No Return (The Internal Defense Series) (26 page)

The bedroom clock ticked down the seconds as Becca waited.

She lay in the dark, staring at the shifting shadows on the ceiling. When the Enforcers came, this was how they had to find her. In bed, sleeping, unsuspecting. They had to believe they had taken her by surprise.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The shadows leapt across the room as light flooded through the curtains. Becca tensed. Her hands clawed at her blankets.

The headlights passed. The shadows returned to their usual places.

Becca unclenched her hands. She closed her eyes.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The rumble of an engine. Slowing. Stopping.

A neighbor coming home from a late night at work. Or an Enforcement transport here to take her away.

Deep breaths. Slow and even.
They have to believe I’m sleeping. They have to believe I don’t know.

She knew what was coming. She had planned it. She had expected it for five years. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid.

A creak. Footsteps?

I know what’s coming. I’m not afraid.

She waited for the next creak, for the muted march of boots on carpet. Nothing. Only her breathing—too loud, too tense—broke the silence. Only her breathing and the clock’s relentless countdown.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

And then—

She stilled her breath to listen.

Click.

The sound of a key turning in the lock.

They were here.

She forced her muscles to relax, one by one. Forced her frozen lungs to suck in air.

I’m not afraid.

A slow creak as the door began to open. The drumbeat of boots against the carpeted floor, louder with every step. Their feet fell in time with the clock.
Tick. Tick. Tick.

I’m not—

The bedroom door exploded off its hinges.

And five years’ worth of nightmares poured into the room at once.

“Get up!”

A tsunami of black uniforms, of opaque helmets, of boots and guns and voices. Gloved hands yanked at her blankets, grabbed at her limbs, nearly ripped her arm from its socket as she landed facedown on the floor.

A scream tore from her lips.
I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid.

“On your feet, dissident!”

Pain bloomed in her side as an Enforcer’s boot met her ribcage. Hands she couldn’t see hauled her up by her arms, drawing a sharp whimper from her throat. Her feet scrabbled for purchase.

“Against the wall! Now!”

Another pair of hands gripped her shoulders. Slammed her forward. Her head cracked against the plaster. Her vision went dark, lit only by bright stars dancing in the corners of her eyes. Copper and warmth filled her mouth.

“Careful!” The sharp protest came from across the room. “You know who this one is.”

“Oh, I know who she is, all right.” A female voice, inches from her ear. The Enforcer shook Becca for emphasis as she spoke. “One of those prisoners she freed killed my brother. Climbed in through his window and murdered him in cold blood. As if he was supposed to remember every dissident he interrogated.”

“I don’t care if she killed him herself. Processing needs her for interrogation. They gave us strict parameters. You damage her, they’ll have you in a cell in 117 right alongside her.”

Becca took advantage of the respite to catch her breath. To try to calm her racing heart. She gagged as a trickle of blood from her split lip ran down her throat.

“I’ll tell you where Processing can put their parameters.” But with a final shove, the Enforcer released Becca. Two others moved in to replace her, one wrenching Becca’s wrists into cuffs while the other patted her down roughly.

“You really think she is who they say she is?” The question came from a third voice—older, maybe, although the helmet made it hard to tell. “I mean, look at her.” The Enforcer wrapped a hand around Becca’s throat, jerking her chin up. “She’s, what, twenty? Twenty-one? That’s my daughter’s age. And she’s supposed to be some great dissident mastermind?”

“You know better than to underestimate a dissident.” The first voice again. “Or to question the information we’re given. Now let’s get her out of here before she tries something. And watch her. We don’t know what she’s capable of.”

She finally got a good look at the Enforcers as they marched her out of the room. Five of them. Ten. More. Internal had sent an army for her—for one girl, barefoot and shivering in her pajamas.

They half-dragged her through the hallway, ignoring her efforts to keep up. She stumbled. Three sets of arms caught her, held her up, pushed her forward. The barrel of a gun jabbed into her back. “Keep moving.”

I planned this. I chose this. I’m not afraid.

Enforcers swarmed the kitchen as they passed. Opening cabinets, yanking out drawers, knocking on the walls in search of secret compartments. Dishes shattered as the Enforcers swept them carelessly to the ground—the dishes from her childhood that her mom had sent with her when she had moved out. Her mom had insisted that Becca needed something to make her new place feel like home.

I chose this.

Memories ghosted through the air, echoed in the walls. Her mom holding the door open for her, her smile proud as Becca stepped into her new apartment. Micah kissing her for the first time, his touch sweet and shy and searing. Heather helping her paint the walls, laughing as she flicked paint onto Becca’s cheek.

Now only Enforcers surrounded her. No friends. No allies. Alone.

I’m not afraid.

The memories came faster, as if they knew she didn’t have much time. Micah’s stammered confession of love. Heather’s playful screech as Becca raised her paint roller in a mock threat. Her mom urging her through the door—
Welcome home, Becca.

And her own voice, telling the others her plan. Telling them she could save the resistance.

She could save them.

She would save them.

She stopped. Her breathing steadied. The sound of her heartbeat faded from her ears.

I chose this.

I’m not afraid.

She closed her eyes. She let the memories go.

When she opened them again, the ghosts were gone.

Another jab from the gun, hard enough to bruise. “I said keep moving, dissident.”

The Enforcers led her out the door, down the stairs, out into the night. The icy wind, heavy with the scent of snow, sliced through her pajamas as if she were wearing nothing. She lifted her head to the sky, heedless of the cold, and breathed as deeply as she could. Her body relaxed as she absorbed the pain of the wind, the clacking music of tree branch on tree branch, the distant light of the stars. All the things she would never have again.

She was ready.

Ahead of her, the transport waited.

Around the side of the building, a flash of movement caught her eye. She stopped herself from turning her head just in time as the vague shapes resolved themselves into two human figures.

Micah. Kara.

Slowly, deliberately, Micah raised his hand in a silent farewell. Beside him, Kara’s shoulders jerked like she was fighting back tears, struggling to hold herself upright. But she did the same.

They had come to watch her go. To say goodbye. To make it so she wouldn’t be alone.

I’ll always be right there with you.

She couldn’t risk acknowledging them. Couldn’t even dare to look in their direction for too long. But as the Enforcers pushed her to the van, she gave a tiny nod. A single twitch of her chin, barely a movement at all.

They lowered their hands, and she knew that they had seen.

Then the Enforcers bundled her into the windowless van, and darkness swallowed her.

Back in her apartment, the plan had made so much sense. She would let Internal take her. She would make them believe she was telling them everything. And she would save the resistance. Simple.

It had made sense—right up until the Enforcers hauled her out of the elevator and onto the underground levels.

The hallway stretched out in front of her, ending at a point almost too far away to see. In the distance, other hallways branched off—each of them, Becca knew, as long as this one. Each of them lined with rows and rows of cells. Dozens. Hundreds.

The floor above held more of the same. The floor below—more of the same.

And against all this… her. One dissident. One girl. She looked down at the floor, at her bare feet padding alongside the Enforcers’ thick boots. At the frayed flannel pants that hung loosely around her legs, brushing against the Enforcers’ impenetrable body armor. At the goosebumps rising on her skin from cold and fear.

Just one more dissident swallowed by 117.

The concrete walls seemed to close in around her as she walked. She fought the urge to gasp for breath.
I’m ready. I can do this. I can do this.

I have to do this.

But how could she, with all of Internal arrayed against her? With the weight of this place—of all the dissidents who had vanished into this building without so much as a whisper—pressing down on her, crushing her into nothing?

She tried to keep her head held high. Tried to keep her gaze fixed on the Enforcer directly in front of her. Not the impossible length of the hallway and all it implied. Not the cells they passed, door after door after door. Defeated dissident after defeated dissident.

I can do this. I can—

Ahead of them, a door opened. Two guards exited the room, with a third person propped up between them. A prisoner not much older than Becca. His hair was matted with sweat and blood; his feet dragged uselessly along the floor beneath him. One of his eyes wouldn’t focus. The other, wide with terror, rolled in its socket as he looked from the guards to the Enforcers to Becca.

“Please,” he begged in a roughened voice. “Please. I’ve told you everything, I’ve told you…”

Becca forced her gaze away as the guards dragged the man down a side corridor. His broken pleas faded into the distance.

Soon that would be her.

No.
Head up. Back straight.
I’ll hold out. I won’t break. Not until it’s time.

But that prisoner had probably told himself the same thing.

In her time transcribing torture sessions, she had lost count of the dissidents who had walked into the interrogation room with their chins raised in defiance, full of brave words about how they would never give anything away.

Not one of them had lived up to that defiance. Not one.

The Enforcers steered Becca around a corner. Another endless hallway faced them. Another row of cells filled with dissidents who had thought they could resist.

I will hold out. I will. If I don’t, the resistance dies.

They turned again—and stopped abruptly as a wall of guards strode up to block their path.

Every guard’s gaze snapped to Becca. She shrank under their scrutiny.
Head up. Back straight.
She forced her eyes to theirs. Some looked away; a few kept staring, their faces a kaleidoscope of awe and hate and fear.

One of the guards stepped forward. “Is this Rebecca Dalcourt?” he demanded.

The lead Enforcer took a matching step. “This dissident is the responsibility of Enforcement until she arrives in her detention cell.” His distorted voice echoed strangely in the hallway. Another step put him inches from the guard, the toes of their boots nearly touching. “And we’re not doing this for your entertainment. Unless you have clearance to know this prisoner’s identity, I suggest you stand around and gawk somewhere else.”

“We’re not here to gawk.” The guard shoved a sheet of paper in front of the Enforcer “We have orders to take Rebecca Dalcourt directly to interrogation.”

The Enforcer examined the paper. After a moment, he handed it back. “This seems to be in order.” Although the helmet flattened his words, Becca could imagine his grudging tone. “She’s all yours.”

He nodded to the Enforcers holding Becca. They released her as two of the guards took hold of her arms. The guards formed a circle around Becca as they drew her forward, until she couldn’t see anything but their bodies surrounding her, couldn’t breathe anything but the stale sweat of their uniforms.

In a motion so smooth it seemed rehearsed, the Enforcers turned around. Their feet pounded the floor in unison as they strode away.

The guard who had spoken before gave a grunt of satisfaction. “That’ll teach them to think they’re better than us. It’s always the same with Enforcement. They think those fancy uniforms mean they can do no wrong. Like they’re Raleigh Dalcourt or something.” Something hard and blunt prodded Becca between her shoulder blades. “Let’s go,” he barked, as if he was afraid she would defy him.

She didn’t.

She started walking.

Murmurs surrounded her as the guards led her forward.
A thousand prisoners. Can’t wait to see her execution. Dalcourt—does that mean…
Their stares crawled along her skin. One guard extended a hand to touch her, then hastily drew it back.

She wished she were the person they saw. The person they were whispering about. That person would have the strength to withstand what was coming next.

I will hold out. I don’t have a choice.

Another turn. Another. The walls pressed in around her as she traveled deeper into the maze. As every interrogation she had ever transcribed replayed behind her eyes.

And then they stopped.

The door looked identical to all the others—flat metal, windowless, marked only by a number stenciled in black.

But Becca knew what was waiting for her on the other side.

One of the guards slid a keycard into the reader next to the door. The light flashed green. Harsh white light poured into the hallway as the interrogation room opened its mouth to her.

I can do this.
Her thoughts sped up along with her pulse.
I can do this. I—

The guards shoved her through the door.

Three years ago, when Milo Miyamoto had gotten her arrested along with her mother, she had stepped into a room identical to this one. Concrete walls, spotless tile floor, a light above that made her squint against its brightness. Air thick with disinfectant and, lingering underneath, the metallic tang of blood. A single chair waiting in the center.

Identical to this one—except for one thing.

This time, a long metal tray stood against the far wall. A tray with tools arranged in careful rows, sharp and gleaming.

Heat drained from her hands and feet, leaving them numb. Her pulse filled her ears.

I’m ready,
she tried to tell herself. Her hands shook.

She needed to be the resistance leader again. She needed that strength, that certainty. But that person was gone. She was all that was left. Weak. Human.

So let it make you strong instead.

The ghost of Micah’s hand settled over hers. The tiniest spark of warmth.

I’ll always be right there with you.

She held on to the memory of his words, the memory of his arms around her, as she looked up to meet her interrogator’s eyes.

Lucas’s eyes.

Lucas.

He was Heather’s accomplice.

He had agreed to sacrifice innocent lives for the resistance. To torture a false confession from a stranger to save Becca.

And now he was going to get that confession from Becca instead.

They would save the resistance together.

“Rebecca Dalcourt.” His face betrayed nothing. His voice and his eyes were as cold as a stranger’s. “I hear you have information for me.”

* * *

“Becca?”

The voice sliced through Becca’s ears, dragging her up out of darkness. A low whimper escaped her throat.
No. No more. Please.

“Becca, can you hear me?”

She curled into a ball, arms and legs pulled tight against her chest, as she waited for the next blow.

Something wasn’t right.

She had moved. How had she…

The restraints.
Gone now. Her arms were free, and her legs. The chair had disappeared, leaving her lying on the floor.

No. Not the floor. Rough fabric scraped along her cheek. Bedsprings creaked beneath her.

“Talk to me, Becca. Please.”

Not Lucas’s voice.

She opened her eyes.

The room shuddered into focus around her. The concrete walls. The hard cot underneath her. The camera in the corner, dead and still, its light gone dark.

And her mother, kneeling beside the bed, white fingers clinging to the mattress.

Becca had thought she had seen her mom at her worst last night, when she had stumbled into Becca’s apartment in the aftermath of Alia’s confession. When she had admitted the fear that had haunted her for the past three years.

She had been wrong.

Her mom’s hair hung in lank tendrils around her shoulders. Her eyes were two splotches of red against her blood-drained skin. Tiny tremors ran through her body as she mouthed one word over and over. One name.
Becca. Becca. Becca.

“Mom.” She couldn’t manage more than a rough whisper. She had worn the rest away with screaming.

Her mom stilled. Her eyes brimmed over with tears as they met Becca’s.

“Becca. You’re awake.” Her mom’s voice broke with relief. “I thought they had… I thought you weren’t going to…“ She reached a trembling hand up to push a few strands of hair away from Becca’s face. “It’s all right, Becca. I’m here. It’s over now.”

“Did I…”
Did I break?
She sent her memory back, sifted through jagged fragments of pain and fear and Lucas’s voice. What was the last thing she had said to him?

“You lost consciousness.” Her mom stroked the top of Becca’s head. “The guards carried you back to your cell. They plan to continue the—” Her voice caught. “—the interrogation in a few hours.”

If her mom was here, that meant she knew everything. What Becca was. What she had done. “I’m sorry.” Her own voice sounded like it was coming from miles away. Darkness tickled at the edges of her vision.

Her mom made a pained noise in the back of her throat. “Don’t talk like that. You have no reason to—” She stopped herself. “It doesn’t matter. We can talk about it later. Right now you need to get up. Can you do that?”

“I…” Becca’s eyes began to drift shut.

“You can do this, Becca. Focus.” Her mom’s voice, sharp with urgency, cut through the haze. “We don’t have much time. I’m not supposed to be here. I bribed the guards to let me in, and used another interrogator’s codes to shut off the cameras, but someone will figure out where I am soon enough. We only have a few minutes to get you out of here.”

“To…” Her mom’s face swam in front of her as Becca blinked in confusion. “To get me…”

Her mom pressed something into her hand. A tablet, small and circular. “Take this. We use it to keep prisoners coherent during long interrogations. It should help you stay on your feet for a few hours.”

“You’re getting me out.” Her words, her thoughts, came too slowly.

“I don’t have a choice.” Her mom pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly. “I can prove your innocence. I can prove what that dissident friend of yours did. All I need is time… but if you stay here, you won’t—” A look of raw pain crossed her face. “There won’t be time.”

All Becca could do was echo her mom’s words. “Prove my innocence.”

“Your friend Heather framed you. This is what happens when you trust someone from a dissident family. She convinced someone down at Investigation that you’re responsible for the breakout.”

Her mom didn’t know.

She thought it was all a mistake. A misunderstanding.

Even now, she could only see what she wanted to see.

Her mom checked her watch. She cursed under her breath. “We have to leave.” She held out a hand to Becca. “I’ll give you all the help you need. But you have to be strong for me right now, all right? You have to get up.”

Becca didn’t move.

She doesn’t know.

Her mom laced her fingers through Becca’s. She gave Becca’s arm a soft tug. “Come on, Becca. You can do this.” Becca had never heard that note of desperation in her mom’s voice before. “Please.”

Becca pulled her hand away.

“Mom, I…” Becca shifted her arm underneath her, bracing her hand against the mattress. A jolt of pain ran through her body. Biting her lip to hold back a whimper, she pushed herself to a sitting position. “I have to tell you something.”

“Later,” her mom promised. “After we get out, we can talk as much as you want. But if we don’t leave right now, they’ll kill you, do you understand? They won’t stop the interrogations until you confess to their lies, and then they’ll…” Her words dissolved into a noise that didn’t sound quite human.

Becca couldn’t say it. She had to say it. “They’re not lies.”

Her mom frowned through her tears, uncomprehending. “Becca… they’re accusing you of orchestrating the breakout. Of leading this dissident organization.”

Becca didn’t want to look at her. But she had to. She forced herself to meet her mom’s eyes as she spoke. “I joined the resistance five years ago.” Her voice faltered.
Keep going.
“I’ve been leading it for three.”

The truth seemed to hit her mom in slow motion.

The hand she had held out to Becca fell limply to her side. She stumbled back. The confusion in her eyes faded to a hollow horror.

Becca knew the look on her mom’s face. She had seen an identical expression on the faces of countless dissidents, in every interrogation recording she had watched. The moment when the pain became more than they could endure. The moment when they finally knew all hope was lost.

Seeing her mom break hurt every bit as much as anything Lucas had done to her.

“Five years.” Her mom sounded like a ghost of herself. “I lost you five years ago, and I never knew.”

“You didn’t lose me. I’m right here. I’ve always been here.” But her words felt empty. She knew what her mom meant. In her mom’s eyes, she was the enemy now. A dissident. Something less than human.

I’m right here,
she repeated silently.
I’m Becca. I’m your daughter. I’m right here.

But her mom was looking at her like she was a stranger.

“Why?” Her mom dropped the word to the floor like a shattered piece of herself.

There were so many answers she could give.
Because Internal is killing people—killing them—for saying one wrong word, for thinking one wrong thought. Because we talk about torture and execution like it’s normal. Because people don’t know what real freedom is anymore, let alone that they should want it.

But only one answer mattered right now.

Ignoring the pain, Becca swung her legs down to the floor. She pushed herself forward an inch at a time until, with one hand to the wall, she stood.

Her vision grayed around the edges. She sank her teeth into her lip so hard she drew blood.
Keep going. Just keep going.
Panting raggedly, bracing herself against the wall, she faced her mom.

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked you why you do what you do?”

Her mom didn’t answer.

“You told me you couldn’t walk away from what needed to be done, no matter how hard it got. You told me that living by your principles was always the harder path—but that it was always the right one.”

No response.

“Every day for the past five years, I’ve woken up to fight a war I knew I could never win. I’ve given up my future. My chance of survival. I’ve watched people I care about die—people I promised to protect. But I don’t regret the sacrifices I’ve made. I took the harder path. I fought for what I believed in.”

She paused to take a breath. Sweat dripped down the wall from under her hand.

“My principles aren’t yours—I know that. You’ve fought against people like me for longer than I’ve been alive. Maybe you’ll never understand the choices I’ve made. But I hope you can at least respect that this was the only life I could have chosen. The only way I could be the person you taught me to be.”

Silence.

Her mom didn’t speak. Didn’t react. She just faced Becca with that same horrible look in her eyes. The look that said,
I don’t know you. You are not my daughter.

Tears pooled in Becca’s eyes, blurring her vision, building a merciful wall between her and her mom. But then the tears fell, and she could see clearly again. Could hear, over and over, the words her mom wasn’t speaking.

I don’t know you.

You are not my daughter.

“I love you,” Becca whispered through her tears.

Slowly, as if any wrong move could topple her, her mom turned away.

And without a word, she left.