Extraction (35 page)

“Did you—” I ask.
Did you throw that? Did you tell the doctors about Logan?

“Pick that up, girl,” he hisses.

I almost shake my head. How do I even know if I can trust him? Everything he said about Marden and Charlie and the moon might be a lie. I don’t know whose side he’s on.

But my curiosity gets the better of me. I reach through the bars and snatch up the rock. There’s something on it—a sketch or words, maybe. Fred must’ve used another rock to scrape into this one.

The ceiling lamp outside my cell is dim. I tilt the rock and squint to see what’s written on it.

It’s blip mathematics:

I know this equation. It’s Yate’s Equation. The full thing is five times this long, one of the most complicated equations to solve. But I memorized how to do it a long time ago.

“Can you solve it?” Fred asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Good,” he says, and I can hear the relief in his voice.

“Why?” I ask.

“It’ll disable the bomb,” he says.

I gasp.

“Thought I was being clever, you know,” Fred says. “Not many people can solve it.”

“It’ll turn the bomb off?” I ask. “It’ll make it stop?”

Not that this helps me much. I’m still stuck in here. Charlie’s not going to let me near the bomb.

“It should,” Fred says. “Charlie might’ve changed the code since I set it up. But it’s the best I can give you. Screwed everything up for you, didn’t I?”

I clench the rock inside my hand. The sharp edges dig into my skin, but I don’t care. “Why’d you do it?” I ask. “You told the doctors about Logan, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks. He leans his forehead against the bars. “Charlie promised to let me outta here if I helped him break you. I didn’t know about his plan for the bomb, or this war of his.… I’ve been in here for ten years. You must understand.” His gaze lifts to meet mine again.

I turn my head away. But I do understand. I just promised I’d do anything for Charlie if those doctors would stop hurting Logan, didn’t I?

There’s a clang down the passageway.

My body tenses. More guards again?

“Hide the rock, girl,” Fred hisses. “Throw it away.”

I crawl into the back corner of my cell and hide it in the darkness. I turn around, and my heart stops.

Logan’s eyes are downcast. His wounded leg and his good one drag on the floor as the guards haul him across the stone.

The lock clicks and the door of my cell opens. They throw him forward. He lands on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.

He is here with me, finally.

The door swings shut. The guards walk away.

I don’t know what this means, Charlie throwing Logan in my cell. Is he going to save him? I want to believe that. But more likely, it’s a cruel joke. He’s giving me what I want so he can rip it away from me again.

Logan’s hair flutters with every breath. I focus on that, and the way his lips part. Little things, but I ingrain them in my memory. I won’t abandon him again, and I won’t forget him. Not ever.

I bite my lip. I reach out and touch my hand to his cheek. “Logan?”

His hand finds mine and grasps it. Tears touch my eyes. I don’t fight them.

“Are you okay?” I whisper.

He moves his head so his hair brushes my forehead. A smile tugs at his lips. “I’m all right,” he says. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Don’t say that if it isn’t true.”

“I don’t lie to you.”

I press my lips together. He grits his teeth like his eyes are burning and his body is on fire, but he’s trying to stay strong for me. Like he’s shattering, but he doesn’t want me to think he’s weak. But I don’t think that—I’d never think that. Just because the Developers thought I was Promising and he wasn’t doesn’t mean he isn’t strong. He’s the strongest boy I’ve ever met.

He moves his leg a little and lets out a choking sound he can’t keep back. I move a hand to his leg instinctively, but when I touch it, he shakes his head.

The doctors and guards must’ve hurt him before I even saw him. I want to murder Dr. Tennant. I want to strangle him in his sleep.

I want to hold Logan forever and kiss away his pain. I want to say
I’m sorry for leaving
and
I love you
and
Please don’t leave me
and
I won’t leave you ever again
.

But I’m such a wreck all of a sudden that when I open my mouth all that comes out are three words. Three vruxing words that aren’t good enough, in a whisper that’s much too small: “I missed you.”

Logan’s lips breathe in my ear: “I missed you too.”

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I know.” His fingers find my collarbone and run along my skin, gently. I guide his hand to my cheek and hold it there. My tears trail onto it.

“Is it worse out there?” I ask, thinking of the acid shield Charlie claims is breaking down. I don’t think he was telling the truth—after everything Fred told me, I’m sure he wasn’t—but I have to know for sure.

“Officials have been killing a lot more people,” Logan says. “They don’t even take kids to quarantine anymore; they just burn them in the streets.”

A stone cuts into my throat. I try to swallow it down, to no avail. “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah, it is.”

A cough racks Logan’s body. He pulls his hand away from my face and wraps an arm around his stomach.

“Water?” I ask Logan, forcing down my worry.

He nods, squeezing his eyes shut.

I turn to the back of my cell. I have a water skin left there from earlier. There are only a few drops left in it, and I’m thirsty myself, but I don’t care. I grab the leather skin and press it into Logan’s palm.

He sips the drink gratefully. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gives me the skin. “Thank you.”

“They’ll bring more in the morning. You can have my portion.”

“I won’t take it from you, Clem.” He laughs shakily.

“I’ll force it down your throat.”

“You haven’t changed.” His voice is soft as he studies my face. His eyes trail over where the scar on my jaw used to be. He looks away, like it pains him to see something different. “Well, in some ways.”

I brush his arms with my fingers. There are bruises on his wrists. Black and blue, darkest where the doctors must’ve stuck needles into him.

I’ll hurt them. I’ll murder them.

“Why are you in here, Clem?” Logan asks, his forehead creasing.

I stare at him.

He doesn’t know. Not about Charlie’s bomb, or his plan, or his moonshine excuse. Or the acid generator.

Of course he doesn’t know. No one in the camps knows.

I take a breath and slip my fingers through his. His hand feels cold.

“I have to tell you something,” I say.

“Okay,” he says.

“It’s bad.”

“Just tell me.”

I open my mouth, but before I can say a word, the gunshots start.

35

The shots reverberate through the walls, blasting through my ears like bullets slamming into my body. Seven times. I clutch Logan and look around frantically, wishing I could see through the walls, because the shots sound close by.

They sound like death is on its way.

“What’s going on?” Ella says. The sound must’ve woken her up. Her voice sounds panicky.

There’s another shot. And another.

I don’t understand this because the guards are the only ones with weapons. Why would they shoot us after all this time, when the bomb’s going to go off anyway?

The door clangs open at the end of the passageway beyond our cells. There are shouts and pounding footsteps. They’re headed this way.

I don’t have a weapon. I don’t have anything.

Logan pulls me hard against his chest, to shield me from whatever’s coming. But bullets and lasers can fly through skin.

“Clementine!” someone yells.

The voice knocks the breath out of me.

It sounds like Beechy.

Beechy, who abandoned me. Beechy, who let Commander Charlie throw me in here without saying a word.

He comes running into view. He’s wearing the garb of Core officials: gray suit, knee-high boots, belt with weapon holsters. He’s carrying a pulse rifle.

What is he doing here?

“She’s here!” he yells, making for my cell. He’s breathing fast, checking the other cells for their inhabitants too. “So is Colonel Fred!”

Two more people in official garb stumble into view. I don’t recognize any of them.

Beechy pulls out a pair of keys and unlocks my cell door. One of the others goes to Fred’s, and the last official goes to Ella’s. Ella is wide-eyed; Fred looks relieved. He must think they’re getting us out and we’re going to be safe, but I don’t know about that.

“Come on, Clem,” Beechy says.

He offers me a hand. I don’t know if I want to touch him. I don’t know what’s going on, but I take it because there’s urgency in his eyes and there was a time when I trusted him.

“What are you doing here?” I sputter.

He helps Logan out of our cell. “Breaking everyone out,” he says. He pulls a copper out of his belt holster and thrusts it into my hands. “Charlie is transporting the bomb to the explosion site. He sent us to bring you and Colonel Fred back to the Core—don’t ask me why, because I don’t know—but we’re abandoning his orders. We’re getting every Unstable out, and we’re going to intercept him. We’re fighting.”

Charlie’s transporting the bomb. It’s ready.

Fred doesn’t look relieved anymore. He’s gripping a gun an official has given him, with a trembling hand. Logan has a gun now too, and so does Ella.

But I still don’t get this. I have to understand.

“Why would you save us?” I ask Beechy. “You let Charlie throw me in here. You stood by and
watched
. So did your wife, Sandy. His
daughter
.”

Beechy runs his fingers through his hair, agitated. “Clementine, I’ll explain everything, I promise you. All you need to know right now is that we’re running. We’re fighting him. Can you fight with me?” He takes a step forward, begging me to believe him with his eyes. “Please.”

I want to demand answers, but he’s right. Gunshots still ring out in the distance, and Charlie’s on his way to set off the bomb.

There isn’t time.

“Fine,” I say, gripping my copper. “How many of you came here? The guards don’t sound happy.”

“Eight others. But there are more inmates than guards.”

“There are also doctors.”

“We outnumber them if you’re each carrying a weapon. We can get out of here. Trust me. But we have to hurry.” He turns down the passageway.

Fred holds his gun up, ready to fire, and limps after Beechy. One of the officials slips his arm through Ella’s to help her walk. She’s shaking in her skin, from the cold and whatever the doctors did to her yesterday.

Beechy didn’t account for the fact that most of the inmates are weak. Some can’t even run; how will they aim a gun?

But there’s no time to find a better solution. Gritting my teeth, I slip my fingers through Logan’s. “Come on,” I say. I hope to the stars I can trust Beechy.

“Clem, what the vrux is going on?” Logan asks me. His jaw is hard. He must be so lost in all this.

I press my lips together. I tell him what I can while we break out of the passageway and run down a corridor with Beechy, the rebels, and the other inmates from the cells near ours. I tell him fast.

*   *   *

Beechy shoots the first guard we see.

We’re in another corridor now, one I don’t recognize. I haven’t seen enough of this facility. I have no idea how far off the exit is.

The gunshots sound like they’re just ahead. Beechy explained some of the rebels have already released the Unstables from the cells on the other side of Karum, and the guards are trying to stop them from leaving. I don’t know if it’s working.

Beechy shouts orders from the front of our stumbling, staggering, limping group: “Stay close to each other. Follow Cady”—he points to a woman rebel with long black hair—“and she’ll get you to the exit corridor. Shoot anyone who gets in your way. Get out as fast as you can. We’ll take care of Karum personnel. We’ll rendezvous by the flight pods waiting at the back of the facility.”

I’m not ready for this. But I let go of Logan’s hand so I can use both hands to hold my copper. “Logan, stay close to me,” I say.

“You too,” he says, gripping his own weapon. His teeth are clenched, and his cheeks are pale. He knows about the bomb now. He knows Charlie’s going to kill everyone in the camps and cities in all the outer sectors unless we stop him.

But I’m not even sure we’ll make it out of Karum.

We turn the corner into a wider area, something like a lobby. But smoke clouds my view and I can hardly see anything. There are lights flashing everywhere—reds and blues and purples from the laser guns some of the guards must be carrying. People in white coats and guard uniforms blend together with the people in official uniforms and Unstable rags.

A red laser whizzes past my ear.

I duck, gasping.

Lifting my copper with trembling hands, I fire in the direction the laser came from, at one of the men in guard uniforms. I can’t tell if I hit him. I don’t think I did.