Reaching the end of the goat pens, we pass through trellises filled with tomato plants, cucumbers, and what I guess are squash or zucchini. I’m about to ask Grace to tell me about Holly Golightly and Fred, when my helmet begins furiously vibrating. I spin around, sure that someone is holding a Taser up to it, but we’re alone. Grace grips the top of her helmet with both hands, so I assume she’s feeling the vibrations as well.
Dizzy, I raise the shield on the helmet, hoping some fresh air may help. I’m immediately assaulted by the booming gong of the Bell, as if it’s three meters high and I’m its clapper. I slam the shield back down. Blessed silence surrounds me, the vibration all that remains of the insane clanging. I always wondered how the Twitchers survived the sounding of the Bell, and now I know—when necessary, their helmets are gloriously soundproof.
Grace keeps her visor down. She must have guessed from the look on my face that lifting it was a mistake. In the distance, farmers run through the rain to reach their prayer center.
My instinct is to hide; I forget that they’re more afraid of us than we are of them.
When the vibrations finally end, I signal to Grace to keep walking.
It’s strange that no one expects Twitchers to pray. They’re always hovering outside the prayer centers, keeping an eye on things, but never in the prayer circles. Aren’t they afraid of Hell? Maybe Uncle Ruho gives them special dispensations. He has the power to do that, to exonerate you from sin, although I’ve never heard of his doing it for a girl.
Since I’ve been with the Laurel Society, where devotion is optional, I’ve skipped my daily prayers, but I realize now that I’ve missed them. They’re such a reliable part of the day, and even though I sometimes complain about them, I always feel better after I’ve prayed. It’s very calming.
Crossing the remains of a paved road, we see the crumbling statue of a man with his hand stuffed in his shirt. Excited, Grace says, “Look.” She’s pointing through trees, but I can just make out a body of water. We follow along the edge of the lake for a few minutes, and it’s not long before we spot the Boathouse.
“It’s beautiful,” Grace says. Exactly what I thought when I saw it.
From across the water, we seemed close to the building, but we have to traipse over several large hills and down the remains of a decaying staircase to actually reach it. My feet are killing me.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I say.
“Me? You’re the one who wanted to come,” Grace says, indignant.
“I was ready to leave, and then you started talking about Camille and Armand.”
“It’s Marguerite and Armand, and it’s hardly talking someone into something when she’s already made the decision herself,” Grace says.
“But I hadn’t . . . ,” I say in protest.
“I saw the way you ran after him when he left Macy’s.”
I have nothing to say in response. The rain has subsided to a soft mist, and bugs have started to reemerge along the shore.
“What do you think makes a person love someone else?” I ask.
“How should I know?” Grace says. “That’s like asking why scissors don’t work when you use them with the wrong hand.”
I laugh, wondering what kind of boy Grace might fall in love with.
Finally arriving, exhausted, we approach the Boathouse slowly so Grace can take in the whole thing. She seems disappointed.
“I was hoping there would be at least a table or two left,” she says, shrugging.
We walk back to the kitchen, where I show her the metal door leading to the bunker. Seeing it makes my heart lurch.
Grace insists on staying up top while I go down to talk to Juda. She thinks we need a moment alone.
Although she’s probably right, I wish she’d come with me. I feel as frightened as if Captain Memon were waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
MY BOOTS THUMP ON EACH STEP. “JUDA?” I say, the name muffled by my helmet. “You here?”
When I reach the bottom, he’s not in the room. The clothes that we slept on rest in two piles, undisturbed. No new food seems to have been opened. I’m bewildered.
I was so sure he’d be here, I never even considered a second option. I’m filled with disappointment and then shame for having made Grace come all this way for nothing.
What if Mr. Asher decided to report Juda after all? Juda could’ve been nabbed the second he left Macy’s. Would Rayna have told me if the arrest report came up on her computer?
Remembering I have the power to check on his status myself, I wiggle my right hand.
I’m trembling as I type his name into my computer—J . . . u . . . d—when suddenly I feel a terrible blow to the side of my head.
I fly into the cement wall, my helmet hitting with a loud crack. The impact shudders through my skull; my teeth rattle; my head throbs. Through dizzy pain, I make out the figure of Juda, arms raised, ready to clobber me again.
“It’s me! JUDA! IT’S MINA!”
He freezes midstrike, confused, horrified.
He puts down his arms.
I lean against the wall, waiting for the world to right itself. I catch my breath, then slowly lift off the helmet.
“Careful!” he says, helping me. He sucks in a breath. “You’re bleeding!”
I note the metallic taste in my mouth. “I bit my tongue.”
“I’m so sorry. I thought you were—”
“A Twitcher. Yeah, I know,” I say, feeling the knot on my head. “Didn’t you hear me say your name?”
“No! I hid the second I heard the door open.”
“I hope you don’t treat your mother this way.”
“She knocks!” His voice wavers between anger and guilt.
“Where were you?” I ask.
“Under the stairs.”
“It’s . . . a good spot.”
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” he repeats. He now sounds quiet and gentle, reaching the tone I need—penitent.
“I’m fine. I’m not sure about the helmet.” Seeing that the side of the helmet is cracked from top to bottom, I disconnect the wire that attaches it to my jumpsuit. “Not great quality, these things.”
He looks at me with such concern and intensity that I become conscious of how terrible I must look, with my clammy face and matted hair.
“Are you okay?” he says.
“You just asked.”
Grasping my head with his hands, he leans in and kisses me. I suddenly don’t feel the spot where I bit my tongue. All I feel is him, as he gently kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, and finally my mouth.
I gently pull back. “You left me. How could you do that?”
“The choice you had—it was too much, so I made it for you.”
“No one asked you to.”
“I know. I—”
“My whole life has been about people making decisions for me! Don’t ever do that again.”
“Okay,” he says, taken aback.
“Do you still want to be with me?” I say.
“Of course.”
His answer is so automatic, so clear, that instead of being grateful, I feel a wash of guilt. I hope one day I can be as brave with my heart as he is with his.
“Thank goodness,” I say. “I was afraid maybe you’d fallen in love with Rayna.”
He looks confused, and then that gorgeous smile appears, followed by the strange, soundless laugh that makes his chest tremble.
Before I know what I’m doing, I dive onto him, almost knocking him over. His kiss was tender and soft, but mine is rough and desperate, like I need oxygen and he’s the only source.
He’s caught off-guard, but once he regains his balance, he responds with equal fierceness, and soon he’s pulled me down to the floor.
This is love. It must be—the rain, the gray, the alert for my arrest have all disappeared. All I can think of is how much I want his hands on me.
He wanted me to stay down here with him forever. Now the idea doesn’t
seem so bad. I know that eventually the room would’ve closed in, life would’ve become too small. But why couldn’t I have let it last just a few more days?
After another few heavenly minutes, I stop kissing him and I stand and smooth my uniform. “How did it feel to grope a Twitcher?” I ask.
“Better than I would have guessed,” he says, flashing the smile again.
“I left Grace upstairs.”
“Who?”
“You haven’t met her yet. She’s . . . you just need to meet her.” I have so much to tell him.
“One second.” Standing, he kisses me again. “Thank you for coming. It was really brave.”
“You’d do the same for me,” I say, and I know it’s true.
I redo my ponytail as I walk up the stairs, wondering how I’ll tell him everything—about the water, the looming war, Nana’s subway plan. I told Grace that I was coming here to warn him, but that was a lie. I came here because I want him to come with us. But how can I ask him to leave his mother and his people behind? It’s too much.
But I don’t know what I’ll do if he stays. Grace won’t be any help—this will be the first time she’s ever talked to a boy. She’s going to be so nervous. She’s probably up there right now thinking of her novels, wondering which one it will be like.
I open the door, ready to ask her, and what I see makes me feel like I’m being thrown into another wall.
“Juda!” I yell back into the bunker. “You need to come up here. Now.”
THIRTY-TWO
A HAZE OF RAIN TRICKLES THROUGH THE HOLE in the kitchen ceiling and makes a puddle on the decaying floor. Grace kneels on the ground, hands in the air; her handgun and my Taser lie next to her in the pooling water. Beside her is Juda’s mother, Rose, frozen in the same position, her veil clasped in her fist. Standing behind them, with a large, nasty smile, is Damon Asher, rifle in hand. No longer dressed in a hand-embroidered tunic, he wears a military-style jumpsuit with glossy black boots, and a gun holster crisscrossing his chest. His eyes gleam with self-satisfaction.
When Juda arrives behind me and sees his mother, he lunges toward her but stops when Damon aims the rifle straight at his gut.
“Be still,” Damon says.
My mind spins. How can this be happening? We were minutes away from escaping. Did my mother manage to get a message to Damon already? But how did she know where I’d go? I look at Grace. The visor on her helmet is flipped up, exposing her tear-streaked face. How could I have done this to her? I should have left her at Macy’s, safely surrounded by stuffed animals and shower curtains.
“Peace, Juda,” Damon says.
Juda won’t take his eyes off his mother.
“Don’t be rude. You started this, after all,” Damon says, redirecting the rifle at Rose.
“Peace, Damon,” Juda says. His voice shakes, whether from anger or fear, I can’t tell.
“Put down your firearm and get on the ground,” Damon tells Juda. After Juda does what he says, Damon tells me to get on the ground, too.
Juda and I kneel close together by the bunker door.
Damon seems not to have noticed the gun at my side. I don’t know how to use it, but I’m sure Juda does. How can I communicate to Juda that he should take it from me? As crazy as Damon is, there’s only one of him, and there are four of us.
But as I’m formulating a plan, Mr. Asher enters the kitchen, and behind him is my brother, Dekker, who has a pistol.
There’s no breaking free now.
Mr. Asher surveys the group. His eyes find Rose. She looks as if she’s about to plead with him, when he says, “Well done, Damon.” He looks at Juda. “It was Damon’s idea to track your mother for a few days. I thought it was a waste of time. I didn’t think you were the kind of boy who would endanger his own mother.”
“And I didn’t think Damon,” Juda says, “was the kind of boy who would rape his own fiancée.”
Mr. Asher puts a restraining hand on Damon’s shoulder. Damon looks ready to rip off Juda’s head.
“Dekker,” I say, “you don’t have to be a part of this!” I can’t believe that he’s spending time with the Ashers. Surely Damon has treated him with nothing but disdain, a degree above a servant.
“Shut your mouth,” Dekker says. “What were you doing down there, anyway?” He indicates the bunker door. “I don’t even know why these people want you back.”
“That’s a good question,” I say, looking to Damon. “You don’t love me or care about me. Just send me to the Tunnel.”
“Of course I love you!” Damon says, his face full of surprise and concern. “The first time I saw you, I recognized your beauty and knew you would make an adequate mother for my children. But now I know you’re strong and ferocious and savage when you need to be. You’re truly deserving of the name Asher. We’re going to be the perfect couple, the envy of all Manhattan. And, Mina . . .” He becomes very solemn. “I forgive you.”
I’m speechless. After I stabbed him and stuck a Taser between his legs, Damon still thinks we can be a happy couple. Even Dekker is looking at him like he’s cracked.
“We have only one thing in our way,” Damon says, aiming his rifle at Juda’s head.
Rose and I both cry, “No!” Juda puts a gentle hand on my wrist, trying to calm me.
“No, Damon,” Mr. Asher says. “We discussed this.”
“You discussed this. And you were wrong. Captain Memon agrees with me.”
“I’M YOUR FATHER, AND YOU’LL OBEY ME!” Mr. Asher says, his voice thundering across the room.
Damon doesn’t flinch. He’s empowered by his rifle. “No more talking,” he says, cocking the gun and holding it at his waist.
Mr. Asher rushes forward, grabbing the muzzle in an effort to stop him, but the gun fires—a deafening bang.
Damon gapes at his father, who walks backward several steps. Mr. Asher turns, looks to Juda, opens his mouth, then collapses on the floor.
Rose speaks first. “Max!”
Her voice seems to wake Damon, who yells, “Father!” and then drops to Mr. Asher’s side. A confused Dekker continues to keep his pistol trained on the rest of us.
From where I’m kneeling, I see red radiating out from Mr. Asher’s stomach.
“Apply pressure!” Juda says.
“Shut up! Just shut up!” Damon yells at him, looking down at his father. “Why did you do that? You stupid old man! Why did you do that?”
“I h-had to,” Mr. Asher says, struggling. He coughs violently, producing blood. “J-Juda is my son.”
“What?” Damon says, reeling back.
My head snaps to look at Juda, whose face is difficult to describe—shocked, disbelieving, and angry all at the same time. He looks to Rose, who’s crawling over to Mr. Asher.
She takes Mr. Asher’s hand, blood pooling around him. “You saved our boy, Max,” she says. “Thank you.”
“I don’t believe you!” Damon says, blurting his words like a young child. “You’re all making this up!”
No one pays attention to him. We’re all watching Mr. Asher, the color draining from his face, his breathing becoming increasingly labored. Another cough brings up more blood, thick and foaming.
Mr. Asher turns his head slightly to look at Juda. “It was better you d-didn’t know. It made you the better man. I want you t-t-to—”
Juda goes to him as he struggles to finish the sentence. Mr. Asher is distracted, as if he sees something descending upon him but can’t move out of the way.
Then his eyes go wide; his rasping breath stops. And Mr. Asher is gone.
Rose says a short prayer, tears running down her cheeks. Lifting her head, she says to Juda, “I’m sorry. We thought—”
“Don’t speak to me,” he says, closing his father’s eyes.
“He’s been lying to me my whole life,” Damon wails, standing up. “He didn’t want me. No one does. Why not? Why don’t you want me?”
He’s talking to me. I don’t know what to say.
&n
bsp; “I’m the richest, most handsome man in New York, haven’t you heard?” he says sarcastically, tears pouring down his face. “I just wanted to love you. I was showing you love! And then my best friend clobbered me over the head! How about that, Rose? Your son is a traitor. He interrupted me having a moment with my fiancée, because he was Goddamn jealous.” He points the rifle at me. “Come here, Mina.”
“Don’t go,” says Juda.
I have no choice. He can shoot every one of us now. I stand and walk toward him, wondering if I grab my handgun if I can figure out how to fire it, but I’m so frightened, I can barely focus on Damon’s face.
“Good girl,” he says, like I’m a pet.
When I reach him, he seizes the gun from my utility belt and cocks it while placing his rifle on the ground. Grabbing my wrist, he jerks my body toward him, until he has one hand around my waist. The other holds the handgun against my temple.
He puts his mouth against my ear so I can feel his wet breath. “All the trouble started with you. Before you, I had a friend and a father. I don’t think I’m so interested in having a bride anymore.”
“But we’ll be the envy of all Manhattan,” I say, trying to sound sincere. “The perfect couple.”
“You think knowing how to read makes you smart? Or dressing like a man makes you powerful? You’re like one of the goats out there,” he says, waving his gun. “Infinitely replaceable.”
He places the gun above my ear again. The world seems to freeze as I wait for the shot. I wonder about Paradise and whether the descriptions are real. Have I been everything God wanted me to be? Will he let me sit beside him and the Prophet? If he won’t let me, then he won’t let Nana, and wherever she’s going is where I want to be. . . .
I hear the blast.
I wait for the pain.
I fall to my left, a huge weight taking me down. Blood is everywhere, and Damon is screaming. In my shock and confusion, several seconds go by before I realize that he’s the one who’s shot, not me. I look up to see my brother, his gun pointed where Damon used to be standing.
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