by Lu, Marie
“June.” Thomas’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts.
“Yes?”
He gives me a curious look and frowns slightly, as if he’s just remembered something. “You weren’t home last night.”
Stay calm. I smile a little, then glance casually back to the screen. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I stopped by your apartment in the middle of the night. I knocked for a long time, but you didn’t answer. It sounded like Ollie was there, so I knew you didn’t go to the track. Where were you?”
I look back at Thomas with a steady face. “I couldn’t sleep. I went up to the roof for a while and watched the streets.”
“You didn’t bring your earpiece with you. I tried calling you but just got static.”
“Really?” I shake my head. “The reception must have been bad, because I had it on. It was pretty windy last night.”
He nods. “You must be exhausted today. You’d better tell Commander Jameson, if you don’t want her to work you too hard.”
I give Thomas a frown this time. Turn the questions back around. “What were you doing at my door in the middle of the night? Was it anything urgent? I didn’t miss something from Commander Jameson, did I?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” Thomas gives me a sheepish grin and runs a hand through his hair. How anyone with blood on his hands could still look so carefree is beyond me. “To be honest, I couldn’t sleep either. I kept thinking how anxious you must be. Thought I’d surprise you.”
I pat his arm. “Thanks. But I’ll be fine. We’ll execute Day tomorrow, and I’ll feel much better afterward. Like you said. Won’t be long now.”
Thomas snaps his fingers. “Oh, that was the other reason I wanted to see you last night. I wasn’t supposed to tell you—it’s supposed to be a surprise.”
Surprises don’t sound like fun right now. But I fake some excitement. “Oh? What’s that?”
“Commander Jameson suggested it, and she got the courts to approve it. I think she’s still pretty mad about how hard Day bit her hand when he tried to escape.”
“Got what approved?”
“Ah, there’s the announcement now.” Thomas glances back to the movie screen and points at the commercial that comes on. “We’re moving up Day’s execution time.”
The commercial is nothing but a digital flyer, a single still image. It looks festive, dark blue text and photos over a white and green patterned background. I see Day’s photo in the middle of it. STANDING ROOM ONLY IN FRONT OF BATALLA HALL ON THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26, AT 1700 HOURS. FOR THE EXECUTION OF DANIEL ALTAN WING. LIMITED SPACE AVAILABLE. JUMBOTRON VIEWING ONLY.
All the air squeezes out of my chest. I look back at Thomas. “Today?”
Thomas grins. “Tonight. Isn’t it great? You won’t have to agonize through another whole day.”
I keep my voice upbeat. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
But my thoughts churn into rising panic. This could mean so many things. Commander Jameson convincing the court to move his execution up a whole day is unusual in itself. Now he’ll face the firing squad in only eight hours, right as the sun starts to set. I can’t get John out now—the entire day will be spent preparing for Day’s execution. Even the hour has changed. The Patriots might not be able to meet me today. I’ll have no time to get uniforms for them.
I can’t help Day escape.
But that’s not all. Commander Jameson chose not to tell me about this. If Thomas already knew last night, that means she told him yesterday evening, at the latest, before sending him home. Why wouldn’t she tell me? She should think I’d be glad to hear that Day is to die twenty-five hours earlier than planned. Unless she suspects something. Perhaps she wanted to throw me off just to test my reaction. Does Thomas know something he’s keeping from me? Is all this ignorance about the plan just a mask to hide the truth—or is Commander Jameson keeping him in the dark as well?
The movie starts. I’m grateful I don’t have to talk to Thomas anymore and can think in silence.
Change of plans. Otherwise, the boy who didn’t kill my brother will die tonight.
MY NEW EXECUTION TIME COMES WITHOUT ANY fanfare but the occasional crack of thunder coming from outside the building. Not that I can see the storm from my cell, of course, with its empty steel walls and security cams and nervous soldiers—so I can only guess at what the sky looks like.
At 6:00 A.M., the soldiers remove my shackles and unchain me from my prison wall. It’s a tradition. Before a publicized criminal goes off to face the firing squad, Batalla Hall broadcasts footage of them to all the JumboTrons in the square. They unchain you so you have the chance to do something entertaining. I’ve seen it in the past—and the onlookers in the square love it. Usually something happens: the criminal’s resolve starts breaking down, and he begs and pleads with the guards or tries to cut a deal or an extension, or sometimes even tries to break out. No one ever has. They feed your image live to the square until your execution time comes, then they cut to the firing squad yard inside Batalla Hall, and then they show you marching out to face the executioners. The onlookers in the square will gasp and shriek—sometimes in delight—when the shooting happens. And the Republic will be happy that they’ve made an example out of another criminal.
They’ll play reruns of the footage for several days afterward.
I’m free to walk around in my cell, but instead I just sit there and lean against the wall, my arms resting on my knees. I don’t feel like entertaining anyone. My head pounds with excitement and dread, anticipation and worry. My pendant sits in my pocket. I can’t stop thinking about John. What will they do with him? June promised to help me—she must’ve planned something for John, too. I hope.
If June is planning to help me escape, she sure is pushing her luck to the limits. The change in my execution date must not have helped her any, either. My chest aches at the thought of the danger she’s put herself in. I wish I knew what revelations she’d had. What could hurt her so badly that she, with all her privileges, would turn against the Republic? And if she was lying . . . well, why would she lie about saving me? Maybe she cares for me. I have to laugh a little at myself. What a thought at a time like this. Maybe I can steal a good-bye kiss from her before I step into the yard.
One thing I do know. Even if June’s plans fail, even if I’m going to be isolated and friendless when I head out to the firing squad . . . I’m going to fight. They’re going to have to fill me with bullets to get me to stay still. I take a shuddering breath. Brave thoughts, but am I ready to follow through on them?
The soldiers standing in my cell have more weapons than usual, along with gas masks and protective vests. No one dares take his eyes off of me. They really think I’ll do something cracked. I stare at the security cams and imagine what the square’s crowd looks like.
“You guys must be loving this,” I say after a while. The soldiers shift on their feet—a few raise their weapons. “Wasting a day of your life watching me sit in a cell. What fun.”
Silence. The soldiers are too afraid to reply.
I imagine the crowd outside. What are they doing? Maybe some of them still pity me, would still be willing to protest for me. Maybe a few of them are protesting, although it can’t be as serious as last time or I’d probably hear some of it from the hall. A lot of them must hate me. They must be cheering right now. And still others might just be out there because of morbid curiosity.
Hours drag by. I find myself looking forward to the execution. At least I’ll get to see something other than gray cell walls, if only for a little while. Anything to stop this mind-numbing wait. Besides—if June doesn’t succeed with whatever she’s planning, I’ll get to stop picturing John and my mother and Tess and Eden and everyone in my head.
Soldiers rotate in and out of my cell. I know five P.M. must be close. The square is probably fil
led with people by now. Tess. Maybe she’s there, too afraid to see it happen and too afraid to miss it.
Footsteps out in the hall. Then, a voice I recognize. June’s. I lift my head and look toward the door. Is this it? Time for my escape—or my death?
The door swings open. My guards make room as June enters the cell in full uniform, flanked by Commander Jameson and several other soldiers. I suck in my breath at the sight of her. I haven’t seen June in such clothes before. Shining, luxurious epaulettes draping from each of her shoulders. A thick, full-length cape made from some sort of rich velvet. Scarlet waistcoat and elaborate, belted boots. A standard-issue military cap. Simple makeup adorns her face, and her hair is flawless in its high ponytail. This must be standard agent dress code for special events.
June stops some distance away from me and, as I struggle to my feet, she looks down at her watch. “Four forty-five P.M.,” she says. She looks back up at me. I try to read her eyes, to see if I can guess what her plans are. “Any final requests? If you wish a last look at your brother or a last prayer, you’d better let us know now. It’s the only privilege you’ll get before you die.”
Of course. Final requests. I stare at her and keep my expression carefully blank. What does she want me to say? June’s eyes are intense, burning.
“I—” I begin. All eyes are on me.
I see June make the most subtle movement with her lips. John, she mouths. I glance at Commander Jameson.
“I want to see my brother John,” I say. “One last time. Please.”
The commander gives me an impatient nod and snaps her fingers, then mutters something to the soldier that approaches her. He salutes, then leaves. She looks back at me. “Granted.” My heart pounds harder. June exchanges the briefest look with me, but before I can focus on her, she turns away to ask Commander Jameson something.
“Everything is in place, Iparis,” the commander replies. “Now stop nagging me.”
We wait in silence for several minutes until I hear footsteps come down the hall again. This time, there’s a dragging sound mixed in with the crisp march of the soldiers. It must be John. I swallow hard. June doesn’t look at me again.
And then John’s in the cell, flanked by two guards. He looks thinner and paler than he did before. His long, white-blond hair hangs in dirty strings, and he doesn’t even seem to notice that some of it is plastered across his face. Must be what my hair looks like too. He smiles at the sight of me, although there’s little joy in it. I try to smile back.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he replies.
June crosses her arms. “Five minutes. Say what you want and be done with it.” I nod wordlessly.
Commander Jameson glances at June, but makes no motion to leave. “Make sure it’s exactly five minutes, not a second more.” Then she presses a hand to her ear and starts barking out more orders. Her eyes stay fixed on me.
For several seconds, John and I just stare at each other. I try to speak, but something lodges in my throat, and my words don’t come out. Things shouldn’t be like this for John. Maybe for me, but not him. I’m an outcast. A criminal, a fugitive. I’ve broken the law over and over again. But John’s done nothing wrong. He passed his Trial fair and square. He’s caring, responsible. Nothing like me.
“Do you know where Eden is?” John finally breaks the silence. “Is he alive?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know, but I think so.”
“When you stand out there,” John continues in a hoarse voice, “keep your chin up, all right? Don’t let them get to you.”
“I won’t.”
“Make them work for it. Punch someone if you have to.” John gives me a sad, crooked smile. “You’re a scary kid. So scare them. Okay? All the way until the end.”
For the first time in a long time, I feel like a little brother. I have to swallow hard to keep my eyes dry. “Okay,” I whisper.
Our time ends all too quickly. We exchange good-byes, and John’s two guards grab his arms to lead him out of my cell and back into his own. Commander Jameson seems to relax a little, obviously relieved that my request is finished. She motions at the other soldiers. “Form up,” she says. “Iparis, accompany the guards back to this boy’s cell. I’ll return shortly.” June salutes, then follows John out of the cell while soldiers approach me and tie my hands behind my back. Commander Jameson disappears out the door.
I take a deep breath. I need a miracle now.
Several minutes later, they lead me out. I do what John says and keep my chin up, my eyes blank. Now I can hear the crowd. The sound of them rises and falls, a steady tide of human voices. My eyes skim the flat-screen panels lining the hall as we pass by—the people in the square look restless, shifting like waves on a stormy day, and I pick out the lines of soldiers fencing them in. Now and then, I see people who have a bright scarlet streak painted into their hair. Soldiers are going through the crowd and rounding them up for arrest—but they don’t seem to care.
At some point, June joins us and falls into step near the back of the soldiers. I glance behind me, but can’t see her face. The seconds drag on. What will happen when we reach the yard?
Finally, we arrive at the halls that lead into the firing squad yard.
That’s when I hear Thomas, the young captain, say, “Ms. Iparis.”
“What is it?” June replies.
Then, words that seize my heart. I doubt she planned for this.
“Ms. Iparis,” he says, “you’re under investigation. Follow me.”
MY FIRST INSTINCT IS TO ATTACK THOMAS. THAT’S WHAT I would have done if he’d caught me without so many soldiers around. Lunge at him with everything I’ve got, knock him unconscious, then reach Day and make a run for the exits. I already have John. Somewhere in the halls that lead back to his old cells lie two guards passed out on the floor. I pointed John to the ventilation shaft. He’s waiting there for me to make my next move. I’ll free Day, shout out a signal, then John will emerge from the wall like a ghost and escape with us. But I can’t win a fight against Thomas and all these guards without the element of surprise.
So I decide to do what he says. “Investigation?” I ask him with a frown. He tips his cap politely, as if in apology, then takes one of my arms and begins leading me away from Day’s soldiers.
“Commander Jameson asked me to detain you,” he says. We round the corner and head for the stairwell. Two more soldiers join him. “I have a few questions for you.”
I put on an air of annoyance. “Ridiculous. Couldn’t the commander pick a less dramatic moment for this nonsense?”
Thomas doesn’t reply.
He leads me down the stairwell, two flights down, until we enter the basement where execution rooms, electric grids, and storage chambers line the halls. (I know why we’re down here now. They’ve discovered the missing electro-bomb that I gave to Kaede. Normally, inventory check wouldn’t happen until the end of the month. But Thomas must’ve had it done this morning.) I keep the rising panic off my face. Focus, I remind myself angrily. A panicked person is a dead person.
Thomas stops us at the bottom of the stairs. He puts a hand on his belt, and I see the gleam of his gun’s handle. “An electro-bomb’s gone missing.” The dangling lights overhead cast mean shadows across his face. “Found it missing in the early morning after I went knocking on your apartment door. You said you were up on the roof last night, right? Do you know anything about this?”
I keep my eyes locked steadily on his face and cross my arms. “You think I did this?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything, June.” His expression turns tragic, even pleading. But his hand doesn’t move away from his gun. “But I thought it was quite a coincidence. Few people have access down here, and everyone else was more or less accounted for last night.”
“More or less accounted for?�
�� I say it sarcastically enough to make him blush. “That sounds vague. Did I show up on the security cams? Did Commander Jameson put you up to this?”
“Answer the question, June.”
I glare at him. He winces, but doesn’t apologize for his change in tone. This may be it for me.
“I didn’t do it,” I say.
Thomas looks unconvinced. “You didn’t do it,” he repeats back at me.
“What else can I tell you? Did they do at least another pass on the inventory check? Are you sure something’s missing?”
Thomas clears his throat. “Someone tampered with the security cams down here, so we have no footage.” He taps his gun. “It was quite a precise job. And when I think of precise, I think of one person. You.”
My heart starts beating faster.
“I don’t want to do this.” Thomas’s voice grows softer. “But I did find it strange that you spent so much time questioning Day. Do you feel sorry for him now? Did you set something up to—”
He never gets to finish that sentence.
Suddenly an explosion rocks the entire corridor, throwing us against the wall. Dust rains down from the ceiling, and sparks flicker through the air. (The Patriots. The electro-bomb. They’ve set it off in the square. They came after all, right on schedule, right before Day is to enter the firing squad yard. Which means all the guns in this building should be disabled for exactly two minutes. Thank you, Kaede.)
I shove Thomas hard against the wall before he can regain his balance. Then I yank the knife out from his belt, reach for the electric grid box, and pull it open. Behind me, Thomas reaches for his gun as if in slow motion.
