Resist

  “Sorry,” he says.

  “Why wasn’t the door locked in the first place?”

  Ronan sits next to me on the bed and turns me so I’m looking straight at him. “I’m said I’m sorry. And I’m not them. That’s not what this was.”

  “I know,” I say. But every fiber of my body has stiffened anyway.

  “You can’t leave until she’s asleep,” he says. I nod and he smiles. He hands me the screen’s remote control and stands. “Watch something trashy. I’ll get us some drinks.” He heads for the door. “Lock it when I leave.”

  I look at the door closing then retrieve the photo from the nightstand. The girl in the picture is smiling, believing anything is possible. She looks like me, but that girl is dead. And maybe it’s just as well; this world needs a new girl. Someone who doesn’t blame anyone else for her lot.

  I go to the door and peek outside. The chandelier in the hallway dashes the light in all directions. I hold my breath and listen for Niamh, but the house is still, so I tiptoe my way to the staircase. The first step creaks and I pause, putting as much weight as I can on the bannisters. Nothing moves. I take another step, and another, creeping my way to the top. When I reach the door, I knock gently. No one responds. I try again. Maybe everyone is asleep.

  I hold my fist a few inches from the door and knock more loudly. Ronan appears at the bottom of the stairs holding a bottle. “What are you doing?” he whispers. I wave him away, irritated that he’s followed me, and knock a last time. And as I do, the door to the attic opens and a grinning man appears. I stare down at Ronan. Did he plan this? Is that why he wanted to keep me in his room?

  It’s too late to find out. A fat, sweaty hand drags me inside and knocks me to the floor.

  Everyone is standing at the far end of the attic with their hands in the air, and a row of stewards have their guns aimed at the Resistance like a firing squad. Some of the younger teenagers are sniveling. I am towed by my heels to the opposite corner of the room. Harriet looks down at me and catches my eye. She is trying to convey something, but I don’t know what it is. The tall, thin man laughs. I recognize him from Ronan’s description: Lance Vine, the new pod minister. Then Niamh steps out from behind him. She is carrying a small handgun and points it at me, closing one eye as though ready to shoot. “Bea Whitcraft?” she says. She looks mildly pleased and then, as her mind makes the connection between what she’s just witnessed in Ronan’s bedroom and me standing here now, her eyes bulge.

  Vine rubs his hands together as though he’s about to be served a large meal. “This is getting better and better,” he says.

  Niamh stares at me for a long time, then, remembering herself, shakes her head a little and goes to a heap of blankets. She picks one up between two fingers and, keeping it at arms length, studies it. “This is one of Wendy’s, I think,” she says. She doesn’t sound convinced.

  Vine scratches his chin. “Isn’t it just your brother whose thumbprint will read for this room?” Niamh has her back to everyone. She bites her bottom lip. It would take an idiot not to guess Ronan’s involvement. And Niamh is not an idiot. But it takes her a moment to find a defense for her brother.

  “Wendy has access to the whole house, Pod Minister,” she says, which has to be a lie.

  The stewards use the barrels of their guns to nudge the Resistance members toward the staircase, where they stand in a line, but they leave me where I am. I pull myself onto my feet and rest against the studio wall.

  The door opens and Ronan marches in. The stewards aim their guns at him. “What the . . .” he say angrily. He waves at the stewards, who keep their guns trained at him. “Lower your weapons and someone tell me what’s going on.” The Pod Minister’s expression is inscrutable. Niamh looks doleful. Neither of them seems to know how to react to Ronan, so I know for sure he had nothing to do with this raid. Not that I really believed he’d betray us. No.

  “Wendy’s been up and down those stairs twenty times this week. And then, while you were out this morning, I heard someone sneeze,” Niamh says, her voice a quiver, trying to repair the fact that she’s informed on her own brother. “That’s what I was coming to your room to tell you,” she says, glancing at me.

  I am standing apart from the other Resistance members and Ronan turns to me suddenly. Roughly, he turns my face to the light. “Bea Whitcraft?” he says.

  Niamh watches Ronan and me, and covers her mouth with her hand. “What should we do with her?” she asks Ronan through her fingers. “She was wandering around the house. She could’ve killed us in our beds.”

  “Tried for treason. Her parents provoked the revolt,” Ronan says calmly, keeping his eyes on me. I hope he knows what he’s doing.

  “When she’s found guilty she’ll be put to death,” the Pod Minister says. He is quiet and testing. Ronan doesn’t flinch. And neither do any of the Resistance. If I didn’t know Ronan better, I’d believe he was washing his hands of me.

  Vine’s mouth twitches. “It doesn’t look good that it’s your studio, Ronan. But if you’re prepared to let this ugly little sub die, the Ministry will have some reason to believe you aren’t part of this.” He sweeps his arm out wide, taking in the room.

  “Arrest me, if you think I’m involved. I’ll happily answer your questions,” Ronan says. His expression is cool.

  Niamh looks at the stewards. “Go to the annex and arrest our servant.” The stewards look at the Pod Minister, who nods. Niamh speaks again. “And get these RATS out of my house!” She is shrieking, suddenly on the verge of hysteria.

  A steward binds my wrists in plastic twine and uses the cold barrel of her rifle against my neck to drive me down the stairs behind the other Resistance members. Without warning, Niamh is beside me, grabbing my arm and spinning me around.

  “You and yours are going to pay for what happened to my father,” she snarls, and pushes me down the last few steps so that I fall forward onto my face. When I lick my lips, there’s blood. I roll over and she looks down at me under the blinding lights of the chandelier with nothing but contempt.

  A few weeks ago, I’d have whimpered if Niamh touched me. Instead, I pick myself up and stand nose to nose with her. Harriet tries to pull me away, but I won’t be moved, not today. “You don’t scare me, Niamh,” I say.

  “Well, you should be terrified,” she says.

  I shrug. “If you have to hurt me, that’s your choice,” I say.

  But how I react is mine. And I won’t cower to anyone anymore.

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  47

  RONAN

  I’m pacing a Zone Three alleyway waiting for Jude, who’s late. I check my pad for the third time. Only a meager light steals its way between the apartment blocks. It’s as dingy as ever. I can’t believe Bea spent her whole life here.

  “The senate meeting ran over,” Jude says, appearing at the end of the alleyway. He strides toward me and we shake hands. “Were you followed?”

  “Two stewards. I lost them in Zone Two,” I say. “Is Bea okay? What about Wendy?” I’ve been awake all night worrying, and even though Niamh knows what’s happening, I can’t ask her. She hasn’t spoken to me since they found Bea and the Resistance in my studio. I’m just lucky she hasn’t informed on me.

  “Lance Vine proposed a private trial and public execution for Wendy and everyone found in the studio. No one opposed.”

  “So we’ll stop it,” I say.

  Jude takes off his hat and scratches his head. “I have a family, Ronan. I didn’t come here to plot a rescue with you, I came to tell you that . . . I’m out. I’ve given the Resistance members I was keeping in my house air tanks and access to an empty apartment in Zone Two.” He is unapologetic.

  How can a man charged with protecting the pod and leading the army give up so easily? I stare at him, wavering between anger and disappointment. “But the soldiers
you’re training?”

  “I’m discharging them tomorrow for ineptitude.”

  “How can you be such a coward?” I say. I thought he’d changed.

  But he isn’t hurt by my words. He puts his hat back on and straightens it. “When you’re a father, maybe you’ll understand.”

  “Well, I’m not giving up,” I say.

  He turns to leave when a siren whistles through Zone Three and winds its way down the alleyway. Jude punches the wall. “NO!” he shouts.

  “What’s happening?” I ask. Instinctively, I take the gun I have hidden in the band of my pants and release the safety catch.

  Jude pulls me along the alleyway. “It’s the border alarm,” he says. “The pod is under attack.”

  Jude pings all the soldiers, Resistance and non-Resistance, and gathers them in the gymnasium. With their uniforms on, I can hardly tell them apart. The walls vibrate with uneasy chatter.

  Jude puts his lips to the megaphone. “The pod is under attack. We don’t know from whom, but we have to pull together.”

  Robyn has returned from The Outlands and is standing beside me. “Another joke of a war. I’m sick of it.” She’s lost weight and has dark rings beneath her eyes.

  “I think this is the real thing,” I tell her. I wish it weren’t. I wish we could have used these recruits to change things in the pod instead of sending them out to fight a war that was never theirs.

  “Many of you are inexperienced and scared. I would be, too, but you have to be strong. We are all going to keep it together and . . . live.” He pauses. “Are you ready?” He is shouting, trying to rally the troops like he did at The Grove. The gymnasium crackles with silence.

  They aren’t close to ready. Not that it matters. We’re going out to fight. Ministry and Resistance together.

  Now.

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  48

  QUINN

  The pod is still only this tiny speck in the distance when we hear blasts across the city. The horizon’s clouding over with silver-gray dust. My gut wrenches. If we’re too late, I’ll never forgive myself. Never.

  “We have to move faster,” I say, and Alina picks up the pace, jumping over unstrung guitars and a ton of other trash.

  I wish I could run faster. Silas and Alina keep stopping so I can catch up, which isn’t all that helpful because as soon as I do, they move on again and I never get to rest. Not that I want to. I have to get to the pod. I have to tell my father what’s happening and find Bea.

  As we get closer, the pod becomes clearer, and so do the recycling stations connected to it. “They’re still working,” I call out. Four steam clouds spiral into the sky from the tops of the stations.

  Alina stops. “What?” She pushes her hair out of her face with both hands. Her ears are red from the cold, but she’s also sweating from the run.

  I’m too out of breath to repeat myself. I point and she nods, taking off after Silas. But no sooner has she caught him up than they both stop and look up. The air is vibrating. It can’t be. But it is.

  A zip appears in the sky, guns ready. After all we’ve struggled against, don’t we deserve a bit of luck? But that isn’t how life works, and there’s no time to be a baby about the unfairness of it. We have to move faster.

  Less than half an hour later, we’ve made it to within a few hundred feet of the pod’s glass walls, where we hide behind a buggy that has its hood open and engine smoking. We haven’t been spotted because the stewards normally stationed around the pod in concentric circles are protecting the border in four rigid lines. Several gurgling tanks are idling next to them and a handful of stewards are tinkering with the innards of the zips. But no one’s bothering to guard the recycling stations.

  “Are we too late?” Alina asks.

  “I’m not sure,” Silas says, and the zip we saw earlier appears over the rim of the pod. Without warning it fires at the lines of stewards.

  “It’s Maks,” Alina shouts over the propelling zip blades.

  The tanks on the ground raise their guns and fire back. The stewards scatter. Loads of them have already fallen to the ground and one of the tanks is in pieces. The zip spins around and comes back, and this time it ignores the army on the ground and fires at one of the recycling stations. A hole appears at the bottom of the station, but the tubing remains intact. A figure appears from a tank not more than fifty feet away and, lifting the visor of his helmet, holds a megaphone to his face. He barks at the stewards. “Back in line!” The voice is unmistakably my father’s. But why is he keeping the army at the border? Can’t he see what’s happening? The border isn’t under threat. The ministry zips should be in the air. Their tanks should be attacking Vanya’s zip, so it doesn’t damage any of the recycling stations.

  “That’s my dad,” I shout. “We have to tell him what they’re planning.” The zip disappears and everything goes quiet.

  “We won’t get a better chance,” Silas says. He pulls a white shirt from his backpack. “Let’s go!” he says. He stands up and, in full view, hurtles toward my father waving the T-shirt above his head. The soldiers who have broken ranks raise their guns. They don’t shoot, but they run toward us.

  I wave my arms manically and dash toward my father, who lifts his rifle and points the muzzle at me. “Father!” I shout. “Dad!”

  But before I get to him, I’m jumped by two stewards and tackled to the ground. My face hits the dirt. I look up. Alina’s face mask is pulled from her and Silas is kicked to the ground and a foot jammed between his shoulder blades. Alina doesn’t struggle. Has she learned to breathe? But I see no more because a pair of feet in scuffed black boots blocks my view.

  “Quinn?” It’s my father.

  “Yes,” I croak.

  “Release him,” he tells the stewards. I scramble to my feet and dust myself off as the soldiers dart this way and that, howling at each other and loading their guns. It’s obvious they weren’t ready for this attack.

  “They’re after the recycling stations,” I tell my father. “They plan to cut off the air supply.”

  “Damn,” my father growls as the zip returns, blowing chunks in the ground and throwing rocks and grit into the air. I throw myself to the ground and cover my head with my hands. The zip sinks and retreats like they’re playing a game. But they aren’t. They’re just trying to hit the right target.

  My father’s lying next to me. He pulls himself to his feet and helps me up. “You need to get the zips in the air,” I tell him.

  “They’ve been sabotaged,” he replies. He presses the megaphone against the blowout valve in his face mask. “Unit Bravo, relocate to Recycling Station North. Juliet and Romeo South. Zulu East. Tango West. Delta, stay at the border. Double time, MARCH!” He looks at Alina and Silas still pinned to the ground. “They’re Resistance,” he tells the stewards, who look stunned and apologetically help Silas up and hand back Alina’s air tank. They must be two of the new recruits armed to help fight against the Ministry, not for it.

  “Make us useful,” Alina says.

  “This way,” my father says, and we leg it to the border. We slip through the revolving doors and into the tunnel. Someone rushes us from behind and reaches for my father.

  “Jude?” It’s Ronan.

  When he sees me he claps me on the back. “You made it,” he says.

  “They want to destroy the recycling stations,” my father tells Ronan, who pushes up the sleeves on his shirt.

  “What can we do?” I ask.

  “If there’s air rationing, auxiliary houses and the prison will get cut off first,” my father says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bunch of keys. “The Resistance has been imprisoned and that includes Bea. Security will be lax. And Jazz is at the infirmary. You know where that is?” I nod.

  “Is there any way to fit everyone with a tank as a precaution?” Alina asks.


  “And we need cuttings,” Silas adds. He can’t look at my father, and I don’t blame him. I can hardly look at him myself after what he’s done.

  “We keep tanks at the Research Labs.” My father rubs his forehead. “Is it just a zip they have?”

  Alina shrugs. “We didn’t stay long enough to find out. But their troops are strong.”

  The ground shakes again. A soldier rushes toward us. “General, some of the units are breaking up. We’re awaiting orders.”

  “Make sure the south station is covered. It’s the control tower,” my father tells her. He looks at us. “D-day,” he says.

  “Shall I come with you?” Ronan asks me.

  “He can handle it,” Alina says. “Can’t you?” she looks at me with steely eyes. “Give us guns,” she tells my father.

  “Gladly,” he says, and hands his rifle to Silas, who looks at the gun, then at my father, and nods. My father takes the steward’s gun and gives it to Alina.

  He holds out his hand to me. I take it and we shake, staring at each other. “However this ends . . .” He pauses. Silas walks away. Alina follows. “You’re a brave person, Quinn,” he says. It’s not an apology, but it’s as much as he can give.

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” I say, kind of joking. I pull my hand away and run into Zone One.

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  49

  BEA

  It must be at least a day since they threw me into this windowless, airtight cell. I’ve had nothing to eat or drink and my arms and legs are tied to a chair. I wet myself a couple of hours ago. The smell is odious, and I keep shifting in the chair to ease the discomfort of sitting in damp underwear and pants. I won’t snivel and give them the satisfaction of thinking they’ve broken me.