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“Sit down,” Mouse said. It was an order, but there was no edge to her voice. It hardly sounded like her at all.

The third to enter was Gabby. Becky stood up, wanting to run to her, but Birdman held up a hand forbidding it.

We’d thought Gabby was dead or dying. The last I’d seen of her, she was lying on the ground, covered in blood and screaming. But even though there was obvious pain in her face as she crossed the room to the bench, she was walking and breathing and alive.

Birdman was slouched a little in his chair, the kind of casual stance of someone who knew he was in complete control. His calm was a show. It was a threat.

“You’re representatives of the three gangs at the school,” he said. “And—”

Gabby immediately protested. “I wasn’t in charge. You want Curtis.”

“Neither was Skiver,” Birdman said flatly. “This isn’t a leadership meeting.”

Gabby looked to me for help, but I just shrugged. I didn’t know what Birdman wanted. I didn’t care, either. Becky and I were leaving. I needed to talk to Harvard about the dissection, and I needed to see what help Shelly could offer, but then we were leaving.

“You’re here now,” Birdman continued. “I need to know everything you know. I need to know who is trustworthy and who could be working for the other side.”

Gabby’s face contorted. “Working for the other side? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Maxfield has tried to bribe students in the past. We checked to make sure that you’re not duplicates—androids—but we need to know if Maxfield gave someone something in exchange for spying on us.”

“No one here would spy,” Gabby said, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth a sudden look of understanding appeared on her face, and for just an instant she glanced at Isaiah.

If Birdman caught it, he didn’t react.

“We need information,” he continued, gesturing to the cloth maps. “We’re going to talk to everyone, but we’re going to start with you.”

Gabby protested again, and Birdman ignored her.

“Tell me what happened after the fence,” Birdman ordered.

There was a pause for a moment, and then Skiver spoke. He pointed at me and Becky. “After they abandoned us, there was—”

“We did not abandon you,” I snapped.

“Ran away when people started dying?” he said. “What do you call that?”

“We were trying to get help,” I said, anger boiling up inside of me.

“That was days ago,” he said. “And you’ve made it all the way here? What is that? A quarter mile a day? So you’ll make it to the highway sometime next summer?”

“We had to stop,” I said, and gestured to Becky’s arm. “She was going to die.”

“Going to die?” Skiver said, almost laughing. “Do you know how many people died at the fence? Do you know how many died back at the school?” He turned to Gabby. “Show him what they did to you.”

Gabby was obviously uncomfortable.

“Show them,” Skiver screamed, his eyes crazed, and grabbed at her shirt.

She pulled away and shot us all a dark look. Slowly, she pulled up her shirt to show us her stomach, wrapped completely in white gauze. “I don’t know what they did,” she said. “I was in surgery longer than all the others, even longer than Curtis.”

“Artificial organs,” Isaiah said, speaking for the first time.

Gabby lowered her shirt and turned her face away from us.

“She was the worst of them,” Isaiah said, harsh judgment in his eyes as he stared back at me. “The worst of the survivors. The students who helped her said they could see she was going to die—it doesn’t take a doctor to recognize torn intestines and mangled organs.”

“I’m okay,” she said, but her words seemed to enrage Isaiah.

“You could have died, like the others. Like Oakland, and Hector, and Rosa. And for what? So that Benson Fisher could get to this town.” He pointed at me, his hand shaking with anger. “This is your fault. You stirred everyone up. You got them mad. You led them to the fence.”

I wanted to stand up and break his jaw.

But I couldn’t. It was all true. They were dead, and it was because of me.

“Stop it, Isaiah,” Becky said, her voice stronger than it had been since we’d left the school.

“I tried to stop you,” he continued, ignoring her. “I tried to make you understand what we needed to do to survive, but you just couldn’t let it go. You had to be a tough guy and fight and run, and look what it got you.

“And you,” he continued, turning to Becky, a cruel smile creeping onto his tired face. “You knew what happened to people who run. Don’t you think that people followed Benson because they saw you join him? People trusted you, Becky, and you led them to their deaths.”

She stood, and I thought for a moment she was going to storm out. Her chest rose and fell with painful, angry breaths.

Isaiah grinned. He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t let him.

“You’re wrong,” she said. Her voice was quiet but firm, and it rose with intensity as she spoke. “Every single person who followed you had a death sentence the moment they joined the Society. If they’d listened to you, they’d sit in that school until they died or got hauled here. And then they’d sit here until they died or got hauled somewhere else. People got killed during the escape, but at least they died fighting.”

He barked back, spreading his arms wide. “Are you seriously saying that everyone in this room would be better off dead?”

“Everyone there knew what they were getting themselves into,” she yelled. “They went willingly.”

“They thought he”—Isaiah jabbed a finger at me—“had a plan.”

Gabby was on her feet now, her hand clutching her stomach as she shouted. There were calls from the windows, too, from behind the curtains, and more bodies pressed in at the door. Becky’s face was pained and straining, but she was closer to Isaiah now, her voice drowned out by the chaos.

I stood and reached for her arm, but she ignored me and kept on yelling.

Birdman clapped his hands and called the room to order. No one paid any attention. It was only then that I noticed that the other leaders—Harvard, Mouse, and Shelly—were quietly staying out of things.

Birdman stomped his feet and clapped his hands once more. “Quiet,” he bellowed.

Becky pulled away from me and slapped Isaiah. For a moment he reeled back, only to come up fighting. He threw a punch and I stepped in front of it, his fist deflecting off my shoulder.

There was a tremendous crash.

“Shut up,” Birdman yelled again, standing over a long wooden bench he’d just toppled. “Shut the hell up, all of you.”

I wanted to hit Isaiah—just one punch to punish him for everything he’d done. But it wouldn’t be enough. It couldn’t ever be enough.

Birdman seethed. Isaiah glared back, his face reddening from the slap.

“You were the big man at the school,” Birdman said, motionless.

Isaiah was standing firm, but silent.

“I don’t know if you’ve figured out how this place works. But we can see what’s going on inside people’s heads.” He reached out with one arm and touched Shelly’s hair. She shook his hand away. “Shelly was part of your gang. Every time her dupe saw something important over there, Shelly saw it here.”

Isaiah’s voice shook. “I kept the peace.”

Someone at a window swore, and Mouse laughed. Shelly looked uncomfortable, like she didn’t want to be mentioned—or even to be in the room.

Birdman bent and whispered something to Harvard, who nodded and pushed his way out the door.

“You kept the peace,” Birdman said, crossing his muscular arms and taking a step toward Isaiah.

“If you saw what was going on then you know about the war,” Isaiah said. “I led the truce. I fought for peace.”

Skiver scoffed and started to speak, but Birdman gestured for him to be quiet. The wave of his hand was hardly noticeable, but there was something about it so menacing and powerful that the color drained from Skiver’s face.

“I think the key word there,” Birdman said, “is that you
fought
for peace. You and your boys killed people until the rest were too afraid to fight anymore. That’s peace?”

“I didn’t—” Isaiah said, and then stammered. He broke eye contact with Birdman, and his eyes shot all around the room looking for help. All he found was anger and fear.

“We saw what happened,” Birdman said, taking another step toward Isaiah. “We know who you talked to. We know the orders you gave.”

“I was stopping the war.”

Birdman was now directly in front of Isaiah, inches from his face. Harvard appeared at the door, pulling Jane by the arm.

My stomach dropped. I guessed what was coming next.

She resisted Harvard, straining against his tight grasp, but she didn’t fight him. She must have known there was no way to stop it.

Birdman broke into a fake smile. “Hey! Jane’s here. Isaiah, you remember Jane, right?”

Isaiah’s head hung down, his face to the floor.

“Look at her,” Birdman said.

Jane’s eyes met mine for an instant.

“Look at her!”
Birdman grabbed Isaiah’s face with one hand, and his shoulder with the other. Isaiah fell to his knees and stared, terrified, up at Jane.

No one moved.

Birdman’s voice was quiet again. “Dylan lived here until a couple days ago. He told us how you pulled him aside at the dance, after Jane made a toast to Lily. He told us what you ordered him and Laura to do.”

Isaiah moaned—weak and soft, like an animal.

“Laura’s already been on trial. She’s not here right now, because she’s spent the last few weeks in chains. And she was only the pawn. Now we have the king.”

Birdman’s mouth was inches from Isaiah’s ear, but I could hear every word in the dead silence of the room.

And now Birdman was grabbing Jane, shoving her down so she was eye level with Isaiah.

I stepped forward and Harvard shot me a look of frightened caution.

“Say you’re sorry,” Birdman said, a hand on each of their shoulders as he spit at Isaiah. “Tell her what you ordered, you damn murdering bastard, and look her in the eye and tell her you’re sorry.”

Jane pulled away, but Birdman’s grip was iron. She winced as his fingers dug deeper.

“Birdman,” I said. The name came out in a dry whisper.

“Say it,” Birdman barked. “Tell her.”

Harvard motioned for me to step back, but I couldn’t. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t even clear who Birdman was punishing anymore—Isaiah or Jane.

“Let her up,” I said.

Jane’s eyes met mine again, and there was nothing but fear in them.

“Birdman—”

And then they were both thrown to the ground and Birdman was in my face, screaming.

“Hey,” I said, backing up, hands raised. “I’m not looking for a fight.”

“You’re a pansy-ass coward,” he yelled. “You use your traitor girlfriend as an excuse to hide in a hole.”

“Traitor?”

Becky pulled on my arm. “Don’t.”

Birdman threw his arm back and pointed at Isaiah, who was slowly picking himself up off the floor. “She worked for him! For a year! Because she was a coward, just like you.”

Becky jumped in between us. “Stop it! Yes, I was scared.”

“Becky …”

She looked me in the eye, her expression hurt and desperate. “I was scared. I’m still scared.”

We stared at each other. She hadn’t done it because she was scared—she’d done it because, unlike everyone else at that school, she was genuinely concerned about other people. She didn’t want anyone to get hurt. She’d seen too much death. It wasn’t fear that made her join the Society. It was courage.

I should have said that, but Birdman was looking at me over her shoulder, derision in his eyes. All I wanted to do was fight.

I took a step to get around Becky, and Birdman shoved her toward me.

She screamed, first from fear and then from pain as I caught her, and her injured arm slammed into my chest.

“You can go to hell,” I shouted over her shoulder, cradling her shaking body. She gasped, gulping at the air as she fought the pain.

He turned away. “Back to business.”

Birdman slumped down into his chair and gestured toward the door. Harvard hurried away.

“Mouse,” Birdman ordered, tossing her a roll of cloth that had been lying beside his chair. “Tell the man what he’s won.”

Isaiah stood alone against the wall. Jane was gone—slipped out of the room when I wasn’t watching. Shelly was gone, too.

Mouse smiled and took a long breath. Whatever she was about to say, she took great pleasure in it. The cloth was laid out on her lap, but she wasn’t reading from it. She knew what was there without looking.

“Isaiah. You ran the Society for a year. Before that, you led the most brutal gang at the school.”

“I—”

“Shut up and listen,” Birdman whispered, sharp and cold.

“We know about four murders,” Mouse continued. “Three during the war, and Jane.”

“Jane didn’t die,” Isaiah said. “She was a robot.”

Birdman leaned forward, but his voice was steady and controlled. “Shut your damn mouth or I’m going to rip your tongue out.”

“She didn’t …” Isaiah’s voice trailed off.

Mouse continued, tapping the cloth. “Four that we know of, but several murders weren’t accounted for. There are also those you sent to detention.”

She paused, like she was waiting for him to protest, but he didn’t. He could feel what was coming.

I was worried that
I
knew what was coming. They couldn’t do this.

Mouse smiled at him—a twisted, evil smile, like she was slowly pulling the wings off a fly. “Do you need me to give you that number, or do you remember them?”

Isaiah’s face was totally white now, and he looked younger than he was, and thin and fragile. He wasn’t arguing; he was pleading. “What was I supposed to do? We had the security contract.”

Birdman laughed.

“Eight,” Mouse said. “You sent eight to detention.”

“But they got sent here, right? They didn’t die in detention.”

Harvard reappeared at the door. “They don’t all die, no,” he said. “Only two of them did. They must have fought back, or the implant didn’t take, or—”

Mouse sneered. “You didn’t have any idea what happened in detention, and you didn’t care—death, torture, whatever. You just did what Maxfield told you to do.”