Surrender

  In the resulting darkness, I’d held the journal so tight, afraid it would disintegrate if I didn’t.

  We’d exited from the tunnel a mere ten feet from where Thane had parked the transport. I’d squeezed the journal as we piled in and put the Goodgrounds behind us. I squeezed it again now, just to feel something solid.

  “Really, Gunn. Go to sleep.”

  Jag had used his voice, but I didn’t care. I slept.

  * * *

  When I woke up, Jag leaned against the window, seemingly asleep.

  “Hey,” I said, hesitant, unsure.

  “Hello,” the transport said. “Manual control?”

  “What? No, maintain.” I looked out the windows at the deep darkness. “What time is it?”

  “One fifty-two a.m.”

  “Location?”

  “Nearing Freedom now. Four minutes until coordinates are reached.”

  I elbowed Jag, who muttered an obscenity. Two more jabs and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He peered through the window at the dull glow—Freedom—a few miles in front of us.

  “Damn, I hate that city,” he said.

  “Me too,” I said, and everything broke. The tension. My guilt. I laughed along with Jag, wondering why I’d ever felt anything but completely relaxed around him.

  “So the Insiders have an underground fortress a few miles away from the border of Grande, a city in the southern region,” Jag said. “Indy said she’d do her best to get her people gathered and there by mid March.”

  “She’s gonna be so pissed at me,” Jag continued, more to himself than to me. “You wait, she’ll punch me.” He gazed out the side window. “And I deserve it.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I had no idea what that meant, and I wasn’t sure I cared. I was still trying to figure out how Jag knew every intricacy of the Insiders. The guy seemed to know everything despite his absences and lack of implants.

  “You have the journal, right?” Jag asked.

  “Yeah, and the letter from my dad,” I said.

  Admiration filled the transport, all of it beaming from Jag. Or maybe I was hallucinating again.

  “You know, Gunner, my uncle knew your father.” He shot me a glance out of the corner of his eyes. “He mapped every city in the Association,” Jag said. “And made detailed instructions for us to unite the Insiders for an attack on Freedom.”

  I fingered the journal and opened it when Jag remained quiet. Written in the same slant as the letter, the first page launched into a list of names.

  Javier Benes—Harvest

  Greene Leavitt—Cedar Hills

  Phillip Hernandez—Lakehead

  Laurel Woods—Grande

  The list filled the whole page. I flipped to the next page, and found a map of the Union, bodies of water labeled on the east and west. Above and below the Association, the land on the map simply said All dead.

  A chill started at the top of my head and ran down my spine.

  I fanned a few more pages. The words West End Lakehead Treatment Facility sat at the top, and a few lines of instructions followed. A number—4—was circled in the corner. The order in which to visit Lakehead and find Phillip Hernandez and install a false feed?

  Jag put a finger on the journal. “I’ve been to Lakehead. Tiny little city. Mostly water purification.”

  I grunted, feeling like this conversation wasn’t real.

  “Finally,” Jag said. “All the pieces are coming together.”

  I flipped another page and had started to read about Greenhouse Eighty in Cedar Hills when a bright-bright-bright strobelight bled onto the paper. I looked up—Freedom flashed before me. A few seconds later I heard the screaming siren of a wall breach.

  “Sector fifteen, southwest corner, speed: ten,” I said.

  The transport zoomed forward, careening toward the corner where Jag and I had escaped. I held my breath during the twenty-second journey.

  When I saw Zenn’s white-blond hair in the distance, I released the stale air in my lungs.

  “Pick up,” I ordered. “Accommodate for three additional people.”

  While the transport calibrated, only two people sprinted away from the city and toward us. Vi + Zenn.

  No Raine. Raine wasn’t with them. Why wasn’t Raine with them? Raine is supposed to be with them.

  “Two additional people,” Jag amended, his tone flat, accepting.

  “No,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice. “Where’s Raine?”

  We hovered a few feet above the ground while Freedom wailed and flashed and lost two of its most important Thinkers. Not three. Two.

  Jag remained oddly quiet. An awkward vibe filled the cabin, and I felt numb all over.

  Zenn climbed in first, then turned to help Vi. As soon as she was in, the emotions went from awkward to so tense the air became unbreathable.

  “Hey, Violet,” Jag said, his voice so soft she surely wouldn’t hear him.

  But she said, “Hey, Jag,” with that same reverent tone.

  Thousands of words went unspoken. Ten seconds became twenty as they gazed at each other. I sorta wanted to get out of the transport and walk to the hideout so they could have their reunion in private.

  Especially when they started kissing. It wasn’t the groan and look away kind of making out, but more like the we love each other and have been apart way too long kind of kissing.

  Jag gripped Vi’s shoulders like he couldn’t believe she was real. She slid her fingers through his hair, along his back, and down his arms. When they finally broke apart, I found that my heart was beating double-time, thinking about Raine and how I could kiss her like that when we were reunited.

  “Told you I’d find you,” Jag breathed.

  “Yeah, I think I found you,” Vi responded, a smile growing on her lips.

  Before they could start kissing again, Zenn’s hand came down on Jag’s shoulder, waves of pain/anguish/hope pouring from him. “Hey, bro.”

  Jag looked away from Vi, and the mood in the transport broke.

  “Where’s Raine?” I asked immediately.

  Vi untangled herself from Jag and wrapped her arms around me. She gave me exactly what I needed: a hug.

  “Raine saved us,” she whispered in my ear. “She made it so Zenn and I could escape.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to draw strength to speak. “She was good at that.”

  “Is,” Vi said, releasing me. “She is good at that. We’ll get her out.”

  I wanted to believe her. I wasn’t sure I could. I cleared my throat and returned my attention to the journal. Jag kissed Vi again before saying, “Get us out of here,” nothing but determination in his words and fire in his eyes.

  As he directed the transport south-southeast toward the city of Grande, I watched the barrier of Freedom flicker from purple to blue to green to silver, clinging to a thin thread of hope that Raine would come running, flag us down, sit next to me, and hold my hand.

  She didn’t.

  Raine

  46.

  Run, run, run runrunrun!

  The shriek became one constant loop in my head. Darkness blinded me, pressed in on all sides. My hands seemed welded to my dad’s face. His cries melted into the cacophony of sound surrounding me.

  Shapes formed, dark and dangerous. My heart beat so, so fast. Surely it would flop out of my chest, leaving me with an empty slot where my vital organ should be.

  Yet I held on. I didn’t push the images back as they rushed forward even though I had zero desire to see what my dad wanted most.

  But if it meant Vi and Zenn could get out…

  If it meant Gunn would have a chance to regroup and launch an attack…

  If it meant Cannon wouldn’t be punished…

  White-hot lightning bolted through the darkness. The sky split with an ear-blasting wail. I couldn’t be sure if it was the siren signaling the barrier had been breached or if the sound came from my throat.

  Scream upon scream beat down upon me. In the air, in my head, on my vi
sion-screen. Because what my dad wanted most was to dominate every Citizen in the Association. Directing the most powerful city (and the surrounding cities) in the union wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

  He wanted to be the General Director. And to get what he wanted, he needed Gunner’s voice. He needed my touch-and-see ability.

  He needed Violet’s extreme mind control.

  He needed Zenn’s allegiance, his ability to play both sides.

  He needed the loyalty of powerful people. Thane’s face flashed across my vision-screen.

  My dad couldn’t have any of them.

  Icy tendrils of wet snaked up my legs. Somehow I’d fallen to my knees. My dad writhed on the ground next to me, panting and still trying to escape the death grip I had on his face.

  I felt my grasp weakening as the strength left my body. My muscles burned. My throat throbbed with pain.

  Rivers of hurt and anger overflowed. Light the color of blood splashed across my vision-screen. It wasn’t until the metallic scent hit my nose that I realized it wasn’t light, but real blood.

  I tore my hands from my father’s face, but it was too late. They were covered in blood. Mine, his, didn’t matter.

  I wiped my face, feeling the slickness of it, my stomach twisting with the cloying scent. I twisted away from his ruined face and my welted hands, and retched. Again and again, until my abdomen felt tight and I coiled into a ball.

  Gunn, I thought. I miss you, miss you.

  Then I started reciting my vitals again. My name is Raine Hightower.

  The night wore on, and still I lay there, bloody and wet, a man I thought I should know gasping for breath only a few feet away.

  My name is Raine …

  Even when the sky opened up and the rains came, they couldn’t wash me clean. Nothing could restore what had been taken from me.

  My name is …

  Gunner

  47.

  The transport vibrated, making my legs seminumb as we flew south toward the safehouse. I sat among the others, watching Zenn eye Vi and Jag as they whispered to each other.

  I wished I could talk to Raine. I settled for imagining a conversation in my head.

  Are you going to pine away forever, Gunn? she’d ask.

  No, I’d answer, sullen, defensive. Just for today, I’d think, but not allow to leave my cache. And maybe tomorrow. Or until I learn to live without you in my life. Yeah, okay, forever.

  I would never learn to live without Raine Hightower.

  Sure, sure. So the past twenty-four hours have been … what? Gunn’s Pity Party?

  Shut up.

  That’s nice, Gunn. What a way to talk to me.

  I’d ignore her sarcasm, of course. Raine, I’m—

  Don’t, Raine would chat. I know you are, but apologies won’t do a whole lot here, will they?

  A slow tear edged its way out of my eye. I let it fall, knowing a whole flood would follow. At least Raine wasn’t here physically to witness it.

  I miss you, I’d say.

  That doesn’t help either, Gunner, she’d chat back. Raine never was one for crying, despite that one episode.

  But it’s true.

  I felt someone in the transport watching me, probably Vi. I wiped my face real quick, fake-chatted to Raine, I gotta go. Chatcha later.

  As the transport slowed, I swear I heard Raine chat, I miss you, miss you.

  * * *

  We landed behind a single tree, gentle swells in the landscape darknening the night sky surrounding us.

  “We have to walk in,” Zenn said. “This way.” He moved off toward one of the rising hills.

  “How do you know?” I asked, falling in step beside him. I figured Zenn would be better company that Vi and Jag, who couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other for even a moment.

  “Not all of my training took place inside the city walls,” he said.

  “But … but how did you get beyond the wall?”

  “Thane,” Zenn said, effectively stunning me into silence. I put my hand in my back pocket, felt a slip of paper there. After pulling it out, the moonlight helped me make out Jag written in loopy writing.

  I turned around and thrust the note toward Vi and Jag, who walked behind me. “Here. It’s a note from Indy.”

  Vi took the note even as Jag reached for it, coils of shock emanating from her. “Indy?”

  “Yeah. Dark skin, pink hair—”

  “I know who Indy is.” Vi stared at the note like it might bite her.

  “Well, super,” I said. “Can you give that to Jag?”

  Vi looked at Jag, who wore a shadowed expression of half horror, half amuesment. She pocketed the paper. “Yeah, sure. Sure I can.”

  When Jag chuckled and pressed his lips to Vi’s temple, anguish poured from Zenn.

  “Thanks,” I said. I wanted to feel sorry for Zenn, but at least Vi was here. Everything seemed muted and colorless without Raine.

  * * *

  After crawling through another hole and walking down another long tunnel, I emerged into an empty cavern big enough for a table and chairs. The few people sitting there halted their conversation when we arrived.

  A petite girl with long blond hair stood up. “Zenn?”

  “Saffediene. We need everyone out here now.”

  She nodded and hurried down another corridor.

  “Is my brother here?” Jag’s voice came out husky, hopeful.

  A man with long silver hair appeared in a doorway to my right. In the next second Jag was sprinting toward him. He yelled, “Pace!” before they collided.

  * * *

  The meeting Jag had called wasn’t due to start for a few minutes. I laid on a lumpy couch in a tiny cavern, obsessing over Raine. I seriously felt like I could sleep forever, that I didn’t give a damn about what happened next.

  Jag was right. I was lapsed.

  What unlapsed me: Zenn.

  “Can we talk?” he asked, filling the doorway with his tall frame.

  I scrambled to sitting. “Sure, come on in.” I wiped both hands over my face, hoping to force myself to stop thinking about Thane-and-Raine-and-Starr, Starr-and-Raine-and-Thane.

  Like that worked. They all bounced around inside my head, demanding explanations.

  “I know what happened with Thane,” Zenn said. He settled on the couch next to me, careful to leave an unassuming gap. “You did the right thing for him back there.”

  “He said—” My breath shuddered on the way in. I studied the uneven stone floor of the cavern. “He asked me to tase him, leave him for the Greenies. He said Director Hightower wouldn’t be able to blame him that way.”

  “You did the right thing, Gunn.”

  We sat in comfortable silence. My mind buzzed with questions, and the one that came out was, “How come Jag doesn’t know?”

  Zenn studied me as if I should’ve worked this out for myself. “Jag—the known leader of the Resistance—shouldn’t know anything about the Assistant Director of Freedom. Can you imagine if Jag got caught, interrogated?” He shook his head. “No, he couldn’t know. He probably still doesn’t believe it. Jag’s not what you’d call forgiving.”

  I followed his logic. If Thane got caught, he couldn’t know incriminating things about Jag either. Still, their obvious hatred of each other felt very real.

  “Do you think it’s worth it?” I asked.

  Zenn took his time thinking about it. “Some things are worth fighting for.” He was right. I’d fight for freedom. I’d fight for choice. I’d fight for Raine.

  “Hey, you guys ready?” the girl Zenn had called Saffediene asked from the doorway. “Meeting’s about to start.”

  Zenn stood, sighing heavily. “Let’s get this Resistance started. Bring that journal, Gunn.”

  As I tucked the journal in my back pocket and followed them out of the cavern, I couldn’t help thinking:

  We’re here.

  And we’re ready.

  Raine Arena

  48.

&nbs
p; I wake to a preset alarm in my head. I stretch and glance out the sliding glass door. Winter has finally broken. The temps the last few days have been reasonable, and the sun shines hotter every day.

  I check my cal: March 16. Midterms start today. I jump up and dress quickly. Dad will be angry if I’m late to breakfast.

  “Hey,” I say breathlessly as I enter the dining room just in time. Something about the glass and chrome table bothers me, but I can’t pinpoint what.

  “Good morning, Arena,” he says. “Exams begin today?”

  “Yes.” I check my meal plan and order the mandated two-egg breakfast.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Ready enough,” I say.

  He watches me with those sharp eyes. Long scars run from temple to chin on both sides of his face, still pink and raw. I can’t remember where he got them.

  I can’t remember a lot of things.

  I am Arena Locke. I am sixteen years old. I—

  I cut off my thoughts, somehow feeling like I shouldn’t finish that sentence. At least not in the presence of my dad. I’m not sure how, but he seems to know everything, even things I don’t say out loud.

  He gestures toward me with his fork, as if to say, Go ahead.

  I know he means to get a move on and eat already. But what I do instead is finish my thought.

  I shouldn’t believe everything I hear.

  A rush of memories floods my mind. I used to have white hair. My own flat. A roommate with spiky black hair. A best friend. A guy who loved me, and I loved him.

  A different name.

  I used to be called—

  “Your name is Arena Locke,” the man across from me says.

  I look up slowly, as if my eyes aren’t attached to my head. “Who are you?” I ask, which sounds ridiculous because I don’t even know who I am.

  “I’m Van Hightower, your guardian.”

  The name sounds right, settles in my mind into a familiar slot. But the word guardian holds no meaning.

  Don’t believe everything you hear echoes through my mind again in this strangely robotic voice.