The Rift Uprising (8 page)

“Screw you,” he manages to wheeze out of his swollen lips.

I stand up and look down at him. “No. Clearly that won't be happening. I guess you haven't learned your lesson after all. So I suppose we'll just have to stick to violence. I know who you are and if I ever,
ever
hear that you've been inappropriate with a girl, I will come back and finish you. I
will
kill you, and I will get away with it.”

The boy says nothing. I lean down and grab his face with my hand. I rear my other fist back to punch him again. He whimpers and shies away. “No, no, please don't.” He is crying now. “I heard you. I won't. Please!” I let his face go. I grab his T-shirt from the floor by the bed and wipe as much blood off my hands as I can manage.

“Now, pick up your friend and get out of this house. And don't even think of telling anyone what happened here.” I throw the shirt in his face and he gingerly puts it back on. He
picks himself up slowly and then grabs his buddy, who is just coming around. Somehow he manages to pull the other guy to his feet.

“How am I going to explain this?” he asks, pointing to his face. “I'm probably going to have to go to the hospital. I think my jaw is broken—and my
hand
. . .” He really is pathetic, asking me for answers. Such typical behavior in an alpha who has been kicked out of his dominant place. I roll my eyes. He's surrendered all his power. I've seen it too many times to count.

“I dunno, tell them you walked into a door or tripped down the stairs. Women have had to use those lines for years.” I turn away from him, toward the bed. He has been dismissed. He will leave and say nothing more, and because he's such an unevolved human being he won't even really understand why. I look down at my knuckles, which are raw and scratched. I saved Flora. I may have saved some other girl from the same fate. I don't feel guilty for what I've done, but I resent the fact that I had to do it. I just wanted to go to a party. I feel like I drag violence along with me everywhere I go, the same way a mother has to drag her screaming toddler around a grocery store. It's just life. Things have to be done. I look down at a bloodstain on the carpet. This is who I am. This is more than just my job, and all the times I just wish for something normal are starting to feel like wallowing.

I walk lightly over to Flora, who hasn't awakened.
Thank God.
I check her vitals. She's fine, just drunk as hell. I go to her chest of drawers and pull out a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Gently, I dress her. I pull back the covers, put her into the bed, and tuck her in. I walk out the door, turning the light off as I go.

I walk down the hallway and see Levi waiting for me at the top of the stairs, his arms folded, his face like stone.

“I saw them leave,” he says through a clenched jaw.

“I told you I would handle it. I did,” I offer. There is silence between us. A silence that reaches up and stretches outward beyond whatever explanation I could give.

“Did they hurt her? Did they . . .” Levi can't continue from there. The words seem to stick in his throat and he clears it. I hear pain in that half-strangled cough. He breaks eye contact and looks away. I watch his hands, they twitch and his fingers curl into fists. Without even thinking, I reach out and cover them with my own hands. His skin is hot to the touch.

“They tried, but I stopped them before anything happened. She's so drunk, I doubt she'll even remember bringing them in there. Does she do this a lot? Is this a thing with her now?” I was referring to both the drinking and the guys, but my tone was soft, as tender as I could manage.

Instead of answering, Levi stares down at our hands. He looks back up at me, at first confused and then angry. He jerks himself free. “What are you doing? Don't do that. Don't touch me, Ryn,
ever
.”

“Seriously?” I ask him, thoroughly insulted. I was just trying to be nice. Then it dawns on me why he wouldn't want me touching him. “Oh,” I say, looking at my hands and then at him. “I . . . didn't know that you thought of me in that—”

Levi huffs and scowls at me. “Please,” he condescends. “You've got tits and I'm a dude. I won't let
any
female touch me.”

I fold my arms and consider this typically rude statement, and Levi snaps his game face on. I know this face. I've seen creatures and beasts whimper at this face. His eyes become terrifyingly vacant. His features become still and hard, as though sculpted out of marble. And then something changes in his eyes. He begins to stare intently at me. It's not attraction I'm getting—at least, not the obvious kind. It's something else. If I had to name it, I would say hunger, like he wants to pull me
apart and eat me bit by bit. He is
so
screwed up, though; who knows what he's thinking? He probably can't want something without wanting to hurt it, or maybe he just wants to hurt everyone. He's not like the boys who were up in Flora's room. He doesn't have an abusive nature. He's not a bully. I've never seen him be unnecessarily violent . . . but I think there's a part of him that wants everyone to hurt as badly as he does.

It's a feeling that I can totally relate to.

Eventually he looks away and I am only partly relieved. Like I said, my crush on Levi came to an end long ago, but I'm messed up, too. The way he stared at me should have made me uncomfortable, but it didn't. It's strangely hot, to think of him eating me, to imagine him biting into my flesh and tearing off the muscle and bone. Every Citadel is twisted up in some way. I thought my fucked-up-ness came in the form of over-the-top control freak. It scares me to think that it can come in the form of something so much darker.

“I suppose this means I owe you one.”

His voice snaps me out of my own brooding. I cock my head suddenly. I did not expect him to say that. Maybe I just imagined whatever it was that passed between us, because his question makes me think that he doesn't really remember me at all. I used to practically live in his house. His sister and I were best friends. He does not owe me anything. I didn't
do
anything for him. But a plan is forming in my mind, just the barest hint of an idea.

“Yeah, you do,” I lie. And with that I walk past him, down the stairs, and out the door.

Beta Team is on reserve duty the following Monday. We are staggered throughout the forest with almost seventy troops, about three-quarters of a mile from The Rift. The four of us sit underneath a canopy of tree branches. A weak sun dapples through them and the shapes throw down pockmarked shadows. We are not at attention, but we are not relaxed, either. We are ready to push forward should the need arise at a moment's notice. We hear the other teams check in. The Rift is silent, a closed mouth. No fighting today.

When our rotation is up, we take the transport back to base. My team is unusually quiet.

I wonder if my team is annoyed at me for leaving without saying good-bye, but I don't provide a reason for leaving and they don't ask for one. I wonder, too, if Henry had to step in at some point and make sure Boone and Vi didn't spend too
much time alone. That would be reason enough for all three of them to be irritated.

When we arrive back at the base we go to our separate changing rooms and dress for training. Our training uniforms are much like our combat ones, only black and with less padding. The four of us spend an hour doing circuit training, which is kind of like an amped-up version of CrossFit, in the facility's large gym. Then we spend another hour working on agility and hand-to-hand combat skills in a different part of the building that is a huge room with padded floors divided into dozens of small rings. We do a lot of stretching to keep our muscles limber and flexible—Violet has us all beat on this front, but what's always so surprising is how giant Henry can contort his body.

Like I said: every gay guy's fantasy come true, and probably most straight women's, when it comes down to it.

Then we spar in a style that is, for the most part, mixed martial arts but with an emphasis on a particular martial art given our individual strengths. For me, it's Krav Maga.

When that's done, we spend an hour outside with weapons. The base already had a significant target range; our group just enhanced it. We shoot for a while. Then we practice knife throwing—at the same distance we shot. Sometimes we work with explosives. We know how to build bombs and how to detonate much more sophisticated ones. Sometimes we do survival weaponry, which means we learn how to turn a dead branch into a spear, or we make our own arrows from flint and fallen logs. There is an array of bows hidden throughout the forest, just in case things get truly terrible and we run out of ammo. This hour also sometimes incorporates survival training. We hunt game and learn how to skin and cook it. We learn about the medicinal properties of plants and how
to make a fire without matches. The boys universally love this hour—some of the girls do, too, but it really feeds into all the boys'
Red Dawn
fantasies. I generally excel when I'm in survival mode, but please, give me a hot shower and a comfortable bed any day.

For the last hour of training we run. As Citadels, we run fast and we run hard. Our speed is inhuman, almost faster than a human eye can track. There is a number that we have maxed out at, miles-per-hour-wise, but I prefer not to know it. They were smart like that, to give us the choice. Some people like Boone and Henry want to know how fast the fastest Citadel can run. Me? I prefer not to know. I don't want to know my limits. I don't want to have to make those calculations in my head if I am fleeing a nightmare. I'd rather go on thinking I have a fighting chance to escape to safety or, at least, to fight another day.

Of course, I don't like running. For one thing, I prefer fighting rather than fleeing, and I'd rather spend my time training at that more. Hell, I think I may even prefer hunting and skinning to running. Sure, it's vital that we keep our stamina up, but I find it so . . . stupid.

Maybe I should clarify: I don't dislike racing through the uneven terrain of the camp because it's exhausting—it takes a lot more than that to tire out a Citadel, even after the three hours of training that went on before—it's just, well,
boring
. Henry, as well as other Citadels, finds the running soothing, like meditation. I wish I could zone out like that. My brain won't stop turning, though. I'm always imagining other things I could be doing,
would rather
be doing, like reading or watching some lame TV show (if I'm being completely honest with myself).

Thankfully, it's not only running we do. Very rarely are we
on clear terrain, so it's crucial that we use the trees and other aspects of the forest to give us an advantage: a kind of bastardized version of parkour. We don't use traditional obstacle courses and obviously we aren't around much cement. But the woods provide more than enough to work with. We spin and leap and flip over rock formations and logs. We use the soft moss covering the firs to swing for momentum and jump down. We use the massive tree trunks by pushing the tread of our boots into the bark for traction to spring up and out in any direction. I prefer this to running. As a woman I can use my flexibility to my advantage and my light weight to scramble up places that are almost impossible for someone like Henry to get to.

More important, this comes naturally to me, and unlike while sprinting along the roads of Camp Bonneville, I
can
let my mind wander. So today I use this hour to strategize even as I leap through and fly over the green and brown at my feet. My focus: I have a way to get into the Village.

The problem is, I have no real idea what the Village is like inside. Citadels who are old enough to work there are not permitted to talk about what goes on with those of us who aren't. As soldiers, we accept the hierarchy of secrets. It has always made sense to me before, but as I look at it now, it seems illogical. Why does the Village even need to be a secret? What is ARC hiding from us there?

And now my imagination is in full overdrive.

They wouldn't make Immigrants live in tents, would they?

Always cold, never truly comfortable. Surely they would have built proper barracks. If they imagine Immigrants living out their natural lives in the Village, then even barracks wouldn't cut it. They must have prefab homes, even neighborhoods. Maybe. Or maybe it's built like a prison. Maybe they keep the
Immigrants in cells, behind bars. The idea of that makes me suddenly nauseous.

How can I not know?

And the answer is more than just how well ARC keeps its secrets. The fact is, it's been three years and all I've thought about is The Rift. I have been obsessed with keeping everyone safe: my fellow soldiers, my family. I don't know why that concern has never extended as far as the Village, and I am ashamed. The Immigrants, as part of this Earth now, deserve my protection, too.

I jump ten feet in the air, grab a tree branch, swing myself up onto a thick limb, and squat down, bracing my back up against the trunk. I guess I have chalked up what happens with the Immigrants to bad luck. That's my go-to response—it's like cancer or a hurricane or a car accident.

Like getting chosen to be a Citadel
. The bitterness of this thought surprises me.

And like us, they get pulled here terribly, but it's beyond anyone's control. Vi brings it up a lot, and I am forever changing the subject. Don't we have enough to worry about? That's been my excuse. As I've gotten older, the excuse has worn thin. I am getting past my own bad luck. I suppose this is what it means to grow up. You realize that everyone has something dark and hidden that seems colossally unfair. It's not right anymore that I should just dismiss these other stories out of hand because mine feels so much worse. The truth is that, compared to nearly getting raped like Flora, or a lifetime in a wheelchair because of an accident, or losing your mom to breast cancer like Boone did when he was only nine, my story is definitely not worse.

I leap down and start running again. I hear the others swish
through the undergrowth not too far away, and I know they're focusing on their own training. I get back to musing.

Once I get into the Village, though, then what?
I have to find Ezra, obviously. But, just as obvious, that won't be easy. I will need help with that. And then, once I do find him, what am I supposed to say? We can't go off and talk. We can't go for coffee and compare life stories. I will have to remain with him wherever he is and hope I can get a few minutes of privacy. Given that I know nothing about the Village, this could be a tall order.

When our hour is up, I realize I'm still basically nowhere in terms of a plan.

We run back to the base. Upon arriving down in the facility we are given a massive protein drink that the doctors and scientists must watch us finish before our training is officially over. We expend so many calories a day, and this elixir, invented by the Roones, keeps our nutrition up. As I gulp down the shake, I see Boone is almost finished with his. I need to catch him before he goes into his locker room.

“Boone,” I say, grabbing his arm before he can leave.

“Yeah?” Boone has a towel and he's wiping off the sweat and grime of our training.

I take a deep breath. I try to sound casual. “Can you do me a favor and ask Levi to meet me at Old Town Burger before he goes home? I know he just got off duty, so he should be in there changing.”

Boone smirks. “Levi, huh?” He crosses his arms and cocks his head. “Well, does Saint Ryn have the hots for someone?” I do not smile—if anything, I do the opposite of smile—and the grin on Boone's face disappears. “Fine, but don't expect me to pass him any notes in math class, okay? I'll ask him, then leave me out of it. That guy is bad news, Ryn.”

Boone is sneering and I'm a little shocked. I know what happened with Levi and Ingrid—it's common knowledge that they tried to have sex and failed. It was consensual, something they both wanted, and everyone knows that, too. Is Boone blaming Levi for that? I suppose Boone's own predicament with Violet makes him sensitive to the issue. I don't get any more insights from him and he disappears through his locker room door. I walk to the other side of the hall and go into mine.

I shower quickly and throw my hair up into one giant knot on my head. On go my yoga pants. I pair them with Converse and an old T-shirt of my mom's with some grunge band on it that she used to love. I look at myself in the mirror and, unlike the way I felt on the night of Flora's party, I'm not thrilled with what I see. I don't care about impressing Levi, but I am beginning to think that at some point I should put a little more effort into the way I present myself to the world. Maybe going to the party awoke something in me that had long been dormant. That thought seems way more exhausting than the four hours of training I just put in, though.

I take the train to the school. I don't need to worry about driving Abel because he has football practice and Mom will pick him up on her way home. The burger restaurant is almost exactly across the street from Battle Ground High. When I walk in, there are about a dozen students, and Levi is waiting at one of the only free tables. He must have been on the train before me. I slide into the booth so that we are facing each other.

“That was fast,” he says by way of a hello.

“Yeah, well, I just jumped in the shower and got the first train I could.” I say this impassively. I don't want Levi thinking that I was racing to
meet him.

“No, I mean that you want to use your favor pretty quickly. I have to admit I'm curious. Obviously, I can't give you just
anything
.” He smirks and leans back in the booth, every gesture dripping with aggression. Even his neutral look smolders. Wait. When he said
anything
, did he mean his
body
? Does he think because he admitted to me that I was an actual girl, with boobs, that I want to confess my love to him or something? I don't know a lot about guys, but I know it doesn't take much to get one sexually attracted to you. Does he actually believe I'm naive enough to confuse normal teenage lust with real feelings? Is this his version of flirting?

I'm so out of my element, I wonder if this is
everyone's
version of flirting. But Levi is so singular in his wretchedness, I have to think it's just him.

“Uhh . . .” I pause, because even though I am itching to tell him that he is not actually God's gift to the universe and that, no, I am not interested in him in that way, I need him to agree to this. If I piss him off, he won't. If I butter him up too much, though, he won't do it just to spite me.

He's like an enigma wrapped in a mystery wearing a smirk that makes me want to never stop slapping him.

Instead, I take a deep breath and decide to just take the plunge. “Well, there is actually one thing you can do . . .” He raises an eyebrow in question. “I need you to get me into the Village.” I smile brightly, innocently. Levi does not return the smile. Instead he glowers at me. An awkward silence settles between us and my smile fades.

Levi's lip curls sufficiently high to almost reach his eyeball. “What?” he demands. “No, even better:
Why?
”

“I captured an MTI from The Rift. He was very nice, very confused, obviously. And then I promised him I would come and see him and make sure he was okay.” This is not a lie. It isn't the whole entire truth, but I am not lying to him. It feels good.

“Oh,” Levi responds coolly. He's clearly unimpressed with my answer. “I get it, you have a crush on a boy. So you want me to help you break into one of the most heavily guarded areas on Earth so you can—what? Ask him to homecoming?” Levi laughs, and there's a cutting cruelty to it that makes my cheeks burn.

“Don't laugh. It's not funny,” I protest, my back straightening. “I don't have a crush on him. I don't even know him. I just made a promise. It was a stupid promise, I know, but I did it and after what he's been through I don't want to be an asshole . . . not that you'd know what not being an asshole is like.”

“Ooh, you got me!” he says, grabbing at his chest like he's wounded. He really
is
an asshole. He sits up. “Listen, Ryn, he's going to be in there for the rest of his life. Just wait until next year, when you turn eighteen. You'll get assigned a Village rotation. You can see him then.” Something about the way Levi says it—with such obvious disdain—it's like it just doesn't compute that there is anyone on Earth who can compare with him, especially an Immigrant, and he thought it was important I know that.