by Kat Zhang
“How are we going to do that?” Jackson asked. “Stand outside the door and shout bomb at anyone who gets near?”
“If it keeps them away.”
“It’ll keep them away,” Jackson said. “It’ll also get us both arrested.”
I said nothing.
“Eva.” Jackson kept his eyes on the road ahead of us. “What Christoph said, about not wanting to let you know so you could argue your innocence—it’s not entirely untrue. And what he said about how we never needed you—well, that was a lie.” I still didn’t speak. “Look, what happened back there—”
“What happened back there is that your friends attacked us and tied us up.”
“They’re your friends, too.”
I laughed low. “They are?”
“Yes, they are. And I—” His fingers clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles bright. “Can I speak with Addie?”
I shook our head. “She says no. Just drive.”
For a while, he obeyed, and we sat in silence. But his eyes flickered toward us.
“I’m sorry, all right?” Jackson sounded as exhausted as I felt. “I’m sorry. You were never meant to get hurt.”
Jackson parked by the side of the road, out of sight of the institution. The land here was as hilly as it had been in Frandmill. The sun was just starting to go down. I almost wished it were already dark. It might make me feel better. It would help us hide, maybe.
“This road loops around to the institution.” Jackson turned and looked out our window with us. “But you can walk up the hill and look down, see everything.”
I opened our car door. Jackson reached to extinguish the engine, but I stopped him. “No, stay. I’ll go check if there are any other cars. If not, we’ll drive until we find Sabine.”
I slammed the door shut before he could argue, and hurried up the hill. Our feet kept slipping against the steep, rocky ground.
I glanced over our shoulder. Jackson was barely visible inside the car. Hopefully, he could see us more clearly than we could see him.
A rock turned under our foot, and we almost slipped. I lurched forward, regaining our balance at the last moment. I could already feel phantom hands grabbing our arms. I could see officers shoving us into a police car, forcing our head down. Would they cuff our hands behind our back?
Would our parents be told? Would they look up from dinner, food turning to ash in their mouths, at the sound of our names on the television, the sight of our familiar face?
Addie answered her own question.
We looked down at the institution.
The Powatt institution was not Nornand. There was no green lawn, no bright panes of glass catching the sun. The main building sat cradled in a valley, maybe five stories high, rectangular, enormous. We were looking at its back. The walls were white. That much was the same. White walls and a dark roof and an asphalt parking lot baking in the slowly sinking sun.
There was a second, smaller building blocking most of the parking lot from view. I turned to the road where Jackson waited for us, and motioned that I was going to go down a bit to get a better look.
We saw eleven cars, none of which was Sabine’s. There were twelve people standing around talking outside the building, a security guard among them. As we watched, another woman emerged from her car. We were too far away to see more than the rough shape and colors of her clothes.
I walked farther around to see the front of the building, where there were another two guards posted by the main entrance.
A hand clamped over our mouth.
“Shhh, Eva,” Sabine whispered in our ear. “Shhh. If you’re quiet, it’ll all be okay.”
I struggled to wrench free, but Sabine was bigger than we were, and she had Christoph’s help. He was grim-faced, almost mechanical. It was somehow more frightening than his usual explosive anger. The Christoph whose temper blew up at the slightest provocation was also the Christoph whose face softened when he smiled. This Christoph—eyes glassy, mouth hard—I almost didn’t recognize.
“Shh,” Sabine whispered again. “We don’t want to hurt you, Eva.”
I lashed out with our foot. It connected—with Sabine? With Christoph? Both cried out as one of them went down and dragged the rest of us with them. Sabine’s hand still covered our mouth.
“It’s too late,” she said, breathing hard. “The bomb’s set up. It’s done, Eva.”
It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be.
“Eva,” Christoph growled. He helped Sabine pin our arms to our sides. “Keep still.”
I ignored him, twisting and turning until we were almost on our knees, almost upright.
“Eva?” Jackson called quietly. We could barely hear him. How far up the hill was he? How far away? “Eva, where are you? Answer me.”
Sabine spun toward the sound of his voice. Her hand over our mouth loosened a little, and I jerked free.
“Jackson!” I cried.
Sabine slapped her hand over our mouth again. She kept looking between me and the crown of the hill, where Jackson might appear at any moment. “Eva, what can you do? Run down there? The building is going to explode. You’d die.” Her eyes met mine. “I care about you, Eva, despite everything. You and Addie. You’re one of us. We take care of our own.”
I slammed our head back, catching Christoph in the chin. Our elbow jabbed into his gut. I let ourself drop, ducking just in time to avoid Sabine’s hands. There was dust in our mouth and a ringing in our head and the sound of Christoph shouting as I rolled out of the way. I scrambled back to our feet, panting. Christoph lunged for us. I ran. Downhill.
“Eva,” Sabine shouted. Not a full-throated shout. She was still afraid of being heard. “Eva, don’t.”
I could see the edge of the parking lot. The people were gone—they must have entered the building while I was struggling with Christoph and Sabine. Only the cars remained, glinting in the dimming sun.
I looked over our shoulder. Christoph had stopped following us. His lip had split again. I could see the blood. Sabine stood a few feet behind him.
“How long do I have?” I demanded. “How long until the bomb goes off, Sabine?”
“Any second,” Sabine said.
I shook our head. “You wouldn’t have come this close if that were true.”
“I came to stop you,” she said. “I came to save you.”
“And I’m going in there.” I jerked our chin toward the institution. “How much time do I have to get out, Sabine?”
She took a step toward us. She clamped her voice back to its usual calm. “You don’t have any time, Eva. Just come back—”
“I’m going in.” I matched her calm. “I’m not going to let them die, Sabine. I can’t. I won’t live with that. I’m not going to let Ryan live with that.” I stared at her. Whispered. “I’m not going to let you live with that, Sabine. Now, you can tell me how much time I have to come out, or I can just take my cha
nces with guessing.”
Sabine just stared at us.
I turned and started for the institution.
“Thirteen minutes,” Sabine said. “Thirteen minutes. That’s it.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
There was a guard at the back door. He startled when he saw me running toward him, then stepped forward, his arms spread out, his hands held high. “Hey—hey! What’re you doing here? This—”
“They have to get out,” I shouted. He grabbed at me, and I darted backward, out of the way. “You have to get them out!” Our heart pounded so loud I could barely hear myself speak, so hard each beat exploded in our chest. “There’s a bomb. There’s a bomb inside. You have to get them out.”
The guard just frowned. He didn’t believe me. Dear God, he didn’t believe me.
I shoved past him, ignoring his shouts. It was cold inside the institution. My shoes squeaked against the tile, the sound reverberating off the white walls. There wasn’t another soul in sight.
In seconds, Addie and I were across the lobby and darting up the stairs. What if they were on the topmost floor? On the other end of the building?
I looked at our watch. A little over eleven minutes left.
We reached the second floor.
“Hello?” I shouted.
Our voice echoed back, but nothing else. I ran down the hall, still shouting, peering into rooms, glancing through windows. We caught glimpses of narrow metal beds, sheets already tucked in tight. We saw flashes of spartan, locker room–style bathrooms, porcelain surfaces gleaming. But no people.
Then we were back in the stairwell, on the other side of the building. The stairs here were narrow and long—two flights for every floor. The running and shouting left us breathless.
It was with a weak shout that we crashed into the third floor hallway. “Anybody th—”
They turned as one. The entire group of them. We froze, our mouth still open, our throat still trying to squeeze out the end of our question.
Thirteen of them, a few more men than women, formally dressed.
The closest to Addie and me was Jenson.
He stared at us, same as the others. But unlike them, recognition bloomed in his eyes. His proximity almost made me stumble. I shook my head clear.
“You’ve all got to leave,” I said. “You have to get out.”
Nobody moved. A woman turned to Jenson. His eyes had not left our face. “What’s going on, Mark?”
A glance down at our watch—eight minutes. They had eight minutes. We had eight minutes.
“There’s a bomb in the building,” I said. “You’ve got eight minutes to get out.” Our voice didn’t want to work right. It kept giving out. It wouldn’t go loud, as I needed it to.
But everyone was listening now. Everyone was listening, but no one was moving.
“A bomb,” I screamed. I seemed only capable of a trembling whisper or a full-on scream, nothing in between. One of the women cried out in response, a startled bird noise. I dove back the way I’d come, looking over our shoulder, hoping my movement would incite them to follow.
Something flashed across Jenson’s face. A bolt of understanding, like he’d just put together the last pieces in a complicated puzzle.
I didn’t have time to ponder it.
The man farthest away from the staircase was the first to move. He threw himself forward, nearly knocking over the man directly in front of him. For a second, he and the falling, flailing man were the only ones in motion.
Then suddenly, everyone surged toward us. An unbroken wave of terror. The people behind us shoved us into the stairwell. Elbows and limbs lashed out. Then it was down, down, down the steps, the walls echoing with the thunderous noise of our escape.
How much time left? Enough to make it down the stairs, across the lobby, and up the hill?
Don’t think about the seconds clicking down.
Don’t think about the nauseating crush of bodies all around us.
Don’t think about Jenson, God only knew how far behind.
None of that could be helped by thinking.
Just keep moving. Keep moving.
We were just past the second floor when the man beside us stumbled. Knocked into us.
Made us slip.
We tangled with someone, our limbs knotting with his, his momentum kicking us forward. We screamed as his weight came down on us. He gripped the railing. We grabbed for it but missed—
Everything was chaos as we fell. People dove aside to avoid being pulled down themselves. I only knew the moment of impact by the searing pain in our leg.
For a moment, we couldn’t see clearly. Couldn’t hear clearly. When everything came into focus again, we saw some of the officials hesitate. A few almost stopped. One actually did. Our ankle burned, shooting pain up our shin.
“Keep going,” Jenson said. There weren’t many people left behind us now. Most had pushed on. “There isn’t time. I’ll get her.”
There was no arguing against that voice, especially when there was so little motivation to do so. They fled.
And despite his words, Jenson went with them.
We tried to stand, but the pain in our ankle only got worse with pressure. Our watch had smashed during our tumble down the stairs.
How many minutes did we have left?
Neither of us believed it.
Gritting our teeth against the pain, we managed to shift onto our knees. Crawling was bearable, at least for short distances. But we still had an entire flight of stairs and the length of the lobby between us and safety.
There wasn’t any choice but to try anyway.
We’re going to die, I thought, dragging ourself to the final flight of stairs.
We’re going to die, I thought, setting our palm on the first step down, trying to shift our weight so the rest of our body could follow. Our ankle and leg lit afire with pain.
Oh, God, please don’t let us die. Please. Please.
How many minutes did we have left? How many heartbeats?
The door to the stairwell opened again.
Jenson stared up at us. We stared down at him. Swiftly, he climbed the stairs and leaned toward us. “Arms around my neck.”
We obeyed without question. He picked us up. Our hands fisted around the back of his collar, crumpling it.
Please, God, don’t let us die.
He didn’t speak again, just ran back down the stairs as quickly as he could with us in his arms. Every jolt made us bite our lips to keep back a cry of pain.
He shoved the stairwell door open with his shoulder.
Please, God, don’t let us die.
We were halfway across the lobby when the bomb detonated.
THIRTY-NINE
We were blind and deaf and weightless.
Gravity returned first. I couldn’t tell which way we were being crushed, only that we were. We tried to move and couldn’t. There was something covering our face. We couldn’t breathe.
No. No, we could. We could. We just had to keep calm.
We were alive.
Everything had gone dark and silent.
We were pinned under something. Nothing hurt. Was that good? Or did that mean something was terribly, terribly wrong?
Focus, I told myself fiercely. Focus. Focus.
silent, compressed fear. This was the sum of all our worst nightmares. All the terrors we had of dark, enclosed spaces. This was the trunk in the attic when we were seven, and the mobs of Bessimir and Lankster Square, and—
We might be crushed. Properly. Permanently.
We swallowed. Our eyes still saw nothing but darkness. Our ears heard nothing but silence.
The enormous pressure on our chest made it difficult to breathe, let alone shout, but I tried anyway. Our lips and tongue were leaden. Our voice sounded strange—muffled and far away.
Would anyone dare step foot into the crumpled building? Was there even a building left at all?
So I did. Memories from before Anchoit, before Nornand. Memories of home. Of Mom and Dad and Lyle and even Nathaniel. Of our little house with the dark roof and the strawberry-patterned kitchen curtains. Our heartbeat didn’t slow, but the chaos in our head receded, just a little.
There was a great groaning noise. Then something fell, slamming into the ground so hard it shook beneath us. There was a blast of heat.
Fire.
A strangled scream ripped from our throat.
This time, she didn’t argue.
Our arm didn’t move. Our hand didn’t move. But our fingers twitched. I tried our other arm, our left arm—
The pain came. Knives from our shoulder to our elbow and shooting down our back. We gasped and choked, coughing. More pain, in our ribs now. Our legs seemed freer than the rest of us. They felt hotter, too, as if flames ate the rubble next to them. I prayed I wouldn’t accidentally burn ourself.
