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So I needed to avoid the cameras.

I stood and pondered for a long time before finally deciding on a course of action. I couldn’t knock the cameras out of the way—whoever was monitoring them would notice that one had been moved. I couldn’t climb over the top of the camera, because each camera watched over the next one.

My final tactic was lousy, but it was going to have to do.

I darted across the open ground, hoping the falling snow would help hide me. I hit the base of the wall, flattening myself against it.

I was directly under a camera.

I felt stupid as I tried to block its view, like a little kid throwing snowballs at a stop sign. I figured that unless the guard was watching the camera at all times, they wouldn’t realize that the snow on the lens didn’t come from the blowing storm.

It took a dozen tries before I got a direct hit, obscuring about two-thirds of the lens. It would have to do.

Five minutes later I was over it, using the same log trick I’d used at the fence. It was amazing how much easier it was to get over the wall when a gang with a security contract wasn’t chasing me down. And when I was trying to break
into
prison, instead of out.

I ran deep into the woods, away from the cameras.

I was back. I’d fought so hard to get out of this place—but it felt strangely like home. When I ducked under the weathered pink ribbons that marked the paintball fields, I couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic. I was trapped back then, sure, but I’d had my friends with me. I was part of a group. This time I was on my own.

The path was easy now, but I walked it slowly, watching on all sides for animals. It was morning—if the snow hadn’t been falling, the sun would have been up. Students in the school were probably waking up and taking showers. I wondered what they’d think when I showed up.

I could see the building, a dark mass surrounded by white lawns and trees and sky. I’d been gone for a week, but it felt so much longer.

Moving from tree to tree, I made my way to the front of the school. There was less brush here, so I had to hide deeper inside the forest—about forty feet—at the base of a short limestone outcropping.

Getting inside was going to be harder than climbing a wall. The windows here were bulletproof, and the doors could be opened only by someone with the right contract.

I could run up to the doors, bang on them, and hope that whoever heard me had the ability to let me in. But if Maxfield saw me approach, I’d never make it.

I pulled my legs up to my chest. It was cold, and I was getting wetter every minute. The snow sticking to my clothes was melting now, and I had begun to shiver. I stuffed my hands inside my sleeves and pulled up my hood. It could be a long wait.

With nothing else to do, I overprepared. I rolled up my pant legs and used the wire to tie the powerheads to my shins. I had to hide the weapons so I could make it down the detention elevator still armed. The powerheads made me nervous. If I fell, would I shoot off my own foot?

I hid the box cutter in my shoe. There was no place to conceal the Tasers, so I kept them in my sweatshirt.

My fingers were starting to seize up. Too cold.

I saw a face. Across the lawn of the school, in the bank of windows above the front door, someone was peering out. It was hard to be sure—it was far away, and the windows were a little cloudy—but it looked like a girl. Long dark hair.

Red sweater, white collar. The Maxfield uniform.

She was staring, hands on the glass. I knew she couldn’t see me—I was well hidden and covered in snow—but she just stood there and stared.

Another student appeared beside her. They weren’t looking at each other—they were looking outside.

A few minutes later a third person came, and then another.

I knew this. Faces in the windows, watching and waiting. It was the first thing I ever saw when I got here.

They were expecting a car.

I gripped the shovel beside me, which was entirely covered in snow now. This was my chance.

Twenty minutes passed, and then thirty. By the time I heard an engine, the windows were filled with faces. They were waiting to warn the new students not to leave the car, not to come inside. But something else was happening, too—I kept thinking of those two sisters. They went to the underground complex, had surgery, but never came to the town. Harvard said he saw them in the school. And Curtis had seen people who were kidnapped. Things were different now. The school had changed its procedures.

I rose up into a crouch, one freezing hand gripping the shovel. I was debating between that and the Tasers, but the shovel had been so useful before.

The car appeared off to my right, moving slowly on the unplowed, unmarked road. It was a large sedan, one driver in the front, two passengers in the back.

I wanted to run up to meet it. I wanted to kill another incarnation of Ms. Vaughn. But I didn’t dare move until that school door was open. I couldn’t risk Maxfield locking the building down.

The car slowed to a stop. The driver stepped out. Ms. Vaughn again, this time wearing a business suit. She opened the back door and leaned inside.

The first person stepped out. A boy. Short, maybe thirteen or fourteen. He was wearing a bright red T-shirt and shorts. He was in handcuffs. That was different.

The second climbed out through the same door. Another boy, a little older. It looked like he was in pajamas. He had on handcuffs, too. They both looked terrified, but didn’t know what to do. They were captives, in the middle of nowhere, in a blizzard.

Ms. Vaughn stood in front of them, gesturing. I remembered her telling me how much I’d love it here, but these kids already knew it was a prison. She was probably threatening them, not reassuring them. A moment later she was in her car, the doors closed, and she began to drive. The boys watched her go, one of them already heading cautiously up the stairs and out of the falling snow.

I was ignoring the car now, my eyes glued on that door.

The other kid took a tentative step up.

The faces in the window were waving their arms in warning.

The door opened.

I jumped up, snow falling from my clothes as I sprinted out of the trees and across the snowy lawn. No one seemed to notice.

A girl appeared in the doorway. Red sweater, white shirt, gray skirt. For a moment I thought she actually was Becky.

One of the boys saw me, his handcuffed arms raised as he pointed me out to the other.

I glanced to the road. Ms. Vaughn’s car was out of sight.

I was almost to them now. The younger boy backed away, and the other called to me for help.

The girl stepped back, her hand gripping the door nervously.

“Don’t,” I bellowed, my voice dry and harsh.

There was fear in her eyes, but I was close now.

“Gabby!” I shouted. “Don’t close it. I’m here to help.”

The shovel wasn’t going to do me any good inside—there wouldn’t be enough room to swing it—so I dropped it on the stairs and pulled the Tasers from the pocket of my sweatshirt. I held one in each hand.

I took the steps two at a time. Gabby—the dupe—had no idea who I was, only that I knew her name. Her eyes were wide, but she was frozen in place. That was all I needed.

A moment later I was past her, inside the ornate front entry. I held out the Tasers like pistols, turning in a circle, watching for guards.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice tiny. She was still standing on the top step, holding the door.

“This is all fake,” I said, checking the stairs and peeking down the corridor. “Half the people in this school aren’t real.”

Gabby didn’t answer.

No one was coming. I needed to get sent to detention, but I had no idea how the security contracts worked now, or whether there even were contracts. I stepped back to the door. I regretted what I was about to do, but I knew she wasn’t real—she was a robot. Gabby was back in the town.

I stuffed one of the Tasers into my pocket and pulled her back inside, grabbed her by the jaw, and shoved her against the wall. She began to shake, but that was exactly what I wanted. I needed her to be scared. I held the Taser up, inches from her face, and pulled the trigger, electricity popping and cracking. She closed her eyes, trying to turn away.

“No,” I shouted, shaking her. “Look at me. Look at me!”

One eye slowly opened. Her whole body was trembling, but she wasn’t fighting.

“I’m inside, Gabby,” I said. “Tell the others I’m inside. Tell Lily it’s time.”

She began to cry, and I let go of her.

There were voices on the stairs. I drew the second Taser again, and began backing up toward the basement.

“It’s all fake,” I shouted. “This school is run by robots.”

I must have sounded like a lunatic.

I kept waiting for Gabby to pop, for Maxfield to take her over and attack me, but she didn’t.

She couldn’t. All the new humans had just arrived. If they immediately saw one of their own revealed as a robot, the school would turn to chaos.

There were footsteps somewhere, the squeak of sneakers on marble.

I spun, trying to see which hall it came from.

“Gabby, Curtis, Carrie, Shelly, Harvard, Mouse—they’re not real,” I said. “They’re fake. They’re robots. Tapti, Eliana, Walnut …” I listed as many names as I could remember from the town. I didn’t know what good it would do. All I wanted was for someone to send me to detention or for Ms. Vaughn came back.

“We know,” someone said, and I looked up the stairs to see a boy I vaguely recognized. Not from school, but from the outside world.

A blond-haired girl appeared next to him, and then another. They looked almost identical. The sisters.

I recognized them instantly.

They were the daughters of the president of the United States. I stared—too long.

Lights exploded all around me, and I was on my face on the marble. Both Tasers flew from my hands, skittering across the smooth stone.

I rolled onto my back just in time for someone huge—Curtis!—to grab for my hands. I kicked him, driving my heel into his knee, and he fell.

“Get him!” Curtis yelled.

Finally.

I scrambled to my feet. Skiver and Walnut were thundering on the stairs, chasing me.

I needed to make it look like a mistake. I ran, pretending I didn’t know where I should go, and then darted down to the basement.

I didn’t want them to catch me until I was there—I didn’t want to give them a reason to search me. They just needed to throw me in detention and close the door.

The only weapon I had accessible was the fist spikes, and as I ran I fitted them into my hand. Three heavy nails, each protruding two inches past my fingers when I clenched my fist.

I could hear them running after me as we turned down the final corridor. The ceiling was low here, and the walls narrow. It was old concrete, and it smelled damp. I ran past door after door—empty, dark storage rooms—and finally turned to face them. I was maybe twenty feet from the detention elevator.

“You’re not real,” I said, smiling.

“Dude’s gone crazy,” Walnut said, the more nervous of the two.

Skiver kept coming, unarmed. I wondered whether he could tell my fist wasn’t just a fist.

“Skiver, I know you can see me,” I said, talking to the human. “This one’s for you.”

I lunged at the robot, my fist connecting with his gut. He shrieked as the spikes stabbed him, and he stared at me, his face contorted in pain. Walnut backed up, finally seeing I was armed.

“What?” Skiver stammered, holding his stomach.

And then he was gone. The pain disappeared from his face and he stepped toward me, completely unafraid. Skiver had popped.

I swung at him again, and he blocked my fist with his arm, the vicious spears gouging into his forearm. He ignored them and slammed me in the chest with the heel of his hand. I fell backward. It felt like he’d hit me with a hammer.

I gasped for breath. I’d lost the spikes now, too, and I scrambled away, trying to get back on my feet.

There was no time. The robot Skiver was on top of me, his fingers around my neck. He picked me up with one hand then threw me backward again. I didn’t have time to do anything. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

He grabbed my shoulder, and I thought his fingers and thumb were going to tear into my flesh, shatter my collarbone.

In one swift movement he threw me sideways. I expected to hit a wall, but I passed through a door, crashing onto a hard linoleum floor.

I tried to defend myself, only to see that he wasn’t coming any closer. He was framed in a doorway. He pulled the door closed, locking me in the dark.

Silence.

The room heaved.

I was going down.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

M
y Tasers were gone, and the fist spikes. I rolled up my pants and untied the powerheads. They both seemed to be fine, though I had no idea whether they’d work. Still, I liked holding them—they felt substantial in my hands, the grip of the screwdrivers heavy and comfortable.

I still had the box cutter in my shoe, but decided against pulling it out for now. The door could open at any minute, and I didn’t want to be shoeless.

The room lurched and stopped. The lights dimmed for an instant, and then came back.

I faced the door, suddenly terrified.

There had been blood on this floor before, Becky once told me. Not everyone who got sent to detention just gave up and went to surgery. They fought back, right here, and they died.

Click.

Someone was messing with the door. Unlocking it.

I crouched.

There was a sliver of bright light as the door creaked open.

I took a cautious step forward.

No sounds.

I reached my foot out and kicked the door the rest of the way open.

The hallway was wide here. Androids could be hiding on either side. They probably figured I was armed, so it made sense that they’d set a trap.

I stared down the length of the hall. It was brighter than I imagined, the walls white tile and plaster, and lit with exposed lightbulbs every five or six feet. It reminded me of an old hospital. There was a chemical smell, like harsh soap.