Текст книги "The Star Dwellers"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Eight

Tristan

“Uhhh!” I groan as my back slams into the rock wall.

“Let go of him!” Roc yells, rushing at Ram. With a lazy swipe of his big left hand, Ram backhands Roc in the face, knocking him back a dozen feet while holding me in the air with his right. He’s even stronger than I expected.

His face is red again, seething with fury. His words are laced with venom and spit as he says, “You may have fooled the rest of them, but not me. I’ll be watching your every move, while you eat, while you sleep, while you piss—”

“That’s gross,” I say, choosing the wrong time for sarcasm.

Ram punches me in the stomach and I feel all the air go out of my lungs. “Shut it!” he roars as I suck at the air, wheezing through my throat. “One false move and you’ll wish you had never been born.” He throws me to the ground and stomps away.

I feel like throwing up. Why couldn’t he have hit me before we ate? Now the potatoes that I scarfed down not ten minutes ago threaten to reemerge from the wrong end. I crawl to my hands and knees and pant, trying to calm my nervous stomach as perspiration pours from my brow. Roc groans and through my sweat-clouded vision I see him roll over.

“You okay, man?” I manage to grunt.

“I feel dizzy,” he says. “I hope it doesn’t leave a mark. Then I won’t be able to get anywhere with the Resistance ladies.”

I laugh and then cough, which makes my stomach roll again. “No jokes,” I choke out.

“That wasn’t a joke,” Roc says, which naturally makes me laugh and choke again.

Using the wall, I pull myself to my feet, somehow managing to keep the potatoes down. Roc is up too, although he’s stumbling crookedly toward me. He probably has a concussion.

I look at him and see the beginnings of a black eye darkening his cheek to the right of his nose. And that’s on top of the injuries he previously sustained at the hands of my brother’s goons.

“There’s no mark,” I lie.

“Really? Because I don’t feel anything so much here”—he points to the left side of his face—“but it hurts like hell right here,” he says. “You sure there’s no mark?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, good,” he says, laughing. “Next time we become mortal enemies with someone, can we make sure it’s not someone six-five, two hundred and fifty pounds?”

“Good call. Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll survive—you?”

“I’m good, I think. Let’s find Ben.”

We head in the direction Ram left, seeking a neon sign or flashing lights, or something else that points to “the Isolation Room,” where Ben said he would meet us, where Ram was supposed to escort us. We come to a crossroads and I look left, and then right. Both tunnels appear identical, gray stone at the bottom and black at the top, as if it’s been scorched by fire. “Which way?” I think aloud.

“Right,” Roc says. “If we always go right, we can’t go wrong.”

I smirk. “That makes no sense.”

“Okay. Then go right because it smells worse to the left, which means Ram probably went that way.”

I shrug. It’s as good a reason as any. We turn right and make it two-thirds of the way down the hall before passing an open door. Flickering orange flares spill into the dimly lit tunnel. “Come on in, guys,” Ben says from within, although we can’t see him through the gloom.

Roc looks at me, grinning. “It was a lucky guess,” I say.

“Slice it however you want, but the truth is, my logic worked.”

We enter the room, which immediately brightens as Ben uses the single torch lighting the room to light another torch, and then a third. He’s lying on a stone bench, his leg propped on a flat boulder. His thigh is heavily bandaged.

When we approach, his eyes widen. “What happened to you?” he asks, staring at Roc.

“You see, the thing is—” Roc starts to say.

“He walked into a wall,” I interrupt, glaring at him.

“But…”

“He can be so clumsy sometimes.”

Roc looks at me, blinks. Pouts out his lips in frustration and then concedes. “Right—a wall. How clumsy of me.” I get why he wants to rat on Ramseys, Lord knows I want to, but I also want to prove myself to Ram—that I’m not a rat. I don’t know why I care what he thinks, but I do. Despite his fierce temper, he is technically one of the good guys.

Ben looks at us strangely, his gaze bouncing back and forth between us. He knows we’re lying but doesn’t push it. “Have a seat,” he says with a wave.

We lower ourselves onto a bench perpendicular to Ben.

I wait for him to speak, but he’s silent, staring at one of the crackling torches. I stare at it, too, my mind wandering. What is this all about? What secrets does this man hold? Secrets buried so deep he would keep them from his own daughters? Secrets that my father would keep from me?

“Who the hell are you?” I blurt out.

Ben’s head twitches as he’s pulled from his thoughts. “Just a guy,” he says.

I laugh. “You sound like me.”

He nods. “I think we’re more alike than you might think,” he says.

“Look, my father told me all about the Resistance. How it rose up in 475 PM, before I was born; how you tried to control the freight train system, thus controlling the flow of resources; how he sent his armies pouring out of the Sun Realm; how he killed every last one of the traitors. And yet here you are—and I don’t know what to believe.”

“Not your father,” Ben says.

“Maybe he just thought you were all destroyed.” I’m not trying to defend my father. I’m just trying to understand why he didn’t tell me. Because I’m surprised. My father may be a terrible person, but he never tried to hide his evil ways from me, although sometimes I wished he would.

“No. He knows. He lied to you.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know—pride maybe. Or because in his arrogant mind he truly believes that the Resistance is still weak, of no concern to his dominion.”

“And how do you fit in?”

Ben sighs. “I never wanted to be the leader, which I’m sure you understand, Tristan.” I do. I am also reluctant to be at the forefront of the Resistance. Not because I don’t believe in the cause—because I do—rather, because I’d prefer to just be another soldier, nothing special. Just a guy. I’m sick of being singled out because of who my father is.

“So you’re the leader of the whole Resistance?” Roc asks for me.

Ben chuckles. “Yeah. All two thousand of us.”

“But that’s not even half the size of one of the sun dweller platoons,” I comment.

“We have a lot of heart, though,” Ben says wryly. “But that’s where you come in. We are nothing while there is dissension between the Moon and Star Realms. We need someone to unite them. Someone who knows the truth about the inner workings of the Sun Realm. Someone like you.”

I shake my head. “Why should they listen to me? Ram was right about one thing. No one has any reason to trust me.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy, Tristan. Just that it’s necessary. You and my daughter—you both have important missions.”

“Adele,” I murmur. Just speaking her name sends flutters of excitement through my chest.

“Yes. She has to find my wife. Anna will know what to do from her end. If we do our job from this end, we just might be able to pull this off.”

I stare at him blankly. I comprehend his words, but they don’t make sense to me. Adele. Her mission. Important. If she’s fighting against the odds then I can too. I have to.

“Do you know the population of each of the Realms?” Ben asks.

“I have a good guess, but Roc would—”

“One point five million star dwellers, one point five million moon dwellers, two million sun dwellers,” Roc rattles off. “Give or take a hundred thousand.” With higher life expectancies and enough wealth to support more children, the Sun Realm has the highest population of the three Realms.

“Right,” Ben says. “Do the math.”

Easy—three against two. So we’d have the advantage in sheer numbers, but—

“They have heaps more resources,” I point out. “Weapons, equipment, armor. Plus the people up there—I point to the rocky ceiling—are in much better shape: well fed, well-trained, prepared.”

“So we shouldn’t try?” Ben says, throwing up his hands. “This sounds like a different Tristan than just a few days ago.”

“We have to try,” Roc says.

I look at him. His eyes are a deep, steady brown, no hint of his usual comedy in them. Ever since leaving the Sun Realm, he’s been the one pushing me toward my destiny—whatever it is. “I know,” I say.

“I want to show you something,” Ben says. Raising his back slightly, he slides a book from beneath him. Its cover is leathery, marred by scrapes and black marks and time, but in relatively good condition. He hands it to me and I see that a strap curls around from the back and clasps in the front.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Open it.”

I gently unfasten the leather strap, afraid I will break the brittle material, and turn to the first page. The pages are yellowed with age, but not torn. On the inside of the cover is written “A girl’s first diary, by Anna Lucinda Smith.”

Roc leans in to see. “Anna—you said that’s your wife’s name, right?”

We look up and Ben’s eyes smile, but not his lips. “Just a coincidence,” he says. “But it’s one of the many reasons I like it.”

“So whose diary is this?” I say, implying I want to know more than the name written on the inside.

“Turn the page,” Ben says.

Obediently, I carefully separate the page and slide it over. It’s the first page of the diary and it’s dated—

“Year Zero!” Roc exclaims. “You mean—”

“Yes. It’s the diary of one of the survivors of Year Zero. A little girl, only twelve years old. Her mother gave her the diary so she could remember all the experiences she had, pass them down to her children. Later in the diary she tells all about her and her family. But I want you to start reading from page one.”

I’m interested now. I’ve never heard of there being any eyewitness accounts left over from Year Zero. Conveniently, many of the diaries and journalistic accounts were destroyed over the years, in anything from fires to cave-ins. All very convenient for a secretive government.

I start reading in my head, but Ben stops me right away. “Out loud,” he says. His eyes are closed and he’s waiting for me to begin. I read:

“They are calling it Year Zero. The start of a new life. But not for everyone. The Lottery was yesterday and I got picked. A one in a hundred chance, they said. The President of the United States himself congratulated me on being selected. Not in person, though, because all the government people are already underground. That’s where I will be soon. Safe and sound and away from the earth’s surface, where the meteor will crash.

“I got a video from him, and through the fuzzy picture Mr. President said I am one of the lucky ones, but I don’t feel very lucky. My mom didn’t get picked. Or my dad. Or my grandmother, Aunt Gina, Uncle Tony, or Uncle Jerry. They even left behind my older sister, Tina. Only one of my friends got picked. I guess she was lucky, like me.

“My mom was crying yesterday. I asked her if she was sad, but she said they were tears of joy, because I got picked. My dad didn’t cry, but he got really quiet. I’m only twelve but first thing tomorrow I’ll have no family.

“In a day I’ll be in the Caves, far under the earth, where it’s safe. The government people say I’ll be given a new family, even though I don’t want one. They say life will be better; that it’ll be a fresh start for humans, for Americans. I try not to think about things, but when I do, my palms get sweaty and I get really cold, like I’m sick. I don’t cry, because I don’t want to upset my mom again.

“They’re coming to take me away tomorrow.”

I finish the first entry and look up. “My father told me the Lottery was bad, but I didn’t realize they split families up,” I say.

Ben nods, his eyes still closed, and says, “Keep reading.”

I flip to the next entry and read:

“Tomorrow has come faster than I thought possible. The streets are full of shouting people. Some of them have sticks, some shake their fists, all wear angry faces. The armored truck is here and the crowd presses around them until the soldiers start shooting their guns in the air. When the bullets start flying the people quiet down and back away. The serious men who get out of the truck are wearing heavy armor and carrying big, black guns. I don’t want them to take me away, but I put on a brave face and hold all the tears inside of me.

“My mom’s hug is so tight I can’t breathe, but I don’t complain, I just hug back harder. ‘Everything will be okay, sweetheart,’ she says, but I know she’s lying.

“Finally my dad is crying, which scares me the most. He’s a man, big and strong and proud. I’ve never seen him cry, not even when Grandpop and Grandma died in the same year. I blink away the tears and stick my chin out. ‘I’ll be okay, Dad,’ I say. Now I’m the one lying. He nods and pulls me close and then pushes me toward the men.

“I don’t struggle, because I’ve already seen the men use the Tasers strapped to their belts on other people on my street. They always get you in the end.

“My eyes are wide as the men lead me through the crowd, but I stare straight ahead and pretend I’m all alone. Before the big soldiers help me into the truck, I look back at my house and notice things I’ve never noticed before. The bright yellow paint that always felt so cheerful after a long day at school looks brown and flakey. The white shutters on the windows are gray with smog. The bright red door is the mouth of a beast, and my stark-faced parents are its teeth, cold and uncaring. Why don’t they do something? Why don’t they save me?

“When I linger outside the truck, a strong hand shoves me forward and into the tinted interior—and Year Zero begins.”

There’s a blank page, which I pass quickly in an effort to get to the next entry. I’m gripped by the young girl’s words, speaking from beyond the grave. The history books don’t tell it like this. They’re all patriotism and new beginnings and marvels of engineering.

I read the next page:

“Just like me, the elevator shakes and trembles as it descends deep into the earth. We are packed into the metal box like the yucky sardines my dad likes to eat are packaged into their smelly cans. My stomach feels funny as we drop, like when my dad took me and my friends to ride the rollercoasters at the amusement park. The elevator is bright, lit by yellow fluorescent light that hurts my eyes. I close my eyelids, because there’s nothing to see anyway. I imagine I’m still with my family, playing in the backyard with my sister while my dad mows the lawn and my mom does yoga. My imagination tells lies.

“When we exit the elevator it is dark. We are in a cave full of gray rock walls and pointy stones popping from the floor and ceiling that I know from school are called stalactites and stalagmites. The cave is the biggest cave I’ve ever seen, even bigger than the ones in Laurel Caverns, where my family went spelunking on one of our family vacations. This cave is so big that I can’t even see the other side of it, which seems to disappear into the gloom at the far end of my vision. The roof is so high that I have to squint to see it, and I can only make it out then because of the dim overhead lights strung up on the ceiling.

“They give us hardhats with lights on them. Mine is too big, but they say it’s better to be too big than too small. They tell us we have to hurry, that the scientists are predicting the meteor will hit earth very soon.

I can’t hold back my tears any longer, but I wipe them away quickly with the back of my hand.

“We all line up with our helmets on and sit on the hard stone floor, which pinches my skin beneath my jeans. They tell me to put my head between my knees so I do. Silence. A child whimpers. Not me. Someone shushes him and he’s quiet again. Silence. A bead of sweat trickles from my helmet down my forehead and into my eyes. I blink it away, ignoring the stinging.

“The impact is so powerful I think the earth will be torn in two. I’m flung to the side and I land in a tangle of arms and legs. There are bodies all around me. People screaming. Kids crying. I cry. The lights flicker and go out. The earth is shaking, shaking, shaking to pieces. The sky is falling and my head hurts when I feel the stones crack against my helmet. Sharp pebbles sting my skin, but I keep my head down like they showed me.

“I am scared.”

I take a deep breath and look up. “I can’t imagine what it was like,” I say.

“One more entry,” Ben replies.

The next page is dated two weeks later. I read:

“It’s the first time I haven’t cried in a week. My family is dead, they told me. Nothing could have survived it. I don’t understand it all, but they say that it wasn’t the meteor that killed everyone. Mostly it was the oceans, which rose up and covered everything when the meteor hit. They say we are lucky to be alive. There they go with the lucky thing again. It bothers me, but I just listen.

“One kid asks when we can go back outside again. I can tell he’s scared of the dark. I’m glad I’m not, because it’s dark most of the time. They told him never. That it would be hundreds, or maybe thousands, of years before anyone could go back up. They told us this is our home now—in the caves.

“I feel so alone.”

I feel something tickling my cheek and when I touch my face with my hand it comes away wet. A single tear, filled with the girl’s desperate tale, moistens my cheek. I don’t know why I’m moved by something that happened five hundred years ago, but I am.

“Why did you show me this?” I ask, looking up.

Ben doesn’t answer right away and I think he may have fallen asleep, weary from the gunshot wound and our harried flight from subchapter 26. I’m about to ask again, but his eyes flash open suddenly. “I just wanted to change your perspective,” he says.

My perspective? My perspective is that my father’s a creep and he needs to be stopped; that I want to help; that I want to forge a new life for myself; that I want to get to know Adele better. What’s wrong with that? I puzzle over Ben’s words, trying to understand what he means. What does our fight have to do with a diary from five centuries ago?

Something clicks in my brain, and I realize how dense I am sometimes. Everything I want is for me, selfish. I want to stop my dad because he drove away my mom, and because he didn’t love me or her, not really. I want to help because I think it’s what Adele wants, or maybe because Roc thinks it’s my destiny, I don’t know. I want to forge a new life and be with Adele because I think it will make me happy. I want, I want, I want. I am stunned when I realize how self-centered I’ve been. It all comes together in an instant.

“You want me to see that this is bigger than just me, just you, just any of us.”

There’s an invisible smile on Ben’s face and I know I’m right, even without him saying it. “If we’re not doing this for the right reasons, we won’t make the right decisions,” he says simply.

I know he’s right.

Chapter Nine

Adele

“Mom!” I cry out, bumping Trevor from behind as I dash past him. She’s on her feet, moving around the desk, and we meet partway. And then my arms are around her and hers around me.

I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming. I’m waking up for sure. Any second. Any moment. I’ll be back in the inter-Realm tunnel, feverish and delirious with Bat Flu. I’m not sure my heart can take the loss of my mom again, and I hold on tighter, willing her not to disappear.

I realize I’m crying, sobbing into her shoulder, my nose running like a faucet. Maybe it would be better if it was a dream. I don’t want my mom to see me like this.

“Adele…” the melodious and familiar voice murmurs. “You found me. You’re okay and you found me.”

Before I pull back so I can look at her, I wipe my nose and face on the shoulder of my tunic. It’s gross but I don’t care. She’s looking at me. My mom. Anna. The General? Reality flashes back and I have so many questions.

“Mom—what are you doing here?” I ask.

Her hazel eyes are full of compassion, just like I remember, soft and somber. She lifts a hand and gently wipes a lingering tear from my cheek with the backs of her fingers. “There’s so much I have to tell you,” she says.

Her head jerks to the side as she remembers we’re being watched. I follow her gaze and notice Trevor staring at us, his eyes narrowed, his lips contorted into a slight frown. An unwanted shudder passes through me. Tawni is behind him, smiling bigger than I have ever seen before. Or at least since before Cole died.

“Mom, I want to introduce you to my friend,” I say, motioning with a hand. She steps forward. “This is Tawni—Tawni, meet my mom, Anna.”

My mom releases me from her embrace and shifts forward, ignoring Tawni’s outstretched hand, hugging her. Tawni takes it in stride, hugging back.

When they pull away, Mom says, “Any friend of Adele’s is a friend of mine. Thank you for coming all this way with her.” The way she says it makes it sound like she knows exactly what we’ve been through—every challenge, every heartbreak, every success. But of course, that’s impossible.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Rose,” Tawni says respectfully.

“Call me Anna.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Trevor,” she says, her eyes flitting to the door. One side of my lip turns up when he gets the unspoken message: You’re no longer needed here. His eyes dance from my mother to me and then back again, before he takes a slight bow and exits the room, closing the door on his way out.

“What is with him?” I say, not trying to hide my annoyance at our guide.

“Trevor’s okay,” Mom says. “He’s not the one to worry about.”

I search her once-young face for a mystery, but find only lines of age and hardship, despite having been away from her for only eight months. “Then who is?” I ask.

“There are many liars in our world,” she says cryptically.

“And Trevor’s one of them.”

Tawni laughs, high and musical. “She’s been talking like this since we met him.”

“You’ve done well in winning Adele’s friendship,” Mom says. “It’s not easy to come by.”

A comment like that should make me angry, but my heart is too full of excitement at having found my mom, and it just rolls off my back like the trickle from an underground waterfall.

“C’mon,” she says, tugging my hand to the side, where a stone bench sits, padded with something dark. We sit in a row, me, Mom, and Tawni.

I bite my lip as my brain pushes me to ask one of the zillion questions swirling around my head. As my mom smiles at me, her delicate features—a small, upturned nose, doll-like lips, and rosy cheeks—bring on memories of my childhood. I shake my head, willing them away. There’s no time for memories.

“We have to get out of here,” I say. “Dad said—”

“Tell me everything, Adele.”

I sigh, trying to organize my thoughts. My mom’s hand rests lightly on my leg and it gives me comfort. “Everything?” I ask.

“Take your time,” she says. “Everything is important.”

“But I don’t understand. Why are you here? Why are they calling you the General?”

“All in good time, honey. But first, I need to hear what you know.” I’m confused—so freaking confused that if my mom suddenly turned into a dog and started licking my face it would make just as much sense—but I just go with it. I know my mom too well. She’s a patient woman, not one to be rushed.

I start with the Pen, about meeting Tawni and Cole—my voice cracks slightly when I say his name—how we escaped the electric fence, the bombs, rescuing Elsey, Rivet’s attempts to capture or kill us. Unlike when I told my father, I don’t leave anything out, including Tristan. I tell her about my surprising feelings for him, how he followed us, saved us, pursued us on the train to subchapter 26. Tawni interjects from time to time, adding important details, but for the most part she is silent, just listening. Just before I get to the part about Cole’s death, she gets up and leaves. Mom raises an eyebrow and then turns back to me.

When I get to the fight on the train platform, I pour my heart out to her, telling her of the pain I felt at losing Cole, the rage inside me as I killed Rivet, my deep sadness and rebound as I got to know Tristan. I even told her about holding his hand before we slept. It’s like I’ve been bottling up all my most powerful emotions and finally they spill over, with my mom as the recipient.

Tawni reenters the room and I relay the story of rescuing Dad, our frantic race through the city, and how we parted ways at the reservoir. I condense our monotonous jaunt through the inter-Realm tunnel to just a few sentences, focusing mainly on when we crossed paths with the sun dweller army, and end the tale when we pass out after contracting the Bat Flu.

When I finish, my mom leans back and puts both hands behind her back, closes her eyes and breathes deeply. “You’re sure you saw sun dweller soldiers in the Moon Realm?” she asks.

“Yeah, in the inter-Realm tunnel. What do you think they’re planning to do?”

“I’m not sure, but nothing good. And you’re sure your father told you to come rescue me?”

I try to remember. “I don’t think he said ‘rescue,’ but he did say to find you,” I say, glancing at Tawni. She nods once in agreement.

“Then he really doesn’t know what’s happening.”

It’s not a question, but I feel obliged to answer. “He didn’t know anything. He said they didn’t get much news inside Camp Blood and Stone, just rumors. Mom, please, what is this all about?”

“And he didn’t tell you anything else about me, or him, or the past?”

“No, Mom, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then I’ll start from the beginning.” Her eyes open and she looks tired, like all the years and troubles and stress are catching up with her. “Your father and I are in the Resistance.”

The words ring through my head, but it takes me a moment to register their meaning. A strange feeling washes over me, like I know what my mom just said won’t be the biggest surprise. My initial reaction is to deny it, to even scoff at it, but somehow I know it’s true. Probably because my mother has never lied to me. At least not that I know of. Evidently she’s kept some secrets, but it’s not the same thing as a bold-faced lie. “Okayyy,” I say. “You mean, like part of the Uprising in 475 PM?”

“Correct.”

“I thought the Resistance was defeated, Mrs. Ro—I mean, Anna,” Tawni says.

“Sort of. The sun dweller army was too powerful. Many of us were killed, but not all. Nailin knew it, but he instructed the press to imply that all Resistance members had been killed in battle, or captured and executed.” This is a different woman than the one who raised me. I’ve never heard her speak of death so brazenly. Nor have I heard her utter the Tri-Realm leader’s name with such disrespect. Growing up, it was always President Nailin.

“How many survived?” I ask.

“Not many, a hundred, maybe. But most were the Resistance leaders.”

I stare at her, pondering her words. I don’t ask the question. Can’t. Want so badly to ask it, but my tongue is tied.

As usual, Tawni comes through for me. “Were you one of the leaders?” she asks.

Despite Tawni having asked the question, my mom’s eyes never leave mine. They look different than before. Less compassionate. Harder. Not somber—fierce. More like my eyes. I feel like I’m looking in a mirror, the way I normally do when I look into my father’s eyes. “Yes,” she says. “Ben, too.” She lets it sink in for a minute and I say nothing.

“We were the two topmost members of the Resistance Council.”

I say nothing, heat rising in my chest.

“They hid us in plain sight after the Uprising was quashed…”

I say nothing, the fire in my throat.

“Allowed us to start a family…”

I say nothing, my lips twitching.

“To live a normal life—”

“No!” I shout. “No, no, no!” My mom’s head moves back, seemingly surprised by the ferocity of my outburst. Even Tawni looks shocked, and she’s been dealing with me for a while now.

I lower my head to the floor, take a deep breath. What is going on? Have I accidentally fallen down a hole and into another dimension, one where my soft-spoken mother has become a born fighter? All these years, has she been hiding her true self? The truth slides behind my heart, flits into it, bumps and shakes. I know the truth, but No! It can’t be true!

It is—and I know it.

With the truth, everything in my life abruptly makes sense. Why my dad wanted me to go to find my mom, and why he expected I’d be safe once I found her. Going back further, why my father always said I was more like my mom than him, particularly once I learned to fight. It all makes sense and none of it makes sense; it’s definitely one or the other, and I know which.

“Adele,” my mom says, snapping me back to a dream world which is really reality. I slowly lift my head, meet her eyes, and she pulls me into her chest.

“Are you okay?” Tawni asks, gently stroking my hair. I think about the question, all my crazy thoughts over the last few minutes, and what it means to my life going forward. Despite how insane it all sounds, something about it just feels right. It’s like a missing link, or the last puzzle piece, and now the picture is complete.

“I’m fine,” I say, sitting up straight.

Mom’s eyes are twinkling and I suspect she knows much of what I’ve been thinking. “You fought,” I say, not as a question, but as a statement.

She nods.

“And the Enforcers took you and Dad away because they figured out who you were?”

“Yes. When the Resistance was defeated, we laid low for a few years. We maintained the organization, but didn’t seek to grow it. Eventually, though, we had to start recruiting. Slowly at first, and then more and more as our plans advanced. We were careful and patient, vetting all potential new members before approaching them, using mostly referrals and internal connections. But no system is perfect, and at least one of the President’s spies slipped through. Somehow the traitor found out about us—you know the rest.”

“You were brutally abducted, I was locked and forgotten in the Pen, and Elsey was dumped in a shithole orphanage.”

Her lips part slightly and I can tell she’s shocked by my language, but she doesn’t reprimand me. “Exactly,” she says.

I feel like screaming and crying and laughing all at the same time. A smattering of emotions, all fighting for control. Instead I ask another question: “What happened after the Enforcers took you?”