Resist

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.

“Is he sure?”

“He seems to be. But there’s something’s else. . . . Maude and Bruce are in danger. Abel’s going to take me to them tonight.”

Wren, who’s opposite Silas, leans in. “Huh?” she says, crumbs flying onto Silas’s plate.

“Give me peace,” Silas snaps, and Wren sulks back, turning her body slightly away. Silas slides closer to me. “Abel was the one who told us to stay.” He thumps the table and our cutlery jumps.

“Maybe he didn’t think any of us would become benefactors.”

“You aren’t to go with him. I don’t want you to end up out back in a fresh grave,” Silas says.

“Once we have Maude and Bruce we can go back and overthrow the Ministry. Isn’t that what we’ve always wanted?” It’s certainly what I’ve wanted.

Silas looks around. Quinn and Dorian are seated across the dining room with the other academics, but Maude and Bruce are missing. “Fine, go with Abel,” he says. “And as for going back to the pod . . .” he begins, but a hush swims through the room.

Vanya has risen. “I only have one announcement this evening.” She pauses and those still eating put down their knives and forks. “Our groundskeeper, Peter Crab, who is responsible not only for the land within Sequoia, but also for maintaining a semblance of order beyond the walls, is missing. If any of you see him, or have an inkling where he could have wandered off to, please inform Maks immediately.” Maks is scanning the room. Silas and I don’t look at each other.

Not even a glance. We know without saying a word that our time is running out.

I leave the lab feeling a bit twitchy from the EPOs. I haven’t swallowed the tablets, at least, and spit them out, hiding them underneath the runner in the hallway while I wait for Abel. He emerges from another room with Sugar, who is rubbing her upper arm. Her coarse blond hair falls over her face.

“I’m skipping meditation tonight, Sugar,” Abel says. “I’m not feeling well.”

“Really?” she says coldly. I don’t want to be jealous of her, but I can’t help it. She doesn’t even seem to like Abel, yet she gets to spend all day with him. And all night.

“Hurt my neck. Must have been the hike,” Abel says.

“Okay,” Sugar says. She looks at me suspiciously. “Feel better,” she says, and stalks down the hallway and out of sight, all the time rubbing her arm.

“What about Maks? Where did you say you’d be?” Abel asks.

“He has something to do for Vanya. He said he’d see me back in the room tonight. I’d say we have an hour.”

“Right,” Abel says. Without wasting another second, we scurry along the hallway and down a set of steps. When we get to a landing, he fumbles with a huge painting on the wall until it clicks, and he reveals a hidden hallway. “Follow me,” he says. We slip through and Abel pulls the painting behind us. I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but they don’t. The light has been completely shut out. I reach for him and he takes my hand. This doesn’t mean anything, I remind myself. I won’t be taken in again.

“Careful,” he says, and we start down the stairwell. My free hand slides along the brick wall, and I feel for the edge of each step with my feet.

“It was hard when you disappeared. They said you were dead. It was on the news,” I say. It’s easier to talk to Abel now we’re in the dark. I can be more honest—less afraid to be myself.

“I’m sorry,” he says, which is all I need to hear. But he continues. “My job was to learn as much about the Resistance as possible. Vanya heard you had developed new breeding programs, but the only breeding you lot were doing was with plants.”

That mission to steal clippings from the biosphere was the first important thing I’d done for The Resistance, but it meant nothing to Abel. He was just along for the ride. And because of his cold feet, we were almost caught. And because of that I had to flee the pod and involve Bea and Quinn in something they knew nothing about. I could keep going, tracing everything that’s destroyed us and brought our group here from that moment.

“So you never gave a damn about the trees.”

“I believed in what we were doing,” he says. “Growing trees was giving people hope. After that day in the biosphere, I so badly wanted to tell you who I was, but before I could, I was picked up.” He squeezes my hand.

“What did the Ministry do to you?”

“Beat the crap out of me. They were still waiting for me to spill it when the riot started up, and some minister chucked me out and expected me to choke. By the time I found The Grove, it was a mountain of sludge.” He pauses. “We’re at the bottom. Come on.” We scurry along a tight passageway. The floor feels greasy, but Abel doesn’t slow down.

“And Jo?” I may as well ask everything now, while I have the chance.

“I found her at The Grove. She was trying to escape Sequoia and that’s why she’s a benefactor now.”

But that isn’t really what I want to know. He lets go of my hand. A meager, gray glow fills the passageway and a gust of icy air rushes at me. “This way,” Abel says, and guides me outside and toward scattered splashes of light. The main house is at our backs, and Abel continually checks behind us. As we get closer, I realize that the spots of light are windows—narrow to the point of absurdity.

Soon we’re hunkering beneath a row of windows. “Take a look,” Abel whispers. My stomach tumbles. Whatever is through this window can’t be unseen. I press an eye to the light.

Inside is a bright hospital ward with metal beds down each side and people dressed in flimsy undershirts strapped to them. They all have tubes threaded through their mouths and noses, and IVs stuck in their hands. Everything is connected to hissing machines by their beds. A loud beeping fills the room, and a nurse jumps up from her desk and dashes to someone’s bedside, where she tinkers with knobs on one of the machines. The beeping stops, and a deep moan replaces it. The nurse looks down at the person impassively and goes back to her desk.

I slide down next to Abel. “I don’t understand,” I say.

“That’s the testing lab. Their oxygen’s being rationed and their organs are being monitored. Vanya wants to understand suffocation and what chemical conditions might prevent it.”

I look again to see if I can spot Maude or Bruce, but everyone is uniformly skinny, and I can’t make out any faces. “How long are they kept like this?” I wait a long time for an answer, and then it comes without Abel having to say anything. I stare at him unbelieving. “They experiment on people until they die?” It’s what I suspected, but knowing it’s true is different. It’s too horrible. “But what reason does Vanya give for why they don’t mix with the others and are never seen again?”

“You heard her in the orangery going on about benefactors dedicating their lives to meditation and how this energy mustn’t be contaminated.”

“People buy that?”

“Some do. Some choose not to think about it.” And why not? It’s no more far-fetched than the idea that trees will only grow in the biosphere. People believe what they’re told.

“There’s more,” he says, and crawls to another window.

This room is filled with cribs and playpens. A nurse sleeps in a rocking chair holding an infant. The children are crying, wheezing, or asleep. None of them are connected to tubes, but most are covered in Band-Aids and bruises. There’s a shriek and a toddler sits up in her crib, her eyes full of tears. The nurse opens one eye. “Hush,” she says.

“They’re pumping the air in at fifteen percent,” Abel whispers, “and they keep lowering it until a child looks like he might suffocate. Then they hook him up to an oxybox. They’re training them.”

I look into the room again. “Where are the mothers?” I ask. Does one of these babies belong to the girl we saw in the attic?

“Vanya believes the kids are hers. The mothers stay in the main house. The older ones are upstairs. If they survive, they’ll be brought over when they’re twelve. Vanya’s only been doing this eight years. She thinks she’s creating a better breed of human.”

“She’s mad.”

A shadow blocks the light coming from the window. “We should shut these blinds,” a splintery voice says. The light dims, as the window is screened over. I squash myself against the wall.

“You brought Jo back here and you let us stay when you knew all this,” I hiss.

“Jo needed to give birth somewhere. And I didn’t know the extent of things until Jo told me a couple of days ago.”

“She knew?”

“Maks took great pleasure in filling her in when she got back,” he says uneasily.

“So now what?” I ask. The windows are impossibly narrow and we can’t simply saunter through the front door.

“Maks has keys,” he says. “If we could get them. . . .” He trails off.

“Are you joking?” He isn’t the kind of person to leave keys lying around.

“There’s no other way, Alina,” he says. He sounds tough, but he would—it’s not his neck on the line.

“Well, if we do this, we aren’t leaving any benefactors behind. And definitely not the kids.”

Abel gapes at me. “What? No. We can’t take all of them. We’ll be caught.”

I pause and listen to the cry of a baby. The cry gets louder and louder until it finally subsides and the night is silent again. “Did you think we’d help you rescue Jo and no one else?” Abel shakes his head. He looks guilty. And afraid. As he should. “Have you always been in love with her?” I ask.

He sighs. “It isn’t like that. Jo’s my best friend. I’ve known her a long time,” he says. “You and me, we never had a chance to get to know each other. If we did . . .”

I want to tell Abel to go to hell. If he thinks he’s going to get me to help him by promising something like that, he’s right—he doesn’t know me very well. “Let’s get back before someone notices we’re missing,” I say. “I’ll tell everyone tomorrow what we have to do.”

We head through the door leading into the main house, and Abel clutches my arm. His touch still makes my legs wilt, and I hate myself for being so weak. “Why do you have to act so hard-nosed all the time? You don’t make it easy to love you.”

I almost laugh, but rage tears through me, and I shove him so hard, he staggers backward. He has no idea what I’ve been through since he was caught and because of his lies. I look at him squarely. “I’m running out of energy,” I say. “I’m going to focus on this one last thing and then I’m retiring from saving the world. Maybe we’ll talk about how unlovable I am then. Okay?”

40 BEA

Ronan’s attic studio is covered in paintings and drawings and a rainbow of color is splattered across the floor and walls. A large board with bands of gray and red smeared across it in thick, irregular lines is sitting on an easel. It looks wet, but it’s dry to the touch.

“What does it mean?” I ask, approaching the easel.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need my therapist,” he says, and grins.

“I like it,” I tell him. Something about the fury of the strokes speaks to me. Maybe I could paint. In the future. If I have one.

“Every color I use, I find in the sky,” he says. He points at the wide skylight in the roof. The only thing visible through it is the pod’s glass surface and the sun. The space is completely private. A refuge. If I were Ronan, I’d never leave it. But now that we know the Ministry is planning to cut off the oxygen in all empty apartments, he’s giving it up to hide Harriet, Gideon, and any other Resistance members on the Ministry’s hit list—there’s been no way for him to secretly get hold of enough airtanks to keep the wanted Resistance members alive in airless apartments.

“You’re a good person,” I tell him, in case he doesn’t already know it.

“Sometimes,” he says.

He collects the cans of paint, plaster, and glue, piles them in the corner, and hangs the paintings resting against the walls on crooked nails to get them off the floor. He stops when we hear a light tap on the door and puts his ear against it. When Ronan unlocks the door, Wendy bundles into the studio carrying a stack of sheets and blankets. “This is all I have spare,” she says, throwing the bedding on the floor. “I’ll look in your room, too. We have to get a move on though. Niamh will be back soon. And what about food? How am I going to justify the expense?”

“I can sort that out,” Ronan says. Considering what he’s doing, he’s very calm. It’s not even my house, and my heart is racing.

“And what if they need the bathroom?” Wendy asks. She grimaces and I find myself doing the same. Ronan remains unruffled.

He picks up a drop cloth from the floor and hangs one side to a hook in the ceiling, the other to a screw sticking out from the wall. “It’ll be no more than a bucket with a lid, and I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to empty it every hour with Niamh prowling around, but it’s the best we can do,” he says.

“How many are there?” Wendy asks. She prods the bedding with her toe. They both look at me.

“Around fifteen,” I say.

“Once Niamh’s gone to bed, we’ll bring them up. But I still think it’s an awful risk hiding them here,” Wendy says. Keeping me in her annex overnight has been stressful enough, but the idea of hiding hordes of Resistance members in the house, right above Niamh and any visiting ministers, has Wendy on edge.

Ronan picks up a blanket and shakes it out. “No one will think of looking here,” he says. “Would you?”

Wendy shakes her head. Still, keeping everyone fed, clean, and quiet won’t be easy.

“Did you bring up my stuff?” I ask Wendy.

She blinks and looks at Ronan. “There’s no need for you to sleep here with everyone else, love,” she says. “After what you’ve been through, a little privacy is what you need.” Ronan coughs and Wendy stops talking. She pulls her lips into her mouth. He must have told her what happened with the drifters.

“It wouldn’t be fair if I got special treatment,” I mumble. I wish he hadn’t said anything. Quinn never would have. He knows how to keep a secret.

“I’ll see if I can dig out more sheets,” Wendy says, opening the door and tiptoeing away. Ronan locks the door behind her. “You don’t have to be a martyr, you know.”

What? Is that how he thinks I behave? “I act like a martyr?”

“Bea . . . I don’t mean it like that. Please stay in the annex with Wendy.” He tilts his head and looks inconsolably sad.

I turn away from him and step closer to one of his paintings: a series of blue circles along with smaller, seemingly arbitrary turquoise splotches. “You don’t paint real things. And there’s a violence to them. Why?”

“People see what they want,” he says. “And you see violence.”

I ignore him and reach out to touch the painting. The color looks like it might drip down the board and onto the floor, but it’s hard and rubbery. “Do you think we can recruit enough people to make a difference?”

He squats next to me. “We have to try, don’t we?” he says.

“No, Ronan. We have to win.”

“And we will,” he says.

Ronan powers up a radio and a thick beat thunders through the studio. Everyone looks at him. “I play music when I paint,” he tells us.

“Well, you were right. Two hours ago the air in the apartment got siphoned off,” Harriet says. She unrolls her sleeping bag next to Gideon’s, then puts her hands on her hips and studies the other Resistance members unpacking their meager belongings. A group of girls is beneath the skylight setting up. When they see me, they smile. Some men and boys are at the far end of the studio whispering and arranging.

I’ve already chosen a spot by the door, and Wendy has given me an extra blanket in case I get cold.

“What now? We’re useless in here,” Gideon says.

“You’re alive,” I tell him. Plenty of people aren’t.

Ronan runs his hand through his hair. “Tonight Old Watson and I will round up more applicants for the army. When we have enough people and they’re all armed, we fight.”

“Could be a long wait,” Gideon says.

“And we can wait,” Harriet says. “Bea’s right. Not being dead or imprisoned is enough for now.”

“And what if his sister comes up here?” Gideon asks, speaking to everyone except Ronan. I keep quiet when what I should do is remind him that Ronan has just saved his life—he could be a little more grateful.

“It’s thumbprint activated, and mine is the only one registered,” Ronan says.

“A thumb pad. That’s safe,” Gideon says sarcastically.

I can’t listen anymore. “Ronan is doing his best. If you want to go out and live in the alleyways until you get picked up, do it. This is no one’s ideal situation,” I tell him.

Harriet frowns at her husband. “Gideon’s grateful. We all are,” she says.

Ronan rubs his hands together. “I’ll be up once a day, if I can. I’ll bring food.” He switches off the music. Everyone in the studio looks at him. “You should tiptoe and avoid raised voices,” he says.

I join Ronan by the main door. Suddenly I don’t want him to go. I hold on to the tail of his shirt. “You’re in charge,” he says. He looks at my hand, which is still clutching him, and touches it with the tips of his fingers. If I asked Ronan to take me with him, he would. But I have to keep order up here.

I release him. “Goodnight,” I say, and he slips out the door.

I go to my sleeping spot and lie down facing the wall. I close my eyes and see Quinn. For a while I thought I might never see him again, even clearly in my mind. But that was only because I was scared of losing him forever.

I don’t think I’m scared anymore.

41 QUINN

Every time the dining hall doors open I hope it’ll be Alina, and after I’ve given up on her, she marches in. She gives me this stony look and takes a seat with the other troopers. A server lays a red dessert at the other end of my table, and the academics ladle out hefty portions for themselves, ignoring our end. “I’ll get us some,” Clarice says.

“Not for me,” I say, and push my bowl of green food away. I rest my chin in my hands, waiting for dinner to end. I can feel Clarice watching me, but I don’t bother making conversation.

After a painfully long time, the bell rings and we’re allowed to leave. I make for the doors, and Alina, when there’s a tug on my arm. “Are you trying to lose me?” Clarice asks teasingly.

“Of course not. Come on,” I say. The last thing I need is her running to Vanya to tell her I’ve been inattentive.

I pull on my facemask as we get outside, where Alina’s waiting. “Hey,” she says. She ignores Clarice.

“Can I catch you up, Clarice?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says. She smiles and goes ahead.

“She seems friendly,” Alina says.

I roll my eyes. “I wish she wouldn’t be.” Now that I’ve stopped acting like an idiot when Alina’s around, we’re easy with each other.

“We leave tonight,” she whispers.

“Good,” I say. We haven’t had any time to prepare, but if Alina thinks it’s time, I believe her.

She pulls me into the shadow of the main house. “We have to get Maude, Bruce, and some others before we go. We’ll meet on the second floor of the east stairwell at midnight. Be there, and make sure Dorian and Song are there, too. I don’t know if I can tell them. Maks has me on a leash.” She stalks off without any further discussion.

I chase after her. “And the pod?” I ask. I shake her without meaning to, and she pushes me away.

“Relax. We’re going to go fight alongside Bea and my aunt and uncle, but we’ll keep it between you, me, and Silas. No one else needs to worry about that yet.”

“I think we should head straight for the pod. No detours.”

Clarice suddenly appears. “Seriously? Are you going with the troopers?” she asks.

Alina glares at me, like Clarice’s superhuman hearing is my fault. And I’m about to make up some lie when I remember the conversation back in our room. Clarice mentioned being glad she wasn’t in the pod, and I thought she meant because of the riots. Did I misunderstand? “Only a few people have been told we’re going back,” I say slowly.

“Oh.” Clarice looks over her shoulder. “Did Maks tell you when you’re leaving?” Alina gives me another look, but this time it’s because Clarice must know something we don’t, and she wants me to get her to talk.

“Tonight,” I say. I push Clarice’s hair away from her face and grin. This is how I used to flirt with girls. It didn’t always work and, unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work with Clarice. She steps back.

“But none of the other academics are going,” she says. I shrug and Clarice kicks a stone against the main house. “Why should I lose my partner? It isn’t fair. Maks said it would only be the troopers going and that’s why they’ve been training so hard. Is it because you know the pod? Is it because you have inside information or something?” She stops speaking as someone comes up behind us. She waits until he passes.

“My dad’s the army’s general,” I say hesitantly.

“And you agree with what Maks has planned?” she says. “I want a new place to live, like anyone here. But cutting the tubing on the recycling stations? Isn’t there another way to destroy the Ministry?”

Alina and I freeze. Can it be true? Would Vanya and Maks really murder so many innocent people? I start to panic, and have to increase the volume of oxygen coming into my facemask. I’m thinking of Bea and my brothers and mother. Of my father, who saved me in the end. And I’m even thinking of Riley and Ferris, who are royal pains in the butt, but were my friends in another lifetime. Even they don’t deserve to suffocate.

“How did you find out about the mission?” I ask Clarice.

“Jo,” she says nonplussed. “Maks told her, I think.”

“Shit,” Alina says. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. When I see Abel . . .” She screws her hands into fists.

“Abel knows?” I ask.

“Of course he knows. He’s very selective with his information.”

A group of troopers passes us on the path. “Alina, you coming?” one of them asks.

“Sure,” she says, and walks backward toward them mouthing one word to me: midnight.

42 ALINA

Maks won’t sleep. He’s in the bed, and I’m on the floor. Every time I open my eyes he’s ogling me. And when he sees I’m not asleep, he smiles. Sometimes he winks, but usually it’s just the cool smile, like he knows what I’m planning. “You can climb in here with me, you know,” he says at one point, and pulls back the covers, unveiling his thick, tattooed torso and a faint musty smell.

“No thanks,” I say, and close my eyes.

It’s close to midnight and everyone will be waiting. Still, I try to relax, and after what feels like hours, his breathing changes. I sit up and crawl over to the bed to get a better look at him. Although one of his eyes is half open, he’s totally out.

His pants are hanging on the back of the door. I slide my hand into one pocket and then the other to feel around for the keys. They aren’t there. I rummage in one of the back pockets where cold metal finally licks my fingers. As carefully as I can, I pluck the clump of keys from his pocket. Maks gibbers in his sleep. I could do anything I wanted to him now. He isn’t so tough snoring with his mouth open. But I haven’t time to waste. I have to get out of here.

I pick a key from the bunch at random and try it in the lock. It doesn’t fit. The next one slides into the lock but won’t budge. And on and on until, after trying nine or ten keys, one of them slides into the lock and turns, and with a low groan, the door opens. I tiptoe into the hallway, using the key to lock Maks in the room, and run.

They are waiting: Silas, Song, Abel, and Quinn. And they’re all carrying several airtanks and small bags. “Where have you been?” Silas whispers.

“Maks wouldn’t go to sleep.”

“The keys?” Abel asks. I pass them to him and he curls his fingers around them like I’ve handed him a hunk of gold.

“Where’s Dorian?” I ask.

“He must have decided to stay,” Silas says, unperturbed.

“He wouldn’t do that. I’ll go find him.”

“We haven’t time.” Silas grabs my arm. “And he’s obviously made his choice.”

“He told us himself he doesn’t want to live as a drifter,” Song says.

“We can’t go without him,” I add. We came together and that’s how we should leave. Besides, we won’t be drifters if we can oust the Ministry.

Voices echo from one of the floors above. “Keep it down,” Abel says. He slides the painting to one side. “Are you coming?” The voices from above are getting louder and are accompanied by footsteps. If we stand around prattling, we’ll be caught and then no one will be able to leave.

“I’m coming back for him,” I say. And I mean it. I’m not saving Maude and Bruce only to leave Dorian behind. He’s been with the Resistance since the beginning, and I’ve known him too long. He hasn’t changed overnight. I know he hasn’t.

“Come on,” Silas says.

Abel ushers us behind the painting. The door clunks shut and we descend slowly, careful not to slip and tumble on top of one another.

“I’ll lead the way. I’ve been observing The Sanctuary for a few days now, so I’ve a good idea of the lay of things,” Abel says.

“And the plan?” Silas asks.

“We get in, unbuckle as many benefactors and kids as we can, and get the hell out of there,” Quinn says. Thankfully he doesn’t mention the pod or Bea.

One thing at a time.

Abel unlocks The Sanctuary door, and as we’re about to creep inside, a voice calls out. Damn. We have no weapons; wrestling with a nurse or several nurses isn’t part of the plan.

“Everyone get back,” Silas whispers. We jump away from the door. A shadow hovers over the light.

“Vanya?” The voice is tight and cautious, and as the light is being sliced away, Silas leaps out of the night and on top of the nurse. We pile in after him. The nurse thrashes on the tiled floor in her white overalls, screeching like a tram coming into a station. I pull a T-shirt from my bag and stuff it into her mouth. Abel holds her arms, and Quinn and Song stop her kicking.

Silas stands up and pokes her in the side with the toe of his shoe. “Tie her up,” he says. She continues to writhe. He roots in his bag and pulls out a T-shirt of his own that he rips into pieces. I quickly tie the ends of the fabric together and use them to bind the nurse’s hands and feet.

“Some of us should go and release the benefactors while you take care of her,” Abel says. “The nurses only check in when the oxygen levels change, so we have about twenty minutes.”

Silas thinks for a moment. “Where’s the air?” he asks. We can’t go anywhere if we don’t have a decent supply.

“There’s a room down the hall where they give the benefactors tanks and make them climb and run. Look in the closet. Here,” Abel says. He throws the keys to Silas and Silas pulls a handgun from the nurse’s belt and throws it to Abel.

And we’re off, Song, Abel, and I, hurtling along the hallway and leaving Silas and Quinn to deal with the nurse.

The room we enter is unlit apart from a thin moonbeam. Abel pulls out a flashlight, which he shines around the room. It’s the same ward I saw yesterday, beds along each side and people tied to them. The machines by the beds hiss and beep.

“Over there,” Abel says, aiming the light at the far corner of the room. “Jo!” He goes to her, shakes her awake, and unfastens her wrists and ankles. He pulls the tubes from her mouth and nose, then looks down at the IV in her hand.

“I can take it out,” I say, pushing him aside. I’ve never done anything like this, but I know what Abel’s hesitations have led to before. I put pressure on the needle and slide it from her hand. She squeaks. She points to her mouth and gasps and Abel puts his own facemask over her mouth to help her breathe.

“You came,” she says, pushing the mask away. She hasn’t had the baby yet; they’re experimenting on her while she’s pregnant.

I’m about to unbuckle the benefactor in the bed next to Jo’s when Maude pipes up. “You took your sweet time. I’ve probably got bedsores on me bum. Untie me. Hurry up!”

She isn’t wearing shoes and throws off a surgical robe revealing her emaciated, naked body. “Where are your clothes?” I ask. She points to a bin in the corner of the room brimming with rags. I help her up, pull out the tubes and IVs, and she hobbles over to the bin and scrambles into an outfit that looks far too big for her. Within a minute, two more benefactors are next to her doing the same thing.

I go from bed to bed, unbuckling scrawny ankles and wrists and pulling out tubes. “Quicker!” Abel says.

Silas barges in holding a bawling toddler, its mouth a perfect ring of noise. Abel groans. “Shut. Her. Up.” If the situation weren’t so serious, his nerves would be comical.

“You shut it,” Maude snarls and slaps Abel. Abel puts his hand to his face like it’s too hot to touch.

“There aren’t that many of them,” Silas says.

“Did you find the tanks?” I ask.

“Quinn’s sorting that out,” he says.

Abel scratches his eyebrows as the baby continues to bawl. The cry wheels around the room like a security alarm. Silas tries to cover the baby’s mouth.

Jo is sitting on the end of a bed near the door rubbing her belly. She reaches out her arms and Silas hands her the baby he’s holding. Looking at them, I’m struck by the hopelessness of the situation. How will we care for infants? How will Jo crawl under the wall and away with her large belly, and who’s going to deliver her baby when the time comes? None of us are doctors. We aren’t even proper adults. She looks at Abel and rocks the baby. We aren’t on the run yet, and I feel defeated.

“Show me the nursery,” Maude says to Silas, and that’s when I remember she was training to be a nurse. After everything I’ve felt about Maude, could she be our one hope? “The rest of you, keep releasing these ones,” she says, and they leave.

We release the remaining benefactors as fast as we can. Most sit up and get dressed, but a few refuse to stir, the whites of their eyes glowing. And we haven’t time to convince them to leave.

“Help us,” Silas says, darting back into the room carrying a child in each arm. Bruce seizes a sleeping girl from Silas. The rest of us tear toward the nursery and carry off a child apiece. Abel meets us in the hallway with a gaggle of children ranging from about four to eight. Their eyes are wide. “We’re saving you, okay?” I say, using a gentle voice. They nod, but they still look frightened.

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.