Now, if only this fickle environmentalist would somehow drop a clue to where the control room is.
“So, are you going to visit that cute navigation officer from the cargo ship?” the Lead Enforcer asks.
“I don’t like blondes.”
“You do if it’s a Macaroni penguin.”
Reece snorts. “Penguin or woman, there’s not exactly a date-friendly location here.”
Oh please, they’re talking about dating?
“Does a female navigation officer seem like the type of lady who needs a date-friendly location?”
How about taking her on a date to the control room? And letting me tag along?
“I’ll see you later, sir.”
“Whoa, hang on, Reece.” The Lead Enforcer’s voice is louder—close to my door. “I’m coming, too. Gotta check on that flicker.”
Flicker. Does he mean the projected Wall?
The wooden door opens with a bang and rebounds off the toes of my boots. I wince, but bite my tongue. Reece and the Lead Enforcer are halfway down the hall before the door closes and I can see them again.
My heart didn’t even have time to panic.
They push through the door at the end of the hallway. I run after them, praying I don’t alert anyone in the offices. I slow the closing of the door with my palm and slip through before it latches.
Another hallway slopes in a curve to the right. This hallway has picture windows on the inside, with beach scenes, mountain views, and a cityscape.
I inch around the curve, straining my ears for footsteps. Faster, slower, faster I walk. A door on my right is closing. I sneak up and peek. A spiral metal staircase twirls down, down, down. Reece and the Lead Enforcer descend into shadows. I hurry after them, so that my footsteps can get lost among theirs.
Someone is going to come after me, or hear me, or come up toward me. I know it.
They disappear and the pounding steps on metal ceases. I come to a halt and tiptoe like a ninja down the rest. I reach the bottom of the stairs and face an open doorway. Inside the dark room, Reece and the Lead Enforcer sit in plush swivel chairs in front of a long set of screens. Their backs are to me.
Neither speaks, they just tap on screens and projected keyboards. On one screen, a scene pops up—Radicals cowering in snow huts, two groups of people facing off and shouting, a third group of Radicals doing jumping jacks, more people tossing wood onto the fire.
My people.
Solomon was right, they do have cameras on us. They’ve been watching us starve, freeze, and die. But . . . they haven’t been watching us the whole time.
“Look!” Reece shrieks, jamming his finger against the screen. “They’ve already destroyed wildlife. Murderers!” A group of people—the ones led by Rufus McTavish—has returned with a pile of dead penguins.
The Lead Enforcer ignores Reece’s panic. “Can’t wait to get them building the projection towers tomorrow. The sooner we get to work, the sooner we get that pay bonus.”
Projection towers?
I can’t just stand here and hope they talk about the Wall. I can’t wait for them to pull up the controls to the projected Wall, not while Solomon is risking his life taking over the cargo ship. But the Lead Enforcer said something about checking the flicker. Surely . . . surely this dark room full of controls, screens, and technology, is the room I need.
If only I had some sort of weapon. Don’t do anything stupid! I reach into my pocket for one of Father’s chisels, but there’s nothing there. I had three! Where did they go?
My brain pieces together the mystery. I gave one to Kaphtor and then one each to Harman and Frenchie. Drat. What does this dark room have for me? Wires, boxes, electronics . . . nothing weapon-worthy. The Lead Enforcer has a gun and is my biggest threat. How can I get rid of him?
To my left, against the wall, is a cabinet with glass doors. Liquor bottles rest inside—clear, amber, and dark liquid. One bottle sits on top of the short cabinet, with two empty shot glasses upside down beside it.
I’m going to hurt someone. Admitting it to myself helps me take the breath of courage I need. Be brave. This is for the people of Unity—for the Radicals.
I step inside the room and grab the bottle with my right hand. Neither of the men turn around, but a mere flick of the eye will give me away. I jump at the Lead Enforcer with a scream—why do I scream? He turns around and I see his eyes pop and his mouth open.
Smash!
Blood, glass, and liquor spray the desk and screens. He slumps in his chair, then his body weight pulls him to the ground with a loud flop.
I scream again. I’m not proud of it, but that’s what comes out after I obliterate another human’s consciousness. My fist clings to the neck of the shattered liquor bottle. To grab the Lead’s gun, I need to set down the glass, but if I do that Reece might attack me. Curse my missing hand!
Reece stares at me through his glasses like a bat under torchlight. His knuckles are bright white, clenching the arms of his chair.
“How do I control the projected Wall?” I do my best to eliminate the trembling from my voice.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t seem to breathe. I don’t have time for this. I level the sharp bottleneck at him. “How do I control the projected Wall?”
“Th-through the computers!”
“Get me to the controls.”
His eyes flit from the glass bottle and up to my face, and his shoulders relax a little. His death-grip on the chair loosens, but he doesn’t turn toward the screens. It’s as if he’s figured out I can’t hurt him much with a bottle.
I steady my voice. Calm it. “Listen, I don’t want to be on Antarctica any more than you want me—or any of the other Radicals—here.”
“There’s nothing you can do, miss.”
I round his chair and shove the jagged bottleneck against his back, but not hard enough to pierce skin. “I can slice open your spine, that’s what I can do. Then you’ll be paralyzed for the rest of your Numbers.”
Ick . . . it sounds so violent. I repress a shudder. There’s no way I’ll cut this man, but he doesn’t have to know that.
Reece taps away at the computer screen. He doesn’t seem nervous anymore. Why not? What am I missing?
Someone behind me yanks me back by the hair. I screech and crash to the ground. The Lead Enforcer jerks me to my feet, his hand still tangled in my hair.
Oh.
How is he conscious already?
He wrenches the bottleneck from my hand and throws it on the ground. Blood pulses from his head wound into one of his eyes. “How did you get here?”
My feet barely touch the ground and every hair attached to my scalp pulls against my skin as if attached with micro fingernails. I hear them snapping, ripping from my cranium.
“Let me go!” I kick out and connect with his shin.
He rams me against the wall and his other hand wraps around my throat, pinning me. “How did you get here?”
His hand grows tighter. Tighter.
Black spots flash across my vision. I can’t see. I can’t breathe. Oh God, I can’t breathe! I’ll answer the Enforcer. I’ll tell him everything. I’ll go back across the Wall. Just . . . give me air!
His fingers squeeze and my lungs spasm. I attempt a struggle, but my muscles turn limp. My eyes burn, wanting to cry, but I don’t have the breath to release a sob.
Okay God, if this is how You want me to go then . . . okay.
Noise surrounds me—a din coming from the stairwell. It’s drowned out only by the deafening screams in my mind. I’m dying.
I open and close my lips like a suffocating fish. Air. Please.
Air.
Please.
God . . .
People spill into the control room. Black coats everywhere. Through the blur of tears, I notice one coat isn’t quite as pristine a
s the rest.
Solomon.
He’s been caught.
27
Solomon has to watch me die.
His eyes scan the room, then land on me. “No!” His voice is distant. Fading.
He thrashes against the Enforcers holding him at gunpoint, growing more and more blurry as my brain shuts off.
My vision cuts out. All that’s left is my hearing.
At least I’m warm.
“No. Parvin! No! Let her go! Please!”
I’m sorry, Solomon. Keep trying . . . Good-bye.
“Sir, she’s the only one with the answers. She’s our leader. You won’t get any answers if you kill her.”
Something changes. The fleshy anvil leaves my windpipe. I crumple to the floor. The Lead Enforcer released me, but I still can’t breathe. I strain. Nothing. No air.
He crushed my esophagus—that must be it. Am I broken? I don’t want to die broken.
My vision blinks on, blurred and out of focus. I can’t move, can’t bring in a breath. I try. Oh, I try, but the airway is blocked. Smashed. Hopeless.
Solomon lurches forward, dropping to his knees by my side. Then his mouth is on mine, blowing air into my lungs. Once. Air. Twice. Air!
I’ve never been on this end of the saving. My lungs expand and something in my neck pops. I cough and Solomon leans back. I throw up. He pulls me against his chest. I’m coughing, he’s trembling, Enforcers are watching.
His hand strokes my hair and he’s making noise, but it’s not coherent. They pull him away from me and that’s when I see his smeared tears. He was crying . . . for me.
They haul him to his feet and his head hangs. One sob comes out of him, ending in a groan. My heart shatters. I’m so sorry.
As I suck air down my raw, grainy throat, I stare at the man trying to regain his composure. I stare at that dark blond hair stuck to his forehead from sweat and the clump of scars on his temple showing his rebellion against the government. That light skin, those red-rimmed teal eyes, and those gentle hands trembling at his sides.
Solomon Hawke . . . I love you.
There’s no room in my heart for questions about what love is, or if I ever loved Jude, or if love even matters at a time like this. All I know is . . . I love Solomon. Right now. Probably forever.
And I know he loves me. He’s loved me much longer, he’s just been waiting for me to catch up.
“All right then, how did you get here?” The Lead Enforcer has his gun trained on me.
Oh yeah, we need to survive. And Solomon told them I was the leader so they wouldn’t strangle me. Time to come up with an answer.
I clear my throat, but it comes out as a wheeze. I hold up a finger so he knows I’m trying. After all, it’s his fault I can’t speak right now. How did we get here? What do I say? I want to lie . . . but I shouldn’t. Should I? When is it okay to lie?
If he’s asking, that means he doesn’t know about the rope still hanging against this side of the Wall as our escape.
“The projected Wall”–I rasp–“It flickered.”
He turns to one of the Enforcers holding Solomon. “I thought I sent you to fix that?”
The Enforcer lowers his gun. “I-I did.”
“Well, check it!” The Lead Enforcer thrusts him toward the open seat.
Solomon and I watch the Enforcer tap the screen and navigate the controls. Solomon has a better view, but I have a better memory—I’ll need to remember how to get there in case we return to the control room.
I struggle to my feet and watch the Enforcer’s actions. That screen, a blue box, that little tower symbol, one swipe to the left, a glowing triangle . . . the process goes on and the Enforcer whips through them so fast even my excellent memory has trouble following.
“Sir . . .” Reece reaches for the Lead Enforcer, but the man brushes his hand away.
“Get out of here, Reece.”
Reece’s eyes narrow and he glances at me. “I have some information I think you’d like, sir.”
“There’s a lot of information you think I’d like, Reece, but I never do. Now get out! This is government business.”
Reece raises his eyebrows, rises serenely, and leaves the control room. Ah, the beauty of offended pride.
The Enforcer at the screen reaches what looks like the last hurdle—a screen that says VERIFICATION. The Lead Enforcer steps forward and presses his thumb into a depression by the screen. Blood from his head wound drips onto the desk, but he doesn’t seem to care.
Once his thumb is pricked, controls flicker onto the screen, one after the other, filled with acronyms, measuring bars, and flashing percentages. “It looks fine, sir.”
The Lead Enforcer rounds on me.
I shrug. “I said it flickered. I didn’t say it broke.” My voice is a shredded whisper against my damaged vocal cords.
“What made it flicker?”
I fold my arms, but the very movement drains my energy. “Now that you ask, you ought to know that one of our Clock-matched people—meaning he’s not a Radical—tried to cross the projected Wall and got burnt to a crisp before his Clock zeroed out. He’s dead right now and his Numbers are still counting down.”
“Liar.”
I gesture to one of the screens. “Check your cameras. You’ve been watching us, haven’t you? You’ll see us return with his body and you’ll see the people panic. Now his Clock says overridden.”
The Lead Enforcer leans toward the camera screen. Solomon leans, too, but his feet inch forward. The Enforcers flanking him are curious, too. It takes only a few minutes before they’re all crowded around the screens, watching the replay of Dusten being brought into our snow camp.
I don’t dare move. We’ve already seen that my plans fail.
“Look, Parvin, the group that left has come back.” Solomon points at the screen, but his eyes look at the projected Wall controls. Reading them. Darting from one to the other.
Find it. Find the one that turns it off.
As he points with one hand, he runs a bunched bandage across the desk face with the other, wiping up the Lead Enforcer’s blood. In one swift movement, he taps three buttons on the projected Wall controls and then presses the bloodied bandage into the finger depression.
The computer accepts the blood verification.
Before the Lead notices what happened, a giant red alert flashes over the screen:
SHUT-DOWN WALL PROJECTION? PLEASE CONFIRM.
“What are you—?” The Lead reaches for Solomon.
Solomon smashes his palm against the confirm button and an electric current runs through all of us.
Impulse more than logic moves me to action. I rip the gun off the shoulder of the nearest Enforcer, prop it on my stump, and aim at the screens.
Solomon leaps toward me, hits a button on the gun, and then ducks. I let the bullets fly. The Enforcers drop to the ground, but I’m not aiming at them. Electronics and sparks flash into the darkness as I cut their life source. I shut my eyes, scream, and don’t release the trigger until the bullets stop.
At that point, Solomon grabs my wrist then hurtles up the spiral staircase, dragging me after him. The gun flies from my hands. We’re halfway up before the Enforcers are after us. Their bullets ricochet off the metal stairs.
We burst through the top door, run up the curved hall, through the office hallways, and into the entry room.
No one is here.
We break free of the tower and sprint out into the wild of Antarctica. I’m slapped by the cold and lose my breath. No. I can’t bear to be so cold again. We have to get the cargo ship!
“Next gun you steal, be sure to turn off the safety.” Solomon’s voice reflects a smile. I grin, wild and exhilarated by our success.
We round the tower just as the door flies open behind us. A bullet tears through the air ne
xt to my ear. Before I can shriek, we’re on the other side of the tower and Solomon runs to a stone shed. The door is a metal sheet that he lifts upward into the ceiling.
I don’t know why it’s not locked. Maybe they’re not used to outlaws running around.
Inside are machines—strange snow bikes with tracks on the back and skis in the front. The one closest to us has a sleek wedge enclosure painted white and black on top of two skis and a triangle track in the back.
Solomon hoists it open to reveal two black leather seats side-by-side. I climb in before he says anything. He hops in next to me as a bullet ricochets off the thick plastic windshield.
Bulletproof? Or luck?
He pulls the hatch closed, rams his thumb onto a red button, and the engine rumbles to life—a mixture of whines and grumbling. It has attitude.
The steering wheel is two handles with a thumb pedal. The moment Solomon presses it down, we lurch forward. One Enforcer makes the foolish choice to stand in front of us. We run into his knees and knock him sideways.
Then we’re in the open. Bullets bid us farewell and we leave them in a cloud of snowdust.
We’re free.
The projected Wall is down . . . for now.
We’re both alive.
“Woohoo!” I rest my head against the headrest, allowing a brief moment of celebration before addressing the next list of questions. “And you said you didn’t have the inventive Hawke blood in you.”
“I was rather awesome on the computer, wasn’t I?”
While I laugh, Solomon presses two buttons and my seat grows warm.
“I don’t know how long this will run, Parvin. It seems gasoline-controlled, since electric wouldn’t be efficient in such cold. These are old models.”
He dodges an ice boulder and we slide sideways. On instinct, I lean. He leans. We don’t tip.
“Where are we going now?”
“I’ll go for the ship and you can take this to warn the others. I’ll try to bring the boats across.”
A Time to Speak Page 29
