Resist b-2

by Sarah Crossan

  My mind is racing; I can’t sleep. Not until I know what Abel’s up to, why Quinn’s here, or where Bea is. I lie awake listening to Maude and Bruce snore in unison. Dorian is in the bunk next to me. He turns over, mutters something, and restlessly kicks and coughs. Silas and Song are silent.

  I throw my legs over the side of my bunk. The stone floor is biting cold. I put on my socks, my pants, and within seconds, I’m dressed and out the door.

  The cabins, outbuildings, and main house are dark, but no sooner have I stepped onto the graveled pathway than a floodlight illuminates the area.

  A girl carrying a gun confronts me. She doesn’t point the weapon, just blocks my way. “Where are you going?” she asks. She steps closer. “Oh, you’re one of the new ones. Someone should’ve told you that you’re supposed to stay in at night.”

  “I didn’t know,” I say, trying to sound dense.

  “Well, you do now,” she says.

  “Where are Abel and Quinn?” I ask.

  She glances at the main house. “Abel’s probably in his old room. I don’t know Quinn,” she says, and gestures at my cabin with her gun.

  I walk back slowly, and when she heads in the opposite direction, I sprint toward the main house and slam my body against it. The floodlights go out, and I am in darkness.

  I skirt along the edge of the house feeling for a way in, but every door is locked. I turn a corner and the guard is there, sitting on a bench reading an old paper book by flashlight. She looks up briefly, waves the light this way and that, then returns to her reading. Another guard appears from a door behind her.

  “That time already?” she says, slipping the book into her jacket and stretching.

  “You can do my shift if you like,” the other one says. They laugh. “Any probs?”

  “Pretty quiet. I found one of the newbies wandering around, but she went back to bed.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one Maks has his eye on. I wouldn’t like to be her.”

  “Really? Oh, I would.” They laugh again and saunter toward the annex chatting. They activate the floodlight and the whole area is awash in light. I watch them go and try not to think about what it means that I’ve caught Maks’s notice.

  The door the guard came through is open, and the guards are less than fifty feet away and making their way back. I hurry across the courtyard and almost break my neck tumbling through the open door and down a couple of uneven steps.

  I scramble to my feet and scamper along a hallway to another door. It opens with a warning creak. I duck as I go through. Beyond it is a wider hallway with a series of doors on either side, and I creep along, examining the signs above them: Dispensary—Research Lab 4—Research Lab 5—Screening—Library. I scurry up a flight of stairs and find several doors with no signs. Surely these are the bedrooms.

  I kneel and press my ear against the keyhole waiting for the sound of movement or a recognizable voice. The house remains wrapped in silence. I check the next door. Nothing. So I keep going, trying each door and waiting a few moments before moving on. By the time I’ve reached the end of the hallway, I’ve tried twenty doors. I stand with my back against the wall, feeling suddenly foolish. How did I think I’d find anyone?

  I pick my way back down the hallway when I hear glass shattering. I stand rigid, waiting for an alarm to ring, then think better of it and sprint down the hallway and away. I round a corner and before I can stop, I yelp and clatter into someone running in the opposite direction. We both end up on the floor, but I jump up first and hold my fists ready. The person looks up and repositions his facemask.

  “Quinn?”

  “Alina?”

  I pull him to his feet. “What are you doing in Sequoia?”

  “Looking for you,” he whispers. He looks like he’s about to hug me, but changes his mind. “Jazz had a bad fall. We have to go and help her.”

  “Jazz?” I can’t believe it. The Grove was falling in on itself when we left it, and Jazz had climbed into the trees covered in toxic foam.

  “Yes,” he says hurriedly. Someone coughs in a room near us, and Quinn gestures with his hand for me to follow him. We tiptoe down the hallway and slink into a room.

  He points to the floor where shards of glass glisten. “Be careful. I knocked the stool over and the water glass went flying.” The curtains have been drawn and the moon is barely illuminating the room through the clouds. A bed is tucked into the corner and next to it a stool is lying on its side. The window is wide open and a raking breeze makes the curtains flap and smack against the wall.

  “What’s going on?” I point at the open window.

  “I was searching for a way out. Thought I’d be less likely to be seen this way. Turns out I might die, though.” I follow him to the window. We look over the ledge. The room is three floors above a stone path. “We have to leave,” he says. He looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in a long time, nothing like the person I met in the vaccination line weeks ago. How can so much have changed so quickly? It hardly seems possible.

  “Where’s Bea?”

  “She’s keeping Jazz safe. Is Silas here? Do you think he’d come with us? We’ll need him.”

  My throat relaxes. “I knew Bea would make it,” I say.

  “Well, she’ll be a goner if we don’t get to her soon. So will Jazz.” He looks out the window like he’s considering jumping. I lead him to the bed, where I make him sit and tell me everything, from the moment he left The Grove until he arrived in Sequoia. He speaks quickly, skipping important details, so I have to keep making him go back and explain more.

  “So can we go now?” he says finally.

  “Maybe Vanya will help,” I say.

  He scratches his head. “I tried to tell her earlier and she just smiled. There’s something rotten behind that smile, Alina. After the way Petra treated me, I’m not taking any chances.”

  I try to reassure him. “We’ll speak to her again tomorrow.”

  “What is this place? I haven’t seen one tree,” he says. A few weeks ago he never would have noticed. If Quinn can change, maybe anyone can.

  “We aren’t sure what’s going on, but the pod’s looking like an option,” I say, and laugh.

  Quinn stares at me. “Is that a joke?” he asks.

  I shake my head, because actually, it isn’t. “I promise we’ll convince Vanya to do something,” I repeat.

  “What about Bea?”

  “Does she have air and water?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says, “but—”

  “It’s just one night,” I tell him, even though one night is all it would take for everything to turn into a catastrophe.

  I go to the door. “How did you meet Abel?” I ask, turning the handle.

  “By chance. Do you know him?”

  “Kind of. Is he the baby’s father?”

  “Jo said he wasn’t. Why?” A wave of relief rushes over me, followed by shame for even caring when there are so many other, more important things to worry about.

  The lights are still out in the main house. I inch along the hallway and as I am about to descend a level, there’s a scuffling.

  “You’re hurting me,” a voice says. Cautiously, I lean over the banister and make out the tops of two heads. It’s Maks and Jo. She’s trying to break free of his grip. “Vanya put me in another room. Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  “You humiliated me,” he snarls. Jo shrinks into herself.

  “Please let me sleep on my own, Maks,” she says.

  “And how can I be sure you won’t have run off by morning? You think I’m gonna let you out of my sight again? You’re coming with me.”

  “I’m not your property,” she says, wrenching her arm from him and backing away. She’s barefoot and wearing only a light, white nightshirt.

  Without another word, Maks smacks Jo hard across the face. She crumples into a heavy heap. “You’re carrying something that belongs to Vanya and that means you belong to Sequoia and to me. You think I don’
t know why you ran away?” She looks up at him and before I can duck, sees me. But she doesn’t give me away; she holds out her hands and lets Maks help her to her feet.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. She puts her free hand to his chest and then, standing on her tiptoes, kisses his lips. “I’ve been so scared. Are the trials working? Are the babies okay?”

  “He doesn’t want you, you know,” he says, pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s me or no one, Jo.”

  He takes her arm and leads her away, but not before Jo manages to flash me a warning look. Like she has to.

  When I open the back door, I can’t see any guard—just an empty chair with a mug next to it on the ground. I creep into the night and scamper back to the cabin.

  “Where the hell were you?” Silas asks as I climb back into bed in my clothes. Maude and Bruce are still snoring. Song is lying like a corpse, his mouth open. Dorian has his back to me.

  “Quinn says Bea and Jazz are in trouble,” I say.

  “Jazz is alive?” Silas asks.

  “She was—days ago,” I say.

  21

  BEA

  Ronan and I are sitting in cracked green leather chairs under layers of blankets, scarves, and coats on the balcony of what was once a restaurant in the station. The sunrise is obstructed by decrepit buildings. Ronan shows me a blurred photograph on his pad. “Don’t you want a clear image?” I say. I fiddle with the gauge on my airtank. It would be wiser to keep myself plugged into the solar respirator and save the air, but it was too big to fit through the narrow balcony doors.

  “I just want the color. I’ll mix it when I get back.” He pauses. “Can I have one of you?”

  “What for?”

  “So I can ping it through to the Ministry and pick up my reward. Your capture is very valuable.” He laughs, but that there could be a fraction of truth in what he’s said makes me turn away. Not before he’s managed to take a picture of me.

  “Delete it!” I try to snatch the pad.

  “No,” he says.

  “What if someone sees it and recognizes me?”

  “It’s as smudged as the other one. And anyway, no one’s interested in the photos artists take.” He studies the picture and then looks at the real me. “Why are you out here, Bea?” he asks.

  “Because your father wanted my head on a plate,” I remind him.

  “But why did you join the Resistance in the first place? Are things really so bad in the pod for auxiliaries?” he asks. Can Premiums be so self-involved they completely fail to notice how ninety-five percent of us live?

  “Have you ever even been to Zone Three?”

  “A couple of times,” he says sheepishly.

  “If I could have changed things from inside, I would have,” I tell him.

  He is silent for a long time, looking through the few pictures he’s just taken. “There has to be a way to make things fair. Nothing’s impossible,” he says finally.

  “You can try working on things in the pod. I’m never going back. Anyway, I’m waiting for someone.” I still haven’t mentioned Quinn. As far as the Ministry knows, he’s dead, and no one should think otherwise.

  Ronan gazes into the distance, then closes his eyes. His eyelids twitch and the lashes flicker as sleep comes for him. And then he opens one eye and peers at me. “Are you going to get some rest or just watch me?”

  My cheeks get hot. “Out here? It’s below zero.”

  He reaches down and pulls a lightweight blanket from his backpack, which he throws at me. “Try that,” he says. I pull it over my chin and tuck my feet under my butt. “Better?” he asks. I nod and close my eyes.

  I wake to find Ronan shaking me. “Bea, wake up,” he whispers. “Bea.” I yawn.

  “How long did I sleep?”

  “Never mind that. Move!” he says.

  “What’s happening?” I try to stand and stretch but he takes hold of my thighs, so I can’t.

  “They’ll see you!” he says.

  I slide off the chair and onto the balcony floor. “Is it the Ministry?”

  Ronan shakes his head. “I have no idea who they are. They must have spotted us.”

  I suddenly feel less cold. My aching limbs lighten. It must be Quinn and Alina and Sequoia come to save me. “At last, they’re here!” I say, trying to get a glimpse of the road.

  “I’m pretty sure you don’t know these people,” he says. “This way.” Reluctantly I slither through the balcony doors behind him and into the restaurant, which is strewn with dozens of chairs like the ones outside. “Stay low,” he says, remaining hunched. We go to a window.

  “Do you know them?” he asks. It isn’t easy to see through the grimy window. I rub the glass with my sleeve and put my face to it. Three bearded men dressed in rags are inspecting the station. Each is armed: one with a broken pitchfork, one with a baseball bat, and another with a thick metal pole. And they have bulky solar respirators on their backs. “Drifters,” Ronan says. He pulls out his gun and loads it with a handful of bullets.

  “What are you doing? They aren’t monsters.” Certainly not Maude, and not those who Jazz said helped defend The Grove. I grab for Ronan’s gun, but he pushes me away so hard I fall, landing on my arm and twisting it. I groan, but he doesn’t apologize or try to help me up.

  “Shh,” he says, finding a broken windowpane and taking aim.

  “Give them a chance,” I say. I crawl to the window. The men skirt the station, all the time peering up.

  “They look like they’re on their way to a lynching. Don’t be naïve, Bea.” The condescension in his voice makes me well up with anger.

  “You’ve been out of the pod two seconds and think you know everything. Watch and learn.”

  “Where are you going? Come back. Come back.”

  I march out of the restaurant, down the staircase, and outside, where I stand by the exit.

  I’m about to speak to the men when the one carrying the baseball bat turns his back on the station and shouts. “Oi, Brent, you sure it was this building? I can’t hear nothing.” He shuffles away and leans against a van on the other side of the road.

  “Chill your boots, Earl. There’s definitely meat in there. I heard it squalling last night,” Brent says, using his metal pole as a kind of walking stick.

  “Yeah, well if there ain’t, maybe I’ll just eat you.”

  Brent jabs Earl in the stomach with his pole and cackles. Even from a distance I can see his black teeth.

  Earl quickly recovers, and when he does, he bashes Brent’s knees with his baseball bat. “Watch it, or next time I’ll use your head for batting practice.” This doesn’t seem like bravado; I’m sure they’d happily kill one another.

  I’ve made a mistake.

  I back away from the road and through the station doors, but when I spin around the third man, the one with the pitchfork, is standing staring at me. “Well, well, well. Look at the treat we’ve got here,” he says, and rubs his belly.

  I dip to the side as the man swings for me. Luckily he’s half-starved and carrying a solar respirator and isn’t fast enough. I hurtle up the stairs and into the restaurant. “Ronan! Ronan?” I call.

  But he’s disappeared.

  “Get back here, you stupid cow,” one of the men hollers. The others hoot.

  I jump over broken chairs and overturned tables, smashed plates and glasses, and when I get to the kitchen door, push on it. I expect it to swing open, but it doesn’t budge. Something’s blocking it on the other side. I scan the restaurant. There’s no other hiding place or way out unless I dive off the balcony. I find a broken bottle and hold it by the neck as the men saunter in, their eyes gleaming.

  Earl swings his baseball bat, and they all grin. He comes closer and I try dodging him, but he’s quicker than the man with the pitchfork. He leaps at me and knocks me to the ground. Earl pulls me up straight using my hair. His face is flecked with scars and his thinning hair is greasy and matted. “Annoying,” he says, “but comely
. What do you think, Getty?”

  The man with the pitchfork throws down his weapon and steps up. “She’ll do,” he says. He unbuttons my coat and ogles me.

  Brent shuffles forward. “Dibs on her airtank,” he says, loosening it from its belt.

  “Leave that ’til we’re finished,” Getty says, shoving him.

  I try to thrash free, but when I do, Earl, who’s standing behind me, pulls my hair harder. “Settle down,” he croaks.

  It’s obvious what these savages are planning, and I can’t endure it. Anything but this. Anything.

  I whimper, wishing I’d let Ronan shoot them. Where is he now? And where’s Quinn?

  Getty holds my face next to his, and licks my cheek. Even through the mask I can smell his rotten breath. I cry out, and they laugh. “Please don’t,” I say, looking into his eyes, but he’s too far gone to see my humanity.

  He throws off his heavily stained jacket and scrapes his finger along my collarbone. “I’m first,” he says. And I decide, in that moment, that I will shut down and think of Quinn and my parents and Maude and anything else that is not this, is not now.

  “Ready?” Earl asks.

  I shut my eyes. “Quinn!” I shout. “Quinn!”

  But he doesn’t hear me.

  No one does.

  22

  QUINN

  I dream about Bea and wake up in a sweat, my mind whirring with images of her body on the tracks of an old railway line being pecked at by hungry drifters, their mouths like beaks. She was calling my name over and over even though she was already dead. It was horrible.

  I’m stuffing things into my backpack, ready to find Alina, when Vanya barges into my room. “How did you sleep?”

  “I had nightmares,” I say, still feeling the effects of the dream.

  “It’s always hard to sleep in a strange bed,” she says with this weirdo smile on her face. She flutters by me and throws open the curtains. “A glorious day!”

  “Not for my friends, it isn’t. They need help before it’s too late.” I move to the door. “Do you have a buggy?”

  “A buggy? Of course we have a buggy, Quinn. This isn’t The Grove.” She sits on the end of the bed and pats the spot next to her. I stay where I am.