“He is not yours to use!” I exclaim furiously.
Ling finds her voice. “And you’re not in a position to decide what Kudzu does! This is what we’ve been been working for, and this is what we’re going to do. I don’t care if you don’t like it, Tess. I don’t care if you’re too chicken.” Her voice reaches a fever pitch, hands balled into fists. “We’re going to open a border now!”
The words tumble out of my mouth before I have time to stop them. “Opening a border won’t get Sanako back!”
Ling freezes, stunned, as if I just sucker-punched the entire car. Ling’s face looks as if it’s burning hot and icy cold, all at once. Her voice is a low, predatory growl. “How dare you say that to me.”
“I know you want her back,” I say, my voice full of desperate passion. “And I know you blame yourself for her leaving. I know what it’s like to lose someone.” I reach for her hands but she flinches, yanking them back. Her eyes are on fire. “But you’re a leader, Ling,” I continue. “You have to make decisions that are best for everyone, not for one girl who may or may not be out there. A girl who made her own decision about her own life and has to face the consequences herself. You can’t save her.”
The world whirls by our little car as we reach the end of the loop and start it again. Below us, Eden glitters like a treasure chest. Ling hisses roughly, “It’s not about her.”
I can’t make Ling see what I see. My voice is quiet, but not weak. “Isn’t it?”
A tear spills from Ling’s lower lid and streaks down her cheek. Her voice is cracked and hard. “I want to help the Badlands. Not just her.”
“I know. And so do I,” I tell her. “But we’re not ready to open a border now. We’ve no backup, no weapons, and no plan for how to make sure a lot of people don’t end up dead.”
Ling blows her bangs out of eyes and exhales loudly. Naz and Achilles stare at her, waiting for her decision. I’m sure I’m right. I recognize the crazed look in her eye and the impossibility of her plan. That was me fleeing Eden for the Badlands.
After what seems like an age, she turns her head to meet my gaze. “You’re right,” she says evenly. “This isn’t the right time.”
I sag in relief.
Naz sniffs, disgusted. “So we do nothing?”
“We’re escaping,” Achilles points out. “That’s not nothing.”
My eyes flicker to Hunter, then back to Ling. “We can’t stay in Eden, can we?” I’m framing it as a question, but I already know the answer.
“No,” Ling says flatly. “Whatever happens, we’ll have to leave for the Badlands. Tonight. We’ll have to be gone by dawn.”
Achilles looks as if he’s just licked something sour. “Really?” he asks. “All of us?”
Ling nods curtly. “What other option do we have? Stay at Milkwood and never leave? It’s not completely self-sufficient, and I bet the Trust would find us eventually, even if it were.”
Silence settles into the car for a moment as we absorb what this means. Leaving Eden. Returning to the Badlands. “I know we escaped,” I say slowly. “And I know we stopped Project Aevum. But somehow . . .”
“Scurrying over the border with our tail between our legs totally sucks?” Achilles suggests.
I wince. “Exactly,” I mutter.
Ling sighs angrily. “I just wish there was something we could do.”
So do I. I glance at Hunter. He cocks his head a quarter-inch, eyes serious and, somehow, committed. He nods, just slightly. He’s up for something. My heart swells—of course he is. Of course he’ll help. My mind begins whirring frantically.
Ling continues, “Something that means Benji and Lana didn’t die for nothing.”
“Something badass,” grunts Naz.
“Something involving Hunter,” Achilles chimes in, sounding smitten. “I mean, c’mon, the guy’s six kinds of awesome.” He raises his shackled hands, offering one palm to Hunter for a high five.
Hunter frowns at Achilles, unsure.
“He wants you to hit it,” Naz explains.
Hunter blinks, just once. Achilles grins and nods encouragingly. Hunter slaps Achilles’ open palm. Hard. Achilles flinches, emitting a tiny yelp of pain.
“Too hard?” Hunter asks in concern.
“No,” Achilles replies hoarsely, dropping his hands into his lap to rub his palm against his pants. “You got it, buddy. You got it.”
My loose idea finally solidifies into something whole. “Actually, there is something we could do.”
Ling, who’d been staring morosely out the window, jolts to attention. “What?”
I face everyone in the car, feeling excited, nervous, and almost incredulous that I’m actually going to suggest this. “Just before Ling brought me back from the Badlands, the Trust built a dam. A thick concrete dam, one hundred feet tall and fifty feet wide. The dam that stops Moon Lake from flowing through an aqueduct to become Lunalac in the Badlands.” I pause, glancing around at the four sets of eyes that are glued on me. “We’re going to blow up that dam.”
Ling’s expression slowly transforms. “The aqueduct,” she whispers. “We can blow up the dam.”
Naz whistles, low and long. “Damn, Rockwood. You’re hard-core.” She nods in approval. “I like it.”
“Blowing up the dam will flush the Badlands with thousands of gallons of fresh water,” I continue. “It’d change lives, save lives.” I picture the little kids who used to crowd outside Zhukov’s bar, and the looks on their faces when fresh water starts to flow from the taps again. “We could never do it on our own,” I add. “But if Hunter agrees to help . . .” I trail off, glancing over at him, knowing he’ll say yes.
“It won’t fix the problem in the long-term,” Hunter points out. “But it’s far more achievable and less dangerous than opening a border. You can count me in.”
A giddy wave of adrenaline bubbles up inside me, making my heart beat faster. I tell Hunter, “There’s about a hundred Quicks on guard—”
“How do you know all this?” Ling demands.
“Remember the off-cycle scratch you gave me?” I ask. “I didn’t have much to do after my ‘tutoring’ sessions.” I put air quotes around the word tutoring, and Hunter flicks me a wry smile. “I was curious. But I could only see what was on the streams, nothing that official.”
“Bo can help with explosives,” Ling begins, before catching herself. “Assuming . . .”
Assuming Milkwood is still standing. Assuming the Trust hasn’t killed our friends.
“We have to go back to Milkwood.” I say it, but I know I’m also speaking for Ling, Achilles, and Naz.
“Milkwood?” Hunter asks.
“Kudzu’s base,” I explain.
“Our home,” Ling adds.
Hunter shakes his head firmly. “No. It’s too dangerous. The Trust could be waiting for us.”
Ling opens her mouth in immediate protest, but I stop her with a quick glance. Instead, I turn to Hunter. His face is set in a look of resolve. “Tess,” he says, “you can’t go back. I can’t put you in danger like that. I want to . . .” He pauses, and glances furtively at the others in the backseat. The look strikes me as odd, and a second later, I realize why. He’s nervous about them overhearing. It’s so unexpectedly vulnerable and impossibly human that a little shiver of something electric and warm races through me.
“You want to what?” I ask quietly.
He looks back at me, and the expression on his face reminds me of when he told me in the florist shop he was scared for me, asking me in that soft, embarrassed way if that was normal. “I want to protect you,” he finishes in a low voice.
Ling makes a noise from the backseat that could be a scoff or an aw.
I reach out to take his hand. Our fingers intertwine. Even though I initiated it, I have to suppress a gasp. Every nerve ending sings and sparks and shoots pulses of energy up my arm. I try to focus. “Hunter, our friends are there. People we care about. We have to see if they’re okay.” I squeeze his han
d, and another flurry of that feeling, that strange, electric feeling, floods through my veins. “Can you understand that?”
He glances down at our fingers, lips parted. I wonder if he’s feeling what I am. He nods. I squeeze his hand again, then pull away.
Hunter straightens in his seat and asks, “Should I access the official schematics on the dam now?”
“You can you do that without going on-cycle, right?” Achilles asks, awestruck.
“Yes. Trust schematics are never on-cycle,” he replies. “They’re not for the public to see. I can’t go on-cycle at all now,” he adds. “Not unless we want the Trust to know where we are.”
“Yes, stay off-cycle,” Ling says, a little imperiously. “Don’t let them find us through you.”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know what they’re looking for. I will remain”—he shoots me a sly, sideways look—“impotent.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a second longer than necessary, long enough to feel my cheeks buzz with color. Someone in the backseat laughs.
“Hey.” I frown, reaching for the mirror matter. “This isn’t full, it’s maybe ninety percent.” I glance back at Hunter. “I don’t want to”—I purse my lips, searching for the phrase—“run you down. How does this recharge?”
He smiles unevenly, taking the silver tube from me. “Sun works,” he says, putting it back on the light-filled dashboard. “Not as quickly as the recharging stations at Simutech and in the Towers, but sun works.”
“Solar.” Achilles nods approvingly. “A classic for a reason. You can recharge yourself wherever you are.”
“How long will it take to fully recharge?” I ask. Hunter’s involvement in anything we do from now on is key.
“A day,” he replies.
“We won’t have a day,” I say, alarmed.
“Right,” adds Ling. “We can only risk blowing up the dam tonight. Any longer and the Trust will track us down. We have to leave Eden before dawn.”
I glance at the sun and do some quick math, remembering that we lose the sun earlier at Milkwood because of the high city walls. “We probably have only six hours of direct sunlight left.”
Hunter doesn’t look bothered by this. “I’m okay for now. I just need to keep this in the sun for as long as possible.”
I nod. The silver mirror matter glints and shimmers on the dashboard: a life force in a tube.
“What can you tell us about the dam?” Ling asks.
Hunter relaxes, unfocusing his gaze. His eyes start to glow, as if someone switched on a torch behind them. They’re the color of cut kiwi fruit. “One hundred and eight Quicks,” he murmurs. “The dam wall is ten feet thick, and yes, one hundred feet high and fifty feet wide. The entrance to the aqueduct is also one hundred feet high and fifty feet wide, shaped like an oval. The space between where the dam ends and the entrance to the aqueduct is forty-three feet—”
Suddenly he stops. His eyes lose the inhuman glow and he makes a small sound of surprise. “What?” I ask anxiously. “What did you see?”
Hunter shakes his head. “Nothing.” His hand moves to rub his chin, distressed, eyes meeting mine. “I just lost access.”
“What does that mean?” Ling asks.
“It means the Trust just cut me loose,” he replies ruefully. “I knew it was going to happen eventually. I was hoping for later rather than sooner.”
Panic flares inside me. “Are they going to shut you down? Serf you? Wipe your memories?” Horrific scenarios of Hunter seizing control of our buzzcar and flying us back to the Trust laughing manically explode into my imagination before I see him shaking his head emphatically.
“They can’t do that. I’d have to be there for them to modify my memories, and they’re nowhere near powerful enough to serf me or shut me down. It’s the equivalent of losing my security clearance.”
I shake my head, confused. “But what about the exit program? Surely they can shut you off remotely?”
“Actually, that’s what Abel originally wanted,” Hunter says. “It was Gyan who insisted I be more independent. I guess,” he continues, tilting his head thoughtfully, “that’s what you’d call irony.”
“Did they know you were looking at the dam schematics?” I ask urgently. If they did, our plan is as good as dust—we could never hit the dam if the Trust knows we’re coming.
“No,” Hunter replies. “They can’t have known that.”
“So, what does this mean?” Ling asks.
Hunter’s face darkens. “It means I can’t serf the Quicks.”
“Oh.” I sink back into my seat. “Oh.”
Could Kudzu take on all those Quicks ourselves? No. That’s way too dangerous. Outside, the sun beats down relentlessly as we start to take the same loop again. “What do you need?” I ask Hunter. “What do you need to serf the Quicks?”
“Something called a root processing algorithm,” he replies. “The RPA.”
“Well, where is it that?” I ask. “How can we get it?”
He frowns, running one hand through his hair. “We could go back to the Three Towers—”
“No,” the backseat choruses.
“I am officially passing on that idea,” Achilles adds.
“It might be in official scratch,” Hunter thinks aloud. “I can’t check now. It’s actually very frustrating—”
“Wait!” I exclaim, sitting up. “Official scratch, like blue scratch?”
He nods. “Possibly. Probably. Ugh.” He makes a face, musing to himself. “This uncertainty is extremely disconcerting. I’m used to having access to everything, all information, everything in the streams. This is what it must be like to be human—”
I whack him lightly. “Hunter, shut up.” I turn to the others, grinning. “I can get blue scratch.”
Ling looks at me disbelievingly. “What?”
I quickly explain that Izzy’s father is a Guider. “What day is it?” I ask Hunter.
“Monday.”
“She’ll be at education now,” I say, “but if we come back later tonight, she might give it to me.”
“Might?” Lind asks warily.
“We didn’t part on the best of terms,” I say. “But it’s worth a shot.”
It’s all Ling needs to hear. “Right. We’re on. Let’s get to Milkwood, we’ll work out the rest on the way.” She pauses, glancing at us in an uncharacteristically mischievous way. Then, in a low, almost conspiratorial tone: “Our minds are better.”
Achilles grins, holding up his shackled hands. “Hands? Definitely faster.”
Naz and I trade a look. For the first time ever, it is a look of equals. We grin widely, then chant together, “Our hearts are stronger.”
Then, all at once, we raise our voices and shout with delirious abandon, “We are Kudzu!”
Our laughter is high and wild, and when I catch Hunter’s bemused look, I laugh even harder. Tears prick my eyes, and joy fills me from the boots up. My friends, my crazy, brave, passionate friends, are going to blow up a dam. In our little stolen buzzcar, we howl and we shout and we laugh. We are Kudzu.
We land south of Milkwood, near the entrance to a hike that circles around the lake. It’s uncommon, but not unusual, for Edenites to buzz up here from any of the townships. We can’t take the regular path back to Milkwood because we can’t risk the Trust seeing a buzzcar land so far north. We’ll have to beat our own path back.
Naz busies herself trying to cut the Trust handlocks off Ling and Achilles with a stone, telling Hunter and me that if she can’t do it in a few minutes, we’ll just have to help them hike to Milkwood without the use of their arms. I know Hunter could break the handlocks, but he doesn’t offer, which makes me assume he’s saving his power. And besides, I’ve already asked so much of him; I don’t want him feeling like some sort of garden tool. Instead, I ask quietly, “Can we talk?”
As the dull clang of rock on metal echoes out around us, Hunter and I move into the scrub. The fallen leaves form a soft mulch that’s spongy under
foot. We stop after passing a large elm tree, putting it between us and the others. Honey-colored light fills a small clearing. I find a safe spot for the mirror matter, a low, wide tree fork drenched in bright sunlight. It catches the light and sparkles like a thousand tiny diamonds.
Before I open my mouth, Hunter surprises me. “I have something for you.” He leans down and draws a bundle out of his white boot. It’s about the size of the mirror matter, wrapped in tough black fabric. When I flip the fabric back, I gasp. “Mack!” My knife! My beautiful, strong hunting knife that I was sure I had lost forever. I flip it fast through my fingers, thrilling at the familiar feel. “But where was—how did you—”
“I had it when I rescued you from the Interrogation Room,” Hunter says, taking in my rapt face with clear satisfaction. “I forgot about it until now.”
I grin up at him. “I thought you never forget.”
I say this because I remember him saying it in the florist shop. The shop. Suddenly the pleasure at Mack’s return wavers, and I’m reminded of what I need to speak to Hunter about. Carefully, I wrap my knife back in the black fabric and move to balance it on the tree fork, next to the mirror matter. But even after I put the knife down, I can’t drag my eyes to the boy behind me.
“Something is wrong,” he says. “What’s the matter?”
I frown, my hands twisting into each other anxiously.
“Are you nervous about the dam?” he tries again. I shake my head no. “Tess. Look at me. Please?” Reluctantly, I turn to face him. “I find humans hard enough to understand when they’re being direct,” he says seriously. “Removing speech makes comprehension significantly more difficult.”
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others,” I say, glancing in their direction. “I didn’t want them to worry.”
“Worry about what?”
My stomach twists with nerves. “Well, what if you change your mind? About helping us? What if . . .” I exhale hard, my body tense. “What if we have a fight and you decide Project Aevum is the best way to go?”
Hunter blinks, surprised. “That won’t happen, Tess.”
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