“The rebellion is real, Cia.” Though Zeen keeps his voice quiet, I can hear the anger, outrage, and disbelief bubbling below the surface. “Don’t you think I’d know if it wasn’t? These people are ready to fight in order to bring change.”
“I know they are. That’s what Dr. Barnes and Symon want them to do.”
“Cia, that can’t be true. I talked to Ranetta and Symon. Symon—”
“Killed Michal. You can’t trust Symon.” I’m not sure about Ranetta. “Michal did, and he’s dead.” Once again panic simmers inside me. Zeen has to believe. “Symon’s job is to make sure that the rebels fail. If the president loses the Debate Chamber vote and the rebels attack, Dr. Barnes and Symon will have Safety and Security teams waiting. They’ll say it is the only way to keep the rest of the city safe. If we don’t do something, the rebellion will fail. More people will die.”
“Wait. If you’re right . . .” Zeen takes a deep breath. When he speaks again, his voice is barely a whisper, but filled with conviction. “You have to get out of Tosu City.”
“I can’t. There are reasons.” The bracelet on my wrist. My friends who would be left behind. Zeen, who is in the middle of the rebels Dr. Barnes intends to kill. The last is the only thing I know how to fix. “Zeen, you should go. There are lots of buildings that aren’t used very often here on campus. You could hide in one of them.”
“No one is supposed to leave camp without a direct order from Symon or Ranetta.”
Ranetta. A woman I have never met or seen. When Michal explained the divide in the rebellion—one faction that pushed for a peaceful resolution and the other that, impatient with the delays, urged war—he said Ranetta was the leader of the latter. She must have once followed Symon’s methods as all the rebels did. If she opposes them now, could she be an ally? If Zeen could talk to her . . .
No. While Zeen is smart, when his emotions are engaged he often reacts before thinking things through. He hasn’t been part of the rebellion long enough to understand the dynamics and effectively gauge who can be trusted. Who knows if anyone can be? Michal thought Symon could be trusted. So did I. Besides, Zeen didn’t go through The Testing. He doesn’t understand what it is like or how terrible it truly is. This isn’t his fight. He needs to get out.
“You could escape without them seeing you.” The camp the rebels are using was an air force base before being hit by a vector tornado. The destruction was so great that the Commonwealth Government abandoned any hope of revitalizing the area. But while the land is not healthy, trees have grown. Some plants have thrived. If anyone can navigate the unrevitalized landscape and hide from those who pursue him, it will be my brother.
“Maybe. And I might have to if things go the way you say. But not yet. I’m here. I might be able to learn something useful. People expect the new guy to ask questions. I just have to figure out what kinds of answers we need. If there’s a chance . . .”
I wait for Zeen to continue, but there is only silence. My heart pounds as I look at the Communicator in my hand. Zeen must have heard someone approaching. Did he stop talking in time or was he overheard? I wait for Zeen to give me a sign. Something to tell me that he is safe.
The minutes pass slowly. One. Five. Ten. The clock taunts me. My worry grows with each passing moment. Silently, I clutch the device in my hands and will my brother to be okay. My bringing Michal those recordings prompted his death. I can’t lose Zeen, too. If I do, it will be one more person who died because of my actions. Part of me wants to go find Tomas. He was with me last night when I first spotted Zeen in the rebel camp. He’ll want to help. But as much as I want to wrap my arms around Tomas and rely on him, I know there is little he can do. That either of us can. As University students, we have almost no control of the world around us.
But there is someone who should be able to help me. Michal might not have been certain we could trust her, but I don’t see a choice. Not anymore. Zeen is in the middle of a rebellion that is ready to take up arms against Dr. Barnes and his supporters. The Testing will soon select the next round of candidates. More than a hundred students could once again be pushed into decisions that could end lives, whether their own or others’. And if my role in Damone’s death is discovered, I will no longer be able to take any action at all. I will be dead. The fate of too many people is at stake for me to believe I can fix what is broken. I am not one of the country’s leaders. The president is. This is her job. Not mine.
I have to convince her to help.
I pull on a pair of brown pants I acquired after arriving in Tosu City and a fitted yellow tunic adorned with silver buttons. I clean my comfortable but worn boots to make them as presentable as I can. Most days I pull my hair into a tight knot at the nape of my neck. Today, I take special care to brush it until it shines before braiding it in a style that my father lamented made me look like a young woman instead of his little girl. I hope he was right. In order for my plan to succeed, I need the president to see me as more than a University student. She has to see a woman.
Then I roll the bloody clothes I was wearing yesterday into a tight ball and shove them into my bag. There is no removing Damone’s blood from these garments. While I rarely have people in my room, I do not want to risk someone seeing the clothes. I need to get rid of them.
I reach under the mattress and pull out a small handgun given to me by Raffe. The weight in my hand feels insignificant compared to the weight in my chest. Guns are used in Five Lakes. I learned to discharge a shotgun at an early age, and Daileen’s father taught us to fire his handgun around the same time I learned how to multiply and divide. My father’s job required us to live near where he worked, which meant living close to the unrevitalized land where meat-seeking wolves and other, mutated creatures roamed. More than once I have injured or killed an animal intent on attack. But if this gun is fired it will not be at an animal looking for food. After shoving the Transit Communicator into my bag, I slide the bag’s strap onto my shoulder and walk out the door, careful to lock it behind me.