Forty-three

I WENT TO BED and I slept. I wasn’t sure I would, with the lingering excitement of the night, my fear over Aunt Lauren, my worries about the surrounding forest, filled with animal corpses waiting to be raised. But for the first time in weeks, we were safe, and that was all the encouragement my exhausted brain and body needed to shut down and bless me with deep, dreamless sleep.

I knew this wasn’t the end. Not by a long shot. Even the first step—persuading the rest of this group to go back— wouldn’t be as easy as Andrew hoped. And even when it was over, it wouldn’t truly be over. Not for me.

I was changed. Not just the genetic modification, but me—I was different. The very thought of going home to Dad and our condo and my school and friends made my brain reel. That life was gone now. Maybe I’d go back to it someday, but it would be like replacing an actor with someone who looked, sounded, and even behaved differently. I wouldn’t be the same person. I wasn’t even sure I could play the role.

My old life felt like a dream—a mostly pleasant, uneventful dream. Now I’d awakened from it and realized who I was and what I was, for better or worse. There was no closing my eyes and sliding back into that blissful dream of normal. This was my normal now.