Champion

“I don’t know,” Anden replies grimly. “The Armor is strong, but we can’t fight a superpower for long.”

“So what do we do now?” June says. “If we can’t hold them off alone, then are we just going to lose this war?”

Anden shakes his head. “We need help too. I’m going to get us an audience with the United Nations or with Antarctica, see whether they’re willing to step up to the plate. They might buy us enough time for . . .” He glances at my brother, quiet and calm beside me. A stab of guilt and rage hits me. I narrow my eyes at Anden—my hand clamps tighter on my brother’s arm. Eden shouldn’t have to be in the middle of this. I shouldn’t have to choose between losing my brother and losing this damn country.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” I say.

As he and June launch into an in-depth conversation about Antarctica, I look back at the room where Tess and the Patriots are being held. Through the window, I can see Tess tending carefully to the girl with the bleeding shoulder while the soldiers look on with uneasy expressions. Don’t know why all those trained killers should be scared of a little girl armed with a handful of bandages and rubbing alcohol. I shiver as I think of the way Anden ordered those accused soldiers out of the bunker and killed. Pascao looks frustrated, and for a moment, he meets my stare through the glass. Even though he doesn’t move his mouth, I can tell what he’s thinking.

He knows that trapping the Patriots inside a room during the middle of a battle, while civilians and soldiers alike are getting killed aboveground, is a total goddy waste.

“Elector,” I suddenly say, turning back to face Anden and June. He pauses to stare at me. “Let them out of this bunker.” When Anden stays silent, compelling me to go on, I add, “They can help your effort up there. I bet they can play the guerrilla game better than any of your soldiers, and since you won’t be evacuating the poor sectors for a while, you might need all the help you can get.”

June doesn’t say anything about my little jab, but Anden folds his arms across his chest. “Day, I pardoned the Patriots as part of our original deal—but I haven’t forgotten about my difficult history with them. While I don’t want to see your friends shackled like prisoners, I have no reason to believe that they’ll now help a country that they have terrorized for so long.”

“They’re harmless,” I insist. “They have no reason to fight against the Republic.”

“Three death-row prisoners just escaped,” Anden snaps. “The Colonies have launched a surprise attack on our capital. And now my would-be assassins are sitting a dozen yards from me. I’m not in the most forgiving mood.”

“I’m trying to help you,” I fire back. “You just caught your traitors, anyway, didn’t you? Do you really think the Patriots had anything to do with Commander Jameson’s escape? Especially when she threw them to the dogs? Do you think I like the idea that my mother’s killers are on the loose now? Unleash the Patriots, and they’ll fight for you.”

Anden narrows his eyes. “What makes you think they’re so loyal to the Republic?”

“Let me lead them,” I say. Eden jerks his head up at me in surprise. “And you’ll get your loyalty.” June shoots me a warning glare—I take a deep breath, swallow my frustration, and will myself to calm down. She’s right. No point getting angry at Anden if I need him on my side. “Please,” I add in a lower voice. “Let me help. You have to trust someone. Don’t just leave people out there to die.”

Anden studies my face for a long moment, and with a chill, I realize how much he looks like his father. The similarity is only there for an instant, though—and then it vanishes, replaced by Anden’s serious, concerned gaze. As if he suddenly remembers who we are. He sighs deeply and tightens his lips. “Let me know what your plan is,” he finally says. “And we’ll see. In the meantime, I suggest you get your brother on a subway.” When he sees my expression, he adds, “He’ll be safe until you join him. You have my word.”

Then he turns away and motions for June to accompany him. I let my breath out as I watch a soldier lead him and June toward a cluster of generals. June looks over her shoulder at me as they go. I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. She’s worried about what this war is doing to Anden. What it’s doing to all of us.

Lucy interrupts my thoughts. “Perhaps we should get your brother on the evacuation train,” she says. She gives me a sympathetic look.

“Right.” I look down at Eden and pat his shoulder. I try my best to have faith in the Elector’s promise. “Let’s head over to the train and get the details on how to get you out of here.”

“What about you?” Eden asks. “Are you really going to lead some kind of assault?”

“I’ll meet up with you in Los Angeles. I swear.”

Eden doesn’t make a sound as we make our way over to the train platform and let the soldiers escort us toward the front. His expression has grown serious and sullen. When we’re finally in front of the train’s closed glass door, I bend to his eye level. “Look—I’m sorry I’m not going with you right away. I need to stay here and help, yeah? Lucy’s got you. She’ll keep you safe. I’ll join up with you soon—”

“Yeah, fine,” Eden grumbles.

“Oh.” I clear my throat. Eden is sickly and tech-minded and occasionally obnoxious, but he’s rarely angry like this. Even after his blindness, he’s stayed optimistic. So his bluntness throws me off. “Well, that’s good,” I decide to respond. “I’m glad you’re—”

“You’re hiding something from me, Daniel,” he interrupts. “I can tell. What is it?”

I pause. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Eden pulls himself out of my grasp and frowns. “Something’s up. I could hear it in the Elector’s voice, and then you said that weird thing to me the other day, about how you were afraid the Republic’s soldiers would come knocking on our door . . . Why would they do that all of a sudden? I thought everything was fine now.”

I sigh and bow my head. Eden’s eyes soften a little, but his jaw stays firm. “What is it?” he repeats.

He’s eleven years old. He deserves to know the truth.

“The Republic wants you back for experimentation,” I reply, keeping my voice low so that only he can hear me. “There’s a virus spreading in the Colonies. They think you have the antidote in your blood. They want to take you to the labs.”

Eden stares in my direction for a long, silent moment. Above us, another dull thud shakes the earth. I wonder how well the Armor’s holding up. Seconds drag by. Finally, I put a hand on his arm. “I won’t let them take you away,” I say, trying to reassure him. “Okay? You’re going to be fine. Anden—the Elector—knows that he can’t take you away without risking a revolution among the people. He can’t do it without my permission.”

“All those people in the Colonies are going to die, aren’t they?” Eden mutters under his breath. “The ones with the virus?”

I hesitate. I never asked much about exactly what the plague’s symptoms were—I stopped listening the instant they mentioned my brother. “I don’t know,” I confess.

“And then they’re going to spread it to the Republic.” Eden turns his head down and wrings his hands together. “Maybe they’re spreading it right now. If they take over the capital, the disease will spread. Won’t it?”

“I don’t know,” I repeat.

Eden’s eyes search my face. Even though he’s nearly blind, I can see the unhappiness in them. “You don’t have to make all my decisions, you know.”

“I didn’t think I was. Don’t you want to evacuate to LA? It’s safer there, and I told you—I’ll catch up with you there. I promise.”

“No, not that. Why’d you decide to keep this a secret?”

This is why he’s upset? “You’re kidding, right?”

“Why?” Eden presses.

“You would’ve agreed?” I move closer to him, then glance around at the soldiers and evacuees and lower my voice. “I know I declared my support for Anden, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what the Republic did to our family. To you. When I watched you get sick, when the plague patrols came to our door and dragged you out on that gurney, with blood blackening your eyes . . .” I pause, close my eyes, and shut the scene out. I’ve played it in my head a million times; no need to revisit it again. The memory makes the pain flare up at the back of my head.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Eden fires back in a low, defiant voice. “You’re my brother, not our mom.”

I narrow my eyes. “I am now.”

“No, you’re not. Mom’s dead.” Eden takes a deep breath. “I remember what the Republic did to us. Of course I do. But the Colonies are invading. I want to help.”

I can’t believe Eden’s telling me this. He doesn’t understand the lengths the Republic will go to—has he really forgotten their experiments? I lean forward and put my hand on his tiny wrist. “It could kill you. Do you realize that? And they might not even find a cure using your blood.”

Eden pulls away from me again. “It’s my decision to make. Not yours.”

His words echo June’s from earlier. “Fine,” I snap. “Then what’s your decision, kid?”

He steels himself. “Maybe I want to help.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You want to help them out? Are you just doing that to go against what I’m saying?”

“I’m serious.”

A lump rises in my throat. “Eden,” I begin, “we’ve lost Mom and John. Dad is gone. You’re all I have left. I can’t afford to lose you too. Everything I’ve done so far, I’ve done for you. I’m not letting you risk your life to save the Republic—or the Colonies.”

The defiance fades from Eden’s eyes. He props his arms up on the railing and leans his head against his hands. “If there’s one thing I know about you,” he says, “it’s that you’re not selfish.”

I pause. Selfish. I am selfish—I want Eden to stay protected, out of harm’s way, and screw whatever he thinks about that. But at his words, my guilt bubbles up. How many times had John tried to keep me out of trouble? How many times had he warned me against messing with the Republic, or trying to find a cure for Eden? I had never listened, and I don’t regret it. Eden stares at me with sightless eyes, a disability the Republic handed to him. And now he’s offering himself up, a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter, and I can’t understand why.

No. I do understand. He is me—he’s doing what I would’ve done.