“He’s two doors over,” Sara says, eyes wide.
“The one all the way at the end of the hall,” Sonya says.
“It’s the one with the blue door,” they tell me.
“Wait!” Sonya stops me as I turn to go.
“Be careful,” Sara says. “We’ve heard some things—”
“About a weapon he’s brought with him,” Sonya says.
“What kind of weapon?” I ask, heart slowing.
“We don’t know,” they say together.
“But it made him very happy,” Sara whispers.
“Yes, very happy,” Sonya adds.
I clench my fists.
“Thank you,” I say to them. “Thank you—I’ll see you soon,” I’m saying. “Very soon—” And I’m backing out, backing away, rushing down the hall and I hear them shouting for me to be safe, and good luck, just behind me.
But I don’t need luck anymore. I need these two fists and this spine of steel. I waste no time at all getting to the blue room. I’m not afraid anymore.
I don’t hesitate. I won’t hesitate. Never again.
I kick it down.
“JULIETTE—NO—”
SEVENTY-TWO
Kenji’s voice hits me like a fist to the throat.
I don’t even have time to blink before I’m thrown against the wall.
My back, I think. Something is wrong with my back. The pain is so excruciating that I can’t help but wonder if it’s broken. I’m dizzy and I feel slow; my head is spinning and there’s a strange ringing in my ears.
I clamber to my feet.
I’m hit, again, so hard. And I don’t even know where the pain is coming from. I can’t blink fast enough, can’t steady my head long enough to shake the confusion.
Everything is tilting sideways.
I’m trying so hard to shake it off.
I’m stronger than this. Better than this. I’m supposed to be indestructible.
Up, again.
Slowly.
Something hits me so hard I fly across the room, slamming into the wall. I slide down to the floor. I’m bent over now, holding my hands to my head, trying to blink, trying to understand what’s happening.
I don’t understand what could possibly be hitting me.
This hard.
Nothing should be able to hit me this hard. Not over and over again.
It feels like someone is calling my name, but I can’t seem to hear it. Everything is so muffled, so slippery and off-balance, like it’s there, just out of reach, and I can’t seem to find it. Feel it.
I need a new plan.
I don’t stand up again. I stay on my knees, crawling forward, and this time, when the hit comes, I try to beat it back. I’m trying so hard to push my energy forward, but all the hits to my head have made me unsteady. I’m clinging to my energy with a manic desperation, and though I don’t manage to move forward, I’m also not thrown back.
I try to lift my head.
Slowly.
There’s nothing in front of me. No machine. No strange element that might be able to create these powerful impacts. I blink hard against the ringing in my ears, trying frantically to clear my vision.
Something hits me again.
The intensity threatens to beat me back but I dig my fingers into the ground until they go through the wood and I’m clinging to the floor.
I would scream, if I could. If I had any energy left.
I lift my head again. Try again to see.
And this time, two figures come into focus.
One is Anderson.
The other is someone I don’t recognize.
He’s a stocky blond with closely cropped hair and flinty eyes. He looks vaguely familiar to me. And he’s standing beside Anderson with a cocky smile on his face, his hands held out in front of him.
He claps.
Just once.
I’m ripped from the floor and thrown back against the wall.
Sound waves.
These are pressure waves, I realize.
Anderson has found himself a toy.
I shake my head and try to clear it again, but the hits are coming faster now. Harder. More intense. I have to close my eyes against the pressure of the hits and try to crawl, desperately, breaking through the floorboards to get a grip on something.
Another hit.
Hard to the head.
It’s like he’s causing an explosion every time his hands clap together, and what’s killing me isn’t the explosion. It isn’t direct impact. It’s the pressure released from a bomb.
Over and over and over again.
I know the only reason I’m able to survive this is because I’m too strong.
But Kenji, I think.
Kenji must be somewhere in this room. He was the one who called my name, who tried to warn me. He must be here, somewhere, and if I can hardly survive this right now, I don’t know how he could be doing any better.
He must be doing worse.
Much worse.
That fear is enough for me. I’m fortified with a new kind of strength, a desperate, animal intensity that overpowers me and forces me upright. I manage to stand in the face of each impact, each blow as it rattles my head and rings in my ears.
And I walk.
One step at a time, I walk.
I hear a gunshot. Three. Five more. And realize they’re all aimed in my direction. Bullets breaking off my body.
The blond is moving. Backing up. Trying to get away from me. He’s increasing the frequency of his hits, hoping to throw me off course, but I’ve come too far to lose this fight. I’m not even thinking now, barely even lucid, focused solely on reaching him and silencing him forever. I have no idea if he’s managed to kill Kenji yet. I have no idea if I’m about to die. I have no idea how much longer I can withstand this.
But I have to try.
One more step, I tell myself.
Move your leg. Now your foot. Bend at the knee.
You’re almost there, I tell myself.
Think of Kenji. Think of James. Think of the promises you made to that ten-year-old boy, I tell myself. Bring Kenji home. Bring yourself home.
There he is. Right in front of you.
I reach forward as if through a cloud, and clench my fist around his neck.
Squeeze.
Squeeze until the sound waves stop.
I hear something crack.
The blond falls to the floor.
And I collapse.
SEVENTY-THREE
Anderson is standing over me now, pointing a gun at my face.
He shoots.
Again.
Once more.
I close my eyes and pull deep, deep within myself for my last dregs of strength, because somehow, some instinct inside of my body is still screaming at me to stay alive. I remember Sonya and Sara telling me once that our energies could be depleted. That we could overexert ourselves. That they were trying to make medicines to help with that sort of thing.
I wish I had that kind of medicine right now.
I blink up at Anderson, his form blurring at the edges. He’s standing just behind my head, the toes of his shiny boots touching the top of my skull. I can’t hear much but the echoes in my bones, can’t see anything other than the bullets raining down around me. He’s still shooting. Still unloading his gun into my body, waiting for the moment when he knows I won’t be able to hold on any longer.
I’m dying, I think. I must be. I thought I knew what it felt like to die, but I must’ve been wrong. Because this is a whole different kind of dying. A whole different kind of pain.
But I suppose, if I have to die, I may as well do one more thing before I go.
I reach up. Grab Anderson’s ankles. Clench my fists.
And crush his bones in my hands.
His screams pierce the haze of my mind, long enough to bring the world back into focus. I’m blinking fast, looking around and able to see clearly for the first time. Kenji is slumped in the corner. Blond
boy is on the floor.
Anderson has been disconnected from his feet.
My thoughts are sharper all of a sudden, like I’m in control again. I don’t know if this is what hope does to a person, if it really has the power to bring someone back to life, but seeing Anderson writhing on the floor does something to me. It makes me think I still have a chance.
He’s screaming so much, scrambling back and dragging himself across the floor with his arms. He’s dropped his gun, clearly too pained and too petrified to reach for it any longer, and I can see the agony in his eyes. The weakness. The terror. He’s only now understanding the horror of what’s about to happen to him. How it had to happen to him. That he would be brought to nothing by a silly little girl who was too much of a coward, he said, to defend herself.
And it’s then that I realize he’s trying to say something to me. He’s trying to talk. Maybe he’s pleading. Maybe he’s crying. Maybe he’s begging for mercy. But I’m not listening anymore.
I have absolutely nothing to say.
I reach back, pull the gun out of my holster.
And shoot him in the forehead.
SEVENTY-FOUR
Twice.
Once for Adam.
Once for Warner.
SEVENTY-FIVE
I tuck the gun back into its holster. Walk over to Kenji’s limp, still-breathing form, and throw him over my shoulder.
I kick down the door.
Walk directly back down the hall.
Kick my way through the entry to Sonya and Sara’s room, and drop Kenji on the bed.
“Fix him,” I say, hardly breathing now. “Please fix him.”
I drop to my knees.
Sonya and Sara are on in an instant. They don’t speak. They don’t cry. They don’t scream. They don’t fall apart. They immediately get to work and I don’t think I have ever loved them more than I do in this moment. They lay him out flat on the bed, Sara standing on one side of him, Sonya on the other, and they hold their hands to his head, first. Then his heart.
Then they alternate, taking turns forcing life back into different parts of his body until Kenji is stirring, his eyes flickering but not opening, his head whipping back and forth.
I’m beginning to worry, but I’m too afraid, and too tired to move, not even an inch.
Finally, finally, they step back.
Kenji’s eyes still aren’t open.
“Did it work?” I ask, terrified to hear the answer.
Sonya and Sara nod. “He’s asleep,” they say.
“Will he get better? Fully?” I ask, desperate now.
“We hope,” Sonya says.
“But he’ll be asleep for a few days,” Sara says.
“The damage was very deep,” they say together. “What happened?”
“Pressure waves,” I tell them, my words a whisper. “He shouldn’t have been able to survive at all.”
Sonya and Sara are staring at me, still waiting.
I force myself to my feet. “Anderson is dead.”
“You killed him,” they whisper. It’s not a question.
I nod.
They’re staring at me, slack-jawed and stunned.
“Let’s go,” I say. “This war is over. We have to tell the others.”
“But how will we get out?” Sara asks.
“There are soldiers everywhere,” Sonya says.
“Not anymore,” I tell them, too tired to explain, but so grateful for their help. For their existence. For the fact that they’re still alive. I offer them a small smile before walking over to the bed, and haul Kenji’s body up and over my shoulders. His chest is curved over my back, one of his arms thrown over my left shoulder, the other hanging in front of me. My right arm is wrapped around both his legs.
I hoist him higher up on my shoulders.
“Ready?” I say, looking at the two of them.
They nod.
I lead them out the door and down the halls, forgetting for a moment that I have no idea how to actually exit this ship. But the halls are lifeless. Everyone is either injured, unconscious, or gone. We sidestep fallen bodies, shift arms and legs out of the way. We’re all that’s left.
Me, carrying Kenji.
Sonya and Sara close behind.
I finally find a ladder. Climb up. Sonya and Sara hold Kenji’s weight between them and I reach down to haul him up. We have to do this three more times, until we’re finally on the top deck, where I toss him up over my shoulders for the final time.
And then we walk, silently, across the abandoned ship, down the pier, and back onto dry land. This time, I don’t care about stealing tanks. I don’t care about being seen. I don’t care about anything but finding my friends. And ending this war.
There’s an army tank abandoned on the side of the road. I test the door.
Unlocked.
The girls clamber in and they help me haul Kenji onto their laps. I close the door shut behind them. Climb into the driver’s side. I press my thumb to the scanner to start the engine; so grateful Warner had us programmed to gain access to the system.
It’s only then that I remember I still have no idea how to drive.
It’s probably a good thing I’m driving a tank.
I don’t pay attention to stop signs or streets. I drive the tank right off the road and straight back into the heart of the sector, in the general direction I know we came from. I’m too heavy on the gas, and too heavy on the brakes, but my mind is in a place where nothing else matters anymore.
I had a goal. Step one has been accomplished.
And now I will see it through to the end.
I drop Sonya and Sara off at the barracks and help them carry Kenji out. Here, they’ll be safe. Here, they can rest. But it’s not my turn to stop yet.
I head directly up and through the military base, up the elevator to where I remember we got off for the assembly. I slam through door after door, heading straight outside and into the courtyard, where I climb until I reach the top. One hundred feet in the air.
Where it all began.
There’s a technician stand here, a maintenance system for the speakers that run throughout the sector. I remember this. I remember all of this now, even though my brain is numb and my hands are still shaking, and blood that does not belong to me is dripping down my face and onto my neck.
But this was the plan.
I have to finish the plan.
I punch the pass code into the keypad and wait to hear the click. The technician box snaps open. I scan the different fuses and buttons, and flip the switch that reads ALL SPEAKERS, and take a deep breath. Hit the intercom key.
“Attention, Sector 45,” I say, the words rough and loud and mottled in my ear. “The supreme commander of The Reestablishment is dead. The capital has surrendered. The war is over.” I’m shaking so hard now, my finger slipping on the button as I try to hold it down. “I repeat, the supreme commander of The Reestablishment is dead. The capital has surrendered. The war is over.”
Finish it, I tell myself.
Finish it now.
“I am Juliette Ferrars, and I will lead this nation. I challenge anyone who would stand against me.”
SEVENTY-SIX
I take a step forward and my legs tremble, threaten to bend and break beneath me, but I push myself to keep moving. I push myself to get through the door, to get down the elevator, and to get out, onto the battlefield.
It doesn’t take long to get there.
There are hundreds of bodies in huddled, bloody masses on the ground, but there are hundreds more still standing; more alive than I could’ve hoped for. The news has spread more quickly than I thought it would. It’s almost as if they’ve known for a little while now that the battle was over. The surviving soldiers from Anderson’s ship are standing alongside our own, some still soaking wet, frozen to the bone in this icy weather. They must’ve found their way ashore and shared the news of our assault, of Anderson’s imminent demise. Everyone is looking around, staring at ea
ch other in shock, staring at their own hands or up into the sky. Others still are checking the mass of bodies for friends and family members, relief and fear apparent on their faces. Their worn bodies do not want to go on like this.
The doors to the barracks have burst open and the remaining civilians flood the grounds, running out to reunite with loved ones, and for a moment the scene is both so terribly bleak, and so terribly beautiful, that I don’t know whether to cry out in pain or joy.
I don’t cry at all.
I walk forward, forcing my limbs to move, begging my bones to stay steady, to carry me through the end of this day, and into the rest of my life.
I want to see my friends. I need to know they’re okay. I need visual confirmation that they’re okay.
But as soon as I walk into the crowd, the soldiers of Sector 45 lose control.
The bloodied and beaten on our battlefield are shouting and cheering despite the stain of death they stand in, saluting me as I pass. And as I look around I realize that they are my soldiers now. They trusted me, fought with me and alongside me, and now I will trust them. I will fight for them. This is the first of many battles to come. There will be many more days like this.
I’m covered in blood, my suit ripped and riddled with splintered wood and broken bits of metal. My hands are trembling so hard I don’t even recognize them anymore.
And yet I feel so calm.
So unbelievably calm.
Like the depth of what just happened hasn’t managed to hit me yet.
It’s impossible not to brush against outstretched hands and arms as I cross the battlefield, and it’s strange to me, somehow, strange that I don’t flinch, strange that I don’t hide my hands, strange that I’m not worried I’ll injure them.
They can touch me if they like, and maybe it’ll hurt, but my skin won’t kill anyone anymore.
Because I’ll never let it get that far.
Because I now know how to control it.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
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