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“Former Patriots, sir.”
“I see. Who ordered this?”
The captain turns bright red. “Well, Elector,” he replies, trying to sound official, “my commanding officer—”
But Anden has already turned his attention away from the lying captain and starts to leave the room. “Take those shackles off them,” he says without turning back around. “Keep them in here for now, and then evacuate them with the final group. Watch them carefully.” He motions for us to follow him. “Ms. Iparis. Mr. Wing. If you please.”
I look back one more time at Tess, who’s watching the soldiers unclip the shackles from her wrists. Then I head out with June. Eden rushes over to me, nearly colliding with me in his hurry, and I take his hand back in mine.
Anden stops us before a group of Republic soldiers. I frown at the sight. Four of the soldiers are kneeling on the ground with their hands on their heads. Their eyes stay downcast. One weeps silently.
The remaining soldiers in the group have their guns pointed at the kneeling soldiers. The soldier in charge addresses Anden. “These are the guards who were in charge of Commander Jameson and Captain Bryant. We found a suspicious communication between one of them and the Colonies.”
No wonder he brought us out here, to see the faces of our potential traitors. I look back at the captured guards. The crying one looks up at Anden with pleading eyes. “Please, Elector,” he begs. “I had nothing to do with their escape. I—I don’t know how it happened. I—” His words cut off as a gun barrel cuffs him in the head.
Anden’s face, normally thoughtful and reserved, has turned ice-cold. I look from the kneeling soldiers back to him. He’s silent for a moment. Then he nods at his men. “Interrogate them. If they don’t cooperate, shoot them. Spread the word to the rest of the troops. Let it be a lesson to any other traitors within our ranks. Let them know we will root them out.”
The soldiers with the guns click their heels. “Yes, sir.” They haul the accused traitors to their feet. A sick feeling hits my stomach. But Anden doesn’t take back his words—instead, he looks on as the soldiers are dragged, shouting and pleading, out of the bunker. June looks stricken. Her eyes follow the prisoners.
Anden turns on us with a grave expression. “The Colonies have help.”
A dull thud echoes from somewhere above us, and the ground and ceiling tremble in response. June peers closer at Anden, as if analyzing him. “What kind of help?”
“I saw their squadrons in the air, right beyond the Armor. They’re not all Colonies jets. Some of them have African stars painted on their sides. My generals tell me that the Colonies are confident enough to have parked an airship and a squadron of jets less than a half mile from our Armor, setting up makeshift airfields as they go. They are ramping up for another assault.”
My hand tightens around Eden’s. He squints at the swarms of evacuees crowded near the subway, but he probably can’t see anything more than a mass of moving blurs. I wish I could take that frightened look off his face. “How long is Denver gonna hold?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Anden replies grimly. “The Armor is strong, but we can’t fight a superpower for long.”
“So what do we do now?” June says. “If we can’t hold them off alone, then are we just going to lose this war?”
Anden shakes his head. “We need help too. I’m going to get us an audience with the United Nations or with Antarctica, see whether they’re willing to step up to the plate. They might buy us enough time for . . .” He glances at my brother, quiet and calm beside me. A stab of guilt and rage hits me. I narrow my eyes at Anden—my hand clamps tighter on my brother’s arm. Eden shouldn’t have to be in the middle of this. I shouldn’t have to choose between losing my brother and losing this damn country.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” I say.
As he and June launch into an in-depth conversation about Antarctica, I look back at the room where Tess and the Patriots are being held. Through the window, I can see Tess tending carefully to the girl with the bleeding shoulder while the soldiers look on with uneasy expressions. Don’t know why all those trained killers should be scared of a little girl armed with a handful of bandages and rubbing alcohol. I shiver as I think of the way Anden ordered those accused soldiers out of the bunker and killed. Pascao looks frustrated, and for a moment, he meets my stare through the glass. Even though he doesn’t move his mouth, I can tell what he’s thinking.
He knows that trapping the Patriots inside a room during the middle of a battle, while civilians and soldiers alike are getting killed aboveground, is a total goddy waste.
“Elector,” I suddenly say, turning back to face Anden and June. He pauses to stare at me. “Let them out of this bunker.” When Anden stays silent, compelling me to go on, I add, “They can help your effort up there. I bet they can play the guerrilla game better than any of your soldiers, and since you won’t be evacuating the poor sectors for a while, you might need all the help you can get.”
June doesn’t say anything about my little jab, but Anden folds his arms across his chest. “Day, I pardoned the Patriots as part of our original deal—but I haven’t forgotten about my difficult history with them. While I don’t want to see your friends shackled like prisoners, I have no reason to believe that they’ll now help a country that they have terrorized for so long.”
“They’re harmless,” I insist. “They have no reason to fight against the Republic.”
