“You didn’t bother locking it?”
Ronan sits on the bed and turns me so I’m looking straight at him. “I’m said I’m sorry. And I’m not them. That’s not what this was.”
“I know,” I say. But every fiber of my body has stiffened anyway.
“You can’t leave until she’s asleep,” he says. I nod and he smiles. He hands me the screen’s remote control and stands. “Watch something trashy. I’ll get us some drinks.” He heads for the door. “Lock it behind me.”
I look at the door closing then retrieve the photo from the nightstand. The girl in the picture is smiling, believing anything is possible. She looks like me, but that girl is dead. And maybe it’s just as well; this world needs a new girl. Someone who doesn’t blame anyone else for her lot.
I don’t wait. I go to the door and peek outside. The chandelier in the hallway dashes the light in all directions. I hold my breath and listen for Niamh, but the house is still, so I tiptoe my way to the staircase. The first step creaks and I pause, putting as much weight as I can on the bannisters. Nothing moves. I take another step, and another, creeping my way to the top. When I reach the door, I knock gently. No one responds. I try again. Maybe everyone is asleep.
I hold my fist a few inches from the door and knock more loudly. Ronan appears at the bottom of the stairs holding a bottle. “What are you doing?” he whispers. I wave him away, irritated that he’s followed me, and knock a last time. And as I do, the door to the attic opens and a grinning man appears. I stare down at Ronan. Did he plan this? Is that why he wanted to keep me in his room?
It’s too late to find out. A sweaty hand drags me inside and knocks me to the floor.
Everyone is standing at the far end of the attic with their hands in the air, and a row of stewards have their guns aimed at the Resistance like a firing squad. Some of the younger teenagers are sniveling. I am towed by my heels to the opposite corner of the room. Harriet looks down at me and catches my eye. She is trying to convey something, but I don’t know what it is. The tall, thin man laughs. I recognize him from Ronan’s description: Lance Vine, the new pod minister. Then Niamh steps out from behind him. She is carrying a small handgun and points it at me, closing one eye as though ready to shoot. “Bea Whitcraft?” she says. She looks mildly pleased and then, as her mind makes the connection between what she’s just witnessed in Ronan’s bedroom and me standing here now, her eyes bulge.
Vine rubs his hands together as though he’s about to be served a large meal. “This is getting better and better,” he says.
Niamh stares at me for a long time, then, remembering herself, shakes her head a little and goes to a heap of blankets. She picks one up between two fingers and, keeping it at arm’s length, studies it. “This is one of Wendy’s, I think,” she says. She doesn’t sound convinced.
Vine scratches his chin. “Isn’t it just your brother whose thumbprint will read for this room?” Niamh has her back to everyone. She bites her bottom lip. It would take an idiot not to guess Ronan’s involvement. And Niamh is not an idiot. But it takes her a moment to find a defense for her brother.
“Wendy has access to the whole house, Pod Minister,” she says, which has to be a lie.
The stewards use the barrels of their guns to nudge the Resistance members toward the staircase, where they stand in a line, but they leave me where I am. I pull myself onto my feet and rest against the studio wall.
The door opens and Ronan marches in. The stewards aim their guns at him. “What the . . .” he says angrily. He waves at the stewards, who keep their guns trained at him. “Lower your weapons and someone tell me what’s going on.” The Pod Minister’s expression is inscrutable. Niamh looks doleful. Neither of them seems to know how to react to Ronan, so I know for sure he had nothing to do with this raid. Not that I really believed he’d betray us. No.
“Wendy’s been up and down those stairs twenty times this week. And then, while you were out this morning, I heard someone sneeze,” Niamh says, her voice a quiver, trying to repair the fact that she’s informed on her own brother. “That’s what I was coming to your room to tell you,” she says, glancing at me.
I am standing apart from the other Resistance members and Ronan turns to me suddenly. Roughly, he turns my face to the light. “Bea Whitcraft?” he says.
Niamh watches Ronan and me, and covers her mouth with her hand. “What should we do with her?” she asks Ronan through her fingers. “She was wandering around the house. She could’ve killed us in our beds.”
“Tried for treason. Her parents provoked the revolt,” Ronan says calmly, keeping his eyes on me. I hope he knows what he’s doing.
“When she’s found guilty she’ll be put to death,” the Pod Minister says. He is quiet and testing. Ronan doesn’t flinch. And neither do any of the Resistance. If I didn’t know Ronan better, I’d believe he was washing his hands of me.
Vine’s mouth twitches. “It doesn’t look good that it’s your studio, Ronan. But if you’re prepared to let this ugly little sub die, the Ministry will have some reason to believe you aren’t part of this.” He sweeps his arm out wide, taking in the room.
“Arrest me, if you think I’m involved. I’ll happily answer your questions,” Ronan says. His expression is cool.
Niamh looks at the stewards. “Go to the annex and arrest our servant.” The stewards look at the Pod Minister, who nods. Niamh speaks again. “And get these RATS out of my house!” She is shrieking, suddenly on the verge of hysteria.
A steward binds my wrists in plastic twine and uses the cold barrel of her rifle against my neck to drive me down the stairs behind the other Resistance members. Without warning, Niamh is beside me, grabbing my arm and spinning me around.
“You and yours are going to pay for what happened to my father,” she snarls, and pushes me down the last few steps so that I fall forward onto my face. When I lick my lips, there’s blood. I roll over and she looks down at me under the lights of the chandelier with nothing but contempt.
A few weeks ago, I’d have whimpered if Niamh touched me. Instead, I pick myself up and stand nose to nose with her. Harriet tries to pull me away, but I won’t be moved, not today. “You don’t scare me, Niamh,” I say.
“Well, you should be terrified,” she says.
I shrug. “If you have to hurt me, that’s your choice.”
But how I react is mine. And I won’t cower to anyone anymore.
47
RONAN
I’m pacing a Zone Three alleyway waiting for Jude, who’s late. I check my pad for the third time. Only a meager light steals its way between the apartment blocks. It’s as dingy as ever. I can’t believe Bea spent her whole life here.
“The senate meeting ran over,” Jude says, appearing at the end of the alleyway. He strides toward me and we shake hands. “Were you followed?”
“Two stewards. I lost them in Zone Two,” I say. “Is Bea okay? What about Wendy?” I’ve been awake all night worrying, and even though Niamh knows what’s happening, I can’t ask her. She hasn’t spoken to me since they found Bea and the Resistance in my studio. I’m just lucky she hasn’t informed on me.
“Lance Vine proposed a private trial and public execution for Wendy and everyone found in the studio. No one opposed.”
“So we’ll stop it,” I say.
Jude takes off his hat and scratches his head. “I have a family, Ronan. I didn’t come here to plot a rescue with you, I came to tell you that . . . I’m out. I’ve given the Resistance members I was keeping in my house airtanks and access to an empty apartment in Zone Two.” He is unapologetic.