by Marie Lu
The person in the other plane sounds shocked and angry this time. “Change course and get this one—”
Kaede lets out an ear-piercing shout. “Split the sky, boys!” She rockets us forward and up at blinding speed, then goes into a spin. Streaks of light shoot past the cockpit window—the two jets tailing us must’ve gotten close enough to open fire. I feel my stomach drop as Kaede goes into a sudden nosedive, killing our engine in the process. We drop at a pace that turns my vision black and white. I feel myself fading away.
An instant later I jolt awake. I must’ve blacked out.
We’re falling. We’re plummeting to the earth. The airships below us grow in size—it looks like we’re heading straight at the deck of one of them. No, we’re going way too fast; we’ll be smashed into pieces. More streaks of light rush past us. The jets following are diving after us.
Then, without warning, Kaede fires the engines again. They roar to life. She pulls back hard on a lever and the whole jet spins in a half circle so the nose is facing up again. I’m almost sucked into my chair at the sudden change. My vision blacks out again, and this time I have no idea how much time has passed. A few seconds? Minutes? I realize we’re charging back up into the sky.
The other jets zoom down. They’re trying to pull up, but it’s too late. Behind us, a huge explosion shakes us hard in our seats—the jets must’ve struck the deck of the airship with the force of a dozen bombs. Orange-and-yellow fire churns upward from one of the Colonies ships. We’re now zooming across the empty airspace between the two countries, and Kaede sends us into another spin that saves us from a barrage of fire. We cross the airspace and cut through the sky over the Republic’s airships. One lone Colonies jet, lost in the chaos. I gape at the scene outside, wondering if the Republic is confused that the Colonies attacked one of their own jets. If anything, that’s what bought us enough time to cross the warfront space.
“Best split-S you’ve ever seen, I bet,” Kaede says with a laugh. It sounds more strained than usual.
Not far from us now are the looming towers of Denver and its forbidding Armor, shrouded in a permanent sea of smog and haze. Behind us, I hear the first sounds of gunfire as Republic jets start tailing us in an attempt to shoot us down.
“How are we going to get inside?” Day shouts as Kaede spins the jet, sends a missile backward, and pushes us to go faster.
“I’ll get us in,” she shouts back.
“We can’t make it if we go overhead,” I reply. “The Armor has missiles lining every side of that wall. They’ll shoot us down before we ever get across into the city.”
“No city’s impenetrable.” Kaede sends the jet lower even as the Republic jets continue to pursue us. “I know what I’m doing.”
We’re closing in fast on Denver. I can see the looming gray walls of the Armor rising up before us, a barricade like nothing else in the Republic, and the heavy gray pillars (each a hundred feet apart from the next) lining its sides. I close my eyes. No way—no way—Kaede can get us over that. A squadron of jets could get over, maybe, and even then it’ll be a long shot. I picture a missile hitting us and our seats ejecting us out over the city’s skies, the shots they’ll fire up at our parachutes, our bodies plummeting to the ground. The Armor is close now. They must’ve seen us approaching for a while, and their weapons will be trained on us. I bet they’ve never seen a rogue Colonies jet before.
Then Kaede dives. Not just any dive—she’s headed down at almost ninety degrees, ready to send us smashing into the earth. Behind me, Day sucks in his breath. The buildings below rush up at us. She’s lost control of the jet. I know it. We’ve been hit.
At the last second, Kaede pulls up. We skim above the buildings at mach speed, so close that the roofs seem like they’re going to rip the bottom right off our jet. Immediately Kaede starts slowing down the jet, until we’re cruising at a speed barely fast enough to keep us airborne. Suddenly I realize what she’s going to do. It’s completely stupid. She’s not taking us over the Armor at all—she’s going to try to squeeze the jet through the opening that the trains use to pass in and out of Denver. The same tunnels I’d seen when I’d taken that train ride with the Elector. Of course. The surface-to-air missile systems mounted along the Armor’s wall aren’t designed to take down anything like us from the ground, because they can’t shoot at such a low angle. And machine guns on the wall aren’t powerful enough. But if Kaede doesn’t aim exactly right, we’ll explode against the wall and burst into flames. We’re close enough for me to see soldiers running back and forth on top of the wall of the Armor. Their communications must be flying fast.
But it doesn’t matter at this rate. One second the Armor’s several hundred feet in front of us, and the next, we’re hurtling toward the dark entrance of an open train tunnel.
“Hold on!” Kaede shouts. She pushes the jet lower, as if that were possible. The entrance yawns at us with its gaping mouth.
We’re not going to make it. The tunnel is way too small.
Then we’re inside, and for an instant the tunnel’s pitch-black. Bright sparks burst from each end of the jet as the wings tear through the entrance’s sides. A rumbling sound comes from above us. They’re rushing to shut the entrance, I realize, but they’re too late.
Another second. We zoom out of the entrance and into Denver. Kaede slams the jet’s lever the opposite way in an attempt to slow us down even more.
“Pull up, pull up!” Day yells. Buildings zip past us. We’re too low to the ground—and heading straight for the side of a tall barrack.
Kaede veers sharply to one side. We miss the building by a hair. Then we’re down, really down. The jet slams into the ground and skids, flinging our bodies forward hard against our seat belts. I feel like my limbs are ripping off. Civilians and soldiers alike run out of the way on either side of the street. A few sparks crack the cockpit; it’s random gunfire, I realize, from shocked soldiers. Crowds line the roads several blocks away from us—they gape at the jet careening across the pavement.
We finally come to a halt when one of the wings catches the side of a building, sending us crashing sideways into an alley. I jerk roughly back against my seat. Our canopy pops open before I can even catch my breath. I manage to undo my seat belt and leap dizzily up onto the edge of the cockpit. “Kaede.” I’m squinting to see her and Day through the smoke. “We have to—”
My words die on my tongue. Kaede’s slumped against the pilot seat, her buckle still wrapped around her. Her pilot goggles sit on top of her head—I guess she never even bothered to put them on. Her eyes point vacantly at the buttons on her control panel. A small bloodstain soaks the front of her shirt, not far from the wound she’d received when we first got into the jet. One of the stray bullets had gone straight through the canopy and into her when we crash-landed. Kaede, who just minutes ago had seemed invincible.
For a moment, I’m frozen. The sounds of chaos around me dull, and the smoke covers everything except me and Kaede’s body strapped into the pilot seat. A small voice manages to echo through my mind, penetrating the black-and-white fog of numbness, a familiar, pulsing light that gets me going again.
Move, it tells me. Now.
I tear my eyes away, then search frantically for Day. He’s not sitting in the jet anymore. I scramble onto the edge of the wing and slide down blindly through the smoke and wreckage until I hit the ground on my hands and knees. I can’t see a thing.
Then, through the smoke, Day rushes up to me. He pulls me to my feet. I’m suddenly reminded of the first time I’d ever seen him, materializing out of nothingness with his blue eyes and dust-streaked face, holding out his hand to me. His face is slashed with agony. He must’ve seen Kaede too.
“There you are—I thought you’d already gotten out,” he whispers as we stumble through the jet’s wreckage. “Make for the crowd.” My legs ache. Our crash landing must have given me head-to-toe bruises.
We pause underneath one of the wrecked wings just as the first soldiers
rush to the jet. Half of them form a makeshift barrier to keep civilians out, their backs turned to us. Other soldiers shine lights across the smoke and twisted metal, scanning for survivors. One of them must’ve spotted Kaede because he shouts something at the others and motions them over. “It’s a Colonies jet,” he shouts, sounding incredulous. “A jet made it past the Armor and right into Denver.” We’re temporarily hidden from view under this wing, but they’ll see us any second now. The makeshift soldier barricade separates us from the crowds.
All around us and throughout the city are the sounds of breaking glass, roaring fires, screaming, chanting people—only those closest to our jet’s wreckage seem to realize that a Colonies jet crashed at all. I glance at where the Capitol Tower looms. Anden’s voice is ringing from every city block and from every speaker—a live feed of his image must be broadcasting to every JumboTron in the city . . . and in the nation. I look on as several furious rioters fling Molotov cocktails at the soldiers. The people have no idea that Congress is sitting back, waiting for their anger to spill enough to put Razor in Anden’s place. There’s no way Anden will be able to calm this crowd. I imagine the same protests sparking up across the country, in every street and city. If the Patriots had succeeded in publicly broadcasting the Elector’s death from the Capitol Tower’s speakers, there would already have been a revolution.
“Now,” Day says.
We rush out from under the wing, taking the soldier barricade completely off guard. Before any of them can grab or shoot at us, we’re through, ducking into the crowd and melting in with the people. Instantly Day lowers his head and pulls us through the thick pockets of arms and legs. His hand is clenched fiercely around mine. My breath comes out ragged and forced, but I refuse to slow us down now. I push on. People shout in surprise as we barrel through.
Behind us, the soldiers raise the alarm. “There!” one yells. A few shots ring out. They’re after us.
We barrel ahead through the crowd. Now and then I hear people exclaim, “Is that Day?” “Did Day come back in a Colonies jet?” When I glance behind us, I can tell that half the soldiers are heading the wrong way, unable to tell which direction we took. A couple of others are still hot on our trail. We’re only a block away from the Capitol Tower now, but to me it seems like miles. Occasionally, I get a glimpse of it through all the bodies pushing and shoving around. The JumboTrons show Anden standing on a balcony, a tiny, lone figure dressed in black and red, holding his hands out in a gesture of appeal.
He needs Day’s help.
Behind us, four soldiers are gradually catching up. The chase saps away the last of my strength. I’m panting, struggling to breathe. Day is already slowing down to keep pace with me, but I can tell we’ll never make it at this rate. I squeeze his hand and shake my head.
“You have to go ahead,” I tell Day firmly.
“You’re cracked.” He purses his lips and pulls us forward faster. “We’re almost there.”
“No.” I lean closer to him as we continue to make our way through the people. “This is our one shot. Neither of us will make it if I keep slowing us down.”
Day hesitates, torn. We’ve already been separated once before—now he’s wondering if letting me go means he’ll never see me again. But we don’t have time for him to dwell on this. “I can’t run fast, but I can hide in the crowd. Trust me.”
Without warning, he grabs my waist, pulls me into a tight embrace, and kisses me hard on the lips. They’re burning hot. I kiss him back fiercely and run my hands along his back. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he breathes. “Hide, stay safe. See you soon.” Then he squeezes my hand and vanishes. I suck in a breath of icy cold air. Move it, June. No time to waste.
I stop where I am, turn around, and crouch down right as the soldiers reach me. The first one doesn’t even see me coming. One second he’s running—the next I’ve tripped him and he’s flat on his back. I don’t dare stop to look—instead, I stagger back into the furious crowd, weaving my way through people with my head down until the soldiers have fallen far behind. I can’t believe how many people are here. Fights between civilians and street police are breaking out everywhere. Above it all, the JumboTrons display live feeds of Anden’s face, his expression grave; he’s pleading from behind the protective glass.
Six minutes pass. I’m only a dozen yards from the base of the Capitol Tower when I notice that the people around me are slowly falling silent. They’re no longer focused on Anden.
“Up there!” one person shouts.
They’re pointing at a boy with torch-bright hair, who’s perched on a Tower balcony on the opposite side of the same floor as Anden. The balcony’s protective glass catches some of the street’s light, and from here, the boy is glowing. I catch my breath and pause. It’s Day.
BY THE TIME I REACH THE CAPITOL TOWER, I’M soaked in sweat. My body burns with pain. I go around to one of its sides that isn’t facing the main square, then survey the crowd as people shove roughly past me in both directions. All around us are blinding JumboTrons, each displaying the exact same thing—the young Elector, pleading in vain with the people to return home and stay safe, to disperse before things get out of hand. He’s trying to console them by dictating his plans for reforming the Republic, doing away with the Trials and changing the way their career assignments are given. But I can tell this goddy political talk isn’t going to come close to satisfying the crowd. And even though Anden is older and wiser than June and me, he’s missing that crucial piece.
The people don’t believe him, and they don’t believe in him.
I bet Congress is watching all this with delight. Razor too. Does Anden even know that Razor was the one behind the plot? I narrow my eyes, then leap up to grab the second floor ledge of the wired building. I try to pretend that June is right behind me, cheering me on.
The speakers do seem to be wired up the way Kaede had described back when we were in Lamar. I bend down at the ledge right below the rooftop to study the wires. Yep. Wired in almost the same way I’d done it on the night I first met June in that midnight alley, where I’d asked her for plague cures through the speaker system. Except this time, I’ll be speaking not to an alleyway but to the Republic’s entire capital. To the country.
The wind stings my cheeks and whistles past my ears in gales, forcing me to constantly adjust my footing. I could die right now. I have no way of knowing if the soldiers on the rooftops will shoot me down before I can reach relative safety behind a balcony’s wall of glass, dozens of feet above the rest of the crowd. Or maybe they’ll recognize who I am and hold their fire.
I climb until I reach the tenth floor, the same floor that the Elector’s balcony is on, then crouch for a second to look down. I’m high enough—the instant I turn the corner of this building, everyone will see me. The masses are most concentrated on this side, their faces turned up to the Elector, their fists raised in anger. Even from here, I can see how many of them have that scarlet streak painted into their hair. Apparently the Republic’s attempts to outlaw it don’t work so well when everyone wants to do it.
On the edges of the square, street police and soldiers are striking out mercilessly with their batons, pushing people back with rows of transparent shields. I’m surprised there’s no shooting. My hands start shaking in rage. There are few things as intimidating as hundreds of Republic soldiers decked out in faceless riot gear, standing in grim, dark lines against a mass of unarmed protesters. I flatten myself against the wall and take a few breaths of cold night air, struggling to stay calm. Struggling to remind myself of June and June’s brother and the Elector, and that behind some of those faceless Republic masks are good people, with parents and siblings and children. I hope Anden is the reason no shots have rung out—that he has told his soldiers not to fire on this crowd. I have to believe that. Otherwise, I’ll never convince the people of what I’m about to say.
“Don’t be afraid,” I whisper to myself, my eyes squeezed shut. “You can’t afford it.”
Then I step out from the shadows, hurry along the ledge until I turn the corner of the building, and hop into the closest balcony I can find. I face the central square. The protective balcony glass cuts off about a foot over my head, but I can still feel the wind siphoning in from above. I take off my cap and toss it over the top edge. It floats down to the ground, carried sideways by the wind. My hair streams out all around me. I bend down, twist one of the speakers’ wires, and hold the speaker up like a megaphone. Then I wait.
At first no one notices me. But soon one face turns up in my direction, probably attracted by the brightness of my hair, and then another face, and then another. A small group. It grows into several dozen, all of them pointing up at me. The roars and angry chants below begin to subside. I wonder if June sees me. The soldiers lining other roofs have their guns fixed on me—but they don’t shoot. They’re stuck with me in this awkward, tense limbo. I want to run. To do what I always do, have always done, for the last five years of my life. Escape, flee into the shadows.
But this time, I stand my ground. I’m tired of running.
The crowd grows quieter as more and more turn their faces up to see me. At first, I hear incredulous chatter. Even some laughs. That can’t be Day, I imagine them muttering to one another. Some imposter. But the longer I stay here, the louder they get. Everyone has turned toward me now. My eyes wander over to where Anden is on his balcony; even he’s looking at me now. I hold my breath, hoping that he doesn’t decide to order me shot. Is he on my side?
Then they’re all chanting my name. Day! Day! Day! I can hardly believe my ears. They’re chanting for me, and their voices echo down every block and reach every street. I stay frozen where I am, still clinging to my makeshift megaphone, unable to tear my eyes away from the crowds. I lift the speaker to my lips.
“People of the Republic!” I shout. “Do you hear me?”