“I’m glad you’re home,” Niamh says. She fills her water glass and strolls out of the kitchen.
I’m fooling myself if I think I can convince Niamh that our father was responsible for his own death.
And I can’t be her conscience; it would be pointless to try.
PART III
THE ESCAPE
38
QUINN
Bea’s running, being chased by armed stewards, and my father’s at the head of the hunt, carrying one of those old-fashioned muskets. Eventually Bea falls and I’m there, too, rooted to the road and peering down at her. “Anything’s better than this,” she says, but before I can save her, Ronan is dragging her away. All I can do is retreat slowly into the shadows like a coward. She looks up at Ronan and smiles. Then she kisses him.
I wake with a start, feeling penned in.
Clarice has her arm draped over me. She’s snoring. I peel her away and sit up, untangling the airtank’s tubing, which has somehow managed to wrap itself around my neck in the night. I wish I’d stop having these nightmares.
I get out of bed, bringing the airtank with me. I’m still in my pants, but pull on the sweater I left on the nightstand.
Clarice stirs and turns over to face me. “This is a bit awkward,” she says through a yawn, which is the biggest bloody understatement ever. “But don’t worry. We’ll get used to each other.” She seems harmless, but I feel too guilty to go as far as to like her; it should be Bea lying next to me, and I would have put my arm around her waist and my face into her neck during the night. As it was, I lay dangled over the edge of the bed in case I accidently touched Clarice, keeping one eye open for as long as I could in case Vanya or Maks stormed in.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask.
“Four years. I used to live in the pod. Glad to be out of there. Especially now with what’s going on.”
“Yeah,” I say. I go to the door, where two pieces of gray paperlike sheets have been pushed under it during the night. They’re identical apart from our names. I throw Clarice hers and read mine.
SCHEDULE FOR QUINN B. CAFFREY
STATS—Immunity: Level 7 Fert: Level A IQ: 152
Ox Con: Excellent Blood Type: A+
PARTNER—CLARICE BIRD
6:30 am Meditation – Room #12
9:30 am Academics’ breakfast – Annex
10:00 am Cardio – Room #20
1:30 pm Academics’ lunch – Annex
2:30 pm Yoga – Room #7
5:30 pm Study – The Main House library
7:30 pm Dinner – Sitting 1 – Annex
8:30 pm Shots – Room #4e
9:00 pm Meditation – Room #12
10:00 pm Lights out
NO CHANGES SHOULD BE MADE TO THIS SCHEDULE WITHOUT DIRECT APPROVAL FROM VANYA. ANY PERSON UNABLE TO COMPLETE DUTIES SHOULD REPORT TO A SENTRY NO LATER THAN 30 MINS PRIOR TO A SCHEDULED START TIME. SICKNESS SHOULD BE REPORTED TO NURSE JONES, NURSE LAYAVITCH, OR DOCTOR MARCELA.
ENDEAVOR TO REMAIN IN YOUR PAIR AT ALL TIMES.
“What time is it?” Clarice asks.
“Almost six,” I say, looking at the clock above the bed and wondering whether Bea’s made it back into the pod yet.
“This is the only free time we’ll get all day,” Clarice says. She sighs and gets out of bed wearing only a short shirt. I make myself busy looking elsewhere.
“And it’s hardly free,” I remind her. I scan the list of daily activities. Could I skip the study period without being noticed? I can’t spend another night in that bed. And Alina definitely can’t spend another night with Maks. We’ve all got to get out of here as soon as possible, if we want to help Ronan and Bea with their plan to take back the pod.
“Sometimes, when people are disappointed with a pairing, they leave. Is that what you’re going to do?” Clarice asks, watching me. She piles her hair on top of her head and holds it in place with what look like chopsticks.
“’Course not,” I lie, and smile, lacing up my boots good and tight.
“Phew,” she says, “because anyone who tries to escape usually ends up dead, and I really don’t want you to die. Not before we breed, anyway.”
39
ALINA
Maks is with me every minute, making it impossible to plan an escape. And the only part of my day that isn’t hellish is trooper training. Running, punching, throwing, and dodging are things I’m keen to practice, and even Maks seems impressed when I shoot at cans and bottles suspended from wires, hitting every one. “Not bad,” he says. Maybe he believes I’m training to help Sequoia, but I’m just making sure I remember how to defend myself when we get back to the pod.
Whenever I see Silas, Wren is a few feet away, gazing at him longingly, and when I try to speak to him, Maks physically drags me away. And Sugar is attached to Abel. He tries to get my attention at lunch, but Maks watches as I spoon each morsel into my mouth and gives Abel several baleful looks. Whatever Abel knows about what’s happening to Maude and Bruce, Maks doesn’t want me to find out. Which makes me even more worried.
After working on our marksmanship in the morning, we’re given backpacks weighed down with rocks and forced to hike. Even the veterans are given airtanks. “Use them sparingly,” Maks warns, and leads a hundred troopers out of Sequoia and along a dirt track to a mountain dotted with rocks, dead grasses, and parched animal bones.
We hike for hours in the pouring rain. Never slowing. Our clothes and shoes are soaked through. I turn up my oxygen, but even then, it’s too much: the new recruits, me included, fall behind. I’m alone at the back, Maks up front, when Abel hangs back. Sugar slows, too, but not enough to be right on top of us. Abel tugs on my sleeve and says something, but with the noise of my breath in my ears, the rain, and the thudding of boots, I can’t hear him. He holds on to me to slow me down. The group races ahead. We are side by side, and he lifts up his facemask. “Maude, Bruce, and Jo,” he says.
“What’s been done to them?” I’m guessing that the body Silas and I saw Crab bury belonged to a benefactor. Do they all end up out the back in unmarked graves? But why?
Abel lets his facemask spring back against his face and raises his voice. “I’ll take you to see for yourself tonight. We have to act quickly. Every hour that goes by is an hour too long.”
I trip on a rock and let out a yelp. Abel catches me and Maks, who is almost a hundred feet ahead, spins around and stops. He allows the pack of hikers to pass him and waits until we’ve caught up. He hikes next to us.
“Her gauge was stuck. She couldn’t get any air,” Abel says, sidling up to Sugar again.
“Stay. With. Me,” Maks says, and yanks my arm. Pain shoots along it. I wriggle out of Maks’s hold, and he lifts his hand as though about to strike me, then thinks better of it. “That’s enough for today,” he announces to the group. He wheels around and gallops down the mountain.
“Tonight . . . Wait for me in the hallway after you’ve had your shots,” Abel manages to mutter.
Silas finds a seat next to me in the dining hall. “Where’s Maks?” he asks. I tilt my head toward the stage where Maks is sitting next to Vanya but eyeing me. “Stalker,” Silas says. He spoons a portion of cockroaches onto his plate. “So how are we going to get out of this place?”
“Quinn told me there’s about to be a revolt in the pod. We have to go back and help.” I take a slice of protein bread and push it into my mouth. It’s dry and sticks to the back of my throat.