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The lower floors were unlocked, opening up to rows of small single rooms, where many of the Palace workers slept. I moved through the halls, turning in to the twentieth floor, then the twenty-fifth, switching staircases to avoid being seen.
When I reached the last flight, my legs burned, the short, sharp pains shooting through my lower back. I took slow, even breaths, trying to calm the shaking in my hands, trying not to think about my swollen stomach, now hidden beneath the jacket. I kept going back to that moment in the suite when my father had turned away as the soldiers grabbed me, looking down to the executions below. Whoever he was to me, whatever we shared, he’d grown numb to it. He didn’t feel anymore, not the way a person should. I had to hold that in my mind, that memory, to have any chance.
I peered inside the door’s small window. The corridor outside the suite was quiet. A lone figure was coming toward me, his shoulders hunched forward as he walked, studying a piece of paper. He wore the same red tie he’d had on the day I left. Before I could turn away, Charles looked up, his eyes meeting mine. I crouched back into the stairwell, waiting there, wondering if he’d recognized me.
Within seconds the door swung open and Charles ducked outside. “What are you doing here?” he asked. He glanced over the railing, into the center of the airshaft, looking for soldiers. “Where did you get that uniform?”
He scanned the jacket and cap I’d stolen from the soldier, the pants I’d found in the motel room, the boots laced up my ankles. His face screwed up in concern as he looked at the rifle slung over my back.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said. “You’re all right. I was worried you’d be punished for what you did. ”
“I talked my way out of it,” he said. “I said you were my wife, that I was afraid, I didn’t know what you’d done. It was the truth, wasn’t it?”
“I need to find my father,” I said.
Charles checked the small window in the door, pushing us back, out of view. “You can’t do this,” he said. “They’ve been looking for you. They’ve had patrols canvassing Death Valley for the past week. You should be in hiding, not here. Especially not now. ”
“I won’t spend my life waiting for him to come for me,” I said. “You saw it, Charles—you saw what he’s capable of. How many more years, decades, will this go on?”
He paced the landing. In the fluorescent light his skin looked thin and gray, and he looked incredibly tired.
“I don’t have time,” I pleaded. “Please. ”
He let out a deep breath and pointed upstairs. “He’s in his office,” he said. “He’s supposed to be meeting with the Lieutenant in an hour. ”
“I need the codes,” I said.
Charles let out a low, rattling breath. “One, thirty-one,” he said. “He changed it to your birthday. ”
I paused, watching him, wondering if he knew the significance of what he’d just told me. I’d never known my birthday at School. Caleb and I had decided it was August twenty-eighth, and that date stuck in my head, the actual day passing while I was in Califia. Hearing it now, it was a small reminder of the knowledge my father carried. He was the only person who knew these things about me.
“I won’t implicate you,” I said, nodding to Charles before I turned to go. I didn’t reach the second step before he caught my hand, bringing me back to him. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me to his chest, so my cheek was pressed against him. He held me there, his hand on the back of my head.
“Be safe, will you?” He reached for my hand, squeezing it one last time, and I had the strange urge to laugh.
“I will,” I said. “I promise. Don’t worry about me. ” It was a lie, of course, but the way Charles’s face changed, the way his expression softened, made me feel the tiniest bit of relief. Maybe I would be okay. Maybe it would all be over within the hour, and I would be back in the Outlands, moving through the tunnels again.
I started up the next two flights, trying to push any other thoughts out of my head. I held the air in my lungs, waiting for my heart to slow. I punched the code into the keypad, letting myself inside. As I started down the corridor to his office, another soldier passed. I kept my eyes down, the brim of the hat shielding my face. I raised my hand in a quick salute and he strode by, starting into a room at the far end of the hall.
Every muscle in my body tensed as I approached my father’s door. I rarely visited him in his office except for the few occasions I’d been called there to be questioned. From outside, I couldn’t hear anything. I looked at the thick curtains beside the door, then knocked, quickly stepping behind them.
I tried to slow my breathing but I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. My hands were cold and wet. I grabbed the gun at my waist, trying to stop the trembling in my fingers as I watched the edge of the door, waiting for it to open. There was the gentle clicking of the lock, then the knob turned, my father peering out behind it.
I slipped into the hall, resting one hand on the door to hold it open. “Go inside,” I said, keeping the gun aimed at him. “If you call for anyone, I’ll have to shoot you. ”
His face was relaxed, his eyes meeting mine as he stepped back, farther into the office. I closed the door behind us and locked it.
“You’re not going to kill me,” he said. He clasped his hands in front of him, his brow furrowed. He looked gaunt, his face drawn. It was as if the past weeks hadn’t happened, as if he’d stayed as he was that day, never recovering from the illness.
“Don’t be so certain,” I said, keeping the gun on him. I blinked away the sudden tears that blurred my vision.
“If you were going to do it, you would have already,” he said. He stared at me, his eyes fixed on mine. “The real question is why you came back here. Am I to receive another lecture? Do you want to tell me that these choices I’ve made, the choices that have kept everyone safe, were wrong?”
“There won’t be any more executions in the City,” I said slowly. “You will step down today and will give temporary control to me while the City transitions. ”
His cheeks went red. The veins in his face became visible, his hands squeezed tightly together. “Transitions to what, Genevieve? Tell me, since you seem to know, what exactly will this City transition to? The lawlessness that came after the plague? The riots? Before me, people couldn’t get water without being shot. You want the City to return to that?”
“Lower your voice,” I said.
“If you want to see what’s on the other side of this revolt,” he said, holding up his hands, “then go ahead. But there is a darkness coming that you cannot possibly imagine. ” His eyes were locked on mine. He stood there, begging me to fire at him.
He turned away, back toward his desk, and it took me a moment to register it: the quick sleight of hand, how he’d tucked his fingers into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. His arm came up, the gun visible, his face fixed in concentration. I fired just once, the sound of the shot startling me. He stepped back, falling down on his side, the weapon landing on the floor.
I went to him, kicking the weapon across the floor. I stayed by his side, my chest heaving, watching as his expression grew foreign, his face contorted with pain. He held his chest, pressing at the wound to the right side of his heart. I helped him toward the ground, setting him down on the floor. The blood was coming fast, the stain spreading on his suit jacket, the dark fabric torn where the bullet had gone through. I knelt beside him, half expecting him to push me away. But we stayed like that, his hand tensing around mine as the color left his face. Then his eyes squeezed shut. His breath slowed to a stop, until I was alone again in silence.