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I rose and paced away from the cot. Her words had sparked a black flame of doubt in my belly. It burned away some of the hope I’d been nurturing and left me unsure. If I didn’t move, I’d cry, and I refused to give in that easily. “He’ll come, and when he does, the Troika won’t know what hit them.”
“You said he doesn’t have an army,” she pointed out, her voice not as unkind as it was before.
“If I know Zed, he’ll go to the Scribe.”
Her brows rose. “You know Saga?”
I shook my head. “Never met him, but Zed told me lots of stories about the man in Book Mountain. If I had money, I’d bet it all on that being his first move.”
Matri laughed. “And he’ll find nothing. The Scribe is a myth created by the rebels. Just like that Meridian Six bitch.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know who that is, but I know Zed. He’s coming.”
She rose and sucked at the few teeth remaining in her mouth. Finally, she pursed her lips and tilted her head at me. “Then it will be up to you and me to make sure that when they arrive, the people are ready.”
She came forward, spat in her palm, and held it out to me. I stared at the leathery skin for a moment, but then something happened. That black flame of doubt snuffed out and the bright light of hope exploded in my gut. I had no idea how or when Zed would arrive, but I knew that the woman standing in front of me was the right person to help me prepare for him. I spat in my palm and slapped it into hers. “Deal.”
Then we sat down and began mapping out our plans.
Fourteen
Meridian Six
Very little light penetrated the tiny cracks in the railcar’s walls. The rhythmic sound of the train’s wheels bouncing over the tracks would have been soothing had those wheels not been taking us closer to the vampire work camp with each passing second. Zed’s rapid breathing and the echo of my heartbeat pounding in my own ears were the only other sounds.
The car we’d ended up inside held several crates of supplies. As promised, one of them turned up two of the blue uniforms required for all prisoners of the Krovgorod camp. On the right breast of each was embroidered the downward-pointing arrow that the Troika used to identify humans of less desirable blood types.
“How did Saga manage this?” Zed asked.
“Where Saga is concerned, I’ve found it’s best not to ask.”
He accepted this with a nod, and, for a moment, we both stared down at the uniforms that would transform us from rebels into prisoners.
According to Icarus, prisoners were issued uniforms upon their induction into the camps and would have to wear the same one for six weeks before new ones were issued. If a prisoner died from illness or injury, the head prisoner in the deceased’s barracks was allowed to distribute the old uniform to anyone who needed it most. Icarus claimed people died so commonly it was rare for anyone to go the entire six weeks without a new uniform.
Zed and I donned our uniforms in silence. Once we had them on, I threw our clothes out the door of the train to remove any traces of us. The camp uniform was the cleanest and newest clothing I’d worn since I’d escaped the Troika months earlier. I’d been wearing the too-big pants, too-tight shoes, and dirty work shirt for months. I’d stolen them from Saga’s junkyard after the dress the Sisters of Crimson had given me got too dirty to salvage. How long ago had it been since Sister Agrippa helped me escape into the tunnels? I’d lost track of the days and weeks since I’d escaped the Troika and landed in the rebels’ clutches.
“How long until we reach the camp?” Zed whispered.
“Not long.”
I moved toward another crate, where I found two pairs of gray canvas sneakers. Mine were too big but they were a blessing after the heavy but tight boots I’d worn before. “When we get there, remember to stay hidden until the first prisoners come in to start unloading. We’ll blend into the group and help unload until we can steal away to the barracks.”
“What if we get split up?”
“Icarus said children under the age of twelve are all kept in a separate barracks, overseen by a few female prisoners. If we get separated, we’ll meet up there.”
He didn’t say anything, but even in the dim light, I noted the sweat beading his brow and the shallow rise and fall of his chest. I put my hand on his shoulder. “This will work. It will. We just can’t lose our nerve. If the vamps smell fear on us, we’re toast.”
“Won’t all the humans be afraid?”
“They’ll be too busy trying to hang on to life to be afraid.”
He thought about this for a moment before nodding. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep, bracing breath. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Shoot.”
“If anything happens to me, save Bravo and Mica. Even if you have to leave me behind.”
