“Of course not. Who knows what he gave up?”
John fidgets. “We’ve been here too long. We need to leave soon.”
“Yes,” Miriam says. “You’d better be off. Immersion in the morning.” She gazes at me sweetly and takes my hand. “Just remember, they can never erase what you are. They cannot take what you refuse to give.”
An overwhelming thought consumes me as she says it. I reach for John’s arm. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go back.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have to.”
“Why? Why do I have to? Tomorrow is only going to bring one thing. You and I both know what they are going to do to me.”
John’s face falls. “It would be really dangerous—deadly even. I didn’t bring you here to risk your life.”
“You yourself said it wasn’t safe as long as I was inside Fell.”
“If you go back now, you’re just a Valer who made a mistake. If you don’t go back at all, NH, it’s treason.”
“But I understand what they want from me. And I can’t. I just can’t give it to them.”
Page gets up and runs to the door. She sniffs beneath it, then lifts her head. Her bark cuts through the air like an alarm. John straightens his back, listening. The door of the trailer thuds twice. Someone’s knocking. Miriam freezes, her eyes enlarging as John scoots out of the chair to answer it.
My eyes shoot to Miriam and the uncovered book. “John! Wait,” she’s saying. “Don’t answer—”
It’s too late. John’s pulling open the door. Page’s bark has turned to a low humming growl. I hear her whimper and glance at Miriam.
“John Potts?”
“Yes? That’s me.”
I turn in my chair. The door’s blocking my view. All I get are the toes of boots.
“Ideator 92?”
“That’s me. What’s this about?”
There’s a fraction of a second before I know what will happen, but it’s not enough. The arm of fluorescent blue leaps from behind the door. The sickly sting of voltage throws John against the wall. Its fingers reach inside him, curling and pricking, filling and devouring, at the same time. He cries out in agony as his body spasms uncontrollably.
I can feel it in my throat. My lungs catch fire. I can’t hear myself for all the ringing in my head, but I know I must be screaming.
NOELLE
SIX
The walls of the RV drip with the unimaginable. A blue current courses through him, spearing my best friend to the opposite wall. Page’s growls rip the air, then she falls back against the wall with a yelp. John’s body convulses with each rapid pulse of the chemi-taser. I can’t even see who is holding it. There’s blood—everywhere—like his heart is rebelling. Another pulse, and his neck falls out of alignment with the rest of him. Blood fountains from his mouth and pools onto the RV floor.
“We’re good,” a man’s voice says. The current releases. John collapses. I start to sink to the floor. He can’t be breathing. I’m sure I see his sightless eyes searching the darkness for me.
A leg steps over him, and I feel Miriam grab me. Come with me, she says with her eyes. She takes me into the back bedroom. We barricade the door with our bodies. I see she has the book cradled in her arms. The man’s voice nears. “Search the interior,” he says.
Footsteps clump over floorboards. Cupboards and drawers are pulled open. “They’re in the back.” We have seconds before they reach us.
I look at Miriam. She thrusts the book into my arms. “Take it.” Her eyes don’t leave me as she points to the bed and a narrow inlet next to it on the far side of the room. Above it is a skylight, just large enough to get through. “Find your grandfather. Tell him what you are. He will understand.”
“They’ll kill you!” I whisper.
“It’s the book they want.” The door behind us jumps. “Go. Now!”
I dart to the bed and reach for the latch of the skylight above the inlet. The door bursts open. There’s a sickening crack behind me. I turn to see Miriam hit the sidewall. She holds her head. A man in thick boots wearing a combat suit stands above her. He points the chemi-taser in her face. “Not a very smart move, lady. We have a warrant to tear this place apart.”
A second man enters behind him. I flatten myself into the inlet, hidden from view.
“You don’t have the right. This is still Sovereign land!” Miriam shouts. “I want you off my property. Now!”
There’s a terrible thwack, followed by Miriam’s tiny cry. “You Winnowers are all the same,” the man says. “High and mighty because you think Fell granted you amnesty. Time we did something about that.”
I hear the ratch-ratch-razhat of the chemi-taser charging up before firing.
The first man gets into her face and presses the Taser into her cheek. “I suggest you tell me if you’re concealing anything . . . forbidden.”
The book burns in my hands. Forbidden. I have to get out of here and take the book with me.
I grab the makeshift shelf above the bed and hoist myself up to release the skylight lever. My foot slips, and the men turn. I lock eyes with the one in the combat suit. His eyes flatten when he sees me. “Get her,” he orders. The other man darts for me.
I clutch the book in my left hand, using all my strength to try to budge the lever of the skylight. It’s rusted shut. I’m trapped. I’m done.
My hands slip against the metal as I turn. The second man stumbles toward me across the bed, the first watching, amused, from the corner of the room, his chemi-taser poised. It has to be now, but the lever won’t give. My hand slips against the surface.
I pull the cloth from Volume I, securing it tightly with my teeth around my right hand. With one last blow, I wrench up on the lever. My heart lifts as it releases. The skylight opens. As the cool air hits me, I realize the actual opening is so much smaller than it looks. I lay the book on the roof of the RV. My hands slip against the smooth surface as I try to pull myself out through the skylight.
The bed jostles with the weight of the second man. “Hurry,” says the one in the combat suit. The second man lunges for me and misses.
For a second my heart stops. Death might be better than letting them have me, than giving myself to Fell tomorrow. But then I see John’s eyes as they closed. I hear Miriam behind me shout, “Go!”
I hold my breath to squeeze through the narrow opening above me. I’m halfway out when I hear the chemi-taser revving. I turn, searching the RV. The second man has fallen to the floor. “Too slow,” says the first man. “You lose.”
His partner’s eyes grow into melons. “Scythe,” he pleads. He holds up his hands in front of his face. “Scythe, wait.”
The chemi-taser fires. He writhes on the bed, his blood splattering all over the sheets. The first man—Scythe—stares at him like he’s an inconvenience. He steps over his bleeding body under the skylight. He looks up at me. He tilts his head. He smiles in a way that makes my bones deaden.
I focus on pulling up, on getting out. In another second, two-thirds of me is out. I’m nearly free, when I feel Scythe grab my leg and yank me downward.
I cling with one hand to the slick surface of the RV roof and clutch the book with the other. The world outside starts disappearing as he pulls me down into the RV. I scramble for something to hold, something to grip. I spot the chemi-taser in his hand, but he doesn’t use it.
My dangling foot strikes the air. He wraps his arms around my lower body and pulls hard. I gasp as my abdomen grates against the edge of the skylight. I feel my skin scraping against the metal.
“Let go,” he says. “It will be less painful if you do.”
I firm my arms and tense my lower body. I look back realizing he’s holding me with just one arm. A nodule of panic rises in my chest. I think about screaming but realize he could stop that instantly with the chemi-taser. I glance back, searching for a thing I can hit. His head. It’s nearest. One side of his head is shaved. No, it’s scarred. As if on purpose. Large white scars str
etch from his ear to the base of his neck, forming some kind of pattern. That’s where I aim.
I brace myself, then unleash. My hand collides with the side of his head—it’s like punching stone. Nothing moves. His pupils dilate. Then he clamps down harder, tugging me inside. This isn’t going to work. I have to cooperate, just for a second. I allow my muscles to release. My lower body slackens. I grimace in his grasp, letting his hands rise along my body. Just a little higher. They move up my torso, pulling me down to him. When they’re high enough, I turn, open my jaw wide, and clamp down on his arm, burying my teeth into his flesh.
Agony escapes from his lips. His eyes rage. Veins on his neck bulge for a split second, but I don’t let go. I hear something pop, small and tinny, before he releases me. I swing my legs up and make one last effort to pull myself through. My stomach lands on the roof. I lift my legs through. I scan the top of the RV. A ladder at the back leads to the ground. I lower myself to it and start scrambling down.
I know I have just seconds until Scythe catches up to me. Move. Move now!
When I’m halfway down the ladder, a flash of blue chemi-taser light floods the length of the RV. I jump, clutching the book to my side. I fall into the dirt and pick myself up. Without looking back, I sprint into the alley, where I pause to tuck the book inside my suit. With my arms free, I take off running with everything left inside me. It takes every muscle I have to dart through the undulating landscape. I take the broken pavement as quickly as I can, focusing intently on keeping myself upright. One missed step, and I’m his.
I pass Prospero’s statue, and the closed-up market, where I’m reminded of how this night began. My mouth is a desert. My brain feels like soup as I struggle to process what just happened. My breathing turns to heavy sobs as the Winnow releases me into the blackness of the night.
I run toward the road. At the side of the chemi-wire fence, I hunt frantically for Page’s piece of charred wood. I rake through the bushes, then find it hidden beneath a rubber tire. I wedge it under the fence, then turn, searching for him. A flash of blue arcs over a building, and I know he’s following me. I fling myself onto the dirt and use my elbows to scrape through, but there’s less space this time, with the book between the ground and me. I grip the earth with my hands and dig my toes into the ground to push. I pick myself up on the other side and run. I don’t stop until I pass the boneyard.
It’s possible Scythe is right behind me. My ears prick in the wind, and I take shelter behind a car to listen. I don’t think I hear his footsteps, but it’s hard to be sure with the air whipping against the road debris. I scan the horizon for the sickly blue current for what seems like hours. At last the wind picks up, rattling the car, and I’m forced to move. I stick to the edges, where the light is diffuse and I blend in.
Ahead, I spot the immensity of the bioslice. My gut sickens with the sight of the endless gray arcing over the earth, at what’s inside it. I feel the bite of the sand in my ears but leave the hood down. White will attract attention. I know that now. If I want to live, I cannot be seen.
I hike the collar of John’s jacket up around my neck. The briefest scent of him hits me, and I freeze. The lower half of me withers. My knees fall into the asphalt. I start to break. His face is lodged in my memory as he lay helpless, searching for me. I cannot close my eyes without seeing his blood, the way it spilled from him so quickly. My mind is filling up with it. My thoughts are red. One of them is breaking to the surface, fighting to get through. I sit up and face the wind. Dirt batters my face as the realization bolts through: John is dead, and it’s my fault.
I hug my legs into my chest. Crying is not a thing I do often, but I do it now because there is nothing else. Except the road, which is good and unmoving and sort of forgiving, if I subtract the debris. I find a position that passes for comfortable and curl into myself against the side of a concrete barrier. I could stay here for an awfully long time and just not move. I could never move again. So this is how the animals found death out here. They knew it would be best to simply cave in on oneself.
A stale crack jolts me upright. It’s far away but near enough to matter. I push back against the barrier to gauge my surroundings. Anything—or anyone—could be hiding in the overturned cars, in the piles of rubble and discarded objects. My eyes scour the road left and right. I hear a door hinge, the cry of rusted metal. I whip my head around toward Fell and spot something moving. It ambles up the road, its gait irregular. It stops before an upright car with four doors. The front one opens. The hinge cries out again as the figure crawls inside. What it is exactly doesn’t matter. What matters is whether it’s going to come out and kill me.
I start toward the car, then stop to pick up a long piece of crooked metal. My feet are loud as I come up behind the car and crouch low where the mirrors won’t find me. All the windows are gone except the back one. I peer through it and see the figure inside. Its breath is steaming the interior. I can hear it wheezing. A muted wail escapes from the front seat. I move around toward the door, keeping my eyes on it. I sink lower. Whatever it is, I want to scare it. My hands grip the metal piece as I move up into sight.
A lump of black wool shifts on the seat. It slides apart. The inside is a familiar blue and gray. Vale colors. Out of the colors, a man lifts his head. He raises his hands. They are shaking.
“Grandpa!” I let the metal piece fall. The wind steals most of the sound.
“Noelle?” he gasps.
“What happened to you? Why are you out here?”
“They came to the house. They came and destroyed everything. They forced me to leave, Elle. I didn’t want to go, but they forced me.”
I tug open the door and kneel down by him. “It’s okay,” I say, and search the fabric for his hand. His skin is cold to the touch. He grips me hard.
“We have to get you back inside.”
“No, Elle. There’s no going back.” He gulps the air, searching for breath. “They had your blood from the bioslice. They said you disappeared. They blamed us, thought we were responsible. Your parents—they said they were traitors. We were all traitors.”
I shake my head, trying to ungarble the words. “Grandpa? What happened? You have to tell me!”
Grandpa’s eyes skitter over the dark skies behind me. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. It was so fast.”
“Tell me, Grandpa! What happened to them?”
“Your mother’s ID Philm was missing. She had yours instead. I tried to reason with them.” His hands grip me tight. “I tried to tell them it was a misunderstanding. But it was already done. Your mother didn’t protest. She didn’t fight back. She wanted to go.”
“What do you mean she wanted to go?”
“She thought if she went with them, they wouldn’t come after you. That you’d be left alone.”
My voice is rising. “What? Why would she do that? She’s innocent!”
“To keep you safe,” my grandfather says, his teeth grinding together. “She thought she could do that, but she didn’t understand. She didn’t see that they already knew about you.”
I cast my eyes low, directing my tears to the ground. “No, no, no.”
“From the simulcast,” Grandpa says. “They heard you. They heard you reading.” My grandfather’s eyes search me as if to say, I knew, too. I knew what you were.
“What’s going to happen to her?”
“The same thing that happens to every treasonous Valer.” Grandpa closes his eyes. “They will kill her.”
“What about Dad?” I ask. “He wouldn’t have gone. He would have fought.”
Grandpa opens his mouth to speak and stops. His eyes redden. At last he says, “He did try, Noelle. That was the problem. The chemi-taser . . . He was shot on sight.”
A flash of John’s face the moment before he was killed tears through me. I see my mother, giving herself up, my father fighting back before blood . . . before it would have been everywhere. I have the urge to lean out of the car and vomit, but I do
n’t.
“My only son, murdered by Fell.”
“No. I can still fix this.” I wrench from his grasp. “I can give myself up to Fell, in exchange for my mother’s life. I can save her, at least.”
My grandfather shakes his head. I can’t see his eyes. When they find me, they’re two moist pools. “You can’t. You can’t get back inside. Even if you could, it’s already too late for her.”
My body heaves under the weight of sadness. I know he’s right.
“Gone,” Grandpa says. “They’re both gone.”
NOELLE
SEVEN
We wait out the night inside the car. There’s enough of the black wool blanket to keep us both reasonably warm. I don’t ask where Grandpa found it or look too closely at the long pieces of white hair and yellow toothlike flecks embedded in it. I don’t want to know where it’s been. Grandpa moves in and out of sleep. Twice he wakes himself, talking in his sleep, looks around, then drifts off again.
I watch the road, checking each direction on a rotation, up to the endless bioslice in front of us and back to the Winnow. I keep the long piece of metal on me like an appendage. It’s impossible to forget who might be out there, what he might be waiting to do. I can still taste Scythe’s blood on my teeth.
When the light outside changes, Grandpa opens his eyes. “We need to move,” he says. “We can’t stay here.”
Grandpa twists in his seat and stops. He bites his lip, reaching for his leg. I whip back the blanket. The left leg seems fine, but the right is bent unnaturally. He’s tied something around it—a bit of cloth. I try to check beneath it, but he wails with agony. There’s blood. More blood. I wish I could stop seeing this color. It’s everywhere under the bit of cloth. I have to retie it because it’s starting to flow again.
“Grandpa, who did this to you?”
“Fell.” He breathes deeply with his eyes closed. “I can’t remember . . . anything.”
“Your leg, you’re badly hurt. I mean . . .” I search for the words. “I don’t think you can walk on it.”
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