The Rift Uprising (34 page)

“Of course we can—that's not the point,” he argues.

I back away from him. He's still conditioned, and until that changes, he'll be guarded. I realize, though, it doesn't matter. There's been too much fighting already, and this argument isn't going to change my mind. “I'm so glad that you know what the point is, Levi. That's great. Because I have no friggin' idea what it is. Is it to save people? Protect people? Is it to keep this ugly green thing a secret from the world?” I ask in a hushed tone. I'm feeling defeated and vulnerable. Levi is just about the last person I want to be around right now, but he's
here and I've got to keep it together. “We don't know
anything
except how to take orders and fight,” I manage to get out. I cover up my mouth with my hand. I struggle to keep everything inside me, as if my palm can push it all back down.

Levi sees this and steps toward me.

I take my hand off my lips and put it up to stop him. “No,” I say, feeling stronger. “I fucked up. Like a thousand other commanding officers before me, I made a bad call today. Despite what you may think, or Edo or whoever else, I'm only human. I'm
not
special. This isn't my
destiny
or whatever. I have a higher tolerance to the drug they brainwash us with and I have, or at least I had, Ezra. That's it. I rattled the lock. But picking it? Let alone breaking down the door and walking through? That's going to take all of us, together. No single person is going to fix this, no
one
person can.”

Levi looks confused. His lip curls up. He gets that same superior look on his face that, admittedly, I love to hate. “What are you talking about?” he asks, clearly exasperated.

“It doesn't matter. You'll find out. You don't need me here. But you do need me to go through there,” I say, gesturing to The Rift. But Levi doesn't take his eyes off my face. “And not because I'm special, but because I've had a head start. I've had weeks to wrap my head around this and I'm the only one who Ezra really trusts, so I have to go.”

Levi's eyes get wide and he reaches out and grabs my wrist.

I yank it back, offended. “Not
now
, you idiot. I have to resupply, and heal a little bit, and get Ezra's signature locked into a QOINS device, and deal with a shit ton of other details like helping to come up with a plan to manage the Citadels who worship at the cult of ARC. But you don't need me to implement it. So, no. I'm not going this minute, but as soon
as I can, I'm going to leave. I know it pisses you off that you can't bully me into doing what you want, but you aren't going to get your way. Not on this.”

“Fine,” he says in a tone so sharp it feels like a slap. “But don't pretend you're doing this for some stupid deal or some altruistic agenda. You're going for him. You're going to save
him
.”

“Yes—I am going for him. Is that so wrong? But it's not the only reason, and it never was. Like I said, I've had time to live with this, and let me tell you, it's fucking Hydra on steroids. It's in every choice we've made, every fight, every kill. It's at home with our families, it's even in our food. It doesn't have a blind spot. I don't know anyone who hates or distrusts ARC more than you do, and though it might be hard for you to accept, you
are not
really processing this right now. Look around, Levi. Look at what we've done. If I have the chance to save anybody else, I have to try.”

Levi does look around and then he looks right back at me. “What in the hell is Hydra?”

“Seriously?” I shake my head. Now he's just being a dick. “Go away, Levi. Leave me alone.” The fight's gone out of me, and in an act of unexpected mercy, Levi must realize this and doesn't push. He slowly turns and walks away toward the base instead. All I can do is exhale gratefully in his direction.

I know I'm not alone. Violet is here, as are dozens of other Citadels, but I feel alone. There are dead soldiers all around me, littering the muddy ground like broken dolls. They aren't really soldiers, though; they are just kids—kids who weren't supposed to be anything special. Kids who were chosen for a lonely, gruesome job by a handful of statisticians and suits who claimed it was our duty but who would never have allowed their own children to be Citadels.

There is a practical side of me—a soldierly side—that understands why the Rifts were kept a secret. Regardless of the security element, the absolute spectacle of them all would have made them damn near impossible to police. But there is another side of me that's more human, perhaps only beginning to emerge, and maybe naive. It's the part of me that keeps the memory of when I first broke into the Village close, right on the surface. It's the first day I spent time alone with Ezra and the first time I ever saw a unicorn. In that creature's luminous eyes, I did not see a liar or a killer or a girl without freedom. I saw instead a thousand bright futures laid out before me. I felt hope—for the world, yes, but also for myself. Like
I
could be better.

And the way ARC has handled us, handled the Rifts—it just doesn't connect with that vision world.

Because each Rift is a scientific marvel. Yet ARC took something miraculous and turned it into something dirty and shameful, something you only talk about in hushed tones and underground rooms. The truth is that every child could be implanted—immune from disease and made smarter, stronger, faster. With a population like that, we could cure every illness, end global warming, and stop fighting each other. I know that without the brainwashing twisting us up inside, we are fundamentally better people. Everyone on this Earth could be a Citadel, so why aren't we? Who decided humanity didn't deserve that? Who's really in charge?

I turn and look into The Rift. It may be amazing, but today, it is the enemy. I blame it for everything terrible that has happened. It doesn't shimmer like an emerald tower. I don't feel like Dorothy standing on the yellow brick road looking off at Oz. It is a sickly green to me. It's the color of mold, of infected
skin, of the oozing monster underneath the bed. I hate it today more than ever. As if sensing my strong emotion, The Rift gives a hearty tug at my center. I stare it down and give it my most dangerous smile. “Just wait,” I whisper. “You think you want me, but once I climb down your throat, I'm gonna kick the shit out of you the whole way through.” I half expect The Rift to scoop me up and grab me, but it doesn't change. It sits there like it always does, a silent, glowing beast. I turn my back to it and walk away.

The idea for Ryn came to me in a rush. One minute, I was knitting, and the next, she was there, plain as day, kicking all sorts of ass. However, getting that germ of an idea into the actual book that you are reading now took a lot of work—and not just on my end. There were so many people involved in the process that had they not helped me, Ryn would have been left on the page, and I think we all know Ryn needs to be where the action is.

My literary touchstone when I was writing
The Rift Uprising
is the insanely talented Judy Blume. The first novel I ever read was by Blume, and as I got older, the characters she created were there every step of the way, guiding me to maturity. Judy Blume wrote young adult books
for
young adults. She didn't shy away from what was considered taboo, so I took my cues from her. I stuck to my guns, and luckily, everyone else in this process supported my vision, which is a book that is most
certainly not for young children. And just for the record, that's not the easiest sell these days. So, Ms. Blume, thank you. I don't know that I'd be the person I am today, let alone the writer I am, without your brilliant words.

My second huge massive thanks goes out to my sister from another mister, my literary agent extraordinaire, Yfat Reiss Gendell. You've always believed in me, even when
I
didn't believe in me so much. You sold the shit out of this book and made me feel like a total rock star in the process. The entire team at Foundry Literary + Media deserves much more than a simple thank-you, but I suppose it will have to do: Director of filmed entertainment, Richie Kern, and editorial assistant Jessica Felleman. The foreign rights team: Kristen Neuhaus and Heidi Gall. The contracts team: Dierdre Smerillo, Melissa Moorhead, and Hayley Burdett. And the agency's finance folks: Sara DeNobrega and Alex Rice. Thank you so very much.

I have to thank my parents, too, and in particular my father. I asked my dad to read the first chapter of
The Rift Uprising
when we were on a plane together coming home from Singapore (talk about a captive audience—ha!). He read
the entire book
en route. He's not the kind of dad who says something is great just to make you feel good. That's why, when he told me that he loved it, I really knew I was onto something special. Since then he has been beyond supportive. So Dad, thank you for your wise counsel and your undiluted enthusiasm. To my sisters—thank you. Somebody in the family has to be the big nerd. I happily take up the mantle and I am grateful you guys get that that's just who I am.

The team at the William Morrow imprint of HarperCollins. Wow. I am so lucky to have you. My incredible editor, David Pomerico, who treats everything that happens in Battle Ground like it's nonfiction, which is beyond awesome.
Liate Stehlik, Shawn Nicholls, Jennifer Brehl, Pamela Jafee, Jessie Edwards, Angela Craft, Doug Jones, Carla Parker, Austin Tripp, Carolyn Bodkin, Katie Ostrowka, Jeanne Reina, Shannon Plunkett, Ivy McFadden, Kathleen Go, and Rebecca Lucash.

Juliet Grames was my first editor. She was my first champion and continues in that role. Thank you, Juliet, for all your advice and wisdom. It's weird that you're actually younger than me (by a lot), because you have always been a mentor.

In that vein I'd like to thank
all
my early readers. Leigh Wright, Jennifer Ambrose, and Elaine Lui. Lainey, you especially have a ton of sage advice on many fronts. Is there anything you don't know? I have other amazing friends who read various and sometimes all the drafts of this book. Lisa Rockower in particular—you've been right there with me since the very beginning. You might have read this book more times than I have! I adore you. My NSLP Sheryl Zentner, Melissa Sher, and Claire Coffee. A special shout-out to all my Portland pals—you know who you are.
Besos
.

My Nashville crew: Kristin Russell, Shelly Fairchild, and Kristin Barlowe. Barlowe, you get a special thanks for being literally the coolest girl I know. Also, you have my undying gratitude for being such a talented photographer and always making me look a hundred times better than I do in real life and for refusing to take a dime for doing so. That's a true friend.

I have to thank my musical family. Stephanie Cox at Kobalt—how lucky am I to have such a good friend and plugger in crime? Thank you for supporting
all
my writing. Also at Kobalt, Jesse Willoughby and Chris Lakey. Michael Bublé, my might-as-well-be brother—in so many ways, none of this would be possible without you. You read this book the day
I sent it to you in its early stages when you were at your busiest. Your friendship and support mean so much to me. To all my musical collaborators, thank you for putting music to my words. There's always music when I write, and that is invaluable.

My producing partners took this project to a whole other level. Michael Sugar and Ashley Zalta and Anonymous Content. Ivan Rietman and Ali Bell at Montecito Pictures. Thank you and fingers crossed.

I also got help from a couple of actual experts who have my complete gratitude for not ever laughing at any of my weird questions: Jack Bennetto for all the physics stuff, and Lieutenant Colonel Matt Fandre from the 101st Airborne.

Finally, I have to thank my family. Matt, my dear sweet husband. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for holding down the fort so I can run away from home every so often and be a crazy writer lady. Thank you for your English degree and your tolerance when I present you with yet another draft. I love you. And to my children, Mikaela, Eva, and Vaughn. I don't know who I'd be or where I'd be without you. Love doesn't even begin to cover it.

AMY S. FOSTER
is a celebrated songwriter, best known as Michael Bublé's writing partner, and has collaborated with Destiny's Child, Diana Krall, Andrea Bocelli, Josh Groban, and a host of other artists. She is also the author of the novel
When Autumn Leaves
. When she's not in a studio in Nashville, she lives in the Pacific Northwest with her family.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

THE RIFT UPRISING
. Copyright © 2016 by Amy S. Foster. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST EDITION

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ISBN 978-0-06-244312-0

EPub Edition October 2016 ISBN 9780062443151

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