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None of them do.
They die.
Do you see where I’m going with this? They use the plagues to cull the population of weak genes, the same way the Trials pick out the strongest. But they’re also creating viruses to use against the Colonies. They’ve been using biological weapons against them for years. I don’t give a damn what happens to the Colonies or exactly what our Republic wants to inflict on them—but June, our own people are lab rats. Dad worked in those labs, and when he tried to quit, they killed him. And Mom. They thought they would tell everybody. Who wants a mass riot? Certainly not Congress.
We’re all going to die like this, June, if someone doesn’t step in. One of these days, a virus will get out of hand, and no vaccine or cure will be able to stop it.
November 26
Thomas knows. He knows what I suspect, that I think the government may have killed our parents intentionally.
I keep wondering how he knew that I’d hacked into the deceased civilians database, and all I can think of is that I left a trace, and the tech guys who fixed that security hole found it and mentioned it to him. So he approached me earlier today and asked me about it.
I told him I was still grieving over our parents’ deaths and got a little paranoid. Told him I didn’t find anything. I said you knew nothing about it, that he shouldn’t mention it to you. He said he’d keep it a secret. I think I can trust him. It’s just a little nerve-racking to have anyone know even the smallest bit about my suspicions. I mean, you know how he gets sometimes.
I’ve made up my mind. By the end of the week, I’ll tell Commander Jameson that I’m going to withdraw from her patrol. I’ll complain about the hours and say that I don’t see you enough. Something like that. I’ll update here when I’m reassigned.
I follow Metias’s instructions and delete every last trace of his blog.
Then I curl up on the couch and sleep until Thomas calls. I press a button on my phone and the voice of my brother’s murderer fills my living room. Thomas, the soldier who would happily carry out any order from Commander Jameson, even if it’s to kill a childhood friend. The soldier who used Day as a convenient scapegoat.
“June?” he says. “Are you all right? It’s almost ten hundred hours, and I haven’t seen you. Commander Jameson wants to know where you are.”
“I’m not feeling well,” I manage. “I’m going to sleep awhile longer.”
“Oh.” A pause. “What are your symptoms?”
“I’ll be fine,” I reply. “Just dehydrated and feverish. I think I ate something bad last night at the café. Tell Commander Jameson I should feel a little better by evening.”
“Okay, then. Sorry to hear it. Feel better soon.” Another pause. “If you’re still feeling sick by tonight, I’ll file a report and send the plague patrol over to check you. You know, protocol. And if you need me to come over, just call me.”
You’re the last person I want to see. “I’ll let you know. Thanks.” I hang up.
My head hurts. Too many memories, too many revelations. No wonder Commander Jameson had Metias’s body taken away so fast. I’d been stupid enough to think she did it out of sympathy. No wonder she organized his funeral. Even my test mission to track Day must’ve been a diversion to distract me while they tossed out any remaining evidence.
I think back to the evening when Metias decided to resign from shadowing Chian and joining the Trial enforcers. He’d been quiet and withdrawn when he picked me up from school. “Are you all right?” I remember asking him.
He didn’t answer. He just took my hand in his and headed for the train station. “Come on, June,” he said. “Let’s just go home.”
When I looked at his gloves, I saw tiny specks of blood staining them.
Metias didn’t touch his dinner, or ask me how my day went—which annoyed me until I realized just how upset he was. Finally, right before bedtime, I went over to where he was lying on the couch and snuggled under his arm. He kissed my forehead.
“I love you,” I whispered, hoping to get something out of him.
He turned to look at me. His eyes were so sad.
“June,” he said, “I think I’m going to appeal for a different mentor tomorrow.”
“You don’t like Chian?”
Metias stayed silent for a while. Then he lowered his eyes as if ashamed. “I shot someone at the Trial stadium today.”
This was what bothered him. I kept quiet and let him go on.
Metias ran a hand through his hair. “I shot a girl. She’d failed her Trial and tried to escape the stadium. Chian screamed at me to shoot her . . . and I listened.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know it back then, but now I can tell that Metias felt like he had shot me when he killed that little girl. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Metias stared off into the distance. “Few people ever kill for the right reasons, June,” he said after a long silence. “Most do it for the wrong reasons. I just hope you never have to be in either category.”
The memory fades, and I’m left hanging on to the ghosts of his words.
I don’t move for the next few hours. When the Republic’s pledge starts up outside, I can hear the people on the streets below chanting along, but I don’t bother to stand. I don’t salute when the Elector Primo’s name comes up. Ollie sits next to me, staring, whining every now and then. I look back at him. I’m thinking, calculating. I have to do something. I think of Metias, of my parents, then of Day’s mother, and his brothers. The plague has gotten its claws around all of us, in one way or another. The plague murdered my parents. The plague infected Day’s brother. It killed Metias for uncovering the truth of it all. It took from me the people I love. And behind the plague is the Republic itself. The country I used to be proud of. The country that experiments on and kills children who fail the Trial. Labor camps—we’d all been fooled. Had the Republic murdered relatives of my Drake classmates too, all those people who died in combat or in accidents or of illnesses? What else is secret?
