I can see everything from here, even if half of it is burned to the ground. We were lucky that concrete construction protected the Hidden Library below the common room. The munitions plant looks like a hollowed-out shell, making me think they dropped more than one bomb on it to make sure nothing viable was left behind. Only the south wall of the cafeteria was burned, leaving it open to the elements. It’s a blessing that the fire did not spread upstairs and to the north end of the building, where Xu and Mr. Patrick are now recovering in the Med Center.
The gates are open and the Sentribots are gone, along with Kino and Haak. And yet, here I am, once again. Chained to this dreadful place no matter how far I walk away, no matter how much time passes. Until I know what happened to Paisley and Oliver, I will always be its prisoner.
The wind picks up, tugging my short curls into my face. I push them away and focus on the flagpole. Unadorned, except for an empty chain that beats a cadence in the wind, it still makes my stomach turn sour. Kino shot Zak beneath that flagpole, then ordered his body left out in the snow—a warning to all of us about what would happen if we chose to defy her.
We defied her anyway.
But did anything change? Windmill Bay is destroyed and abandoned, but Kino is still out there somewhere, doing just fine—probably better than ever. I do not think she ever liked this place, even if she did love the opportunity it gave her to control, manipulate, and torture.
Whose decision was it to abandon the school? To burn it down? Was it hers? Amaron’s?
I don’t know, but it’s clear that whatever happened started the night we left. Even if Kino didn’t light the match that burned this place down, she left three people behind to die a slow and painful death, just because she could.
My stomach churns. Kino may never rule over this school again, but she’ll always find means to torture her enemies. And she took Oliver with her. Suddenly it’s so clear. Kino is the key. Wherever Kino is, Oliver will be nearby—a plaything she won’t be able to let go.
Now I know what I need to do next. I need to find the woman I fear most in this world.
8
Reed
I don’t think I’m completely awake until I land on top of Riley in the old lady’s cellar.
“Ow! Sorry, I–”
“Shh!”
I start to roll off her to the dirt floor, but Riley grabs my shirt and holds me still. I wouldn’t have gotten far anyway. I can’t make out much more than shadows, but I can tell the space is narrow. My head is inches from a dusty shelf, my feet are tangled in the last step of the ladder, and the edge of a pegboard wall—along with a hammer hanging from it—is digging into my hip. There’s barely enough room down here for one person to turn around, much less for two to lie side by side.
Above us, the kitchen door slams open and what sounds like a hundred booted feet thunder across the floorboards, raining down dust on top of us. Riley flinches and I freeze in place. Her heart pounds against my ribs.
“Citizen Claire Wicker? I’m Captain Ogas. Stand back, keep your hands visible, and prepare for inspection.”
Even muffled by the floorboards and rug, Captain Ogas’s voice sounds sharp and steady. A chill I can’t blame on the damp cellar runs down my spine. Above us, the boots begin to move, stomping through the house.
Upstairs, where they’ll find evidence of our visit.
Downstairs, where they well may find us.
A tiny hitch in Riley’s breathing tells me she’s thinking the same thing. But there’s nowhere for us to go, nothing we can do but hold still and trust that our hiding place is a good one.
A door creaks open somewhere above us and at least two soldiers stomp down wooden stairs leading to the cellar.
“Check behind the furnace,” one of them says. “Every door, cupboard, bin or crate. Then take those boxes upstairs. I’ll check the other side.”
One of them crosses the basement floor and stops so close to us, I can hear him breathing. I know there’s a wall between us, but is there a door?
I hold my breath and try to will my heart to stop pounding. If I can hear him, he can hear me. Still, if he finds us, I can’t just lay here doing nothing while he drags us away to an off-the-grid prison that would make Windmill Bay seem as appealing as the propaganda posters that line its walls. So I shift my hand to the right, finding the hammer that’s still digging into my hip. My fingers curl around the handle.
Something on the other side of the wall rattles as the soldier conducts his search. Riley squeezes my shoulder and we wait, but nothing happens. No door opens, which means there must not be one—or maybe it’s only visible from our side?
The soldier hasn’t moved on though. He’s turned on his Readybeam instead, which I know because a bluish glow appears from over my shoulder. At first it wavers near the ceiling, then it lowers, passing through the pegboard holes, casting a pattern on the wall above Riley’s head and illuminating her expression—wide-eyed fear and helplessness. Then the light passes still lower, catching up with my head, casting my own shadow on the wall.
Surely if the soldier looks close enough, he’ll see there is space behind the pegboard wall? He’ll see us!
Riley holds my gaze and I’m sure I look terrified too. I’m still holding my breath, but it feels like I’m going to burst.
Please, God! Help us!
The prayer springs suddenly from my brain, almost surprising me. It’s not like I’ve been praying a lot lately. But either God answers more quickly than I would have thought possible, or it’s an amazing coincidence, because I swear, at that exact moment, someone yells from upstairs, causing the soldier to jerk his Readybeam away. Riley and I are plunged into darkness again as he and the other soldier stomp back upstairs. We both take deep breaths while loud voices talk over each other in the kitchen above us.
“…doesn’t seem likely—”
“It’s the truth.”
“The truth, Citizen Wicker?”
“Yes, I slept upstairs last night.”
“Why?”
“My bed’s old and lumpy and it was too cold down here.”
“We found dirt on the floor up there. Boot marks—”
“Yes, well, I’m old. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be. My housekeeping skills aren’t what they used to be either.”
“Have you had visitors?”
“No, otherwise I would have swept.”
Boots move quickly and I hear the old woman gasp. I don’t think Captain Ogas likes her defiant tone.
“Are you hiding fugitives?”
“No.” Claire’s voice sounds steady as she lies for us.
For a moment, no one speaks. Riley and I still haven’t moved.
“Captain Latu—”
A cracking noise interrupts whatever she was going to say, then Claire cries out in pain. I don’t know what’s happening, but I picture violence. I jerk toward the stairs, but Riley’s hand closes around my arm. I would be ashamed to admit it, but my movement was nothing but a reflex. No matter what’s happening in the kitchen, there’s nothing that I can do to make it better.
“Captain Latu is dead, Citizen Wicker.” Captain Ogas’s voice is not loud, but it carries easily through the floorboards. “He was killed by an IED placed on a mag road not thirty kilometers from your house. I have since been placed in command of this area and I don’t intend to follow his careless example—not in the execution of my duties, nor in the manner of my death. These…terrorists will make no inroads in my territory. Not one inch. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me, who are you hiding?”
“No one.” Claire’s voice still rings with conviction, though its pitch is higher—probably from pain. “Search again, if you like. The outbuildings, the chicken coup, and sheds. Just take care around the hives, please. Especially if any of you are allergic.”
“Allergic?”
“To bees, Captain Ogas. They sting.”
“Ah, yes. The bees.”
“Captain.” Another soldier must be pulling Ogas aside, because they come our way, dropping more dust on our heads when they stop to whisper right above us.
“If someone was here, they’re gone now, sir.”
“Did you find her stock of honey?”
“Yes, sir. In the cellar. It’s ready to load on the transport.”
“Tell me again why we shouldn’t confiscate it all and shut her down, lieutenant?”
The soldier pauses. “The directive explicitly orders us—”
“Yes, yes.” Captain Ogas sighs heavily. “These…permissive directives from on high are something I hope to challenge when General Northcote’s reforms are put into effect.”
“Indeed! Your orders, sir?”
“Attention!” yells the captain.
Every boot above strikes the floor in obedience.
“Citizen Wicker has a well-stocked pantry.” Ogas crosses the room and we hear a cabinet door bang open. “And she has generously offered us food for the road, as any good citizen would.”
“Wait! I only—”
A loud crash interrupts Claire’s protest, followed by bits of glass and sticky food that flies through the gaps in the floorboard to rain on my head.
“Do you see what happens when your generosity fails, Citizen Wicker? We all lose together.”
“You’ll leave me nothing to live on,” Claire says.
“Yet, somehow, you’ll manage to survive.”
Boots stomp over the mess above as the soldiers raid Claire’s pantry.
“That’s enough,” Ogas yells. “Move out!”
Boots thunder across the floor again, disappearing into the night. I don’t know for sure, but I think only Captain Ogas has stayed behind. He paces in Claire’s kitchen, dropping more dust on our heads. I pinch my nose to keep from sneezing.
“Please don’t take it all,” Claire says. “Without—”
“Your arrangement with the UDR is still valid. It is not up to me to alter it…yet. If it were, I would take more than your stock, I assure you.”
“That never worked out well in the past.”
“So I’ve been told. But things change, Citizen Wicker.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Here is your inspection tag.” I hear a beep, probably his scanner sending the tag to her nanochip. “Remember, it is your duty to report any suspicious travelers to my command. Without delay.”
“Yes. I understand.”
“Until next time.”
The captain taps his boots together and stomps out of the cabin, leaving Claire with an empty pantry, a sticky mess, and two fugitives in her secret cellar.
9
Xoey
The sun dips behind lacy clouds, melting into softer tones as evening tiptoes in. Pink swirls with orange, then bleeds into purple and blue, all of it tipped in gold that highlights the burned silhouette of Windmill Bay.
“It is beautiful,” I tell Adam, stopping to watch the last bit of color drain from the sky. Sunsets have always amazed me. No matter the decay of our residence in the Sand, the bleak city skyline tattooed with graffiti and coated in greasy pollution, no matter that here at Windmill Bay, sunsets have always been marred by Sentribot towers and razor wire. Each one is a unique gift, a fleeting moment of beauty that evil or misery cannot take away.
Adam squints at the sky and nods, but I do not see my sense of awe reflected in his eyes. He turns away quickly and helps me climb aboard the transport that will carry me back to Fort Unity.
“Keep your eyes open,” he says. “Always be ready for an ambush.”
I nod and he backs away, but I wish he was going with us. I have come to rely on him in the weeks since Reed and Riley left. I understand why Bess ordered him to stay behind with Joey, who says Mr. Patrick and Xu are too critical to move but leaving him here feels like a second abandonment.
“We’ll be back soon with loads of company in tow.” Bess stows her gear next to me in the transport. “But I’m not sure about the teacher we found in the gym. I’m fair certain a clean shirt’ll do’em.”
“No, ma’am.” Joey seems to understand what she means, even if I don’t. “I’ve dealt with starvation before. He needs rest, controlled nutrition, and several days of peace and quiet. He’ll survive. They both will.” Joey ambles back toward the Med Center, but Adam stays by the garage, watching us pull away.
The trip back to Fort Unity takes all night. Our transport moves slowly over dark, crumbling highways with nothing to guide us but low-beam headlights that are less detectable by drones. Bess keeps up a never-ending dialogue about the pros and cons of moving our base to the tunnels under Windmill Bay. A couple of others join in the conversation, but I have nothing to add. Instead, I fidget and try not to think too much.
Eventually I remember to pray, but my conversation with God is desperate and repetitive. After a few hours of trying to follow Adam’s advice on vigilance, I fail, falling into miserable sleep stained with disturbing dreams. In one of them, Oliver hangs upside down and screams my name. I run through corridors and bang on doors, trying to find him, only to wake with a start when my head bangs against the transport’s window. We’ve lost a tire and spend another hour on the side of the road, trying to inflate the emergency spare and reboot the ancient robo-mechanic to mount it.
It’s five o’clock in the morning by the time we limp through the gate at Fort Unity. I stumble toward the residence bunker and find my cot, falling asleep immediately. When I wake four hours later, a throbbing headache beats a rhythm against my skull. I sleepwalk through a quick shower and head to the mess, where Sam is bent over a stack of broken tablets. Before I reach him, he drops his screwdriver on the table and pushes all of it away while growling in frustration.
“Sam?”
I still have to resist the impulse to put my hand on his shoulder. When he turns around, his perpetual frown is deeper than usual and made more severe by the shadows under his eyes. I don’t need to guess what’s wrong. Someone has told him we had no luck at Windmill Bay. That Oliver and Paisley are missing, along with everyone else.
I sit next to him and pick up his screwdriver to keep from grabbing his hand. “It is not over, Sam. I promise you. I will not ever stop looking for them. Not ever.”
Sam just nods. As usual, I have no idea if my words have comforted him or if he is just tolerating my company. A few minutes later, Jasmine joins us, kissing the top of his head. I jump to my feet and let her wrap me in a warm hug.
“I’m so glad you’re back, sweetheart,” she says. “I couldn’t sleep for worrying.”
“Our mission failed, though. Oliver…Paisley…” I swallow the knot in my throat.
“Don’t give up,” Jasmine says. Her eyes return to Sam. “There were times when I did. But I shouldn’t have, see? Sam is here with me. Finally, he’s safe.” She stares at him a moment, then nods as if reassuring herself. But her eyes are suddenly swelling with tears and her lips tremble. She pulls me into a tighter hug, and I cannot help thinking she needs it most right now.
Jasmine has been such a blessing. Every now and again, I will see an expression cross her face that reminds me of the famous actress she once was, but mostly I think of her as Sam’s mom. In moments like this, when her tears come too easily, or when I hear her restless movements at night and see dark shadows beneath her eyes the next morning, I worry. The night before we left, I found her crying in the corridor. When I asked her what was wrong, she just brushed away her tears and flashed her movie-star smile.
“I have my moments,” she said. “But I’m fine. I am! All my prayers were answered when Sam got here. And you and Adam are such a blessing. No, why would I be sad?”
She squeezed my hand and wandered off. Ozzy walked by then, eating as usual.
“She was a mess, you know.”
“Excuse me?”
He nodded, chewing with his mouth open. “You know they sent Oliver Penn to find Sam because of her, right? She was going to be o
ur poster girl—our propaganda tool to draw citizens to the Resistance.”
“What? How?”
“They wanted her to record anti-UDR vids and spread them around the dark net—stuff like that. But she was too messed up. She spent months sleeping. Seriously. Months in bed!”
I frowned. What he was saying interested me, but it also felt like gossip. I should have told him to stop talking, but I didn’t.
“You’ve never heard anyone call her Sleeping Beauty?”
I nodded absently. I had heard that but was too wrapped up in my own problems to think about what it meant.
“She seems better now, though,” I said. “And she has Sam back.”
Ozzy shrugged. “You get better from these things, but then you don’t, you know? Because she lost Sam when he was…what, ten maybe? That’s a lot of years of trauma. And she’ll never get that time back, will she? It doesn’t just go away.”
I have watched Jasmine more closely since then. She’s usually so strong, mothering all the motherless at Fort Unity. But right now, in the cafeteria, she’s holding me so tightly, I can’t help wondering how much fear drives her.
“Mom? I’m worried.”
Jasmine pulls away from me and puts her arms around Sam’s shoulders. He doesn’t pull away and for just a moment, joy outshines the sorrow in my heart. Paisley and Oliver sacrificed themselves to save Sam’s life, which made this moment possible. The miracle that lead us to Jasmine at Fort Unity is one that still amazes me.
It was not all for nothing, I remind myself. We rescued the Liberty Bell, yes, but more importantly, we got Sam back to his mom. Paisley and Oliver would be overjoyed.
“I know, Sam.” Jasmine gives him a squeeze, then pulls away. “We’ll find your friends. We’ll think of something.”
“I have an idea about that,” I say, “but I need to talk to General Kelly.”
Jasmine nods. “Let me see what I can do.”
Weeping Justice Page 6