Within minutes we’re with the duty nurse, who is attempting to wriggle away. Some of the benefactors kick her, then choose an airtank from the floor where Quinn has piled them. Bruce has put down the toddler he was carrying and has a stack of sheets in his arms instead. He throws them next to the airtanks. He folds his and shows us how to make a sling. “Take one to carry the little ’uns,” he says.
Maude is the only one of us not carrying a child. She chose to stock up on diapers, feeding formula, spoons, and bowls instead. She jangles when she runs, and a peculiar flood of true affection for the old woman washes through me.
I push open the main doors with my hip, carrying a toddler in my sling at the front. And out of the shadows, Dorian appears.
Without a word, Silas takes a swing at Dorian. Apart from the thud of Dorian hitting the ground, it’s silent—all the children and benefactors look on in wonderment.
“Silas, what’s wrong with you?” Song hisses.
“Where have you been?” Silas demands.
Dorian struggles to his feet and uses Quinn as a crutch.
“I heard a ruckus outside my room. Maks is rounding up troopers, but I don’t think they know you came here.”
“You didn’t meet us like we planned,” I say.
“Juno wouldn’t go to sleep,” he says. I’m not sure I believe him. But he’s here now.
“Can we make it out in time?” Song asks no one in particular.
I look at the benefactors we’ve released. They’re wearing facemasks, and look frighteningly similar to an army of zombies. “They’ll expect us to use the front gate and go north like everyone does,” Abel says. “They won’t suspect the back wall.”
And we’re off again.
I wait until last, following the benefactors along the wall that separates Sequoia from the world. The baby in my arms giggles, tipping her head back and looking up at the stars. Thankfully none of the babies are crying.
We reach the back wall and edge along that, too. The benefactor in front of me stops, and I bump into her. But no sooner have we stopped than we’re moving forward again slowly as our group slides through the hole one by one. And then it’s just Silas and me staring at the tunnel burrowed beneath the wall. He takes the child from me, putting her on her tummy in the dip and letting whoever is on the other side pull her through. “Is this crazy?” I ask Silas. His expression is hard and before he has a chance to answer, floodlights illuminate Sequoia and an alarm blasts out. The ground vibrates under the force of marching troopers. Silas pushes me to my knees, and I slink under the wall and out.
“Hurry!” I say, breathing in freedom. And as I sidestep the junk and crawl down a shallow ravine to fetch Crab’s airtank, I can’t help watching the frail figures of benefactors and children smearing the wasteland and wondering how long until our oxygen expires—or we get caught.
PART IV
THE RETURN
43
RONAN
The gymnasium is packed with the new recruits. They’re scrawny and sunken-eyed, but there are at least fifty of them, and although their bodies look weak, they are doggedly determined. “Another set! Go!” Jude bellows through a megaphone, and they’re off—climbing ropes, leaping onto vaulting horses, swinging on the rings, or jogging around the track.
Jude sees me and makes his way over. “Not bad, huh?” he says. He looks proud. He should be. I can hardly believe it.
“You managed this in a few days?” I say, as an auxiliary runs past us. Runs!
“They managed it,” he says. “See her?” He points at a girl on a balancing beam with braids twisted into buns at the sides of her head.
“What about her?” I ask.
“First time with a rifle she shot the bull’s-eye dead on. I thought it was a fluke. She repeated it three more times.”
I laugh. “She must have joined the Resistance a while ago but managed to stay off the radar.” Jude nods. “Any sign of Quinn and his friends yet?”
“I’m afraid not,” he says. A boy sprints past us and Jude claps. “Good job!”
“When will they be ready to go?” It has to be soon. I can’t keep the Resistance in my studio much longer. It’s only a matter of time before Niamh starts to suspect something.
He sighs. “It usually takes six months for the basics. I’m condensing it into four weeks.”
“That’s still too long.”
“What’s the rush?”
I haven’t said anything about hiding the Resistance in my studio. Jude would only have freaked out about the risk I was taking, and I didn’t want him to get cold feet and wash his hands of us. But it’s time for him to see how urgent this is. And he should shoulder more of the burden.
“Can you break for half an hour? I want to show you something.”
He checks the clock on the wall. “I have another unit coming at eight. And another at ten. I finish at midnight.”
“Fifteen minutes,” I say. Jude consults his pad.
“Ten,” he says. “Another set after this and then rotate!” he tells the soldiers. They don’t groan or huff or any of the things I used to do. They smile, happy to be driven hard.
I tap on the studio door a couple of times, then let myself in. Bea is standing with her arms wrapped around herself. Jude gazes at her and then at the people strewn on the floor, the table with boxes of protein bars and jugs of water arranged on it, and the pile of airtanks in the corner. “What is this?” His jaw tenses. “You haven’t . . . I thought they were living in the alleys.”
“We’re running out of space,” I tell him. Old Watson brought me another five fugitives yesterday. The studio is crammed to capacity, and there’ll be more.
“With Niamh downstairs? You’re asking to get caught, and when you are, we’re all in for it.” A few people are meditating on their sleeping bags.
“Harriet’s training us as best she can,” Bea says. “We do sit-ups and push-ups, yoga and meditation. It’s only been a few days and already I’m so much stronger. If only we could lower the levels of oxygen in here.”
Jude presses his lips together like he’s preventing himself from saying something cruel. “The buggy’s waiting. I have to get back.” He charges down the stairs.
“Have you asked him yet?” Bea asks. I shake my head and she shoos me out the door.
By the time I reach the bottom, Jude’s out of sight. I catch him as he reaches the buggy. “This is the last straw. We’ll be hanged. I should never have agreed to any of it,” he says, climbing into the back of the buggy.
I stick my head through the window. “You have to train them quicker.”
“I’m doing the best I can.” He rubs his temples.
“Can you hide a few in your house?” I whisper, keeping an eye on the driver.
Jude laughs, banging his fist against his leg. “You can’t be serious.” He pauses. “You are. You’re serious.” He laughs again so hard he coughs. When he’s recovered, his expression becomes hard as granite. “The girl doesn’t love you. If that’s why you’re doing this. If you think you’ll win her over, you’re going to be disappointed. I’ve known her since she was a child and she’s always been devoted to Quinn. And he’s been devoted to her. I don’t like it, but that’s the way it is.” He stares at me: a challenge. And I have to think about it. Is all this about Bea and some latent feelings I have for her? It’s true she makes me want to be a better person and fight for a better world. I think of her earnest round face framed by black hair. She’s pretty and smart and brave and kind, but Jude’s right—she doesn’t look at me with eager eyes. Maybe that’s why I’ve never let myself be drawn to her. I know it would be hopeless, and hopeless is not the love I want.