Rush The Game

these revelations will take us.
    Images and words spin through my thoughts, memories of the nightmare and things Jackson said at different times since the moment we met. Things I said. All out of context, but when they come together, they make me wary. More than wary. My stomach knots with dread.
    “The shells we terminated,” I say. “I didn’t just imagine they looked like you, did I? I convinced myself I was seeing things, but I wasn’t. Those shells were cloned from Lizzie’s DNA.”
    “Yes.”
    I close my eyes, lost in the horror of what that must have been like for him, terminating bodies that looked like his dead sister. “How many times have you had to do that?”
    “That was the third batch I know of that they made from her DNA.”
    I shake my head. “But the accident . . . I don’t understand. If she died in the car accident, how did the Drau get her?”
    He makes a sharp, cutting gesture. Then he starts to speak, low and fast. “I was dying, impaled by three metal shards, pinned to the seat, bleeding everywhere. I think my legs were crushed. I know I couldn’t feel them. Lizzie was hurt. Maybe dying. I don’t know. I’ll never know. She was part of the game. I wasn’t. She kept talking about how she needed to hang on until she got pulled. That she’d make them pull me, too.
    “I thought she meant we needed to hang on until paramedics came and got us out, but she was talking about the game. She figured the game would heal us both. I don’t think she really thought about what would happen after that.
    “I was in and out of consciousness. At some point, we got pulled. We were healed. And I was twelve years old and part of a game I couldn’t understand. They left us on the same team. Lizzie watched my ass.” He huffs a sharp exhalation out through his nose and shakes his head. “First time out, I was stupid. Cocky. I was a kid. I thought I was invincible.
    “My con went orangey red. We were nowhere near finishing the mission, nowhere near getting pulled. I wasn’t going to make it through.” He swallows, then keeps going, talking even faster. “Lizzie knew I wouldn’t make it, so she came up with this genius plan. She stared in my eyes and told me to take what I needed. To make like a Drau and suck some life out of her. Enough that I’d survive. Enough to change the color on my con. She said it was like boosting a car battery. That I just needed a little juice to get me through.” His voice breaks, but he keeps going as my heart shatters for him. “She said we were a team. That one of us wouldn’t go back without the other.”
    No team. Every man for himself . Jackson’s mantra. The only way he could keep going. My blood thunders in my ears and I’m drenched in horror, knowing what he’s going to say next and wishing he wouldn’t say it. That it had never happened. If wishes were pennies . . .
    “I did it. I was twelve years old and terrified. I didn’t want to die. She told me I’d be able to stop. She sounded so sure. I believed her and I did what she said. I looked in her eyes and thought about how I wanted to live, thought about taking what I needed. I can’t explain what it felt like. I became a whirlpool, a vortex. My skin sparked. My nerves hummed like transformer wires. I was so amped I was shaking. The next thing I knew, my con was yellow and hers was red and there were Drau everywhere around us, shooting, hunting. A second later, I was on my feet, hunting them.”
    His gaze locks on mine, his pain stark and bare. “We fought on. We lost three more. And I couldn’t take her with me when we were done. I tried. I held her. I looped my harness around us both thinking that would bring her along. It didn’t. In the end, I left her lying there, her con bright red. I didn’t get a choice.” His jaw sets in a tense line, then he goes on. “I left my sister there, but I brought one of them back with me. By accident. I thought they were all dead. We shouldn’t have made the jump if they weren’t. But somehow it was alive and it came along. Back to the real world. I had it by the throat and I wouldn’t let go.”
    I glance at his arm, and though his shirt covers the scars I see them in my mind’s eye. I know they’re there. He hates himself for that, too, blames himself for bringing a Drau back to the real world. I wonder what happened to it, how he escaped its grasp. He was only a kid. But I don’t ask. I feel like if I ask, if I say a single word, he’ll