The Capture (7 page)

T
HE TRAIN RUMBLES THROUGH
the night. They don't know where they are, only that they're heading west, and far to the north is the Flats with its cracked mosaic of dry lake bed.

Morning brings a sharp diagonal of light slicing through the open doorway. Afraid they'll be spotted by Brown Shirts, they slide the door shut, and in no time they're dripping sweat, breathing their own stale air. They spread out as much as possible.

There's one exception: Dozer and his three pals. They huddle in a far corner with Dozer atop a crate as though it were his throne, Red, Angela, and Lacey surrounding him like obedient knights. They lean forward and speak in hushed voices. Every once in a while, Angela
turns her head and shoots Hope and Book a pointed look.

“What's that about?” Hope asks Book.

“Whatever it is, it's not good.”

“The sooner we get off this train, the better.”

Book's brow knits in confusion. “We just got here. And weren't you the one who suggested getting on this thing in the first place?”

“Yeah, but at camp we sometimes heard trains going through the town south of us. I'm guessing this is that train.”

“So that's perfect. We'll just get off there.”

Hope gives her head a shake. “The town is run by Crazies.”

She can see the hair rising on Book's arm. And no wonder. On the march east, they came across a band of Crazies. They were scraggly and gave off a rank smell and looked like they hadn't bothered to shave or shower since long before Omega. They'd somehow survived the bombs twenty years earlier and now lived a life of violence and squalor. A group not to be messed with.

“But now that Dozer's on this train, he won't want to get off,” Book says.

“That may be true, but
we
have to.”

“Should we tell some of the others?”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

Hope is just rising to her feet when a voice bellows out, “Where do you think you're going?” It's Dozer,
towering over her, arms crossed like a sultan.

“Back to my friends,” Hope answers. “Do you mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. 'Cause it's time we had us a little trial.”

He nods over his shoulder, and Red, Angela, and Lacey sweep in from either side. They grab hold of Scylla, Diana, and Helen and toss them toward Hope and Book. The five of them now find themselves in the very middle of the boxcar.

“What're you doing, Dozer?” Flush asks.

“Holding a trial. What's it look like?”

“Is this because of Cat? 'Cause the others didn't have anything to do with that. Only Book.”

“Perhaps,” Dozer says, eyes sparkling with mischief, “but they all have something to do with treason. And if you're sticking up for them, it makes me think you're on their side, too.” Just like that, Dozer grabs hold of Flush and pushes him into the middle as well.

He orders the “defendants” to sit, and everyone stares at Dozer, waiting to see what he will do next.

“On trial are these six,” he announces loudly, gesturing dramatically to the group seated at his feet. “Their crime is nothing less than the act of treason.”

“
Alleged
treason,” Book mutters beneath his breath.

“Treason,”
Dozer corrects him. “Which I shall shortly prove.” Without taking his eyes off Book, he calls out, “First witness!”

Angela steps forward. Her face is hard and flinty.

“State your name,” Dozer commands. His legs bend and flex as he navigates the swaying of the train.

“Angela,” she says confidently.

“And do you know these six prisoners?”

“I do.”

“Who are they?”

“Hope. Diana. Helen. Scylla. Book. Flush.”

“Exactly,” Dozer says. “Hope, Diana, Helen, Scylla, Book, and Flush. And what did you hear when we were marching?”

“Hope was talking to some of us. Looking for volunteers.”

“For what purpose?”

“To help free the Sisters from Camp Freedom.”

Dozer's eyes widen in mock surprise. “And what did you say?”

“I said I'd think about it.”

“But you didn't commit to helping her, did you?”

“Not in a million years, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because that'd be going against you. And you're our leader.”

“Exactly. And that's why you're not on trial. Thank you, Angela. You're free to go.”

She shoots Hope a condescending smile as she steps away.

“Next witness!” Dozer roars, and big-boned Lacey
steps forward. She gives the same answers as Angela: Hope was recruiting volunteers, but Lacey wanted no part of it. She didn't want to do anything that would go against the wishes of their commander-in-chief.

When Dozer is done questioning, he calls Red to the stand. Red doesn't have firsthand knowledge of Hope's recruiting Sisters, but he does know that Book is too soft to be a good leader, citing his decision to leave the Heartland Territory in order to free a bunch of undeserving Less Thans.

Dozer dismisses Red with a satisfied expression and begins his summation. “So as you can see, this group of six—”

“Don't we get a chance to speak?” Book asks.

Dozer gives him a look as though a bird just shit on his head. “Huh?”

“We're the defendants. Don't we get a chance to defend ourselves?”

“Well . . .”

“Or is the prosecution afraid its case isn't strong enough?”

Dozer's nostrils flare. “Be my guest,” he says.

“So I can call witnesses?”

“How can you have witnesses? You didn't even know you were on trial till a few minutes ago.”

“Can I call them or not?”

Dozer's teeth clench. “Fine.”

Hope gives Book a probing look; she has no idea where he's going with this.

Book stumbles to his feet and says, “I have only one witness to call.”

It's impossible not to notice the smirk on Dozer's face. “Yeah, and who is that?”

“You. I call Dozer to the stand.”

Although the sound
of the train makes it nearly impossible to hear, Hope swears she can hear something resembling a gasp.

“Me?” Dozer asks. “Why would you call
me
to help
you
?”

“So you refuse,” Book says.

“I didn't say that. I'm just surprised, that's all.”

“So you'll do it?”

“I have nothing to be afraid of, if that's what you're thinking.”

Dozer steps forward and Book slowly circles him as though deep in thought. Hope has to suppress a smile.

“You've accused the six of us of treason,” Book begins.

“That's right.”

“And what is it exactly that we did?”

“I told you.”

“Tell us again.”

The tendons in Dozer's neck grow taut. “The six of you conspired behind our backs. You decided to run away and free the Sisters from Camp Freedom.” He nods
confidently in the direction of his three supporters.

Everyone turns to Book, waiting for him to go on. Air whistles through the train's slatted walls. “Let me ask you a question,” Book says. “How did we get here?”

“Huh?”

“How did we get here? We Less Thans?”

“How do you think? We crossed the mountains, the Flats, the Brown Forest . . .”

“How did we even get up Skeleton Ridge in the first place?”

“Horses. Or don't you remember?”

Red, Angela, and Lacey laugh—a little too loudly. Everyone else remains silent.

“I remember the horses,” Book says, “but I can't remember how we got them.”

“From the stables,” Dozer says. “Where else?”

“And how'd we get to the stables?”

“What do you think, you idiot?” Dozer explodes. “We escaped from camp!”

As soon as the words pass his lips, Hope sees he regrets them.

“And this is where I don't understand the charges,” Book says. “It was okay that
we
escaped, but it's not okay we help those Sisters do the same?”

“That's not what I'm saying.”

“Then what
are
you saying?”

Dozer's face turns beet red. If he could get away with
wrapping his two thick hands around Book's neck, he would gladly do it.

“I'm saying that was then, this is now.”

“Go on,” Book says.

“That was fine that we escaped. It was the right thing, even. But now that we're on the run, we don't have time for all that.”

“Freeing others?”

“Right.”

“So those Sisters have to remain prisoners.”

“Exactly.”

“And those Less Thans at Camp Liberty?”

“Them, too.”

“Why?”

Dozer looks at Book as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Because they're in there and we're not.”

“So we deserve to be free.”

“Right. 'Cause we escaped.”

If it were anyone but Dozer, Hope wouldn't believe what she's hearing.

“But these other people . . .”

“. . . should've had the sense to escape when they had the chance.”

“Even though we didn't invite them?”

Dozer shrugs nonchalantly. “Sucks to be them, doesn't it?”

Hope has to stifle the urge to leap to her feet and take Dozer to the floor.

“So why are we being accused of treason when that same action was the very thing that got us here?”

Dozer leans in, his voice a snarling whisper. “It wasn't
treason
that got us here; it was
smarts
. And if we're going to get out of here alive, we need to work together. We can't have one group doing one thing and another group something else.” In its own paranoid way, Dozer's argument makes sense. Hope hates him for it.

“But we agreed back at the border to free the Less Thans,” Book says. “That's why we crawled back under the fence.”

“That
was
the plan,” Dozer says, “back before you got a bunch of us killed. Back before you sacrificed your friend to the enemy.”

Hope can see the change in Book's face. It's like the blood drains away. He opens his mouth to speak but then thinks better of it. He stands there a moment longer, then slowly sits back down. Hope reaches out a hand and lets it rest on his forearm.

“But don't take my word for it,” Dozer says, trying his best to sound humble. “Let's let
the people
decide. All those who think these six are guilty, signify by raising your hand.”

Dozer raises his, and Angela and Lacey also. Red follows a moment later. That's four votes, and since the six defendants aren't allowed to vote, that leaves only two others: Four Fingers and Twitch. Even though they're
on Book's side, it's not enough.

Dozer shoots Book his hyena grin. “There's your trial, Book
Worm
.” He turns to his three supporters. “Tie 'em up. And make sure the knots are tight.”

Before Hope knows it, ropes are flung around their wrists. Attached to the inside walls of the boxcar are big, black, metal rings for lashing cargo. Now, suddenly, the six prisoners are tied to the rings so their faces poke the wall.

Dozer shuffles over and says, “Let me know if I can get you anything, Hope
Less
.” He laughs maliciously and walks away. Red, Angela, and Lacey follow in his wake.

Lashed to the metal rings and pressed against the wooden wall, Hope gives a tug, but it does no good. She's strapped in tight. They all are. There's no getting away from here, and everyone knows it.

Overcome with despair, Hope sags against the wall.

T
HE DAY WORE ON.
The temperature soared. Splinters creased my cheek where it pressed against the wooden planks. Once the sun set, the door was slid back open—the fresh air washing away only a portion of the stench of twelve sweaty bodies.

One by one, people went to sleep, even standing up, and I gave myself over to the steady clatter of wheels on rails and the train's gentle, swaying rhythm.

That's when I dreamed of them again: the prisoners held captive beneath the tennis courts, their hollow eyes and sore-covered faces begging for my help.

Then the dream shifted, and it was the woman with the long black hair. We were racing across a smoke-covered pasture, bullets whistling, explosions rocking
the ground. The woman stopped and knelt. She was older than I remembered, more stooped, her skin more wrinkled. Her previous words echoed in my head.

You will do what's right.

You will lead the way.

I wondered what it would be this time. To my great surprise, it wasn't a sentence at all, just a single word.

“Now,” she said. And then she disappeared. Vanished.

“Now
what
?” I asked, but she was gone. It was just smoke and haze and singing bullets.

“Now
what
?” I cried again.

My voice startled me awake, and there I was, hands bound, wood grain tattooing my cheek like wrinkles from a pillow. Hope was awake too. I could make out her luminous brown eyes even in the dark.

“You were dreaming,” she whispered.

“Did I say anything?”

“You moaned.”

There was no going back to sleep. I was far too wide-awake for that. Besides, even though I didn't know what we should do, I knew when we should do it.

Now.

Argos was sleeping in a corner, chin resting on his paws, and when I emitted a soft, low whistle, he scrambled to his feet and made his way to my side. His toenails clicked on the floor.

Way back when, Argos had been a stowaway, snuck
into a pack and carried up the mountain. He went from Less Than to Less Than, ending up with me once I'd saved him from the fire in the Brown Forest. He'd barely left my side since.

Although we were inseparable, I never trained him. Never taught him any tricks. I didn't need to, because Argos
understood
. And when I stretched away from the wall and presented my bound hands, he didn't hesitate.

Placing his front paws against the wall so he was standing on his back legs, he swung open his jaw and began gnawing, his hot breath painting my hands. The ropes vibrated and buzzed. I looked down and saw a frayed strand of rope.

“Good boy,” I mouthed, but he was already onto the next strand, digging his sharp teeth into the coarse bindings. Another rope snapped in two, and I was able to squirm my hands free. My wrists were chafed and bleeding, but I was free.

I bent down and stroked Argos's head. “Thanks,” I whispered, then rushed to Hope's side. The knots were cemented with dried sweat and blood, and I turned back to Argos. He shuffled over and prepared for knot number two.

At that very moment, the train snaked around a sweeping curve. I could see the engine tugging our caravan of boxcars . . . and I let out an involuntary gasp.

“What?” Hope asked.

I pointed. In the far distance, bouncing off the low-hanging clouds, was a warm amber glow: lights from a town.
Crazies.
This was what the woman with the long black hair was trying to tell me: that we had to get off the train
now
, before we reached the town.

Argos was working as fast as he could, but it wasn't fast enough. I needed a knife. Since my own had been stripped from me by Red, I needed to borrow someone else's.

Four Fingers was fast asleep, his head propped against a crate. I scrambled to his side and clamped my hand across his mouth. His eyes popped open.

“It's okay. It's just me: Book.”

Once he made sense of what was going on, I could feel his smile beneath my palm, his lips stretching against my fingers. I removed my hand.

“I need to borrow your knife,” I said. “Just for a little bit.”

He recoiled, his hand falling across his weapon.

Ever since his accident in the Brown Forest—when Dozer had thrown him to the ground and he'd banged his head against a slab of granite—I didn't know what Four could understand and what he couldn't. But it was obvious he had no intention of parting with his knife.

“It's okay,” I said. “I'll give it back.”

His grip tightened on the handle.

I was getting desperate. Time was running out, and I had to free my friends.

“Hey, Four. How would you like to go on an adventure? Just a few of us.”

His smile returned, his hand began to relax.

“I can't tell you where we're going yet, but if you let me borrow your knife, we can get out of here right away. And Dozer won't be coming with us.”

Four Fingers seemed to consider what I was saying. He tilted his head to the side as if deep in thought. The train rounded another curve. Once more the town's amber glow came into view.

“Please?” I asked.

Four Fingers plucked the knife from his belt, presenting it to me like a general surrendering a sword. I snatched it from his hand before he had second thoughts.

I hurried back to Hope. The other prisoners were awake. Argos had made little progress in my absence, but not for lack of trying. He was panting heavily, saliva dripping from his tongue. I eased him away.

“Good dog,” I said, and stroked his flanks.

Hope thrust her hands forward, and I began sawing. The coils of rope snapped. Hope was free. She took the knife and we took turns on the next four. By the time we finished, both Hope and I were each covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Now what?” Flush asked.

At the same time, Hope and I shot a glance at the open doorway.

“Now we jump.”

We tiptoed through the car, avoiding sleeping bodies. Four Fingers hauled himself to his feet, and I returned his knife and guided him to the open doorway. Below us, railroad ties whooshed
past. Beyond the gravel embankment stood a sea of weeds.

We were just getting ready to jump when some sixth sense prompted me to turn around. There was Red, staring right at me, his splotched face visible in the dark.

I suddenly regretted giving Four Fingers his weapon back. My mouth opened, but no words followed. What could I say? What lame excuse could I come up with?

Red's fingers curled around his dagger's handle, and I waited for his move. If I had to go at him without a weapon, so be it. It wouldn't be pretty, but what choice did I have? Nothing was going to stop us now.

But it wasn't a fight Red gave me, it was a nod. Slight. Subtle. Barely noticeable.
Go,
he seemed to be saying.
Sorry it had to end this way.

I nodded back, releasing the breath I'd been holding.

I joined the others in the doorway. In addition to the prisoners and Four Fingers, Twitch was there also.
Flush had asked him to join us, and he was right to do so. Dozer would have little patience for a blind Less Than.

The glow of the town was closer now, lighting up a chunk of sky. Hope tapped Diana on the shoulder, and the fiery Sister tossed her backpack into the dark. She jumped out after it. Scylla and Helen followed, then Flush and Twitch. Before Hope left, she turned to me and met my eyes. I had the feeling there was something she wanted to say . . . just as I did. Something like
I'm sorry
. Maybe something more.

But neither of us spoke.

Instead, she leaned forward, kissed me on the cheek, and leaped from the train.

Now that it was just Four Fingers, Argos, and me, Four seemed suddenly afraid. He began edging away from the opening.

“No,” he began saying. “No!
No!
” Even though the wind muffled his voice, it was more than loud enough to wake the others.

My mind scrambled. “You remember Frank, don't you?” I asked. “Up in the mountains? The old guy who gave his life for us, so we could be brave and do brave things for others?”

“Fraaank.” He elongated the name in a way that told me he remembered. How Frank had fed us and hid us from the Brown Shirts and taught us all those skills.
How he'd invited us into his cabin and told us about his family—even given us the clothes of his dead sons.

“So now we need to jump, because that's what Frank would want us to do.”

Four Fingers nodded—he seemed to suddenly understand—and without waiting a moment longer, he threw himself into the darkness. I heard the crunch of his body against the ground.

That left Argos and me.

“You ready, boy?” I said.

“He might be, but you're not.”

Dozer. Before I could react, he swung his meaty arm across my shoulder. I felt the sharp blade of his knife pressing into my neck, dimpling skin.

“Where're you going?” he asked. “Or should I say, where did you
think
you were going?” He laughed, his sour breath splashing the side of my face. “The next time you wanna take off in the middle of the night, you might want to think about leaving the moron behind. He's not so good at keeping quiet.”

My eyes darted to the doorway, but the knife dug in farther, a trickle of blood dribbling down my neck. “Don't even think about it,
Limp
: your life ends here.”

In that fraction of a second I saw it all: our escape from Liberty and the trek to the new territory. The Less Thans held captive beneath the tennis courts. Frank in the mountains. Hope and the other Sisters. Cat. Good-bye.

As Dozer reached back to give my neck a final slice, we were both slammed to the floor with a violent thud. Dozer's knife clattered to the side. When I got my breath and turned my head, I saw Argos shaking Dozer's withered arm like it was a rat he was trying to kill.

“Get him off, get him off, get him off!” Dozer screamed, but Argos had no intention of letting go.

I stumbled to my feet. By now, the others were awake, trying to make sense of what was going on. Angela and Lacey were reaching for their knives.

“Come, Argos,” I said, but for once he didn't listen. He continued to twist Dozer's arm as though snapping a wishbone.

“Argos, no!” I cried.

I should've known better.

Argos looked at me with questioning eyes, and Dozer used that opportunity to kick him in the ribs. Argos yelped and went sailing through the air, flying out of the boxcar and into the night. I heard his loud whimper as he landed in the ditch.

Anger swelled in my chest. “You shouldn't've done that,” I said.

“Why? What're you gonna do about it?”

Stepping back as though about to kick a game-winning field goal, I launched my foot forward until it collided with Dozer's groin. He let out an
oomph
and doubled over, grimacing in pain.

“Don't you ever kick my dog again,” I said.

I turned and threw myself out of the boxcar, landing on the edge of the rail bed and rolling hard down the gravel slope, watching as the train receded farther and farther into the distance.