The plants and leaves become greener, the trees less twisted, the grass and water more plentiful as we get closer to our destination. Markers of revitalization. My arm aches, but the signs of our goal being so near help me ignore the pain and fatigue.
An explosion from somewhere far behind us shakes the trees. Gunfire and shouts echo across the landscape from the northwest. Reminders that we are not alone in our quest and the danger is not yet past. We keep watch during the night and rise early, hoping today will be the day we finish this exam. I check the Transit Communicator frequently to mark our progress.
Forty-five miles left.
Thirty-five.
Twenty-five. We drink water as we ride, ignoring our hunger. We can get food after we have passed this test.
Fifteen miles remain, and the sun starts its decent. The sky is streaked with purple and pink. We keep going, squinting into the setting sun, on the lookout for anything that poses a threat.
Ten miles.
It is only by chance that I see the flash of metal next to the wide trunk of an oak tree. I scream to Tomas and Will as cracks of gunfire split the air. Sparks fly on the road in front of us, and I pull my handlebars to the right to avoid running into their path. The quick change in direction is too much for my repaired bicycle. The front wheel wobbles and cracks. I land flat on my back and gasp for air as the wind is knocked from my lungs. My left arm screams from the impact. Tomas shouts my name as gunfire begins again. Louder. Closer. More terrifying than before because I can barely breathe, let alone move.
But I do move because I don’t want to die. Tomas and Will shout from somewhere nearby, but I don’t look for them. I can’t. I roll onto my injured arm, ignoring the wave of dizziness and pain as I reach for my Testing bag. My fingers find the gun. I come up to my knees and look for the shooter on the other side of the road.
There. The barrel of the gun peaks out from behind the tree as the shooter prepares to fire again. I aim at the arm holding the gun and pull the trigger. A female cry of pain tells me my aim is true. I can’t help the surge of triumph that streaks through me as the gun and the girl’s arm disappear behind the tree. I keep my arm extended and my finger ready to pull the trigger as I watch the tree, waiting for signs of our attacker.
“She’s making a run for it,” Will yells.
I blink—then understand. While I have been waiting for more gunfire, the candidate has faded into the trees and mounted a skimmer similar to the one Will is driving. She must have stashed it there before taking her spot behind the tree. I pull the trigger and fire shot after shot as the skimmer fades into the setting sun. The candidate and her skimmer are gone. Unless another candidate eliminates her in the next couple miles, she will finish the test and pass on to the next one. This girl who stopped and hid here, specifically for a chance to kill her competition, might become a University candidate—a future leader of the United Commonwealth. I fight back a scream and realize the only way to keep her from being a University student is for more than twenty of us to pass this test. Then I can only hope the Testing committee will choose those who have not resorted to deadly tactics. For us to be included in that number, we have to get to the end. Which means we’d better get moving.
I climb to my feet before remembering the wreckage of my bicycle. A quick glance makes my heart sink. The fading light cannot hide the damage. The entire front wheel assembly has broken free. There is no fixing it. “I guess I’ll be walking the rest of the way,” I say, trying not to sound as discouraged as I feel. According to the Transit Communicator, there are only eight and a half miles left to travel. The distance is minor compared to the miles I have already crossed.
“Don’t worry, Cia.” Tomas appears next to me and takes my hand. “You won’t be alone. I’ll walk with you.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, but I am glad he volunteered. The idea of walking by myself in the darkness, not knowing what lurks in the shadows, is terrifying.
He gives me a light kiss and says, “Yes. I do.” Then he turns to Will. “I guess this is where we part company again. Cia and I wouldn’t want to hold you back.”
Will smiles. “Funny, but I was just going to say the same thing.”
It’s the smile that alerts me to the danger. Cold. Calculating. So unlike anything I’ve seen from him before. I shove Tomas to the side just as Will raises his gun and fires. But I’m not fast enough. I feel Tomas flinch as the bullet enters his abdomen. His eyes are wide with surprise and pain as he doubles over and sinks down to his knees.
My gun is up and targeted as Will shifts his attention to me.
“What the hell are you doing, Will?”
He smiles behind his gun. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting rid of my competition. I didn’t lose my brother and come all this way just to be told I’m not good enough to make it into the University. I made that choice early on. Only you wouldn’t die. Thankfully, a couple of the others were easier to kill before I ran out of quarrels. Both Gill and I are championship crossbow marksmen. He always takes first, but I give him a run for his money.”
Chicago. The crossbow shooter. The wound in Will’s shoulder. A gunshot where I hit him. The pieces fall together with terrible clarity.
“And you think I’m just going to let you shoot me now?” My voice is remarkably steady considering the rage churning in my veins. I finger the trigger of my gun, trying to channel that anger into killing a boy I thought was my friend. “I’ve already proven I won’t go down without a fight.”
Will’s smile widens. His white teeth gleam in the growing darkness. “You’re smart, Cia, but you don’t have the killer instinct. I could walk away right now and you wouldn’t fire at me.”
“You wanna bet?” I yell. “Go ahead and try me.” The trembling of my hand belies my bravado. And for a moment, I’m certain Will is right. I cannot kill him. I am going to die out here on the Testing grounds.
“Cia.”
It’s the whisper of my name by the boy I love that stops the trembling. Tomas is still alive.
Will straightens his shoulders and takes aim. My finger tightens. The gun in my hand kicks a second before Will fires. My bullet punches into his right side, sending him staggering backwards as his shot whizzes by my ear into the darkness. Will screams and starts running toward his skimmer as I fire again. His stagger tells me I’ve once again connected with my target, and I hear his gun clatter as it hits the ground. I shoot again and again as the skimmer lifts off the ground and zips forward. Two more shots and he is out of range, streaking toward the finish line.
The last of the gray light is fading as I kneel next to Tomas. The adrenaline coursing through my body fades, leaving me weak and tired and scared.
“Is he gone?” he asks.
Feigning more confidence than I feel, I say, “With any luck he’ll black out from blood loss and crash his skimmer before he gets to the end. Where did he shoot you?” A pointless question since I can see where Tomas’s red-streaked hands clutch his right side. I roll him over and find a bloody wound on his back. The bullet passed right through. One less thing to worry about, I tell myself as I pull the rest of the towel I took from the Testing Center out of my bag, rip it into pieces, and hold one against the wound. With the flow of blood stanched, I rack my brain for everything I learned from Dr. Flint about human anatomy. An ear pressed to Tomas’s chest tells me his heartbeat is quick but steady. His breathing sounds strained but there are no gurgling noises to indicate his lungs are filling with blood. Both are good signs. But neither will matter if I can’t get him back to Tosu City.
There are other Testing candidates traveling this way. With the fence lines so close together, there are few if any places we can hide that will ensure our safety. The only answer is to get him across the finish line as soon as possible.
Folding several strips of fabric, I create pads to absorb the blood and press them to Tomas’s wounds. While he helps hold the pads in place, I dig out his other shirt, wrap it around his torso, a
nd tie it tight. Handing him a bottle of water to sip, I say, “We have to get you to Tosu City. Can you walk?”
“I can try.”
But it’s clear after a few stumbling steps that walking is not an option.
Tomas sinks back to the ground and shakes his head. “It’s no use. I’m not going to make it.”
“You just need time to rest,” I say, but I know that isn’t true. Time is our enemy. Every second that ticks away means more blood loss. More chance of infection. Fellow Testing candidates approaching with weapons in hand. A greater chance of dying.
He takes my hand and pulls me closer. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re going to have to leave me here. Once I get some rest, I might be able to walk the rest of the way—”
“I’m not leaving you.” I try to pull back my hand, but Tomas isn’t letting go.
“Yes, you are. You’re going to finish this test for both of us. I want you to go. Please. Before another Testing candidate comes along.”
Tears bubble close to the surface, but I choke them back because I won’t give in. “I can’t. This is my fault. I told you to trust Will. I have to make this right.” I kiss him firmly on the lips to quiet whatever argument he wants to make and give him the last three pain pills so he can rest easier while I think. He closes his eyes, and I start to pace.
Tomas can’t walk.
If he doesn’t get to the end of this test soon, he won’t make it at all.
Even though one bicycle is broken, the wheels still function. There has to be a way to use them. Tomas can’t operate a bicycle. Not in his condition. But maybe, if I work it right, he can sit behind me while my feet do the work.
With the possibility of other Testing candidates nearby, I hate the idea of lighting a fire, but the night is cold. Tomas needs the warmth, and if I’m going to turn our bicycles into something that can transport him, I need the light. Tomas is asleep on the ground as I dig through his bag for matches. I find the matchbox at the bottom of the bag along with something metallic. From the feel of it I’m guessing it’s a Testing identification bracelet. Briefly, I wonder if Tomas took the bracelet off the bag of the girl we buried. Perhaps, like me, he wanted something tangible to remember her. To keep the bracelet from getting lost, I shove it deep into my pocket. Then I turn my attention to the fire. My brothers showed me how to bank a fire to minimize the amount of light it produces. I try my best to replicate the process, but I’m not sure how effective it will be. Keeping my gun within reach, I drag the two bicycles close to the light and get to work.
I jump at each snap of a stick. Every howl of the wind sends me reaching for the gun. But no one disturbs us as I assess my supplies and decide on a solution. A cart for Tomas to sit in would be ideal, but the metal and tools I have at my disposal make it hard to create one, especially if I want to do it fast. The most likely option would be to modify the one working bicycle into something that the two of us can ride. And I have an idea.
My eyes are grainy and my hands caked with grease when I finish. The moon has shifted, telling me dawn is near. The bicycle seat has been wrapped with Tomas’s extra pants to give him a slightly wider and more comfortable perch to ride on behind me. To accommodate the extra weight on the back of the bicycle, I have salvaged the two back wheels from my broken bicycle and screwed their assembly slightly behind and to either side of the back wheel. The training wheels I used as a kid inspired the plan, but it took hours and a lot of wire, screws, and bolts and six test rides to get it to work. Of course, the real test will be the ride to the finish line. I only hope my handiwork will help us get there.
Tomas’s forehead is feverish, but not scarily so as I rouse him from his sleep. I cut up some pears and leftover meat and make him eat as I explain what I’ve been working on. “All you have to do is put your arms around my waist and hang on. I’m going to do the rest.”
I don’t give him a chance to protest as I empty out all but the essential items from our bags. When I’m done, there is a pile that includes a pot, a pan, the bow and arrows, several empty water bottles, the book of maps, the gray-haired man’s burlap sacks, and the now empty medical kit. I wince as I put Tomas’s tool kit in the pile, but I have my pocketknife if I need basic tools and, really, if the bicycle breaks down, I’m not certain any tool would help fix it. At this point, I just have to hope for the best. Putting my hand in my pocket, I remember one final chore and shove the vial with its unknown drug into my spare pair of socks. I don’t know what will await us at the end of this road. Whatever it might be, I know it is best to be prepared.
With everything ready, I help Tomas to the bicycle. I don’t bother to douse the fire. If someone finds our camp and the supplies there, so be it. The two new wheels help keep the bicycle upright as I maneuver Tomas onto the seat. I get on in front of him and have him wrap his arms around my waist. As an extra precaution, I’ve cut my other shirt into strips and braided them into a rope, which I now loop around the two of us. If we go down, we’ll go down together.
The gears groan as I push my feet forward. The extra weight makes it hard to gain momentum. Tomas leans his head against my back as I shove my right foot forward. Then my left. Inch by inch we move. I am not discouraged. Moving at all is a victory. Right foot. Left foot. I push with all my might, and we begin to teeter forward. After several more pushes, we start to coast. The road slants downward, and we gain momentum. Not as fast as we traveled before, but faster than I dared hope as I worked through the night.
Zeen’s Transit Communicator is strapped with wire to the handlebars.
Seven miles left.
Six.
Five.
The sun is high in the sky. Sweat drips off my forehead as I push forward. Tomas’s grip around my waist slips, and I stop the bicycle to check on him. He’s shivering, and hot to the touch. I make him drink half of our last bottle of water before starting back up. Somewhere behind us there are gunshots. I use the fear they bring to keep my feet moving.
Four miles left.
The fence lines have narrowed so that there is only about ten yards of space on either side of the road between them. There is no sign of Will or his skimmer. I know I injured him, but it must not have been enough to stop him. Unless . . . Could he be well enough to lurk near the completion mark, waiting to finish what he started?
Three miles.
I ask Tomas if he can balance on the bicycle without hanging on to my waist. When he agrees to try, I unfasten the rope and stand to apply more force with each push.
Two miles.
Tomas starts to lose his balance, and I sit back down. I reattach the rope and keep pedaling.
One mile.
I see purple and red in the distance. Testing officials are waiting for us. The end. They have to be standing at the end. Behind the people the buildings of Tosu City sparkle and shimmer as they climb into the sky. Tomas’s head slumps against my back. I feel his weight pull against the rope, but I can’t stop. If I do, I might never get him back onto the bicycle. I doubt he could survive me dragging him to the end.
With one hand, I balance Tomas’s unconscious body as I use my other to steer. My arm, my muscles, every part of me is on fire. But I won’t give in to the pain or the fatigue. My feet keep moving. The people in the distance come into focus. I see smiles. A few concerned expressions. They all stand behind a white line. The finish line.
I ignore the people and focus on the line. I will it to come closer as I push my feet over and over again. We are so close when I feel Tomas slide to the left. My injured arm doesn’t have the strength to catch him and pull him upright. Because we are strapped together, his momentum pulls me off the seat and we crash together to the ground. I hear gasps. A few cries of worry. I see Dr. Barnes standing at the front of the group, wearing an expression of mild interest. Not one person comes to our aid. The white line is less than fifty feet away, and from their place behind it the Testing officials stand and watch.
I know I am tired and sca
red and in pain, but at this moment all I can feel is rage. It is white and hot and powerful. I look at each face and vow to make them pay for Ryme and Malachi and all the others. For the girl whose name I don’t know but whose body I buried. For the watchers who were gunned down without provocation. And for Tomas and these fifty lousy feet that are so damn important to the Testing officials that they would watch him die after all he has survived.
I untie the rope and push myself off the ground. Carefully, I unstrap the bags from the rack, sling them both over my shoulder, and on shaking legs walk over to Tomas. I refuse to look at our audience as I roll him onto his back. He moans as I slide my hands under him. The sound tells me he is alive. I plan to keep him that way as I grab his arms and pull. I lean backwards to use my weight as leverage. Inch by impossibly slow inch I slide him, my eyes fixed on the hard black pavement. Twice I have to put him down to catch my breath. When I look up, I see another Testing candidate appear on the distant horizon. The sight urges me on.
And then I see it. A solid snow-white line slashing across the black of the asphalt. The finish line. One last pull. I watch Tomas’s feet cross the threshold and sink to the ground next to him as Dr. Barnes’s smooth voice says, “Congratulations, Malencia Vale. You and Tomas Endress have passed the fourth test.”
Chapter 20
ONE HUNDRED AND eight candidates entered the Testing Center in hopes of attending the University. Today twenty-nine of us sit in the dining room, although the whispers we hear in the halls tell us there is still a chance more will arrive.
Testing officials tell me it has been nine days since I crossed the white line and passed the fourth test. I’ve been unconscious for most of those days. Turns out, the poison in my arm put me in far more danger than I realized. Had I not squeezed most of the toxin out of the wound, I would be dead now. As it was, it took the doctors several hours to determine whether the medications they pumped into me would clear the remaining poison from my system. An accelerated healing tool helped close the wound, but the damage the contamination caused to the tissue prevented the tool from also removing the scars. I will be forever marked by The Testing, as if that was ever in doubt.
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