"A bullet scraped me."
"A bunch of fools," he replies.
"A fake death—a claim that John’s infected with the plague. If I can help him escape from Batalla Hall tomorrow night, I’ll need you and a couple of Patriots to get him out of the sector. Keep him safe."
"A family I know had their door marked recently."
"A foolish attempt," she says.
"A good boy, that Metias was. A great apprentice. Imagine my disappointment when he was reassigned to the city patrols. He told me he just didn’t have the smarts to judge the Trials or organize the kids who finished taking them. Such a modest one. Always smarter than he thought he was—just like you." He grins at me.
"A lamp’s lit. Look at those candles. Mom would never waste candles if no one was home."
"A lie like that is treason against the Republic. Besides, why would Congress authorize such a thing?"
"A little sleep will do you good."
"A perfect score . . . hah. I don’t know anyone who’s ever gotten a fifteen hundred."
"A pity you chose the life of a criminal. You could have become a celebrity in your own right, you know, with a face like that. Free plague vaccinations every year. Wouldn’t that have been nice?"
"A pleasure to meet you, young sir. Tell me, Mr. Graham, why did the Colonies send you over to our fine Republic? To spread their lies?"
"A pleasure," I reply, unsure of what else to say.
"A poor choice for a hero," Thomas goes on.
"A www. Is that what’s got you down? I’ve seen the way you look at her. You want her bad, yeah? Is that something you’re also trying to earn your way up to, trot? Hate to burst your bubble, but I didn’t force her into anything."
"About all of it."
"According to the Republic’s databases," she goes on, "Daniel Altan Wing died five years ago from smallpox, in one of our labor camps."
"After the first eruptions," he said, "white volcanic ash rained from the sky for months. The dead and dying were covered in it. So now to wear white is to remember the dead."
"Agent Iparis! Tonight is your night. You’re a star! I tell you, my dear, everyone in the higher circles is talking about your prodigious performance. Especially your commander—she’s gushing about you like you’re her daughter. Congratulations on your agent promotion and that nice little reward. Two hundred thousand Notes should buy you a dozen elegant dresses."
"Agent Iparis, head this up. Check on him now and then and make sure he doesn’t die before his execution date."
"Agent Iparis," he says.
"Ah, Captain!" she exclaims.
"Ah, that’s right," she says, as if it is the first time she’s heard it.
"Ah, there’s the announcement now." Thomas glances back to the movie screen and points at the commercial that comes on.
"All right," Kaede says.
"All right. We’ll go to the warfront and find out where Eden is, then cross the border. The Colonies will probably welcome us—maybe even help us."
"Almost enough for cures. How’s Eden?"
"Almost there," he says.
"Am I all right?" she says.
"An electro-bomb’s gone missing." The dangling lights overhead cast mean shadows across his face.
"An impressive effort tonight. You are truly as agile as Agent Iparis claimed. I hate seeing such talents wasted on worthless criminals, but life isn’t very fair, is it?" She smiles at me.
"And I don’t know why. That’s the worst part, Day. I don’t know why he died. Why would someone want him dead?"
"And I hope to hell you’re right."
"And I know you won’t leave your family to die."
"And Tess is safe? No one’s arrested her?"
"And apparently, so were you."
"And cut those too."
"And does everyone around here know how to make a dust bomb?"
"And forty-four seconds. How do you like that?"
"And there’s more where that came from. But I need you to listen to me, and I don’t have much time."
"And they’ve pitted us against each other."
"And to think you were forced to spend so much time in his company. I’m amazed he didn’t kill you in your sleep. I’m—" Thomas pauses, then decides against finishing his sentence.
"And what about your old knee injury?"
"And why?"
"And?" I say.
"Answer the question, June."
"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."
"Any listening devices?"
"Any luck today?"
"Are they both alive?"
"Are you all right? It’s almost ten hundred hours, and I haven’t seen you. Commander Jameson wants to know where you are."
"Are you all right?"
"Are you all right?" I ask.
"Are you all right?" I remember asking him.
"Are you cooking a chicken in there?" he says.
"Are you going to help me?"
"Are you going to help me?" I ask again.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" I run my hands down her other arm, then gently touch her waist and her legs.
"Are you sure?" Thomas sounds more alert now.
"Are you there, Iparis?" It’s Commander Jameson.
"As do you." As we settle down to watch the stands, I make some notes to myself.
"As soon as the rain stops," he says, "I want to head out toward Vegas. I want to find Tess and make sure she’s safe with the Patriots before we move on to the warfront to find Eden. I can’t just leave her behind. I have to know that she’s better off with them than with us." It’s as if he’s trying to convince me that this is the right thing to do.
"At least Day’s good for something." His hair is carefully combed back, and he looks taller than usual in a flawless, tasseled captain’s uniform.
"At least we got ourselves another medic in the Patriots now." She pats her cast and winks at Tess.
"At the hands of that nasty boy. What a shame!" Chian narrows his eyes, making his eyebrows look even bushier.
"Be careful," I murmur.
"Be quick about it."
"Because today the plague patrol is coming for your family. They’re taking them away."
"Because you were right," she whispers.
"Before floods, before thousands of data centers were wiped out." He would let out a mock sigh, then wink at me.
"Believe me when I say I would love to stay and chat with you, but I have a training session to lead. There’s also a person much more eager to see you than I am. I’ll let her take it from here." The commander exits without another word.
"Believe what you want."
"Best place might be somewhere obvious to everyone. Give it to one of the boys, maybe as a locket. People will think it’s just a child’s ornament. But if soldiers find it in the house in a raid, hidden under some floorboard, they’ll know for sure that it’s important."
"Better than expected."
"Bite your tongue, cousin. Haven’t you had enough brushes with death for one day?"
"Breathe in for me." I do as she says.
"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—"
"But I don’t really have much choice."
"But I have to say I am looking forward to it. Do you know the details about how it’ll go?"
"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."
"But I’d rather not wake her."
"But he gave me clues."
"But it’s Commander Jameson." I blinked through swollen eyes.
"But that doesn’t mean we won’t find his body later."
"But the Republic must know by now that they made a mistake. You have to run, Day. While you can."
"But they might know something about Day."
"But think of it this way. You can walk away right now, with two hundred thousand Notes and a rather handy weapon, and never lift a finger to help me. I’m putting my trust in you and in the Patriots. I’m begging you to put your trust in me."
"But we can’t destroy it. We have to safeguard it—for all we know, this might be the last coin of its kind in the world." He folded my mother’s fingers over the coin.
"But you won’t. I can see it on your face."
"But you’re a fool to stay with someone like me."
"But you’re right—it might be enough to convince my boss to let me help you out. But how can we be sure this isn’t a trap? You sold Day to the Republic. What if you’re lying to me too?"
"Bye, Thomas. Thanks for the ride." I smile back at him before stepping out of the jeep.
"Calling it a night," I murmur.
"Can I ask you a question now?" Day asks.
"Can I be admitted, cousin?" I call to her.
"Can I help you get home?"
"Can you hear me?" she says.
"Can you repeat that, Ms. Iparis?"
"Can’t let your stolen goods go to waste, can I?"
"Captain Metias Iparis is outside the gate," a voice replies.
"Captain says he’ll arrive shortly."
"Cheer up, Thomas." Metias reaches over and claps him on the back.
"Chian has a personal grudge against Day," he whispers.
"Choose! Choose! Choose!"
"Choose! Choose!"
"Come here, boy." He sighs, then envelops me in a hug.
"Come on, Captain," he says.
"Come on, June," he said.
"Come on, let’s follow him!" Tess exclaims.
"Come on," I said.
"Come on," he urges.
"Come on. You’re going to get a girlfriend someday."
"Come out," I say.
"Commander Jameson asked me to detain you," he says.
"Commander Jameson has requested that you come with me to the hospital as soon as possible." Thomas hesitates for a second.
"Commander Jameson says to keep you on your mission if your injury isn’t bothering you too much. She’s preoccupied with the patrol right now. But I’m warning you. If your mike goes dark again for more than a few hours, I’m going to send soldiers after you—whether or not it blows your cover. Understand?"
"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."
"Commander Jameson," he says, "are you ready for him to proceed to sentencing?"
"Commander Jameson’s here to see the prisoner." The prisoner.
"Commander, don’t!" I blurt out, but she ignores me.
"Commander?"
"Congratulations, June." He smiles.
"Connect the two circuits," he murmurs.
"Consider this a pop quiz. This soldier’s identity should motivate you to get it right."
"Cop her."
"Corner of Figueroa and Watson. That’s the special plague case we’re meant to investigate tomorrow morning. You’re sure it’s Day?" he asks again.
"Create chaos in Batalla Square, as much chaos as you can manage. Enough chaos to force most of the soldiers guarding the back exits to enter the square and help contain the crowd—if only for a couple of minutes. That’s what the electro-bomb might help you with. Set it off in the air, and it’ll shake up the ground in Batalla Hall and around it. It shouldn’t hurt anyone, but it’ll definitely stir up some panic. And if the guns in the vicinity are disabled, they can’t shoot at Day even if they see him escaping along a rooftop. They’ll have to chase him or try their luck with less accurate stun guns."
"Damn it, June," he says.
"Damn it," Day says under his breath.
"Daniel is dead," I reply.
"Daniel?" Her fingers brush the hair from my eyes.
"Daniel?" she whispers.
"Day . . . it didn’t go according to my plan. I wanted to get both of you out. I could have done it. But . . ."
"Day can’t hide from the government forever—sooner or later we’ll dig that street brat out and make an example out of him. He’s no match for you, especially when you put your mind to something."
"Day doesn’t seem like the kind of boy who goes around saving people."
"Day is just a criminal on death row. His words shouldn’t matter to a girl of your standing."
"Day may be a popular figure out here on the streets, but he’s still one guy. What’s in it for us? Just the joy of getting him on board? The Patriots aren’t going to risk a dozen lives just to free a single criminal. It’s inefficient."
"Day will be dead in less than a week."
"Day, can you say, honestly and truly . . . that you didn’t kill Metias?"
"Day," Tess whispers.
"Day."
"Day." Her voice echoes down the street.
"Day’s heading toward Figueroa and Watson right now. I’m on his tail."
"Delicious," he says.
"Despite your reflexes."
"Did he say who’s sick? Is it Eden? Mom?"
"Did you assault a cadet standing guard at the edge of the Alta sector’s quarantine zone?"
"Did you find anything yet?"
"Did you hear something?" she whispers.
"Did you hear that Day’s sick brother, the little one, tried to spit on Commander Jameson yesterday? Tried to infect her with whatever mutated plague he’s carrying?"
"Did you set fire to a series of ten F-472 fighter jets parked at the Burbank air force base right before they were to head out to the warfront?"
"Didn’t want to completely crush your ego."
"Dismissed," the Elector calls as he goes.
"Diversion." My eyes lock onto Kaede’s.
"Do you know anything about Tess yet? If she’s alive?"
"Do you know what he’s been telling people?"
"Do you know where Eden is?" John finally breaks the silence.
"Does she honestly think we can guard anything after pulling an all-nighter? I was so out of it today that the Colonies’ Chancellor himself could’ve walked into Batalla Hall and I wouldn’t have known it."
"Doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t I be in your position? Isn’t that the point of your precious Trial?" Day looks like he wants to stop, hesitates, and then continues.
"Doesn’t seem like a fair fight," she calls out.
"Don’t be so suspicious. He had a son who worked at the warfront. He died of the plague a few years ago." I yelp when Tess ties a finishing knot on the bandage.
"Don’t be stupid, Junebug. Of course Mom took care of you. And she was much better at it than I am."
"Don’t be stupid. If the soldiers catch you, you’ll all die. You know that." John’s frustrated expression makes me feel guilty for dismissing his help so quickly.
"Don’t bother, Thomas." I reach out and touch his arm, to distract him.
"Don’t call people that, Junebug. It’s rude. And she can’t kick me off her patrol for missing the ceremony. Besides," he added with a wink, "I can always hack into their database and wipe my record clean."
"Don’t ever do that again, you hear me? Don’t you dare."
"Don’t go back out there. It’s too dangerous."
"Don’t go out alone. News from the warfront is they’re cutting power to residences tonight to save energy for the airfield bases. So stay put, okay? The streets’ll be darker than usual."
"Don’t know if that’s what you wanted to hear."
"Don’t question it. You don’t have time for that." I hesitate.
"Don’t try it again," she says, "because you won’t be able to do it alone. You’ll need my help."
"Don’t worry," she says.
"Drop your weapons."
"Duck." I release my grip and shove him hard enough to make him fall to his knees.
"EAT SOMETHING, YEAH?"
"Each day means a new twenty-four hours. Each day means everything’s possible again. You live in the moment, you die in the moment, you take it all one day at a time." He looks toward the railway car’s open door, where streaks of dark water blanket the world.
"East, maybe. I’m more used to the inner sectors."
"Easy, there."
"Eden always gets sick, you know," I say after a while.
"Eden first," Mom whispers.
"Eden is dead," she says.
"Eden will be okay. Maybe this virus is less dangerous and he’ll recover on his own." There’s a pause.
"Elector’s Waltz," I murmur, recognizing the song.
"Emerson Adam Graham."
"Emerson what? Be specific."
"Emerson."
"Ever seen something like this?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
"Everyone out. I want a private word with the prisoner." She nods up at the security cameras positioned in each corner.
"Everyone will keep an eye on you," he reassures me.
"Everything is in place, Iparis," the commander replies.
"Everything working?"
"Exciting, don’t you think?"
"Execute him! Kill him now! Make sure the square broadcasts it!"
"Executioners."
"Fair enough."
"Fair enough." And with that, he leans his head back against the wall, sighs, and closes his eyes.
"Fantastic."
"Fetch me what you have. And see if you can raise a better brat."
"Few people ever kill for the right reasons, June," he said after a long silence.
"Fifteen."
"Fine Republic," he snaps.
"Fine."
"Fire at will!" he shouts.
"First things first. Day’s brother John. I plan to help him escape tomorrow night. No earlier than eleven P.M., no later than eleven thirty." Kaede gives me an incredulous look, but I ignore her.
"First your parents, and now your brother. I can’t imagine how hard it is for you."
"Five minutes. Say what you want and be done with it." I nod wordlessly.
"Follow Thomas down to the lobby, and I’ll meet you there."
"Follow me, Agent Iparis. And you too, Captain," Chian instructs.
"Follow me. And please gag him, if you don’t mind. We wouldn’t want him yelling obscenities the whole time, would we?" The soldier salutes again, then stuffs a cloth into my mouth.
"For John. An early birthday gift." My older brother turns nineteen later this week.
"For figuring out that the Republic killed your parents? And Day’s been framed?"
"For once, Iparis," she’d said, "do what you’re told and don’t question it." Then she added something about a surprise, the unexpected appearance of someone I care very much about.
"For once, I’d appreciate it if you would let me do my daily tours of duty without worrying myself sick over what you’re up to."
"For the moment. I’m glad to see you’re okay too. What are you doing here?"
"Forever and ever, kid, until you’re sick and tired of seeing me."
"Form up," she says.
"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?"
"Four forty-five P.M.," she says.
"Fourteen floors," I call back.
"Freeze. Stay where you are."
"From here, the sewers will take him deeper into the city or west to the ocean. He’ll choose the city—he’s probably too wounded to do otherwise. But it’s impossible to track him accurately now. If he has any sense, he’ll have taken half a dozen turns down there and done it in the sewer water too. He wouldn’t have touched the walls. He’ll give us nothing to track."
"GET ON YOUR FEET. IT’S TIME."
"Get back here!" one of them yells.
"Get him!" Commander Jameson yells out.
"Get this boy off the gurney and put him in some chains," she barks.
"Get up." He grabs one of my arms and pulls me roughly to my feet.
"Girl," he says, looking at Tess, "do you think he can leave by tomorrow night?"
"Glad to hear it," I say, looking sideways at Tess.
"Go to your induction. I’ll be sick either way."
"Going dark." I click my microphone off.
"Good morning, Day," she says.
"Good night, Ms. Iparis." He hurries away down the hall before I can respond.
"Good to find another person who knows what a Canto knot is. But I travel a lot, my friend. I see and know a lot of people, people who I might not be affiliated with."
"Good to know the flood warnings are still in place."
"Good to know," I said.
"Good. I’m glad to hear it."
"Good. Now, Day is obviously going to be trickier. His execution happens two evenings from now, at exactly six P.M. Ten minutes before that, I’ll be the first person leading him to the firing squad yard. I have a secure access ID—I should be able to get Day out through one of the east hall’s six back exits. Have some Patriots wait for us there. I expect a crowd of at least two thousand to show up for the execution, which means a crew of at least eighty security guards. The back exits need to be as sparsely guarded as possible. Do something—anything—to make sure most of the soldiers have to go help there. If the first block past Batalla Hall doesn’t have a lot of security, you’ll have enough of a head start to escape."
"Good. Send him in." She releases the button and points a finger at me.
"Good." Commander Jameson addresses me one final time.
"Got a minor injury in a Skiz fight. Nothing serious."
"Got it," Thomas says, and his side falls silent.
"Got what approved?"
"Grace," he said to Mom, "look what I found."
"Great birthday."
"Guess you can go now."
"Hands up. You’re under arrest for theft, vandalism, and trespassing."
"Hardly. They’ve graduated you early. Follow me—there’s something I want you to see."
"Have some."
"He almost died once when he was a baby. He caught some kind of pox, and had fevers and rashes and cried nonstop for a week. The soldiers came close to marking our door. But it obviously wasn’t the plague, and no one else seemed to have it." I shake my head.
"He did."
"He didn’t mean it, sir," John repeats.
"He knew what he was doing, Day." Tears appear in her eyes, too.
"He left," I whisper.
"He likes to be acquainted with cute girls."
"He looks thinner," I mutter.
"He might need our help."
"He never mentioned this to me. Last night he—well, I’ll take it up with Commander Jameson."
"He said it was all classified," I lie.
"He shouldn’t have done it," I whisper.
"He was exposed to his brothers. That young one’s Patient Zero, isn’t he? Maybe the medics didn’t pick it up back then."
"Hear that, Ollie?" I whisper.
"Hell if I know what that means. Neither does anyone else, for that matter." She leans over the counter toward me and lowers her voice.
"Hello, Ms. Iparis," he says.
"Hello," she says.
"Here. Have some water. I’m not allowed to let you die yet." I dribble water on his lips.
"Here’s how it works, Mr. Wing. I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to give me an answer. Let’s start with an easy one. How old are you?"
"Hey!" I said.
"Hey," I called out to her.
"Hey," I said again, "mind if I join you?"
"Hey," I say, tugging his ear the way I did when I was a kid, "I’m sorry I made you worry."
"Hey," I say.
"Hey," he replies.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey." I remember something else now.
"He’ll have no time to get them out, so he’ll probably hide them somewhere in the house. We should take them to Batalla Hall’s hospital wing. No one’s to be hurt. I want them there for questioning."
"He’ll start cooperating if he knows what’s good for him."
"He’s alive and walking around," Tess replies.
"He’s also left-handed. Interesting. He’s ambidextrous."
"He’s awake, ma’am."
"He’s here for his sister."
"He’s lost more weight. But he’s still alert, and he recognizes us. I think he has a few more weeks."
"He’s talking about me," I agree.
"He’s telling people that he has plague cures for someone who needs it. He says he knows that you’re injured. He never gave a name, but he must be talking about you."
"He’s too smart for that," I say under my breath.
"He’s very perceptive, isn’t he?"
"Hide it somewhere." My father paused for a second, then looked at John and me.
"Hmm? Do what?"
"Hmm? Oh, I’m fine." Thomas runs a hand through his slicked hair.
"Hold steady, June. Pay attention to the crowd."
"Hold still! Damn it, boy, I’m not going to hurt you."
"Hold still," he mutters.
"Hollow?" I put my ear against the ice-cold metal.
"How about this one?"
"How about this?"
"How about you answer that question first?" she snaps.
"How are my boys?" my father said after he finally let go of Mom.
"How are my brothers?"
"How are you feeling, my dear?" he asks.
"How are you feeling?"
"How are you?"
"How did you escape the labor camps? How did you end up terrorizing Los Angeles when you should’ve been working for the Republic?"
"How did you get that thing in your eye?" I gesture at my own.
"How do they know we’re in the Lake sector?"
"How do you do that?" I ask her.
"How do you know?"
"How do you know?" I ask.
"How fast did you climb those fourteen stories?"
"How is Day? Is he okay?"
"How old are you?"
"How’s your wound healing, by the way?"
"Hurry up," Commander Jameson snaps at me.
"I SHOULD BE THE ONE GOING OUT THERE. NOT YOU."
"I am right."
"I am so sorry for your loss," they say.
"I assume you made someone angry," she says, then snaps her fingers at the soldiers.
"I can barely stay awake," Metias had told me after his first night shift.
"I can see silver Notes peeking out of that man’s purse, for example." She flicks her eyes toward one of the customers at a vendor.
"I can see why Drake labeled you a troublemaker," she says.
"I can see why you’ve survived on the streets."
"I can take care of myself. Day isn’t a fool—if I have a team following me through the city, he’ll notice it in no time."
"I can tell subtle differences between colors, even though they may look a little blurry," Tess replies.
"I can’t say. Much of it is confidential. But I do know that several generals from the warfront have come to see him."
"I congratulate you, my dear."
"I couldn’t find any cures, and I didn’t have time to do a search."
"I couldn’t help it. But at least now it’s over with."
"I couldn’t sleep. I went up to the roof for a while and watched the streets."
"I could’ve taken it. I’ll fight back."
"I did not kill your brother." I reach out to touch her hand and wince at the pain that shoots up my arm.
"I did see you visit your family’s quarantine zone last night, and I overheard some guards talking about today’s sweep. They mentioned the house with the three-lined X. Hurry. I’m trying to help you—and I’m telling you that you have to go to them right now."
"I did."
"I didn’t do it," I say.
"I didn’t do it," she replies.
"I didn’t kill your brother." He pulls me close.
"I didn’t know the Elector’s son would be there." I see a mysterious emotion in his eyes—anger?
"I didn’t mean to hit him!" I yell back.
"I don’t deserve it."
"I don’t have a home."
"I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this," he begins.
"I don’t know who did. I’m sorry for injuring him at all—but I had to save my own life. I wish I’d had more time to think it through."
"I don’t know, but I think so."
"I don’t know," I murmur back.
"I don’t know. I have no interest in her." She nods at one of the soldiers.
"I don’t know."
"I don’t need girlfriends. I’ve got a baby sister to take care of."
"I don’t think so," she replies.
"I don’t think ‘excited’ is the best term for how I’m feeling," I reply.
"I don’t trust you enough for that. You can talk to us two, and I’ll see if it’s worth passing along."
"I don’t want to do this." Thomas’s voice grows softer.
"I don’t want you putting yourself in unnecessary danger. If there’s any way for me to help you, I’ll do it. Maybe I can sneak out with you sometimes and—"
"I don’t work for the government."
"I found these caught in the folds of your clothes and figured you might want them for your slingshot or something." She stuffs the bag into one of my pockets.
"I get back from a morning of dealing with the Patriot rebels and what do I hear about? Helicopters two blocks from Drake. A girl scaling a skyscraper."
"I guess so."
"I guess suppressants are better than nothing. I’ve dropped it off at your mother’s home already, along with your gift bundle. I went through the back and handed them all off to John. He says to tell you thanks."
"I hang around the edge of Batalla a lot. I like to watch the cadets practice."
"I have a few questions for you."
"I have no access to Eden, although I’m sure he’s still alive. John is doing as well as can be expected." When she looks up again, I see confusion and sadness in her eyes.
"I have no way of knowing where she is. She should be safe, as long as she stays low. I haven’t mentioned her to anyone. She hasn’t appeared in any of the recent arrests . . . or deaths."
"I have what you need," I say, and wave around the vial for emphasis.
"I haven’t gotten anything useful out of him yet. He’ll be dead soon, anyway."
"I hear he’s telling people he wants to give a plague cure to someone—one person only. That this person will know who he’s talking about."
"I heard you had a private conversation with Day this afternoon," Thomas says to me as we sit together, eating bowls of edame in a café.
"I hope that brother of yours starts doing a better job of minding you, because if you end up in my office one more time this quarter—"
"I hope you don’t mind waiting a few hours before eating," he says to me.
"I just don’t want you to go alone."
"I just heard about a man who’s been looking for you."
"I just want to make sure they’re okay."
"I knew you’d be a bigger nuisance than you’re worth. You have a knack for wasting my soldiers’ time. Not to mention the soldiers of several other commanders."
"I know I’m slowing you down." But I feel a surge of regret even as the words come out of my mouth.
"I know this is a rather warm morning, so we’ll keep the sentencing brief. As you can see, our soldiers are present and serve to remind you all to keep calm during these proceedings. Let me begin with an official announcement that on December twenty-first, at eight thirty-six A.M., Ocean Standard Time, the fifteen-year-old criminal known as Day was arrested and taken into military custody."
"I know what you mean." I reach over and pat his hand to reassure him.
"I know you need this," I say, gesturing again at the vial.
"I know you’re here, and I know why." She points toward John and my mother.
"I know you’re looking for me. You want t’see me so badly that you’ve been wandering through Alta’s bars for over an hour. What do you want? A rematch or something?"
"I know," I reply.
"I know." I take off my backpack and toss it to Kaede.
"I left him behind a long time ago."
"I live on the sector’s edge. Pretty safe there so far."
"I lost both my knives," I mutter, so that the man doesn’t hear me.
"I love you," I whispered, hoping to get something out of him.
"I loved your brother very much, you know," he continues with overdone sympathy.
"I might as well be talking to a dog." But to myself I think, Day’s words will matter if he’s telling the truth.
"I missed that ball on purpose." John laughs as he turns and jogs over to the ball.
"I need the bathroom," I whisper, my voice hoarse.
"I never did ask you about your street name. Why ‘Day’?"
"I never got your name. Guess it’s no big deal now, is it? You already know mine."
"I passed my Trial!"
"I promise I’ll have the money soon. All I need is one more lucky break, and I’ll be there, and we’ll have it for him."
"I promise you, I couldn’t have."
"I really miss him," she whispers.
"I received a full history of your grades there. Perfect scores—you’ve already finished most of your courses in half the number of years, yes? They also say you’re quite a troublemaker. Is this true?"
"I remember him as a kid—you should’ve seen him. He used to run around your parents’ living room, holding out his hand like a little gun. He was destined to enter our squads."
"I said I’ll see you tomorrow."
"I saw the helicopters over Drake at noon and had a . . . . suspicion June might’ve been involved."
"I scavenge on the streets. I end up traveling a lot."
"I shot a girl. She’d failed her Trial and tried to escape the stadium. Chian screamed at me to shoot her . . . and I listened."
"I shot someone at the Trial stadium today."
"I shouldn’t have watched the Skiz fight at all, but what can I say? Your friend looked like she could use some help." Then she shifts her gaze to me.
"I should’ve never saved you from that Skiz fight. I should’ve left you to die."
"I studied my brother’s crime scene report again last night." Her voice trickles to a whisper so that I have to lean forward to hear her.
"I suppose I should call you Daniel, though. Daniel Altan Wing. I managed to get that much out of your brother John."
"I suppose you must be excited, what with everything that’s going on," Thomas says as we file into the theater.
"I think I can leave you guys alone after another day," I say after a while.
"I think I got stabbed."
"I think I really did it."
"I think he would have preferred the firing squad."
"I think you really did it. What a run! Did you see the look on Day’s face?"
"I thought he would be around for a long time, you know, someone I could always lean on. He was all I had left. And now he’s gone, and I wish I knew why." She shakes her head slowly, as if defeated, and then lets her eyes meet mine again.
"I thought you were a smart one. . . ."
"I tied him up and delivered food to some quarantined families. Bite me."
"I told him that our airships will target his hometown next." She turns back to the prisoner.
"I want justice. And I want to free the boy who didn’t kill my brother."
"I want the current guards dismissed and thrown off my patrol."
"I want to ask you something, just out of curiosity. You heard anything about a man around here in the last few days, someone who says he has plague meds?"
"I want to give you this," I reply, handing the money to Kaede.
"I want to help Day escape before his execution. And I’ve heard that the Patriots have wanted to recruit him for a long time. You probably don’t want to see him dead, either. Maybe the Patriots and I can come to some sort of arrangement."
"I want to know why they took Eden away. The plague. I know you rich folks have it easy—new plague vaccinations every year and whatever meds you need. But haven’t you wondered . . . haven’t you wondered why it never goes away? Or why it comes back so regularly?"
"I want to leave too."
"I want to see my brother John," I say.
"I want to see you stand for your execution, and I won’t have you dying from infection before I’m through with you."
"I wanted my family to be safe too."
"I was afraid they’d mistake you for Day and shoot at you."
"I was pretty sick when you first met me. Remember how grimy I looked?"
"I was so excited when they told me you were awake. I just had to come and see you myself. You should feel pretty lucky—the medics say you’re plague-free, even after spending time with that infected lot you call a family."
"I was so pleased when Commander Jameson told me that you’d be tracking him. His case needs a pair of fresh eyes, and you’re just the doll to do it. What a gem of a test mission, eh?"
"I was wondering when you’d come." I hesitate for a second.
"I wish I could have stopped Thomas. You and I are enemies, make no mistake about that . . . but I did not wish for such a thing to happen." Then she straightens and begins to turn away.
"I wish him great luck in the election, then, although I’m sure he will not need it."
"I wonder what we would’ve been like if I’d been born into a life more like yours, and you had been born into mine. Would we be just like we are now? Would I be one of the Republic’s top soldiers? And would you be a famous criminal?"
"I won’t be long, I promise. I’m really sorry."
"I won’t have you saying that in my house, John."
"I won’t hurt you," I whisper in his ear.
"I won’t."
"I work for the Republic. We know a lot of things, some that might surprise you."
"I would highly suggest you not try that again," she snaps.
"I would rather die than see them hurt you. Understand?"
"I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those rings. Just taking a break from the sun. You seem like nice company, you know. I mean, as long as you don’t have the plague."
"If I ever kill, I’ll do it on my own terms."
"If I hear so much as one pair of footsteps heading our way," Kaede says, "I’ll kill you right here. Understand?"
"If I knew any of these people, do you really think I’d tell you?"
"If a boy killed someone you loved, wouldn’t you keep trying to figure out why he’d done it? I thought he might talk to me if the guards weren’t around. But I’ve given up on him. I’ll be happier when he’s dead."
"If there’s something we need to hear about, the generals will tell us."
"If they don’t back down soon, the commanders will make them regret it."
"If you don’t mind, Commander," he says, "has something happened? What’s going on?"
"If you see me floating unconscious out to sea, though—by all means, come and get me."
"If you want to leave in the morning, just go," I said to her.
"If you wanted me to wake up, you could’ve just tapped me."
"If you’re still feeling sick by tonight, I’ll file a report and send the plague patrol over to check you. You know, protocol. And if you need me to come over, just call me."
"Ill-tempered until the end, aren’t you?" She releases my head and tilts my chin up with a finger.
"Impressive aim. The knife is one of a pair, correct? See this pattern painted on the bottom of the blade? It cuts off abruptly."
"In case you didn’t know."
"In central Lake now. I’m going dark for a bit."
"In the southern swamplands between the two warfronts. It’s a genuine coin from nineteen-ninety. See the name? United States. It was real."
"Injured your hand yesterday, Ms. Whitaker?" I say after a while.
"Investigation?" I ask him with a frown.
"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.
"Is he alive?"
"Is it my turn?"
"Is it true? How high up did you get?"
"Is my family okay? Did some of the medicine survive my fall?"
"Is she alive? What’d you do with her?"
"Is that a challenge, kid?" she shouts.
"Is that a serious question? Don’t we all want more money? Can you ever have enough?"
"Is that so?" I whisper back.
"Is that what you’re saving up all that money for? A plague cure?"
"Is that you?"
"Is there any particular reason why you’re nicer than usual today?"
"Is there still room tonight? I can pay."
"Is this some kind of trick?" Day moves his injured leg a little and tenses up in pain.
"It depends. Do you have money?"
"It doesn’t seem to be contagious. And Eden’s skin still looks good. No bleeding."
"It doesn’t seem to be helping you. I can ask Commander Jameson to send someone else to give Day his water rations. I hate to think of you having to interact so much with your brother’s murderer."
"It has all its official labels, the stamp of approval. I assure you it’s the real thing."
"It matters because if you hadn’t escaped, my brother would be alive right now. And I want to make sure no other filthy street con assigned to the labor camps escapes the system—so that this scenario won’t play out ever again."
"It means a lot. I know Metias would be proud that he gave his life for his country."
"It seems like you’re in an awful hurry to stock up."
"It should’ve been me!"
"It sounded like . . . something gurgling," she whispers.
"It was quite a precise job. And when I think of precise, I think of one person. You."
"It’s Daniel."
"It’s Eden. John says everyone else is fine for now. But Eden can talk and seems alert enough. He tried to get out of bed and help your mother fix the leak under your sink, to prove he felt strong, but of course she sent him back to bed. She ripped up two of her shirts to use as cool cloths for Eden’s fever, so John said if you find any more clothes that fit Mom, he’d be happy to take them."
"It’s a pleasure to see you."
"It’s a trap. We’ll leave immediately."
"It’s all right. Let us hear what our friend has to say against the Republic."
"It’s five past midnight. I’ll give you two minutes. Then I leave."
"It’s hardly your fault. Your sister was caught scaling a high-rise during her lunch hour today. She’d wandered two blocks off campus to do it. As you know, students are to use only the climbing walls on campus for physical training, and leaving the campus in the middle of the day is forbidden—"
"It’s hollow."
"It’s me, Mom," I say.
"It’s more of an order than a request."
"It’s more proof." At first my father tried to show it only to Mom, but I managed to get a good look as he turned it over in his hands.
"It’s not that bad," she lies.
"It’s strange being here with you. I hardly know you. But . . . sometimes it feels like we’re the same person born into two different worlds."
"It’s strange," I say to Day later, as we both curl up on the floor.
"It’s the only way to survive, isn’t it?"
"It’s too dangerous for you if I stay. Trust me." My eyes flick to Mom, who’s working hard to keep her own fear in check while telling Eden a story.
"It’s too dangerous here, Day. You know it is. Arizona or Colorado would be safer—or come on, even Barstow. I don’t mind the outskirts."
"It’s unfortunate it’s under these circumstances again," he replies.
"It’s you," I say.
"I—" I begin.
"I—I can pay you. We don’t have much, but you can take whatever you want. Please." John’s hand comes down and grabs my arm.
"I’d be careful if I were you, boy," he spits.
"I’d be happy to take you in dead, if you prefer."
"I’d like to know what you’ve been up to, Ms. Iparis. I’ve been trying to contact you for the past twenty-four hours. I was ready to send some soldiers to collect you—and you and I both know how happy Commander Jameson would be about that."
"I’d like you to meet my mother," I say to her.
"I’d say that’s a win."
"I’ll be counting down the minutes!" Then she storms away and slams the cell door behind her.
"I’ll be fine," I reply.
"I’ll be fine." I smile.
"I’ll be home as early as I can. We have a lot to talk about." He puts his hands on my shoulders, ignores my puzzled look, and gives me a quick kiss on my forehead.
"I’ll be home late tonight," he says.
"I’ll be inducted either way," he said.
"I’ll be right back."
"I’ll go get us some water." She jumps up and heads down the open stairwell to the water’s edge.
"I’ll have some if you do," I say.
"I’ll leave that to you."
"I’ll let you know. Thanks." I hang up.
"I’ll look less suspicious than you," I reply.
"I’ll make a metal casing for it, something that covers both sides. I’ll weld it shut so the coin’s secure inside."
"I’ll see you on your execution day."
"I’ll see you soon."
"I’ll see you tomorrow."
"I’ll take my chances. And you didn’t have to come with me. You could’ve waited for me back in Alta."
"I’ll tell you nothing. You can try as hard as you want, but I’ll tell you nothing."
"I’ll tell you why it matters," she hisses.
"I’m a careful girl, when I’m not angry."
"I’m afraid that’s as long as I can keep you. The plague patrol’s going to do another sweep soon." He hesitates.
"I’m befriending a criminal, and pushing away people I’ve known my entire life."
"I’m faster this way. Seriously. Better that only one of us is out there hunting for the money. You won’t do Mom any good if you’re dead."
"I’m glad you think so." He drops fifty Notes on our table as the waiter comes by.
"I’m glad you’re relieved," Thomas says.
"I’m going to head down to the water. I’ll be back in a minute."
"I’m going to leave you here for a bit, so you can collect your thoughts. Meet me in two minutes in the third-floor stairwell so you can give the photographers some room." She glances once at Metias’s body before she turns away—for a brief second, her face softens.
"I’m going to see what we have for soup." I hear him leave the bedroom.
"I’m going to show you a series of photos, Mr. Wing," he says.
"I’m going to sleep awhile longer."
"I’m going to throw them off."
"I’m grateful for your help."
"I’m grateful for yours."
"I’m guessing Kaede was no friend of yours."
"I’m guessing they didn’t catch the person," I say to Thomas.
"I’m heading out to the track. Where’s Metias?"
"I’m here to negotiate with you." I meet her stare with calm eyes.
"I’m here," I murmur.
"I’m kinda proud of that one."
"I’m letting go," I whisper to the doctor.
"I’m looking forward to your execution, Day," she snarls at me.
"I’m not accusing you of anything, June." His expression turns tragic, even pleading.
"I’m not as good as she is," he whispers.
"I’m not cold and I’m not bleeding," I say to him.
"I’m not feeling well," I manage.
"I’m not going to wait for him to kill off my soldiers," she snaps back at me.
"I’m not going to wait up for you," I call after him, but by now he’s already inside and the jeep’s pulling away with him inside of it.
"I’m of the understanding that you are almost done with your training as an agent, correct? That you’ve already finished your courses on tracking?"
"I’m okay." When I push wet strands of her hair behind her ears, she looks up at me.
"I’m overseeing the lab at Los Angeles Central. They’re delivering vials of some mutated virus there—it shouldn’t take all night. And I already told you no. No missions." Metias hesitates.
"I’m personally devastated by the way he died," he says.
"I’m proud of you, Johnny. Good job."
"I’m so sorry for that," he says.
"I’m sorry about that, by the way," I say, gesturing at her arm.
"I’m sorry about your mother. My commander had promised me she wouldn’t hurt any civilians, and she went back on her word. I . . ." Her voice quivers.
"I’m sorry you had to deal with Thomas yesterday."
"I’m sorry," I whispered.
"I’m sorry," Thomas says abruptly to me.
"I’m sorry. Metias has been killed."
"I’m sure as hell not meeting him, whoever he is—but I got to admit, I’m curious to see what he has to say. What if he does have plague cures?"
"I’m sure you understand why I did it. I still have the wound you gave me."
"I’m well," I say again.
"I’m well."
"I’ve also included an electro-bomb. Level three. Worth six thousand Notes. It’ll disable guns for two minutes in a half-mile radius. I’m sure you know how difficult it can be to get one on the black market."
"I’ve got sixteen hundred Notes," I whisper.
"I’ve got to go," I say.
"I’ve never heard of the plague showing up there."
"I’ve never worked with the Patriots," I snap.
"John and I never got sick."
"June, I’m sorry about your brother. I didn’t know anything would happen to him."
"June, I’ve been meaning to ask you . . ." He hesitates.
"June, are you listening to me?"
"June," Day murmurs.
"June," a boy named Dorian says as he tags alongside us.
"June," he said, "I think I’m going to appeal for a different mentor tomorrow."
"June." Thomas’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts.
"June?" he says.
"June—"
"June—ah—Ms. Iparis won’t learn a thing if you keep praising her for breaking the rules."
"June’s heading home." Then he puts a hand firmly on my shoulder and guides me away from my classmates.
"Just because you pulled some pranks and played charity worker to some street scum? Well, let me tell you a secret. I’m from a poor sector too. But I followed the rules. I worked my way up, I earned my country’s respect. The rest of you people just sit around and complain and blame the state for your bad luck. Bunch of dirty, lazy cons." He punches me again.
"Just decided to waltz in here and break a few girls’ hearts? Or are you fighting?" She nods toward the Skiz fight.
"Just dehydrated and feverish. I think I ate something bad last night at the café. Tell Commander Jameson I should feel a little better by evening."
"Just some water, please," I say.
"Kaede, I need your help. I need to talk to the Patriots."
"Keep him up here for two days," Commander Jameson says.
"Keep moving, cousin," I mutter under my breath as Tess stops to laugh at some young gambler’s joke.
"Keep your clothes on."
"Kind of a luxury for a family of your type. You like wasting money often?"
"Know this person?"
"Know what I think? I think this guy’s just crazy."
"Lake boy, yeah?" she asks.
"Lake isn’t safe right now," I say.
"Leftover cases from an imported gift sent straight to our glorious Elector himself. Goes until six o’clock." His eyes dart around nervously as he says this.
"Let me ask you this, though. How the hell are you going to get Day out of the building at all? You think you’re going to be the only soldier escorting him to the firing squad? Other soldiers will probably flank you. Hell, a whole patrol might join you."
"Let me tell you a short story," she says.
"Let’s get this over with," I whisper.
"Let’s just go home."
"Let’s start again, shall we? What’s your name?"
"Let’s take him in," he says.
"Look!" he said.
"Look," I say.
"Look. Don’t worry about me." Through the glass, I see the spy arch his back in agony.
"Looks like you’re finally behaving. Better late than never." Then she walks away and disappears into the elevator with the Girl, leaving the rest of the soldiers to stand guard.
"Love you, Junebug," he says, his trademark good-bye.
"Lucky person, yeah?"
"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.
"Make them work for it. Punch someone if you have to." John gives me a sad, crooked smile.
"Maybe it’s the plague."
"Maybe the hospital will let down its guard after a couple weeks." But in my heart I know better.
"Maybe their reader’s broken," she suggests.
"Maybe they’re not home?"
"Maybe you should be the one to help us steal some food, not me," he continues.
"Maybe you should stop seeing him," he suggests after another long silence.
"Maybe you’ll be of use after all. I’ve called ahead to Drake and told them that you are dismissed from further training. You were almost done with your coursework anyway."
"Maybe you’ve forgotten that you still have two brothers. Both at the mercy of the Republic. Watch your tongue, unless you want to see their bodies lined up next to your mother’s."
"Maybe," I say.
"Medic trucks will be at the house tomorrow. We’re to take the inhabitants to the Central Hospital."
"Metias is doing a better job than our dead parents," I reply, maybe more sharply than I intended.
"Metias was very attentive during the time I mentored him. Natural leader. Did he ever tell you about that?"
"Metias, did our mother take care of me when I was sick? Did she do things like this?"
"Mom, listen. The plague patrol is coming, and they have a medic truck with them. Whatever virus Eden has . . . They’re coming to get him. We have to hide you all."
"Money is the most important thing in the world, you know. Money can buy you happiness, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. It’ll buy you relief, status, friends, safety . . . all sorts of things."
"More or less accounted for?" I say it sarcastically enough to make him blush.
"Morning," I say to her.
"Most do it for the wrong reasons. I just hope you never have to be in either category."
"Move it, Iparis. Time is of the essence." Her eyes flicker to Ollie in the backseat.
"Move out!"
"Mr. Emerson Adam Graham, of East Texas." Commander Jameson says it in a light, coaxing voice.
"Mr. Wing," he says.
"Mr. Wing," she says to me after a while.
"Ms. Iparis told me about what you did to her on the streets. How dare you force yourself onto someone of her rank."
"Ms. Iparis," he says, "you’re under investigation. Follow me."
"Ms. Iparis." Thomas’s voice comes out as a tiny hum that only I can hear.
"Ms. Iparis?" Thomas says.
"Must be a stronger strain."
"My Daniel. You’re alive. This must be a dream."
"My apologies."
"My brother was a better leader than I’ll ever be."
"My commander wants me to ask you some standard procedural questions before your execution date. We’ll try to keep it cordial, although of course we started off on the wrong foot."
"My dear boy," she says.
"My hands are tired," she says.
"My men will be at the entrances tonight."
"My mother will punish him for his behavior. He’s young and doesn’t know any better."
"My name is June Iparis."
"My name is Tess," she whispered.
"My name’s Metias. If you have any questions, come see me."
"My name’s Tess," I hear her say.
"My orders were to ask you a series of questions," he says tightly.
"My own soldiers had to be called in to help, which means my schedule is entirely disrupted. I’ve already had one of my best men sent in here with lacerations on his face. Filthy cons like you don’t know how to treat our military boys." She shoves my face away in disgust and turns her back on me.
"My son will run for the Elector’s position in late spring." The Elector smiles at Anden, who bows.
"Nah. I got this a long time ago." He hesitates, then decides against saying anything more about it.
"Neither of us is sick yet," she says.
"Never seen her in my life."
"Never seen him before."
"Nice of you to ask." I’m amazed she even cares.
"Nice of you to say so."
"Nice to hear something honest." I can’t break away from his stare.
"Nice try. You’re not going anywhere until you graduate and get assigned to your own patrol."
"No big deal." But I grit my teeth even as I say it.
"No goddy clue. You cost me a thousand Notes."
"No kidding. He said he wants this person to meet him at midnight, tonight, at the ten-second place."
"No matter. Time for you to get in a jeep. Back to headquarters." She makes a quick motion with her hand, and Thomas barks out an order.
"No offense. Just thought I’d ask. And how do you know I don’t work for someone else? Don’t you think you’re giving the government too much credit?"
"No way I’m taking you to see any other Patriots," she says.
"No, sir."
"No, stay with us!"
"No, you didn’t. You got a perfect score."
"No, you’re not."
"No," I snap.
"No," she said.
"No. I don’t think so." I lower my voice until it’s barely a whisper.
"No. I’m okay." I peer in the open window at my mother’s house, then catch my first glimpse of a familiar face.
"No. Tess was down there because she likes seeing the action and she’s a little nearsighted. I like watching from a distance."
"No. They’re using him. They’re using him." His voice grows quiet.
"No. They’ve tried recruiting me before, but I prefer to work alone."
"No. You take care of me the best," I murmured.
"No." It’s John’s voice.
"Nonsense, my dear," he says.
"Nope, no luck. I’ll try some public places tomorrow."
"Nope."
"Not a problem, Captain." The dean secretary waves her hand dismissively.
"Not good," he says.
"Not so loud, cousin." My voice comes out in a whisper through dry lips.
"Not sure. A boy and girl helped me get out of the Skiz chaos. The girl bandaged up my wound. I’m staying with them temporarily until I can walk better."
"Not that. The way you looked at him. Don’t you have any brains at all? You never look at an officer like that, do you understand? You want to get us all killed?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Not yet," John replies.
"Nothing more than a wounded shoulder? Maybe you should’ve double-checked." There’s a deep fury in her eyes, something that takes me aback.
"Nothing," I reply.
"Now I’m giving you a chance to save yours. Turn yourself in. Please. No one will get hurt."
"Now stop nagging me."
"Of course not." The Girl leans back and carefully lies down.
"Of course," I mutter.
"Of course. You’re fifteen. You went fourteen floors up a—" He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and steadies himself.
"Oh, Iparis," she replies.
"Oh, come on, that’s not all. I can tell you’d give anything to take a swing at me. So do it. I dare you."
"Oh, is that all you’re worried about? A bunch of renegade Trial takers who managed to escape their deaths? Those ten-year-olds are a dangerous bunch, yeah? I’m telling you that you got your facts wrong. I didn’t kill your brother. But you killed my mother. You might as well have held the gun to her head!"
"Oh, sure, even kids. It’s easy." I look at her.
"Oh, sure. You killed my mother. You can imagine I’m dying to help you out."
"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."
"Oh, trust me. I know."
"Oh." A pause.
"Oh." I didn’t know it back then, but now I can tell that Metias felt like he had shot me when he killed that little girl.
"Oh? What’s that?"
"Okay, Iparis," she says to the Girl.
"Okay, genius." Kaede laughs, a little too sarcastically.
"Okay, then. Sorry to hear it. Feel better soon." Another pause.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Okay," she replies.
"Okay," she whispered, so softly that I could barely hear her.
"Okay. We’ll have people over here twenty-four seven."
"Okay."
"One last time. Please."
"One more thing," Day whispers as I stand.
"One night a week, remember? Just let me check up on them one night a week."
"One of your headaches coming on?"
"Only once. A long time ago." Some of his dark hair falls across his face.
"Open up!"
"Open up," a man calls out.
"Open your eyes again and look at me."
"Or do you have skills to offer, as I’m sure you do—"
"Order! Please, order in the crowd." The judge’s voice crackles over the JumboTrons’ loudspeakers, but the people continue to shout, and soldiers push back against them.
"Ouch," I mutter as I rub my forehead.
"Over there," he snaps.
"Pat him down."
"Patched things up a bit. You’ll be able to stand for your execution." He pauses.
"People may find it easier to trust me." We’re standing in front of a window in Batalla Hall’s north wing, watching Commander Jameson at work on the other side of the glass.
"Perhaps he found me attractive. But most likely it was because he drank some cheap wine. I went with it. Didn’t want to compromise the mission after coming so far."
"Plague patrol," a voice calls out.
"Plague’s popped up in the Zein sector this time."
"Please continue."
"Please what?" Then I sighed, embarrassed by my irritation.
"Please, please."
"Please," she said.
"Please. Just let me in. I want to see you."
"Poor Eden." After a pause, she continues.
"Poor boy. You truly believed you could break out of a military stronghold, didn’t you?"
"Probably a month or more. We’ll find plague medicine before then, I’m sure of it."
"Protesters in front of Batalla Hall," she snaps.
"Protesters?"
"Put your hands up."
"Really? You think so?"
"Really?" I shake my head.
"Release the doctor!" he shouts.
"Ridiculous. Couldn’t the commander pick a less dramatic moment for this nonsense?"
"Right," he mutters.
"Right. We’ve already deployed. See you in a few."
"See for yourself."
"See that pitiful bunch?"
"See you later, Ms. Iparis," he says, tipping his hat.
"See? Evidence." He pressed it into her palm.
"Seen this girl before?"
"She always drags me past the bars around here and makes us wait nearby while she listens to whatever anthems they’re playing inside. I don’t know. Must be a girl thing."
"She did you a favor by not assigning you to the warfront. . . . She’ll be upset you’re skipping. Won’t she mark it on your record? You don’t want to be kicked out like some street con."
"She must’ve come in handy when she fixed up your leg."
"She prefers for me to escort you."
"She says to stay put and wait for her command."
"She seems very fragile," I whisper.
"She’s a bartender from the rim of Alta and Winter. Just a recent acquaintance."
"She’s just one less slum con to deal with."
"She’s looking forward to your execution, Mr. Wing. I can guarantee you that."
"Shoot, and you’ll hit him instead," I call out to the soldiers from beneath my handkerchief.
"Should be hard for any patrol to track us in this weather." I pause to watch him.
"Show me." The doctor lifts a trembling hand and pulls the fridge door open.
"Sir! Sir!" John darts in front of me and holds his hands out to the policeman.
"Sit back down," he says.
"Six minutes," I whisper back to my brother.
"So John turned back. He bought us time and he went back to the hall. They thought he was you. He even wore your blindfold. They grabbed him and took him back to the firing squad yard." She shakes her head again.
"So soon?"
"So tell me," I decide to ask.
"So there is, Daniel." He glanced up at our mother.
"So they are."
"So you want revenge for your brother’s death or something? Gonna turn your back on the Republic for Day’s sake?"
"So your brother’s friend murdered him, huh?" Kaede lets out a low whistle.
"So, Girl," I say after a while, "thanks for your help today. For Tess, I mean. Where’d you learn to fight like that? You broke Kaede’s arm without even trying."
"So, tell me," he whispers.
"So. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll continue with my patrol’s projects. For you, let’s test out your skills with a practice run. Show me how you’d track Day. Maybe you’ll get somewhere. Maybe not. But you’re a set of fresh young eyes, and if you impress me, I’ll promote you to be a full agent on this patrol. I’ll make you famous—the youngest agent out there."
"So. You’re Day, then."
"Some chili for you. It’s not the best, but it’ll fill you up. I’ll bring you some bread, too." Before either of us can say anything, he hurries out of the room with the rest of his groceries.
"Some of it." Tess helps me back down before leaning her elbows on my bed.
"Some of our tech used to be better," he’d tell me.
"Some of the stuff we saved up this week. It’ll make for a nice celebration once they pass the inspection." I dig through the little pile of goodies inside the bundle, then hold up a used pair of goggles.
"Some years ago, we caught a young renegade who had a great deal in common with you. Bold and brash, stupidly defiant, just as inconvenient. He tried to escape before his execution date too. Do you know what happened to him, Mr. Wing?" She reaches over, puts her hand on my forehead, and pushes me backward until my head presses against the wall.
"Somebody has to keep an eye on you." Two years younger than me—although sometimes she sounds old enough to be my caretaker.
"Someday you’ll die in a worse way than he did," I snap back.
"Someone needs to save Eden. So John saved you. As any brother would."
"Someone tampered with the security cams down here, so we have no footage." He taps his gun.
"Someone you care about will wish you’d come out to greet me." I look at the time on my goggles.
"Something bothering you?"
"Something to be said for writing my journals by hand, eh?"
"Something’s wrong," I whisper.
"Sometimes, Commander. Am I in trouble? Did they expel me?"
"Soon the plague will have blown through, and you can come back to visit. We have more than enough money for two train tickets."
"Sore loser, huh? Here, I’ll make you feel better. I’ll tell you all about what it was like. Hearing about it is the next best thing, isn’t it?"
"Sore," I mutter.
"Sorry to hear it, Day," Tess says.
"Sorry to hear it. You should try to swing more from your arm and not from your wrist."
"Sorry t’hear it."
"Sorry!" I shout.
"Sorry," I mutter.
"Sorry," he murmurs.
"Sorry," she replies.
"Sounds like you’re a fan of Lincoln, yeah?"
"Stay back!"
"Stay back, June!"
"Stay back, Tess," she says.
"Stay here," I whisper.
"Still don’t see them?" Tess whispers.
"Stop crying. I’m not going to hurt you." I knelt down beside her.
"Stop her!"
"Stop, please!" John rushes back to the policeman and stands firmly between the two of us.
"Street brats," he mutters.
"Such an honor to meet you, sir. It is my pleasure, Elector, to do what I can for our country." I’m amazed by how calm my voice is.
"Surely breaking a rule once in a while is tolerable, especially if you’re doing it to beef up your skills for the Republic’s sake. Victory against the Colonies. Right?"
"Suspended for a week? Do you want to explain this to me?" he demands.
"Take good care of her. She’s worth it."
"Take him away," she calls out to the soldiers holding me.
"Take him down to the hospital wing and get that leg of his fixed. Give him some food and water. He won’t last the night otherwise."
"Talk to me," he says.
"Tanagashi is pretty far away. You came all this way to see a Skiz fight?"
"Tanagashi sector. I mean, I used to live there."
"Tell me about what might have happened here, cadet," Commander Jameson demands.
"Tell me what happened. Why did he do it?" I shout.
"Tell me where my brothers are."
"Tell me where to get the plague cures."
"Tell me," I say, pausing to look at Thomas.
"Tell them—"
"Tell your boys outside to open the door," I say to the soldier I’m holding hostage.
"Tell your men to stand down," I shout, scrambling out of his grasp.
"Ten-second place?"
"Terrace accident. I tend cows."
"Tess loves music," he replies.
"Tess," I say.
"Tess. Is she your younger sister?"
"Tess?" I squint into the darkness.
"Thank you again, sir, for letting us stay here."
"Thank you for coming," I say.
"Thank you for finding this." I wonder if she can hear the sadness in my voice.
"Thank you for giving it back to me."
"Thank you for your cooperation," he begins.
"Thank you for your help," Metias says to the dean secretary.
"Thank you, my dear. That will be all. Please, Agent Iparis, enjoy yourself tonight. I hope we have a chance to meet again." Then he turns away.
"Thank you, sir," I say.
"Thank you," she murmurs to Tess.
"Thanks, I guess," I whisper.
"Thanks, but I prefer to work alone."
"Thanks, cousin, but I don’t drink. I like to stay alert."
"Thanks, cousin," I say.
"Thanks," I say.
"Thanks," I whisper.
"Thanks," he whispers.
"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."
"Thanks. When I feel better, I’m tracking Kaede down."
"Thanks. You too."
"Thanks. You’re very kind."
"Thanks." He doesn’t look back at me, but I can see his lips tilt up at the edges.
"Thanks." I blink water out of my eyes.
"That dress polishes you up like a fresh snow blossom."
"That imperfection was a gift from the Republic."
"That imperfection?"
"That is—I mean, you look well for the circumstances, given all that’s happened."
"That kid made it as far as the stairwell before we got him. When his execution date came, the court granted me permission to kill him personally instead of putting him in front of the firing squad." Her hand tightens on my forehead.
"That must be some sort of record. Not that, you know, you’re supposed to do it."
"That should heal soon, if it doesn’t get infected. But you might want to rest a couple of days. You can stay with us."
"That sounds vague. Did I show up on the security cams? Did Commander Jameson put you up to this?"
"That was fun."
"That was when you began your little crime spree on the streets, I guess. Five years. Seems like you grew used to getting away with things. Started letting your guard down, didn’t you? Did you ever work for anybody? Did anybody ever work for you? Were you ever affiliated with the Patriots?"
"That will be all, Mr. Wing," he says in a low voice.
"That will be all, Mr. Wing."
"That’ll do for now."
"That’s John!" I shout over the rain.
"That’s a nasty one, but nothing that can’t heal. I’ll try to find some goat milk for you in the morning. It’s good for you. Until then you’ll just have to spit on it. It’ll help with infections."
"That’s better." The Girl lowers her gun a little.
"That’s good." I study his face.
"That’s irrelevant."
"That’s it. We’re done here."
"That’s nonsense. The medics checked him already."
"That’s not a police dog, kid." Even now, her demeanor is unflinching.
"That’s odd," I say out loud.
"That’s our guy. And I’m going to get him."
"That’s really something," I continue.
"That’s ridiculous."
"That’s right. My brother."
"That’s the guy. I don’t think he’s very happy that I got a kiss from you and he hasn’t. So he interrogated me about the Patriots. Apparently Kaede’s a Patriot. Small world, huh?"
"That’s where he made his getaway," I say.
"That’s why I brought this. There are two hundred thousand Notes in there, minus what I handed you earlier. A decent fortune. It’s my reward money for capturing Day, and it should be enough payment for your assistance." My voice lowers.
"That’s why they wanted Eden, right?" he whispers.
"The Colonies want our land," the ads declare.
"The boy is John! What was he doing out there, out in the yard?"
"The captain named Metias."
"The commander informed me that they’ll sentence Day tomorrow morning," Thomas says a moment later, after we finish greeting a captain from the Emerald sector.
"The night of your tenth birthday? What were you doing in the lab? You were supposed to be on your way to the labor camps."
"The pauses in your keystrokes are off. You’re favoring your left hand."
"The people you’ll see are suspected of Patriot involvement."
"The prisoner in 6822. Cut off his fingers."
"The reception must have been bad, because I had it on. It was pretty windy last night."
"The rest of you, keep your rifles on him," he says over his shoulder.
"The second knife is stuck in the wall of the stairwell."
"The sooner the better, right?" The sudden edge in his voice startles me.
"Then fetch me that chicken too," the policeman says.
"Then send for extra troops. I want backup when Day shows up to protect his family." I remember the way Day had crawled under the floorboards.
"Then you must be responsible for stealing sixteen thousand five hundred Notes from there as well."
"There wasn’t enough time." She pauses.
"There will be other soldiers. But who says they can’t be Patriots in disguise?"
"There’s no time to explain." I try to ignore the expression in her eyes.
"There’s no time to run."
"There’s someone who wants to meet you."
"There’s something brewing," one of the police says.
"There’s something in your vest pocket, Dad," I said.
"These gentlemen tell me great things about you. That you’re a prodigy. And more important, you’ve put one of our most irritating criminals behind bars. So I thought it fitting that I congratulate you in person. If we had more patriotic young people like you, with minds as sharp as yours, we’d have won the war against the Colonies long ago. Wouldn’t you agree?" He pauses to look around at the others, and everyone murmurs in agreement.
"They are no longer your concern." She takes several steps forward.
"They came just for him?"
"They didn’t do anything . . . and Eden . . . he’s not a lab rat, you know." He’s silent for a minute.
"They don’t," I reply.
"They found another one," Tess says.
"They haven’t eaten dinner. They haven’t sat down by the table in hours." I shift and stretch out my bad knee.
"They injected something into one of my eyes that stung like wasp poison. They also cut up my knee. With a scalpel. Then they force-fed me some kind of medicine, and the next thing I knew . . . I was lying in a hospital basement with a bunch of other corpses. But I wasn’t dead." He laughs again.
"They want an execution? They’ll get one." He starts running away from us.
"They want to prevent whatever new disease he’s spreading."
"They want what they don’t have. Don’t let them conquer your homes! Support the cause!"
"They were good knives."
"They’re attacking the street police."
"They’re coming for Eden. You have to hide him."
"They’re here!" she shouts.
"They’re not dispersing them, Thomas. They’re trapping them in."
"They’re using him. . . ." His eyes grow heavy.
"They’ve lost their minds." We’re standing on the raised platform outside Batalla Hall with his entire patrol facing the crowd in front of us, while another of Commander Jameson’s patrols is pushing people back with shields and batons.
"Think about it this way. How do they know what vaccines to give you every year? They always work. Don’t you find it strange that they can make vaccines that match the new plague that’s popped up? How can they predict which vaccine they’ll need?"
"Think he’s Day?" Thomas asks.
"Think you can get away with something like that, boy?" he shouts.
"Think you’re a star, don’t you?" he says.
"This is Daniel, my little brother. He didn’t mean it."
"This is a dangerous thing to own," she whispered.
"This is my son, Anden. Today is his twentieth birthday, so I thought I would bring him with me to this lovely celebration."
"This is pocket change to the Patriots," she says after she finishes.
"This isn’t college. You don’t question my actions."
"Thomas!" I want to say more, but at that instant, shots ring out from both the roofs and the platform.
"Thomas, I’ll see you tomorrow."
"Thomas," I whisper, "I found him."
"Thomas. Take him back to his cell. And put some qualified guards on his watch, for once." She releases my chin and rubs her gloved hands together.
"Thomas." I tap him and point up to the roofs.
"Thomas?"
"Those street cons are all the same," Thomas goes on, echoing what I said to Day in his cell.
"Time for a few confessions. Were you responsible for the break-in at the Arcadia bank?"
"Tipped him off about whom you work for, didn’t you? Well, it’s your first time on your own. I have the recordings at any rate. See you back at Batalla Hall." Her rebuke stings a little.
"Tired?"
"To see the results of their mutated plague virus? Why else?"
"Today?"
"Tonight. Isn’t it great? You won’t have to agonize through another whole day."
"Try as hard as you want."
"Twelve hundred Notes can’t buy you this vial. What else do you have? Valuables? Jewelry?"
"Twelve hundred Notes."
"Unchain him," I order one of the soldiers.
"Under the porch," she whispers.
"Vendors always trust a girl more, especially one like you."
"Very clever of you."
"Very funny."
"Very well." I let myself think over my plans again, details of which have been running through my mind ever since I met Kaede last night.
"Wait for my word—no one’s to be harmed—" I start to say, but the static cuts off.
"Wait." With great effort, I swallow my temper and clear my throat.
"Waiting room’s on the left. Have a seat."
"Walk better?" Thomas’s voice rises.
"Was in a fight," I say, panting.
"Wasting a day of your life watching me sit in a cell. What fun."
"We have real Tsingtao beer today," he murmurs.
"We have to brace ourselves for the worst, Mom. In case Eden . . ."
"We haven’t caught the guy," he admits after a moment.
"We lost the Skiz bet, so there’s no money left for food right now."
"We met the Elector himself. Can you believe it? I call that a successful night. I’m glad you and Commander Jameson convinced me to wear something nice."
"We need to leave the city," she says.
"We should change those bandages." He gets up and, without disturbing Tess, deftly pulls a roll of white wraps from her pocket.
"We should leave the city for a couple weeks, yeah?" She tries to keep her voice calm, but the fear is there.
"We shouldn’t have traveled so much today—but y’know, putting some distance between you and the Skiz folks wasn’t such a bad idea."
"Well . . . can’t be any more dangerous than your crazy hospital break-in, yeah?"
"Well done, Agent Iparis." June gives her a quick salute.
"Well, I don’t want to stick around in here if it is some weird mutated plague. Call for a bio team. Let’s have him brought to the medical ward cells." The other soldier nods, then raps on the door.
"Well, I know I’ll be monitoring the soldiers in the square." Thomas keeps his attention on the rotating commercials (our side currently shows a bright, gaudy Is your child ’s Trial coming up? Send him to Ace Trials for a free tutoring consultation!).
"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?"
"Well, I’ll say." He lets out a laugh that makes me cringe.
"Well, I’m sorry you lost your chicken," I blurt out.
"Well, be careful." Thomas pauses for a moment.
"Well, don’t kill them," he murmurs.
"Well, go on. What about the square?"
"Well, many of them are here for a meeting of some sort. But they did make a point of stopping by the lab."
"Well, what did you have in mind?"
"Well, you heard Mr. Graham," she says.
"Well, you’re not going to go that long again with your mike off, you hear me?" he says.
"Were you responsible for the death of a city patrol captain during a raid on the Los Angeles Central Hospital? Did you steal medical supplies and break into floor three?"
"Were you responsible for vandalizing the Department of Intra-Defense two years ago, and destroying the engines of two warfront airships?"
"We’d be here all night if we kept negotiating. See how much faster that was? Much more persuasive to our target." She looks away.
"We’ll be on our way by then." Tess picks up a bottle of something clear—alcohol, I guess—and wets the edge of the bandage with it.
"We’ll be there, if you can make it."
"We’ll see," I finally say.
"We’ll see. Guess I’m picky like that."
"We’ll stay here for the night." I look at the Girl.
"We’ll stay here until late morning," he says as he works.
"We’re in Valencia. On the outskirts. The Patriots took us as far as they were willing. They’ve moved on to Vegas." June blinks water from her eyes.
"We’re moving up Day’s execution time."
"We’re not going to make it." Between us, Day has faded into a semiconscious state.
"We’re not keeping this in our house."
"We’re taking him alive!"
"We’re very grateful," I say.
"We’ve always wanted Day. He’d make a perfect Runner for us, y’know? But we’re not in the business of doing good deeds. We’re professionals, we have a long agenda, and it doesn’t involve charity projects." Tess opens her mouth to protest, but Kaede motions for her to stay quiet.
"We’ve tried a variety of tactics to catch Day in the past, but none of them have worked," Jameson told me just before she sent me home.
"We’ve tried your tactic. Now let’s try mine." She turns to the dark-haired captain and nods once.
"What . . . what happened? Are you all right? How did you get me out of Batalla Hall? Do they know you helped me?"
"What I’m trying to say . . . yesterday, when they dragged me out of my cell, I saw that red zero stamped on some double doors in Batalla Hall. I’ve seen numbers like it in Lake too. Why would they show up in the poor sectors? What are they doing out there—what are they pumping into the sectors?"
"What a beautiful boy you are." She gives me a smile laced with poison.
"What a joke! Poor little rich girl’s fallen in love with the Republic’s most famous criminal. And it’s even worse since you’re the reason he’s there in the first place. Right?"
"What a pleasure to formally meet you. I was beginning to worry that I’d never get the chance."
"What a shame. You sure you don’t wanna beer to go with that? Must hurt."
"What a waste of a good soldier." Then she shakes her head and leaves.
"What about our plan? Commander, with all due respect, we didn’t discuss killing civilians."
"What about you? Were you in the crowd?"
"What am I doing?" I whisper to Ollie, who tilts his head at me from where he’s lying on the couch.
"What are they doing with Eden?"
"What are they doing?" My voice rises.
"What are they going to do?"
"What are you doing here? Tell me what happened." He tries to steady his voice, but he knows something’s terribly wrong—something so serious that it forced me to reveal myself to my entire family.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"What are you talking about? I failed my Trial."
"What are you trying to say?"
"What are your symptoms?"
"What did you do?"
"What did you hear the first time?"
"What did you say to him?"
"What do I want?" I ask him.
"What do you mean by that?"
"What do you mean, they’re coming for my family? How do you know this?"
"What do you mean?"
"What do you mean?" Day says.
"What do you want for the cure, cousin?"
"What does it matter? I’m here now."
"What else can I tell you? Did they do at least another pass on the inventory check? Are you sure something’s missing?"
"What exactly does the Republic want with that boy? Why take him to the hospital lab?"
"What fun you are, my beautiful boy."
"What happened to your eye, kid?"
"What happened?"
"What happened?" she asks.
"What have you done with Eden?"
"What if you get sick?"
"What is it?"
"What is it?" June replies.
"What kind of minor injury is this?"
"What makes ya think I fight?"
"What makes you think I’m a Patriot?"
"What makes you think that, Ms. Iparis?"
"What part of Lake are you from? Are you from another sector?" She studies the Girl’s wound.
"What the hell is this!" She continues to shout at her soldiers.
"What the hell were you thinking? Did you know you’d wandered right off campus?"
"What was that?" she blurts out.
"What was your Trial score?"
"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?"
"What will we do with it?"
"What?" He stops wringing out his hair.
"Whatever," she says.
"What—" I begin to say, until I see John pull the blindfold off of Day’s neck.
"What’d you bring them?"
"What’d you say to him?" I ask Commander Jameson.
"What’ll it be?" she asks.
"What’s Commander Jameson telling you?" I ask Thomas.
"What’s going on? Where are you?"
"What’s wrong with these people?" I ask Thomas.
"What’s wrong?" His face turns pale at my expression.
"What’s wrong?" one of them snaps at me.
"What’s your name?" Commander Jameson asks him again.
"When June returns to campus, she’ll be on her best behavior."
"When you stand out there," John continues in a hoarse voice, "keep your chin up, all right? Don’t let them get to you."
"When you were out with Day in Lake sector, did he kiss you?"
"Where am I? Are you all right?"
"Where am I?"
"Where are my brothers?" My voice comes out as a hoarse croak.
"Where are my brothers?" he whispers.
"Where are they going?" she asks.
"Where are you going? Can I come with you?"
"Where did you find this?" Mom asked.
"Where will you go?" the boy asks.
"Where’s my brother?"
"Who did this to you?"
"Who do you think gave him that scar?"
"Who do you think is looking for you?" she asks after a while.
"Who knows what the crowd might do. They’re probably already gathering. As for you—you’ll probably be inside. Leading Day to the yard. Commander Jameson will tell us more when it’s time."
"Who said anything about you, sweetheart?" He takes off his vest, folds it neatly, and places it on the ground next to one of the trash bin’s wheels.
"Who would want to hurt Metias?" I ask him.
"Whoever hit him with this knife either stabbed him from close range or has an incredibly strong throwing arm. Right-handed." I run my fingers along the blood-caked handle.
"Whoever it was survived a two-and-a-half-story jump and still had enough strength to escape."
"Whose house are we in?"
"Who’s next?"
"Why did you save me?" she asks.
"Why didn’t she just call me?" I ask.
"Why do you ask?"
"Why do you care?"
"Why do you need so much money?"
"Why would the Republic give you those wounds, Day? Why would they want to damage someone who got a perfect fifteen hundred on his Trial score?"
"Why would the warfront be interested in Day’s little brother?"
"Why wouldn’t I be? You’ve probably lived on the streets as long as I have. You should know the answer to that, yeah?"
"Why? You afraid of me or something? Only brave enough to shoot people’s mothers?"
"Why?" My voice starts to rise.
"Why’d he do it?"
"Why’s he helping us?" I ask Tess in a low voice.
"Wipe some of that filth off your face. And if you touch me again, I’ll fill you with bullets."
"Withhold water from him for the rest of the day and move him to a cell at the end of the hall. Maybe he’ll be less temperamental in the morning." It’s weird to see the soldier salute someone so young.
"Won’t be long now."
"Wow, you’re a risk-taker. But your fighting is pretty impressive. I bet you don’t have much trouble on your own."
"Wrong answer. Let me be clear. You give me another wrong answer, and I’ll make sure you can hear your brother John’s screams all the way from here. You give me a third wrong answer, and your little brother, Eden, can share the same fate."
"Ya look like fun." Tess looks around, bewildered.
"Yeah . . . but she’s tougher than she looks."
"Yeah, I heard about that. There’s a bunch of people trying to find him."
"Yeah, close enough. It was really Tess I wanted to keep safe with my dust bomb, you know."
"Yeah, guess so."
"Yeah, is that what you told Metias?"
"Yeah, that’s a sad story. Tell me what the hell this has t’do with the Patriots."
"Yeah, you looked pretty awful."
"Yeah," I say to Thomas.
"Yeah. I’ve never seen Commander Jameson look so proud of any of her soldiers before. You’re the Republic’s golden girl." But then he falls right back into silence.
"Yeah. That’s what you say every time, Junebug. Is Drake not keeping your brain busy enough? If not, then I don’t know what will."
"Yeah. You’ve been coming here every night this week."
"Yes I do. What could possibly take this long?"
"Yes, Captain," the nurse says.
"Yes, Commander," I manage to say.
"Yes, I’m aware of that," Metias interrupts, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
"Yes, June. I twisted my wrist yesterday in a game of kivaball."
"Yes, ma’am."
"Yes, ma’am." As several of them hurry to click off the cameras, I see her take out two knives sheathed at her belt.
"Yes, ma’am." The soldier clicks his heels together before shouting a dismissal to the others.
"Yes, ma’am." Thomas salutes again, then starts barking out orders.
"Yes, ma’am." Thomas salutes and steps forward.
"Yes, sir," I say.
"Yes," I reply steadily, "he did."
"Yes," I say.
"Yes. No doubt about it."
"Yes. Rioters." Commander Jameson grabs my face.
"Yes."
"Yes." I look over to the elevator, where a new rotation of guards has just arrived.
"Yes." I nod at him.
"Yes." I pause.
"Yes?"
"You and I may have the same enemy," I say.
"You are very kind, sir."
"You bet big, don’t you? Sorry about that. She made me angry." She shifts.
"You call this a republic? You kill your own people and torture those who used to be your brothers?" I roll my eyes at that.
"You called for me, Commander," I say.
"You can ask."
"You can get out through the back door. Straight into the hall, on your left."
"You can see how well I did on my own today." She shakes her head.
"You can stay longer, if all you’re going to do is wander the streets somewhere else. I could use a good fighter like you. We can make quick cash in Skiz fights and split our food supplies. We’ll both do better."
"You can thank your captain friend for this."
"You can’t just leave like that!"
"You can’t stay there forever," the commander shouts up at me.
"You can’t trace or tag them online," he always said.
"You did!" My father clapped John on the back and shook his hand as if he were a man.
"You did? You’re the prodigy with the perfect score?"
"You didn’t bring your earpiece with you. I tried calling you but just got static."
"You didn’t do it," he repeats back at me.
"You didn’t have to stand up for me," I snap.
"You didn’t tell John what happened, did you?"
"You do the honors."
"You don’t have to come. Take a different route to the warfront and meet me there. We can decide on a rendezvous point. Better just to risk one of us than both."
"You don’t have to sit here with me, you know," I said to him after the pledge finished.
"You don’t have to talk me into it. But I’m coming with you."
"You don’t have to wake me up or say good-bye or anything." My eyelids were growing heavy, but she stayed wide awake, staring unblinkingly at me, even as I fell asleep.
"You don’t know that."
"You don’t like Chian?"
"You don’t need my help. You’re lying," she says.
"You don’t wanna see this."
"You don’t want two infected knees. I’ll help you clean them up and then you can be on your way again. You can have some of my food too. Pretty good deal, right?"
"You don’t? Where are your parents?"
"You followed me last night." I tell myself that I should be angry—but I don’t feel anything except confusion.
"You found it at the hospital that night, didn’t you? That’s how you recognized me when you finally found me—I must’ve reached for it."
"You get right to the point."
"You got that right."
"You guys must be loving this," I say after a while.
"You had it," I whisper.
"You have a right to be suspicious of me," I say.
"You have any tracking gear?" she says.
"You hit it too far," I protest.
"You like answering all my questions with your own questions?"
"You live close by?" I asked her.
"You look lovely, June."
"You look terrible."
"You managed to pass your Trial," I say.
"You may claim no affiliation with them, but perhaps some have crossed your path. And perhaps you’d like to help us find them."
"You might catch the plague down here."
"You might have a crack in one of your ribs, but definitely no breaks. You should heal quickly enough. Anyway, the man didn’t ask our names and so I didn’t ask his. Best not to know. I told him why you got yourself injured like this. I think it reminded him of his son."
"You must be Agent Iparis." His lips tug upward at my stunned expression, but there is little warmth in his smile.
"You must be as thrilled as I am to meet again. Call it an act of extreme kindness that I requested your leg be bandaged up," she snaps.
"You must be exhausted today. You’d better tell Commander Jameson, if you don’t want her to work you too hard."
"You need backup. Be reasonable. If something happens to you along the way, how will I know you’re in trouble?"
"You need more time," John says.
"You pulled a close one there—closest one yet. If I hadn’t found someone to take us in, I don’t think you would’ve made it."
"You really scared me today," he says.
"You should go find her," I say.
"You should have taken me with you," I whisper to him.
"You should leave now," he whispers.
"You should still be careful what you’re encouraging Ms. Iparis to do, especially with your parents gone."
"You still have time," Tess says to me.
"You sure you can make it by yourself?" she asks.
"You think I can keep that from him? Everyone’s heard about the break-in at the hospital by now, and John knows you’re hurt. He’s pretty angry about it."
"You think I did this?"
"You think the Republic is intentionally poisoning people? Day, you’re on dangerous ground."
"You think we go to labor camps if we fail? June, the only labor camps are the morgues in hospital basements."
"You threw everything away." I bring a hand up to touch her face, to wipe rain from her eyelashes.
"You try to walk in the light."
"You wait here. I’ll follow him. Keep low and stay quiet—someone will come back for you."
"You want a sip?" he asks me.
"You want your family to be safe. I understand that," she continues.
"You weren’t home last night."
"You won’t find it if you haven’t found it yet."
"You, there," he calls out.
"You. You’re just a kid—you never even went to college, you failed your Trial! How were you ever able to outsmart soldiers on the streets? How do you cause so much trouble?" She bares her teeth at me.
"Your Republic gave me that, too. On the same night I got my eye imperfection."
"Your Republic won’t last another decade. And all the better, too—once the Colonies take over your land, they’ll make better use of it than you have—"
"Your brother, Metias, is dead," she says.
"Your brother. I didn’t kill him—I couldn’t have. Unlike you trigger-happy trots, I don’t kill people."
"Your cloak knot. Don’t know what it is, but it sure doesn’t look civilian."
"Your entire life—your beliefs . . . Why would you do that for me?"
"Your face looks awful." There’s concern—and something else—in her expression.
"Your family had their door marked, didn’t they?"
"You’ll have your troops," he manages to say.
"You’ll need better reflexes than that if you want to pass your Trial’s physical tier."
"You’re a Republic soldier, and you turned Day in. Why should we trust you?"
"You’re a perceptive one, Girl," the boy says quietly.
"You’re a scary kid. So scare them. Okay? All the way until the end."
"You’re absolutely sure."
"You’re all dismissed for now. Tell your men to get some water and shade. And send an order up for your replacements to come early."
"You’re awake," he says to me.
"You’re awake."
"You’re being careful, right?" he asks.
"You’re brilliant," he says.
"You’re completely cracked. Listen to me, and listen to me good. All right? You never fight back. Ever. You do what the officers tell you, and you don’t argue with them." Some of the anger fades from his eyes.
"You’re delirious," I reply.
"You’re free. Get out of California while you can. They’ll keep hunting for us."
"You’re in Batalla Hall’s hospital wing. Agent Iparis ordered me to fix up your leg. Apparently we’re not allowed to let you die before your formal execution."
"You’re living a sweet life, you know. Tucked in a cozy apartment in some rich sector. You know if the Republic finds out you’ve been talking to me, they’ll put you in front of a firing squad. Same as Day."
"You’re lucky to have her with you." My eyes go to his leg.
"You’re lucky, then." I grow serious.
"You’re nearsighted. How can you see so much of what’s around you?"
"You’re not alone out there unless you choose to be."
"You’re not from the Lake sector, are you?"
"You’re not going to leave me too, are you? You’ll stay with me longer than Mom and Dad did?"
"You’re not going to take me in alive."
"You’re right," I say without missing a beat.
"You’re so kind," she says.
"You’re suicidal. You know how impossible this sounds?"
"You’re too late," she says.
"You’re very attractive."
"You’re very kind," I reply.
"You’re wasting your time," I call back to him.
"You’ve been knocked out for over two days. How are you feeling?"
"Yup," I murmur.
"—and to report any suspicious activity immediately to the street police or to the police headquarters closest to you. This officially concludes our sentencing."
"—by firing squad, to be carried out four days from today, on December twenty-seventh at six P.M., Ocean Standard Time, in an undisclosed location—"
"—from around the lake’s edge." The man tightens his gloves.
"—to be broadcast live across the city. Civilians are encouraged to stay vigilant for any possible criminal activity that may occur before and after the event—"
("The shutters on that building’s third-floor windows must’ve been scavenged from a rich sector. Solid cherrywood.")
(A serrated knife, just as I thought. Kaede is not a normal street beggar. She has the skills to get her hands on a nice weapon like that—which means she might be in the same line of business as Day. If I weren’t undercover, I’d arrest her right now and take her in for questioning.)
(Actually, she finds me.)
(Brass buttons, military boots, a blue pin on his sleeve. Which means he had disguised himself as a soldier, and we caught him near San Diego, the only city that requires everyone to wear those blue pins. I can tell what gave him away too. One of the brass buttons looks slightly flatter than those made in the Republic. He must have stitched on that button by himself—a button from an old Colonies uniform. Stupid. A mistake only a Colonies spy would make.)
(Can’t these street beggars stay a little farther from our jeep?)
(Eleven seconds so far. One hundred and nine seconds left before guns are functional again.)
(He’s discovered his gun is useless.)
(His accent’s from Ruby sector, and his uniform’s row of buttons are freshly polished. Pays attention to details.)
(I don’t know why, but she’s crazy good at this game.)
(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.)
(Male. He has a light accent—he’s not from Oregon or Nevada or Arizona or New Mexico or West Texas or any other Republic state. Native Southern Californian. He uses the familiar term cousin, something Lake sector civilians often use. He’s close enough to have seen me put the vial away. He’s not so close that the speakers can catch his voice clearly. He must be on an adjacent block with a good vantage point—a high floor.)
(Ninety-seven seconds left. Thirty-three soldiers heading opposite me—twelve heading in my direction—some flat screens have gone dark—must be the power cut—others show pandemonium in the crowd outside—something’s falling from the sky into the square—money! The Patriots are raining money down from the roofs. Half the crowd’s fighting to get out of the square while the other half’s scrambling for the Notes.)
(Not his first time. He’s definitely kissed other girls before, and quite a few at that. He’s—he seems like he’s short of breath. . . . )
(Notes, not Republic gold. He robs the upper class but doesn’t have the ability to rob the extremely wealthy. He’s probably a one-man operation.)
(Perhaps fifteen stories tall, judging from how the buildings on the shore sit and how the land slopes from the shoreline. Approximately six stories should be underwater.)
(Six feet long, human; feet and limbs look intact under the cloth; definitely didn’t fall naturally like that, so someone had to lay him out.)
(So far, every Patriot we’ve hunted down has killed himself before getting taken in.)
(That’s what the clicking sound was. He’s rewired the speakers so he can talk to me without giving away his location.)
(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.)
(The alley is narrow. He could have found enough footholds to jump his way up the walls to the second or third floors—all while using the guards’ weapons against them. Probably got them to shoot at each other. Probably smashed through a window. That would’ve taken just a few seconds. What he did once he got inside, I have no idea.)
(There is a streak of black grease on his forehead, probably from his own index finger. Which means he just finished polishing his rifle earlier in the evening, and his patrol’s inspection is tomorrow.)
(They have blue stripes on their sleeves—soldiers back from the warfront, or soldiers rotating out to the warfront. They keep their guns by their sides, with both hands on the weapon.)
(Waiting room is empty; they’ve cleared out all patients; guards are clustered near the stairwell entrance; that’s probably where the crime scene starts.)
(We’re covering about 5 feet a second; 27 times 5 equals 135 feet. In 135 feet, guns will be reactivated. I can already hear soldiers’ boots in the corridors adjacent to ours, pounding on the floor. Probably searching for us. We need at least 23 more seconds to get to the doors before they catch us in this hall. They’ll shoot us dead long before we can get out.)
, the soldiers remove my shackles and unchain me from my prison wall.
------------------------------------–
0001 HOURS.
0100 HOURS.
0317 HOURS.
0625 HOURS.
0800 HOURS.
1.
1347 HOURS.
1912 HOURS.
2.
200,000 REPUBLIC NOTES FOR
2329 HOURS.
2340 HOURS.
26
318
3A
52°F.
64°F OUTSIDE.
72°F INDOORS.
78°F.
A CRACK OF LIGHTNING, AN EXPLOSION OF THUNDER, the sound of pounding rain.
A Republic agent is going to help me escape.
A Sunday afternoon.
A bad fall, maybe.
A beautiful mystery.
A bird on one side, a man’s profile on the other.
A bit of gel comes off on his glove.
A black mask covers my face and infrared goggles shield my eyes.
A body.
A bottle of nectar wine sits between us.
A breath.
A bright afternoon in Lake sector.
A bright streak of blood stains one thick strand of my hair, painting a dark red streak into it.
A clicking sound echoes from somewhere far away, and the cat sitting on the trash can makes a run for it.
A couple of soldiers try to help her, but she shoves them away.
A cracked thought hits me and I want to laugh.
A criminal, a fugitive.
A dagger.
A dark, long-sleeved shirt is tied around my waist.
A decades-old car rattles by.
A deep gash runs across her shoulder, staining her shirt with blood.
A deep scarlet rage flashes across his face.
A dirty pair of goggles—probably protection against bar fights—hangs around her neck.
A distant siren shakes me out of my sleep.
A dog’s wet nose nudges my hand.
A familiar voice sounds out above me.
A few are about the Patriots—this time for another bombing up in Sacramento that killed half a dozen soldiers.
A few cadets, eleven-year-olds with yellow stripes on their sleeves, linger on the steps outside an academy, the old and worn Walt Disney Concert Hall letters almost completely faded.
A few even celebrate, because the Republic gives them one thousand Notes as a condolence gift.
A few girls notice me and blush when I look at them.
A few heads peek out at us from the other houses along the street.
A few more shots ring out.
A few of the louder protesters are approached by street police, cuffed, and dragged away.
A few others are tapped for politics and Congress, and some are chosen to stay behind and teach.
A few screams echo from the crowd.
A few terraces still have animals grazing at this hour.
A full minute of static passes before I hear Thomas answer me.
A good place for Day and me to take shelter.
A grin breaks out on her face.
A group of protesters have streaked their hair scarlet, imitating the bloodstained lock Day had when he’d stood out here for his sentencing.
A gust of freezing air hits us.
A hand grabs my chin.
A horrible pain in my left leg keeps my eyes and cheeks moist with tears.
A huge cheer erupts.
A knife slips out from the bottom of her tank top and clatters to the ground.
A laugh bubbles out of my throat and turns into a coughing fit.
A layer of smoke hovers perpetually over the water’s edge.
A line of soldiers hoist their guns, then point them at the boy.
A lone medic truck pulls up behind the military jeeps.
A lot of them must hate me.
A loud crash rings out from our house.
A low growl rumbles in Ollie’s throat.
A man walks in, shaking dirty drops of rain from an umbrella.
A memory flashes through my mind.
A memory of my seven-year-old self launching the flaming snowball into the police headquarters flickers through my mind.
A misspelled word.
A moment later, I realize what she wants to show me and where we are walking.
A month, maybe?
A new pain stabs at my chest.
A noise comes from one end of the crowd.
A nurse is cleaning bloody equipment at the sink.
A nurse spots me first, just outside the main doors.
A pair of medics come out last.
A pair of street police.
A panicked person is a dead person.
A part of me recalls the way he saved me from the Skiz fight, that he had helped me heal this burning wound in my side, that his hands had been so gentle.
A part of me wants to apologize, but I’m too overwhelmed by what just happened, too angry or anxious or relieved.
A perfect time to nab me before other recruiters do.
A pop.
A pretty weapon like that doesn’t cost much on the market—480 Notes, less than a stove.
A projection comes up.
A response to a command.
A second confirmation of Metias’s death.
A second later, I bolt upright.
A second later, I hear a familiar voice.
A secret code.
A series of images begin to run through my mind.
A sharp pain in my stomach forces a gasp out of me.
A shiver runs down my spine.
A shower of sparks.
A shriek echoes from the other end of the street.
A sick feeling rises in my stomach.
A slight pause.
A slow grin spreads across his face.
A small black backpack strapped to my shoulders.
A small parcel of money with a proposition.
A small red number—a zero—printed in the same style as the ones I’d seen underneath the porch of our house and under the banks of our sector’s lake.
A soldier from the hallway ushers him outside, then quickly relocks the door.
A soldier must’ve hit him across the head, or maybe his leg is giving him trouble.
A soldier must’ve hit me with the butt of a rifle.
A spasm of pain shoots up my injured leg.
A splash of turquoise in the corner of the balcony catches my eye.
A stab wound.
A standard-issue military cap.
A street policeman approaches and tells me to stop loitering, to keep moving.
A sudden fear seizes me: my cap.
A teacher once reported you for sneaking into a restricted area of the library, looking for old military texts.
A terrible feeling builds up in my chest—I know where this is going.
A terrifying question emerges in my mind, a question I’m too afraid to bring up.
A thick, full-length cape made from some sort of rich velvet.
A thin black aviator jacket.
A third one is short, only a paragraph long, and complains about working two night shifts in a row.
A tiny white-gold brooch of the Republic seal is clipped on its bodice.
A tooth skids across the floor.
A trait from our father.
A universal joke, but she still laughs.
A video recap plays behind the headline.
A vine tattoo snakes down her neck and disappears into her corseted shirt.
A voice yells out, "He’s hit!"
A volley of sparks engulfs the infected woman.
A wave of noise hits me—the gurgling and hissing sound that Tess heard earlier.
A website.
A white page pops up.
A white stripe runs down the center of it, all the way to the floor.
AGAIN.
AGE/GENDER: 15/M; PREV.
ALL LOS ANGELES CIVILIANS REQUIRED TO
AND HINDERING THE WAR EFFORT
AT LEAST 80°F.
About an hour passes.
About the same age my brother was.
Above me I can hear furious voices coming from the third-floor window as the soldiers realize they’re going to have to double back into the laboratory to disable the alarm.
Absolutely not, Iparis.
After GC 1/1: Heap: 8/12 MB
After I’d escaped from the lab and developed the habit of watching my family from a distance, I occasionally saw John sitting at our dining room table with his head in his hands, sobbing.
After a few minutes, Metias continues in a calmer voice.
After a few minutes, he comes back on again.
After a moment, June takes my hand and holds it against her cheek.
After a moment, she tells the soldier to hold off.
After a while I get up and look through the peephole.
After a while, I fall back into a deep sleep.
After a while, I get out of bed, fill a glass with water, and wander over to my computer.
After a while, I hear his breathing grow steady and see his head droop, and I know he’s fallen asleep.
After a while, I lift my head to see what Eden’s drawing now.
After a while, I rise and join Tess and the Girl.
After a while, I sit at a table near the front of the room, facing the flower-strewn altar that’ll soon be occupied with a line of people reading their eulogies to my brother.
After a while, she hurries back inside to tend to Eden, who has started to cry.
After a while, the policeman rewraps the money and tucks it into his vest pocket.
After all, Commander Jameson had given me only a few minutes to analyze Metias’s body, and I’d used the time poorly—but how could I have concentrated?
After an eternity, the headache finally starts to fade.
After he does this a couple times, I realize that he must have some sort of wound on his upper arm that stretches painfully whenever he reaches too far up or down.
After ignoring their offers for a while, I stopped hearing from them.
After several minutes, the shaft dead-ends.
After several more minutes of flirting, I say good-bye to the bartender girl and leave.
After the celebration ends, Thomas escorts me back to my apartment without saying a word.
After the sentencing, Commander Jameson doesn’t let her soldiers take me back to my cell.
After what seems like an eternity, we step into an enormous main hall with a high ceiling.
Afternoon approaches.
Afternoon comes.
Again I picture the woman crumpled on the street in her own blood, then quickly shake the image away.
Again we pass the double doors with the red number—then several doors under heavy guard and still others with large glass panels.
Ah.
All I can picture are Tess’s hunched, narrow shoulders and wide eyes.
All I can see standing in front of me is a man with blood on his hands.
All around me the JumboTrons blare their colorful campaigns, the sound of their ads distorted and jolty from the city speakers.
All around us I see candlelight flickering to life from window to glassless window, and here and there the locals light small fires along the edges of alleys.
All except Metias.
All eyes are on me.
All my anger and fear and anxiety now zero in on the back of his head.
All my anxiety might be for nothing.
All my training would have me block his hand and pin it to the ground.
All of them come from the journals written in the last few months.
All the air squeezes out of my chest.
All the lights in this military sector are on.
All the mourners wear their best whites.
All the photos on this page are taken at an angle.
All this flies through my head in a second before I can stop it.
All three are making thumbs-up gestures.
Almost like the streak of grease that was on Thomas’s forehead when I first saw him that night.
Already I could see tears welling up in her eyes.
Already she has started to circle me, stalking me like prey.
Already the sun has blurred my vision and the world looks bathed in a haze of sparkling diamonds.
Already the whispers have started in the streets and dark alleys, rumors that Day has cheated death once again.
Although it’s covered up by his sleeve, I can see that a sizable circle of blood stains the cloth there.
Although my side still burns, the pain is a little duller and I can walk with less effort than yesterday.
Always 800-plus.
Am I dreaming?
Am I?
An ID tag dangles from her neck.
An alarm goes off as I burst through the stairwell door.
An alarm will sound any minute now.
An elaborate Canto knot holds the top of her robe firmly in place.
An enormous crowd has turned out to watch me, held back and patrolled by an almost equally large platoon of gun-wielding soldiers.
An escort on a street corner who slipped me a note.
An expression I’ve never seen before, even when I first met her on the streets.
An hour.
An infection must’ve set in.
An inferior child with bad genes is no use to the country.
An old memory struggles to resurface—a needle injected into one of my eyes, a cold metal gurney and an overhead light—but it vanishes as soon as it comes.
An orphan would be a huge inconvenience.
And I have a sudden fear that somehow, some way, what he said in the dream will come true.
And I have one good leg.
And I let myself cry.
And Mom.
And Tess.
And Thomas knows it.
And a gun.
And as for what Day told me ... my temper rises at the thought of it.
And behind the plague is the Republic itself.
And get away with it?
And he would’ve gotten 850 only if he left his entire written portion blank.
And him showing up is all I hope for tonight—a clue, a starting point, a narrower direction, something personal about this boy criminal.
And if I discover proof that someone else killed Metias, for whatever reason, then I have no reason to hate him at all.
And if I feel like my afternoon drills aren’t teaching me enough about how to climb walls while carrying weapons, then ... well, it wasn’t my fault I had to scale the side of a nineteen-story building with a XM-621 gun strapped to my back.
And if she was lying ... well, why would she lie about saving me?
And if that much money was involved, he certainly would have planned more thoroughly and known when the laboratory’s next shipment of plague medicine would arrive.
And if we can’t even catch him, how are we going to win the war?
And if you choose to rebel, bring me with you.
And it’ll take several more minutes before the soldier I’d grabbed realizes that his ID tag is missing.
And just when I think he’s lost the strength to respond, his voice comes out sounding even more insistent.
And much to my surprise, I actually found a report on our parents’ car accident.
And not only that, but she reminds me of someone.
And now yet another patrol has started chasing away the stragglers gathered outside the square, where the streets are too chaotic and narrow to protest properly.
And now, because of my idiocy, she has tracked me right to my family.
And she’d be forced to take the Trial because she never took it before.
And so every time an interesting new virus appears in the meat factories, the scientists take samples and craft them into viruses that can infect humans.
And standing in front of him, unmoving and unprotected, is the Girl.
And still others might just be out there because of morbid curiosity.
And that a young Republic soldier helped him do it.
And that was that.
And that’s when I remember, with a nauseating feeling, the pendant in my pocket.
And the Republic will be happy that they’ve made an example out of another criminal.
And the medic truck sirens, almost certainly headed for Figueroa and Watson, have come by just as Thomas promised they would.
And then I remember the Skiz fight and the knife and the boy who saved me.
And then John’s in the cell, flanked by two guards.
And then come the pages and pages of documents detailing Day’s past crimes.
And then smoke and sparks pour from the guns.
And then the soldiers part—we’re outside.
And then the time comes.
And then they hand out mandatory vaccinations to everyone but a few slum sectors.
And those are the kids that are expected to fail, the ones who don’t pay attention or don’t have the capacity to.
And what will the Elector do about it?
And whenever that happens, the news spreads all over campus.
And why should I?
And yet ... a part of me still wants to kiss her, no matter how cracked a move it might be.
And yet.
Anden follows in his wake.
Anden smiles at my lingering gaze, gives me a perfect bow, then takes my hand in his.
Anger boils up in my chest.
Anger flashes across June’s face.
Another breath.
Another is a small red number:
Another is about the celebration we had together when I scored a 1500 on my Trial.
Another photo pops up.
Another photo.
Another possible sponsor is the Patriots—but if Day had been working for them on this job, one of the Patriots would’ve drawn their signature flag (thirteen red and white stripes, with fifty white dots on a blue rectangle) on a wall somewhere near the crime scene by now.
Another prodigy—and not just an average one.
Another soldier glances at him.
Another spells out his first week in Commander Jameson’s patrol.
Another time it was a boy with black eyes and no hair at all.
Another time, he broke into a bank vault but left the four security guards at its back entrance untouched—although a bit stupefied.
Another voice sounds in my head.
Anything to stop this mind-numbing wait.
Apparently Day has some detailed knowledge of how government uniforms look.
Apparently Kaede is a Patriot.
Apparently she just wants to slap me around with it.
Apparently the sun hasn’t baked all the attitude out of him yet.
Are they dying because of me?
Are we doing the right thing by following our orders?
Arisna Whitaker, the dean secretary herself, is seated behind her desk, tapping on its glass—no doubt typing up my report.
As I approach the third-floor door, I tear the ID tag off my necklace and pause long enough to swipe it against the door’s reader.
As I follow, Thomas gives me a small smile.
As I’m dragged toward the elevators, I see several large monitors—something I pause to admire for a second, as I’ve never seen them in the Lake sector—broadcasting exactly what Commander Jameson just told us.
As I’m licking the last of the chili off my fingers, I hear a door close somewhere in the house and, moments later, footsteps rushing toward our room.
As Metias opens the door and steps inside, I can see some girls out in the hall stifling smiles behind their hands.
As for Thomas ... he rarely sounds so firm with me.
As for my lost pendant, well ... for an instant I’m glad that my mother can’t find out about this, because it would break her heart.
As for my mother ... I’m not strong enough to think about her right now.
As if I’ve never been wounded before.
As if from a great distance, I can see that Thomas is still speaking, gesturing with his hands, pulling me to him for a hug.
As if his mother’s body might still be lying there on the street.
As my eyes stay turned up toward the roofs, I notice Commander Jameson step out onto the top of Batalla Hall flanked by soldiers.
As night falls on the third to last day of my life, I hear more shouting and pandemonium coming from the monitors outside my cell.
As soon as I ask this question, I hear a door close, then footsteps in the room next to ours.
As we draw near, I can see the crisscrossed lines of yellow tape surrounding the bottom of the tower, the clusters of city patrol soldiers (red stripes on their sleeves, like Metias), as well as some photographers and street police, the black vans and medic trucks.
As you can imagine, this didn’t go over very well.
At 6:00 A.
At first Congress didn’t know what to do with the crazy viruses that kept developing down there and killing off entire factories of animals.
At first I can’t make out what the shapes are—they seem jumbled, littered in random patterns under his busy hand.
At first I think it might be a trick of the light, but I notice it again when we pass by a bakery and admire the loaves of bread.
At first I think it’s a part of the faint pattern on the knife, but these marks are on top of the blood.
At first she whimpered and started to crawl away, but when I didn’t move, she paused to stare at me.
At first there’s nothing.
At first, nothing happens.
At least I have a family to worry about.
At least I managed to get some medicine.
At least I’ll get to see something other than gray cell walls, if only for a little while.
At least Tess is safe.
At least according to the Republic.
At least all three of them are healthy enough to walk.
At least they’re both still alive.
At least twice a month, I see my Wanted poster flashed on the JumboTrons scattered throughout downtown Los Angeles.
At least, I was careful to say things that I thought would please him.
At least, it seems like the home I remember.
At most other universities, there wouldn’t be so many student soldiers, but at Drake, almost all of us are well on our way to career assignments in the Republic’s military.
At some point, June joins us and falls into step near the back of the soldiers.
At that moment, I wanted to ask him why he was always gone even after his warfront rotation should’ve returned him home, why he never came to see us.
At that moment, I would give anything for a painkiller, or ice to put out the fire in my injured thigh, or even another bullet to put me out of my misery.
At the mention of Commander Jameson, I turn my face away, unsure that I want Thomas to register my reaction.
At the mention of John’s name, I lean forward and instantly regret it as my leg explodes in pain.
At this moment all I’m thinking about is what I’d give up for the chance to kiss her or to run my fingers through her dark hair.
Attendants linger at the doors of grocery stores and coffee shops, trying to win customers over.
Await further orders.
BARSTOW, CALIFORNIA.
BATALLA SECTOR.
BIRTH NAME: DANIEL ALTAN WING
BLOOD TYPE: ♢
BUT I SEE him get up and leave in the middle of the night, so I follow him.
BY FIRING SQUAD
BY FIRING SQUAD.
Back down the hall.
Back then, we all worried that John would be the one to fail the Trial, considering his trouble with reading.
Back to drag Day out into the yard.
Back toward the firing squad yard.
Barstow, quieter than inner Los Angeles, is still overcrowded with people.
Batalla Hall moves away from us.
Beautiful.
Because while the electric lights of downtown make for some nice sightseeing, I can also see the Trial stadium looming off in the east.
Become someone successful, or even famous.
Before GC: Heap: 42/54 MB
Before I black out, I realize that my pendant is no longer looped around my neck.
Before I can answer, the static cuts off.
Before I can think much about it, I hear footsteps and then a voice approaching the pier above us.
Before a publicized criminal goes off to face the firing squad, Batalla Hall broadcasts footage of them to all the JumboTrons in the square.
Before any of the soldiers can point a gun in our direction, I whip out one of my knives and hold it close to the man’s throat.
Before any of us can move, the policeman pulls a knife from his boot and marches over to me.
Before he can fire, my knife hits him hard in the shoulder and he falls backward with a thud.
Before he can react, I whirl, yank the gun out of his holster, and point it straight at him.
Before she can even catch her breath properly, she lets out an angry shout and lunges for me again.
Before she can stop me, I dart out of her grasp and sink my teeth deep into her hand.
Before the murder of Day’s mother, I would’ve smiled at him.
Before the robbery at this bank, Day had already appeared on our records three times.
Before they can start ushering me inside Batalla Hall, I catch a last glimpse of the Girl staring at me.
Before us looms the theater room’s giant Cube, a four-sided projector screen with one side pointed toward each block of seats.
Behind me I hear the laboratory door burst open and soldiers spill out.
Behind me, I hear splashes and the sounds of echoing voices.
Behind me, Thomas reaches for his gun as if in slow motion.
Behind me, a large circle of customers are cheering on a Skiz fight.
Behind the details flashing through my mind emerges a black, rising hatred.
Behind the facade lies a vast floor with no halls and no doors—just a gigantic room, doctors and nurses behind white masks, test tubes and pipettes, incubators and gurneys.
Behind the glass, the spy suddenly yells something at Commander Jameson and thrashes violently against his chains.
Behind us I hear a huge roar of cheers as one of the fighters goes down.
Beside her, I notice the boy glance at me.
Beside me, the doctor bows his head.
Besides ... I’d miss her.
Besides, Day wasn’t a mercenary in any of his past crimes.
Besides, I don’t want to know her name.
Besides, maybe I’m fooling myself to begin with—maybe the Girl is wrong and the patrols aren’t even coming for my family.
Besides.
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.
Best not to throw wild guesses at Thomas right now, lest he decide to jump the gun and send troops after me.
Best to keep her out of this.
Birds are uneasy.
Bits of blood stain the hilt.
Bits of dried blood flake off onto my hands.
Black hiking boots.
Blood lingers on my tongue—I shudder at the metallic taste.
Blood oozes from the edges of the bandage.
Blood runs from his mouth to his forehead and hair and drips onto the floor beneath him.
Blood stains his shirt.
Blood stains my vest.
Boats chug around the lake, careful to avoid the giant water turbines churning along the edge, and the shore’s flood sirens are quiet and unlit.
Boos.
Both Thomas and Commander Jameson had insisted I wear something nice.
Both her hands are wrapped in thick bandages—she must’ve cut herself on broken bottles or empty tins while cleaning out the trash cans around Union Station today.
Both of her knees had the skin ripped right off them, and the flesh underneath was scarlet and raw.
Bought them with 150 Notes from our stash.
Brave thoughts, but am I ready to follow through on them?
Broken lanterns and glass shards litter the floor of this room, and paint is peeling from every wall.
Brown clouds covered the sky.
Bullets rain down on the square.
Bullets spark all around me.
But 674?
But Day doesn’t stop.
But Day is not just any prodigy.
But Drake is the Republic’s best university, and seeing as how the best are always assigned into the military, our drill room is packed with students.
But Eden ... this time Eden was lying in bed with a cloth on his forehead.
But I always thought the plagues were spontaneous.
But I am a different person inside.
But I am.
But I can already hear Commander Jameson’s retort.
But I can see her preparing to kick.
But I can see the grin spreading on her face, and I realize that even though she thinks I’m crazy, she has also agreed to help.
But I can’t handle memories of Metias right now.
But I can’t win a fight against Thomas and all these guards without the element of surprise.
But I decide to be polite and look up at Thomas.
But I don’t mention to her why my parents died or what Metias had revealed about the plagues in his blog entries.
But I don’t remember seeing this before.
But I don’t.
But I doubt the crime scene photographer was so rushed that he would take such a bad set of photos.
But I fake some excitement.
But I force my temper down.
But I have a good view of them.
But I have to try.
But I just nod.
But I just see the Girl.
But I know Tess would’ve given me sad puppy eyes for the rest of the day.
But I know he’s close enough to see me himself.
But I know he’s going to be there.
But I know they’re here.
But I say nothing.
But I should not have said anything about the skinny girl they shoved into the ring.
But I smile graciously and bow my head, because I know they mean well.
But I try.
But I’d left my gun empty.
But I’m not giving up yet.
But I’m not in the mood to hear his voice right now.
But I’m ready for them—I hide behind the open fridge door as bullets ricochet off it.
But I’m tied to an operating table by a pair of belts.
But I’ve never seen a riot like this one, with hundreds of people risking their lives.
But John.
But John’s done nothing wrong.
But John’s the only one who knows I’m alive, and he’s promised not to tell Mom or Eden.
But Metias fixes his full attention on me.
But although I made her cry a few times, when I looked over my shoulder she’d still be there, trailing me a short distance away.
But as much as I expected this, I also hear something else that surprises me.
But as they leave the circle, the rest of the group rises and bows in their direction.
But at the same time, there’s an innocence that makes her completely different from most of the people I’ve met.
But becoming a union—that has never happened, and that will never happen.
But even as I say it, I don’t believe it.
But every now and then, when I steal a glance at the Girl, or feel her eyes on me, I helplessly drift back to thinking about her.
But every time I have this thought, I push it away—because Tess would be back on the Republic’s grid if she ever joined a real family.
But first I have to figure out how to get out of this cell.
But for my sake don’t do anything that’ll draw attention to you.
But he doesn’t set roadside bombs.
But he doesn’t.
But he remains expressionless, his gun still drawn.
But he was no fool, either.
But her eyes burn in the light, and although it’s hot and might be my imagination, I think I see a small smile on the girl’s face.
But her eyes linger on me in a way that refuses to let me.
But her icy demeanor stops me.
But his hand doesn’t move away from his gun.
But how would Eden keep up?
But instead I cover my ears.
But instead I stay hidden behind a chimney on a roof, crouched like a coward.
But instead the Girl just shakes her head.
But it startles me so much that without thinking I blurt out, "I could say the same about you." I pause.
But it’s going to happen anyway, starting tomorrow morning.
But it’s obvious she’s in pain.
But it’s pointless to say now.
But it’s too late now.
But my brother was Metias, and we never had trouble finding our way into the Trial databases with his hacks.
But my heart pounds against my chest.
But my legs can barely move, as if I’m wading through a thick sludge.
But my thoughts churn into rising panic.
But my wound has slowed me down.
But never in his tone of voice.
But no one talks about Day.
But nothing good can come out of falling for someone on the streets.
But nothing that can kill me or kill them.
But now I do nothing but sit perfectly still.
But now I’ll never know what he had to say.
But now he is my matched enemy—my target.
But now its screws and dials sit worn and lifeless in our laps.
But off in the distance, I hear the medic truck’s siren growing louder.
But she’s wrong.
But somehow the bread and cheese—still fresh from the shop where Tess had traded a few precious Notes for it—doesn’t seem tempting.
But something else distracted me.
But something seems different about the Girl this morning.
But that doesn’t make sense.
But that doesn’t mean I’ll leave her on her own.
But that was it.
But that’s not all.
But the alley is empty.
But the biggest thing that doesn’t compute for me is this: Day has never killed anyone before.
But the boy acts like this wine is the best thing in the world.
But the feeling just doesn’t come.
But the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
But the hospital is a dangerous place, and a sponsor would’ve had to pay Day a great deal of money.
But the instant the new girl steps into the circle and I see her stance ... I know I’ve made a big mistake.
But the number’s still there.
But the police here aren’t looking for us in the way police back in the metropolis must be.
But the real problem with having a gun isn’t the expense.
But the woman’s body lies unattended and abandoned.
But then I remember my brother’s words.
But then I’d thought that maybe I could pick up some valuable information from a group like this—so many locals, some who might even know Day personally.
But then again, maybe he’s really trying to make up with me.
But then they led me onto a train, and the train took us to the lab.
But then they remembered the Colonies war.
But then we’re off.
But there are a dozen reasons I can’t go, and Tess knows it.
But there are far more than a dozen soldiers in front of our house.
But there’s no sign of that—none of the soldiers wear gas masks.
But they’re also creating viruses to use against the Colonies.
But they’re here, some from afternoon drills and others from my Republic History 421 class.
But this feels different.
But this time I noticed that the last photo in that album felt unusually thick.
But too much has happened today ... Day’s interrogation, meeting the Elector Primo and his son, and then Thomas.
But unlike Day, his eyes are green and his expression uncertain.
But whatever she’s saying is only for Thomas, and I have no idea what she’s telling him.
But when he speaks, his voice has a sad tinge to it.
But while Thomas’s touch now repulses me, I feel no revulsion toward Day.
But who is the Day I met on the streets?
But you are mistaken to call him those things, my boy.
But you might as well have put a gun to my mother’s head.
By "people over here twenty-four seven," I know Thomas means he’s the only one there, listening for me.
By the door, I see Commander Jameson smile.
By the end of the week, I’ll tell Commander Jameson that I’m going to withdraw from her patrol.
By the time I finish going through all twelve of Metias’s journals, I’ve uncovered twenty-four misspelled words.
By the time we reach one of Drake’s outer streets and I climb into the backseat of our waiting military jeep, Metias can barely contain his anger.
COLONIES IN MADISON, DAKOTA.
Can she make it without someone there to watch her back?
Can you tell me why you did that?
Candles flicker by the shuttered bedroom window.
Can’t blame him.
Can’t bring myself to ask him how he can bear to follow orders so blindly.
Ceiling tiles.
Certainly not Congress.
Change of plans.
Chian holds open the curtain for us, then closes it behind him as we step inside.
Chian is a rather large man and has worked for the Trial’s administration for as long as I can remember.
Chian is not a man to make into an enemy.
Chian is standing at attention, and when Thomas releases my arm, I look over to see him doing the same.
Chian laughs.
Chian leads us through the banquet hall and across the dance floor, toward a thick navy curtain walling off a large part of the room.
Chian made me take the Trial twice because I got a perfect score in record time (one hour ten minutes).
Chian saws off a huge piece of steak and shoves it in his mouth.
Chian shushes me with a wave of his hand.
Chian smiles, distorting his scar, and claps his gloved hands together.
Chian ushers us out of the curtained area and back to the main ballroom.
Chian wrote notes on my interview report the whole time, while one of his assistants recorded the session with a tiny microphone.
Chian.
Clean bandages cover up the wound.
Clouds of steam float high in the distance.
Clusters of chatting officials smile at me when I pass, and my name is scattered through almost every conversation I overhear.
Combinations fly through my mind until one of them makes me pause.
Commander Baccarin was ordered to "find a way to smooth the whole matter over." The report ends by saying that the matter was resolved, without military casualties.
Commander Baccarin, another former student of Chian (you remember Chian, right?), submitted the report.
Commander Jameson bends down and smiles at him.
Commander Jameson chose not to tell me about this.
Commander Jameson convincing the court to move his execution up a whole day is unusual in itself.
Commander Jameson did not tell me that she intended to kill anyone from the house—we were supposed to take them all back to Batalla Hall for arrest and questioning.
Commander Jameson disappears out the door.
Commander Jameson doesn’t believe I can accomplish anything on this mission—her lack of interest is imprinted in every word of Thomas’s response.
Commander Jameson doesn’t bother to return my gesture.
Commander Jameson fixes her furious gaze on him.
Commander Jameson glances at June, but makes no motion to leave.
Commander Jameson had simply waved a dismissive hand when I asked her.
Commander Jameson halts in front of the white sheet, then bends down and throws it aside.
Commander Jameson has a pair of scissors in her hand.
Commander Jameson holds up a hand, then turns to her right while the soldiers drag me up to a platform.
Commander Jameson keeps her eyes forward and her hands behind her back.
Commander Jameson keeps pressing a hand against her ear, listening intently, then shouting orders.
Commander Jameson leads the soldiers to a flat circular stand in the middle of the roof, a stand with the Republic’s seal embedded in it and strings of heavy chains hooked around its rim.
Commander Jameson lets out a laugh.
Commander Jameson lets out a sharp laugh.
Commander Jameson lifts her chin.
Commander Jameson looks at me and pulls the pistol from her belt.
Commander Jameson must’ve sent him.
Commander Jameson nods.
Commander Jameson officially promoted him to fill my brother’s position, but Thomas has little power over what I choose to do on this test mission, and it drives him crazy.
Commander Jameson seems to relax a little, obviously relieved that my request is finished.
Commander Jameson shouldn’t need much convincing to let me escort Day out, and even Thomas sounds like he understands that I want to.
Commander Jameson sighs and nods to Thomas.
Commander Jameson sits opposite me on the far side of our banquet table, and between her and Thomas are three of my Drake classmates.
Commander Jameson slams me into the wall.
Commander Jameson smiles at Thomas, who smiles back.
Commander Jameson smiles.
Commander Jameson stands beside him, and to her right is the Girl.
Commander Jameson stops him before he can hit the spy again.
Commander Jameson walks over to me, bends down, and rests her elbow on one knee.
Commander Jameson walks up to my car door and raps twice on the window to get my attention.
Commander Jameson will boot me right off her patrol if we do something expensive like that, with nothing to show for it.
Commander Jameson will not be happy with me, I think.
Commander Jameson’s voice blares out from the intercoms a second later.
Congress bars you from high school.
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Could a teenage boy really wound him like that?
Create a free website or blog at WordPress.
Cryptic notes scrawled on alley walls above where I slept.
Curse this knife wound.
D L W G W U N O W M J W U T C E E L O F O O M B
DANGEROUS MENACE TO SOCIETY FINALLY CAUGHT
DANIEL ALTAN WING
DANIEL ALTAN WING EXECUTED DEC.
DANIEL ALTAN WING EXECUTED TODAY
DANIEL ALTAN WING.
DAY MUST HAVE THOUGHT I’D FALLEN ASLEEP.
DAY WILL BE EXECUTED TOMORROW EVENING.
DECEASED.
DESTRUCTION OF MILITARY PROPERTY,
DOMINANT ETHNICITY: MONGOLIAN
DRAKE UNIVERSITY, BATALLA SECTOR.
DURING THE FEW HOURS OF SLEEP I MANAGE TO GET before dawn, I dream of home.
Dad found out that the Republic engineers the annual plagues.
Dad had taken a photo of his workplace.
Dad never talked to us about his work.
Dad worked in those labs, and when he tried to quit, they killed him.
Dad’s official job in the Republic was to clean up after the warfront’s soldiers, of course, but there were always hints that this wasn’t the only job he had.
Damn this sore leg.
Damn trots.
Dark blood stains his shirt, his shoulder, his hands, the grooves of the knife hilt.
Dated a day after the car accident.
Day appears in my dreams.
Day could also have a sponsor who hired him to pull this stunt.
Day couldn’t have gone far—he has less than a half-minute lead on me.
Day could’ve made his escape without killing him.
Day did?
Day didn’t fail his Trial.
Day doesn’t take his eyes off me.
Day goes on one motorcycle—I go on another.
Day is good for forcing me into this dress, I want to say, but instead I just smooth down the already smooth fabric of my gown.
Day is well-spoken and logical, and he can read and write.
Day keeps a cap on and tilted low over his eyes.
Day killed Metias, Day killed Metias.
Day killed my brother.
Day laughs, but again it makes him cough.
Day leans toward me.
Day lets out a scream of agony, then goes down amid a circle of soldiers.
Day looks at me.
Day looks unsteady, as if he might pass out.
Day manages to focus his eyes on me.
Day once told me that he’d met Kaede in a bar here, at the edge of Alta and Winter.
Day pulls me to him.
Day rolls his eyes and looks away again.
Day scowls.
Day sighs.
Day smiles as if he’s about to fall asleep.
Day takes off his cap and wrings out his hair.
Day turns his head away and closes his eyes.
Day was there, in the hospital.
Day won’t be scampering up walls and stairwells for at least another week.
Day’s answers.
Day’s exploits used to fascinate me.
Day’s eyes look so terrified—so vulnerable—that suddenly it takes all my strength to lie to him.
Day’s pendant necklace sits snugly in my pocket.
Day’s pendant.
Defying him again.
Details race instantly through my mind.
Details zip around me like a highway of thoughts.
Determine the OS and get root privs.
Did Day hold some sort of grudge?
Did I really kiss her last night?
Did you know that?
Dim streaks of light, gray and waning, are filtering in through a nearby window.
Do you know what Dad wrote at the bottom of that photo?
Do you see where I’m going with this?
Doctors and soldiers look up at me with startled faces.
Does Thomas know something he’s keeping from me?
Does that make me the same as Thomas?
Don’t get too close to her, you trot.
Don’t let him get to you.
Dozens of soldiers stand in clusters around us.
Dried blood still clings to one long strand of hair, as if he chose to dye it.
During the chase, I broke three ribs and had a knife buried in my leg.
Dust everywhere ... and out of that emerged this beautiful boy with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, holding his hand out to help me to my feet.
Dust rains down from the ceiling, and sparks flicker through the air.
EDB.
EDEN SITS on the floor, drawing some sort of loopy shape on the floorboards.
EVACUATIONS MANDATED FOR:
EYES: BLUE.
Each gun has a sensor on it that reports its user’s hand shape, thumbprints, and location.
Each has a close-range rifle and an additional gun in his belt’s holsters.
Each of them wears a gas mask.
Each time I pull myself forward, I have to close my eyes and remind myself to breathe, that the metal walls around me are not closing in.
Each time she wins, she gets a cut of the overall bet on her opponent.
Each wears a standard uniform: black boots, black shirt with a single row of silver buttons, dark gray trousers, bulletproof vest, and a single silver armband.
Earlier in the day, I risked a peek at my mother’s house.
Earlier in the day, Tess had traded five Notes for a bucket of pygmy pig’s blood from the back alley of a kitchen.
Earlier, I’d peeked in on Day as the doctor operated on his leg.
Eden always seems to be drawing in my dreams.
Eden has already disappeared inside the medic truck.
Eden is doodling something on paper at the other end of the table.
Eden is only four and sits on our front door’s steps, looking on as John and I play a game of street hockey.
Eden lets out a pained yelp, and his head lolls to one side, resting against John’s neck.
Eden probably isn’t in Batalla Hall anymore, but I remember quite clearly what June said to me on the first day of my capture.
Eden screams and runs inside.
Eden turns ten ... in one month.
Eden walks by, then peeks out the window at the approaching soldiers and points some handmade metal contraption at them.
Eden wasn’t born yet—he was still inside Mom’s growing belly.
Eden will be okay for a while, and I don’t mind dealing with John’s lectures.
Eden would never have to stand outside our door on his tenth birthday, waiting for a bus to take him to the Trial stadium.
Eden.
Eden’s eyes—black and bleeding.
Electric lights shine from each floor—a luxury only government buildings and the elite’s homes can afford.
Electricity.
Enough to feed us for months ... but not enough to buy my family vials of plague medicine.
Especially one with a perfect score.
Even Commander Jameson, who’s testing me with this first task, knows we won’t get a glimpse of him.
Even Tess recognizes the sound.
Even as I hear the shouts of soldiers behind us, in the hall leading to the firing squad, I force myself to turn around and keep going.
Even at that age, I understood my father’s concern.
Even at this age, Eden is the most intelligent of us, and instead of joining in, he chooses to sit there tinkering with parts of an old turbine engine.
Even falling for her.
Even from a distance, I could tell that he’d already lost some weight.
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.
Even if one of them is infected, it’s early enough that they’ll still have a chance to recover.
Even if there is a knifelike slice in the sleeve over his shoulder, I can’t see it at this angle.
Even in this darkness, I can’t take my eyes off him.
Even my test mission to track Day must’ve been a diversion to distract me while they tossed out any remaining evidence.
Even now, exhausted and messy and completely soaked, he has an untamed sort of grace about him.
Even so, his eyes look glossier, and the blue irises take on a lovely, reflective sheen.
Even the Trial stadiums have postponed the Trials scheduled for the day the storm will arrive.
Even the hour has changed.
Even this makes me grit my teeth in pain.
Even this movement is enough to make my leg tremble from white-hot pain.
Even though Day and I know otherwise.
Even though his fingers are callused from years on the streets, they’re so careful and gentle that I feel heat rising on my cheeks.
Even tranquilizers.
Even with the door closed behind him, I can still hear the whispers and giggles from outside.
Every answer matches.
Every breath hurts.
Every few minutes he gets up and asks me to critique his art.
Every muscle in my body wants to end this now.
Every now and then, I hear another faint breath from the loudspeakers.
Every now and then, a tank rolls through, followed by several platoons of troops.
Every other memory from my childhood—looking out into the auditorium as I receive an award, or having soup made for me when I’m sick, or being scolded, or tucked into bed—those are with Metias.
Every photo is taken from an angle facing away from his wounds.
Every single one has a close-up of my face accompanied by frantic news headlines.
Every time I look through things like this, I hear Metias’s voice in my mind.
Every time they stop at a home, one soldier pounds on the door while a second stands next to him with his gun drawn.
Every wall on this floor is collapsed, so I can walk straight out to the building’s edge and ease my legs into the water.
Everyone knows the rules: if you’re chosen, you fight.
Everyone stops in the streets and goes still as the pledge starts.
Everything about me is stripped of color, just as Metias has been stripped from my life.
Everything around me looks blurred at the edges, as if I’m sprinting.
Everything feels dirty.
Everything happens so fast that I can barely register all of it.
Everything here feels wrong somehow, everything about this room—as if it’s all an illusion that will shatter if I reach out and touch it.
Everything’s going to work out.
Except for a few details that only I would notice.
Except it was not an accident.
Except this is all a lie.
Except we have no injured soldiers coming back to Los Angeles.
FAILED
FATALITIES: CAPTAIN METIAS IPARIS
FATHER: TAYLOR ARSLAN WING.
FFFADL.
FILE NO: 462178-3233 "DAY"
FOLLOW ME JUNE BUG.
FOR PATRIOT REBELS.
FOR THE EXECUTION OF DANIEL ALTAN WING.
Familiar noises surround me: street vendors call out to passersby, selling boiled goose eggs and fried dough and hot dogs.
Far be it from me to waste perfectly good food, especially when we should be saving everything we have for plague meds.
Farther across the lake I can see downtown Los Angeles sitting right next to the shore.
Feetfirst.
Fewer motorcycles and cars pass by on the streets.
Fifteen hundred Notes.
Fifty minutes.
Final Trial scores are common knowledge, but the actual Trial documents are never revealed—not even to criminal investigators.
Final requests.
Finally I hear footsteps approaching.
Finally I just gave up trying to talk to her.
Finally I put the journal aside and drift off into sleep.
Finally Kaede taps me frantically with her other hand.
Finally he tightens the bandage, tugs my shirt back into place, and pulls away.
Finally we reach the gleaming, terraced high-rises of Ruby, and we’re home.
Finally, I manage to add, "Well, I think you’ve had too much wine, my friend." I keep my voice as light as I can.
Finally, I pull my gloves on and tie a black handkerchief around my mouth and nose.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I hear a commotion out in the hall.
Finally, one of the soldiers barks out a command.
Finally, right before bedtime, I went over to where he was lying on the couch and snuggled under his arm.
Finally, she glances over at the edge of the roof.
Finally, she looks at me.
Finally, the last soldier shuts the door behind him and reaches for something tucked at his waist.
Finally, the one with the cocked rifle nods at the soldier standing next to him.
Finally, we arrive at the halls that lead into the firing squad yard.
Finally, when the sunset bathes my apartment in orange and gold, I break out of my trance.
First I make sure the knife in the photo is indeed buried in his chest.
First I type in Metias’s hack that allows me to access the Internet.
Five houses remain.
Five minutes, ten minutes, thirty minutes, an hour.
Five nights out in the field now.
Focus, I remind myself angrily.
Following close behind are soldiers restraining John, who shouts at them to leave our mother alone.
Footsteps echo above me, and I know he must’ve crossed the room to hug her.
Footsteps out in the hall.
Footsteps thundering everywhere.
For Tess’s sake?
For a brief moment, I’m actually glad that Metias isn’t the one waiting at the door.
For a brief moment, I’m lost to my surroundings.
For a girl with no family and no home, Tess is surprisingly optimistic.
For a moment I lie there blinded, completely helpless.
For a moment I’m glad that my mother isn’t alive to see me like this.
For a moment she looks so sweet that I can’t help but laugh.
For a moment, just a split second, I’m on Day’s side.
For a second I can see only blinding white light—the taste of blood fills my mouth.
For a while we thought he might work for the Colonies—but his jobs are crude, without high-tech equipment or noticeable funding behind them.
For an illogical moment, I’d thought she might mean my brother.
For an instant I can’t remember anything—not even my name.
For an instant, I think he might kiss me.
For my sake?
For once, my bad knee helps my disguise.
For several seconds, John and I just stare at each other.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like a little brother.
For the first time since waking up on the gurney, I realize I’m exhausted and slump my head against my chest.
For the first time, I look down at my body.
For the first time, I see an uncertain light come into their eyes.
For you.
Forty hours ago, I laid out a plan for tracking Day to Commander Jameson.
Forty minutes.
Four days.
Four pages of text, one page of photos.
From a distance, I blend in completely with those walking around me.
From here I can see all of downtown Los Angeles, as well as many of its surrounding sectors, and the thin rim of land that separates the enormous lake from the Pacific Ocean.
From here I can see just a hint of the person lying inside.
From here I can see the crowd of people gathered in the abandoned building next door.
From my pocket, I pull the three silver bullets Tess had given me, the three bullets from my hospital break-in.
From the corner of eye, I see Tess wince as well.
From the corner of my eye, I can see her watching me.
From the corner of my eye, I can see that Thomas is still looking at me.
From the corner of my eye, I see another black-clad official standing next to Thomas.
From the other beggars I hear stories about plague victims, which areas the police seem most nervous about, and which have started to recover.
From the outside, the third floor is completely hidden behind elaborate stone carvings and worn Republic flags.
From the rooftops I could already tell that there were about a dozen bars that matched the location and his description—here on the ground, I count out nine of them.
From up close I can see that Eden’s dark eyes have somehow turned black.
From where we sit, we can taste the salt in the air and see the lights of downtown Los Angeles reflected on the water.
Gas masks look down at me.
Get out of here before things get worse.
Giant waterwheels and turbines churn along the water’s edge behind veils of smoke.
Go down there! Why are you hiding on this roof?
God—am I making excuses to protect this boy now?
Going by the unspoken rules of Skiz, she must now fight until she loses a round—until her opponent throws her to the ground.
Going to the plague-infected areas of Lake makes her nervous, and she always comes back scratching at her arms—as if she can feel an infection spreading on her skin.
Gold cuff links on the sleeves of his black military tuxedo coat have the Colorado coat of arms engraved on them.
Good, very good.
Growing up, Thomas was awkward but always polite, especially to me.
Guards line the walls of this hospital room.
Guards with blank faces stand at the door, while two others hold my shackled arms.
Guess she doesn’t appreciate the "cousin" affection.
Guess this bar tolerates illegal gambling.
Guess who’s winning.
Guilt takes its place.
Guns are reactivated.
HAIR: BLOND, LONG.
HEIGHT: 5’10”
HURRICANE EVONIA HAS FINALLY STARTED TO CALM DOWN, but the rain, heavy and cold, continues to fall in sheets.
Had my brother done something to him in the past?
Had the Republic murdered relatives of my Drake classmates too, all those people who died in combat or in accidents or of illnesses?
Half a dozen of the onlookers are following me, and most of them look enraged.
Half an hour later, the boy starts to notice my fatigue again.
Halfway up, I grab the railing and fling myself to the next highest curve.
Have I done something to piss her off?
Have I just shamed the memory of my brother?
Have the streets of Lake turned me into some simpleminded girl?
He administered mine.
He approaches me and crosses his arms.
He asked the most questions.
He begins by listing off my crimes, then concludes, "In light of the defendant’s past felonies and, in particular, his offenses against the glorious nation of the Republic, the high court of California recommends the following verdict. Day is hereby sentenced to death—"
He blames me for his loss.
He breaks into a quarantine zone, enters a house marked with a three-lined X, and reappears several minutes later.
He calls Tess back and guides us over to one of the alleys, where a series of large metal trash bins sit wedged between two walls.
He can sense my exhaustion without my uttering a word.
He can’t lose Tess, too.
He carries a brown paper bag in his hands.
He catches it before the breeze can blow it away.
He catches my gaze for a second, and then he looks toward the rest of the patrol standing on the platform with us.
He chuckled, then took out the object.
He clears his throat.
He collapses facedown in the dirt.
He concentrates on breathing.
He cries out.
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t hesitate—not for a second—to obey our commander.
He didn’t want me to get hurt.
He didn’t want me to get in trouble.
He didn’t want me to resist Commander Jameson’s orders.
He does as I say.
He doesn’t act like a desperate street kid.
He doesn’t attempt assassinations.
He doesn’t blush, and his eyes don’t dart away.
He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop to question what I say, doesn’t even wonder why I didn’t tell him right away.
He doesn’t kill.
He doesn’t know either.
He doesn’t know what I’m thinking, but I know he recognizes the emotion on my face.
He doesn’t look at me.
He doesn’t miss a beat.
He doesn’t seem amused.
He doesn’t shoot soldiers.
He draws a little nearer.
He favors his left leg, for instance.
He fed me a purple slice of orange.
He flinches at first, but then opens his mouth and lets me pour a thin stream in.
He gestures toward the refrigerators.
He gets ready to shove it into the handcuffs.
He gives me a curious look and frowns slightly, as if he’s just remembered something.
He gives me a look laced with mischief.
He gives me a smile.
He glances at me now, notices me studying him, and pauses for a second.
He glances at the first photo projected on the wall.
He goes down, and I roll with him.
He grabs my collar and pulls me close.
He grabs my shoulders, then shakes me hard.
He grasps my hand in one quick, firm shake.
He grins at that.
He grins broadly at the sight of us and puts a hand on my shoulder.
He grins.
He had grabbed at the ghost of a necklace, the ghost of some trinket or thread.
He had managed to grow his hair long enough to tie it back in a tail.
He had taken me and Thomas, who was still in school, out to the Tanagashi sector, where I ate my first bowl of pork edame, with spaghetti and sweet onion rolls.
He has a gun pointed straight at my chest, but to my surprise, he doesn’t fire it.
He has a perfect score.
He has a strange expression, as if he’s angry or disappointed that I’ve forced him from his orderly state.
He has bright blue eyes, dirt on his face, and a beat-up old cap on, and at this moment, I think he might be the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.
He has so many more sides to him that I wonder if he has always lived in these poor sectors.
He has some sort of agenda to stop us from winning against the Colonies.
He hasn’t looked at me straight on since he tried kissing me last night in the hall.
He heads back toward Batalla Hall with several soldiers.
He held up a certificate.
He helps me to my feet.
He hits me again, then one of his knees slams into my stomach.
He hits me two more times.
He holds my hands in his own, and my heart pounds at the touch.
He holds out a pair of handcuffs.
He invites me to an early movie showing before we have to report to Batalla Hall.
He is already dead.
He is really sorry.
He just took my hand in his and headed for the train station.
He keeps an arm around my shoulders.
He kept one hand pressed protectively on her stomach.
He kissed my forehead.
He kisses me before I can say more.
He kisses me gently at first and then, as if he’s reaching for something more, he pushes me against the wall and kisses me harder.
He knows what I suspect, that I think the government may have killed our parents intentionally.
He laughs again.
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.
He leans against the wall beside me and rests his arms against his knees.
He lets me stare out at the darkened city as we go, occasionally shooting me a hesitant glance.
He lets out a dry laugh.
He lets out a scornful chuckle, but I can tell his anger is already fading.
He lets out a strangled whimper, and I can feel him sweating under my grip.
He lies crumpled in the center of the Republic seal.
He lifts the bandage away from my wound.
He lifts the knife and gets ready to hit me across the face with its handle.
He lingers for a moment outside my door.
He looks around the room as if searching for something he’s lost.
He looks as tidy as ever, with his perfectly slicked hair and perfectly ironed uniform.
He looks at me for a while without smiling, as if he knows what I’m doing, then returns to his vigil.
He looks at my mother again.
He looks different in person than he does in his portraits or on the city’s JumboTrons, where his skin has a much warmer color and no wrinkles.
He looks just like me.
He looks like an angel, if a broken one.
He looks like he wants to say something more, then decides against it and turns his eyes away.
He looks thinner and paler than he did before.
He looks uncomfortable being in the same room as me, and his expression says that he really hates me.
He looks worse now—as if all the color has been stripped from his skin.
He may not let himself lose his ability to focus, but I can tell that the wine has relaxed him.
He must be telling her about my injury, asking her if it’s safe to keep me out here alone.
He must have similar questions about me, how I’m able to pick out so many details of his life.
He needs plague meds desperately enough.
He never gets to finish that sentence.
He never looks up, but I can tell he’s listening to John’s story as well, laughing at the appropriate places.
He never would’ve written down anything that could be used as evidence.
He nods.
He offers this idea with such sincerity that I have to smile.
He once torched a whole squadron of fighter jets on an empty airfield in the middle of the night and has on two occasions grounded airships by crippling their engines.
He once vandalized the side of a military building.
He only shrugs, then peels off his gloves and starts washing his hands at one of the sinks.
He orders his men to spread out.
He passed his Trial fair and square.
He patted my cheek and smiled at John.
He points it at the room’s blank wall.
He presses his hand against his ear.
He probably disapproves of my stunts even more than Metias does.
He probably feels Metias’s absence as much as I do.
He pulls away first.
He pulls me to him.
He pushes one of them forward to give us some room.
He puts a hand on his belt, and I see the gleam of his gun’s handle.
He raises an eyebrow at me.
He reaches behind one of his boots and pulls out what looks like a compact kitchen knife (patternless silver handle, worn edge—he’s used it plenty of times before, and to saw through things much tougher than cloth).
He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small gray remote.
He reaches up and unlocks one of my hands from its chain, then clips it into the handcuffs.
He reaches up to touch my face.
He realizes that I’ve noticed his limp.
He returns my smile.
He said he’d keep it a secret.
He says nothing in return.
He sees my gesture and quickly adjusts his posture.
He should have passed his Trial’s interview portion.
He shouts something at her, something angry, and before Tess can apologize, I see him shove her roughly into the ring’s center.
He shrinks away.
He sits beside me and loosens the bottom two buttons of my shirt, then pushes it up until he exposes my bandaged waist.
He smiles at the sight of me, although there’s little joy in it.
He snaps his fingers at me, my cue to get up.
He sprays a third, vertical line on my mother’s door, cutting the X in half.
He squints at me, but stays quiet.
He stays quiet for a moment, one hand absently playing with my hair.
He stumbles and falls against the pavement.
He tells me to be careful, and that he will be monitoring anything that transmits through my microphone.
He thinks he should have protected me more.
He thought I had cheated.
He tightens his jaw, then balls up his fist and punches the spy hard in the stomach.
He tips his cap politely, as if in apology, then takes one of my arms and begins leading me away from Day’s soldiers.
He told me this because I’d asked him what our parents’ funeral was like.
He touches my arm with one gloved hand.
He touches the edge of his cap politely.
He trusts me—truly, stupidly, wholeheartedly trusts me.
He tumbles to the ground.
He turns and leaves the room without a word.
He turns his head in my direction as I approach.
He turns to climb back into the jeep.
He turns to face me.
He walks with what looks like a fake limp, and his mouth looks more like my father’s than my mother’s.
He was also careless enough to leave the ID tag behind.
He was trying to protect me.
He wears a gold-rimmed monocle over his right eye.
He wears goggles and a face mask.
He wears his air force rank first, unlike the Elector.
He wears white condor flight gloves with elaborate gold lining, which means he’s already completed fighter pilot training.
He went somewhere last night.
He winces, but doesn’t apologize for his change in tone.
He wipes a thumb across his mouth and smiles at me.
He won’t have a chance to do that tonight, though.
He won’t say it out loud, though.
He works fourteen-hour shifts in the neighborhood plant’s friction stoves and always comes home rubbing his eyes from the smoke.
He would have balked at letting me go undercover in the Lake sector for days on end, without a pair of strong backups and a team to follow me.
Heavy boots follow in their wake.
Help them! But that would only reveal their relation to me, and their fates would be sealed.
Help?
Helped me study more.
Her arm whacks my head.
Her cape hangs all the way to her feet, swathing her in gold-trimmed black.
Her cheeks turn pink as she works.
Her commander crosses her arms.
Her expression doesn’t change.
Her expression looks blank ... but behind it, something flickers.
Her expressionless face is turned toward the crowd—but once, just once, she turns to look at me before quickly looking away.
Her eyes are ice-cold.
Her eyes burn into mine.
Her eyes dart between John and me.
Her eyes dart to the blood on my arms and face.
Her eyes glint in the darkness.
Her eyes grow suspicious, then they widen.
Her eyes immediately shift to the bandage on my face.
Her eyes stay fixed on me.
Her face might give me courage, too.
Her hair smells like bread and cinnamon from the shop.
Her hair was short and blunt, cut off abruptly right below her chin, and red in the sunlight.
Her hand oozes blood.
Her hands are all bandaged up again.
Her injured hands tremble.
Her kick whooshes past me.
Her long ponytail swings behind.
Her other arm is wrapped in a tight cast.
Her sadness makes her impossibly beautiful, like snow blanketing a barren landscape.
Her thin lips are painted an angry stroke of red, and in the night her auburn hair looks dark brown—almost black.
Her tone doesn’t change.
Her touch sends warmth coursing through me.
Her voice is much colder than the Girl’s.
Her words are so similar to my thoughts about my mother that I can barely breathe.
Here is what’s really bothering him—I guess he found out about the kiss.
Here she has a precise, deliberate step, unmistakably that of the Republic’s elite.
Here the rooftops are too fragile for my air rope launcher.
He’d always loved our parents’ old-fashioned ways, and kept handwritten journals just like how they’d kept all these paper photos.
He’d always worked on understanding the plague viruses, of course, but he must have uncovered something that upset him enough to make him quietly file for a change in work assignment.
He’d asked me (unsuccessfully) to the annual Drake ball two years in a row.
He’d been quiet and withdrawn when he picked me up from school.
He’d carried out the extermination as if he were preparing for a routine plague sweep or for a night guarding an airfield.
He’d never have to follow dozens of other children up the stadium stairs and into the inner circle, or run laps while Trial admins study his breathing and posture, or answer pages and pages of stupid multiple-choice questions, or survive an interview in front of a half circle of impatient officials.
He’d never have to wait in one of several groups afterward, unsure which groups would return home and which group would be sent off to the so-called "labor camps."
He’d see my getup and know that I’m headed out to the track.
He’d stolen a case of bottles from a shop at Winter sector’s edge earlier in the evening and sold all but this one for a grand total of 650 Notes.
He’d wanted to talk to me about something important, right before he left.
He’ll know exactly where the ten-second place is, and that I’m either an agent sent by the government or by the black-market dealers that pay taxes to the government.
He’s a former acquaintance of our parents, so his presence is not unexpected—but why right next to me?
He’s a skilled official.
He’s about four or five years old, with cheeks still round with baby fat.
He’s afraid something might happen to me one day—like the car crash that took our parents.
He’s already lost his mother.
He’s amused.
He’s as flushed as I am.
He’s attacked the Republic’s military assets on his own, slowed down shipments to the warfront, and destroyed our warfront-bound airships and fighter jets.
He’s breathing hard now.
He’s caring, responsible.
He’s clever.
He’s dangling upside down in the interrogation room right now.
He’s decked out in his full uniform: black officer coat with double rows of gold buttons, gloves (neoprene, spectra lining, captain rank embroidery), shining epaulettes on his shoulders, formal military hat, black trousers, polished boots.
He’s drawing them with a bloodred crayon.
He’s exchanged his military clothes for an elegant, white-vested suit, and his hair is freshly cut.
He’s furious.
He’s in a good mood.
He’s listening patiently to one of his soldiers, but I see him study my face as if out of habit.
He’s never said it aloud, but I think he blames himself for what happened to me.
He’s never taken jobs for hire as far as I know, and it’s unlikely he’d start now.
He’s not a man like you and me.
He’s not going to show his face.
He’s screaming something unintelligible at us.
He’s sleeping soundly, but has pressed himself tightly against the side of the couch.
He’s so close to my face now that I can feel his breath against my cheek.
He’s stolen money, food, and goods.
He’s sweaty, and his pith helmet doesn’t protect his skin from the sun.
He’s taken the cap off his head, for once, and combed through the tangles in his hair.
He’s talking the whole time, but I can’t hear him.
He’s the most agile person I’ve ever met—he should have aced his Trial’s physical.
He’s the only piece of Metias I have left.
He’s too weak to talk.
He’s unhappy, and I somehow feel responsible.
He’s very much like his father, tall (six feet two inches) and quite regal looking, with dark curly hair.
He’s very pale and a little chubby, with bushy eyebrows and kindly eyes.
He’s waiting there for me to make my next move.
He’s wearing his old newsboy cap, but I can see a few strands of white-blond hair beneath it.
High ratio for what grade school taught us was an extinct country.
Hints like the stories he sometimes told about the Colonies and their glittering cities, their advanced technology and festive holidays.
His Trial looks as pristine as mine.
His agility is on par with the top students at Drake.
His blond hair spills out from beneath it.
His breath is shallow and raspy, so loud that I can hear it from down here.
His brother.
His commander sent him to kill a runaway prisoner of war from the Colonies.
His curls flash white-blond in the flickering lamplight.
His description didn’t match anything we have on file for Day—but the truth is, we know little about what he looks like, except that he’s young, like the kid at the hospital tonight.
His eye: maybe it wasn’t an injection but an extraction, something to test why his vision was so sharp.
His eyes are closed now.
His eyes are locked on mine.
His eyes burn right into me.
His eyes dart to me.
His eyes have taken on a furious glow, but he still holds back.
His eyes look me up and down.
His eyes stay on me for a moment.
His face is perfectly symmetrical, a mix of Anglo and Asian, beautiful behind the dirt and smudges.
His father had been a janitor for our apartment high-rise before he died, his late mother a cook at my grade school.
His guards turn away and hurry back the way they came.
His hair falls around his shoulders like a silk drape, one streak of it scarlet with blood, and his eyes look pained.
His hair, like most who live in our sector, hangs down past his shoulders and is tied back into a simple tail.
His hand reflexively moves to his gun.
His hands are shaking.
His hands brush against my waist as he works.
His hands seem intact, so he must have a prosthetic leg.
His head sways to one side—his bright blue eyes look dull and unfocused.
His heart: they fed him medicine to see how low his heart rate could go, and they were probably disappointed when his heart temporarily stopped.
His job was to clean up after the Republic’s soldiers, so he was usually gone, and Mom was left to raise us boys on her own.
His knee: they must have wanted to study his unusual physical abilities, his speed and agility.
His lips are so cracked that a little blood has trickled down to his chin.
His lips are warm and so soft—his hair brushes against my face.
His long hair brushes against me, and his eyes drown me in their depths.
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.
His look-alike brother, John, did not seem like a bad person when I questioned him in his cell—bargaining his life for Day’s, bargaining hidden money for Eden’s freedom.
His mouth feels warm and soft, and when he kisses me harder, I wrap my arm around his neck and kiss him back.
His posture tells me that he’s exhausted.
His questions went on forever, dozens and dozens of them, each more mind-bending than the last, until I couldn’t even be sure why I answered as I did.
His right eye is slightly paler than his left.
His shoes are caked with dirt—I know Mom must’ve scolded him about that.
His shoulders are slightly broader than mine.
His skin brushes against mine.
His skin is burned and his face drenched with sweat, but his eyes are still bright, if a bit unfocused.
His skin is burning hot.
His skin looked wan, and his voice sounded weak and hoarse.
His skin looks darker, and his hair is completely matted down with sweat.
His skin looks tan, not pale like I’d assumed it would.
His skin looks wan and sickly.
His soldiers fire several shots into the air.
His teeth are beautiful, the loveliest I’ve seen so far on these streets.
His uniform has enough badges and medals to sink him to the ocean’s bottom.
His vest is smudged with red clay.
His voice can make me forget about all the details running through my mind, bringing with it emotions of desire or fear instead, sometimes even anger, but always triggering something.
His voice grows excited.
His weak point.
His words could have come right out of Metias’s mouth.
His words distort the scars on his face—a slice across the bridge of his nose, and another jagged mark that goes from his ear to the bottom of his chin.
His words run through my mind until I can’t even understand them anymore.
Hit with balls of feet.
Hot and mucky.
Hours drag by.
Hours pass.
How can I laugh so soon after my brother’s death?
How could such a coldhearted criminal be a part of this family?
How did he break into this bank in ten seconds, with four armed guards at the back entrance?
How do I face a mother who’s thought I was dead for so many years?
How had that fateful night played out?
How ironic.
How will I save my brothers before then?
Hundreds more are in custody.
I ALMOST KISSED THE GIRL LAST NIGHT.
I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT DAY.
I DON’T HAVE TO SAY MUCH MORE TO CONVINCE DAY TO move.
I DON’T KNOW IF IT’S BECAUSE COMMANDER JAMESON has taken pity on me, or if she really does feel the loss of Metias, one of her most valued soldiers, but she helps me arrange his funeral—even though she’s never done that for one of her soldiers before.
I HARDLY RECOGNIZE DAY, EVEN THOUGH IT’S ONLY BEEN seven hours since the sentencing.
I HAVE NIGHTMARES AGAIN.
I LEARNED AT DRAKE THAT THE BEST WAY TO TRAVEL UNSEEN at night is by rooftop.
I REMEMBER GUNS AND LOUD voices, and the splash of ice water over my head.
I STILL REMEMBER THE DAY THAT MY BROTHER MISSED HIS induction ceremony into the Republic military.
I TRY TO BREAK OUT OF MY PRISON TONIGHT.
I WAKE UP AT DAWN.
I absently touch the knife wound at my own side.
I ache to pull her to me now and press my lips against hers and wash away the sorrow in her eyes.
I almost keel over before the soldiers prop me up.
I almost miss the streets of Lake.
I already hate him as much as I hate anything about the Colonies—he’s not affiliated with the Patriots, that’s for sure, but that just makes him more of a coward.
I already have John.
I already know how agile Day is.
I already know what he’s going to say.
I also pick out the bodyguards scattered among the officials.
I am no longer the Republic’s only prodigy with a perfect score.
I am respected, discussed, gossiped about.
I am smart.
I arch my back and scream.
I arrange my face in an expression of pure irritation.
I ask Eden for help, but he just giggles and tells us to do it ourselves.
I ask each bartender if he knows a girl with a vine tattoo.
I ask him to take care of Ollie while I’m gone.
I avoid it by turning away.
I barely catch it with the butt of my broom.
I begin breathing again.
I begin with Metias, and then his death.
I bend down and heave the manhole cover up, then lower myself down the ladder and into the blackness.
I bet they think I’m real desperate.
I bite down as hard as I can, until I taste blood.
I bite my tongue.
I blindly reach out a hand for my brother, and then I remember that he’s no longer there to take it.
I block her first two punches, but her third punch catches me across the jaw and makes my head spin.
I blush scarlet and thank every god in the world for the darkness surrounding us.
I bolt.
I bow my head respectfully to the Republic flags.
I bow my head.
I brace myself for the feeling of a blade against my skin.
I brace myself for the worst.
I brace myself.
I break into a run.
I break out in a cold sweat and see stars flicker in the corners of my vision.
I break out of my roll in time to trip a soldier flat on his back.
I brush aside more dirt, but no other symbols or words appear.
I bump my way through the mess of tables and chairs—snatching food from a couple of unguarded plates as I go, then stuffing it beneath my shirt—until I reach the bar.
I burst through the first-floor door into a sea of chaos.
I call out for her.
I call to him several times, but he refuses to walk any closer, so I’m forced to follow Commander Jameson and leave him behind.
I can afford to linger with these two for one more night, until I heal enough to return to tracking down information about Day.
I can barely make out the details on his shoulder and even on the knife.
I can breathe again.
I can feel my feet hanging off the end of a bed.
I can feel the soldiers’ eyes on me as I enter the bathroom and lock the door.
I can hear her humming some faint tune.
I can hear him yelling at me, but I don’t dare waste time looking back.
I can hear my mother’s voice toward the back, where our one bedroom is.
I can hear the amusement in her voice.
I can hear the buzz of other people in her office in the background.
I can keep saving up for Eden’s plague medicine.
I can only imagine how stressed-out he must’ve been over the last few hours.
I can read the displeasure in his eyes.
I can see Union Station several blocks away.
I can see her intelligence in every question she asks me and every observation she makes.
I can see the center of her bandage turning a dark red.
I can smell the moisture in the air.
I can still feel her eyes on my back.
I can still feel her lips against mine, the smooth, soft skin of her face and arms, the slight trembling of her hands.
I can still hear the noise and chaos from the onlookers.
I can still hear us laughing, still smell the warm aromas of baked chicken and fresh bread.
I can still remember his words.
I can still remember the relief in his eyes, the tremor of joy in his words.
I can still remember when Dad brought it home.
I can still use my arms.
I can tell Mom’s scolding him for something or other, probably for letting Eden peek out the window.
I can tell from the Girl’s face that she knows this already.
I can tell from their clothes—torn shirts and trousers, mismatched shoes filled with holes—that almost all of them are from the poor sectors near the lake.
I can tell from their tattered uniforms that they are POWs from the Colonies.
I can tell his leg is hurting.
I can tell it still hurts him to use his fingers, and his nails are dark with dried blood.
I can tell now that the building we’re perched on is abandoned and boarded up, and only two JumboTrons along this entire block are functional.
I can tell she’s still not convinced.
I can tell that it’s almost all our money.
I can tell the suit is brand-new.
I can understand that well enough.
I can’t believe I managed to pull away.
I can’t believe my stupidity.
I can’t bring myself to look at Thomas.
I can’t contain my anger anymore.
I can’t even concentrate enough to count them.
I can’t feel sorry for a Republic agent.
I can’t find the anger I used to have toward him.
I can’t forget the rifle grease smeared on the hilt of the knife that killed my brother.
I can’t get John out now—the entire day will be spent preparing for Day’s execution.
I can’t get the sound of those machine guns out of my head.
I can’t have its tracker follow me now.
I can’t hear the voice-over, but the text headlines are unmistakable: Disturbance outside Batalla Hall.
I can’t help Day escape.
I can’t help choking out a laugh.
I can’t help grinning, even though my face screams in pain.
I can’t help smiling.
I can’t hold back the tears that spring to my eyes.
I can’t hold it up anymore.
I can’t hold on any longer.
I can’t keep the memory of him away now that I’m staring at my pendant again.
I can’t keep the surprise from my face.
I can’t listen to this anymore.
I can’t make out my expression.
I can’t move them.
I can’t remember the first few.
I can’t see any of the blade.
I can’t see them once they rush inside, but I know the drill: a soldier will draw a blood sample from each family member, then plug it into a handheld reader and check for the plague.
I can’t smile back.
I can’t speak through the pain, so I just try to keep my eyes focused on him.
I can’t speak.
I can’t stop imagining what will happen if the soldiers mark my mother’s door.
I can’t stop thinking about John.
I can’t tell him that I own copies of all of Lincoln’s songs as well as some signed memorabilia, that I’ve seen her perform political anthems live at a city banquet or that she once wrote a song honoring each of the Republic’s warfront generals.
I can’t tell if adrenaline is keeping me from feeling other effects of my fall.
I can’t tell what she is, which isn’t unusual around here—Native, maybe, or Caucasian.
I can’t tell where he’s broadcasting from.
I can’t tell which shocks her more ... that I’m alive or that John seems to know all about it.
I can’t understand what she wants from me.
I carefully inch my way down to the ground—I’m agile, but I’m not Day—and follow shadowed alleys to the lakefront.
I catch a glimpse of our porch from where I lie on the ground.
I catch a glimpse of the gun at his belt.
I catch it with my broom and knock it back.
I certainly can’t get in trouble for staying in character while out on the streets, but it doesn’t take a genius to see how upset Thomas is.
I check each fight, although I’ve learned my lesson about standing far enough away from the circles.
I check them again to make sure there are no cracks in the glass.
I clean up the shining shards of broken glass.
I cleaned the girl’s knees with alcohol stolen from a bar, letting her bite down on a rag so she wouldn’t shriek and draw attention to us.
I clear my throat and concentrate on making my way to the water’s edge.
I clear my throat.
I clench my fist and spit right in his face.
I clench the loose dirt under me and make as tight a fist as I can.
I click my tongue and turn on my mike.
I climb to the roof of a nearby building.
I close my eyes and bury my head in my arms so that no one can see my face.
I close my eyes and think of Metias, of all my favorite memories and even the ones I’d rather forget, and I picture him bathed in light.
I close my eyes and try to think.
I close my eyes, recounting what he’d taught me.
I close my eyes.
I close my eyes—I’d trusted this girl, had been duped into kissing her.
I close the photo and click on another one.
I clutch my bleeding side as tightly as I can, and when I look around, I see money exchanging hands.
I collapse on the ground.
I concentrate on scratching Ollie behind his ears.
I cough, trying to spit out the dirt that fills my mouth.
I could barely make out her face because of all the soot on it.
I could destroy the airship altogether before it heads off to the warfront.
I could have killed him yesterday.
I could help John, Eden, and my mother escape right now, and risk running into the plague patrols or street police.
I could help them get to Arizona, or maybe West Texas, and after a while maybe the patrols won’t bother searching for them anymore.
I could hitch a ride on an airship, siphon off its precious fuel, then sell it on the market or divvy it up to people who need it.
I could still do it ... if I only knew where they were... .
I could tear the skin off her face right now if I weren’t tied up.
I could’ve just loaded some bullets into my gun and shot him dead and been done with it.
I count at least twenty, maybe more, all with white masks tied tightly around their mouths.
I count off the minutes to keep myself from passing out.
I count off the seconds in my head.
I count ten minutes off in my head, long enough so that new patients have arrived in the waiting room and the soldiers are less interested in me.
I count the houses between where the soldiers are now and where my family lives.
I count to three in my head, then bring my arms as far back as I can and give the shaft cover a mighty shove.
I cross my arms.
I cross the room with the doctor, then stop at the refrigerators.
I crouch down and dart through the hall, dodging soldiers and guns, slipping out of the hands that reach for me.
I crouch in the darkness for a while, look over my shoulder at the empty streets, then push aside the board and fall to my knees.
I crouch there, for once at a loss, unable to move.
I curl up and begin to fade away.
I curl up in a fetal position.
I curse myself for risking so much money in a Skiz bet instead of finding a more reliable way to get cash.
I curse silently under my breath and start to turn away—
I dart over to the loose board, carefully pull it aside a couple of feet, and then squeeze my way out.
I dart right through the opening before they can close it.
I decide not to ask why he doesn’t fight in Skiz himself.
I devour it all.
I didn’t act fast enough, and the brief hesitation in my voice was enough to convince him that he couldn’t trust me.
I didn’t do it, I want to scream, but no sound comes out.
I didn’t kill your brother.
I didn’t know our parents long enough to miss them in the same way Metias does.
I didn’t know that June had lost her parents—although I should have guessed it from the way she carries herself.
I didn’t think it was possible for it to hurt more than it did yesterday, but it does.
I distract myself by studying the details of his outfit.
I do not plan on catching Day tonight.
I do what John says and keep my chin up, my eyes blank.
I don’t answer him.
I don’t argue.
I don’t bother to wait for Tess’s reply before I take off down the street.
I don’t bring my guns—I don’t want anyone to track me to the plague sectors.
I don’t care how light he is on his feet—you just don’t jump out of buildings and then expect to be able to walk properly afterward.
I don’t care if soldiers find us in this railway car and drag us away.
I don’t care.
I don’t dare let the recognition show on my face.
I don’t dare linger.
I don’t dare move from my vigil.
I don’t dare take my eyes off her.
I don’t eat anything.
I don’t even get a chance to step inside the bar.
I don’t even inch from the sting of her words.
I don’t even plan on seeing him.
I don’t even stop when I accidentally collide with an old man.
I don’t expect June to take this question seriously, but she does.
I don’t feel like entertaining anyone.
I don’t fight him.
I don’t give a damn what happens to the Colonies or exactly what our Republic wants to inflict on them—but June, our own people are lab rats.
I don’t have to go far—none of these shafts will lead to the third floor.
I don’t hesitate.
I don’t just think I’m smart.
I don’t know if this is what sets off my anger.
I don’t know what I plan to do—wave my arms in front of the soldiers?
I don’t know when you’ll find these entries, but I know you’ll find them eventually.
I don’t know.
I don’t mind risking my own life.
I don’t move for the next few hours.
I don’t really understand what just happened.
I don’t reply.
I don’t salute when the Elector Primo’s name comes up.
I don’t see much more than blurs as we walk by—but I do manage to catch one thing.
I don’t see what the big deal is, though.
I don’t take in any details of the scene.
I don’t think I’ll ever smile again.
I don’t understand it.
I don’t wait around to hear Thomas’s reply.
I don’t wait to see him get up.
I don’t want her to think that she wrapped my wound badly, so I add, "Much better than yesterday, though."
I don’t want him to see the truth.
I don’t want to be anywhere else.
I don’t want to guess how long some of them have been here, or how much they had to pay to get in.
I don’t want to leave them so soon.
I don’t want to think about the possibility of losing Eden.
I don’t want you doing something rash.
I double over when I reach her and lean on my knees.
I doubt she even remembers what it is.
I doubt she planned for this.
I dream that Day has his arms wrapped around me and is kissing me again and again, his hands running up my arms and through my hair and around my waist, his chest pressed against mine, his breath against my cheeks and neck and ears.
I dress in a bathroom on the observation and analysis floor.
I dress in my full uniform.
I drop my own knife to the ground.
I ended up choosing a corseted sapphire dress lined with tiny diamonds.
I enlarge the photo again.
I especially shouldn’t be glad that I did it.
I estimate the direction the sewer cap is turned in.
I even tell Thomas, as we wander the lavish ballroom with its endless banquet tables and chandeliers, that arresting Day has filled the gaping hole Metias’s death left in my life.
I even tried shouting at her.
I exchange a brief smile with Tess, who gathers up our winnings and stuffs it into the pouch.
I exchange a desperate look with my mother.
I exchange a friendly look with Thomas, the soldier in the driver’s seat.
I exchange a look with John and keep going.
I exchange a look with her, and I can tell that this is something she’s been trying in vain to convince Kaede to do ever since Day was arrested.
I exchange a strained smile with them.
I fall asleep with Day’s words ringing in my ears.
I fall back to the ground.
I fall silent.
I fall to my knees.
I feel a brief pang of guilt for my coldness and decide to nod back at him.
I feel a strange warmth at the sound of my name on his lips.
I feel a surprising pang of guilt.
I feel a tear on my cheek and quickly wipe it away.
I feel a weird tinge of sympathy and quickly push it away.
I feel hands pin my arms and legs down.
I feel my cheeks growing warm and suddenly look away, glad for the coming darkness.
I feel myself being dragged back onto my feet.
I feel nothing.
I feel the knife at his waist against my own skin, and I tremble.
I feel two rubber bullets hit him in the shoulder.
I feel wrong ... like I did a terrible thing by betraying a boy who trusted me.
I fight hard to breathe.
I fight to clear my head.
I fight to concentrate, but I feel myself fall to the floor.
I fight to contain my irritation.
I find a dark spot in the alley and collapse.
I find a third word: bourgeoisie, spelled bowrgeoisie.
I find an open port in the system after an hour of scanning and then take over admin privileges.
I find myself itching to break into a smile—I know this is news that will make Day very happy.
I find myself looking forward to the execution.
I find nothing substantial the next day, or the day after that.
I fit another bullet to my slingshot and point it in the Girl’s direction.
I fit one of them into my makeshift slingshot.
I fit the last bullet into my slingshot and point it straight at her.
I flinch when she touches it to where a bullet had grazed my arm.
I flinch, but then I open my mouth to catch some of it.
I flinched in surprise.
I flip through Metias’s writing and reread the little notes Dad liked to leave at the bottom of their photos.
I focus on the sound of the siren to distract myself.
I follow Metias’s instructions and delete every last trace of his blog.
I force myself to look on as they try to pry information out of him.
I force myself to scroll to a different document.
I force myself to think.
I freeze.
I frown, confused.
I frown, then brush aside more of the dirt to get a better look.
I frown.
I gag again, trying to turn away from the guards as I do it, so they think I don’t want their attention.
I gasp for air.
I gather my thoughts for two days.
I get a good look at some of the protesters as we pass the last monitor, the ones clustered together under the street lights.
I get one good glimpse of the stairwell, a large, cylindrical chamber with tall plaster walls and tiny windows.
I get to my feet and limp down the stairs one at a time, careful not to slip off the side and plummet down to the water.
I gingerly move my ankle in a circle.
I give Thomas a frown this time.
I give a shout and try to bolt upright.
I give an annoyed sigh.
I give her a small smile, then sit up straighter and stretch my hand out toward her face.
I glance at Commander Jameson.
I glance at Tess.
I glance at him.
I glance at the doctor.
I glance at the other soldiers before looking back at him.
I glance back once, half expecting to see a black-clad figure following me.
I glance back toward the soldiers.
I glance behind me and manage a smile for them.
I glance behind me, but can’t see her face.
I glance down at him.
I glance one last time through the vent at the bedroom, then make my way out from under the porch, into the shadows, and away into the city.
I glance over at Chian and study the scar.
I glance several times at my mother’s window, but don’t see anyone.
I glance to the protesters in the square, then back up to the roofs.
I glance up at Commander Jameson, who stares at me as if she’s reading my thoughts.
I glance up at him.
I glance up to see Thomas bow, then take the seat beside me.
I glance up to see several commanders standing on one of Batalla Hall’s balconies.
I glance up to where the boy is swinging his legs.
I glare at him.
I go around the bank’s back side until I’m standing in front of a parking lot at the end of an alleyway.
I go back to the crime report from the Central Hospital.
I go back to the same page, then try to make sense of it.
I go to a Chinese-themed bar covered in graffiti.
I grab Tess’s hand and we make our way out of the bedroom, down the hall and through the back door.
I grab at them in vain.
I grab her by the shoulders and push her back against the chimney.
I grab several bottles of suppressants and shove them into my shirt.
I grab the edge of our roof, then swing up onto it.
I grab the first person I see—a young doctor standing close to the door.
I grimace.
I grin.
I grit my teeth and close my eyes—I can do nothing in this situation.
I grit my teeth and pull out my second knife so that I now have one in each hand.
I grit my teeth and try not to look at Thomas.
I grunt in pain.
I had committed my first perfect crime.
I had no idea this many people cared enough to see me in person today.
I had to laugh at that.
I hadn’t studied the photos as closely as I should have.
I half expect his eyes to flutter, his mouth to smile.
I hate my calculations.
I have a hunch that they are doling out cures right now, just as Metias said, and in a few more weeks, this plague will have "magically" trickled away.
I have a plan.
I have a sudden urge to comfort her.
I have an appointment to keep.
I have no choice.
I have no idea.
I have no more strength to fight.
I have no other place to write this, so I’ll write it here.
I have no sympathy for a criminal, I remind myself harshly.
I have no time to stop what happens next.
I have no use for such sentiments.
I have nothing to lose and she has nothing to gain.
I have on an elaborate white gown, laced and corseted, with a silk overskirt and draped layers in the back.
I have one more block.
I have to act quickly.
I have to do something.
I have to force myself to keep enough distance between us so that he doesn’t know I’m following him.
I have to get to John.
I have to grit my teeth to keep from shouting back at her.
I have to hide my embarrassment.
I have to laugh a little at myself.
I have to lean into the wind to keep from falling over.
I have to reach them before the soldiers do.
I have to save Eden, I say to myself over and over again.
I have to swallow hard to keep my eyes dry.
I have what the Republic considers good genes—and better genes make for better soldiers make for better chance of victory against the Colonies, my professors always say.
I haven’t had the nerve to think about my execution date.
I haven’t seen June in such clothes before.
I haven’t seen this look on Thomas’s face often; it chills me.
I head all the way down to the floor of the building that sits right at the water’s surface.
I hear Thomas curse.
I hear a commotion in the halls somewhere behind us.
I hear a sigh from the other end.
I hear her voice again, this time loud enough to understand.
I hear it unlock from the outside.
I hear shouts, then screams.
I hear some commotion in the background, some static, and then his faint voice along with Commander Jameson’s.
I hear something click, then feel cold metal against my temple.
I hear the boos start.
I hear the faint sound of rain.
I hear the occasional lap of waves.
I heave a sigh, readjust the black handkerchief covering my face, and bend down to lift the cover.
I heave and spit on the floor.
[...]