Necessary Sacrifices (The Internal Defense Series Book 2)

by Zoe Cannon

  She didn’t hear from him again until two weeks later.

  She tried not to be impatient. She reminded herself that it would take time, that they might not have gotten a chance to discuss it yet, that they had to formulate a plan. That they had to be careful. But at her desk, in the lonely stretches of spare time when Micah used to come by to talk to her, she found herself wondering about every dissident whose interrogation she transcribed. Did they have kids? If so, where were those kids now?

  When she finally got the message from Jameson, she let out a breath she felt like she had been holding for the past two weeks. She showed up at the park the next day ten minutes early. After making sure Heather hadn’t followed her, she walked the track, moving from anticipation to dread and back again with each step. Right foot—They’re going to do it. Left foot—They won’t. Right foot—They want to save the kids. Left foot—They think it’s too big a risk.

  “We’ve decided.”

  Becca started slightly as Jameson spoke the words into her ear. She braced herself for the inevitable lecture, but it didn’t come.

  Her thoughts bounced back and forth. They’re going to do it. They’re not going to do it. They will. They will. They have to. “And?”

  “We’re going to do what we can to keep the reeducation program from moving past the experimental phase.”

  She tripped on feet made unsteady by relief, made impossibly light by a jolt of energy that made her feel as if she could leap straight up into the trees. They were going to do it. All those dissidents’ children, all the future Heathers out there, all the Jakes… the resistance was going to save them. Because of her.

  “Thank you,” she said, then turned her head away as a blush spread across her cheeks. Stupid thing to say. They weren’t doing this for her. But it didn’t matter how silly she looked, because this was happening because of her. She had found out about R100. She had passed the information to the resistance. And now countless prisoners would be saved.

  She had done it. Finally, she had made a difference.

  She kept her steps slow and measured. Tried to imitate Jameson’s calm, when all she wanted to do was run through the park whooping with joy. “How are you going to do it?” At the meeting, he had said they didn’t have enough influence to shut it down behind the scenes or enough people for a direct attack. So what were they going to do?

  “We have some ideas for a rudimentary plan, but we still need to figure out the details.” He glanced around the crowded park. “It’s not something that should be discussed here. The explanation would require more time than we have, and sharing the details out in the open is an unnecessary risk.”

  “I should probably know as little as possible anyway.” She forced the words out. She wanted to know everything, wanted to watch step by step as the plan she had set into motion took shape. But the less she knew, the safer they all were. She had done her part; now it was time to let it go. Put on the mask, fight down the restlessness, and wait.

  “We discussed that,” said Jameson. “And while keeping you out of the loop would be better for security purposes, we’re not convinced it’s the best idea overall.” He paused as a cold breeze stirred the few remaining leaves on the ground. “You convinced us to look more closely at the reeducation program, and it was the right thing to do. Your perspective could be useful to us. Not everyone is fully willing to trust you—I’m sure you understand—but you’ve earned a right to be a part of this discussion, and we believe your insights could be valuable.”

  Becca swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. Tears prickled at her eyes; she resisted the urge to wipe them away. She didn’t want Jameson to see, didn’t want him to suspect the effect his words had had on her.

  Ridiculous, that she could be brought to the verge of tears by a simple invitation, a few words of praise. She was every bit as immature as Jameson thought she was. But she had been alone for so long. These were her people… and they wanted her to be a part of what they were doing.

  “We’re meeting in three days to work out the details. Sunday at noon, same place as before. Will you be there?” He sounded just like he always did. Cold. Distant. As though nothing had changed. But she only cared about the words he was saying. The gift he was giving her.

  Becca nodded, not trusting herself to speak. When the lump in her throat receded, she answered. “I’ll be there.” Her voice quivered a little. He would chastise her for that.

  But he didn’t. Maybe he hadn’t heard.

  Becca expected him to turn and walk away. Instead, he spoke again. “In the meantime, there’s something else you can do for us.”

  “What is it?” The question came out too high, too eager.

  “The information you gave us included details on several Internal employees who have been, or will be, recruited into the reeducation program. One of them works with you. Micah Nevin.”

  Micah. A part of the reeducation program? No. She couldn’t imagine someone as sweet and idealistic and uncomplicated as him working to… to erase people. To break them even more thoroughly than the interrogators did in 117.

  He had said he wanted to go into interrogation. Reeducation wasn’t all that different.

  He wouldn’t be able to do it, though. Not really. He wasn’t like her mother. He didn’t have her coldness. Her ruthlessness.

  But he did have her conviction.

  He believed utterly in Internal’s mission, and in the fundamental goodness of their society. Believed so strongly he made Becca wish she could believe too, sometimes. What better person to mold children into good citizens?

  Micah. Working for the reeducation program.

  Micah, torturing children.

  If Jameson saw her reaction, he ignored it. “Get close to him. Learn as much about the program from him as you can. That will be the most effective way of getting the information we need. We don’t know whether your mother has access to everything, and whether she’ll continue to have access going forward.”

  “Get close to him,” she repeated. “And by that you mean…”

  “I think you know what I mean.”

  “You want me to date him.” Jameson was handing her everything she wanted on a silver platter. First a real place in the resistance. Now Micah.

  Everything she wanted, with a nugget of poison at the center.

  She could have Micah… if she was willing to use him.

  Like Jake had used her.

  “Internal won’t tell him much.” She clung to the words as if they could save her from drowning, as if they could save her from committing this betrayal. “He’s probably going to be about as high up in R100 as I am in 117.”

  “True,” Jameson conceded. “But he’s likely to be able to fill in some missing pieces for us. Some crucial pieces of information weren’t included in what you got from your mother, such as the location of the center itself. That information is likely classified at a higher level than even she has access to—but anyone who is a part of the program will know it.” He looked at his watch. “I can’t stay much longer. Will you do it?”

  She opened her mouth to tell him no. She wouldn’t betray Micah. She wouldn’t become Jake.

  She stopped before the word made it past her lips.

  The resistance was her first and only priority. It had to be, or else why would she have taken on this death sentence in the first place? She had given up Micah for their sake, along with all the other sacrifices she had made. Now his information could be the thing that let them save the people she had already risked her life to save.

  She couldn’t do it… but she had to.

  A moment ago she had been weightless; now she felt like she had swallowed molten lead. Weighed down and burning from the inside. The lump in her throat wasn’t from happiness this time. But she knew what she had to do.

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help,” she assured him.

  Even this.

  * * *

  When she got back to 117, Micah was at his desk,
peering at his screen, a sad-looking sandwich in one hand. Becca cast a longing glance back at her own desk, back at the transcripts that, for once, seemed like the easier option.

  Do it now. Get it over with.

  She walked up behind Micah. “Hey.”

  He jumped. His sandwich nearly flew onto the desk. He gave an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry. You startled me.” He turned to face her. “Do you need something?”

  No trace of his usual quiet enthusiasm, the way he used to all but glow on the rare occasions she would stop by his desk to talk to him. That was how it had been ever since that day at Billion Dollar Bagels. He still smiled and said hi when he passed by her desk, but he didn’t talk to her any differently than he would any other coworker. The light in his eyes, the spark in his voice, all the things she had brought out in him, were gone.

  She clasped her hands behind her back, nervously twisting her fingers together. “I haven’t seen you much these days.” She felt exposed. Obvious. She smoothed her face into neutrality, dropped her hands to her sides. Retreated behind her mask.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been busy. The transcripts keep piling up.” He took a nervous nibble of his sandwich.

  He used to talk to her so easily, back when she had been trying and not-trying to get him to leave her alone. She winced at a pang of regret that had nothing to do with what the resistance wanted from her.

  “Are you guys going to Lucky’s again tonight? I thought I might come along.” Going to Lucky’s would mean facing Heather, whom she hadn’t seen since the day of the resistance meeting. But she would do whatever she had to do.

  “You can come if you want. I’m sure nobody would mind.” A pause. “I probably won’t be there. I have to stay late tonight—some follow-up to my evaluation.”

  An excuse so he wouldn’t have to see her? Or was Internal recruiting him into the reeducation program tonight? “Well, maybe I’ll see you next time.” She scrambled for something else to say. Anything. Her mask couldn’t help her here. All it could do was ensure that she looked perfectly calm as she stood silently by Micah’s desk like an idiot.

  A clock on the wall ticked out the seconds. She had never noticed how loud that clock was before.

  “So I was…” A tick of the clock drowned out her almost-whispered words. She cleared her throat. “I was thinking. About what you said the other day.”

  “Look, let’s just not talk about it, okay?” Micah adjusted his headset around his ears.

  Becca’s face heated up. This is for the resistance, she told herself. This is my mission. But it didn’t feel like fighting the regime. It felt like being thirteen again, gawky and shy, watching from Heather’s shadow as boys and girls came together around her, a language she didn’t understand. She still didn’t understand it, despite her awkwardly-negotiated dates in high school with the few boys not scared off by her mom’s reputation, despite a brief and unhealthy addiction to a boy that had ended in her condemning him to—

  To the reeducation program.

  To the thing she was trying to stop by doing this.

  She had to make this work.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for what I said. How I reacted. I was… surprised, that’s all. And I’d like to do something together sometime, if you’re still interested.”

  Micah shook his head. “You made it pretty clear how you felt about the whole idea. So if you’re trying to make me feel better or something, you don’t need to bother. I can handle it.”

  Becca’s tongue tripped over itself as she protested. “It’s not like that. I’m not trying to make you feel better. This is what I want. It’s what I want to do.” Heather would be cringing right now, dragging her off to the bathroom for an impromptu lecture on how not to talk to boys. Heather would have gotten him to agree to it already, and made him forget all about her earlier reaction. Heather would probably have been kissing him by now, right here in the middle of 117.

  Well, the old Heather, anyway.

  Micah’s face twitched. A flash of emotion crossed his face, quickly suppressed. “Did you hear yourself in the car the other day? Do you have any idea what you looked like? It was like I had said I was a dissident instead of asking you on a date. I don’t know what you’re trying to do now, but that reaction was real.” He looked down at his feet. “So leave it alone and go find someone who doesn’t make you want to run screaming for the hills, okay?”

  “It wasn’t about you. I haven’t gone out with anyone since… you know. Since Jake.” He knew all about Jake—about how a dissident had conned her, gained her trust, tried to kill her mother. He and everyone else who had gone to high school with her. She had heard the story reflected back at her a thousand times in the months afterward, the facts distorted beyond recognition.

  Micah’s lip twisted. “That’s exactly what you said back in high school.”

  “It’s not easy to get over something like that.” She fumbled for words, for excuses. “But I’m ready now, and I—”

  “Just forget it, Becca. Forget I said anything.” He turned back to his desk, curling his shoulders in toward his screen, away from her.

  * * *

  Becca saw the others before they saw her. She wove her way through the maze of people and sound to join them at the table in the corner. Her heart beat out an unsteady rhythm. She was walking into enemy territory, and this time without even a dangerous ally like Micah waiting for her.

  It’s no worse than walking into 117 every day, she reminded herself with every step.

  Vivian looked up in surprise as Becca slid into the empty chair. “Becca! I thought we weren’t going to see you again.”

  “I hope you don’t mind.” She looked down at her feet, then caught herself. Mask on. Smile. Look them in the eye.

  From the seat opposite her, Heather studied her slice of pizza like she was going to be tested on it later. She didn’t look at Becca.

  Ramon leaned back in his chair. “I figured we had scared you off.”

  Becca shook her head. “I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

  Finally, Heather looked up. “Hey, Becca,” she mumbled. She squirmed like her skin didn’t quite fit.

  Vivian frowned at Heather. “You okay?”

  Heather’s head twitched in a nod. “Fine.”

  “Don’t give me that. You’ve been weird since we got here.”

  Heather’s brows came down. “I said I’m fine.”

  “All right, be that way.” Vivian rolled her eyes as she turned to Becca. “So how have you been?”

  Get what you need and get out. She took a breath and made sure her mask was in place. “Actually,” she said, “I need your help.”

  A slow smile spread across Ramon’s face. “I should have known there was a reason you’d go slumming with us.”

  “Shut it, Ramon,” said Vivian, without any heat behind the words. “If Becca needs our help, we’ll help her.” She leaned toward Becca. “What do you need?”

  “It’s Micah,” she began. “He… I’m sort of…” She snuck a glance across the table at Heather. The two of them used to talk about this kind of thing all the time, heads together in their private huddle as they perched on the edge of Becca’s bed. Now she could barely say what she needed to say, let alone send the words across the distance between them.

  Get what you need.

  She started over. “He asked me on a date a couple of weeks ago. And I wanted to say yes, but all I could think about was Jake and how that had turned out, and I… reacted badly. And now he wants nothing to do with me.” She looked around at the others. She couldn’t tell what any of them were thinking. “I was hoping maybe you could talk to him. Get him to give me a second chance.”

  Ramon nodded with what looked like satisfaction. “Well, that explains some things.”

  Vivian nodded. “Something hasn’t been right with him for the past couple of weeks. I was worried.”

  Becca hadn’t known her rejection would leave an impact oth
ers could see. She shrank into herself at having that kind of power over him. She had to stay invisible. Inconspicuous. The more of a trace she left on others’ lives, the more they would pay attention.

  But right now she had to be visible.

  “So you’ll help?” she asked.

  Vivian hesitated. “Look,” she said. “I want to give you a chance. And I want Micah to be happy. But the truth is, I’ve known Micah since elementary school. He’s one of my best friends. And if I talk him into this, and you hurt him, I’d be responsible.”

  Guilt stabbed deep into her belly. “I’m not going to hurt him.”

  “He already went through this with you in high school. Do you know how long it took me to get him to stop watching you with those sad-puppy eyes after you fed him that transparent excuse?” There was an edge to her voice now. “And you just kept walking around with your nose in the air like you didn’t care what you had done to him.”

  When she had rejected Micah back then, he had stopped inviting her out with the others, had stopped coming up to her between classes to say hi. Had stopped trying to be her friend. That was what it had meant to her. A little more invisibility, a little more peace, a little less chance of discovery and death.

  She had never considered what it might have meant to him.

  “It wasn’t an excuse,” she said, even though of course it had been. She had blurted it out in a panic, desperate to hide the real reason for her rejection, desperate to suppress the yes bubbling up inside her. Of course he had seen through her. But Vivian wouldn’t—shouldn’t—see through her now. Now she knew how to lie. “The thing with Jake messed with my head for a long time.”

  Vivian didn’t look mollified. “It wasn’t just the way you turned him down, though. It was your attitude. When you joined the Monitors, we wanted you to know that not everyone thought you were a dissident—that as far as we were concerned, you were one of us. But you pushed us away every time. Like we weren’t good enough for you.”

  “I didn’t think I was better than anyone. I just…” I didn’t know how to hide yet. I had to keep anyone from getting close. Her voice trailed off.