Rise (25 page)

“There will be a place for you as well,” Arden said. “And Charles. He's been invaluable in accessing your father's files inside the City. The rebels said none of the others would help with the transition.”

In the days after the rebels established control, I'd been deposed, giving a long account of the events leading up to my father's death, including the days I'd spent in the wild. I'd given a detailed account of Moss's death, though his body still had not been recovered. They suspected he'd been buried in one of the mass graves near the south end of the wall. An exact number had never been confirmed, but they believed several thousand died in the initial siege and the violence that followed.

As Arden started toward the door, I stood, the sudden movement rooting me in place. I rested my hand on my stomach, which was so swollen now I could no longer hide it beneath my shirt.

“What is it?” Arden asked, taking a few steps toward me, quickly closing the gap between us.

I pressed my palm to the spot where I'd felt it, waiting for the swift, sudden movement to come again. I'd noticed a strange, fluttering feeling before, but it had passed quickly.

“I think I felt her.” It was a subtle tensing, almost like a muscle spasm, so quick I wondered if I imagined it.

Arden stood beside me, frozen, her hands outstretched but not taking my own. She seemed uncertain as she studied me. I kept my fingers right below my belly button, and the tensing came again. I started laughing, the strangeness of it startling me.

“Eve,” Arden said, this time folding my hand in hers. I could see it in her face, feel it in the way her fingers squeezed mine. Since I'd told her what happened to Pip she'd grown more concerned, watching me closely in the weeks following her arrival. “Are you all right?”

I looked around the room, seeing it as if for the first time. The bed that was only mine, Caleb's T-shirt pressed beneath the pillow. The door that had no keypad beside it, no code or lock to keep me inside. Even the City looked different now, the sky outside the plate-glass window a clear, unadulterated blue.

“I'm fine,” I said, letting my hand slip from my stomach, feeling as if that was genuinely true. “We both are.”

MORE GIRLS FILED OFF THE TRUCKS, A LONG LINE OF THEM
, clutching their packs to their chests, some holding hands. It was the second wave of refugees from the Schools, coming nearly twelve hours after the first.

“Single file,” one of the volunteers called out. She stood in the front entrance of the Mandalay apartments, directing the girls inside. I wandered through the empty lobby, half in a daze. It was nearly one in the morning, and I hadn't slept since the night before.

“Which one is this?” a volunteer asked, starting toward me. I recognized her as one of the workers from the adoption centers. Her short blue jumper gave her away.

“A School in northern California,” I said. “Thirty-three.” She watched me, expecting me to go on, but my thoughts had already drifted back to Clara and Beatrice. I'd been waiting for them, half hoping they'd be among this group. Califia had sent word that several women were returning to the City once they reached one of the liberated Schools. Trucks had been dispatched to collect them, along with Benny and Silas. They had to be a few hours away, no more.

I turned to go, but the woman still stood there, studying me. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm a bit distracted.”

“Weren't you saying you were looking for boys from the Lake Tahoe area?” she asked, her face softening. “I heard that they just brought new survivors in. They've all been set up in the MGM.”

I scanned the lobby, trying to orient myself amid the chaos. It had been assumed the boys from the dugout hadn't made it through the initial siege. None of the doctors had reported survivors from that area, and Arden had checked among the injured. Still, I started toward the exit, wanting to at least know for myself.

Two soldiers trailed behind me, whispering something I couldn't hear. I stepped out into the night. With the smoke gone, the stars were brighter than they'd been in weeks. I had thought of them—Kevin, Aaron, Michael, and Leif—wondered about them every time the trucks moved through, removing the remaining bodies from the street. How long had they been inside the City? How long had they fought? Arden had left them more than a month before, fifty miles north, when they'd continued on to the City gates.

The soldiers caught up to me, blocking me in on both sides, their hands on their guns. When I entered the front rooms of the MGM, the air was heavy with the scent of blood; it had been set up as a makeshift hospital. The lobby was now covered with cots and mattresses—anything they could find to lay the injured on. I moved through the rows, scanning each cot, looking for familiar faces.

One man's cheek was bandaged and bloody, part of his ear detached from his head. Another's arm was blown off, most likely from a grenade that detonated in his hand. Everywhere I looked people were suffering, some as young as fourteen. I moved further down, as quickly and methodically as possible, but none of the boys were here.

“You all right, miss?” one of the guards asked. “You look lost.”

“I'm looking for survivors from the north. Members of a rebel group from Lake Tahoe.”

The guard scanned the cots. “I've only heard of one,” he said.

Across the lobby, a doctor hovered above a man with thick, white bandages sealed over his right eye. The guard pointed to him, as if he were the one to ask. The doctor was in his fifties, his hair a mix of gray and white. He wore a plain white shirt and black slacks.

As I approached him he collected a few papers from beneath the cot, scribbling something in the margins. “They said you could help me—I'm looking for survivors from the rebel group near Lake Tahoe.”

The doctor nodded, weaving through the beds, not bothering to tell me to follow him. “I've had this young man in my care for some time now. I was ordered by the King's administration not to treat him. To leave him to die. But he's survived, and I've seen him through the last months. He hasn't regained the use of his legs, but he's in one of the rooms.”

“What is his name?” I asked, hoping that if we could identify Aaron, or Kevin, we might be able to find the others.

“Caleb Young.”

“Where?” I asked, taking off toward the corridor, not waiting for him to follow.

“The room at the end of the hall. He's with three others.” He glanced sideways at one of the guards. “Who is she?” he asked.

I didn't look back. I only looked forward, ahead, one hand on the soft mound of my stomach as I called out to them both.

“I'm his wife.”

THIS SERIES WOULDN'T BE POSSIBLE WITHOUT THE SUPPORT OF
several people. A big hug and thank-you to: Josh Bank, for a twist that changed everything; Sara Shandler, fairy godmother of publishing, who really can make dreams come true; Joelle Hobeika—editor, confidante, lunch date, hiking buddy—for her sharp edit letters, for talking through rough patches, and for knowing this series inside out; Farrin Jacobs, for her continued faith and support; and Sarah Landis, for all her invaluable insights. Endless thank-yous for championing Eve in-house.

To the entire Eve Team, who have promoted these books with love and care: my publicists at HarperCollins, Marisa Russell and Hallie Patterson, for helping make the Spring into the Future tour such a huge success; Deb Shapiro, for pitches and more; and Christina Colangelo, for all my Dark Days. A big thank-you to Kristin Marang, for those crazy weeks of marathon blogging. And to Heather Schroder at ICM, for staying up late to finish
Once
. Your enthusiasm has meant so much.

To many friends, in many cities, for boundless love and support. Special thanks to those friends and family who have read every page: Eve Carey, Christine Imbrogno, Helen Carey, Susan Smoter, Cindy Meyers, Ali Mountford, Anna Gilbert, Lauren Weisman, and Lauren Morphew. Much love to my brother, Kevin, official medical consultant and unofficial publicist. I'd be hard-pressed to find another thirty-one-year-old man as excited about this series. To my kind and democratic father, Tom, for only ensnaring me in the best of things. Thank you for not taking this book personally. And to my mother, Elaine, for believing in the unseen. Your faith has pulled me through. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Author photo by Kristin Hoebermann

ANNA CAREY
graduated from New York University and has an MFA in fiction from Brooklyn College. She lives in Los Angeles.

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Cover art by Steve Stone

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R
ISE
. Copyright © 2013 by Alloy Entertainment and Anna Carey.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Carey, Anna.

Rise / Anna Carey.—1st ed.

   p. cm.

Sequel to: Once.

Summary: “In the stunning conclusion to Anna Carey's thrilling dystopian trilogy, Eve has the fate of The New America in her hands”—Provided by publisher.

ISBN 978-0-06-204857-8 (trade)—978-0-06-226273-8 (int'l ed.)

EPub Edition February 2013 ISBN 9780062048592

[1. Insurgency—Fiction. 2. Princesses—Fiction. 3. Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. 4. Love—Fiction. 5. Science fiction.] I. Title.

13 14 15 16 17
LP/RRDH
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1