Free Remnants 13 - Survival by Katherine Alice Applegate

wasn’t a religious person. Never had been. It wasn’t rebellion — her family just didn’t do religion. Seeing evidence of other people’s faith made her profoundly uncomfortable — like unexpectedly catching sight of someone’s naked body. Embarrassment mingled with fascination.
    Mo and Olga crossed themselves. Olga fell silent, her eyes gently closed, but Mo was in motion as always. He rocked forward and back, mumbling low. Tate couldn’t help but pick out some of his words: “Forgive us” and “sin” and “give thanks” and…
    “Tate”?
    Was she imagining this? No … There it was again. This time she clearly heard Mo speak her name. Why would Mo’Steel be praying for her? Was it because he hoped she was still alive somewhere? Or was he — praying for her soul? Or —
    Suddenly Olga and Mo seemed to hear something. They startled and got quickly to their feet, smoothing their clothes down, trying to compose their faces.
    They looked scared.
    They were in desperate danger.
    And, in some way Tate didn’t understand, she was a part of it.
    Tate woke curled up on the floor of the computer pit. Her clothes were damp with sweat. Her cheek burned. Her bones ached. She shivered, longing to wrap herself in a blanket but too tired to crawl up into the chair and ask Daughter for one. She stared straight ahead, wondering dully why Duncan hadn’t killed her yet.
    Duncan.
    Something in Tate’s brain shifted, connected. She knew how they could defeat Duncan.
     
    “We Duncan microclimate.” Tate’s words were strangely jumbled, her voice raspy. She tried to clear her throat and unfog her mind. She needed to make herself understood. It was hard work because she felt so — disconnected.
    “Amelia how to tell me isolate Duncan.” Tate’s mouth moved too slowly. Something was junking up her jaw. She was swimming in a molasses sea and the undercurrent was fierce. “Daughter build wall him —”
    <> Amelia’s voice seemed to come from far away. Someone was easing Tate’s body onto the floor — even though she longed to sit up, wake up, get to Daughter.
    <> Amelia said in a hypnotic monotone. <    Just rest…>>
    Tate’s eyes closed.
    <> someone said gently. A sweet, feminine voice. It sounded like Tate’s mother Ah, yes. It would be so easy to let go. To drift away. Resting would be such a relief….
    With effort, Tate forced her eyes open again.
    Forget resting!
    Forget relief!
    She had to program Daughter.
    She had to destroy Duncan. If she didn’t destroy him, Mother/Daughter would crash on Earth and Violet would grow dreadlocks and someone would try to slash Mo’Steel’s neck She had to destroy Duncan. Olga was praying for her.
    Tate pushed herself up on her hands and knees. The chair was right there. It was a little blurry, but she could see it.
    She crawled toward the chair, dragging her foot. Why did it hurt so much? She put a hand on the seat.
    <> This time it was Yago. <> Tate tried to pull herself up.
    Yago and Amelia and Charlie forced her hand down. They made her lie on the ground and close her eyes.
    This time, she was too weak to resist. Blackness rushed up like a wall. She slept.
    Tate dreamed.
    Billy was waiting for her on the other side of consciousness. He hovered in twilight-colored nothingness, his sneakers looking tattered as they floated in midair He held out one slim, pal hand and smiled — as if inviting Tate to come and play.
    Tate reached out. Their hands clasped — and suddenly they were in motion, flying rapidly over the ruined Earth like an apocalyptic Wendy and Peter Pan. The light was at their feet and the Dark Zone lay ahead. There was no wind, no sound. In the twisted reality of Tate’s dream, some details were blotted out entirely and others were bigger than life.
    Billy pointed toward the ground. Tate could just barely make out a tiny figure