“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Follow protocol!” she shouts. “You’ve already taken it upon yourself to recruit members. It’s a good job the Ministry killed this Abel character, whoever he was.”
“What? No, I didn’t authorize Abel. He told me that Alina—” She hits him square in the face with the handle of the whip. The woman is probably a foot shorter than Silas, with fists about half the size of his, but he doesn’t retaliate. He stands there looking small and angry.
“I have never crossed you,” Silas says. “Things have changed out there. It isn’t what it was. We need new rules. And we need a plan. They’ve grown in numbers. They’ve gathered troops. A whole army is marching through the city as we speak. We have days to get ready at most. They’ll obliterate us if they find us here. Obliterate us.”
“You don’t come with anything new. Roxanne and Levi were out today. Levi saw them. We have a planning committee set up to deal with this.”
“No committee, Petra. It’s too late for that. We should flee. Head for a northern division—Redwood or Poplar. Or we could go west to Sequoia,” he says. So this is Petra. Alina spoke about her like she was some kind of demigoddess, but she’s just a woman.
“No one is going to Sequoia. And don’t presume to tell me how to run things.” Petra raises her hand, though she doesn’t actually strike Silas because the girl at her side makes a grab for the whip. Petra scowls, closes her eyes for a second, then turns to me. “So you’re the Premium,” she says, pulling me toward her by my tattooed earlobe. She pinches it and I yelp. I can’t help it. “You’re not as dead as Alina said you were,” she says, and releases me.
“What do you mean? You know about him? Alina’s here?” Silas asks. Petra crosses her arms but doesn’t continue.
“Alina’s here, Silas,” the child says. Silas lets out a long sigh of relief. “She’s in the shooting range. I can take you to her.” Silas strokes her curly red hair and she smiles up at him.
“What about the others?” I ask. “Did they arrive too? Where are they? Can you take me to them?”
“We don’t know who you mean, do we, Jazz?” Petra answers. The child shakes her head slowly.
“Quinn will be useful to us,” Silas says, stepping in front of me slightly, which is really nice of him because Petra is swinging the whip again. “Very useful. He has connections.”
“Useful? Yes. We may need a human shield when the battle begins to rage,” Petra says. “I hope he’s bulletproof. Or foam-resistant.”
“I’m sure I can help,” I mutter.
“You have no idea what we even do here. Enough of this bullshit!” She clicks her fingers. “Levi, take the Premium somewhere he can’t be any trouble.” A guy grabs me and puts me in an armlock.
“Silas!” I shout. “Ask Alina about Bea. I need to find Bea!” Silas watches me being dragged away without giving any indication that he hears me. He doesn’t know who Bea is, so maybe he doesn’t care what happens to her.
But I care.
I really do.
36
ALINA
I brace my shoulders as I take aim, pointing the barrel of the gun at the space between her eyes. She stares back at me. My hand trembles. I’m taking aim at her head.
It was easy to get hold of these targets for practice. I was on the mission myself and it took less than an hour because every dilapidated clothes shop we came across had a bunch of dummies prostrate in their windows. But it’s hard to shoot at this one. She has eyelashes and eyebrows, and even a bellybutton and nipples. She is too real. I aim at her chest instead and fire. Plastic pieces explode from her torso and she smashes against the floor. The noise echoes along the walls of the narrow room, which is insulated against sound.
I put down the rifle and go to her. She is fatally wounded. I touch her face. I do not want to practice shooting people anymore, even lifeless dummies. I don’t know what’s happened to me. Months ago I would have loved gearing up for a war. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. She doesn’t hear me. She is plastic. She is in pieces. She hasn’t got a heart.
The door to the shooting range swings open and Jazz barges in. “What are you doing?” she asks. I jump up and brush myself off.
“Practicing,” I say.
“Practicing what?” I’m practicing grieving, I think. I wipe my running nose with the back of my hand. “There’s someone to see you,” she tells me, holding the door open. I expect to see Petra; I expect I’m in trouble again. Then Silas slips into the room.
I stare at him, and at Jazz, who is beaming.
“Did she actually cut out your tongue?” Silas asks with a grin.
“I thought you’d been captured. I thought I was saying good-bye to everyone forever.” I run to him and throw my arms around his neck. He’s here and he’s safe.
“I was lucky,” he explains. “I thought I was finished for sure, but one of the stewards who arrested me was a Resistance member. I didn’t even know him. He bundled us into the back of the truck, then called headquarters to say I’d attacked him and escaped. He gave me a couple of hacked pads and let me out by Inger’s apartment. He took Mom and Dad to a safe house. I have no idea where it is or how safe it is. It’s in the pod; that’s all I know for sure.”
“But they’re alive!” I exclaim.
“We have people deep in the Ministry,” Jazz says.
“I suppose they wouldn’t be safe if we all knew too much. I can’t say how I’d react under torture. Maybe I’d give up my own mother,” Silas says. I wonder how Abel reacted. He must have been tortured. And maybe he informed on us, because no sooner was he dead than I was being hunted. But I don’t want to believe it of Abel. I want to believe he did the right thing. And that Silas would do the right thing, too. I want to believe that everyone would sacrifice themselves for the sake of others. For the Resistance.
“Petra claims she’s never heard of Abel. Didn’t you tell me that Abel was authorized?” I say, nodding. He frowns.
“Abel said Petra told you he was authorized. I assumed …” He looks up at the ceiling, then back at me. “And you thought Petra told me? Damn it!”
“That wasn’t how it happened. I remember—”
“No!” he interrupts. “I heard nothing from The Grove. I thought you had.”
Jazz gasps. “He was Ministry,” she says.
“He wasn’t Ministry. I’d know Ministry,” Silas says. “I just don’t understand.”
“I’m telling Petra,” Jazz says.
“The Ministry wouldn’t kill one of their own. Why would they even pretend to?” I wonder aloud. “We planned to come here. If he was Ministry or Breathe or whatever, then why didn’t he just let us lead him to The Grove?”
Silas rubs his nose and looks down at Jazz. “Don’t say anything to Petra?” he pleads. He’s right. We need time to figure this out ourselves.
“Why not? There’s going to be a big huge mess because of Alina. She stole a tank,” Jazz says.
“It’s true,” I say. I can’t meet Silas’s eyes.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Silas says. “Our guy told me he overheard a senior Minister saying they’ve been planning a battle for a long time. He told me they noticed the number of tourists leaving the pod increasing and the number returning decreasing. They’ve been gathering evidence, training soldiers. I think you just changed their timing.”
“There’s no way!” Jazz declares with a scowl. “No one’s been followed here. There’s no way.”
“You’re probably right. They only know that most tourists go southwest, they don’t know our exact location yet. They think we’re gathered near the river by the old parliament buildings, but as soon as they realize their mistake, they’ll double back. We have some time to get out, but not much.” A light bulb overhead flickers.
“We’re finished,” I say. The stadium is the biggest structure for miles and the Resistance chose it because it was relatively new and the least likely to cave in. Plus it’s like hiding in pl
ain sight. It isn’t going to take a genius to target this place eventually.
“I think we should leave. I saw several hundred soldiers this afternoon. And I’m sure there’ll be more,” Silas says.
“I’ll tell Petra!” Jazz says. Silas ignores her.
“In a few weeks this place will be a pile of rubble.”
“No deserters. I’ll tell!” Jazz screams, her hands on her hips.
“You should. Speak to Petra, Jazz.” Silas rests an arm on her shoulder and she looks at him with a mixture of admiration and fear. “She listens to you. And I’m telling you, the army is on their way and they won’t leave anyone alive. They mean to wipe us out. You’re young, Jazz. You have your whole life to live. Tell Petra what’s happening. Tell her you want to go. She’ll listen to you. There are only a few of us who can’t breathe yet. We could train quickly. I’m sure we could.” He looks at me, but I have no idea how long it would take us to be ready. I doubt we could train as quickly as Silas is suggesting. It’s taken most of the members of the Resistance years to conquer the atmosphere.
“And if not, we could carry tanks,” I say.
“And why should I listen to you? You both came here with strangers. You don’t know anything!” she yelps.
“Jazz,” Silas soothes, stroking her shoulder.
“Petra is in charge and she makes the decisions. This is my home.” And the only home she’s ever known.
“Please talk to her. Even armed, our numbers make it impossible to win. Impossible,” he says.
“I’m not leaving!” she screams, and hurtles out of the room. We stand watching as the door swings after her. The fluorescent light bulb continues to flicker.
“We’re in trouble now,” I tell him. “There’s no way Petra will allow anyone to upset Jazz.”
“I don’t care. Jazz is the only one who’ll ever convince Petra to leave the trees. Even she might not be able to.”
“After all we’ve done here, do you really think we should run and let them destroy everything?” How can I abandon The Grove and all the trees? Maybe I agree with Jazz. Maybe we should stay and fight.
Silas reads my mind. “I can’t allow us to stay and die. It would destroy Mom and Dad. I can’t do that to them.” This is something I hadn’t considered, and I know how it feels, to be the one left behind.
“I understand.” I pause, remembering something Jazz said. “What stranger did you bring here? I did the same thing.”
“His name’s Quinn. He claims to have saved your life. Did he?”
“Quinn’s alive?”
“Petra’s taken him,” Silas says, looking away. “I don’t know what she plans to do with him.” He’s keeping something from me, I can tell.
“Silas?” I ask.
He drops his head. “It’s Inger,” he says, and I realize why Silas looks so sad. I want to reach out a hand to comfort him, but I know it wouldn’t be a comfort at all. “They took away his air and that was that. He’s—” he tries. “I should’ve left the pod on my own. I should’ve left him alone. It’s just that he was a tracker, and I wanted to make sure I found you, and …” He sinks to the floor and holds his head between his arms. I look at the fragments of dummy strewn across the floor, then crouch down next to Silas. I know this feeling, and I know it doesn’t matter what I say. I won’t be able to relieve his hurt. Or his guilt. I saw Silas and Inger together, and it was obvious how they felt. Inger is dead because Silas loved him. Abel is dead because I wanted him to love me. I feel connected to my cousin. And I wish I didn’t.
The door bursts open and Petra marches in, closely followed by Jazz. She takes one look at the flickering light, reaches for a shotgun on the rack, and shoots it. Glass and plastic rain from the ceiling. I close my eyes, then shake shards of light bulb from my hair. Couldn’t she have simply switched it off? Silas and I stand up. His eyes are dry, but he is biting the insides of his cheeks.
“I am losing my patience!” Petra screams.
Silas puts a hand up to stop her. “We can rebuild somewhere else,” he says.
“You won’t defend The Grove?” she asks. For a moment Petra’s face shows no sign of rage; she is simply brokenhearted.
“With what? Two hundred outcasts? We need tanks. Not just one. We need twenty. Most of all we need people.”
“What about the trees?” she asks. Jazz takes Petra’s hand and the two of them look down at the floor. A long moment passes before anyone speaks: we are thinking about the trees in the stadium standing tall and noble—beautiful and totally vulnerable. They will be the first to die because they are the biggest threat. Then Petra says, “I won’t make prisoners of long-serving members. You may leave whenever you wish. But do not mention any of this to the others. I won’t have mayhem here.” Silas nods. “Well, we won’t go, will we?” She looks down at Jazz, who smiles hesitantly.
“Bea and Quinn. You’ll let them go, too?” I ask.
“Who? The Premium and the girl? No, of course not,” Petra says, waving away the suggestion.
“They’ll be fine here,” Silas tells me.
“They won’t. They’ve been pod dwellers their entire lives. And they saved my life. I can’t leave them behind.”
Petra, watching me, says, “So you’ll stay. You’ll stay and fight.”
“That Premium I brought in is more valuable than you know. Maybe with his help we could be ready. Maybe he could buy us time,” Silas says. He looks up at the ceiling for several moments, then nods resolutely. “Maybe he could buy us a couple of weeks and we recruit in the meantime,” he says.
“I’m listening,” Petra says.
When Silas has finished explaining that Quinn’s father is probably the army’s general and that Quinn has just watched him murder Inger, Petra is wild with rage; her neck goes red and she grinds one fist into the other hand. She intends to hurt Quinn regardless of how ashamed he feels. She intends to get revenge. Silas lets her rant. We watch as she boils up and simmers down again.
He insists there’s a better way to use Quinn. And when he hears about Maude his plan solidifies; he has a way to use her, too.
Within an hour, Silas has come up with a scheme that could save everyone.
37
BEA
It must be morning, though I’ve no way of telling. All I know is that we’ve been in here for hours without water, light, food, or sufficient air. Maude couldn’t keep down the fruit either, and the cell stinks. Her movements are getting slower. She won’t even sit up anymore but lies dozing on the floor, rattled out of sleep every hour or so by a nightmare. I’ve tried to sleep myself, sitting up against the wall with Maude’s head in my lap, stroking her matted hair and listening to her breathing.
I have no idea which side I’m on anymore. I know the Ministry keeps us down, keeps my parents working day and night, keeps us pumped full of oxygen so we’ve no way of surviving without Breathe, and in the pod I’ll never be in a position to help my parents unless I marry a Premium, but at least there was the illusion of liberty. The Resistance claims to stand for freedom and justice, despite the fact that so far they haven’t shown us any mercy—and I’m certainly not free. They fed me, but they don’t care about Maude at all.
Alina would remind me of Maude’s ugly past, her part in the destruction of the trees. What does that matter now? She’s no harm to anyone and anyway, I can’t marry the two images of Maude in my mind: the killer and the dwindling woman I now hold in my arms. I try singing little songs to her, songs my mother sang to me when I was a child. She seems less agitated when I sing.
“Baby’s boat’s a silver moon sailing in the sky,
Sailing o’er a sea of sleep while the stars float by.
Sail, baby, sail out upon that sea,
Only don’t forget to sail back again to me.”
The door is flung wide open. They’re dragging Maude from the room, her head bumping on the floor like an old soccer ball, and without thinking, I leap at them. “Get off her! She’s sick.” To my
surprise they do as I say and stand back. Petra enters the room, her hands clasped in front of her.
“I’d be quite happy to use her blood as war paint. But you care about her. And he cares about you. So you survive a little longer.” I have no idea what she means and I’m too concerned about Maude to unravel riddles. “Leave the hag and bring the girl. I’ll get the boy. We’ll meet in The Symposium.”
Now it’s me being hauled from the room, and Maude is awake and squinting at me in fright, her arms outstretched, pleading with me not to leave her.
“Please give her water. Don’t let her die this way,” I say as they strap a mask onto my face. Petra moves toward Maude and glares down at her.
“We’ll water her,” Petra tells me. “And wash her. She reeks.”
Minutes later I’m alone in an oxygenated meeting room and they’ve taken away the airtank again so I can’t leave. I’ve been planted in a chair at an old wooden circular table facing away from the door. I try to remember what Petra said when she came into the bunker. Something about me caring for Maude and that being important. Why shouldn’t I care about Maude? Haven’t they worked out we’re not the villains?
The door rattles. I don’t turn around to see who’s coming in. I’ve decided I’m going to appear indifferent because it’s obvious that it’s my own foolish compassion for everyone I meet that’s my enemy. I need Petra to think I don’t care about anyone else and maybe that I don’t even care about myself.
“I’m not one for sentimental reunions, so I’ll be waiting outside.” It’s Petra. I hear the shuffling of feet and the door closes. The room is heavy with silence, and it seems to swell the longer I sit there. Still I don’t look around because it feels like a trick. I stare at the broken clock on the wall instead. I have no idea how many minutes pass without my moving an inch or letting even a scintilla of sound pass my lips. And I would have stayed this way, I’m sure, if my stomach hadn’t given me away. It gurgles loudly and that’s when a voice fills the room.
“Hello?” he says, and I know, without turning around or hearing even a fraction of another syllable that it’s him. I throw my chair back. Quinn is standing next to the door. He’s blindfolded, his hands bound. He looks tired, but he’s alive.
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