by Zoe Cannon
Becca opened the door to an almost-unrecognizable Vivian. Her clothes hung off her as if she hadn’t eaten in days; the dark circles under her eyes said she hadn’t slept in the same amount of time. Her lips were red and scabbed like she had been biting them, and her fingernails had been gnawed to the quick.
Vivian looked her up and down. “God, Becca, you look awful.”
Becca had forgotten about the bags under her own eyes, the hair that hadn’t seen a brush since yesterday morning. “I could say the same for you.”
Vivian gave a broken laugh. “Yeah, well, what’s your excuse?”
“What’s yours?” Becca asked. “What’s going on, Vivian?”
Vivian tested the doorknob, as if making sure the door had actually latched behind her. Only when she was satisfied did she turn back to Becca. “We have spies in the dissident group that caused the breakout,” she said, all in a rush. “That’s what my program does. Internal put dissidents from the group through reeducation and sent them back to bring it down from the inside.”
Becca scrambled for a response, something neutral, something that wouldn’t give her away. “Why are you telling me this?”
“One of them is missing.” Vivian chewed at her lip. “She left school and never made it home. It could be nothing. Or it could be the dissidents. The girl who went missing—she’s sixteen years old. A kid. Do you have any idea what they could be doing to her right now? If she’s not already…” She bit her lip harder, hard enough to break the skin. “And if they’ve found her, they’ll find the others soon. She knows all their names, Becca. She could give the dissidents everything.”
“I still don’t understand why—”
“Because I need advice. I don’t know what to do, and I—” She shook her head. “That’s not true. I know what I have to do. I just need someone else to say it.” Vivian breathed in shakily as she met Becca’s eyes. “I need you to tell me to shut down the program.”
Shut down the program.
A word from Becca, and Vivian would do it. No more spies in the resistance. No more countdown. No more frantically hunting through surveillance reports knowing she couldn’t find what she needed in time.
It was too good to be true. It had to be.
Too good to be true.
“Shut it down,” Becca repeated slowly. “What does that mean exactly?”
“We get all the spies out of the dissident group. We arrest every dissident they’ve found so far.” She started to chew on her lip again. A drop of blood welled to the surface before she stopped herself. “And we pray the interrogations get us as many names as possible before the rest of them disappear.”
We arrest every dissident they’ve found so far.
There it was. There was the catch.
The spies would leave the resistance—but they would take her people with them.
“How many?” Becca asked.
“We have ten spies in there.” Her shoulders jerked up in a movement too sharp to be a shrug. “Nine now, I guess.”
But that wasn’t what Becca had meant. “How many arrests?”
“About forty.” Vivian made a sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Any other time, that would be… amazing. Beyond amazing. You bring down that many dissidents at once, you’re set for life. But you’ve seen the news reports. You know what this group is like. That’s probably only a fraction of the people they have.”
Forty dissidents.
Almost half the resistance in one blow. And that was only the beginning. Once the interrogations started…
“You can’t.”
Vivian’s brow furrowed. “You don’t think I should do it?”
“You can’t,” Becca repeated, as if she had forgotten how to say anything else. She needed a reason. Something, anything, besides, You can’t kill forty of my people at once. Something besides, I have to protect them. “You said it yourself—the dissidents might not suspect anything. If you leave the spies where they are, you still have a chance. If you shut the program down now, it’s over.”
“Maybe not.” Vivian bit down savagely on one of her last remaining fingernails. “The interrogations—”
Will destroy us. “Won’t be enough. Too many dissidents will slip through the cracks, and you won’t have another way to find them. Internal could lose track of this group forever.”
“You think I don’t keep telling myself that?” Vivian wiped away what might have been a tear. Had Becca ever seen Vivian cry before? “They shouldn’t have put me in charge,” she mumbled. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what to do.”
Becca might have felt sympathy for her if not for the panic pounding through her veins. She forced herself to breathe. Fear won’t help them. Just stop her.
“I’ve asked everyone else on the team what we should do,” said Vivian. “I mean, they’re supposed to be the ones in charge, right? I’m just the figurehead. The scapegoat. But they keep telling me to do whatever I think is best. They know what will happen to them if they make the wrong recommendation.”
Becca saw an opening. “And you know what will happen to you if the program fails. You can’t risk it.”
“I know.” Vivian wiped her eyes again. She stumbled to the couch. “I keep seeing it in my head. The arrest, the… the execution.” She ducked her head, sending her hair tumbling down around her face. “They’d put it on TV, I bet.”
“That’s why you can’t let it fail.” Becca sat down beside Vivian. She wrapped her arm around her friend’s shoulders, hoping Vivian couldn’t feel the tension in her body or hear the drumbeat of her pulse. “You can’t shut it down.”
“But I keep seeing her, too,” said Vivian without raising her head. “The girl. And all the others. They’re kids, Becca. How can I leave them there?”
“Internal will arrest you. They’ll execute you.”
“And what will the dissidents do to those kids if they find them?”
The conversation was slipping away from Becca. Going somewhere she couldn’t allow it to go. “It’s okay,” said Becca. “You’re doing fine. Give the program a chance to work. If you shut it down now, you’ll be throwing your life away.” She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. Tried to sound like nothing more than a concerned friend. “You don’t know what the dissidents will do to the spies. You don’t even know if they’re the reason the girl disappeared. But you do know what will happen to you if the program doesn’t work.”
The curtain of hair around Vivian’s face twitched. “They shouldn’t have put me in charge.”
“You can do this,” Becca assured her. “But only if you don’t give up now.”
“They shouldn’t have put me in charge.” When Vivian raised her head, it was as if she had aged ten years in those few seconds. “But they did.”
And with those words, Becca knew she had lost her.
No. Not her.
Everyone.
“Don’t do this.” Futile. Useless.
“Maybe it’s true that they only wanted me as their scapegoat,” said Vivian. “Maybe they never expected me to do the job they gave me. And maybe they were right. I can’t bring down these dissidents. But I have the power to keep those kids alive, and that’s what I’m going to do.” She drew a shuddery breath. “No matter what happens to me.”
“Give it a couple of weeks. A couple of days, even.” But she knew the look in Vivian’s eyes. She knew what it meant to be willing to sacrifice everything. Nothing would change Vivian’s mind now.
“No. I have to do it now. Right now. Before I change my mind.” She pulled out her phone.
Becca’s vision narrowed until all she could see was the phone in Vivian’s hands. The phone; Vivian’s fingers poised to dial; the determined light in Vivian’s eyes.
“Thanks for talking with me,” said Vivian. “You helped me see what’s really important here.” She smiled with trembling lips. “Maybe those support groups of yours are on to something af
ter all.”
You can’t do this. The words wouldn’t leave her lips.
You can’t do this. I can’t let you.
I have to protect them.
Jameson would have told her to do whatever she had to do to stop Vivian from making that call.
Her mind went back to the box in the closet. To the gun nestled under the papers.
Whatever it takes.
Logic rescued her. If anything happened to Vivian, especially so soon after Ryann’s disappearance, Internal would know something was wrong. Nothing would stop them from shutting down the program then.
Despite what it meant for the resistance, Becca couldn’t stop a wave of relief from flooding through her at the thought. She would never have to know what she would have chosen.
Vivian hesitated, her trembling finger hovering over the phone. “Will you sit with me?” she asked. “While I make the call?”
Becca tried one last time. “Don’t do it.”
Vivian’s face closed off. “It’s okay. You don’t have to listen.” She stood. “I’ll go outside.”
Becca shook her head. “Stay.” She would stop this. Somehow. Before Vivian could call that number. Before she could give the order. “You don’t need to do this alone.”
With a grateful smile, Vivian sank back down to the couch. “Thanks, Becca. I knew you were the right person to come to.”
Becca returned the smile, feeling sick inside. “I’m here for you.”
She would stop this. She would.
Vivian dialed the number.
I’m going to stop this.
She brought the phone to her ear.
I’m going to save them.
“This is Vivian Wyland,” said Vivian. “I need to speak with the directors.”
And Becca listened as the resistance came undone.
Chapter Thirteen
Over the next four days, Becca heard too much and not enough.
No one could talk about anything else. The hallways at work buzzed with it; her evaluation subjects interrupted her questions with excited outbursts about what an amazing time this was to be working for Internal Defense. The news ran retrospectives of Internal’s year-long campaign against Becca’s resistance group, as if the final defeat had already happened. Maybe it had. Wasn’t it only a matter of time? Every breath Becca took, every beat of her heart, was only possible because the wrong person hadn’t broken yet.
She didn’t contact the others. She started to call them that first morning, as soon as Vivian left. But halfway through dialing Jared’s number, she stopped. Under ordinary circumstances the support group provided enough of an excuse, but if she contacted all five of them, in the wake of something like this… or if one of them had—
No.
If one of them had already been arrested—
No.
It would look suspicious.
It doesn’t matter, because the core is safe.
The core was safe. They had to be safe. If they weren’t, the resistance was already dead. And she would keep the resistance alive. Even through this. She would.
The core is safe.
But she still didn’t call.
Whenever she heard footsteps, she spun around in a panic. Every noise she heard in the night became the sound of Enforcers easing open the door and stepping softly into her apartment to take her away. She kept her gun with her all the time now. At work, where the metal detector would pick it up, it waited in her glove compartment, and she felt naked and vulnerable until she could slip it into her pocket again. The Enforcers’ body armor would protect them against a bullet, but she didn’t need to shoot the Enforcers to keep herself from betraying the others under interrogation.
She thought about asking her mom for information, but remembering their fight, she reconsidered. Instead she risked a single meeting with Lucas—five minutes at Lucky’s, just long enough for him to pass her a complete list of all the dissidents in custody and to assure her he was doing everything he could. Three deaths under interrogation, he told her, pointing to the three names with neat lines inked through them. All he could manage so far without looking suspicious. There would be more soon, he promised. As soon as he could do it safely. She thanked him—don’t think about it—and left before their meeting could raise any suspicions.
She read the list so many times the edges of the paper grew thin and wrinkled. When she managed to sleep, she dreamed of her mother reciting from it while the world bled around her, and woke with the names still on her lips.
For four days, she allowed herself to grieve. She allowed the tears, the numb haze, the knowledge that she had sealed the fate of those forty people that night in the clearing. She allowed herself to wonder whether the rest of the resistance would make it through this.
And when she arrived at 117 for the resistance meeting—their first meeting since the arrests had begun—she stood in front of the heavy double doors and she turned it all off.
Fear won’t help them.
She opened the doors.
Grief won’t help them.
She walked past the receptionist with a wave.
Be who they need you to be.
By the time she reached the meeting room, there was nothing left. Nothing but what the resistance needed.
The meeting room wasn’t empty. A little of her tension eased as the sight of the others. She did a quick headcount—Alia, Sean, Jared, Peter, Kara. Everyone. She let herself breathe as she closed the door behind her.
Her gaze returned to Kara. If Kara was safe, that had to mean Micah had survived too. She pushed away her relief. It didn’t matter. Whether he was alive or dead, it wouldn’t help her save the others.
Alia surged out of her chair as soon as she saw Becca. “We could have done something,” she hissed. “We could have used this past year to make a difference. All those people we could have helped, and now it’s too late. Because you kept telling us it wasn’t safe.” Her voice rose until she was speaking at a normal volume. “So did it help us?” She swept her arm across the room, indicating the rest of the resistance. “Tell us, Becca. Did it keep us safe?”
Becca kept her voice calm. “It’s not over.”
“You’re right,” said Sean with a businesslike nod. “We can still do something. It’s time for us to make a stand. Send a message. Make our deaths mean something.”
“No.” Becca shook her head—first at him, then at the others. “We’re not going to die. We’ve made it through everything else—we’ll make it through this.”
“We—” Peter’s voice broke. He stopped to breathe, to wipe his eyes. “We’re not going to make it. Not this time.”
“We are.” Seeing Peter’s body tense, she tried to soften her voice. “We are. I’ll make sure of it.”
Alia still hadn’t returned to her seat. Now she strode up to Becca, one deliberate step at a time. “Just like you kept us safe before, right? Just like you let the people in that transport die so something like this wouldn’t happen?”
Jared rose to stand between Alia and Becca. “If Becca says we’ll make it, then we’ll make it.”
Somehow the faith in Jared’s voice made Becca feel worse than all of Alia’s accusations.
Kara was the only one who hadn’t spoken. Becca sent her a look, a silent entreaty—Say something. Make them listen. Make them understand. But Kara only dropped her gaze to her lap, hands gripping her knees.
“So what’s your plan?” Alia demanded. Jared’s broad shoulders blocked Becca’s view of her, but Becca could imagine her expression well enough. “Or is this another one of your empty promises?”
Becca cleared her throat as she pulled Lucas’s list from her pocket. “First we need to figure out whether the core is in immediate danger. I have a list here of everyone who’s been arrested so far. I’ll read you the names—you need to tell me whether any of these people can name you as a dissident.”
She motioned for Alia and Jared to sit. After a few seconds of hesitation, Alia
trudged to her chair. Jared followed, with a last warning look in Alia’s direction.
When Becca was the only one standing, she began.
She didn’t need the piece of paper anymore. But she looked down at it anyway. She wanted to be certain she didn’t leave anyone out. Her gaze traveled to the first name on the list, the first one she had learned by heart. “Gary Meyers. Forty years old. Surveillance informant.”
She looked up from the list, waiting for someone to speak. No one did.
Next name. “Sarabeth Piccini. Twenty-three years old. Ran one of the safehouses.”
No response.
“Aisha Moon. Seventeen years old. Resistance position unknown.”
No response.
Each time the others met a name with silence, Becca’s hopes rose a little more. Five names went by with no interruptions. Then six. Then seven.
At eight—Todd Jenner, thirty-five years old, printed and distributed dissident literature—Peter inhaled sharply. He mumbled something, ducking his head.
Becca’s heart sank. “What did you say?” she asked, although she could guess.
“I know him.” Becca could still barely make out his words. “He’s part of my network.”
“Have you met with him personally?” Becca tried to keep the urgency out of her voice. “Does he know your name?”
Peter gave a small, miserable nod.
If he was interrogated, if he gave up Peter’s name… that was all it would take for Internal to destroy the resistance.
“It’s all right,” said Becca, trying to convince herself as much as Peter. “I’ll talk to Lucas. He’ll take care of it.” One more accidental death shouldn’t throw too much suspicion back on him. And he would understand the necessity.
Peter’s nod was even smaller this time. He didn’t look convinced.
“We’ll survive this,” she reminded him. “I won’t let the resistance die.”
Peter didn’t answer.
Becca went back to the list. Another name went by with silence. And another. And another.
At the thirteenth name, Sean was the one to respond.
At the twentieth, Peter.
At the twenty-fourth, Peter again.