Lucy-Anne frowned, confused. Only part of it?
“He's seen what Evolve can do,” Jenna said. “The talents it gives; they're amazing, and deadly. Who knows if anyone will find a cure to the illness, even if the survivors are welcomed outside London? Who knows anything? But he's also seen the terrible things it can do, too. Like you, Reaper. His father, the man he loved and respected and looked up to. The man he waited two years to find, and who he talked about every single day of those two years. And when he found him, Evolve had turned him into a murdering bastard. Someone who thought he was special, and superior to everyone else. And no one is better than anyone else. Jack knows that. And what Nomad gave him—the ability to spread the infection, and give it to other people—he knows the world isn't ready for that. It wasn't ready when Nomad spread Evolve, and it isn't ready now. I asked him. I wanted him to give me something to help, but he refused. And I'm glad he refused, because now I know why. It's because he loves me.”
Reaper was still looking at his hands. There was fresh blood on them now, and it was his own.
“He's the only one who isn't a fool,” Jenna said. “And the best way to honour him is to survive.”
“You're talking like he's already dead,” Sparky said quietly.
“He is,” Lucy-Anne said. It hurt to speak, but she had to make herself heard. “To us…he is.” She was crying. The tears touched her wounds—those injuries that Jack had also touched to take away the terrible pain—and made them sting. She was glad.
“We're leaving,” Jenna said to Reaper. “And because despite everything I think Jack still held out a spark of hope for you, I'm inviting you to come with us. To be who you were before, not who you've become.”
Lucy-Anne expected Sparky to object, but he merely stood to one side, head bowed. Remembering his friend.
“Andrew…” Lucy-Anne said, and she pointed across the darkened room.
“I will guide you out,” Andrew said. “I've been to the west, and hundreds are gathering there already. But we have to go now.”
Leaving blood and tears behind, they left.
They headed west. It was almost eleven p.m., and London's silent streets were as haunting as ever. But with Andrew leading them, Lucy-Anne felt a flush of confidence. The fear was still present—she thought that she would always be afraid, and the dark places she'd seen would remain as shadowy echoes in her soul—but alongside was confidence that they would make it. They had to. They could not let Jack's sacrifice be in vain.
She walked with the help of her friends. Sometimes she seemed to float, as if the weakness and pain from her injuries caused a kind of delirium in her. Other times, she thought perhaps Jack had done something to help keep her going, for a time at least.
Close to the river, Andrew whispered a warning and they left the street, hiding down a narrow alleyway between tall buildings. Sparky and Jenna knelt before Lucy-Anne and soothed her, protecting her with their bodies. Every time they looked at her she saw her injuries reflected in their expressions. They couldn't help it. She was never once tempted to put her hands to her face.
She swallowed blood. It ran past the hole Nomad had punched in her throat, and each breath she took was thanks to that woman. But every bad thing that had happened to them all was also thanks to Nomad. Lucy-Anne didn't know what to think about her, so she tried not to think at all.