Guardians

by Susan Kim

  Yet what disturbed him the most was the fact that she intended to save him.

  No one except Eli and Gideon knew the truth about Aras’s death. The guilt of it still tormented him, and now it filled him with fresh despair. Would Esther want to rescue him if she knew that it was he who had killed her partner in cold blood? Did Eli deserve to be saved?

  Trey glanced up. Then Eli heard it, too. Someone was approaching from down the hall and moving fast.

  Trey shot a look at Eli. “It sound like you ain’t got much time to decide.”

  He took off and disappeared around the corner. After one more moment of uncertainty, Eli ran after him.

  Trey had already vanished. Panicked, Eli glanced around. He saw the boy in white beckoning from farther down the hall. When Eli caught up, Trey grabbed him hard by the shirtfront.

  “Keep up,” he ordered. Then he began to run.

  Eli, who hadn’t moved quickly in months, was soon panting and drenched with sweat. Trey yanked him down the hallway, darting in and out of stores and behind columns. Within seconds, they had made it to the hidden staircase at the far end of the corridor. Inside, the darkness didn’t make Trey slow down; in fact, he took entire landings in a single leap. As Eli was dragged behind Trey, he stumbled more than once and nearly broke his neck.

  Soon, they had reached the lobby; Trey opened the door a crack and peered through. Two guards passed by outside and as Trey ducked back, he tugged on Eli’s arm as a warning to stay quiet.

  Trey waited until the pair had disappeared. Then he shoved open the door and tried to pull Eli out into the corridor with him. But the other boy stood as if rooted to the spot.

  “You all gonna fight Saith’s guards?” he said. “You can’t win.” Eli wrenched his arm away from Trey’s grip. “Wait here.” Then, before Trey could stop him, he took off up the dark stairwell.

  Eli didn’t know how he was able to run so quickly up the stairs that seemed so steep and endless. Yet he knew exactly where he was headed: a small room on the eighth floor. He burst out onto the hall, which was blessedly empty. Then he found what he was looking for.

  Minutes later, he reappeared in the lobby, where an impatient Trey was still hiding, waiting for him. Eli gasped for breath, his heart pounding. Trembling with exhaustion, he nearly dropped the large cardboard carton he was carrying.

  Trey glanced inside before looking up. Something like admiration flashed across his face.

  “Is that everything they got?” he asked.

  Eli nodded. “I think so.”

  Trey nodded once. “Nice,” he said.

  The container was filled with dozens of unopened cardboard boxes. And within each were hundreds of copper-plated bullets.

  The two boys made it to the side exit. Across the lobby, Trey could see that a huge mob had gathered outside by the front entrance. There looked to be close to a hundred people milling about, far more than Esther’s meager army, yet they were indistinguishable in their hooded robes as they pushed and shouted.

  Then he heard the thud of footsteps approaching fast behind him.

  His heart thundering, Trey attempted to pull the door open wide enough to squeeze through. They had only a few seconds: Three guards were running across the lobby, coming straight at them with their weapons drawn.

  Trey was already fumbling to retrieve his gun when Eli turned to face them.

  “Don’t be crazy,” Trey snapped as he pulled him back. But the other boy shook his head.

  “The only bullets they’ve got left are in their guns,” he said. “Once those are gone, you’ll be clear.”

  Trey began to reply, but Eli had already taken off. A shot rang out, then another; both were instantly followed by the crack of the bullet hitting marble and skittering across the floor. But Eli, zigzagging toward the other end of the atrium, was right: He had managed to draw their attention and their fire.

  Trey cursed under his breath; he had no choice but to take the chance the boy had given him. He pried open the side door. Then, still carrying the box, he squeezed out and onto the street. Behind him, he heard three more shots in quick succession, then silence. Only then did he dare to glance back, and to his relief, he saw Eli trailing him.

  Gideon spun in a circle, unsure where to go.

  Eli was not in his room. As infuriating as that was, he realized that he had a far more pressing problem. Even from where he stood on the second floor, he could clearly hear the commotion from outside. The mob sounded as if it had doubled or tripled over the past few minutes alone. More and more former disciples were gathering every minute, all of them screaming Saith’s name.

  It was only a matter of minutes until they broke in. Once that happened, there was no telling what they would do.

  As for Saith, she seemed oblivious to the disaster that was unfolding outside.

  She appeared to be going through with her lunatic ceremony up in her chambers. As odd-smelling smoke wafted down through the District, Gideon could hear steady chanting, praying, and the beating of some kind of drum. He couldn’t believe that she hadn’t heard the noise from downstairs, the shouts and the breaking glass. Even her followers, the devout who lived inside the District and prayed to her each day, were sneaking away in two and threes, despite the harsh punishment that such disrespect would surely bring. He saw them gathered in corridors and on the stairwells, whispering to one another or heading downstairs to see what was happening.

  Gideon had always known some kind of reckoning was coming. Yet already this seemed larger and far worse than he had ever imagined.

  And it was all because of Esther, he thought grimly. It was clear that she had planned everything, amassing a mob to take her revenge. Because of her, what would have been a protest had turned into a full-fledged revolution.

  Gideon couldn’t understand why Saith’s guards weren’t suppressing the uprising. Early on, he heard a few shots from the sentries downstairs, but after that, nothing.

  He himself would not make the same mistake.

  Gideon called together his boys—his four strongest and most faithful—and ordered them to follow him up the enclosed staircase. He had one of them stop on the eighth floor to empty the supply closet. The rest of them followed him up to the roof. He would station three of his men in the top of the stairwell; the fourth would stay with him in the garden. Their orders would be to fire on anyone who attempted to gain access.

  Yet moments later, the fourth guard appeared on the roof. He reported that the closet was empty; the entire cache of ammunition—thousands of bullets—had vanished.

  Gideon felt a little faint. Without weapons, he and his boys were trapped. When the revolutionaries finally broke in—and that became more likely with every second—he too would be destroyed.

  He had to keep Esther’s mob from breaking into the District.

  The only question was how?

  Out on the street, Esther was trying to keep her people calm. Heavy air hung over them like a blanket and dark gray clouds had thickened overhead. A ragged excitement buzzed through the crowd, like flames licking the edges of a dry field.

  Once it ignited, she didn’t know if she could control it.

  She and her army had run into others like them, dozens of former followers of Saith who were now sick as well. Bewildered and furious, they clustered outside the glass doors, frantic to be let inside and given an explanation. Earlier, Esther had ordered her people to stay calm, not speak to anyone, and keep their weapons hidden until it was time to strike. Yet it was clear that no one was obeying her.

  Someone from her crew had told one of the others what they were planning; as the word spread, a new restlessness took control of the crowd. “Let us in!” shouted one girl, her voice shrill. “Where is Saith?” demanded another. “Bring us to her!” Still the guards inside did not remove the bar that kept the revolving door from turning; they stood stone-faced, their guns by their sides.

  Esther exchanged an uneasy glance with Skar.

  “What h
appens if we can’t get in?”

  Skar shook her head; she clearly knew no more than Esther.

  No sooner had Esther spoken than one of the people hurled a chunk of mortar. It bounced harmlessly off the glass wall, yet the small action seemed to unleash something. The crowd surged forward as one, screaming and shouting. They pushed their way into the round entrance and tried to force the doors to turn. A boy picked up a rusted piece of metal from the street and smashed it into the façade again and again. A spiderweb of white cracks formed as people cheered him on.

  The guards inside shrank back. Then one of them fumbled in his waistband. Drawing out a gun, he aimed it at the assailant and Esther flinched. But when he pulled the trigger, it didn’t go off. He paused to double-check it, turning to the boy next to him, who did the same.

  Moments later, Esther saw a lone figure emerge from around the corner.

  Trey was running to join her, a battered cardboard box under one arm. He was glancing back, and a moment later Esther saw who was following him.

  Eli appeared around the side of the building. Yet even as Esther called his name, he stumbled and pitched forward. As she ran to catch him, she saw that the back of his shirt was black and glistening.

  For the second time in her life, Esther held the boy in her arms. He was struggling to say something, his fingers fluttering as he attempted to pull her close.

  “What is it?” she whispered, trying to hear his words.

  But even as she stroked his face, trying to give him a moment of relief, a series of violent spasms shook the boy’s body.

  After that, he was still.

  Esther looked up at Trey for an explanation. The boy in white shook his head.

  “He drew the guards away from me. Without him, they’d still be armed.” Trey sighed. “Looks like he took their last bullet.”

  But there was no time to react.

  By now, the crowd was crazed. A heavy wind had begun blowing, gusting grit and whipping everyone’s robes. Two boys had grabbed a short silver pole, one with a metal head and a cracked glass face, something found on every sidewalk. Holding it at their waists, they swung it back before smashing it into a wall of the District. The cracks that were already there widened, and a hundred more formed. A few additional blows and they could break their way in.

  Esther heard a strange noise far above: the explosion of glass smashing. An instant later, someone on the ground screamed.

  A girl pointed upward, her mouth open in horror. Esther looked up as well and recoiled. What she saw was unbelievable.

  Someone had broken through the greenhouse and leaped from the roof.

  Everyone shrank back as the body hurtled straight down at them, tumbling midair in a shower of broken glass as its tattered robes fluttered. It hit the sidewalk with astonishing force; the ground jolted as the pavement cracked beneath it. Those standing closest to it shrieked as they were splattered with blood and gore.

  Esther had both hands pressed to her mouth in shock. Less than three feet away, the body had landed facedown, covered in glistening shards with one arm bent backward at an angle that made her feel faint. She steeled herself and took hold of his shoulder. Flipping him over, she stared into the face of an unfamiliar boy with a snub nose and curly black hair. His expression was strangely serene: It seemed as if he were only sleeping. But that wasn’t the only shock.

  His arms were covered with lesions.

  A girl behind her let out a cry. “He was sick.” Frantic, she backed away in terror as she tried to wipe the blood from her face.

  As word spread, panic began to fill the air. Esther tried to make sense of what had happened. Had the boy leaped because of the disease? But why now? Then a teenage girl next to her grabbed her arm and pointed upward.

  Another body was falling toward them. Seconds later, it was followed by a third.

  Everyone scattered. They flattened themselves against the sides of the building or crouched behind abandoned cars, fighting one another for cover. All eyes were wide with horror as they followed the bodies plummeting to the ground, landing with one deafening explosion after another.

  By now, the sidewalk was stained red and heaped with carnage, glinting with broken shards, but Esther didn’t care. As the wind whipped her hair, she examined the bodies. Like the first, both showed signs of the disease: wasted limbs covered with purple lesions. But one also showed advanced signs of decay.

  The realization hit Esther like a physical blow:

  The bodies had been dead long before they hit the ground. Which meant only one thing: Someone was throwing them off the roof. The corpses were being used as weapons to drive the revolutionaries away.

  The tactic was working.

  Everyone around Esther was screaming, pulling off their robes as they frantically attempted to wipe themselves clean. Dozens had already fled, including all of Esther’s recruits. The sidewalk was littered with their abandoned weapons.

  The uprising was over before it had even begun.

  Even Esther’s friends seemed to surrender where they stood, trembling and splattered with filth. Esther saw Michal tugging Skar’s hand, begging her wordlessly to find shelter. Skar glanced at Esther, who just nodded, giving them permission to leave. Skar signaled the others, and one by one, they picked their way across the street and disappeared around a corner.

  Esther remained where she was.

  Trey was the last to leave her. He met her gaze and gave a faint smile. He held out a hand, but she didn’t take it. Then he joined the others, his footsteps crunching on broken glass.

  Now it was just Esther, alone.

  She stood with her chin high, gazing upward. She was certain that Gideon must be watching—either from the roof, where he had ordered the attack, or from one of the lower floors. Wherever he was, this was how she wished him to see her: defiant and unafraid, even in defeat.

  Then Esther heard it: the first rumble of thunder.

  Transfixed, she stared up at the sky. A brilliant fork of light split the gray and yellow, and moments later, a deafening roar boomed through the streets of Mundreel. When the rain began, it did so in a burst: A dense veil fell in sheets and waves, drenching everything in its path and filling the air with a heavy thrumming sound.

  Esther didn’t move. Although she could hear the screams of others as they took refuge in buildings and parked cars, she stood and marveled at the strange feeling.

  She had never before felt the rain, had never experienced the tickling sensation of a thousand warm drops bouncing off her damp skin, running through her hair and down her back, dripping into her mouth and eyes. Her sneakers were filled with water; her feet squelched with moisture. Laughing, Esther pulled down her hood and raised her face to the heavens as her robes grew heavy and sodden.

  Days ago, she had listened to Uri’s strange words in their refuge on the mountain; since then, she had thought about them many times.

  Yet it was only now that she truly understood it in her bones:

  She was immune now. The rain could no longer hurt her.

  Lowering her head, Esther shook her hair hard so that drops flew. Then she blinked through the water that dripped into her eyes. Through it, she glimpsed her friends, huddled together for shelter in the doorways of neighboring buildings. When she caught Uri’s eye, they both smiled; then he nodded.

  Dozens of people stood only a few feet away from Esther, on the other side of the glass, openmouthed with wonder. All of them wore the white and black robes of Saith’s followers, some with their hoods down. A few even leaned their hands against the partition, as if to get closer.

  They stayed like that for an endless moment. Even after the rain stopped and the sun began to break through, Saith’s people stared at Esther, occasionally turning to whisper to one another.

  Others also began to appear around her, emerging from buildings in tentative twos and threes, stepping carefully through the moisture. They stopped and stared at the drenched girl before them.

  Est
her pointed to the District, and said, “Let’s go.”

  Now they would follow her anywhere.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “FORGIVE US, SAITH. CLEAN US, SAITH. HEAL US, SAITH. SAVE US, Saith.”

  Saith winced.

  The chanting voices that she normally found so soothing were much too loud, even unpleasant. She had stationed two boys with metal pans on either side of the altar who struck them rhythmically with wooden clubs; now she regretted that touch. Combined with the dense and pungent smoke that wafted from firebowls placed around her room, the noise felt like a metal spike passing through her burning temples. She rubbed her head, feeling the dry, papery skin beneath her fingers, and again tried to concentrate.

  She was burning up with fever.

  Shaky and weak, the girl tried to focus, to find once more the divine conviction deep inside her, the unquestioning sense of self that for months had ruled everything she said and did. But right now she felt nothing except pain, heat, and a bone-crushing exhaustion. She grasped the heavy knife with the black handle, the silver blade printed with the strange word SABATIER; it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. As she attempted to hoist it, everything swam in front of her eyes: the lines of hooded acolytes kneeling on the ground in front of her, bowing in unison, the guards on both sides, and the white billows of smoke. The only thing she could do was stare at the thing that was closest, the object that rested on a low table before her: the mutant baby named Sarah.

  It lay on its back on a white towel. Burbling and kicking its bare legs, it tossed its head from side to side, its strange lavender gaze flickering around.

  The infant gave a passing glance up at the priestess, and when their eyes met, Saith felt a shock that momentarily snapped her out of her dizzy spell. For an instant, she could once again feel the deep wellspring of bottomless power that lay deep within her, crackling like lightning, and inwardly, she was swept by relief.

  All she needed was to sacrifice and bathe in the blood of an innocent, and it would be done.

  Summoning all of her strength, with shaky hands, Saith again raised the weapon.