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He opens his bag, pulls out the box of ammunition, and fills the empty slots. After snapping the chamber closed, he runs a hand along the barrel of the gun and shakes his head. “I have to finish what I started.”
So do I.
The sun has set. The houses around us are quiet as we wheel our bicycles down to the street and climb on. The haze in the sky tonight makes it hard to see the moon. The lack of light is good for traveling unseen, but I have to work to make sure I don’t lose sight of Raffe as we ride through the streets in the direction of the University. Dr. Barnes lives in a house close to campus. We will check there for him. Because it is night, there is a good chance we will find his family with him. Just the thought of what we might be forced to do if they are all at home is almost enough to make me stop pedaling. Only thinking about my brother, Daileen, and all those who have died in The Testing keeps me moving forward.
As we ride, I try to catch a glimpse of Raffe’s face to gauge what he’s thinking or feeling. After Zandri’s death, Tomas was quiet. Withdrawn. At the time I thought it was just fatigue or disillusionment with the world around him that caused his depression. But now that I know what happened during my absence, I realize it was because Tomas was struggling with his conscience. Had I not been with him, I doubt he would have continued with the fourth test. Taking a life, especially one he knew and cared for, ate at his desire to save his own until the only purpose he had was helping get me safely to the end. Raffe’s need to find his sister should keep him focused on us getting through the next several hours. After that, who can say what will happen. Perhaps if Emilie is still alive, Raffe will find purpose in bringing her home and helping her recover from whatever she has suffered.
Raffe turns to the left. I follow, although I notice that Raffe is farther ahead than he was before. Despite what has happened, the burst of speed makes clear that he has not lost his endurance. At first that thought encourages me. Then I realize that Raffe is not the one who has changed speed. I have.
I’ve been so concerned with Raffe’s state of mind that I have not noticed the weight that seems to press on me with every turn of the pedals. At the end of the journey to Raffe’s house was death. There had always been a possibility that I would come to Raffe’s aid if he needed me, but it wasn’t necessary. This journey is different. While blood stains my hands, I have never before set out to commit murder. Tonight, I am doing exactly that.
Raffe stops so suddenly, I have to turn my handlebars to avoid crashing into him. “Look,” he says. I squint into the darkness, trying to see what he sees.
Skimmers.
At the other end of the block, traveling toward us without their running lights engaged. The lack of lights is both illegal and dangerous. Neither problem is likely of much concern to those who pilot the vehicles.
“This way,” Raffe whispers, and he leads me off the paved roadway and onto the grass. I cast glances behind me, trying to see if the skimmer pilots have noticed us, but the black of the night makes it hard to tell. Raffe must think there is a chance we have been detected because he doesn’t slow as we ride in between two tall trees a hundred feet from the road. Riding on the rougher terrain has slowed his pace enough for me to keep up.
“This way.”
Raffe darts behind the house to our right and stops. Putting a finger to his lips, he glances around the corner at the street to see if we are being pursued. I hold my breath. A minute passes. Two. Then I hear the hum of engines moving closer, but from the sound I can’t tell if they are leaving the street or traveling along it. Finally I see a shadow darker than the rest slowly moving along the road toward the east. It’s small. The same size as the skimmers we used during our Induction, although I am certain this one is faster and in better repair. A second skimmer appears. Raffe points out a third. The seeming lack of urgency suggests they are performing a basic patrol. Three patrols in one location seems excessive on a normal day, but I am not surprised to see them congregated here, since we are near so many of the dwellings where top officials reside. We were lucky not to have run into more trouble on Raffe’s block.
Or were we?
I see the skimmers stop and watch as one by one they turn around and head back in the direction from which they came. If they were on basic patrol, they would keep going to secure the rest of the neighborhood. These Safety officials are guarding something. Since Dr. Barnes’s house is only a hundred yards away, I can guess what that something is.
The lead skimmer passes our position as I hear the click. And another. It’s coming from the Transit Communicator in my bag. Zeen.
Raffe turns his head. A second skimmer comes into view. The click sounds three more times. When I don’t pick up, a voice calls, “Cia, answer me.” Zeen’s frantic plea echoes in the quiet of the night. I reach into my bag to find the Communicator and shut it down. My fingers fumble with the fastener as Zeen yells, “I’m coming, but Symon is—”
I hit the Off switch.
Everything goes silent.
No. Not everything.
The hum of the skimmer engine turns to a roar. The running lights flare to life as the skimmer turns and heads across the grass, directly at us.
Chapter 17
TERROR FUELS MY feet. “Follow me,” I whisper as loud as I dare, hoping my words can be heard over the roar of the skimmers’ engines as they throttle up. These skimmers are bound to be fast and easy to maneuver. That’s almost enough to make me think our fate is sealed. Our only chance is to ride around the far side of the house and double back toward the road before they see us. If they can’t see us, they won’t know which direction to follow.
I take a standing position to gain more momentum. The sound of Raffe’s harsh, fast breathing tells me he’s not far behind. We are almost to the edge of the house when my front wheel hits something. I jolt as the bike slows to a crawl. Panic flares as Raffe zips past and around the corner. I try to push the pedals again but they won’t turn. Whatever I hit must be wedged in the gears.
Jumping off my bike, I lift it by the frame and run. Between the bulk of the bag and the weight of the bike, my movements are awkward. Engines roar somewhere behind me. I don’t think they are close—yet—but I can’t tell for sure and I don’t dare take the time to look. My feet stumble. Raffe takes the bike from me and runs to a small group of bushes. He slides the bike under it and then grabs my hand and dashes toward the front of the house.
“Dr. Barnes lives two houses down on the north side of the street. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
I don’t have a chance to argue as he darts away. Without thinking, I run to the front of the next house and cross the street. The slap of my boots on the pavement makes me cringe. When I reach the grass on the other side, I brave a look behind me. The skimmers have not yet reached the end of the house we came around.
My heart pounds. I run as fast as I am able and drop to the ground near the wall of the house, and flatten myself against the dirt.
I keep my face lowered, hoping my dark hair will blend into the shadows. The sound of an engine comes closer. Slowly, I move my right hand. My fingers search for the side pocket of my bag and the gun I have stored there. I can feel the seam of the pocket, but I cannot slip my hand inside without shifting my entire body, gi
ving myself away.
I hear the sound of the other skimmer. I press my cheek to the ground and squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for shouts, increased engine power, or anything that would indicate I have been spotted. My whole body quivers with the urge to run, but I force myself to stay put. The smell of rich dirt evokes memories of my father. My first memories are of the smell of earth that surrounded him when he’d come home after a day of working in his greenhouse. It’s a smell I have always associated with hope. I cling to that as I wait.
