“Have you told him that you want to turn yourself over to Dana?”
“Of course not.” I shook my head. “I don’t plan to, either.”
“You don’t think that will hurt him?” Mykail hissed. “You disappearing? He’ll know what happened. He loves you. He wants to keep you safe.”
“I want him to be over the border before I go to Dana.”
“So he can wait for you to never show up?”
I sighed heavily, looking at our linked hands.
“I don’t know what else to do…”
We sat in silence, caught in the turbulent storm that surrounded us, looking at one another with fear in our eyes.
Chapter Seventy
Everyone worked quickly, ready to get people moving across the border and to, hopefully, safety. I had not thought about what would happen once everyone was over the border. I did not know how we were going to find a better life in a country where we did not speak the language—which would clearly label us as American refugees and could allow Dana to capture us even faster. However, I could not think about those possibilities.
Because I already knew my fate was to be taken into the Commission and I could not give myself false hope that I could find some semblance of a peaceful life in another country after everything I had seen and done in America.
The no-longer revolutionaries were packing things to take with them while those in the strategy group put together a plan for how many individuals were to be in a group and how often to send groups on different routes south. The remaining rations were carefully divided to allow enough food for each group to get to the first safe house two days away from the fort while still maintaining whoever remained. The divisions of the groups and who to send first proved to be particularly difficult as everyone was anxious to get out of Central before Dana found our location, but we also knew that the routes were untested.
Some more tech-savvy members of our rebellion rigged a phone in the fort with a number that the groups could call once they cleared the border to let the remaining people know. However, some of the other groups were worried about waiting so long to hear if a route was safe, considering it would take about a month to walk from Central to the final safe house near Monterrey in the Republic of Mexico. The thought of sitting around the fort trying to survive and avoid detection for an entire month was a terrifying prospect for everyone, and it made people more anxious to leave in less-sporadic times just to get out of Central.
I worried constantly over the safety of the first three groups we would send, each taking a different route. I obsessed over the circled safe house locations that had been found to still be working on the map, trying to see if there was any shorter way to get to the final location. Each safe house was approximately four days apart if a group walked along back roads and remained on foot. Tori tried to teach me the proper handshake and the two images that appeared near the front of a safe house, but I was too worried about everyone else that I had to constantly ask her the information once more.
As the first groups were decided and people were scheduled to leave at different times, I tried to think of the best time for me to disappear, knowing that if I turned myself over to Dana I would buy everyone a little more time.
However, keeping this plan secret made it very difficult for me to argue for being among the last ones to leave the fort. There were continuous arguments, but they followed the same routine that the others did. I would be standing the middle of the strategy room, Griffin, Tori, and Clark sitting at the table watching as I argued with the silent Mark, trying to calmly explain my opinion only to be answered with headshakes.
By the time the first three groups had left the bunker to start the journey toward the border, Tori, Griffin, and Clark were no longer interested in my arguments. They would roll their eyes whenever Mark shook his head at my suggestions.
We fought about the same thing over and over and over again—when I would head south and which group I would join. It had hinged almost entirely on Mark deciding when he was going to leave Central. He thought it was too dangerous for me to travel in any other group but the one he was with, but I was constantly trying to tell him that he needed to go earlier to ensure the safety of the final safety of everyone who made it across the border.
I suggested that he leave earlier so that I could sneak away once he was on the road to safety. There was no doubt in my mind that, even if the road was somehow dangerous, the cunning and brilliant Mark would make it to Mexico safely. I wanted him safe. I needed him to be safe so that, when I turned myself over to Dana, I would not worry about what would happen to him. I tried to suggest that he take Clark across the border and I would travel with Griffin or Tori or one of the other members of the Eight Group, but he was stubborn and insisted that he would be the experiment in charge of my travel group. He was clearly torn about the journey because he wanted to be sure that everyone was out of Central before he left, but he also wanted to get me, Clark, and Eun out of the country as fast as possible. There were three people he desperately wanted to protect and only one of him, which made him even harder to reason because of his own frustrations at the situation.
Finally, Tori stepped up and offered to take Eun in her group, and though she had to take three days to convince Mark that she could take care of his little sister, he agreed.
I was distressed, trying to find any way for me to not be in Mark’s group across the border. I could not have him feeling responsible when I ran off to turn myself over to Dana.
Only three of the twenty four groups of surviving rebels had left when Central was attacked once more by Chris pretending to be Mykail. The remaining rebels stood around the communications room and watched on the television screens as the winged experiment flew over downtown Central with a gun, raining fire over the people.
I could not watch the entire broadcast. Seeing the people fleeing in terror, thinking that the Central Angels had turned to such violent means to get our message across, and being unable to even defend ourselves was too soul-crushing for me to watch.
“I need to step out,” I whispered to Clark, standing and carefully moving out of the communications room. I did not know where I was going to go, since I could not step outside for fresh air, but I needed to get away.
There was a terror in my body that I could not shake, nor put a name to.
When a hand suddenly tapped my shoulder, I whirled around with my hands raised, letting out a gasp of surprise. Mark quickly lifted his hands as well, his reflexes clearly taking over when he thought I was going to hit him. It took us both three long seconds before we relaxed, though both of us were still nervous about being around one another.
“Mark…”
He took a deep breath, lowering his eyes to the ground before motioning for me to follow him.
The leader of the Eight Group led me to the strategy room, where he rolled the large door closed and motioned for me to take a seat. I slowly obeyed, watching him walk over and turn another chair to face me, sitting down with a sigh. He grabbed one of the notebooks left on the table and a pen, scrawling what he wanted to say.
“I want to apologize for fighting with you about when to leave the country.”
“I know we’re all just trying to get everyone we can safely across the border,” I answered him. “I’m not taking it personal.” I stared at his hand as he tapped the end of the pen absent-mindedly against the notebook. I, in turn, drummed my fingers on the table. “I really need you to be honest with me Mark.”
He waited for me to ask my question, but it took me a while to get my mouth to form the words, even though they were choked and the tears came to my eyes faster than I could stop.
“Do you blame me for Josh’s death?”
Mark wasted no time writing his answer, even though his head shake told me everything.
“No. You are not responsible for what happened to him.”
“It’s just, as soon as he died…it’s like you gave up…on all of this…” I mo
tioned haphazardly to the room around us. “And now I’m telling everyone that it’s too dangerous to keep fighting Dana and we need to flee the country, but I told them before that we were fighting for a better life for them and future Americans…and everything is just so fucked…”
Mark reached forward and placed a hand on mine, stopping me from ranting and locking eyes with me for a moment before writing in the notebook again.
“We all knew this was very dangerous when we started. Dana is not an enemy any of us can predict. But it is better we survive this than be killed by him. If we are killed, then our information dies with us and no one will think twice of the horrors in the Commission. Surviving is the best way to be sure that some of that information stays in the open.”
“He beat us, Mark,” I choked. “He’s won.”
Mark took a deep breath, looking at the paper on the table, pensive. As I looked him over, the realization that this was Mark’s second attempt at bringing down Dana, and therefore an even harsher blow to the leader of the Eight Group who had been robbed of his voice after his first defeat, washed over me. He had fought Dana once before and had taken the horrific punishment with enough strength to rally others to strike at Dana again. He had planned everything, put himself in harm’s way for us more than any other, and had lost his closest friend. Yet I was asking him to walk away from fighting, even after he sacrificed so much.
“Oh God…” I moaned, hiding my head in my hands, the tears returning. Mark’s hand found my shoulder again. “I’m so sorry, Mark…I’m so sorry…” His hand squeezed my shoulder, but I was unsure if he knew why I was apologizing. “After everything you’ve done…I-I’ve just…thrown it away and told everyone to flee the country.”
Both of his hands were suddenly on my shoulders, pushing my upright, his eyes purposeful as he released me long enough to write.
“What I’ve done is try to help however I can. But I’m tired, Lily. I’m very tired. Right now, the only thing I want to do is keep you safe. And if that means fleeing the country, then that is what we will do. It’s not throwing anything away if I can do the thing I promised I would always do.”
“What’s that?”
“Keep you safe from Dana.”
I stared at the five words on the paper, reading them over and over again, each time causing pain to radiate a little deeper in my chest. Mark wanted to keep me safe from Dana, but I was certain that the only way to keep everyone else safe from Dana was to turn myself over to him as a bartering chip. My eyes slowly lifted to Mark’s face and he offered me a small smile while I tried not to breakdown violently knowing that I would be forcing him to break his promise to himself by leaving.
* *** *
A week after the first three groups left, another three were prepared to set out. However, Tori was among the ones leaving on that second wave. It had been decided that we needed an experiment who was relatively strong and healthy to be across the border to protect the humans and ill experiments who were also making the journey.
It was a very tearful goodbye. Not only was Tori leaving, but so was Rin, Eun, and Ichiro. As I was hugging Tori, the reality that it was the last time I was going to see her hit harder than I anticipated.
“Not to worry,” she murmured, holding me tightly. “I’ll see you soon.”
The words were like daggers in my gut. I barely bit back the remark “I hope not,” since she did not know that I was turning myself over to the Commission and I hoped not to see her there. Instead, I pursed my lips and nodded tightly, trying to keep my tears at bay unsuccessfully.
Mark was also hugging his sister tightly, his eyes closed as they remained silent. She was tearing up, but she also tried to stay strong for her brother’s sake, knowing he was nervous about letting her go across the border with someone else, even if it was Tori. I hugged Rin and Ichiro as well while Griffin went to Tori and hugged her tightly.
“You listen to me,” he murmured. “You do everything you can to get across that border safely. I expect to meet you there.”
“You will,” she assured, placing a hand on his face as they parted. “I’ll see you in sunny Mexico. I promise.”
It was becoming more and more difficult for me to breathe. My secret was sitting heavily inside my chest, weighing me to the spot and making it almost impossible to move. When Mark finally broke the hug with his sister and she held her arms out for me to hug her, I was able to slide my feet forward to go to her, but I felt as though I was out of place, as if I had already been captured by the Commission and was looking back on that moment as a memory.
When they left the bunker, I felt myself slip deeper inside the dark thoughts in my mind.
As the groups left, everyone moved with somber faces and slumped shoulders. It was impossible to know if that was because of the goodbyes with those who had become their friends, the fear that the previous groups would not be able to make the trip all the way to the Republic of Mexico, or the pain at sacrificing so much for the revolution only to have it fall apart.
I began isolating myself from everyone, which was made easier with each group that left for the border. There were fewer and fewer people in the fort, which meant there was not as much to organize and keep track of and that allowed me more time to myself to wonder how I was going to turn myself over to Dana.
I was sure that the leader of the Commission of the People was carefully watching for any indication of where the remaining Central Angels were, and even though we had called the first safe house to be sure that the first groups had made it out of the capital okay, I was very worried that it was only a matter of time before Dana found us. He needed to find the Central Angels and he needed to make a spectacle of it to put the people back in favor of the Commission. Even though he had already defeated us, he needed the public victory to ensure that the game we had played was not in vain—we had, after all, upset the entire nation and created a lot of trouble for Central.
Therefore, I figured I had to wait until almost everyone had left to execute my plan. I tried to figure out how I would get to the Commission Building without a car and without the ever-vigilant Mark seeing that I was missing and quickly coming to find me.
Clark tried to get me to tell him what was wrong, but I told him that I was just feeling defeated and depressed about the turn of events.
A million situations about what could go wrong were running through my head, keeping me awake and never allowing me a moment’s peace. I ran through every possible scenario, obsessing over each detail, trying to be sure that there was no room for error so no one would end up back in the clutches of the Commission.
Three weeks after our first groups had left for the border, Mykail collapsed.
He had been staying quiet, sitting in the bunk room, or communications room, but hardly talking to anyone. I had noticed his paling face and his thinning body, but I had been unable to say anything to him about it. We all knew he was ill, and that the wings were beginning to kill him, but not knowing how to help, everyone stayed away, including me.
However, when the remaining people were going to the main bunker to get their half-rations for dinner, Mykail collapsed to the ground walking across the bunker. His body began contorting, seizing in spasms that had everyone around him screaming.
“Mykail!” I cried, running to him. Mark ran over with me, Griffin pushing through the others to get to the seizing experiment. I crouched at his side, my hands hovering uselessly in the air as I looked over his shuddering body, trying to figure out what to do. Mark immediately crouched by his head, turning him on his side and holding his shoulder and head to keep him in the position.
“Peter!” Griffin called.
In an instant, Peter and pushed through the gathering crowd and crouched next to Mykail. He looked him over and then glanced at his wristwatch.
“What do we do?” I choked.
“Just wait,” Peter whispered. “It will stop on its own.”
I stared at him, horrified and wanting to yell at
him for saying that, but as I turned back to Mykail, I saw his body beginning to relax and the spasms slowed. When the shaking stopped, his eyes remained shut and he stayed on his side, unconscious.
“What caused that?” one woman asked behind us.
“…probably malnourishment,” Peter said simply, turning to her. “As an experiment, he’s been giving up his rations for the humans. He probably just needs some food.”
I listened to the strain in his voice, realizing he was lying. I turned to Clark, who was standing nearby, who gave me a purposeful look. We all knew that Mykail was dying, even if we were trying to convince ourselves otherwise.
Seeing the seizure was frightening in itself, but knowing that it was only the beginning was truly horrifying. I stared over Mykail, taking account of his dirty face and hair, of the pale pallor of his skin, and the ribs that were beginning to protrude. My heart broke, my mind forcing memories of my time with Mykail at home, when we were in love and filled with the idealistic notion that we could defeat Dana and bring about a Revolution.
Now he was dying on the concrete floor in front of me, a traitor to the revolution and the one who would have to be left behind.
The hand Mark had placed on his shoulder moved to the wings splayed out behind him, gently touching the feathers and moving them to look at the sores we all knew were on his wings. However, the white feathers had also been hiding the bluish-black tinge of the once-pink skin. When the leader of the Eight Group saw the color, he quickly moved his hands to push the feathers further out of the way. The first sore he found was no longer bleeding, and the flesh around the sore had turned a silvery-white, which stood in sharp contrast to the blue of his skin.
When his eyes met mine, I knew that the state of his wings was worse than we had anticipated.
“We’re going to move him,” Peter said. “Griffin, can you and Mark lift him?”
“Probably, but those wings are going to be a problem,” Griffin said, walking over to Mykail’s head. “Take his feet, Mark.”
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