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“Tell Eden to be ready at your complex’s entrance,” I shout. “I know where we can go.”
An urgent voice comes over my earpiece. It’s Anden. “Where are you?” he says. I shiver as I detect a faint hint of fear in his words—another thing I rarely hear. “I’m at the Capitol Tower. I’ll send a jeep to pick you up.”
“Send a jeep to Day’s apartment. I’ll be there in a minute. And Ollie—my dog—”
“I’ll have him sent to the bunkers immediately,” Anden says. “Be careful.” Then a click sounds out, and I hear static for a second before my earpiece goes dark. Beside me, Day repeats my instructions for Eden over his own mike.
By the time we reach the apartment complex, Republic jets are screaming by every other second, painting dozens of trails into the evening sky. Crowds of people have already started gathering outside the complex and are being guided in various directions by city patrols. A jolt of fear seizes me when I realize that some of the jets on the horizon are not Republic jets at all—but unfamiliar enemy ones. If they’re this close, then they must’ve gotten past our longer range missiles. Two larger black dots hover at the end of the sky. Colonies airships.
Day sees Eden before I do. He’s a small, golden-haired figure clutching the railings by the apartment complex’s entrance door, squinting in vain at the sea of people around him. Their caretaker stands behind him with both of her hands firmly on his shoulders. “Eden!” Day calls out. The boy jerks his head in our direction. Day hops up the steps and scoops him into his arms, then turns back to me. “Where do we go?” he shouts.
“The Elector’s sending a jeep for us,” I reply in his ear, so that the others don’t hear. Already a few people are casting us glances of recognition even as they stream past us in a haze of panic. I pull my coat collars as high up as they can go, then bow my head. Come on, I mutter to myself.
“June,” Day says. I meet his eyes. “What’s gonna happen to the other sectors?”
There’s the question I’ve been dreading. What will happen to the poor sectors? I hesitate, and in that brief moment of silence, Day realizes the answer. His lips tighten into a thin line. A deep rage rises in his eyes.
The jeep’s arrival saves me from answering right away. It screeches to a stop several feet from where the others have crowded around, and inside I see Anden wave once at me from the passenger’s side. “Let’s go,” I urge Day. We make our way down the steps as a soldier opens the door for us. Day helps Eden and their caretaker inside first, and when they’re both buckled up, we climb in. The jeep takes off at breakneck pace as more Republic jets fly by overhead. Off in the distance, another bright orange cloud mushrooms up from the Armor. Is it me, or did that seem like a closer hit than before? (Perhaps closer by a good hundred feet, given the size of the explosion.)
“Glad to see you all safe,” Anden says without turning around. He utters a quick greeting at each of us, then mumbles a command to the driver, who makes a sharp turn around the next block. Eden lets out a startled yelp. The caretaker squeezes his shoulders and tries to soothe him.
“Why take the slower route?” Anden says as we veer down a narrow street. The ground shakes from another far-off impact.
“Apologies, Elector,” the driver calls back. “Word’s that several explosions have gone off inside the Armor—our fastest route’s not safe. They bombed a few jeeps on the other side of Denver.”
“Any injuries?”
“Not too many, luckily. Couple jeeps overturned—several prisoners escaped, and one soldier’s dead.”
“Which prisoners?”
“We’re still confirming.”
A nasty premonition hits me. When I’d gone to see Thomas, there had been a rotation of guards standing in front of Commander Jameson’s cell. When I left, the guards were different.
Anden makes a frustrated sound, then turns to glance back at us. “We’re headed to an underground hold called Subterrain One. Should you need to enter or leave the hold, my guards will scan your thumbs at its gateway. You heard our driver—it’s not safe to head out on your own. Understand?”
The driver presses a hand to his ear, blanches, and looks at Anden. “Sir, we have confirmation on the escaped prisoners. There were three.” He hesitates, then swallows. “Captain Thomas Bryant. Lieutenant Patrick Murrey. Commander Natasha Jameson.”
My world lurches. I knew it. I knew it. Just yesterday I’d seen Commander Jameson securely behind bars, and talked to Thomas while he was withering away in prison. They couldn’t have gone far, I tell myself. “Anden,” I whisper, forcing my senses straight. “Yesterday, when I went to see Thomas, there had been a different rotation of guards. Were those soldiers supposed to be there?” Day and I exchange a quick look, and for an instant I feel as if the entire world is playing us for fools, weaving our lives into one cruel joke.
“Find the prisoners,” Anden snaps into his mike. His own face has turned white. “Shoot them on sight.” He glances back at me while he continues talking. “And get me the guards that were on duty. Now.”
I cringe as yet another explosion makes the ground tremble. They couldn’t have gone far. They’ll be captured and shot by the end of the day. I repeat these words to myself over and over. No, something else is at work here. My mind flits through the possibilities:
It’s no coincidence that Commander Jameson managed to escape, that the Colonies’ attack happened on the same day she was being transferred. There must be other traitors in the Republic’s ranks, soldiers that Anden hasn’t rooted out yet. Commander Jameson may have been passing information to the Colonies through them. After all, the Colonies somehow knew when our Armor soldiers would rotate shifts, and particularly that today we had fewer Armor soldiers stationed than usual due to the food poisoning. They knew to strike at our weakest moment.
