by Marie Lu
Anden’s quiet for a moment as he considers my words. Then he nods in agreement and presses a hand against his ear. “Commander Greene,” he says, then launches into a series of orders.
I meet Day’s eyes. He still looks upset, but at least his eyes aren’t burning in anger like they were a second ago. He turns his attention back on Lucy, who has an arm wrapped protectively around Eden. He’s curled up in the corner of the jeep’s seat with his legs tucked up and his arms wrapped around them. He squints at the scene blurring by, but I’m not sure how much of it he can actually make out. I reach across Day and touch Eden’s shoulder. He tenses up immediately. “It’s okay, it’s June,” I say. “And don’t worry. We’re going to be fine, do you hear?”
“Why did the Colonies break through?” Eden asks, turning his wide, purple-toned eyes on me and Day.
I swallow hard. Neither of us answers him. Finally, after he repeats his question, Day hugs him closer and whispers something in his ear. Eden settles down against his brother’s shoulder. He still looks unhappy and scared, but the terror is at least tempered, and we manage to finish the rest of the ride without saying another word.
It feels like an eternity (in actuality the trip takes a mere two minutes and twelve seconds), but we finally arrive at a nondescript building near the heart of downtown Denver, a thirty-story high-rise covered with crisscrossing support beams on all four of its sides. Dozens of city patrols are mixed in with crowds of civilians, organizing them into groups at the entrance. Our driver pulls the jeep up to the side of the building, where patrols let us through the door of a makeshift fence. Through the window, I see soldiers click their heels together in sharp salutes as we pass by. One of them is holding Ollie on a leash. I slump in relief at the sight of him. When the jeep halts, two of them promptly open the doors for us. Anden steps out—immediately he’s surrounded by four patrol captains, all feverishly updating him on how the evacuation is going. My dog pulls his soldier frantically to my side. I thank the soldier, take over the leash, and rub Ollie’s head. He’s panting in distress.
“This way, Ms. Iparis,” the soldier who opens my door says. Day follows behind me in a tense silence, his hand still clutched tightly around Eden’s. Lucy comes out last. I look over my shoulder to where Anden’s now deep in conversation with his captains—he pauses to exchange a quick look with me. His eyes dart to Eden. I know that the thought he has must be the same thought running through Day’s mind: Keep Eden safe. I nod, signaling to him that I understand, and then we move past a crowd of waiting evacuees and I lose sight of him.
Instead of dealing with the lineup of civilians at the entrance, soldiers escort us through a separate entrance and down a winding set of stairs, until we reach a dimly lit hallway that ends in a set of wide, steel double doors. The guards standing at the entrance shift their stance when they recognize me.
“This way, Ms. Iparis,” they say. One of them stiffens at the sight of Day, but looks quickly away when Day meets his stare. The doors swing open for us.
We’re greeted by a blast of warm, humid air and a scene of orderly chaos. The room we’ve stepped into seems like an enormous warehouse (half the size of a Trial stadium, three dozen fluorescents, and six rows of steel beams lining the ceiling), with a lone JumboTron on the left wall blasting instructions to the upper-class evacuees who mill all around us. Amongst them are a handful of poor-sector people (fourteen of them, to be exact), those who must have been the housekeepers and janitors of some of the gem-sector’s homes. To my disappointment, I see soldiers separating them out into a different line. Several upper-class people cast them sympathetic looks, while others glare in disdain.
Day sees them too. “Guess we’re all created equal,” he mutters. I say nothing.
A few smaller rooms line the right wall. At the far end of the room, the end of a parked subway train rests inside a tunnel, and crowds of both soldiers and civilians have gathered along both of its platforms. The soldiers are attempting to organize the crowds of bewildered, frightened people onto the subway. Where it will take them, I can only guess.
Beside me, Day watches the scene with silent, simmering eyes. His hand stays clamped on Eden’s. I wonder whether he’s taking note of the aristocratic clothing that most of these evacuees are wearing.
“Apologies for the mess,” a guard says to me as she escorts us toward one of the smaller rooms. She taps the edge of her cap politely. “We are in the early stages of evacuations, and as you can see, the first wave is still in progress. We can have you, as well as Day and his family, on the first wave as well, if you don’t mind resting for a moment in a private suite.”
Mariana and Serge might already be waiting in rooms of their own. “Thank you,” I reply. We walk past several doors, their long, rectangular windows revealing empty, blank rooms with portraits of Anden hanging on their walls. A couple look as if they have been reserved for high-ranking officials, while others appear to be holding people who must have caused trouble—detainees with sullen faces flanked by pairs of soldiers. One room that we pass by holds several people surrounded by guards.
It is this room that makes me pause. I recognize one of the people in there. Is it really her? “Wait,” I call out, stepping closer to the window. No doubt about it—I see a young girl with wide eyes and a blunt, messy bob of a haircut, sitting in a chair beside a gray-eyed boy and three others who look more ragged than I recall. I glance at our soldier. “What are they doing in there?”
Day follows my lead. When he sees what I see, he sucks in a sharp breath. “Get us in there,” he whispers to me. His voice takes on a desperate urgency. “Please.”
“These are prisoners, Ms. Iparis,” the soldier replies, puzzled by our interest. “I don’t recommend—”
I tighten my lips. “I want to see them,” I interrupt.
The soldier hesitates, glances around the room, and then nods reluctantly. “Of course,” she replies. She steps toward the door and opens it, then ushers us in. Lucy stays right outside with her hand tightly gripping Eden’s. The door closes behind us.
I find myself staring straight at Tess and a handful of Patriots.
WELL, DAMN. THE LAST TIME I SAW TESS, SHE WAS STANDING in the middle of the alley near where we were supposed to assassinate Anden, her fists clenched and her face a broken picture. She looks different now. Calmer. Older. She’s also gotten a good bit taller, and her once-round baby face has leaned out. Weird to see.
She and the others are all shackled to chairs. The sight doesn’t help my mood. I recognize one of her companions immediately—Pascao, the dark-skinned Runner with a head of short curls and those ridiculously pale gray eyes. He hasn’t changed much, although now that I’m close enough, I can see traces of a scar across his nose and another one near his right temple. He flashes me a brilliant white grin that drips sarcasm. “That you, Day?” he says, giving me a flirtatious wink. “Still as gorgeous as you’ve always been. Republic uniforms suit you.”
His words sting. I turn my glare on the soldiers standing guard over them. “Why the hell are they prisoners?”
One of them tilts his nose up at me. Based on all the goddy decorations on his uniform, he must be the captain of this group or something. “They’re former Patriots,” he says, emphasizing his last word as if he’s trying to make a jab at me. “We caught them along the edge of the Armor, where they were attempting to disable our military equipment and aid the Colonies.”
Pascao shifts indignantly in his chair. “Bullshit, you blinder boy,” he snaps. “We were camped out along the Armor because we were trying to help your sorry soldiers out. Maybe we shouldn’t have bothered.”
Tess watches me with a wary look that she’s never used with me before. Her arms look so small and thin with those giant shackles clamped around her wrists. I clench my teeth; my gaze falls to the guns at the soldiers’ belts. No sudden moves, I remind myself. Not around these trigger-happy trots. From the corner of my eye, I notice that one of the others is bleeding f
rom the shoulder. “Let them go,” I tell the soldier. “They’re not the enemy.”
The soldier glares at me with cold contempt. “Absolutely not. Our orders were to detain them until such time—”
Beside me, June lifts her chin. “Orders from whom?”
The soldier’s bravado wavers a little. “Ms. Iparis, my orders came directly from the glorious Elector himself.” His cheeks flush when he sees June narrow her eyes, and then he starts blabbing something about their tour of duty around the Armor and how intense the battle’s been. I step closer to Tess and stoop down until we’re at the same eye level. The guards shift their guns, but June snaps a warning at them to stop.
“You came back,” I whisper to Tess.
Even though Tess still looks wary, something softens in her eyes. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Tess hesitates. She looks over at Pascao, who turns his startling gray eyes fully on me. “We came back,” he replies, “because Tess heard you calling for us.”
They’d heard me. All those radio transmissions I’d been sending out for months and months hadn’t ended up lost somewhere in the dark—somehow, they’d heard me. Tess swallows hard before she works up enough courage to speak. “Frankie first caught you on the airwaves a few months ago,” she says, nodding toward a curly-haired girl tied to one of the chairs. “She said you were trying to contact us.” Tess lowers her eyes. “I didn’t want to answer. But then I heard about your illness . . . and . . .”
So. The news has definitely gotten around.
“Hey now,” Pascao interrupts when he catches my expression. “We didn’t come back to the Republic just because we felt sorry for you. We’ve been listening to the news coming from both you and the Colonies. Heard about the threat of war.”
“And you decided to come to our aid?” June pipes up. Her eyes are suspicious. “Why so generous all of a sudden?”
Pascao’s sarcastic grin fades away. He regards June with a tilt of his head. “You’re June Iparis, aren’t you?”
The captain starts to tell him to greet June in a more formal way, but June just nods.
“So you’re the one who sabotaged our plans and split up our crew.” Pascao shrugs. “No hard feelings—not that, you know, I was a big fan of Razor or anything.”
“Why are you back in the country?” June repeats.
“Okay, fine. We got kicked out of Canada.” Pascao takes a deep breath. “We were hiding out there after everything fell apart during the”—he pauses to glance at the soldiers around them—“the, ah, you know. Our playdate with Anden. But then the Canadians figured out that we weren’t supposed to be in their country, and we had to flee back south. A lot of us scattered to the winds. I don’t know where half our original group is now—chances are that some of them are still in Canada. When the news about Day broke, little Tess here asked if she could leave us and head back to Denver on her own. I didn’t want her to, well, die—so we came along.” Pascao looks down for a moment. He doesn’t stop talking, but I can tell that he’s just babbling at this point, trying to give us any reason but their main one. “With the Colonies invading, I thought that if we tried helping out your war effort, then maybe we could get a pardon and permission to stay in the country, but I know your Elector probably isn’t our biggest—”
“What is all this?”
All of us turn around at the voice, right as the soldiers in the room snap into salutes. I get up from my crouch to see Anden standing in the doorway with a group of bodyguards behind him, his eyes dark and ominous, his stare fixed first on June and me and then on the Patriots. Even though it hasn’t been that long since we left him behind to talk with his generals, he has a fine layer of dust on the shoulders of his uniform, and his face looks bleak. The captain who’d been talking to us earlier now clears his throat nervously. “My apologies, Elector,” he begins, “but we detained these criminals near the Armor—”
At that, June crosses her arms. “Then I’m guessing you weren’t the one who approved this, Elector?” she says to Anden. There’s an edge to her voice that tells me she and Anden aren’t on the best of terms right now.
Anden regards the scene. Our argument from the car ride over is probably still stewing in his mind, but he doesn’t bother looking in my direction. Well, good. Maybe I’ve given him something to think about. Finally, he nods at the captain. “Who are they?”
“Former Patriots, sir.”
“I see. Who ordered this?”
The captain turns bright red. “Well, Elector,” he replies, trying to sound official, “my commanding officer—”
But Anden has already turned his attention away from the lying captain and starts to leave the room. “Take those shackles off them,” he says without turning back around. “Keep them in here for now, and then evacuate them with the final group. Watch them carefully.” He motions for us to follow him. “Ms. Iparis. Mr. Wing. If you please.”
I look back one more time at Tess, who’s watching the soldiers unclip the shackles from her wrists. Then I head out with June. Eden rushes over to me, nearly colliding with me in his hurry, and I take his hand back in mine.
Anden stops us before a group of Republic soldiers. I frown at the sight. Four of the soldiers are kneeling on the ground with their hands on their heads. Their eyes stay downcast. One weeps silently.
The remaining soldiers in the group have their guns pointed at the kneeling soldiers. The soldier in charge addresses Anden. “These are the guards who were in charge of Commander Jameson and Captain Bryant. We found a suspicious communication between one of them and the Colonies.”
No wonder he brought us out here, to see the faces of our potential traitors. I look back at the captured guards. The crying one looks up at Anden with pleading eyes. “Please, Elector,” he begs. “I had nothing to do with their escape. I—I don’t know how it happened. I—” His words cut off as a gun barrel cuffs him in the head.
Anden’s face, normally thoughtful and reserved, has turned ice-cold. I look from the kneeling soldiers back to him. He’s silent for a moment. Then he nods at his men. “Interrogate them. If they don’t cooperate, shoot them. Spread the word to the rest of the troops. Let it be a lesson to any other traitors within our ranks. Let them know we will root them out.”
The soldiers with the guns click their heels. “Yes, sir.” They haul the accused traitors to their feet. A sick feeling hits my stomach. But Anden doesn’t take back his words—instead, he looks on as the soldiers are dragged, shouting and pleading, out of the bunker. June looks stricken. Her eyes follow the prisoners.
Anden turns on us with a grave expression. “The Colonies have help.”
A dull thud echoes from somewhere above us, and the ground and ceiling tremble in response. June peers closer at Anden, as if analyzing him. “What kind of help?”
“I saw their squadrons in the air, right beyond the Armor. They’re not all Colonies jets. Some of them have African stars painted on their sides. My generals tell me that the Colonies are confident enough to have parked an airship and a squadron of jets less than a half mile from our Armor, setting up makeshift airfields as they go. They are ramping up for another assault.”
My hand tightens around Eden’s. He squints at the swarms of evacuees crowded near the subway, but he probably can’t see anything more than a mass of moving blurs. I wish I could take that frightened look off his face. “How long is Denver gonna hold?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Anden replies grimly. “The Armor is strong, but we can’t fight a superpower for long.”
“So what do we do now?” June says. “If we can’t hold them off alone, then are we just going to lose this war?”
Anden shakes his head. “We need help too. I’m going to get us an audience with the United Nations or with Antarctica, see whether they’re willing to step up to the plate. They might buy us enough time for . . .” He glances at my brother, quiet and calm beside me. A stab of guilt and rage hits me. I narrow my eyes at Anden—m
y hand clamps tighter on my brother’s arm. Eden shouldn’t have to be in the middle of this. I shouldn’t have to choose between losing my brother and losing this damn country.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” I say.
As he and June launch into an in-depth conversation about Antarctica, I look back at the room where Tess and the Patriots are being held. Through the window, I can see Tess tending carefully to the girl with the bleeding shoulder while the soldiers look on with uneasy expressions. Don’t know why all those trained killers should be scared of a little girl armed with a handful of bandages and rubbing alcohol. I shiver as I think of the way Anden ordered those accused soldiers out of the bunker and killed. Pascao looks frustrated, and for a moment, he meets my stare through the glass. Even though he doesn’t move his mouth, I can tell what he’s thinking.
He knows that trapping the Patriots inside a room during the middle of a battle, while civilians and soldiers alike are getting killed aboveground, is a total goddy waste.
“Elector,” I suddenly say, turning back to face Anden and June. He pauses to stare at me. “Let them out of this bunker.” When Anden stays silent, compelling me to go on, I add, “They can help your effort up there. I bet they can play the guerrilla game better than any of your soldiers, and since you won’t be evacuating the poor sectors for a while, you might need all the help you can get.”
June doesn’t say anything about my little jab, but Anden folds his arms across his chest. “Day, I pardoned the Patriots as part of our original deal—but I haven’t forgotten about my difficult history with them. While I don’t want to see your friends shackled like prisoners, I have no reason to believe that they’ll now help a country that they have terrorized for so long.”