Undivided

“You?” Starkey says. “Where am I? Why are you here?”

But he’s quick to figure out his predicament, and the moment he does, Co

“Please, Co

Co

“Fund-raising!” Starkey wails. “The clappers told me I had a new job in their fund-raising division. How could I have been so stupid!”

He struggles, fighting the magnetic restraint just as the other kids did, and in tears he says, “All I wanted was to give storks a fighting chance! And revenge for all the mistreatment and unfairness. I did that, didn’t I? I made a difference! Tell me that I made a difference!”

Co

If he could save Starkey, would he? Knowing all the death and destruction Starkey has caused? Knowing the maniacal direction his vendetta took? How his personal war actually furthered the cause of unwinding? If anyone deserves to be unwound, it’s Starkey . . . and yet Co

He puts a firm hand on Starkey’s shoulder. “This is one escape you’re not going to make, Mason. Try to relax. Use this time to prepare yourself.”

“No! This can’t be it! There’s got to be a way out!”

“You’re on a plane in the middle of God knows where!” yells Co

And all at once Co

Starkey does calm himself. He closes his eyes, takes deep breaths, and then when he opens them again, there’s a sense of resolve that wasn’t there before.

“I know how you can keep me from being unwound,” he says.

Co

“Yes, there is,” Starkey tells him with steely certainty in his voice. “You can kill me.”

Co

“Kill me, Co

“I can’t do that!”

“Yes you can!” Starkey insists. “Think about the Graveyard. Think about how I stole that plane. And I killed Trace Neuhauser—did you know that? I could have saved him, but I let him drown.”

Co

“Kill me for the things I’ve done, Co

“What good will it do? You’ll still go into that machine!”

“No, I won’t. My body will go in, but I’ll be gone. I’ll be harvested, but I won’t be unwound!”

Co

“That’s right, Co

Co

“No time! Do this for me. Please!”

Can cold-blooded murder be just? Could it be an act of compassion instead of cruelty? If he does this, will Co

“What if it were you?” Starkey asks. “What would you want?”

And when Co

Before he can change his mind, Co

Roland’s hand unclamps.

“Don’t stop,” hisses Starkey. “Don’t stop now!”

Co

“You’re a coward!” Starkey wails. “You’ve always been a coward!”

“No,” says Co

And finally it occurs to him what’s wrong.

Roland tried to choke Co

Because Roland’s not a killer.

Co

Roland never had it in him to kill, thinks Co

It’s harder than Co

Just a few moments more . . . just a few moments more . . .

Co

First in is a medic, then the man who must be Divan. Co

“How could this happen?” says Divan. “HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?”

“I don’t know,” says the nervous medic. “A heart attack maybe? A congenital condition we didn’t know about?”

“I’ve just auctioned him! Do you have any idea how much money I stand to lose? BRING HIM BACK! NOW!”

The medic scurries off and returns with a defibrillator. Five times he tries to revive Starkey, and although his chest arches with each blast of electricity, the end result is the same. Mason Michael Starkey, the bloodthirsty Lord of Storks, is dead.

Through all the attempts to revive him, Divan paces, and after the final attempt, his fury resolves into direction. “All right, he’s dead, but we can still harvest him.”

“Not his brain,” says the medic. “It will already have started breaking down.”

“We’ll assess its viability later—but even if we lose the brain, we can salvage everything else if we’re fast enough. Set the machine to express mode, skip the anesthesia, and lower the temperature to thirty-six degrees.”