Resist

  Vanya calls forward a set of candidates. “Song Jackson, Dorian Chasm, Juno McIntire, Martha Spencer, Quinn Caffrey, and Clarice Bird, please come onto the stage,” Vanya says. Dorian is the only person to stand. “All of you,” Vanya says.

  “Here goes nothing,” Quinn says, and files onto the stage with the others. Most of them seem petrified, or at least nervous, but not Dorian. Since when did he decide that this was what he wanted?

  “I present to you . . . our academics,” Vanya announces. There are cheers, presumably from other academics. “Please cover your heads,” Vanya directs. The hoods completely shroud the top halves of their faces. “Each pairing has been scientifically chosen to ensure each person in Sequoia has a mate who is a true fit.” Vanya consults a list. “Please hold out your hands.” Vanya takes Song and another person’s hand and guides them to the front of the stage. “Presenting Song Jackson and Martha Spencer,” she says. They are made to kneel, then Vanya places a hand on each of their heads and closes her eyes. “Future generations will mark these days. May your union assist humanity. And may you strive for the greater good.”

  “For the greater good,” the room chants. Vanya bows as though she’s performed a magic trick and pushes back the hoods on their robes. Song and Martha look at each other for the first time. Is he trembling? Vanya forces them to hold hands, and Song stumbles as they stand. Martha holds him up. After what happened to Holly, I’m surprised he’s been so composed about the process until now.

  Vanya chooses another pair: Quinn and the girl called Clarice. Quinn’s the only one on stage wearing a mask, and I can sense the audience staring at him. He and Clarice kneel before Vanya who gives her speech and unites them.

  Dorian is next, and once he has been paired, he leads his other, Juno, to the side where he immediately lets go of her hand. Now he’s seen his partner, a round-faced, plain-looking girl with mild acne, he doesn’t look as keen on conforming. He leans as far away from Juno as he can.

  Maks directs them to a set of seats at the back of the stage. There’s nothing funny about the pairings and nothing funny about Sequoia either, but seeing Dorian disappointed, his illusions shattered, makes me smile.

  Vanya announces that there will be another group of academics. She calls out names I don’t recognize, and more robed candidates mount the stage. I blot out her voice and gaze through the glass ceiling at the black sky dotted with blinking stars. It looks just like the night I slept in the trees at The Grove—before the whole world came crashing to the ground. The peace I felt in those moments was like nothing else, curling up in the thick silence of space.

  It isn’t long until my name is called. “Alina Moon, Silas Moon, Wren Darson, Sugar Collins, and Abel Boone, please come up.” And I am facing a hundred Sequoians shifting impatiently in their seats. Those who are paying attention are peering at Silas and me peculiarly, because, like Quinn, we’re wearing face masks. But they can go screw themselves—they know nothing about who we are or what we’ve sacrificed to be here.

  Apart from Silas, who can’t be my other, the only other male is Abel. It shouldn’t make me happy—none of this is right—but I’m glad for the face mask and hood, so no one will see my relief.

  “Let me present the troopers,” Vanya says, and then Silas’s name is announced along with Wren’s. I can’t imagine what he must be thinking or feeling. Losing Inger is bad enough, but now this. Now her.

  And Vanya speaks again. “Presenting Abel Boone and Sugar Collins,” she says. My chest tightens. I pull back the hood a few inches and watch Abel and Sugar hold hands and awkwardly step aside. Senseless jealousy ripples through me. There is a murmuring in the audience because I am the last candidate. Does this mean I won’t be paired? It feels like a blessing not to be, and yet. . . . My stomach knots.

  Vanya forces me to kneel and places a hand on my head as she did with the others. All I can see from under my hood are the feet of the audience. Vanya clears her throat and this is enough to silence the murmuring crowd. “A person gets paired once. This has always been our rule. But what if a pairing goes wrong? What if, when we check the test results, we discover an error? Jo Rose fled Sequoia and returned to us a few days ago. Why did she flee? She knew she was wrongly stationed, and as a result we have retested her and discovered that she should never have been made a trooper nor paired. Jo has been reevaluated and will become a benefactor, and like all benefactors, she will be our conscience. She will spend her days in a meditative state and attract good energy to Sequoia. This is a role only a select few are cut out for, and it is a role many find difficult to understand. Jo is desperately needed.” The audience is silent, soaking in the news. “Jo’s other will be re-paired today.”

  No . . .

  I bite on my tongue, and the floor creaks as he kneels. The blood pumping through my ears thrums. Silas and I should have escaped last night when we had the chance, or this morning like he suggested.

  We’d seen enough.

  My hood is removed and Maks is smiling at me using only one side of his mouth. He offers me his hand. I have no choice but to take it and join the others at the side of the stage.

  Maks puts an arm around my waist and tries to pull me close. “Don’t!” I say, but he leaves his hand resting on my hip. So I pinch it—hard.

  All he does is laughs and moves his hand to the back of my neck, where he pulls on the straps of my face mask. “Careful,” he whispers.

  Vanya is speaking again, inviting Maude and Bruce onto the stage. They are pronounced benefactors. “That’s about right. Always been generous, me,” Maude says, which gets a laugh.

  The ceremony comes to an end and we’re escorted out. The audience is on its feet applauding, but I can’t help noticing that some of the faces look irredeemably sad.

  Someone stands on the hem of my robe, and when I turn, Abel is shuffling after me holding Sugar’s hand. He has the same terrified stare he had when we were stealing from the biosphere. “I’m sorry for asking you to stay. I had no idea you’d get him,” he whispers. Thankfully, Maks is several paces ahead and can’t hear.

  “It’s too late for apologies,” I say, though this isn’t really his fault.

  Abel lets go of Sugar, who squints when he presses his mouth close to my ear. “Maude and Bruce are in trouble. And so is Jo,” he says.

  “What?” I stop walking.

  “They could die. We have to—” He stops as Maks pushes back through the crowd to get to me.

  “Alina,” Maks growls. “Come on.”

  “Abel?” I say, but he can’t tell me any more because Maks has my arm and is dragging me away.

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  34

  BEA

  The sound of an engine puttering to a halt in the street below wakes me. And then Jude Caffrey’s voice. “RONAN!”

  Ronan tears out of the room as I crawl off the bed. By the time I get to the window, he’s already with Jude Caffrey, standing next to the buggy. Jude puts his arm over Ronan’s shoulder, and for a moment I imagine it’s Quinn. My nose tingles: Ronan, Quinn, and I have all lost our fathers.

  It’s dawn and the buildings draw thick belts of golden light across the street. I step away from the window. I’m really doing this—I’m teaming up with Jude Caffrey.

  Footsteps knock on the stairs and Ronan appears. “Ready?” A shaft of light illuminates the top half of his face. His eyes are bloodshot, dark circles beneath them. He must have been up all night.

  “Did you tell him?” I ask. He comes to the corner where I’m scooping my things into a backpack and takes my hand. I snatch it away. “Does he know about me?”

  “He knows.”

  “He’ll help? He’ll protect me and recruit Resistance members to the army?”

  “Yes,” he says, and beams. I throw my arms around him, unable to contain my own joy. “Oh, Ronan, do you think
we can really oust the Ministry?”

  “We’re about to try,” he says.

  He pulls several packets of nutrition and protein bars and two spare air tanks from his backpack and throws them on the floor. I frown. “You said some drifters were harmless. They need them more than I do,” he says. He tugs on the backpack’s drawstrings and throws it over his shoulder. We stand facing each other. After today, we probably won’t get many more moments alone, but I can’t think what to say, so I just smile and hope he knows how grateful I am that he saved Jazz from death and me from the drifters.

  Jude calls up from the road, and Ronan looks at the window, then at me, and finally at the door. He fiddles with the straps on his face mask. “Come on,” he says.

  Outside, Jude Caffrey looks me up and down and sighs. “Bea Whitcraft . . . I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “You mean you didn’t want to,” I respond.

  “No. No, I probably didn’t,” he says. “But here we are.” Jude stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back and forth. He looks at my disheveled appearance and then at Ronan. “Sorry I couldn’t get here yesterday. Things are hectic in the pod.”

  Ronan shrugs. “You’re here now. I wondered whether you’d come at all.”

  Jude allows himself a small smile. “You sure you want to come back?” he asks me, and I nod. “If the ministers get a hold of you, you’re in deep shit,” Jude says. “We’re all in very deep shit.”

  “They won’t find her,” Ronan says, leading me to the buggy. “Take the front seat,” he says.

  And sit next to Jude for an hour? I shake my head. “I’ll be fine in the back,” I say, and climb in.

  Soon the buggy is bumping along the road. None of us talk for a long time. And then Jude turns around and looks at me. “Quinn is alive, isn’t he?” he asks. “You wouldn’t make it up.”

  I’ve never heard him speak like this—with feeling for his son.

  “He’s alive,” I say. “And he’s coming.”

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  35

  RONAN

  The pod has plenty of exit-only doors so rebels can be ejected. Jude guides Bea to one of them, where she waits in the dark.

  Jude and I enter through the official border gates. A steward is scrolling through a pad. When he sees me, he stops. “Welcome back, Mr. Knavery. I’m sure you did your best,” he says. He looks at his colleague and smirks.

  I’m so tired, I react immediately, resting my index finger on the hollow of the steward’s chest. He steps back and I follow him, keeping my finger where it is. “Be careful.”

  His nose twitches. “I only meant—”

  I interrupt. “I know what you meant.” He looks at his colleague. I could easily sidestep him. I decide not to. “Move,” I say, and he does.

  Jude is close behind. We clamber into the waiting buggy. “What does that girl do to people?” he asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bea Whitcraft turns boys into men.”

  Every few blocks there’s a checkpoint, but the stewards only have to catch a glimpse of Jude, and wave us through. “Security hasn’t been relaxed then,” I say.

  He snorts. “Nightly raids on auxiliary homes began two days ago. More speed cameras, and there’s a call to ban auxiliaries from Zone One altogether.”

  We pull up in front of the Justice Building. Jude climbs out of the buggy, and I follow him up the steps into the foyer. A gaggle of ministers squint when they see me. I’m the first of the Special Forces to return.

  “Have you heard from any of the others?” I ask Jude. “Has Rick knifed anyone yet?”

  “He radioed in and told me that he’s about to rappel down a well because he’s convinced he can hear people.” He laughs. “I get a feeling the others will be back soon. Robyn knows she’s out there for nothing.”

  “She’s as disillusioned as I am,” I say.

  “You’re not to involve her in what we’re doing. The more Premiums who know, the more chance we have of being betrayed.”

  We scan our pads and walk down a hallway lined with doors. The light bulbs flicker. A moan comes from somewhere, and I stop. Jude keeps walking. “We’ve made over thirty arrests since you’ve been away. Suspected RATS mostly. That’s a hunger pang you’re hearing,” he says.

  “Why are you starving them?”

  Jude stops. “The ministers believe they’ll talk when they’re hungry. Your sister comes down daily to goad them with smoothies and cakes.”

  “My sister?”

  “She’s working as Lance Vine’s assistant. Seems to be enjoying it.”

  I can hardly believe it. Niamh has taken a job?

  Jude pushes open a door marked CAUTION—AIR TANKS REQUIRED. He steps outside and a rush of cold air fills the hallway. Jude returns, followed by Bea. “In here,” he says, jangling a heavy set of old-fashioned keys and pushing us into an empty cell with condensation running down the walls. “I just want to go on record as saying that pod ministers come and go, but the Ministry has always ruled. They won’t give up power without a fight.”

  “And that’s exactly what they’re going to get,” I say. I make it sound easy, though it will be harder than anything I’ve ever done. “Have you advertised for soldiers?”

  “We’ve had hardly any applications. The lure of living with the other civic workers in Zone Two doesn’t attract anyone anymore. Not now they suspect what’s going on.” He scrapes his hair back with his fingers.

  “In a few days, you’ll have hundreds of applicants. Maybe thousands. Bea and I are going to find what’s left of the Resistance and explain the plan. They’ll get people to sign up.”

  Jude chews on his thumbnail. “I’m endangering my family,” he says.

  “But you’re already involved.” I raise my voice without meaning to and Jude puts a finger to his lips. He can’t back out now—we need him. “You’re harboring a wanted terrorist.”

  He looks at Bea like he’s only just realized who she is and what she represents. He hangs his head, defeated. “I know,” he says.

  “Where’s Jazz?” Bea whispers.

  Jude rubs his temples. “She’s recovering in the infirmary.”

  “And her leg?” she asks.

  “She almost lost it, but she’s okay.”

  “Did they question her?” I ask.

  “She said she was a drifter’s daughter and her parents died at The Grove fighting the Resistance. She claims to hate the Resistance for killing her parents. She’s quite the actress.”

  Bea laughs and we both look at her, surprised by the sound. “She’s a performer,” she explains. “Can I see her?”

  “I don’t think so,” Jude says. He opens a metal locker in the corner of the cell. He pulls out a steward’s uniform and hands it to Bea. “You’ll have to wear this,” he says.

  “We also need to find a way to keep the Resistance who are on the Ministry’s hit list out of jail,” I say.

  “Old Watson will know where they are,” Bea says.

  “Who’s Old Watson?” Jude asks. Bea presses her lips together and inspects the steward’s uniform. She isn’t ready to trust him.

  He rolls his eyes. “Where are we hiding you, anyway?” he asks.

  “We’re taking her to my house,” I say.

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  36

  ALINA

  The room I’m to share with Maks contains a double bed, a couple of nightstands, and a dresser. He closes the door, locks it, then runs his eyes up and down the length of my body. Whatever I’m expected to do isn’t going to happen, so I turn my back on him, take off my robe, and stuff it into the trashcan. “Anything else you’d like to take off?” The floor creaks, and when I wheel aroun
d, he’s so close, his breath is warm against my forehead. “You don’t have to be frightened,” he says. He pushes my hair away from my face, and I shudder. I don’t want him near me. I push him back and try to look tougher than feel.

  I do a quick scan of the room in case there’s anything I could use as a weapon, and hone in on a clock with a stone base. If he tries anything, he’ll get it to the back of his head. “Stay on that side of the room,” I say, pointing. He rubs his mouth, and before I can get anywhere near the clock, he comes at me, grabbing the back of my head and pulling my face close to his.

  “You think I’m going to pop your cherry without permission?” he says. With his free hand, he untucks his shirt from his pants.

  Is it that obvious I’m a virgin? I stay very still. “I don’t want you,” I say. Regardless of how scared I am, I mustn’t let him see it.

  “Oh, come on. I’ve noticed the way you look at me.”

  I hold his stare. “Where’s Jo?” I ask.

  He licks his top teeth and sucks on them. “You heard Vanya. She’s a benefactor now.”

  “Her and your baby?”

  He releases me, goes to the window, and throws it open, breathing in the night air like I never have. “You think you’ve got us figured out. Well, you don’t. If anything, you’ve got us all wrong.” When he looks back at me his eyes are watery, but I don’t buy it. I saw him manhandling Jo. And Silas and I saw his lackeys burying a body. It’s impossible we’ve got them wrong.

  “I’m sleeping on the floor,” I say.

  “Fine,” he says. “Jo did that for a year. Eventually she jumped into bed with me, and it had nothing to do with the cold.” He pulls his shirt over his head and reveals his chest. Maybe he thinks I’ll be won over by his body. I look away and lie down on the floor.