“He’s meeting with his team leaders. Ranetta wants to start deploying the attack groups of her rebel faction around the city tonight so they’ll blend in. They don’t want anyone to question their presence before Friday, when the attack begins.”
Tomas takes the Communicator and asks, “Can you get close enough to Ranetta to talk to her?”
“Tomas? I would think if anyone could talk Cia out of this you could.” When Tomas says nothing, I give his arm a squeeze. “Ranetta’s pretty busy right now,” Zeen continues. “I doubt she has time for someone like me.”
“If you find a man named Dreu Owens, I bet you can convince him to get her to make time for someone from Five Lakes. He’s Magistrate Owens’s son, and we have reason to believe he’s working with the rebellion. Find him and he might be able to help you stop the attack or get you close enough to permanently remove Symon.”
“We need you to eliminate Symon, Zeen,” I say before my brother can reply. “None of us will be able to get close enough to kill him. We can take out Dr. Barnes and the others on the list, but Symon controls the direction of too many of the rebels. You have to take charge of his removal. Otherwise who knows what will happen next.”
Tomas and I look at each other as the silence on the other end stretches on. “Zeen?” I ask quietly. When he doesn’t answer I say his name again. “Are you there?”
“I’m here. Dad used to talk about Dreu. He liked to follow Dad around to learn how to engineer new plants. Dad said I rivaled Dreu in the asking-questions department. If Dreu’s here, I’ll find a way to enlist his help. If not, don’t worry. I’ll kill Symon myself.”
I close my eyes as feelings storm through me. Relief that Zeen will help. Pride that he is no longer speaking to me as if I am a child. And sorrow for making my brother vow to take a life.
I want to thank him but the words stick in my throat. How do you thank someone for promising to kill? I know that by doing so Zeen could die, and if he is successful, it will forever change his own life.
Swallowing hard, I tamp down the tears and focus. “We’re waiting for the rest of our team to arrive. If everything works out, we’ll begin our attack tonight.”
“Then I’ll try to be ready on my end. Signal me three times if you’re starting your assault. With luck, I’ll have found Dreu and will be in touch before then. And Cia . . . be careful.”
“You too.”
The Communicator crackles for a moment and then there is quiet. Worry festers deep in me when I think about the danger Zeen is in.
Since we still don’t know how many of us will be working to find our targets, I concentrate on one problem we are certain of. The extra Safety patrols that are traveling the Tosu City streets. As Tomas and I discuss this, I look at our supplies and have an idea. Since they have been instructed to keep an eye out for me, Tomas, and anyone we are with, the best way to go unnoticed is to make them think they have already found us.
Putting the three explosives containers I removed from the president’s storage room in front of me, I explain my idea. The Safety officials will have been told about the explosion in my room. If they hear an explosion somewhere in the city, I’m betting they’ll feel compelled to look for me nearby. We just have to make sure that the explosions occur in an area far away from our targets and that we are gone before they detonate.
For the next few minutes, Tomas and I go through the house looking for items we can use to make a timing device for the bombs we plan to build. A timer is trickier to create than the switch I used in my first bomb. That switch was manually operated. This device requires a remote so whoever places it has time to escape the blast. While I have never attached a timing mechanism to an explosive, I’ve helped my father create timers for irrigation systems. The principle behind them is the same and not all that complicated, but I’m not sure we have access to all the components we need.
Tomas and I find the electrical circuitry box in the kitchen closet and flip the main power switch to the Off position just in case. We widen a hole in the wall of the smallest bedroom and remove wires, circuitry, and switches. These will be valuable, but we still need a timer to trigger the detonation.
We go through the house again. When we come up empty, I unclasp the solar watch that I have hanging from the strap on my bag. I had hoped to find something else to use so that I would have a watch during our attacks. I will have to do without. So will Tomas. When he sees me opening the watch’s back panel, he offers his identical watch. Removing the inner workings, I find it fairly easy to locate and detach the alarm wires. Without a soldering tool, it takes more time and some experimentation with the Bunsen burner Tomas brought to attach new wires to the leads. I hook up the wires to one of the coil relays we salvaged from the house’s electrical system. When that is done, we construct a solar igniter similar to the one I built yesterday and complete the circuit with one of the solar batteries Tomas brought with him.
Once both timers are built, we decide not to attach them to the explosives just yet. We’ll keep the timer separate until we need to arm the explosives.
Now that we potentially have something that will distract the Safety officials, we discuss the other issues we face. Our unfamiliarity with the areas in which our targets live is a problem. Stacia is similarly hindered. Raffe knows the city better than we do, so he will have to act as our guide. But as Tomas points out, no matter how effective our distraction is, there’s no way all four of us can travel through the city unnoticed. We’ll have to split into two teams. I will lead one. The other . . . I guess we will have to wait and see if both Raffe and Stacia make it here before we decide who will take leadership of the other. Tomas would be the natural choice, but I don’t know how he will feel about separating from me. Regardless of who takes charge of the second team, we will have the pulse radios. Raffe will be able to help give directions if the second team gets turned around, and if something goes wrong, we should be able to let the other team know.
Knowing we will be divided into two teams, I take out my radio and record a message for Raffe to bring another flashlight if possible. While we wait for Stacia and Raffe to arrive, Tomas and I sort through the rest of our gear. Each of us takes two of the recorders that I lifted from the president’s fifth-floor room. Then we each place a bottle of water, some food, and one of the timers and canisters into our bags. We also take another look at the list and information sheets the president provided. Based on the coordinates of each personal dwelling, we decide to split the targets into two groups. One team will go after Professor Holt and Professor Chen, who appear to live less than a quarter of a mile apart. The other team will target Official Jeffries and Dr. Barnes.
“I think that’s as far as we can plan until the others arrive. If they don’t make it, we will have to split up. If they do arrive, the most logical approach would be to have Raffe on the team assigned to his father, since he grew up in that area and knows it well. But Raffe might not be able to handle that. We won’t know until we ask him,” Tomas says as we sit on the floor with our hands clasped between us. All day we have found ways to touch each other. A brush of the arm. A kiss on the cheek. I know we are storing up memories in case one of us is not here tomorrow. I can see in the intensity of Tomas’s gaze that he has accepted that possibility.
Tomas glances at one of the timers and sighs. “It’s starting to get late and there are still a few things I want to do before the two of them get here.” After brushing a quick kiss on my lips, he stands and grabs the mortar and pestle, the burner, and several of the plant samples and disappears into the kitchen. He comes back a moment later and takes the sample containers I placed to the side. Then he leaves the room again.
I rise and start to follow to ask him what he is working on. But then I stop. I trust Tomas to tell me what he is doing when he is ready. And I am glad for the solitude because I, too, have accepted that I may not live to see tomorrow, and so there is something I must do.
I take one of my charcoal pencils a
nd several sheets of blank, gray recycled paper from the bottom of my bag. For a while I just stare at the pages. Then I begin to write. I don’t know if these letters will make it to the intended recipients, but writing them helps organize my thoughts.
To my father I explain that I failed in heeding his warning. That while I cannot live my life without trust, I have learned better whom to give that gift to and that the things I do now I do with those who believe what I believe. They, like me, cannot know what I know and allow a broken process to continue. I apologize if the choices I’ve made make him unhappy or cause him and the rest of my family trouble, but explain that I cannot live my life pretending what I know is not real. He taught me that even the most corrupt patch of earth can be transformed into a place where living things thrive as long as someone is dedicated to that cause. This is my cause. I cannot make plants grow, but I can commit myself to removing the corruption in this soil. Maybe if I am lucky, something strong and good will grow in its place.
Tears stain the page as I sign my name and move on to the letter for my mother. Hers is shorter but filled with love, as is the one for my brothers, including Zeen. Has he found Dreu Owens? Have they talked to Ranetta yet?
Forcing those thoughts to the side, I turn my attention to the final page and write. I have wiped away evidence of my tears and am sliding that paper into the side pocket of Tomas’s bag when he returns from the kitchen with four water bottles, two in each hand. He puts down the ones in his right hand, takes my pencil, and draws a circle on the side of those two.
“This one contains a steeped mixture of the new strain of Valerian and lavender.”
That combination should relax muscles and reduce pain. It could also cause some people to fall into a deep sleep. It should help if one of us is badly injured.
He puts one bottle in his bag, hands me the other, and then picks up the other two and marks each one with a large black X. “These have a combination of Rosary Pea, Pokeweed, and Oleander. This second bottle probably won’t be needed, but I thought it might be good to have in case of an emergency.”
I start to ask what kind of an emergency he envisions, but before the words can pass my lips, I understand. This bottle is not meant for the people on President Collindar’s list. It, too, is meant for us. If we are caught by Dr. Barnes or the Safety officials, Tomas intends to kill himself, and from the way he looks at me I know he wants me to do the same.
I swallow hard and force myself to breathe as shock turns to horror. Whether we succeed or not, our lives could be taken. But while I accept that might happen, I cannot and will not make the choice to end my own life. To choose death is to say I am done fighting. That I give up not only on myself but on everything I love. I think of the letters I wrote and know I could never willingly abandon my family.
However, though I am determined to fight to the end, Tomas isn’t me. I have seen the guilt and despair building inside him since The Testing. What happened at the stadium only darkened his sorrow. A seed of anger has kept him going, but Tomas’s fuse is reaching its end. Once the fire is extinguished, his drive to fight will be gone, too. Especially if he thinks the fight has been in vain.
So, as much as I want to tell Tomas to leave the bottles behind or to promise not to use them, I don’t. Instead, I take the bottle he offers and place it in the side pocket of my bag so it cannot be confused with the others. Taking a deep breath, I walk back to Tomas, stand on my tiptoes, and place my lips against his, infusing the kiss with all the love and understanding I can.
I barely register the click from the Transit Communicator as Tomas pulls me closer. It is only when the sound comes again that I understand.
“Zeen is calling.” I feel embarrassment heat my cheeks as I step out of Tomas’s embrace and reach for the Communicator. “Did you find Dreu?” I ask Zeen. “Is he there?”
“I asked a couple of people in my group. If Dreu’s here, he’s probably with Ranetta. A few of my friends are going to ask around for me since I told them Dreu and I are from the same colony. From what I can tell, he’s been working on medical research and syphoning off resources for the rebels whenever possible. It sounds like he’s not here very often.”
Which means Zeen will be on his own. “Can you find a way to talk to Ranetta without him? Maybe if you say you know Dreu?”
“I’ll try, but I’m not sure anyone is going to let me through to see her. Not now that things are so crazy. Groups of rebels are already starting to head into Tosu. If I’m going to get close to Symon, I need to do it soon. Otherwise he might leave the base. Once that happens, there’s no telling where he’ll go. But if I can get through to Ranetta before then, I’ll let you know. Rumors are running rampant that some of the attack groups have been given different schedules based on whether they are in Symon’s or Renatta’s faction, so the tension is pretty high. When are you planning on starting your attack?”
Until the others arrive, we cannot know for sure. But with the rebels being deployed and the chance that the order to attack may be delivered before the scheduled time, there is no other option but to say, “We’ll do it tonight. We plan on setting off a diversion to pull away the Safety patrols. Once you’re done with Symon, you should come here,” I say, and I read off the coordinates on the Transit Communicator. Zeen doesn’t know Tosu City at all. Unless he manages to convince Ranetta that killing Symon is necessary, he will be viewed as a traitor in the camp. He will need somewhere to hide.
“If I finish and get off this base, I’m not going to hide. I’ll be coming to help you.”
Not if I can prevent it. Since he won’t know where to find me, I consider this a promise he can’t fulfill.
“I have to get going, but Cia . . .”
“Yes, Zeen?”
His words are barely a whisper when he says, “I’m not sure when we’ll talk again, but I wanted to say—I love you. Be careful. Okay?”
Pressure builds in my chest and behind my eyes. “I love you, too, Zeen. And Zeen . . . don’t do anything crazy.”
“Who, me?” His bright laugh makes me smile. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I’m counting on it,” I say. Despite the click from the Communicator, I continue to cradle it in my hands. As if holding it will somehow keep Zeen safe or bring him closer to me. Tomas tries to put his arms around my shoulders. I know he wants to offer me his support and comfort, but I pull away and walk to the other side of the room. While I love Tomas, I need to be alone with my thoughts of my brother.
I’m not sure how long I stand holding the Communicator, but the shadows on the floor have shifted when I hear the sound of low voices outside the boarded-up front door.
Someone is here.
“Tomas,” I whisper. When he doesn’t answer, I cross the floor and whisper his name again.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as he appears in the doorway to the living room.
Putting my finger to my lips, I wait for the voices to come again. When they do, Tomas stiffens. Unfortunately, they are muted, making it impossible to know if they belong to Safety officials, our friends, or someone from the neighborhood who has grown curious about our presence. Slowly, I cross back to my bag, slide the Communicator inside, and reach for my gun. The voices are gone, but I notice the indicator light on my pulse radio is lit. I show the light to Tomas, who nods for me to press Play.
“We’re outside. And we need to come in.”
Raffe.
I put down the radio but keep the gun firmly in my hand as we go into the kitchen and open the back door. The sunlight is intense. I have to blink to focus my vision. When I do, I see Raffe and Stacia standing in front of me. Raffe is balancing their two bicycles, and after one look at Stacia it becomes clear why.
She has been shot.
Stacia cradles one arm to her chest. The hand she uses to protect her injured arm is streaked with blood. Her face is pale and she sways on her feet. I hand my gun to Tomas and lead her to the blanket on the floor. I ease off her jacket and use my pock
etknife to cut away her shirt from just above the elbow so I can get a better look.
I see Raffe and Tomas standing in the doorway and ask, “What happened? Did a Safety official try to detain you?”
Raffe and Stacia look at each other as Raffe says, “Not exactly. Ian scouted the area and let us know the Safety patrols were concentrated near the main entrance so we could go to the north side and get around them. He gave me an idea of the best path to take and went back to our residence to keep the rebel students there distracted so they wouldn’t notice that I’d left. Stacia and I were so busy avoiding the officials that we didn’t realize two rebel students had followed us.”
“It’s my fault.” Stacia winces. “They were fourth-year medical students. Both of them were known for hazing the first years. So I didn’t think anything of it when they followed me out of the residence. I went into the History building so they’d think I went to class. When they walked away, I thought they’d lost interest in me. But they were waiting for us on the road outside the main campus exit.”
While I am fairly certain Raffe has at least one weapon in his possession, I am amazed he was able to find a way to use it and get away after being taken by surprise. When I say so, Raffe shifts uncomfortably and says, “Actually, we didn’t get away from them on our own. We had some help.”
“Ian?” Tomas asks.
“Me,” says a familiar voice from behind us.
Dread grips me as I turn toward the doorway in time to see an unmistakable figure stride into the room, wearing a wide smile.
Will.
Chapter 15
GREEN EYES MEET mine. For a moment I can’t breathe as I remember the way those eyes glittered with calculation during The Testing when Will shot Tomas and turned his gun on me. I had thought he was my friend. I had thought he was on my side. I had been wrong.
I drop Stacia’s arm. My fingers wrap around the wooden butt of my gun as I stand. No one says a word as I raise the gun, wrap my other hand around the handle for balance, and take aim.