Rise (16 page)

“Moss is dead,” the man said. “Everyone on the Trail knows who Princess Genevieve is. She will be punished, even if her father was not.”

“I was working with the rebels,” I said slowly, trying to keep my voice calm. “I'm on your side.” The man yanked my arm, pulling me toward the back exit. A few of the girls were crying, their low, muffled sobs heard in the dark.

“I know the codes,” I said, thinking that might mean something to him. But he kept the gun aimed at my stomach.

“You have to listen to her,” Clara said, running toward us. “She never sided with her father.” I shook my head, hoping she wouldn't say anything more. It was possible he knew who she was. If anyone said her name or mentioned she was my cousin, he might take her as well.

He pulled me toward the door. I didn't resist, instead keeping my breathing steady, thinking of the knife at my belt. I didn't know if I could physically bring myself to do it, but my gaze kept returning to the gun, the end of it still aimed right above my belt. He held my arm, starting backward. When he reached the door, he turned for a brief moment to open it, looking down as he searched for the handle. I slipped my hand to my waist, wrapping my fingers tight around the butt of the knife, pulling it from its sheath. He opened the door, signaling me through.

As I stepped into the parking lot, I kept the blade in front of me. He came through the door and I turned quickly, landing it in his right bicep. He cursed and released the gun. I kicked it hard, sending it skidding over the pavement. I stepped away from him, trying to get space between us, when Clara came through the door. I heard the bells clanking, the loud whine of the hinges, and then she struck him in the back of the head. It wasn't until he was on the ground, twisted in pain, that I saw one of the glass water bottles in her hand.

He didn't get up. His eyes were squeezed shut, his knees folded into his chest. He reached for the back of his head, where a gash had opened, the blood wet in his hair. Clara took the plastic rope from her belt and looped it around his wrists. Even when he was on the ground, his hands lashed together, I couldn't catch my breath. I saw the gun again, the barrel pointed at my stomach. It was enough to protect myself, but I felt now there was this other part of me, a person I'd imagined as vividly as anything else.

It wasn't more than a minute before the rest of the girls were outside. As the man lost consciousness they moved in, studying him. “He was going to kill you,” Helene said. She tried to dry her cheeks, but her eyes kept filling.

“I was just trying to help,” Bette said. “I was trying to get someone to help us.”

Clara's face was unfamiliar to me. Her cheeks were red, her hand squeezing down on Bette's arm. She spoke through clenched teeth. “What do you think we're doing? We
are
helping you.” Bette tried to pull away, but Clara held her there. “If he heard it, how many other people did?”

I looked down at the man, his face caked with dirt. We had to leave tonight. It was possible more rebels were already on their way. If the soldiers had heard the message, they'd track us here. Even if we kept north, away from this campground, they could approximate where we were. If they thought we were going to Califia, they might set up checkpoints to the west of the mountains, blocking the way. We needed somewhere we could hide.

I ran off toward the road, where the motorcycle still sat. The quiet sound of my feet against the pavement calmed me. It felt good to be up, to be moving again, the night air filling my chest. “Eve?” Clara called out, watching me. “What are you doing?”

When I got to the bike, I knelt down beside the tire, feeling for the small nozzle in its side. Quinn had told me the trick in Califia, when we'd spoken about the government Jeeps. It was easier than cutting through the thick rubber.

I twisted the valve open, listening to the satisfying hiss of the air as it rushed out. “Get everything packed,” I called, turning to watch their silhouettes, frozen there against the star-dusted sky. “We leave for the dugout tonight.”

“IT'S SO CLOSE,” SARAH CALLED AS WE CRESTED THE HILL
. “I can see the water.” I scanned the trees, making sure I'd directed us to the right spot. It was as I'd remembered it, but seemed lonelier somehow, the lake unfamiliar in Caleb and Arden's absence.

The girls broke into a run as the water spread out before them, the sky showing pink and orange against its glassy surface. Bette helped Helene down the rocky slope, holding the sled from the back, careful not to let it slide too fast. I watched her, grateful we'd made it. We'd built three fires on the way north—only during the day, to boil lake water—and suffered through nights in the cold, too afraid the smoke would be seen from the road. When we'd camped at Crowley Lake, a vehicle had passed above us. We saw it stop on the ridgeline, the soldiers getting out as they surveyed the pavement, studying for a few minutes the faint footprints we'd left in the sand before passing us by.

Bette helped Helene up, and they started toward the lake. Helene limped, still unable to put weight on her bad leg. As they reached the shallows, the other girls hardly turned, instead rinsing their arms and legs with the clean water. They hadn't hidden their annoyance with Bette. Even now, a week and a half later, they walked yards in front of her, sometimes ignoring her when she called to them.

Sarah submerged herself in the shallows. She washed quickly, taking handfuls of sand and rubbing it against her arms, then filling her bottles with fresh water. “I don't see them,” she said, scanning the trees behind me. “Maybe they're not here.”

A few of the girls turned at the mention of the boys. They stepped out of the water, filling the last of their bottles and setting them on shore. “I'm not going up there,” Bette said, glancing at the darkness between trees. “I don't care if I sleep aboveground.”

“You're certain it's safe?” Clara said as she walked up beside me. She dropped her pack and rubbed the tender spot on her shoulder where the strap dug into her skin. “We can stay here?”

“I'm not certain of anything,” I said, looking at the path that led up to the dugout. “But the place is hidden. There's water and plenty to hunt. We might be able to take the horses the rest of the way—it would take at least a week off the trip to Califia.”

Clara's gaze fell on Helene. Beatrice was unwrapping her leg, changing the splint and towels that held the bone in place. None of us had said it out loud, but her injury had slowed our pace considerably. Though we all took turns pulling her along, some of the girls were too weak, and the majority of the task fell to Clara, Beatrice, and me. Despite a few small meals of rabbit, we were perpetually hungry. There was a dull, constant ache in my stomach, and my energy was low. I worried if we didn't stay here and rest, conserving what strength we had, we'd be stranded on the way to Califia, somewhere with even fewer resources. We might not make it there at all.

Bette took up a handful of wet sand and scrubbed the dirt from her palms. Some of the girls waded in up to their knees but refused to turn away from the shore, keeping their eyes on the forest, as if waiting for the boys to appear. They were all so thin. Lena had a horrible sunburn on her shoulders, the skin red and blistering.

Helene and Beatrice were still on shore. Helene winced as Beatrice held the two narrow boards against her leg. She began wrapping the rope around them, securing the splint in place.

I started toward the girls, trying to push away the doubts I'd had about coming here. I'd revisited those last hours in the dugout so many times, wondering if it was foolish to be back, knowing Leif had been the one to betray us to Fletcher. As long as my father was looking for me, as long as he had the means to, there was always the chance someone would send word to the army about where I was. From now on every light on the road, every sign of smoke in the distance, and every stranger we encountered was a threat.

“Remember what I said,” I began, looking to the girls at the edge of the lake. “It's just for a few days, so we can rest. And Clara, Beatrice, and I are here with you, so try not to worry.”

Sarah pressed her finger into her mouth, biting at the skin around her nail. “You know that's easier to say . . .” she started, trailing off. Her eyes darted toward her mother.

“There might have been some truth to it,” I said, knowing how hard it was to process. “But only one thing ever mattered to the Teachers—that you stayed inside the School walls. And if you did go beyond them, they wanted to make sure you would return as soon as you could. Part of that was teaching you to fear everything and everyone—especially men. As soon as you started to realize that all men beyond the wall weren't as dangerous as they said, what else would you start to question? What if you did find an ally in one—what then?”

Kit dug her toes into the sand, burying them there. The rest of the girls were silent. Beatrice threw a dry towel over Sarah's shoulders, rubbing the lake water from her back. Sarah didn't shrug her off as she sometimes did. She didn't mutter about what she could do on her own, how Beatrice didn't need to help her. For a moment they just stood together like that, Beatrice's arms on her shoulders, in an almost-hug.

I turned, scanning the forest, searching for the burned trunk that twisted toward the lake, its roots pointing back, up toward the dugout. Then I started to the place where the trees met the rocky beach.

As I reached the edge of the forest Clara ran up behind me. “I'll come with you,” she said, looking into the shadows. I pulled my sweater around me. The air was cooler beneath the massive tree branches.

“You can stay, really. Keep the girls at the water's edge until I come back.”

I stepped around the tangled roots, going deeper into the forest, spotting the burned tree up ahead. Far off to my right was one of the stumps the boys set food on when they cooked. They'd cleaned it off, but there was a fresh stain of berry juice on one side. Tiny seeds were still stuck to the edge of the wood. Someone had been here no more than a week before. When I reached the hillside I leaned down, trying to find the groove of the hidden door.

Inside, it was strangely quiet. I turned into the first room, lit by a small hole in the ceiling. I couldn't remember whose it was—Aaron's or Kevin's. There were no clothes strewn on the floor, no empty bowls piled in the corner. None of the old, deflated soccer balls they kicked around, or the crumpled wrappers left over from a storehouse raid. The mattress was uncovered. The two plastic chairs in the corner, claimed from a front lawn, had only a single blanket on them.

I turned back down the mud hall, peering into the next alcove. It was empty. Other than a moldy plate of bones sitting on the floor, there were no signs of the boys. I glanced ahead, where the corridor opened up to the wide, circular room we'd eaten meals in. The dugout had been abandoned. Maybe they had fought in the siege, traveling with the rebels to liberate the labor camps. Maybe they'd been scared out by someone or something, the camp discovered weeks before. I pulled my knife, wishing then I'd brought the rebel's gun, now separated into two pieces, held by Clara and Beatrice.

I continued down the dim corridor, past more empty rooms, running my hand along the wall to orient myself. When I reached the main cavern it was as it had been months before, the fire pit in the center, the ashes cold. There were a few empty cans scattered on the floor. I ran my finger inside one of them and pressed it to my tongue. It was still wet with pear juice.

As I stood, I looked into the corridor across from me, the mud walls lit in a few places by holes in the ceiling. A figure passed, darting from one room to another. His face was shielded by a tattered blanket, the ends covering his shoulders. I moved quickly, pressing against the wall. A cool sweat covered my skin. I tried to quiet my breathing, listening to the person's footsteps as he hurried into the room.

I held the knife out as I started into the tunnel, feeling each step as I went farther into the dark corridor. It was possible the dugout had been discovered, that the troops had swept through at some point, or the northern rebels had used it on their way to the City. Anyone could be here now, pilfering the supplies that were left.

A shadow hovered in the doorway. He was a little taller than me, his silhouette inching into the hall. As soon as I looked at him he turned inside the room.

I advanced on him as he ducked back. My hand caught his arm, the knife held just inches from his neck. Slowly, the room came into focus, the sunlight coming down from the ceiling in one thin beam. I saw the face I'd seen every day for twelve years, every morning and evening in School, her curly hair held back by a thick shawl. Pip was frighteningly thin, her collarbone pressing against the thin skin on her neck. I glanced down, noticing her pregnant stomach, which protruded over the top of her ripped pants. It looked strange, as if it couldn't belong to someone so small and fragile.

“Eve, don't,” a familiar voice said behind her. “Please.” Ruby was standing in the corner with Benny and Silas, hovering over them, her arms wrapped around their shoulders. They all stared at me, their eyes so afraid, Pip stepping in front as if to block them from view.

I lowered the weapon, seeing myself through their eyes. My throat squeezed shut, suddenly embarrassed for becoming the type of person who'd hold a knife to another's throat.

“It's us,” Benny said, his small voice filling the room. “It's just us.”

I ROLLED THE DIAL BETWEEN MY FINGERS, TUNING THE RADIO
to the station Moss had marked in pencil. The air filled with a low, crackling static. Ruby and I leaned in, waiting to hear something—anything—but the minutes passed with no word. “Not as many rebels are sending messages now,” I said, finally clicking it off.