Free Torn by Avery Hastings

as a makeshift stool. It had been nearly two weeks between Worsley’s last visit and now. Cole’s supplies—some tins of food along with a case of water—had been diminishing. He’d been about to panic when Worsley showed up that morning. It was a reminder that he couldn’t hide forever, and it made him even more eager to cling to what Worsley told him about Braddock.
    The smell of meat—chicken, maybe—wafted from the bag. Cole couldn’t help himself; he pried open the food from its plastic confines and shoveled as much as he could into his mouth with his bare hands. The flavors of cumin and coriander and orange peel overwhelmed him. After days on end of canned soup and tuna fish, he almost cried at the taste of it.
    â€œVera’s been very cooperative,” Worsley commented as Cole ate.
    Cole flushed. He couldn’t believe he’d neglected to ask about Vera. He’d been so excited over the news about the Olympiads that he hadn’t thought of her at all. He felt awful.
    â€œHow is she?” he asked. “Is she healthy? Is she in good spirits?”
    Worsley unscrewed the top of a bottle of water, his face brightening. “She’s nearly five and a half months along, now. The baby will be here before we know it. It’s all going well. The fetus is developing just as it should at this stage. I’m hopeful.”
    â€œI asked about Vera, ” Cole reminded him sharply. He was shocked by Worsley’s callous discussion of the fetus as if it were nothing other than an experiment—though he couldn’t deny that the development of the Narxis vaccine was just as important to him as to Worsley, if not more so. Still, Cole felt guilty for thinking first of the cure, and not Vera herself. If Davis were there, she’d only be wondering how her friend was.
    â€œVera’s good,” Thomas said, ignoring Cole’s tone. “She’s strong, healthy. I’m making sure she gets all the right nutrients. She’s a little pale from lack of sun exposure. But that can’t be helped. She needs to be concealed. If anything—” Worsley cut himself off. “Well. You know how important this baby is.”
    Cole nodded. “I’m still not exactly sure how the baby is going to help with the vaccine’s development,” he told him. Now that he was satiated, he felt drowsy, foggy. Stronger, but less sharp.
    â€œThe baby needs to be born a Neither,” Worsley explained. “Like Davis. It needs a natural resistance to Narxis, because I plan to give it Narxis once it’s born.”
    Cole leapt to his feet. “What?” he said. “Why would you—”
    â€œRelax.” Worsley held up a hand. “I’m going to inject the baby with a diluted strain. My hope—no, I’m sure of it—is that the baby will develop a natural immunity, and I’ll be able to develop a cure from there. I still have some of Davis’s blood,” he said, avoiding Cole’s eyes. “I took samples when she was in my lab. I’m planning to use her exact strain of Narxis on the baby. I just need to perform a few more tests to figure out whether it needs to be weakened further for the infant’s immune system to tolerate it.”
    â€œYou’re sure you know what you’re doing?” Cole’s voice was quiet. He gripped the sides of the cot where he sat. Something about this didn’t sit well with him—the involvement of Davis, the ongoing experiments.… He couldn’t tell how much of his discomfort was related to mistrust of Worsley’s abilities and how much of it came from his need to protect Davis. It was a need that was powerful and innate—it had struck him almost immediately after meeting her and had yet to fade in its intensity. He wondered if it ever would.
    Three months had passed since she’d been thrown into quarantine. Cole had felt less helpless when