by Marie Lu
She’s testing me, but I don’t know why. “Yes,” I say. “Why do you care?”
“You’re too late,” she says. “Because today the plague patrol is coming for your family. They’re taking them away.”
I DON’T HAVE TO SAY MUCH MORE TO CONVINCE DAY TO move. And the medic truck sirens, almost certainly headed for Figueroa and Watson, have come by just as Thomas promised they would.
“What do you mean?” Day says. The shock hasn’t even hit him yet. “What do you mean, they’re coming for my family? How do you know this?”
“Don’t question it. You don’t have time for that.” I hesitate. Day’s eyes look so terrified—so vulnerable—that suddenly it takes all my strength to lie to him. I try to draw on the anger I felt last night. “I did see you visit your family’s quarantine zone last night, and I overheard some guards talking about today’s sweep. They mentioned the house with the three-lined X. Hurry. I’m trying to help you—and I’m telling you that you have to go to them right now.”
I’ve taken advantage of Day’s greatest weakness. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop to question what I say, doesn’t even wonder why I didn’t tell him right away. Instead he leaps to his feet, pinpoints the direction that the sirens are coming from, and darts out of the alley. I feel a surprising pang of guilt. He trusts me—truly, stupidly, wholeheartedly trusts me. In fact, I don’t know if anyone has ever taken my word so readily before. Maybe not even Metias.
Tess watches him go with a look of increasing fright. “Come on, let’s follow him!” Tess exclaims. She jumps to her feet and takes my hands. “He might need our help.”
“No,” I snap. “You wait here. I’ll follow him. Keep low and stay quiet—someone will come back for you.”
I don’t bother to wait for Tess’s reply before I take off down the street. When I look over my shoulder, I see Tess standing in the alley with her wide eyes locked on my vanishing figure. I turn back around. Best to keep her out of this. If we arrest Day today, what will happen to her? I click my tongue and turn on my mike.
Static blares for a second in my tiny earpiece. Then I hear Thomas’s voice. “Talk to me,” he says. “What’s going on? Where are you?”
“Day’s heading toward Figueroa and Watson right now. I’m on his tail.”
Thomas sucks in his breath. “Right. We’ve already deployed. See you in a few.”
“Wait for my word—no one’s to be harmed—” I start to say, but the static cuts off.
I sprint down the street, my wound throbbing in protest. Day couldn’t have gone far—he has less than a half-minute lead on me. I point myself in the direction that I remember Day going the previous night, south toward Union Station.
Sure enough, before long I see glimpses of Day’s old cap peeking out far ahead of me in the crowd.
All my anger and fear and anxiety now zero in on the back of his head. I have to force myself to keep enough distance between us so that he doesn’t know I’m following him. A part of me recalls the way he saved me from the Skiz fight, that he had helped me heal this burning wound in my side, that his hands had been so gentle. I want to scream at him. I want to hate him for confusing me so much. Stupid boy! It’s a wonder you’ve evaded the government for so long—but you can’t hide now, not when your own family or friends are at risk. I have no sympathy for a criminal, I remind myself harshly. Just a score to settle.
USUALLY I’M GRATEFUL FOR THE CROWDS ON THE streets of Lake. They’re easy to slip in and out of, throwing off those who might be on your trail or hoping to pick a fight. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve used the busy streets to my advantage. But today they only slow me down. Even with a shortcut along the lakeside, I’m running just barely in front of the sirens and won’t have a chance to widen the gap before I reach my family’s house.
I won’t have time to get them out. But I have to try. I have to reach them before the soldiers do.
Occasionally I pause to make sure the trucks are still going in the direction I think they are. Sure enough, they continue on a path straight for our neighborhood. I run faster. I don’t even stop when I accidentally collide with an old man. He stumbles and falls against the pavement. “Sorry!” I shout. I can hear him yelling at me, but I don’t dare waste time looking back.
I’m sweating by the time I near our house, still quiet and taped off as part of the quarantine. I sneak through the back alleys until I’m standing by our crumbling backyard fence. Then I ease my way through a crack in the fence, push aside the loose board, and crawl underneath the porch. The sea daisies that I laid under the vents are still there, untouched, but they’ve already withered and died. Through the floor’s gaps, I see my mother sitting at Eden’s bedside. John is rinsing a washcloth in a nearby basin. My eyes dart to Eden. He looks worse now—as if all the color has been stripped from his skin. His breath is shallow and raspy, so loud that I can hear it from down here.
My mind screams for a solution. I could help John, Eden, and my mother escape right now, and risk running into the plague patrols or street police. Maybe we could find refuge in the usual spots Tess and I hide. John and my mother are certainly strong enough to run. But how would Eden keep up? John could only carry him for so long. Maybe I can find a way to sneak them onto a cargo train, and help them escape inland to . . . somewhere, I don’t know. If the patrols are already after Eden, then it won’t make things any worse if John and Mom just leave their jobs and run. They’ve already been quarantined, anyway. I could help them get to Arizona, or maybe West Texas, and after a while maybe the patrols won’t bother searching for them anymore. Besides, maybe I’m fooling myself to begin with—maybe the Girl is wrong and the patrols aren’t even coming for my family. I can keep saving up for Eden’s plague medicine. All my anxiety might be for nothing.
But off in the distance, I hear the medic truck’s siren growing louder.
They’re coming for Eden.
I make up my mind. I scramble from under the porch and hurry to the back door. Out here I can hear the medic trucks much more clearly. They’re getting closer. I open the back door and dash up the few steps leading to our living room.
I take a deep breath.
Then I kick open the door and rush into the light.
My mother lets out a startled cry. John whirls around in my direction. We stand there for an instant, staring at each other, unsure of what to do.
“What’s wrong?” His face turns pale at my expression. “What are you doing here? Tell me what happened.” He tries to steady his voice, but he knows something’s terribly wrong—something so serious that it forced me to reveal myself to my entire family.
I pull the worn cap off my head. My hair tumbles down in a tangled mess. Mom holds a bandaged hand over her mouth. Her eyes grow suspicious, then they widen.
“It’s me, Mom,” I say. “It’s Daniel.”
I watch the different emotions flash across her face—disbelief, joy, confusion—before she takes a step forward. Her eyes dart between John and me. I can’t tell which shocks her more . . . that I’m alive or that John seems to know all about it.
“Daniel?” she whispers.
It’s strange to hear her say my old name again. I rush to take Mom’s injured hands in my own. They’re shaking. “There’s no time to explain.” I try to ignore the expression in her eyes. They were a strong, bright blue once, just like mine, but sorrow has faded them. How do I face a mother who’s thought I was dead for so many years? “They’re coming for Eden. You have to hide him.”
“Daniel?” Her fingers brush the hair from my eyes. I’m suddenly her little boy again. “My Daniel. You’re alive. This must be a dream.”
I take her by the shoulders. “Mom, listen. The plague patrol is coming, and they have a medic truck with them. Whatever virus Eden has . . . They’re coming to get him. We have to hide you all.”
She studies me a moment, then nods. She leads me to Eden’s bed. From up close I can see that Eden’s dark eyes have somehow
turned black. There’s absolutely no reflection in them, and I realize with horror that they’re black because his irises are bleeding. Mom and I carefully help Eden sit up. His skin is burning hot. John gently lifts him onto his shoulder, whispering soothing words as he does.
Eden lets out a pained yelp, and his head lolls to one side, resting against John’s neck. “Connect the two circuits,” he murmurs.
The sirens continue to wail outside—they must be less than a couple of blocks away by now. I exchange a desperate look with my mother.
“Under the porch,” she whispers. “There’s no time to run.”
Neither John nor I argue. Mom takes my hand tightly in hers. We make our way out the back entrance. I stop for a second just outside, checking the direction and distance of the patrols. They’re almost here. I hurry over to the porch and slide the board to one side. “Eden first,” Mom whispers. John adjusts Eden on his shoulder, then kneels down and crawls into the space. I help Mom in next. Then I scoot after them, wiping away any marks we made in the dirt, and carefully lifting the board back into place. I hope it’s good enough.
We huddle in the darkest corner, where we can barely even see each other. I stare at the shafts of light coming through the vents. They slice the dirt floor into pieces, and I can just make out the crumpled sea daisies. The medic truck’s sirens sound distant for a moment—they’re making a turn somewhere—and then all of a sudden, they’re deafening. Heavy boots follow in their wake.
Damn trots. They’ve stopped outside our home and are getting ready to force their way in.
“Stay here,” I whisper. I twist my hair up over my head and then stuff it back inside my cap. “I’m going to throw them off.”
“No.” It’s John’s voice. “Don’t go back out there. It’s too dangerous.”
I shake my head. “It’s too dangerous for you if I stay. Trust me.” My eyes flick to Mom, who’s working hard to keep her own fear in check while telling Eden a story. I remember how calm she had always seemed when I was little, with her soothing voice and gentle smile. I nod at John. “I’ll be right back.”
Overhead I hear someone bang on our door. “Plague patrol,” a voice calls out. “Open up!”
I dart over to the loose board, carefully pull it aside a couple of feet, and then squeeze my way out. I slide it carefully back into place. Our house’s fence shields me from view, but through the cracks I can see the soldiers waiting outside the door. I have to act quickly. They won’t be expecting someone to fight back right now, especially someone they can’t see. I hurry silently to the back of our house, get a good foothold on a loose brick, and fling myself upward. I grab the edge of our roof, then swing up onto it.
The soldiers can’t see me up here, with our wide chimney and the shadows cast by the taller buildings around us. But I have a good view of them. In fact, the view makes me pause. Something’s wrong here. We have at least a slim chance against one plague patrol. But there are far more than a dozen soldiers in front of our house. I count at least twenty, maybe more, all with white masks tied tightly around their mouths. Some have full gas masks on. Two military jeeps are parked next to the medic truck. In front of one, a high-ranking official with red tassels and a commander’s hat stands waiting. Next to her is a dark-haired young man in a captain’s uniform.
And standing in front of him, unmoving and unprotected, is the Girl.
I frown, confused. They must have arrested her—and now they’re using her for something. That means they must’ve caught Tess too. I search the crowd, but Tess is nowhere to be seen. I turn back to the Girl. She seems calm, unfazed by the sea of soldiers surrounding her. She tightens her own mask around her mouth.
And then, in an instant, I realize why the Girl had looked so familiar. Her eyes. Those dark, gold-flecked eyes. The young captain named Metias. The one I’d escaped from on the night I raided the Los Angeles Central Hospital. He had the exact same eyes.
Metias must be her relative. Just like him, she works for the military. I can’t believe my stupidity. I should have seen this earlier. I quickly scan the faces of the other soldiers, wondering if Metias himself is here as well. But I just see the Girl.
They’ve sent her to hunt me down.
And now, because of my idiocy, she has tracked me right to my family. She may have even killed Tess. I close my eyes—I’d trusted this girl, had been duped into kissing her. Even falling for her. The thought makes me blind with rage.
A loud crash rings out from our house. I hear shouts, then screams. The soldiers have found them—they’ve broken through the floorboards and dug them out. Go down there! Why are you hiding on this roof? Help them! But that would only reveal their relation to me, and their fates would be sealed. My arms and legs freeze up.
Then two soldiers with gas masks emerge from behind the house, dragging my mother between them. Following close behind are soldiers restraining John, who shouts at them to leave our mother alone. A pair of medics come out last. They’ve strapped Eden to a gurney and are wheeling him toward the medic truck.
I have to do something. From my pocket, I pull the three silver bullets Tess had given me, the three bullets from my hospital break-in. I fit one of them into my makeshift slingshot. A memory of my seven-year-old self launching the flaming snowball into the police headquarters flickers through my mind. Then I point the slingshot at one of the soldiers holding John, pull back as far as I can, and fire.
It scrapes his neck so hard that I see blood spray from the impact. The soldier crumples, clutching frantically at his mask. Instantly other soldiers point their guns up toward the roof. I’m crouched, motionless, behind the chimney.
The Girl steps forward. “Day.” Her voice echoes down the street. I must be delirious because I think I hear sympathy in her voice. “I know you’re here, and I know why.” She points toward John and my mother. Eden has already disappeared inside the medic truck.
Now my mother knows I’m the criminal she sees on all the JumboTron warnings. But I say nothing. I fit another bullet to my slingshot and point it in the Girl’s direction.
“You want your family to be safe. I understand that,” she continues. “I wanted my family to be safe too.”
I pull back my arm.
The Girl’s voice becomes more pleading, even urgent. “Now I’m giving you a chance to save yours. Turn yourself in. Please. No one will get hurt.”
One of the soldiers standing near her lifts his gun higher. On instinct, I swing the slingshot toward him and fire. It hits him right in the knee and sends him tumbling forward.
The soldiers fire a volley of bullets at me. I huddle behind the chimney. Sparks fly. I grit my teeth and close my eyes—I can do nothing in this situation. I’m helpless.
Once the gunfire stops, I look out from the chimney and see the Girl still standing there. Her commander crosses her arms. The Girl doesn’t flinch.
Then I see the commander step forward. When the Girl starts to protest, she pushes her aside. “You can’t stay there forever,” the commander shouts up at me. Her voice is much colder than the Girl’s. “And I know you won’t leave your family to die.”
I fit the last bullet into my slingshot and point it straight at her.
The commander shakes her head at my silence. “Okay, Iparis,” she says to the Girl. “We’ve tried your tactic. Now let’s try mine.” She turns to the dark-haired captain and nods once. “Cop her.”
I have no time to stop what happens next.
The captain lifts his gun and points it at my mother. Then he shoots her in the head.
THE WOMAN THOMAS SHOOTS HASN’T EVEN CRUMPLED TO the ground yet when I see the boy launch himself from the rooftop. I freeze. This is all wrong. No one’s supposed to get hurt. Commander Jameson did not tell me that she intended to kill anyone from the house—we were supposed to take them all back to Batalla Hall for arrest and questioning. My eyes dart to Thomas, wondering if he feels the same horror I do. But he remains expressionless, his gun still drawn.
“Get him!” Commander Jameson yells out. The boy lands on one of the soldiers and knocks him to the ground in a shower of dirt. “We’re taking him alive!”
The boy who I now know is Day lets out a wrenching scream and charges at the nearest soldier even as they close in around him. Somehow he manages to get a hold of the soldier’s gun, although another soldier instantly knocks it from his hands.
Commander Jameson looks at me and pulls the pistol from her belt.
“Commander, don’t!” I blurt out, but she ignores me. Metias flashes through my mind.
“I’m not going to wait for him to kill off my soldiers,” she snaps back at me. Then she aims at Day’s left leg and fires. I wince. The bullet misses its mark (she was aiming for his kneecap)—but it hits the flesh of his outer thigh. Day lets out a scream of agony, then goes down amid a circle of soldiers. The cap flips off his head. His blond hair spills out from beneath it. One soldier kicks him hard enough to knock him out. Then they cuff him, blindfold and gag him, and drag him into one of the waiting jeeps. It takes me a moment to turn my attention to the other prisoner we pulled from the house, a young man who’s probably Day’s brother or cousin. He’s screaming something unintelligible at us. The soldiers shove him into the second jeep.
Thomas gives me an approving look over his mask, but Commander Jameson just frowns at me. “I can see why Drake labeled you a troublemaker,” she says. “This isn’t college. You don’t question my actions.”
A part of me wants to apologize, but I’m too overwhelmed by what just happened, too angry or anxious or relieved. “What about our plan? Commander, with all due respect, we didn’t discuss killing civilians.”
Commander Jameson lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh, Iparis,” she replies. “We’d be here all night if we kept negotiating. See how much faster that was? Much more persuasive to our target.” She looks away. “No matter. Time for you to get in a jeep. Back to headquarters.” She makes a quick motion with her hand, and Thomas barks out an order. The other soldiers hurry back into their formations. She climbs into the first jeep.