Rise (21 page)

She rubbed her hands over her face, letting out a low breath.

“Quinn was the only one who defended us. Tell me you didn't say that—tell me it's not true.”

“No, I said it,” she admitted. “I did.”

“If you report any of the girls here, I will make—”

“I said
if
,” Maeve interrupted. “It was always an
if
. I never wanted to use you against the King. I just said that if I had to, if he put pressure on us to turn you over to the army, I would use it to our advantage.”

“I thought you were supposed to protect the settlement,” I said, “not give its residents over whenever there's a threat.”

She turned away from me, grabbing a few bottles from the table and shoving them back into a cabinet. “At that point, what choice would I have?”

I heard the hollow sound of footsteps on the stairs. When I turned, Lilac was standing against the doorframe, her hair tied back with a purple scarf. She wiped the sleep from her eyes. “Did you find her?” she asked.

Maeve plucked the doll from the kitchen table, glancing sideways at me before pressing it into Lilac's arms. “Here she is. Like I promised,” she said, her hand resting on Lilac's back. “You must've dropped her while you were playing on the path.” Even in the dim lantern light I could make out the creases across Lilac's cheeks, imprints from the crumpled sheets. Her lips puttered as she let out one long breath, her face giving in to exhaustion.

“Come on,” Maeve said softly, hooking her arm beneath the girl's knees. She scooped her up in one swift motion and climbed the stairs.

Lilac's head rested easily in the crook of Maeve's neck, her cheek pressing against Maeve's shirt. There was something about the girl's tired face, the way her dark lashes curled up at the ends, how her fist swiped at her nose, trying to keep away an itch. It had been so long since I'd seen them together, I'd forgotten how Maeve softened in Lilac's presence. She seemed calmer, more herself, easily moving through the quiet of the old house.

I listened to them somewhere above, the bedsprings creaking as Lilac climbed back into the bunk. I wondered if I would ever have that sense of calm, that comfort with my child, knowing that my father was still out there hunting me. He wouldn't give up on finding us, I knew that, even now.

There were a few glass jars filled with nuts on the kitchen table. There couldn't have been more than five handfuls in each. I found myself counting them, imagining how long I could make them last if I was back out in the wild (twenty days). I started tracing the time it would take to get back to the City, calculating how long it would be by foot, by horse, with the help of a stolen vehicle. I could be there in three days' time, at best.

No matter how many troops were brought from the colonies, no matter who was leading them, they wouldn't succeed if my father was still alive. He was at the center of everything inside the City. From what Quinn had said, his power had only grown since the siege. There seemed no way around it—I could sit here and wait, hoping that things would be different, or I could act. If the colonies came to the City, I could be an ally to them, one of the few rebels who knew the workings of the Palace.

By the time Maeve made her way back downstairs I'd decided. There wasn't anything for me to do in Califia except wait: Wait for the soldiers to track me here, wait to see if Maeve would give me up. Wait for news of another siege and another failure. Wait for my father to come for my child.

“I'm going back,” I said.

Maeve paused in the doorway, her head tilted to one side. “If you're trying to punish me for—”

“It doesn't have to do with you,” I said. “It has to do with him.”

Maeve collected a few more jars from the table, working quickly as she set them in another cabinet. She spun around, watching me as she wiped her hands on the front of her tattered pants. “You should stay a few more days,” she said. “Rest. Recover.” Her eyes fell to my midsection. I pulled my sweater tighter, covering it.

“I have to leave soon,” I said. “Before I can't anymore.”

“Who else knows?”

“I haven't told the girls yet,” I said. “But Quinn, Ruby, and Clara know. Beatrice, too.”

She stared down at the table, picking up a few cans and one of the lanterns. Then she started out the back door, nodding for me to follow. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The gray sky shed a dull, uneven light through the woods, making it hard to see Maeve just a few steps ahead. She moved easily over the broken path, using the low tree limbs to help her along. She darted around to the small structure that stood a few yards into the forest. “Over here,” she said. A flashlight went on up ahead, the beam marking my way over the jagged stones.

I recognized the shed from the months I'd spent living in her house. It was well hidden behind an overgrown hedge. Maeve pulled the door from its rusty hinges, then held the lantern up, gesturing me inside.

The small room smelled of gasoline. I noticed the metal containers that lined the walls—the same ones I'd seen in the storehouse with the boys. Two motorbikes sat in the center, propped up on one leg, the sides showing little sign of rust. “We keep these in case of emergencies,” Maeve said. “It should be able to get you a few hundred miles, maybe more.”

She rolled the bike forward, passing me the handlebars. The weight of the thing startled me. “Why are you going back?” she asked.

“The colonies don't have a chance unless they target the King directly,” I said, pushing the bike alongside me, until I was back outside. Maeve followed, bringing two of the smaller containers of gasoline. The flashlight beam fell on the dirt path. I could hardly see her in the dark. I could hear only the steady, quiet sound of her breathing. “Besides, he's going to come for me eventually. Isis was right—he won't stop until he finds me. Especially not now.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

I held tight to the bike, my hands slippery on the grips. I didn't know if I could, or how, but the idea kept insisting itself. “I have to kill my father.”

Her face softened as she gave me a resolute nod. “Good luck.”

I met her eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you.” With that I turned, keeping the bike in front of me as I started back toward the main road.

“WHAT'S THE POINT IN GOING NOW?” CLARA ASKED, SETTING
her hands on top of mine. Her palms were cold and damp, the feel of them startling me. “Their efforts are still focused inside the City. You still have a few months.”

“What then?” I asked. “Am I supposed to wait until I have a child, then go into hiding? He can have me killed, but the thought of him taking her . . .”

Beatrice sat on one arm of the couch. Whenever the girls came to the door she hurried them away, then resumed her position, legs crossed at the ankles, her head slightly turned as she listened.

Clara rubbed her face with both hands. “We won't let him take her,” she said. “You're better off here. What are you going to do? Go back to the Palace and threaten him? Even if you do make it there, every soldier knows who you are—they know what you've done.”

I turned, studying the side of Beatrice's face. She was silent. Behind her, Quinn and Ruby sat at the kitchen table. Ruby's eyes were red and watery, her fingers carefully pulling threads from a tattered napkin. “You know him, Beatrice, you've seen it,” I said. “As soon as he can, he'll bring me back to the City.”

“Then we'll come with you,” Quinn said. “If you have to do this, let us help.”

I stared at the pack beside my feet. Maeve had given me the bulk of the supplies, showing me how to steer the bike, how to load it so the weight was even on both sides. Out of all the women in the settlement, she'd been the least resistant to my leaving, and that felt like a subtle confirmation I was right. However dangerous it was, if I didn't return to the City now. He would come for me later—when I had a child who depended on me. When I was no longer alone.

I sat back, letting my hand fall to my stomach, imagining just what my mother had felt for me. How many times had she told me she loved me in those letters, in the way she combed my hair, carefully pinning each tiny curl back behind my ears? She had let me go, pressing me into the arms of a stranger, sending me away so I had a chance. But I was only beginning to know it now, in the midst of my own pregnancy, to understand what she'd felt. How all-consuming it was to love someone like this. Soon there would be this other person to protect. How could I bring her into this world, knowing she could be so easily taken from it? What kind of life would that be?

I shook my head, steeling myself against Quinn's words. “This is why I was going to leave last night—this is something I have to finish alone. I don't want anyone else to be in danger because of me. You heard it yourself, you know what's happening in the Palace.”

“He'll have you executed,” Clara said. “You have to know that.”

I stood, pulling the pack over my shoulder. “That's why I have to find him first. There is no second-in-command. The Lieutenant doesn't hold the same power my father does. If he's gone, it'll be easier once the colonies arrive. They'll have a real chance at taking the City.”

Clara's hand came down on my arm, but I pulled her into a hug, burying my face in the soft mess of her hair. “I'll be back in less than two weeks,” I said. “I promise.” I let the words hang there between us, as if saying them could make them true.

Ruby came to my side, her face as I'd never seen it at School. She pressed her fingers to her eyes, but they were still swollen and pink. Soon I was surrounded, Quinn, Ruby, and Beatrice, whispering to be safe, to send word through the radio if something happened along the way. “You have to come back,” Ruby kept repeating. “You have to.”

Outside, the gulls cried as they circled the bay. Some of the girls were coming up the dock, laughing as they ran. The pack felt heavier than it did when I had put it on just hours before. My hand went to my stomach, smoothing down my sweater to cover it.

“I will,” I said, when I finally pulled away. “I will.”

IT TOOK ME THREE DAYS TO REACH THE TUNNEL. ONCE I
adjusted to the bike, the miles went quickly, and I got better at weaving through abandoned cars, keeping on side roads to avoid being seen. I still had some of the supplies Maeve had packed, the dried meats and nuts slowly dwindling with each day. I knew what I was doing was right, that I had to go back inside the walls again. But as I pulled up to the abandoned buildings outside the City, a white pillar of smoke rose up over the stone wall. The air smelled of burned plastic, the sick, stinging scent enough to make my lungs seize.

The building was up ahead, a dilapidated school with a bent flagpole and faded green walls. Maeve had gotten the location from one of the earlier messages from the Trail. People were instructed not to write the address down, so I'd memorized it.
7351 North Campbell Road
, I repeated to myself, as I had a hundred times in the last few days. I scanned the worn map I had, checking street signs to be certain.

I passed an abandoned playground, the metal swings clanking together whenever the wind came through. I kept my headlight off and stayed close to the edge of the building, trying to keep the watchtower out of sight. One of the side doors was smashed in. I walked the bike through the broken frame, the stench hitting me first. I'd remembered it from the plague, the wet rot of dead bodies. As I started down the hall toward the room marked 198, I saw the shadow of a man, lying facedown, several yards ahead.

I held my breath, covering my face with my sweater as I ducked into the room. Blood was smeared across the floor. Short wooden desks were overturned, piled on top of one another. Simple sentences were still printed on the far wall:
The party was fun. My mother smiled. The sky is blue.
I moved to the back closet, the third one in from the windows, as Maeve had described. There was a three-foot-wide hole in the floor. I listened, trying to decipher footsteps. Everything was quiet and still.

I lowered myself down, into the blackness, clutching the sides with both hands. When I hit the ground I fumbled with the flashlight Maeve had given me, finally turning it on. The beam flew ahead, illuminating the tunnel. Mud came over the soles of my boots. There was more blood, some of it dried on the wall. A jacket, the red band still tied around the sleeve, was crumpled on the floor.

I turned the corner, seeing for the first time how the walls changed, the mud giving way to the remnants of the old concrete flood tunnels. The corridor widened in places, until it was several feet across. A red cloth had been tied to a pipe snaking out of the ceiling, marking the threshold when I crossed inside the City. When I neared the end, I saw a figure huddled on the ground, tending to a wound on his leg. It looked as though he'd been hiding there for weeks, a bunch of cans scattered by his feet. He raised his gun, aiming at me, and I froze, the flashlight unsteady in my hand.

“I'm just trying to pass through,” I said. “I'm with the rebels.”

He squinted against the light, then lowered his weapon. “As soon as you get out, go east,” he said. He set the gun down and resumed changing a fabric bandage on his leg. “There's a government barricade to the west, just three blocks away.”

He went back to his work, wincing as he knotted the strip. He didn't say anything else, instead digging through his supplies, pulling out corked bottles of water. “Thanks,” I said as I started back down the tunnel, where the ceiling broke open, revealing a dank room. I climbed into the small walk-in closet, setting the thin carpet back over the opening, along with an empty cardboard box that had been pushed into the corner.

Inside, the first-story apartment was dark. I could make out the ripped couch on its side and a moldy, half-eaten sandwich on the kitchen table, casually sitting there, as if someone had left abruptly and never came back. The front window was shattered in the corner, making it hard to see through.