. I sip the gruel instead—I will need the drug just to get through the day. I’m not scared of getting addicted this time. Any haze it causes will be burned through by my rage.

Now I finally know why it’s there. That thing inside me, first identified by my mother and then Katrin…it’s his. Coron’s. I can think the way he does—shut off emotion and choose self-interest again and again. And as I look at the guards or at my aunt who storms in to yell at the cook, I hate it and yet I’m glad for it too. I may die here, but I’m taking all of them out with me.

I get through the day and allow myself half the stew at night. I wake so stiff I can barely move and have to use the metal posts of the headboard to pull myself to standing.

“How do you expect me to feed them all by myself?” the cook demands when we enter the cafeteria. “Tell Miss High and Mighty to get in here and help if she’s going to fire them all.”

“I’d keep a civil tongue if I were you or she’ll have it removed,” warns the guard. “She’s in a mood, Mademoiselle is. She’s been made to care for the baby. And not happy about it in the least.”

One of the babies has been born, then. No wonder they’re getting ready to close up shop.

“I’d trade gladly. Better to watch one babe than to coddle this lot,” she grumbles.

“I wouldn’t fret if I were you,” he says. “The other two are due any day now, so there will be far less work and soon.”

I stiffen. There’s only one thing that can mean: they’re preparing to kill us. Poison or a bullet to the head, perhaps. Maybe they’ll just shove us in the hole and let us rot there. And it will happen without warning, the same way the missing staff just disappeared.