I look out at the fields again and think about Jazz. She already had an infection when I left. By now there’s every chance it’s killed her, and if it has, Bea and I won’t have anything to sweeten Vanya’s fury.
How will Bea be coping with the loneliness? Will she have stayed in the station? “How long until we get there?” I ask, but my earphones aren’t miked, so no one hears me over the noise of the blades.
All I can do is wait.
26
BEA
Ronan and I have been pacing for an hour. Out onto the balcony and back inside, brainstorming ways to take the Ministry down. But every idea we hit on is full of holes. After everything that’s happened, we need a watertight plan.
“It’s useless,” he says at last, falling into a chair on the balcony. “If there was a way, someone would have thought of it by now.”
I don’t agree. Just because no one’s managed something in the past, doesn’t mean the future’s lost. I’d be no good at hand-to-hand combat or shooting guns, but I’m smart. And I’ll figure this out.
“You told me that the army’s numbers were down since The Grove.” I sit next to him and focus hard on a window with its glass knocked out.
He shakes his head. “Not enough to weaken the pod’s defenses. And anyway, Jude’s recruiting more.”
A fork has found its way outside. I pick it up and fling it across the street, where it disappears through the broken window. Ronan laughs. “Good shot,” he says.
The seed of something is coming to me. I lean with one hand on the railing. “If it’s true that Jude’s done some kind of turnabout, he’s the key,” I say.
Ronan shrugs. “He’s just as much a puppet as I am.”
“If he is a puppet, he’s a puppet with power. They trust him to run the army, don’t they?” I pause and turn to Ronan. The solution is coming . . . it’s coming.
And I have it.
I grab Ronan’s hands and pull him to his feet. “You said . . .” I take a breath. I’m scared that if I don’t say it, the idea will evaporate. “You said Jude Caffrey was recruiting. What if . . .” Could it work? Would Quinn’s dad do it? “What if he only recruited auxiliaries sympathetic to the Resistance? They’d be given training and guns and be privy to inside information. It could work, Ronan. Couldn’t it?”
He thinks for a moment, squeezing my hands and gazing at me. Then he smiles. “Holy hell . . . I think it could.”
I am about to throw my arms around him and tell him that Quinn’s coming, that all we have do is wait, when a noise I recognize too well makes the hair on my arms prickle. The station vibrates and the sky thunders like a vicious storm is passing overhead. “You sent for zips.” I drop his hands and back away.
Ronan shakes his head frantically. “I swear I didn’t.” He doesn’t seem to know what to do.
“Take your clothes off,” I say, raising my voice. A look of understanding washes over him as he watches me undress and does the same. I untie my laces. “We need to be cold so the thermo-sensors don’t find us.”
“Yes, yes. But don’t cut your feet,” he warns. I leave the laces untied and pull my trousers off over my boots. He’s already seen me in my underwear, but I still feel exposed. I swallow down the embarrassment and focus on staying alive.
I dash onto the balcony and lather myself in handfuls of slush still frozen in its corners and so does Ronan. I can’t help noticing how athletic his body looks. And dark. Next to him, my skin looks bleached and scrawny. He rubs snow over himself and shivers.
The zip appears, weaving between buildings on its approach. It’s much smaller than the one I saw when I was with Alina and Maude, and flying low. “It’s coming from the west,” Ronan shouts over the noise of the blades. “The pod is east.” Which means it’s coming from the wrong direction.
“Then who?” I shout. Could it be Quinn and Alina? She stole a tank—maybe she’d steal a zip, too. But how would she pilot it?
We hurry inside and foolishly, I cover my head with my hands. The roaring of the propeller blades dwindles, then intensifies again as the zip circles overhead. “They know we’re here,” I shout above the noise.
“This way!” We don’t have time to get back into our clothes, so we stuff them into Ronan’s backpack and sprint down the stairs. The noise is deafening. The zip is landing on the road. The whirling blades send debris flying in every direction. “Quick!” Ronan urges. I follow him through the station, jumping over human bones, and onto a road strewn with poles, their old electrical wiring still attached. Ronan heads left toward a clock tower with its hands missing.
He runs ahead and before long there’s a distance between us. I stop as the sound of the zip finally abates and everything is still. Ronan gestures for me to follow him, but my heart is pounding, and I can’t shout to tell him, so I scuff onward and when I reach him, he takes my hand and drags me along. “What’s the matter?” he whispers.
“I wasn’t a Premium.” He looks confused and then he touches his earlobe. Still keeping hold of my hand, he leads me down an alleyway.
“Breathe slowly,” he says. I stop and take in deep lungsful of air. While he clambers back into his trousers, shirt, and coat, I focus on keeping my heart from bursting through my ribs.
“Here!” a voice nearby calls out. Ronan takes my hand again and we hide behind a stinking old wheelie bin. He opens his coat and wraps me up in it. I feel his chest next to my back and sink in deeper for warmth. He rests the hand holding his gun on my stomach.
“Okay?” he whispers. My teeth are chattering. I am too cold to nod.
Ronan squeezes me tighter as someone prowls the alleyway. Garbage crunches and squelches under the weight of a boot. The barrel of a gun comes into view. And a face.
Quinn.
“Bea?” He stares at me, wrapped up with Ronan.
There are more footsteps and a voice in the alleyway. “See anything?”
Quinn looks away. “Nothing. I’ll keep looking. They can’t be far.” The footsteps recede.
I struggle out of Ronan’s embrace and throw my arms around Quinn. He stays still and stiff. “Quinn,” I whisper, bending down, picking up Ronan’s sweater and pulling it over my head. My legs are bare. Quinn looks away and so does Ronan. I feel tears at the corners of my eyes, which I wipe away with the back of my hand.
“Ronan Knavery?” Quinn says. “And where’s Jazz?”
“Your father picked her up,” Ronan says. “She’s safe.”
“My father?”
“He wants you back. He’s going to protect you,” Ronan says.
Quinn squints. He’s as suspicious of Ronan as I was. “Let’s go, Bea,” he says, taking my hand.
“Where are you going?” Ronan asks.
“None of your business.” Quinn begins to pull me away, but I stay rooted.
“I think your dad is really looking for you, Quinn.” I press my hand against his cheek, so he’ll look at me.
And it works. “You believe him?” he asks. But it isn’t about whether or not I believe Ronan, it’s about Quinn having a chance to reconcile with his father. If someone told me I could see my dad again, I’d listen to what he had to say.
“We have a plan to get rid of the Ministry, if we can convince your dad to help.”
“He’ll listen to you, I’m sure,” Ronan says.
“Me? He hates me. Just go home, Ronan.” Quinn’s tone is belittling. But Ronan doesn’t deserve it. He’s only been kind, and Jazz and I would be dead if he hadn’t shown up.
“Come back to the pod, and we’ll change things together,” Ronan says, pounding his palm with his fist. “Why struggle out here?”