by Marie Lu
I need to find a way to stall them while we work on a cure. Anything to slow the Colonies down, to give the Antarcticans a chance to come to our aid. “We’ll just have to fight back,” I tell Eden, ruffling his hair. “Until we can’t fight back anymore. That’s the way it always seems to be, yeah?”
“Why can’t the Republic win?” Eden asks. “I always thought their military was the strongest in the world. This is the first time I actually wish they were right.”
I smile sadly at Eden’s naïveté. “The Colonies have allies,” I reply. “We don’t.” How the hell do I explain it all? How do I tell him exactly how helpless I feel, standing by like a broken puppet while Anden leads his army in a battle they just can’t win? “They have a better army, and we just don’t have enough soldiers to go around.”
Eden sighs. His little shoulders slump in a way that chokes me up. I close my eyes and force myself to calm down. Crying in front of Eden at a time like this is way too embarrassing. “Too bad everyone in the Republic isn’t a soldier,” he mutters.
I open my eyes. Too bad everyone in the Republic isn’t a soldier.
And just like that, I know what I need to do. I know how to answer the Chancellor’s blackmail, and how to stall the Colonies. I’m dying, I don’t have many days left—my mind is slowly falling apart, and so is my strength. But I do have enough strength for one thing. I have enough time to take one final step.
“Maybe everyone in the Republic can be a soldier,” I reply quietly.
LAST NIGHT FEELS LIKE A DREAM, EVERY LAST DETAIL of it. But this morning stands in stark contrast—there is no mistaking the flinch I felt from Day when I touched his arm, the violent shudder that went through him at just a brush of my hand. My heart still hurts as I leave my apartment, headed for a parked jeep that will be waiting for me. A morning spent with the Senate. I try in vain to clear Day from my mind, but it’s impossible. A Senate meeting feels so trivial right now—the Colonies are gradually pushing our country back with the help of strong allies, Antarctica still refuses to help us, and Commander Jameson is at large. And here I’ll sit, talking politics when I could be—should be—out in the field, doing what I’m trained to do. What am I going to say to all of them, anyway? Are any of them even going to listen?
What are we going to do?
No. I need to focus. I need to support Anden as he attempts, yet again, to negotiate with the Colonies’ Chancellor and CEOs and generals. We both know that it won’t get us anywhere. . . . The only thing that will make them budge is a cure. And even then, it might not be enough to hold the Colonies back. But still. We have to try. And perhaps he’ll be up for helping the Patriots with their plans, especially if he knows how much Day will be involved in them.
The mere thought of Day brings back memories of last night. My cheeks turn hot, and I know it’s not because of the warm Los Angeles weather. Stupid timing, I chide myself, and push last night from my thoughts. All around me, the usually busy streets of Lake are eerily empty, as if we’re preparing for an oncoming storm. I suppose that’s not so inaccurate.
A prickling sensation suddenly travels up my spine. I stop for a moment, then frown. What was that? The streets still look deserted, but a strange premonition makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Someone is watching me. Immediately the idea feels too far-fetched, but as I walk, I tighten my jaw and let my hand rest on my gun. Maybe I’m being ridiculous. Perhaps the warning that Day had given me—that the Colonies might use me against him or that they might have me in their sights—is starting to play tricks on my mind. Still, no reason to throw caution to the winds. I lean against the closest building so that my back is protected, and call Anden. The sooner this jeep arrives, the better.
And then I see her. I stop the call.
She wears a good disguise. (Weathered Republic attire that’s supposed to be worn only by first-year soldiers, which means she looks unremarkable and easily missed; a soldier’s cap pulled low over her face, with only a few dark red strands poking out from underneath it.) But even from this distance, I recognize her face—cold and hard.
Commander Jameson.
I look casually away and pretend to dig around in my pockets for something, but inside, my heart pounds at a furious pace. She’s here in Los Angeles, which means she somehow managed to escape the fighting in Denver and avoided the Republic’s clutches. Is it too big a coincidence that she is where I am? Perhaps she is here because she knew that I would be here? The Colonies. There must be other eyes here. My hands shake as she passes me by on the other side of the street. She gives no indication of seeing me, but I know that she’s noticed. On such an empty block, I should be impossible to miss—and I’m not in disguise.
When her back is finally turned to me, I cross my arms, tilt my head slightly downward, and call Anden on my earpiece again. “I see her. She’s here. Commander Jameson is in Los Angeles.”
My voice sounds so quiet and mumbled that Anden has trouble making it out. “You see her?” he asks in disbelief. “She’s on the same block as you?”
“Yes,” I whisper. I’m careful to keep an eye on Commander Jameson’s disappearing figure. “She might be here intentionally, looking for where my jeep will take me or perhaps trying to locate you.” As she pulls farther away, an overwhelming desire rises up in me to tag along. For the first time in a long time, my agent skills are calling out to me. Gone are politics; suddenly I’ve been thrust back in the field. When she turns a corner, I immediately abandon my spot and start heading after her. Where is she going? “She’s at Lake and Colorado,” I whisper urgently to Anden. “Turning north. Get some soldiers out here, but don’t let her know you’re following along. I want to see where she’s going.” Before Anden can say anything else, I end the call.
I trail along the side of the buildings, careful to stay in the shadows as much as I can, and take a shortcut through one alley toward the street where I think Commander Jameson had gone. Instead of peering around the corner and potentially giving myself away, I instead huddle in the alley and calculate how much time has passed. If she kept up the same pace, and she stayed on this street, then she should have walked past this alley at least one minute ago. Carefully, I lean out until I can catch a quick glimpse of the street. Sure enough, she’s already walked past me, and I can see the back of her figure hurrying away. This quick glimpse is also enough to tell me something else—she’s talking into her own mike.
I wish Day were with me. He’d know instantly the best way to travel unseen through these streets. For a second I contemplate calling him, but for him to get here in time would be too much of a stretch.
Instead, I follow Commander Jameson. I tail her for a good four blocks, until we enter a strip of Ruby that borders part of Batalla, where two or three pyramid airship bases sit along the street. She makes a turn again. I hurry to turn with her—but by the time I look down the street, she’s gone. Perhaps she knew someone was following her; after all, Commander Jameson is much more experienced in this sort of tracking than I am. I look to the roofs.
Anden’s voice crackles in my earpiece. “We lost her,” he confirms. “I’ve put out a silent alert to the troops there to search for her and report immediately back. She couldn’t have gone far.”
“That’s true,” I agree, but my shoulders sag. She’d disappeared without a trace. Who had she been talking to on her mike? My eyes scan the street, trying to figure out what she must have come here for. Maybe she’s scouting. The thought unnerves me.
“I’m heading back,” I finally whisper into my own mike. “If my suspicions are correct, then we might have—”
A whoosh of air—a blinding spark—something explodes before my eyes. I flinch and throw myself instinctively to the ground behind a nearby trash bin. What was that?
A bullet. I look to the wall where it hit. A small chunk of brick is missing. Someone tried to shoot me. My sudden turn to go back the way I came must have been the only thing that saved my life. I start placing anothe
r frantic call to Anden. Blood rushes through my ears like a tidal wave of noise, blocking out logic and allowing the panic in. Another bullet sparks against the metal of the trash bin. There’s no question now that I’m under attack.
I click the call off. Where is Commander Jameson shooting from? Are there others with her? Colonies troops? Republic soldiers turned traitorous? I don’t know. I can’t tell. I can’t hear and I can’t see—
Through my rising panic, Metias’s voice materializes. Stay calm, Junebug. Logic will save you. Focus, think, act.
I close my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and allow myself a second to still my mind, to concentrate on my brother’s voice. This is no time to fall apart. I have never let emotions get the best of me, and I’m not about to start now. Think, June. Don’t be stupid. After over a year of trauma, after months and months of political bargaining, after days of war and death, I am starting to suspect everything and everyone. This is how the Colonies could tear us apart . . . not with their allies or weapons, but with their propaganda. With fear and desperation.
My panic clears. Logic sweeps back in.
First, I yank my own gun out of its holster. Then I make an exaggerated gesture, like I’m about to dart out from behind the trash bin. Instead, I stay put—but my feint is enough to provoke another bullet. Spark! It ricochets off the brick wall that my back is pressed up against. Instantly I glance at the mark it leaves and pinpoint where it might have come from. (Not from the roofs—the angle isn’t wide enough. Four, maybe five floors up. Not the building directly across from me, but the one right next to it.) I look over to the windows lining those floors. Several are open. At first I want to aim right back at those windows—but then I remind myself that I might hit someone unintentionally. Instead, I study the building. It looks like either a broadcast station or a military hall—it’s close enough to the air bases that I wonder whether it’s where the airships are being monitored from.
What is she up to that involves the air bases? Are the Colonies planning a surprise attack here?
I click my mike back on. “Anden,” I whisper after I input his code. “Get me out of here. Use my gun’s tracking.”
But my call has no time to go through. A split second later, another bullet cracks right above my head—this time I flinch and flatten myself underneath the trash bin. When I open my eyes, I find myself staring straight into the cold eyes of Commander Jameson.
She grabs for my wrist.
I bolt out from under the trash bin before she can reach me. I twist around to aim my gun at her, but she’s already darted away. Her own gun’s raised. Right away I can tell that she’s not aiming to kill. Why? The question runs through my mind at lightning speed. Because the Colonies need me alive—because they need me to bargain with.
She fires; I roll on the ground. A bullet misses my leg by inches. I hop onto my feet and aim at her again—this time I fire. I miss her by a hair. She ducks behind the trash bin. At the same time I try to put a call through again. I succeed. “Anden,” I gasp into the mike as I turn tail and run. “Get me out!”
“Already on our way,” Anden replies. I sprint around a corner right as I hear another shot fired behind me. It’s the last one. Right on schedule, a jeep races toward me and screeches to a halt several feet away from me. A pair of soldiers pours out, shielding me while two others run out to the street toward Commander Jameson. I already know it’s too late to catch her, though—she must’ve made a run for it too. It’s all over as quickly as it began. I hop into the jeep with the soldiers’ help, then collapse against the seat as we speed away. Adrenaline washes through me. My entire body trembles uncontrollably.
“Are you all right?” one of the soldiers asks, but his voice sounds far away. All I can think about is what the encounter meant. Commander Jameson had known I would wait at that block for my jeep; she must have lured me out in an attempt to capture me. Her presence at the airship bases was no coincidence. She’s feeding information to the Colonies about our rotations and locations here. There are probably other Colonies soldiers hiding amongst us too—Commander Jameson is a wanted fugitive. She can’t move around this easily without help. And with her experience, she could probably hold off a manhunt for her on these streets long enough for the Colonies to arrive. For the Colonies to arrive. They’ve targeted their next city, and it’s going to be us.
Over my earpiece, Anden’s voice comes on again. “I’m on my way,” he says urgently. “Are you all right? The jeep will take you straight to Batalla Hall, and I’ll have a full guard on you—”
“She’s feeding them information about the ports,” I breathe into the mike before he can finish. My voice shakes as I say it. “The Colonies are about to attack Los Angeles.”
I GET THE CALL ABOUT JUNE AS I’M SITTING WITH EDEN. After a morning of experimentations, he’s finally fallen asleep. Outside, clouds blanket the entire city in a bleak atmosphere. Good. I wouldn’t know how to feel if it were a bright, sunny day, not with this news about Commander Jameson and the fact that she’d tried to shoot June out in the open on the streets. Clouds suit my mood just fine.
While I wait impatiently for June to arrive at the hospital, I spend my time watching Tess through the glass of her room’s window. The lab team still surrounds her, monitoring her vitals like a bunch of goddy vultures on an old nature show. I shake my head. I shouldn’t be so hard on them. Earlier they let me put on a suit, sit inside next to Tess, and hold her hand. She was unconscious, of course, but she could still tighten her fingers around mine. She knows I’m here. That I’m waiting for her cure.
Now the lab team looks like they’re injecting her with some sort of formula mixed from a batch of liquid made from Eden’s blood cells. Hell if I know what’ll happen next. Their faces are hidden behind reflective glass masks, turning them into something alien. Tess’s eyes stay closed, and her skin’s an unhealthy yellow.
She has the virus that the Colonies spread, I have to remind myself. No, that the Republic spread. Damn this memory of mine.
Pascao, Baxter, and the other Patriots stay camped out at the hospital too. Where the hell else do they have to go, anyway? As the minutes drag on, Pascao takes a seat next to me and rubs his hands together. “She’s hanging in there,” he mutters, his eyes lingering on Tess. “But there have been reports of some other outbreaks in the city. Came mostly from some refugees. Have you seen the news on the JumboTrons?”
I shake my head. My jaw is tense with rage. When is June arriving? They said they were bringing her here over a quarter of an hour ago. “Haven’t gone anywhere except to see my brother and to see Tess.”
Pascao sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. He’s careful not to ask about June. I’d apologize to him about my temper, but I’m too angry to care. “Three quarantine zones set up now in downtown. If you’re still planning to execute your little stunt, we gotta move out within the next day.”
“That’s all the time we’ll need. If the rumors we’re hearing from June and the Elector are true, then this will be our best chance.” The thought of parts of Los Angeles being cordoned off for quarantines sends a dark, uncomfortable nostalgia through me. Everything’s so wrong, and I’m so tired. I’m so tired of worrying about it all, about whether or not the people I care about will make it through the night or survive the day. At the same time, I can’t sleep. Eden’s words from this morning still ring in my thoughts. Maybe everyone in the Republic can be a soldier. My fingers run along the paper clip ring adorning my finger. If June had gotten injured this morning, I wonder if the last shreds of my sanity would’ve vanished. I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread. I guess that’s true in a pretty literal sense too—my headaches have been relentless today, and I’ve grown used to the perpetual pain pulsing at the back of my head. Just a few months, I think. Just a few months, like the doctors said, and then maybe the medication will have worked enough to let me get that surgery. Keep hanging on.
At my silence, Pascao turns his pale eyes on me.
“It’s gonna be dangerous, what you’ve told me,” he says. He seems like he’s treading carefully. “Some civilians will die. There’s just no way around it.”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” I reply, returning his look. “No matter how warped this country is, it’s still their homeland. We have to call them to action.”
Shouts echo from the hall beyond our own. Pascao and I both stop to listen for a second—and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was the Elector. Weird. I’m not exactly Anden’s biggest fan, but I’ve never heard him lose his temper.
The double doors at the end of the hall swing open with a bang—suddenly, the shouts fill the hall. Anden storms in with his usual crowd of soldiers, while June keeps up beside him. June. Relief floods through my body. I hop to my feet. Her face lights up as I hurry over to her.
“I’m okay,” she says, waving me off before I can even open my mouth. She sounds impatient about it, like she’s spent the entire day convincing everyone else of the same thing. “They’re being overly cautious, bringing me here—”
I could care less if they’re being overly cautious. I cut her off and pull her into a tight embrace. A weight lifts from my chest, and the rest of my anger comes flooding in. “You’re the Elector,” I snap at Anden. “You’re the damn Elector of the Republic. Can’t you make sure your own goddy Princeps-Elect isn’t assassinated by a prisoner you guys can’t even seem to keep imprisoned? What kind of bodyguards do you have, anyway—a pack of first-year cadets?”
Anden shoots me a dangerous look, but to my surprise, he stays silent. I pull away from June so I can hold her face in my hands. “You’re okay, right?” I ask urgently. “You’re completely okay?”