“What is wrong with you guys?” I screamed. “Didn’t you see what the rest of us saw?”
“Jane and Dylan are androids,” Isaiah said simply. “So what? How is the school that much worse of a place? So the school lied to us—since when have they told us the truth? Are the androids killing us? No. They’re just normal students.”
Mason stepped forward. “What about Dylan?”
Isaiah’s expression was smug and confident. “Dylan killed another android, not a human. Not one of us. The school isn’t trying to kill anyone. You’re the problems.”
I stepped in front of the other guys. “Then get out of our way and we won’t be a problem anymore.”
“I can’t do that,” he said. “Now listen. Benson needs to go to detention. Anyone who tries to prevent that will also be taken to detention. Choose now.”
Something slid across the floor, past my feet and toward the Society.
A paintball grenade.
Isaiah looked up at me, smirking. “Seriously?”
I turned away just in time, before the hiss of compressed air.
The Society erupted in chaos as the stench of pepper and alcohol filled the narrow hall. Paintballs were flying over my head and people were screaming—Hector and Joel had jumped out of their rooms and were firing paint at the Society’s unprotected faces.
“Run,” I shouted, and the seven of us charged past our scattering attackers, covering our noses and mouths.
Hector hurled another of my pepper spray grenades down the Society’s corridor as we passed. Curtis joined us, followed by a handful of Havoc guys. Oakland was with him.
“Where is everyone else?” I shouted.
“Not coming.”
We hit the door, only to find it locked, and our chips wouldn’t open it.
“Get back,” Curtis ordered, and then kicked. It held firm.
He kicked again, his foot hitting right next to the doorknob. There was a splintering sound.
“Come on, Hector,” he said. “One, two, three—”
They both kicked, and the door flung wide open with a sharp crack.
There were thirteen of us—eight V’s and five from Havoc—and we charged down the stairs. We were completely outnumbered and outgunned. The doors were locked and we didn’t have any supplies to hike out, if we could even get over the wall.
I called Becky on the radio while we ran. “Where are you?”
There was no answer.
“Becky,” I shouted. “Where are you?”
“Basement,” Curtis said, breathing heavily. “If they’re trying to save Rosa, they’ll be in the basement.”
We hit the first-floor foyer. A few students—Havoc girls—stood against the wall, watching, and Oakland barked at them to follow us. The polished marble was slick, and I slid as I rounded the corner, running for the stairwell to the basement.
“There are three different ways down,” Curtis said. “We won’t get cornered.”
I knew that was optimistic. They’d have the high ground, and whether they were armed with paintball guns or pepper spray or just clubs, it would be a nightmare getting out.
We skidded around another corner, ready to jump down the stairs, only to find the girls standing at the top.
Becky was seething, her eyes red but dry. “She’s gone. We were too late.”
“What?”
Carrie ran forward and grabbed Curtis in a hug.
“What can we do?” I asked. We’d failed.
“Nothing,” Becky said. “There’s no button like on an elevator. You just put her in, and the school takes her. The room is empty.”
Everyone stood, stunned and silent. Only the distant sound of the pursuing Society guys shook us back to life.
“Where are Isaiah’s girls?” Oakland asked.
“Still down there,” Gabby answered. There were a few Havoc girls here, but Mouse wasn’t one of them. She must not have come.
“We need to go,” Curtis said. “Now.”
“Where are we going?” Anna asked, obviously frightened.
“Over the wall,” he said. “And if you don’t want to, go now. We don’t have time to debate.”
Curtis began running, and we followed. The doors were locked—we knew that—so now we just needed to find the easiest one to break. Curtis seemed to have the same idea I had. He ran for the back of the school, to the door that had been broken earlier that morning.
Isaiah was there ahead of us, his group of thugs spread to each side. They were all splattered with paint on their chests and face, and one had blood dripping from his swollen eye.
There was nothing smug about Isaiah now, who had a massive welt of his own on the side of his neck. His face was red and splotchy, his eyes still watering from the pepper spray.
“Let us out,” I said. “What does it hurt you?”
“What does it hurt me?” he yelled. He was shouting at the group, fiery and animated. “What were things like before Benson showed up? We had parties and dances and went to class. These robots didn’t change that. It was Benson!”
I felt a hand slip into mine. Becky.
“We can go back to that,” Isaiah bellowed, “or you can die. Those are your only choices. Because make no mistake: If you cross that wall, you’re dead. And it has nothing to do with me.”
Oakland stepped forward, and I noticed for the first time that he was holding a long knife—at least twelve inches. It looked like a machete but had to have come from the kitchen.
Isaiah’s eyes were growing increasingly wild. “It’s all about cost and benefit with you people, isn’t it?” he shouted. “You know that some of you will die, but it’s worth it because some are going to live. That’s a stupid, selfish idea. You all plan to be the ones who live. It’s easy to write off the others, because you tell yourself that it won’t be you.”
“You could come with us,” Curtis said, trying to stay calm.
“Or I could stay right here and live!”
I glanced behind us. The Society girls were back there, and they were armed, too.
“Or,” Isaiah screeched, “maybe cost and benefit is the way to go.” From the back of his pants he whipped out a pistol.
A .38, semiautomatic.
“How many of you do I need to shoot to stop you from leaving? It’ll be fewer than will die out there.”
The hall was dead silent. Finally Curtis spoke. “Where did you get the gun, Isaiah?”
Isaiah swung the pistol around and pointed it at Curtis. “How many V’s have died, Curtis? It seems to happen every week.” He aimed now at Oakland. “How many in Havoc?”
Oakland snarled. “You don’t scare me.”
“That’s the problem!” Isaiah screamed. “You’re staring down the barrel of a gun and you’re not scared! That’s why you idiots get killed. The Society doesn’t get sent to detention. And we don’t die in the forest.”
Curtis took a step forward. “Give me the gun, Isaiah.”
Isaiah stared back. Sweat was dripping down his face.
“No.” He pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed in slow motion, sounding like a thunderclap in the marble hallway. Curtis fell to one knee, clutching his hip, and then slid all the way down to the floor.