 
### Supernova

### Copyright 2012 Mia Rodriguez

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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### Dedication

For my radiant nieces, Jasmine Strasser and Eunice Rodriguez, and their beautiful children--Necalli Strasser, Alicia Chua, Celeste Chua, and Israel Ruben Rodriguez.

For my handsome nephews, Joluis Rodriguez, Hector Rivas, Alan Rodriguez, and Juaben Rodriguez.

For the truly awesome and immensely hardworking people I work with at the Dona Ana Community College--Selma Saenz, Teresa Palacios, Ms. Giron, Rocio, Miriam, and Andra.

Yanette Jimenez--you are one of the best and most giving teachers ever! I could've never made it without you. My eternal gratitude is yours. I'm in awe of you.

Joanna Alvarado--thank you for teaching me so much. Your readiness to unselfishly help and be inclusive helped me more than you'll ever know.

Irene Aguirre--you are one of the best bosses I've ever had! Your ability to inspire those around you to do their best and then some is such a gift to whoever works for you. Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea what your willingness to take a chance on me has done in my life.

Last but certainly not least--to the students at Dona Ana Community College--especially my ESL Students. You inspire me every day.

### Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Fear

Chapter 2: Rewind--The Start of The Day

Chapter 3: Abducted

Chapter 4: Stuck

Chapter 5: The Angel]

Chapter 6: Memories

Chapter 7: Spinning

Chapter 8: Waking Up

Chapter 9: Awake

Chapter 10: The Truth

Chapter 11: Star

Chapter 12: Parents

Chapter 13: The Decision

Chapter 14: The Eve Before The Journey

Chapter 15: The Goodbye

Chapter 16: Checkpoint

Chapter 17: Captured

Chapter 18: Hiding

Chapter 19: The Bear

Chapter 20: The Others

Chapter 21: Discovery

Chapter 22: The Argument

Chapter 23: Pilar

Chapter 24: The Woods

Chapter 25: The Raging River

Chapter 26: Caught

Chapter 27: The Talk]

Chapter 28: Continuing On

Chapter 29: The Colonel

Chapter 30: Falling

Chapter 31: Rain

Chapter 32: Vision

Chapter 33: The Weather

Chapter 34: Flying Whollopalooza

Chapter 35: The Getaway

Chapter 36: The Traitor

Chapter 37: The Reward

Chapter 38: Journey

Chapter 39: The Command

Chapter 40: Hiding

Chapter 41: Water

Chapter 42: Revenge

Chapter 43: The End of The Journey

### Chapter 1: Fear

Is this the way I'm going to die? I always thought my life would end because of my sickness. Never, even for a tiny second, did it cross my mind that that this could happen to me. In fact, our new United World order is rigged so that stuff like this doesn't occur. Everything is so controlled that what is happening to me is almost impossible—except here I am. Near death for sure. I only pray that it's quick and painless.

That my abductors show a little mercy.

### Chapter 2: Rewind--The Start Of The Day

Every morning I wake up to a spoon shoved in my face—a shiny silver one left from the _old_ days when human beings still used those kinds of utensils. I've never been sure why we're allowed to have it when the official eating tools for the world are plain wooden ones.

Anyway, my fake mother's grouchy eyes stare at me with the quiet disgust she hides so well as she makes me swallow the nasty, metal-tasting medicine that I have to take for life.

"Now, now," she murmurs when she sees my scrunched face. I've never been able to get used to the gross stuff. "This is saving your life, Madrigal."

I nod like I always do.

"Thank goodness for this medicine," she says with kind words that don't reach her cold eyes. "Get ready for school," she commands.

I sluggishly climb out of my small bed where I barely fit, and it automatically springs up into the wall. The shiny silver—I'm surrounded by the color--of the bottom of my bed becomes part of the wall. I can now walk through my diminutive, nondescript room. The only colors in it are white and silver. In a very miniscule corner of my brain, I _think_ I remember colorful walls and adornments, but that was a very long time ago.

A time when my real parents were alive.

Stop it! I tell myself. They're gone. They've been gone forever. I'm grateful for the strong medication coursing through me; it keeps my brain in a constant fog. I pull the silver jumpsuit, our school uniform, up over my medium sized body—I'm neither skinny nor fat, and I push a pick through my raven, wildly curly, long hair. I pull it in a severe knot on top of my head as the regulations of our school stipulate. I rarely wear my hair differently even when I'm not in class. It keeps my fake parents off my back—at least about that. I swiftly grab a banana for breakfast. My fake father's right eyebrow twitches when he sees me seize the yellow fruit.

"Madrigal!" my fake father chastises, his voice curt and as cold as his wife's.

"You've got such a pretty face," my fake mother chimes in, "You just need to lose some weight to be beautiful."

"I don't care what other people think I should look like," spills out of my mouth as I push the button that raises the front, silver-metal door up. I run out before they can say anything else.

Rushing past my perfectly manicured neighborhood of annoyingly same silver homes, perfect squares with a few windows—one after another, I practically swallow the banana just before reaching the metro. It is the only form of transportation since no vehicles are allowed except for those of the government. "Too many vehicles are bad for the environment," they tell us—the United World order—but of course, at the beginning they had said there was no such thing as climate change, insisting we didn't have to worry. Then the effects were too obvious to ignore. As I step onto the metro, I push my right hand out, palm up, and am scanned. A beeping sound of approval sounds off, and the Guardians of Order in their dark suits nod their heads at me. I'm allowed on.

I take the only empty seat. Many faces—some lit up with anticipation but most of them tired and haggard—stare out the windows, even when there's not much to look at but the metro platform. Thoughts of my morning pierce through me, bypassing my sluggish, medicine-infused brain.

_Stop getting upset,_ a masculine voice speaks low and gruff in my head like a loud whisper.

_Why do they have to always give me a hard time about what I eat?_ I ask him in my mind.

_They're morons,_ he answers.

I giggle in the silent metro, and one of the Guardians of Order snaps his perplexed eyes to me. The silver pin on his lapel of the word guardian with a balancing scale next to it shines with an ominous gleam. All government employees are called guardians in one form or another. Good propaganda. Nice name for unrelenting dictators and power hungry abusers. I pretend I've got something stuck in my throat and clear it. I'm already on his radar, so I take a textbook from my mesh, silver backpack and pretend I'm reading.

_Good save,_ Arthur tells me.

I don't even flinch anymore when Arthur knows exactly what's happening to me. Of course he knows what is going on. He can read all of my thoughts and even see them—so he says. Arthur—that is to say his voice—came to me a year after my parents died. I was seven years old, and he told me not to tell anybody, that he'd be with me from that day on. Being only a child and very lonely, I was thrilled to have an _imaginary_ friend. Even then I knew that he couldn't possibly be real. And having the kind of relationship I had with my fake parents, of course I didn't tell them a word about Arthurian—that's the name I gave him. Later I shortened his name to Arthur, _my_ Arthur. As the years went by I realized a very important thing. Even if he might be imaginary, probably due to the weird medicine I have to take, I can't live without him.

_Why are you with me?_ I asked him once.

We need each other.

You're just imaginary, right?

_Do you really think that?_ he asked, amused.

Either that or I'm crazy—completely bonkers.

_You're not crazy,_ his voice was serious again.

The medicine—

Forget the medicine.

_Are you an angel?_ That could be an explanation, I thought.

Madrigal, stop asking so many questions.

I had stopped because I was terrified he'd leave, and I'd be all alone. Thank goodness that after all these years, he's still with me. Turning the page of my History textbook, what I called the accepted fiction stories, I smile.

_Very good save,_ he repeats in my head.

Thanks for the compliment.

You're welcome.

_So how are you this morning?_ I ask him.

_As well as I can be in this United World order,_ he states with sarcasm.

_I know what you mean,_ I say, looking up from my textbook and examining the sad, robotic faces all around me.

_I don't see how our lives are better now,_ he continues.

_I don't remember much about the old life,_ I declare, _but it had to be better than this._

_It was,_ he affirms. _Earth used to be a much better place._

_I just wish my real parents were still alive,_ I say wistfully. _And that my fake parents were far away from me._

After all these years, they had never adopted me. I'm still a ward of the government. All they had been good for was to constantly criticize me while pretending to be concerned.

I want to make something very, very clear, Madrigal.

Yes?

_Don't let anything they say creep into your heart_ , he states.

It's hard to ignore them.

If anyone can bypass their cruelty it's you. You're the toughest person I know.

_I'm not tough,_ I quickly tell him.

You haven't got a clue about who you really are—about what you are.

_What am I?_ I ask.

Special.

I quickly pull down my head towards the textbook to make sure no one, especially any of the guardians, sees the warm scarlet bursting out of my face. His compliments always do this to me.

_Thank you, Arthur,_ is all I can say. It seems so small, but I can't put into words how grateful I am for him. I never get tired of telling him how thankful I am to him for always being there for me.

Know this Madrigal—really know your own power.

Who cares if he's _imaginary_ —he is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

The United World Knowledge Center, as every school is called, is a huge chrome building with equal sized rooms. All the centers of this stature are the same all over the planet except for the schools of the _others_ —that's what we're supposed to call them, and what they're supposed to call us. The _others_ are those who live in the other circumstances. They are the majority on earth and live in small wood shacks, work manually, and only associate with each other as we are supposed to only associate with those of our segment.

"This is necessary," the leaders of our one-world government tell us. They call themselves Guardians of Peace. "We have to make sure that we keep order in our lives or wars are started over petty things."

It seems to me that food and basic necessities aren't petty things but what do I know? I'm just a drugged-out seventeen-year-old in a world I'm uncomfortable and unhappy in. Still, it seems that the others have so much less than we do. We, the ones born with stupid luck, are on this side of the segment line. My fake parents work for the government and because of it, they and I live entitled lives.

The drugs in my brain start taking over and my mind gets foggy—it happens in waves—as I sit in my chair at school. As almost everything else in my part of the world, it's chrome. The United World leaders say that silver is the color of progress, so most of our surroundings are that hue.

"Hi," Andrew says shyly as he sits behind me.

"Hello," I greet back.

He is one of the few students who'll talk to me since the majority of them can't stand me. For one, I usually have a spaced out look on my face—partially because of the drugs but also because I'm counting the minutes until this charade called _learning_ is over. And for two, I don't really like being on this side of the segment line. In fact—I _hate_ it! I hate that we have privileges the _others_ don't, that we are told we are the chosen ones to lead the world or it becomes chaos like it supposedly was before the United World order. Because of these ideas woven into our heads, arrogance stinks up the school. Most students walk around with superiority complexes and ignore the janitors and cafeteria workers as if they don't exist even when they're right in front of them. Students don't cross any words with _them_ —not even thank you or please. Of course, if a teacher catches us saying anything to _them,_ we'll be in detention for a week.

I've been in detention many times.

Actually, it's not so bad being pulled out of the idiotic classes, and Arthur usually keeps me company during those times.

Believe it or not, there was a time I actually loved school. As with most of my foggy memories, I see tiny glimpses of myself happily going to kindergarten with my real mother—the one who actually loved me—before the one-world government took over. It was fun to learn—to learn new ideas and different angles to thoughts. Now, school is only about how everything goes to the perfection of the new order. Take for instance the class I'm in at the moment as I wait for it to start—History. Sure, the teacher gave us the timeline of how the United World came about, how our magnificent leaders (his word for them and not mine) created a utopia out of the mess the past humans had made. But hardly anything is said BUO—before the United World order—only about the horrible things like the many earthquakes, tsunamis, atrocities and wars that led to the frustration in human beings so acute that it paved the way for a one-world government. In fact, the new leaders insisted it was the only way to save ourselves from evil, that the new one-world system brought order.

"Back in the old days, life was about putting out one fire after another," they tell us often. "It was just a nightmare unlike the paradise we're in now."

The teacher, Mr. ZP2000, sternly starts role call when the bell rings. This is just a formality since as soon as we walked into the school—through the metal detectors—our identity was automatically ascertained. The teachers call out our names to demonstrate the power of our government over us. They know who we are and where we're supposed to be. He gets to my name—Madrigal X1147 and grimaces—most of the teachers don't like me any more than the students do. That's okay—the feeling is mutual.

A sliver of a rebel memory bursts in my head as it always does when I hear my name. There was a time I used to be Madrigal Zapata—before the leaders told us that we had to leave our monikers behind and take on letters and numbers. The populace just couldn't wrap themselves around this since names are very personal and rather than risk a revolution over what we wanted to call ourselves, the leaders conceded—one of the very few times they've ever done this. They allowed us to keep our first names while recently born babies were given the new identities along with government workers like my fake parents and teachers who were only too glad to prove their loyalty and be role models for the rest of us.

_Zapata! Zapata! That's my real last name,_ I pound into my head.

_Don't forget it,_ Arthur implores. _Never forget who you are._

The day drags as it usually does and when I finally go to lunch, I am alone at the small round table I usually sit at. Most of us get the same food, a tasteless tray of glob-like substance full of vitamins and nutrients.

"You're the leaders of tomorrow. You've got to be healthy," the government leaders tell us often. But I know this is another way to exert their control over us.

_Man, I miss my real mother's food,_ I say to myself as I capture a sliver of a memory. I slowly start eating the stuff. My medicine makes me very hungry and even this fake substance is better than a growling stomach.

Andrew, who is also alone at the table next to mine, smiles meekly at me as if he can read my thoughts. He also looks unhappy when he takes the first bite. It's really nasty stuff! Our eyes lock, his blue irises with my dark brown ones, and we smile while grimacing at our food. His expressive face and shiny blonde hair are like sunshine to me—I guess because he's the only student who shows any type of kindness towards me.

A loud ruckus is heard at the front of the cafeteria. Rolling my eyes, I know who it is without looking. Of course she can make as much noise as she wants. She's the principal's daughter, QT100. So much for the equality the leaders always talk about! QT100 and her gang jovially kid and flirt with each other, every eye in the huge room on them as if a spotlight is fixed on their smirking faces. Her boyfriend, Royce, makes a snippy remark about the stink in the cafeteria, over the food substance, as he gets his own tray. When he and QT100 and the rest of their cronies open the wrapping of their trays, they've got real food. I try to avert my eyes as they push pieces of succulent steak into their greedy mouths. When the leaders were asked about stuff like this, they said that some of us needed different kinds of nourishment.

_Yeah right! Some are more privileged than others,_ I had thought to myself.

_They think we're morons who can't think for ourselves,_ Arthur had snapped, disgusted.

They're the evil morons.

After lunch, I go to my favorite spot in the library. The old world internet is now prohibited to anyone not part of the government. No cell phones, no ipads, no kindles and etc. I know about these things through Arthur since I only have a vague memory of them. So our only avenue for information is the library—not that it's that much help because the majority of the books of the old world were burned, and all we have now are propaganda pieces of the new world.

Still, I love the library because it's quiet and private. I can sit in my anti-social corner and ignore everyone else. Starting my bogus history essay on the development of our system, I try not to gag at the lies I'm reading. I wish I didn't have to put so much junk on paper. A tree had to die so that power hungry individuals could overstuff their egos.

Before long, it's time to get to class. Ugh! The time passed much too quickly, and I wish I had a way of making it stand still. I sigh miserably. I'm so much happier when I'm alone.

As I stand up to leave, a shifting noise resonates from underneath my feet. I swiftly look down, too puzzled and surprised to move in that moment. The wooden floor boards unbelievably open, suddenly shifting apart, and I fall through the floor.

### Chapter 3: Abducted

Falling!

It happens so quickly that I don't have time to scream. I land in the arms of a waiting person who immediately puts his hand over my mouth and then another guy tapes my lips together with clear, thick tape. Fighting, scratching, and trying to escape any way I can, I'm no match for the two guys who rapidly tie my hands and legs with strong rope.

"Sorry," the one with the tawny hair and hazel eyes tells me as he sits me on the ground and pulls out a sharp knife. "But I have to do this."

_Is he going to kill me?!_ I start fighting harder but can't get myself loose.

"Can't we drug her?" the dishwater blonde asks as he looks at the bloody scratches on his arms.

"You know what our orders are."

"It would be so much easier," Blondie groans, "this one's a feisty one."

"We can't drug her. Do you understand?!"

"It would be better for her if we do it. That knife is going to be painful."

"Why are you arguing with me," Tawny growls. "We can't."

"The other one was much easier to take care of."

_The other one?_ I wonder. _Who are they talking about?_

"We have to keep her clearheaded—those are our orders," Tawny snaps.

"That Andrew was easy compared to this one. We were allowed to drug him."

Andrew? Are they talking about the Andrew I know? Did they abduct him too? Why?

"I'm sick of your complaining. Get it through your head once and for all that we can't drug Madrigal."

It's strange that they know my name, but I don't know them. Who are they?

"That knife is gonna hurt."

"It can't be helped," Tawny murmurs, "I'm so sorry, Madrigal." The sharp point digs into the flesh on my wrist. It doesn't hurt as much as I thought because of the drugs already in me. My abductor pushes out a tiny, silver microchip embedded in my skin.

"Got it," he announces as he takes it in his fingers with disdain and throws it to the ground where he smashes it with his foot.

My body contorts as much as it can with it being bound and gagged. The pain going through me is excruciating, but it's not the throbbing of my wrist that has me twisted in knots—it's the realization that a great big hope has been dashed. My captors have just destroyed the tracer that was supposed to lead the authorities to me. All the citizens of our United World have it—all except for me now. _Arthur! Arthur!_ I cry out in my head, but nothing comes back. Nothing!

I'm all alone.

"No one will be able to find her," Tawny announces, speaking the thoughts from my head aloud.

"Nope."

"We need to get going," Tawny declares. "Let's get out of here."

_Here? Where is_ _here_ _?_ I wonder, and I look around me for the first time. I'm in what seems to be a sort of a hallway under the library. The only light is an old fashioned flashlight. Blondie grabs me, and I start jostling. He groans loudly.

"You sure we can't—"

"No, George," Tawny snaps. "Just do as I say, and let's disappear."

Their faces are uncovered. I can see every freckle and mark on them, and they're not afraid of saying their names. That can't be a good thing! I fight harder.

"Stop it," George groans, "or I'm going to hi—"

"Hit her?" Tawny retorts. "You're going to hit her—especially her? Are you kidding me, George?"

"I was just trying to scare her, Peter."

"Stop playing games."

I keep struggling as the one named George helps the one named Peter carry me. They take me through a dark hallway. When the light of the flashlight goes to the walls, I see that they are dirt. In other words, a tunnel was dug underneath the library. Who would go to all of this trouble to abduct me and maybe Andrew too?

Sweat pours from them as we arrive at an opening. George kicks the shrubbery away—probably used to conceal the opening, and I see we're in the middle of the thick forest outside the school. A van is waiting—a government one. Of course, those are the only vehicles allowed, so either the leaders of the planet are kidnapping me, or these dangerous criminals stole the van. It could easily be one of the two options since our government is not beyond anything in my opinion. But what puzzles me is if it's not the guardians doing this then why would anyone risk such a daring move in a controlled society like ours? They've got to know that they are going to eventually get caught and punished with death. There's a zero tolerance for any criminal activity. Crime is practically non-existent in our United World order.

Who is abducing me?—the government or private citizens?

Either way, I am in very, _very_ deep trouble.

After being transported in a windowless van, I am blindfolded and pulled out of the vehicle where George and Peter carry me as I furiously kick and jostle. They suddenly take the wrap off my eyes, and I see I'm in some kind of a bedroom. There is nothing in the room but a brass bed and a covering for it. An old fashioned wood door is opened on one side of the room into a bathroom. I can see a bucket by the toilet. _What's the bucket for?_ I wonder.

"What do you want with me?!" I demand when the translucent tape is gently pulled off my mouth.

"Calm down, Madrigal," says Peter, his eyes deceptively kind. "Everything is okay."

I refuse to be fooled by his caring manner. "Okay?! Are you crazy! You just kidnapped me!"

"We aren't going to hurt you," mumbles George.

"And I should believe you because..."

"We haven't killed you, have we?" Peter asks, his lively hazel eyes on me.

"You may be saving me for later," I retort.

"It would've been much easier to have done it already," grumbles George, pointing to the deep-bloody scratch marks on his arms.

"What are you planning to do to me?" I demand to know, my voice betraying the enormous fear I'm feeling.

"You'll know soon enough," Peter states.

"Why are you keeping me in suspense? Just tell me," I plead angrily.

"We can't—not yet."

"Why can't—"

"I'm going to loosen the rope from your wrists, and you can unbind yourself after we're out of the room," Peter informs.

I'm left confused and rabid when they leave. After untying myself, I try the door to the outside, desperately pushing on the button next to it but nothing happens. When I try to kick it open, I practically break my foot. These new doors that come down from the ceiling are made of invincible metal. Out of desperation, I grab the green plastic bucket from the bathroom and smash it onto the steel door. It makes a lot of noise but of course, it doesn't work. The bucket breaks apart. I was hoping for a miracle but didn't get one.

I'm stuck!

For the first time I put my head in my hands and big, fat drops of water shoot out. I'm angry, scared, and unable to figure out what to do. I've never even imagined a situation like this. How could I? The leaders of our new order sold the people on a crimeless world where structure is of such priority that it makes it impossible for criminals to break the rules or even to survive. But it isn't impossible after all. Here I am! And what's worse is that I can't get a hold of Arthur. I've always been able to call him, but he's disappeared. I can always feel him in my mind when he's around. All that's left in my head is an empty void where his voice is usually at.

Where is he?

### Chapter 4: Stuck

After a gushing waterfall of hot tears, I make myself stop. _Get yourself together,_ I tell myself. If I'm to survive, I have to keep my head cool so that I take advantage of any, any, opportunity to escape. I fight the grogginess my medication inflicts on me as I survey the room I'm in. No windows, I frown. Not even one. Surprisingly, though, it is actually a pretty place—very colorful. The walls are violet, my favorite color, and the covering on the bed has pinks and purples. This is definitively not a government approved space. It jars me a bit that there is no silver anywhere. I've had it all around me for so long that it seems surreal and completely off putting that it's nowhere to be seen.

I suddenly notice that the ceiling has a beautiful mural of the universe. The art on the ceiling is intense with a world in chains while the glittering galaxy is dotted with stars. In the middle of the mural is an exploding star—a supernova.

I check every corner for anything I can use as a weapon. Nothing. The room is bare. Even the bathroom only has the basic necessities. I take the toothbrush—maybe I can find a way of using it to save myself. I hear a shifting sound, and I rush back to the bedroom just in time for the steel door to be closing again. Apparently, it was slightly opened to throw another green plastic bucket through the bottom. By the time I get to it, it's completely down and I angrily start banging the bucket on the steel. A wide, long slot opens on the door at about face level.

"Stop that!" demands Peter, parts of his face showing through the slight opening. "You're going to break it like you broke the other one."

"What do I care if I break a stupid bucket," I retort.

"You're going to need it."

"Need it?"

"I guarantee it, Madrigal."

"What for?" I ask, puzzled.

"You'll see."

"I'll see! I'll see! You keep saying that!"

"I keep saying it because it's true."

"You're a kidnapper!—why should I believe anything you tell me?!"

"I can't say too much, but you'll understand all of this later."

I let out a deep, frustrated breath. "I guess I don't have a choice but to wait for answers."

"That's right, Madrigal."

"So what's next for me?"

"Are you hungry?" he asks, his voice turning cheerful.

I wish I could tell him that I'm not going to eat until he lets me go, but my medication makes me so famished that I can hear my stomach growling. Still, I stay quiet.

His lively hazel eyes sweep over me. "Well, are you?"

"What is it to you?" I ask quietly.

"Believe it or not, your well being is very important to me, Madrigal."

"My well being?" I ask with disbelief. "You abducted me. How can you care about me?"

"You'll und—"

"Yes, yes, I'll understand later. I'm getting tired of you saying that."

His hazel eyes frown deeply while his hand sweeps over his tawny hair. For the first time I notice that Peter isn't much older than I am. He must be close to seventeen years of age. I've got to admit to myself that the guy is nice. Even when he was cutting my wrist open with a sharp knife, I could tell he was trying not to hurt me. How did he get involved in something like this?

"Madrigal, are you hungry?" he persists.

"Peter, why are you doing this?" I ask with a pleading tone. "You don't seem like a criminal."

"I'm not a petty criminal," he snaps, his voice offended.

"But you're committing a horrible crime. How can you steal a person?"

"It had to be done, Madrigal," he rushes. "We had no choice."

"How can you say that?"

"You just don't know . . ."

"Peter—"

"Madrigal," he says impatiently, "are you hungry or not? I've got lots of good food here for you."

"I don't want your food," I state, practically hating myself for uttering the words.

"Are you sure? I can hear your stomach growling even from here."

I clear my throat. "I'm sure," I squeak out.

"Okay, I'll give you the food anyway, and you can throw it in the bucket if you want."

Peter slides a tray of food through the slot. I'm about to slam it against the door when I see what it is. Tacos! My favorite meal. At least I think it's my favorite since I can barely remember my real mom making them for me. And there are pinto beans and Spanish rice too. I immediately stuff the crispy corn taco in my mouth and taste the spicy ground beef. M-m-m! It's heaven!

"Bon a petit," Peter says, laughing as he pushes a button that closes the slot on the door.

I stuff myself, eating so fast that I hardly give my stomach and intestines time to catch up. After I finish, I take a look at the tableware. The tray is a plastic beige color and the utensils are also plastic unlike the wooden ones the government has authorized except in my house where we use actual silver. I put my head in my hands feeling like a traitor to myself for pigging out on the enemy's food.

_At least now I have a fork, even if it's flimsy plastic,_ I tell myself.

Unfortunately, they hadn't given me a knife, but maybe later they'll mess up and give me one. I can only keep trying to escape. What choice do I have?

_Arthur! Arthur!_ I persist in calling him but nothing comes back. Maybe he's imaginary after all—just like my logical self always knew he was, and it took this tragic event to get him out of my system.

But I don't want him gone! Come back to me, Arthur. Please come back to me.

I curl myself in a fetal position on the floor, and the drugs in my brain take over as I groggily fight sleep in the midst of droplets of water slipping slowly from my eyes. Get it together, I tell myself over and over as I quietly doze off.

The sliding of the slot wakes me up. Peter's hazel eyes stare at me through the open space. He frowns.

"You know, Madrigal, the bed is so you can sleep on."

"The floor's okay."

"We've gone to a lot of trouble to make you comfortable."

"Comfortable?" I ask sarcastically.

"Yes, comfortable."

Then I realize why he inspires a bizarre sort of trust in me—one that I have to work against. He reminds me of someone. But who? Who could this monster who's abducted me remind me of? _Am I going crazy?_

"I'd be really _comfortable_ if you let me go," I ask hopefully.

"You know I can't do that. I wish I could, but I can't."

"Sure you can."

"Sorry, I really can't."

"But—"

"I've brought some more food for you. Again, if you're not hungry, throw it in the bucket."

"What is it?" I ask with curiosity.

He slips the tray through the slot. This time it's my second favorite meal—chicken fajitas. Rogue snippets of memory tell me that my real mom used to cook them for me with plenty of pepper and guacamole. I sigh when I realize that my abductors hadn't forgotten the avocado side dish. This whole nightmare is getting stranger by the minute.

"How did you know what my favorite food was?" I ask, baffled.

His lively hazel eyes sparkle. "We have our ways."

"Why are you seducing me with food?" I ask, my voice squeaking.

"I already told you, we're only trying to make you comfortable. I wish you'd believe me."

_I can't let my guard down,_ I tell myself. _I can't be taken in by them. They are trying to harm me, but they're grooming me for something. I have to be smarter than them. I_ _can_ _and_ _will_ _outsmart them!_

"Eat up because I doubt you'll be able to stomach much of anything for the next few days," Peter announces.

"Why do you say that?" I ask, worried.

"Just trust me on that one."

"How can I trust you?"

"You'll learn to. You'll see," he assures. "I'm not such a bad guy. I even doubled up on the portions because that's it for the night. I'm not coming back."

I don't know why what he said makes me sad. Even though he's my captor and a villain in my book, I hate the feeling of being alone in this horror story. For some reason, it's a small comfort to know that he is somewhere near.

"Bon a petit," he says for the second time that day as he closes the slot between us.

And like it or not, I'm all alone.

The noisy opening of the slot wakes me up, and I sit up from the bed. I had slept more fitfully than I should have due to the drugs coursing through my system. Then I have a huge realization. The medicine! What's going to happen to me without it?

"Wake up, sleepy girl," George's voice rings out.

"Where's Peter?" I ask, panicked as I rush to the door.

"I'm bringing you your juice today."

"I need to speak to Peter."

"What for?"

"It's important," I plead.

"But—"

"Get him," I demand, my voice breaking.

He sighs in frustration, but then he closes the slot and leaves. A few minutes later, Peter shows up.

"You need to speak to me?" he says, his voice in a smile.

I'm relieved he's not upset. Maybe now I can have a serious talk with him. Maybe he'll listen to what's at stake—my life.

"Peter," I start, gulping. "I don't know if you're already aware of this since you seem to know a lot about me, but I'm very sick. I have a disease, and I have to take medicine every day, or I'll die."

"Madrigal," he mutters, "don't worry about your medication."

"Does that mean you're going to give it to me?"

He pauses for a few seconds. I don't like this uncomfortable silence at all. "No," he finally says.

"You're going to kill me," I declare angrily.

"We're not going to kill you," he insists.

"Without that medicine, I'm dead. I'm really sick. I have Estrapheria—do you know what that is?"

"Don't worry, Madrigal. You're going to be fine."

"Peter," I say more forcefully, "It is a rare disease that only hits one in a million, and I'm one of the _lucky_ ones!" My voice is getting shrill and desperate. "I'll die for sure if I don't take my Estraphil. I need that stuff every day, _every_ day."

"You'll be fine, Madrigal," he repeats, making his voice sound comforting. "Just fine."

"I hope you know that you're murdering me."

"Let's not be so dramatic."

"That's easy for you to say—you don't have a life threatening disease."

He slips a tray through the slot. "I've brought you something to drink," he informs, his voice lighter.

"Where's my breakfast?" I grumble, taking the tray with a small paper cup of orange juice. "If you're going to kill me then at least let me have a full stomach."

"This is all I can give you."

"But—"

"If I feed you anything else, you'll be cursing me later."

"What are you talking about, Peter?"

"You'll thank me later," he assures, closing the slot.

The shaking and the nausea start a few hours after my morning juice. I knew that I'd be lost without my medication, but I didn't know that the deterioration in my health would happen this fast. I was hoping I'd have at least a day before the world caved in.

The slot suddenly opens, and I hope against hope that my captors have changed their minds and will give me my medicine. Peter's hazel eyes stare at me through the empty space in the door with a worried expression. Maybe I'm saved.

"You don't look too good, Madrigal."

"I need my medicine," I implore.

"It's starting to kick in, right?" he asks, his eyebrows knit together.

"I don't feel very good if that's what you mean," I say, shaking. My skin is starting to throw out globules of perspiration.

He eyes me carefully. "I've got medication for you."

"You do?" I respond, excited. Maybe my life will be spared after all.

"Take this," he says, shoving a bottle through the slot.

I stumble over to it from the bed where I had been laying down. While I pick it up, Peter stares intently at me. I don't recognize the bottle, but I hope that the Estraphil is in a different type of container. Twisting it open, I'm surprised that it's not in a liquid form. My hand shakes as I empty some of the small black pills on my unsteady hand.

"What's this?" I ask with desperation.

"Medicine."

"Medicine?" I question, disbelief in my voice.

"Take one pill. It'll make you feel better."

"This isn't Estraphil, is it?"

"It's better than that."

"How can it be better? The doctor told me that Estraphil was the only thing that could keep me alive."

"Your doctor was wrong," Peter says simply.

My patience reaches its end. "You're lying to me!"

"Madrigal, I could've said that the pills were Estraphil in solid form, but I don't want to lie to you. Now, please take them. They'll help you."

I hurl the bottle at the steel door, and the pills spill all over the floor.

"I knew that this was how you'd react," he states, sighing. "That's why I ground one up and put it in your juice earlier."

"You what?!"

"You would've started reacting a lot sooner if I hadn't. As it is, it only took a few hours for you to start feeling like you do. You'll thank me later."

"I can't believe you poisoned me!"

"I bought you a few hours, Madrigal."

"Bought me a few hours?"

"But now even the pills won't take away what you're starting to go through."

The shaking is getting heavier and larger beads of perspiration slide off my skin. "Then why take the pills at all if you say they can't do anything for me?" I ask, between tattering teeth.

"They'll help and some help is better than nothing."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Madrigal, you've got to—"

"The lights!" I cry out, sliding to the floor. The fluorescent lighting above me thrusts into my head, causing explosions of pain.

"I'll dim the lights from out here," Peter murmurs. The room is soon opaque.

"Thank you," I manage to mumble.

"Madrigal, you're being so stubborn," he announces with frustration. "Take the—"

"Stop talking, please." I place my hands over my head, trying to keep the resounding thuds of his voice from bursting it open. The vibration of his words sound thunderous, and I need them to stop.

"Madrigal, please take a pill," he pleads.

My mind is in a painful, swirling fog and every piece of me is in the most severe agony I've ever been through—at least physically anyway. Nothing would ever compare to the death of my real parents.

"Just leave," I demand.

"Okay, but If I were you I'd keep the bucket close by. When you stop being so stubborn, you know where the pills are," he announces, closing the slot.

_The stupid things are on the floor—where they'll stay,_ I say to myself, between spurts of pain. Either they're to brainwash me or to poison me or to kill me or . . . or whatever! The pills can't be good.

I barely make it to the bucket a few feet away from where I am. The nasty vomit comes fast and relentless. My body goes into crazy spasms with me helpless to stop them. I drag myself to the bed along with the bucket, and I squeeze my eyes shut as if to keep away what's happening to me.

_So they knew I'd throw my guts out and even gave me a bucket. How considerate of them,_ I sarcastically say to myself. I'm either dying without my medicine or having a reaction to the drugs they gave me—probably both.

An hour later, I'm in even more agony when the slot opens again. Peter's hazel eyes look at me with concern. I no longer believe in their sincerity.

"Madrigal, please take the medicine."

"Go away!"

"Madri—"

"Go away!"

"Please," he says. "I promise they'll make you feel better."

"liar!"

"I'm not lying."

"You are!" I insist, the nausea trying to tip me over.

"I'm not—please take one."

"Stop trying to trick me!"

"I wouldn't hurt you."

"You've already hurt me," I growl.

"I'm helping you."

"In what universe would abducing someone and then poisoning her be helping?" I ask, my head throbbing like a marching band in my head.

"You don't understand," he blurts.

"Make me understand."

"You wouldn't be able to—not now."

I squeeze my arms around my body to see if I can stop some of the earthquake-like shaking. It doesn't help much. "You're not making any sense, and I shouldn't be listening to you. I won't be brainwashed!"

"I wish you'd believe me when I tell you that I'm not trying to hurt you," he pleads.

"If you want to help me then get me my Estraphil!"

"I can't do that," he expresses.

"You can't, or you won't?"

"I—"

"I'm dying . . . I'm dying," hemorrhages from my mouth.

"Madri—"

"You're killing me."

"I'm not—"

"Go away! Go!"

"But Madri—"

"Go!"

"Okay," he says, hurt in his voice.

"Get out of here!"

He lets out a deep breath of frustration. "Things are going to get worse before they get better in the next few days. Brace yourself," he announces as he starts closing the slot. "I'll be here for you."

### Chapter 5: The Angel

The vomiting increases until I painfully lay next to the bucket on the floor. My throat and stomach burn. My eyes bulge from their sockets. My skin wants to fall off me.

I take a pill.

I'm desperate.

If it makes matters worse then I'll die and be done with this horrible experience. If it helps me, then I can put all of my remaining energy towards escaping. Either way, it'll be better than what I'm going through now.

It may be my imagination but a few minutes later, I feel a little, just a sliver, less fatal. The vomiting subsides to an extent. My skin turns clammy, and the burning all over me isn't as sharp and thrusting. I'm left in a shapeless slump that can't muster even enough energy to scramble off the floor to get on the bed. I don't feel time passing but I know it is because suddenly, the full fledge pain returns.

_Medicine,_ I say to myself as I stretch my hand to the floor next to me, but I'm completely uncoordinated.

"Here," a voice says as a hand puts a pill in my mouth.

"Thanks," I mumble, trying to figure out what's real since I'm practically unconscious.

Strong arms wrap around me, and I'm carried to the bed. My glassy, unfocussed eyes try to look at who's doing this, but all I can see is a blur in the opaque room.

"You'll be okay in a few days," the male voice promises.

_Is someone really with me?_ I ask myself. _Or am I hallucinating?_

I suddenly feel a burst of water on my face. He's sponging me off with cool, glorious water. It's like paradise on my scorched skin, and I let my heavy eyelids close.

"I'm sorry you're going through this," he whispers gently. "But it's the only way."

I make the only noise I can—I groan.

"Sorry," he repeats.

"What are you doing in here?" another male voice says. I briefly open my eyes to see a second blurry figure.

"She's really hurting."

"I know, but you shouldn't be in here."

"I had to come in."

The other guy groans loudly. "This is dangerous for the both of us. We need to get out."

"You leave. I'm staying with her."

"It's dangerous! What don't you understand about that?" he asks, exasperated and furious.

"I don't care," he answers, his own voice angry. "I'm not leaving her like this to go at it alone—at least not at its worse."

"But—"

"This is my decision. Stay out of it!"

"She could kill you in this state. We don't know what her abilities are. Do you understand?"

"I know what's at stake. I'm staying."

"I'm going to tell—"

"No, you're not," he commands. "You're not saying anything about this to anybody."

"If they catch us—"

"Leave and there is no more _us._ If they catch me then I'll suffer the consequences by myself. I promise I won't involve you."

"She'll be fine without you being in here with her. You don't have to risk your life like this."

"She needs me."

"She doesn't need to have you here with her."

"She does."

I can't believe you're risking it all for her."

"You don't know her like I've grown to know her."

When the door shifts down with the leaving of the other guy, my _angel_ says, "Don't worry, Madrigal, I'll be with you for the whole night."

As promised, he stays as I sleep in small patches, vomit at times, and go from freezing to boiling in seconds. He wipes off the perspiration from my face and exposed skin, holds the bucket close to me, gives me the black pills every hour and either puts blankets on me or takes them off—depending on my body temperature. All the while, he keeps saying in soothing tones, "Everything is going to be okay, Madrigal—I promise."

"Thank you," I manage to get out.

"You're not alone."

### Chapter 6: Memories

Images start exploding in my head. My life comes back to me in vivid and profound moving pictures as if it is anxious to jump out of my mind. I writhe and grumble as my angel holds me tightly and tries to soothe me. His strong arms surround me with deep protectiveness, but they can't prevent the pictures, like old fashioned snap shots, from cutting through my memory spaces—these memories shoved in hidden corners because of the drugs I've been taking most of my life.

Pictures rising to the top—

\--I'm in my real parents' arms—a small, happy child. My mom and dad smile at me.

Smile.

"We love you."

\--"Your parents had a horrible accident," states a man with vacant, uncompassionate eyes. "Don't you remember, Madrigal?"

I shake my head, terrified. I don't remember a thing.

"But you were there."

I keep shaking my head.

"Good. The medication is helping you."

_I was taking medication even then?_ I ask myself. _My fake parents told me I had started the drugs after my illness was discovered a year after my parents died, but now I remember clearly that I was taking some kind of medicine since my parents' accident._ The clearness of the thought soon moves on since my mind is still foggy. Other images appear.

\--Being placed with my fake parents after the death of my real ones. No hugs, no kisses, no warmth—just twisted words:

"It's too bad that you'll never be normal."

"Your real parents must've been very unattractive."

"If you're anything like them, your parents must've not been very bright."

"Don't worry, Madrigal. We're here to protect you from yourself—your many defects and constant clumsiness."

\--Even though there was no physical abuse, there are other ways to be cruel. . . withholding warmth. . . withholding words of encouragement. . . withholding love . . . spreading insecurity . . . spreading hopelessness . . . spreading judgment.

_ARTHUR!_ His words jump out, ferociously stomping on the ugly ones:

\--Don't let them keep you down.

\--Keep their ugliness away from you.

\--You're special Madrigal—you just don't know who you are!

There were so many times I had argued with him about using the word special to describe me.

_Stop calling me that,_ I had demanded of him.

Why don't you believe me when I tell you that there's much more to you than you think there is?

Today, QT100 and her boyfriend stuck a picture outside my locker of a wild gorilla, all crazed looking, bending the bars to his cage. How special can I be?

If they knew the real you like I do, they would worship the ground you walk on instead of hurting you.

"Oh, where are you, Arthur?" I moan unhappily. "Are you gone forever?"

_I'm not, Madrigal. I'm always with you,_ his voice in my head jolts me and I am in complete disbelief. Had he really spoken to me?! Is he back?!

_Arthur! Arthur,_ I cry out in my head.

But nothing else from him comes, and I suffocate in my sobs. My _angel's_ arms tighten around me. More flashes of my life explode in my head:

SCHOOL—

The taunts from other students—making fun of my glassy, spacey self and playing tricks on me like hiding my stuff and physically pushing me. Their heavy, cruel hands shoved me as if I was their personal toy. Of course I defended myself any way I could, landing in detention often because my teachers never seemed to believe me.

"SHE'S CRAZY—SHE'S CRAZY." I can still see QT100's boyfriend, Royce 2225, spreading it around that I was a total head case, his charcoal eyes trying to drown me.

CRAZY GIRL.

That's what I became to everybody and even though they stopped the physical abuse because they were frightened of me, the stigma remained of being the crazy girl.

Students hated me.

Hateful QT100 and her cat-like green eyes scratched me till I bled along with her horrible boyfriend Royce.

Andrew—the only student nice to me.

Andrew! What happened to him?

### Chapter 7: Spinning

Swish-swish.

Ugh.

Ahhhhhhhh!

How can I still be alive?

### Chapter 8: Waking up

I flutter my eyes open. For a second, I forget where I'm at and think I'm in my bed at home. I remember and bolt upright.

I've been abducted!

The sudden movement makes my head spin violently, and I have to lie back down. I realize I'm on a bed as I try to remember yesterday. It was one foggy, excruciatingly painful haze.

I realize that even though I still feel horrible, I'm a lot better. _Was last night for real?_ Did someone stay with me while my insides were spilling out, and I tried to stay alive? Who was it? I was so sick.

The slot opens, and Peter's hazel eyes stare at me anxiously.

"How are you today, Madrigal?" he asks.

"A lot better," I say, still feeling a whooshing in my stomach.

"Good."

"Peter," I say shyly, "did you . . . did you . . ."

"Did I what?"

"Did you stay with me last night?'

"Last night?"

"Someone was with me."

"Someone was with you?" he gulps.

"Yeah."

"Madrigal," he says, his voice nervous. "You were very sick and probably imagining things."

"But—"

"Very, _very_ sick."

I scrunch my face, thinking back to the constant heaving. "Maybe," I sigh.

"Yes," he asserts.

"By the way, thanks for the black pills yesterday."

Peter's eyebrows come together. "Madrigal, you've completely lost track of time."

"What do you mean?"

"I gave you those pills several days ago."

"Several days ago?!"

He nods authoritatively. "You've been out-of-it for a while."

"Peter," I say, astounded. "There's no way I could've lost track of that much time."

"You did, Madrigal."

Could he be telling me the truth? I'm still wondering about my angel and not convinced that he doesn't exist. "Are you sure no one was with me even on the first night of my collapse?"

He stares at me for a short moment before answering. "No one was with you." He takes a huge gulp. "Of course not."

"But—"

"You must've imagined it," he utters carefully.

"It doesn't seem like a dream."

"Madrigal, you were in pretty bad shape. You remember at least that, don't you?"

I groan loudly. "I remember."

"No one was here the past nights. I mean, I looked in on you every once in a while but that's all,"

I sigh. "Okay."

"Do you feel well enough to eat anything?"

I vehemently shake my head.

"That's what I thought, but I wanted to ask anyway," he says as he starts shutting the slot. "Holler if you need anything."

So it was my imagination according to Peter. No one was with me. No one at all—not even him.

Then I see _it_.

The thing sits on the floor next to my bed—a bottle of the black pills. I grab it and turn the top.

If no one was with me then who picked these up off the floor? Hadn't I strewn them on the ground? Who put the bottle here? And who put me in bed? Wasn't I on the floor?

Why is Peter lying to me?

I realize I need to use the restroom, and I stumble out of bed as carefully as I can. With waves of nausea still swirling inside me, I crawl to the toilet. As soon as I finish my business and wash my hands, I hear the door to the bedroom sliding up. I try to reach it as fast as I can but by the time I get out of the bathroom, the door is already coming down again. I notice a fresh bucket in the place of the old one.

I make it to bed, pop a black pill in my mouth, and promptly fall asleep.

Waking up many hours later, I have one all-consuming thought in my head. Arthur! Had I heard Arthur the other night or was it my imagination?

_Arthur! Arthur!_ For heaven's sake, where are you? I desperately ask in my head.

I'm here, my Madrigal.

Had he really answered me? Or are these the effects of the black pills?

_Is this real?_ I ask.

As real as you want it to be.

Are you really with me?

I'm here.

_Where were you?_ I question.

I couldn't come to you.

Why?

It's complicated.

Complicated?

Yes.

Arthur, you wouldn't believe what happened to me.

_Yes, I would,_ he says dryly. _A lot has happened to me too._

I don't understand.

Don't even try to.

But--

_Madrigal,_ he says, slowly sighing. _I hate to tell you this but . . . in order to save you, I've got to go._

_What?_ I ask, panicked.

I can't be with you right now. It affects both of us too much.

Affects us? What do you mean?

You'll understand later.

I frown. _I've been hearing that a lot lately._

I can't tell you anything else.

Arthur, I say with frustration, don't do this to me.

I have to. You won't be hearing from me for a while.

Arthur—

I've got to go.

Don't leave! Don't—

I've got to.

_Arthur! Arthur!_ But it's useless—he's gone. His space in my head is empty. I sob.

### Chapter 9: Awake

When my eyes flutter open, I realize I'm awake—really awake! I don't want to go back to sleep. The grogginess is almost gone, and I'm as clear headed as I've ever been. Unbelievable! I still feel raw and nauseous, but it's nothing compared to feeling alive. Apparently, I had _sleepwalked_ through my life. Whatever my captors had given me, it didn't have the same effects as Estraphil. Still, I know I can't be trusting. Hadn't they abducted me?

_What's really going on?_ I ask myself. Who are these strange captors who gave me a new kind of medicine? What do they want with me? The bizarre past few days come back to me—my extreme nauseous state, the scenes of my life going through my mind, the farewell to Arthur.

ARTHUR!

Had he said good-bye to me? What was that about? It's too painful to keep rehashing it. If he is imaginary then why is my consciousness getting rid of him when I most need him?

All of this is so confusing! What in the world do my captors want with me?

Peter.

Why is he nice to me?

But I can't allow myself to become soft hearted with my abductors. Who knows what their ulterior motives are and now that I'm so clearheaded, I've got to think of a way to escape.

I see the green bucket and a plan forms in my head. After reorganizing the pillows on the bed to look like I'm still asleep, I rush to the restroom. I notice a new outfit folded on the toilet tank. As I had suspected, my abductors had been going in and out of my room. Quicker than I've ever been, I peel off my funky clothes and jump in the shower. The clear water hitting my body feels like heaven, but I don't have much time. I swiftly lather up and start scrubbing. When I jump out of the water, I put on the new outfit which to my relief isn't a silver jumpsuit but the clothes the _others_ wear—plain cotton brown pants and a shirt.

Now that I'm showered and fully awake, it's time to spring into action! I return to the bedroom, pull out the pillows and rush to the restroom again. Leaving the old fashioned door ajar, I grab the small tube of toothpaste on the sink I had used only a few minutes ago to brush my teeth, turn on the shower, and wait.

It doesn't take long.

The slot goes up, and a pair of hazel eyes peers inside. Upon not seeing me and hearing the shower, Peter has the steel door slide up and rushes into the room for the green bucket.

_Sorry, Peter,_ I say to myself, _you've been nice, but you're still my captor._ I swing the bathroom door open and fling the tube of toothpaste at him. He gawks at me with surprise as the tube hits him squarely on the head—where I had intended it to go—and he crumbles to the floor. He's completely out, and I rush to the door where I stealthily peer out.

The coast is clear.

It is then that I realize that I'm in some sort of a cave. The walls are made of dirt. Apparently, these abductors use tunnels and caves for their criminal acts. _They're no dummies,_ I grudgingly say to myself. If they were anywhere else, they probably would've already gotten caught. _I've got to be smarter than them,_ I tell myself. _Or I'll never escape._

I close the steel door—Peter isn't going to be unconscious forever—and I prick open my ears for any noise. _Where do I go?_ I ask myself. I can either go right or left in the tunnel pathway. _What do I do?_ My head is in a spin.

_Stop it!_ I instruct myself. I can't waste any more time standing here, or I'll be caught for certain. I take a deep breath and think positive thoughts.

I've managed to escape from the room. I don't know how I knew I could disable Peter with the toothpaste, but I hit him where I needed to. I can do this! I can escape! I can think my way out of here.

As I calm myself down, I realize I feel a very light breeze from the right. That's got to be the way to go.

I carefully and quietly get moving, my eyes darting in all directions to make sure I don't miss anything. I frown when I hear human voices and see an open steel door a few feet away from me. As I near it, a breath of relief escapes my mouth because the room these captors are in is so large that they are on the left side of it—hidden from the view of the opening of the door.

"We can't spare any more time," a woman's voice says.

"I know," a man's voice quietly responds.

"We've got to do something with her."

The _her_ they were referring to had to be me.

"I think our plan is pretty solid."

"Is it?" she asks, her voice concerned. "I'm not so sure."

"What choice do we have, Constanza?"

"If only we had some more time, we could think of something better," she says wistfully.

"But we don't."

"With each passing day, it's getting more and more dangerous."

Even though I wish I could listen to them a while longer and solve the puzzle of why they had abducted me, I know that it's dangerous for me to prolong my escape. I sneak past the door as quietly and as far away from it as I can. Unfortunately, I accidentally snap a twig on the floor.

"What was that?" he asks, terror in his voice.

I quickly flatten myself on the side of the door as best as I can just as he reaches it and peers out. My heart is beating so hard and fast that I'm terrified he'll hear it.

"What was it, Leroy?" she asks.

A bead of perspiration rolls down my forehead to the right side of my face.

"I don't see anything."

"I thought so," she declares, matter-of-fact.

"But—"

"Don't worry," she says, "we're in a cave remember. There are a zillion animals around here."

"It's just that . . ."

"We're safe. If the guardians knew where we were, they would've come at us with a full force."

"I suppose you're right," he says as he returns to where he was. "I'm just jumpy."

"We all are. If we get caught with her . . ."

I don't wait around to listen to the rest, and I rush away as quietly as I can. Following the tiny breeze on my skin and my instincts, I get deeper and deeper into the tunnel. It becomes darker with only some small round lights at the bottom which do little to illuminate the murkiness. Then I see _it_! The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel! I can see some natural sunrays filtering through at a distance, and all I have to do is go towards them.

My freedom! My freedom!

My quick stride becomes a full fledge run as I rush towards the light. This time my heart pounds with happiness and anticipation instead of fear. I'm only moments away from being free!

A figure suddenly steps in front of me. Unfortunately, the excitement had prevented me from keeping myself on guard, and I crash into him.

"Madrigal!" he exclaims as he envelopes his arms around me to hold me in.

Apparently, he can see me, but I can't see him. Too dark.

"How'd you get out?" he asks as I violently struggle.

"Let me go, you brute! Let me go!"

"Madrigal, stop fight—"

I plunge the plastic knife I had gotten from my last meal in his side. It might be a flimsy weapon but between its small teeth of sharpness and my furious force, we do this abductor some damage. He groans painfully and slumps to the ground while I sprint away from him. I reach the light which is filtering through an open slot on a door.

_Of course the cave opening has a steel door,_ I say to myself with frustration.

But there has to be a way to open it. My fingers try to locate my salvation on the sides of it. I find it and press hard on the button. When the door starts sliding up, I fling myself to the ground and roll myself underneath it—not giving it a chance to fully open.

On the other side, I am immediately confronted with a sheet of translucent water crashing down. A waterfall. The cave is in a cliff with gushing water plunging down in front of it and onto a huge lake way, way, below. My eyes dart around to see if there is any way out but apparently not, and I breathe out in desperate frustration. _How do I get out of here?_ But I remember clearly that when my abductors had brought me, even though I was blindfolded, I hadn't touched any water—not even heard it. There has to be another way out of here, but I can't go back in to find out.

_I'm a good swimmer,_ I tell myself, remembering that when I was a child, my real parents had given me swimming lessons. Even though I hadn't been allowed to swim by my fake parents because of my illness, I know I still have those skills inside of me. My new fog-free brain is experiencing memories like never before.

As I'm about to jump, a strong hand grabs me from behind.

"Don't do it, Madrigal," a male voice that sounds in pain says. "You can't go back to those wolves."

"Get away!" I snap as I furiously struggle. He swiftly wraps his arms around my torso, just below my chest, and crushes me against him.

"Madrigal, stop it! Stop!"

Seeing a trail of blood dripping down his shirt, I push and shove harder. He had been the one I had stabbed earlier in the tunnel. I had hurt him but apparently not enough. I try to turn my head to see who this jerk is but because of his position behind me, I can't. Mustering all his strength, he keeps me close with one arm while his other goes to my neck. "Sorry, Madrigal but I have to do this."

Is he going to choke me?

I elbow his wound, and he gasps loudly but doesn't let me go. His bright red blood sticks to my skin. I can feel his pained perspiration on me. _At least you're hurting,_ I snicker inside my head.

His fingers pause at a point on my neck, as if he doesn't want to do what he's about to. I try to come face to face with him, jerking my head to the side. He needs to know that I'm not afraid to come eye to eye with him. I refuse to die without seeing my murderer. He turns his face to me, and I see his eyes for the first time.

Charcoal eyes!

The ones I've hated for a very long time. The ones I've had nightmares about. The ones that turned my life into a horror movie.

I'm sick to my stomach—even worse than the sickening nausea I went through for days. My head is spinning and not just because of his murderous maneuver. How can I die like this? How can I let someone like him kill me?

How?

"Royce 2225!" I mutter furiously just before his fingers do their work and I black out.

### Chapter 10: The Truth

While waking up, I have to face that I'm not in a horrible dream. The abduction really happened, and I tried to escape but didn't succeed. Realizing that I am tied down to a chair, I desperately struggle to get out of my constraints.

"Stop, Madrigal," Peter states, concerned. "You're going to knock yourself out of the chair."

I look up from where I am putting my whole concentration on tearing out of the thick ropes that bind me and notice for the first time that I'm in the bedroom I had been using. It's full of people. Peter, George, a woman, a man and . . . and . . . Royce!

"What are you doing here?" I snap at him.

He sits on the bed wearing a new shirt. The blood stained one is gone. I imagine the wound I inflicted on him was dressed. "Madrigal, I—"

I hate hearing him say my name. "I should've known you were behind this. Where's QT100?"

"This isn't what you think," offers Peter.

"This isn't what I _think_?" I repeat incredulously. "I _think_ that I've been abducted. I _think_ I see one of my worst enemies. I _think_ I'm all tied up. I think you won't let me go, right? "

Royce solemnly shakes his head, his dark-brown, longish hair sliding on his shoulders. "Madrigal—"

"Stop saying my name."

"You don't understand," he utters quietly, his dark eyes looking oddly constrained instead of haughty for once and his rich sienna skin very pale. He's probably still in pain over the knife I had stuck into him.

"He's not the bad guy you think he is," interjects the woman from earlier, the one named Constanza. Now I can put a face with the voice. She's got greenish eyes, short black hair, and is about forty years of age. "He really isn't," she emphasizes.

"Really?' I say sarcastically. "Have you got any idea what this guy and his girlfriend did to me the whole time I was in school? They made fun of me, spread evil rumors, and were constantly harassing me. I lived a living nightmare because of them."

"He had to do what he did," the one named Leroy comments.

"What?" I ask incredulously.

"He had to do it," explains Constanza.

"Don't give me that," I snap.

Royce eyes me carefully. "Madrigal—"

"Would you stop saying my name?"

"I don't mean to upset you," he says miserably.

"You don't mean to upset me?" I ask incredulously. "I suppose taking me against my will shouldn't be upsetting. What about how you treated me at school?—you and your girlfriend. What about—"

"That's enough, Madrigal," Constanza states. "He means it when he says he didn't mean to upset you. I repeat—he had to do what he did."

"He had to make my life miserable?—especially when he made up the rumor that I was crazy. Do any of you have an idea what it's like to have to be around people who think you're nuts?"

"Royce wasn't trying to hurt you," Constanza repeats, "He—"

My eyes twitch. "What was he doing?—doing me a favor by lying about me?"

Peter moves closer to me. "Madrigal—"

"Don't," Royce states. "She isn't going to listen. I can't say I blame her. She's right about all of the horrible things I did to her."

"But she has to know the truth," insists Constanza.

"I'll explain later when she's less upset," Royce states, his voice quiet and sullen. "But you're right about her needing to know why we took her."

"Is someone going to finally tell me why I was abducted?" I ask, exasperated.

"George and Leroy, please take the watch outside while we explain," Constanza states.

I frown as they leave. "Why are you guarding me so obsessively? Who are you?"

"Madrigal, we're the Freedom Warriors," Peter declares, his lively hazel eyes shiny and proud.

"The Freedom Warriors?"

"We don't like the one-world government."

"Join the club," I remark.

"How much do you hate it, Madrigal?" Peter asks.

"More than I can describe with words."

"We do too," Royce quietly says.

Constanza nods. "We're the resistance."

"The resistance?" I ask incredulously.

"That's right."

"You've got to be joking."

"We'd never joke about something like that," Constanza assures.

"It's impossible," I rush. "The leaders have everything so controlled."

"Not controlled enough that we couldn't abduct you."

I nod begrudgingly. I've got to admit, they have a point.

"Their United World order isn't as infallible as they say it is," Constanza announces.

"Maybe not," I grumble. Still, my abductors may not be as clever as they think they are. "I'm sure it's not so hard hiding a person no one cares about," I assert.

"Do you really think no one cares about you?" interjects Royce. I eye him, trying to keep my anger and disgust for him at bay. Why is he still talking to me?

"Watch this," Peter demands as he takes a small, black, half-round TV ball and puts the flat part on the floor. He taps it twice, and the projected image of a screen comes blaring out. The old TV's of my childhood, the ones with an actual screen, are now obsolete.

The news flares on. I rarely watch it since the leaders control what they want us to see. A red alert abruptly flashes. My fake parents appear! I blink because I think I may be hallucinating but when they start talking, I realize that there's no question who they are.

"Please, Madrigal, come back to your loving family," my fake father begs, his face in an odd arrangement. His expression scrunched in humility like I had never seen before.

"Please, our precious daughter, come back to us," pleads my fake mother, her blonde hair loose and disheveled, giving her a younger and more vulnerable look. But what's really strange is what's come out of her face. Drops of water. The woman is actually crying.

These can't be my fake parents. Who knew they were such good actors?

I set aside a few words from their bizarre plea and shake my head. _Precious, loving, family_ —who are they trying to kid? And why are they asking me to come back as if I have a choice when I've been abducted?

The anchor person speaks out, "These are the words of two very worried parents for their daughter, Madrigal X1147, who ran away a little over a week ago because they wouldn't let her see her thug of a boyfriend. She's in danger. Lots of danger! Please call the number on the screen if you see her."

Peter taps on the ball twice and the projected image slides back into the TV half-ball. I'm speechless.

"Images like that have been running practically nonstop since we took you, Madrigal," Royce murmurs.

I can't help but glare at him.

"The government is trying desperately to find you," Peter insists.

"I don't understand any of this," I say, my voice cracking. "Why do you say that about the government?—the guardians hardly know who I am. Why are my fake parents saying I ran away with some guy? Why did you abduct me?"

"Your fake parents can't say that you were abducted, or they'd be admitting to a flaw in the United World system," Constanza states.

"They don't want anybody to know that their system is penetrable," I murmur, understanding as much as that.

"Exactly," Constanza assures.

"Why are my fake parents pretending to care about me?" I ask, baffled. "As if I'm important to them?"

"Madrigal, you are very important," states Royce.

I flinch. I wish he wouldn't talk to me. "I'm not important—they've treated me even worse than you have."

"They've done that for a reason," Peter interjects.

"A reason?—what reason?"

"Are you ready to hear the truth?" asks Peter.

"What truth?"

"What if she's not ready?" Peter asks Constanza.

"We've got to tell her," Constanza answers.

"She's got most of the junk out of her system. She seems to be pretty clear even though she'll be putting herself together for a while still. She needs to know," Royce insists.

"Besides, we don't have a lot of time," Constanza assures.

"I just hope she can take it."

"She's stronger than anyone, including herself, thinks she is," Royce declares, his voice at its most sure of itself.

"If you think so, Royce," Peter states, his tone not sounding completely convinced.

"Just tell me what's going on," I ask of them.

"Have you ever heard about the Supernova?" asks Constanza.

"The fairytale?"

"That's what the leaders want you to believe. They couldn't undo the prophesy—it was already out in the vernacular, but they changed it into a fairy tale," states Royce.

"Changed it?" I ask.

"That's what manipulators do with the truth—turn it into something else so that they can have their way," states Royce, growling.

"I know what they do," I utter quietly, I had seen that type of behavior most of my life in my society and my home.

"Then you need to start believing us," Constanza states quietly.

"But how can I in these circumstances?" I look down at my tied hands and feet.

"After we explain, we'll untie you," Peter assures.

"You will?"

"Yes," Royce asserts.

"Okay, so finish telling me about the fairytale of the Supernova."

"It's not a fairy tale," Peter announces. "It's a prophesy—a true one.'

"A prophesy?" I guffaw. "C'mon. How can a story of a person becoming an exploding star be true?"

"It's true," insists Constanza.

"Give me a break," I state. "How can you believe in such a thing?"

"We believe it because the Supernova is already here."

"What?"

"The Supernova is _you,_ " Royce murmurs, his dark eyes sitting on me.

### Chapter 11: Star

"What did you say?" I ask incredulously.

"You're the Supernova," repeats Royce. "And we're on your side."

I shake my head, trying to get the words Royce had said into a cohesive form. "Supernova?" I murmur.

Constanza nods enthusiastically. "Yes."

"That's nuts!" I blurt.

Royce's charcoal eyes penetrate into me. "Madrigal—"

"All those years you made everybody believe I was crazy but it's clear that you're the crazy one—you and all of your buddies here."

"Just keep an open mind," Constanza urges.

"What do you know about the Supernova story?" Peter asks with a coaxing tone.

I'm familiar with it because my fake parents had told it and re-told it to me through the years. They had asked me many questions to make sure I memorized it. When I think about it, they had never shared another bedtime story with me. I had always assumed that the Supernova fairytale was a cautionary fable to keep me and other kids from rebelling against our parents. Was there more to it than I thought? Is this group not so crazy?

"You know it very well, right, Madrigal?" Royce asks quietly.

I solemnly nod.

"What's the story?" he asks.

But for some reason I'm reluctant to go on. This whole impossible scenario that I'm stuck in is getting too convoluted and surreal by the minute. I've had choppy nightmares that made more sense than this.

"Madrigal, tell us about the Supernova," gently prods Constanza.

"I don't see the purpose," I explain.

"It'll show you the way," Royce announces.

"But—"

"Madrigal," Peter utters, "'There's nothing to fear but fear itself.'"

A sharp pain strikes me. Arthur had told me that famous saying. I sure miss him.

"Once upon a time, there was a young girl . . ." I mumble and then stop.

"Go on," Constanza prods patiently.

I clear my throat. "She was unhappy about her life. She didn't like where she lived, she disrespected her parents, and she dreamed of running away and becoming famous. One day, she came across an elderly witch who told her she could have everything she wanted if she only took a potion. The girl's blind ambition was so huge that she forgot to heed her parents who always told her to be leery of strangers bearing gifts. She happily gulped down the potion and turned into a star—the shiniest one in the sky. People all over the world admired it, and she became so obsessed for more and more attention that she exploded."

"Interesting take on the prophesy," Peter says dryly.

"Why do you keep calling it a prophesy?" I question.

"Before we get into that, let's eat something. What do you say?" Constanza asks.

She must've heard my growling stomach. I had been ignoring the hunger for a while now. "I could use a meal."

"Let's unbind her and go into the dining hall," states Royce. "I can't stand seeing her tied up."

The dining hall is a plain room with a long oak table and chairs. I'm still getting used the lack of silver in my abductors' world. It's weird and comforting at the same time. I always related the color silver to the United World order—a political movement I detest. At least my abductors had that going for them—they seem to abhor it too.

But what's their agenda? They can't seriously believe I'm going to fall for this Supernova nonsense. I have to keep vigilant. Trust has always been difficult for me.

As I stuff my mouth with spicy chicken—another one of my favorite meals, I try to focus on how to escape. Now that I'm unbound, I can work on getting out of here.

"It's good, right?" asks Peter with a smile as he points at the dish.

I nod as an idea occurs to me. "You're not trying to poison me, are you?"

"If we had wanted to poison you, we would've already done it," states Constanza.

I nod again—I had already thought of that but I wanted them to confirm it nonetheless. "I still don't know what you want with me."

"We don't want to hurt you," assures Royce from across the table.

"Abducting—"

"Abducting you was necessary," proclaims Peter as he sits on my right side.

Constanza, who is sitting on my left, lays her hand on my shoulder. "It's important that you know the truth. There's so much for you to learn."

"If what you have to tell me is so important then why take me? Why not just talk to me without stealing me?"

Constanza fervently shakes her head. "We couldn't talk to you in the state you were in."

"State I was in?"

"How do you feel, Madrigal?" asks Royce quietly. "How do you feel without the Estraphil?

"Fine," I mumble. I wasn't expecting the question.

"Haven't you asked yourself why you're not dead without it?" asks Peter.

"I figured that you gave me a better medication."

"We didn't give you a replacement drug," states Peter.

"Yes, you did," I insist. "You gave me the black pills."

"Those black pills were to ease your dependency on Estraphil," Peter assures.

Constanza nods. "They were to help with your withdrawal symptoms."

"What are you saying?" I question.

"You don't have a disease," announces Peter. "You don't have Estrapheria—it doesn't even exist. You're healthy as can be, especially now that you're not an addict anymore."

"You're telling me that I was hooked on Estraphil?" I ask, my voice shaky. "A drug I didn't need?"

"Yes," Royce states, his unblinking dark eyes on me.

"I'm not sick?" I mutter.

"No."

"But-"

"Do you feel sick?" asks Constanza. "Do you feel as groggy and out-of-it as before you came here?"

"No, but—"

"Weren't you always being told that without the Estraphil you would immediately die? Why are you still alive?" asks Peter.

"Think about it, Madrigal," Royce interjects. "If you think that the black pills took the place of Estraphil then think back to when you last took them. It was a while, and you're not dead. Not only that but you feel better than you've ever felt before, right?"

"How would you know that?" I mumble.

"School, remember?" he asks quietly. "You always had a glazed look in your eyes, your skin was blotchy and pale, and you had problems stringing words together."

I sigh. He's right. "Why was I lied to about my supposed disease? My fake parents lied, my doctors—everybody."

"They had to lie to keep you down," Peter asserts.

"There was a conspiracy to keep me down?" I question.

"Yes," Royce says simply as if it's at all logical.

Peter nods. "The drugs kept you in place."

"Why not just kill me? Wouldn't that have been a much easier solution?"

"They can't kill you," declares Royce.

"Why not?"

"You're the Supernova," Constanza announces.

"There's that fairytale again," I blurt.

"It's time to explain the prophesy," Constanza states.

"I'm all ears."

"For many years, it was foretold that a special girl would be born," Constanza explains.

"Special?"

"This girl would have some sort of abilities and be able to inspire the downtrodden of the planet."

"This sounds more like a fairytale than a prophesy to me," I assert.

"The leaders of the world believed it."

"They did?" It seems preposterous.

"They changed destiny."

"How did they do that?"

"The leaders took over the story and changed it."

"They changed it?" I ask, confused.

"The actual prophesy goes differently from the fairytale they changed it to," Constanza explains. "There was a young girl who hated the way her world had changed. Much had happened to her. The evil rulers of her planet had changed destiny and had killed her parents."

My mouth turns dry. "Killed her parents?" I gulp.

"Yes."

My mind spins and the drought in my throat chokes me. "It wasn't an accident?"

"They lied about it to take over the little girl."

"They did?" I ask, barely able to get out the words.

"They knew if they killed the parents, they'd be able to shift the rug from under her feet and forever unbalance her."

"Does that sound familiar?" asks Royce.

"Go on with the story," I beg Constanza, my attention fully piqued and horrified.

"The young girl was put in the care of people who would make sure to keep her in a haze and keep her down."

"What?" I gulp.

"If you keep a person drugged and put nothing but ugly thoughts in her head, that person usually doesn't actualize her abilities," Peter interjects.

"I still don't understand why they didn't just kill her," I blurt.

"She was the Supernova," states Constanza.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with it," Peter announces.

"What do you mean?"

"The Supernova, like all stars, is made of energy," Peter explains.

"So what?"

"That energy is atomic, Royce explains quietly. "If you mess with it, you could detonate the whole world."

"That's ridiculous," I declare. "How can a person be atomic?"

"How can you explain your life?" Royce asks quietly. "How can you explain everything that's happened to you?"

"I . . . I . . . don't know."

Constanza pats my hand. "The fact is that the government kept you contained in more ways than one."

"What do you mean?"

"Silver."

"Silver?"

"The color silver keeps you contained—at least that's what the seers tell us."

"Is that why nothing here is that color?"

Peter nods. "Bingo."

"I hate telling all of you this, but you've made a huge mistake. I'm very ordinary. I have no special abilities."

"You sure about that?" asks Royce.

"Positive."

"You're wrong," Royce states. "I've been observing you for a long time. You pick up on things very fast—even when you were drugged."

"That's not a special power," I state. "Many people are fast thinkers."

"There's something about you," Royce asserts.

"But—"

"Besides," interjects Constanza, "you are still getting all that junk out of you, and the seers predict that all of your abilities will come little by little."

"Little by little?"

"How were you able to hit me squarely on the head with toothpaste?" asks Peter. "Where did you learn how to throw?"

"I don't know."

"There you have it," Peter states.

"I think my real dad taught me," I declare.

"Since you were five years old?" asks Royce.

"Yes," I say uncomfortably.

"Throwing correctly takes more practice than memory," states Royce.

"Madrigal," Constanza patiently says, "do you really think that you suddenly woke up from the half life you led and were able to do things you haven't done since you were a small kid just like that?"

They're right. In my life with my fake parents, they've never let me physically exert myself because of my supposed illness. I had never done anything remotely athletic and yet, I had almost escaped. I had landed a tube of toothpaste on the first try and had plunged a plastic knife into someone. What about when I almost dove into the waterfall? I had had no misgivings about doing it. If Royce hadn't grabbed me, I would've jumped. Where did all of that come from?

What they were saying was making sense.

But, still. How could I be this Supernova person?

"You're her," Peter insists as if reading my mind.

"Who?" I ask, trying to deflect his statement.

"It's all over your face," Peter ignores my question. "You don't believe you're the Supernova but you are."

"That can't be," I murmur. "It just can't."

"You're her," insists Peter.

"How can I be an exploding star?"

"You are," Constanza asserts.

"An exploding star—it doesn't even make sense."

"The Supernova is an exploding star that will create other stars and incredible visions."

"It could also turn into a black hole," I mention.

"We're here so that that doesn't happen," Royce explains.

Peter nods energetically. "We're on your side—just like Royce said."

I exhale a long breath. "This is so crazy."

"Not as crazy as having a one-world government that does what it wants with you," interjects Constanza, frustration in her voice. "Not as crazy as living a life where you never actualize yourself—where freedom is only a dream. Where you have to hear those who have total control over you manipulate the masses over and over again, and you know the truth. You know what liars they are. You know how they twist everything and avoid the important questions."

"Madrigal, do you ever wish your life was just a nightmare you could wake up from?" Peter asks.

With that question, it's obvious that he knows what's in my heart. "Yes, many times," I mutter.

Peter nods gently, his hazel eyes solemnly on me. "I thought so."

"It's time to get you to where you need to be," Constanza declares.

"Where's that?" I ask suspiciously.

Peter jumps in, "Where you're not treated like a leper. Where you're treated like the special person you are."

"Where's that?"

"We've got to get you to the Freedom Warriors Headquarters, Royce states, matter-of-factly.

### Chapter 12: Parents

"The Freedom Warriors Headquarters?" I ask, baffled.

"That's the headquarters for the resistance," explains Peter.

"Unfortunately," states Royce, "it's a long way from here."

I try to understand what they're telling me. "This isn't it?"

Peter shakes his head. "Madrigal, we're only a small part of the whole resistance—there are many more of us."

I smile. "That's a relief."

"But our headquarters is hidden in the third region," explains Constanza. "Well hidden. That's the only way we've been able to thrive."

"So you really do have some organization to this rebellion."

"Of course," Constanza declares, her tone sounding insulted.

"Sorry," I rush, "I'm still trying to figure out how all of this works."

"You don't have to apologize for wanting answers," Royce says quietly.

"What you need to understand and think about is the danger in what we propose—in getting you to the Freedom Warriors Headquarters," Constanza states.

Peter nods solemnly. You've got to be sure about leaving behind the comfortable life you have with your parents."

"I don't have a _comfortable_ life with my fake parents," I blurt sharply.

"You have the things you need—"

"No, Constanza. I really don't get what I need from them."

Constanza eyes me carefully before nodding. "I understand that it has been tough living with them but being on the run may be tougher."

"You sound as if I've got a choice as to whether I want to go to the headquarters or not."

"You do," Royce mutters.

"Let me get this straight--I've got a choice as to whether I want to go to the Freedom Headquarters or go back to may fake parents?"

"Yes," Royce states, matter-of-factly.

True to their word, my _captors_ don't lock me up again. I am free to go anywhere I want—including outside. In fact, they assure me I can leave, and no one will try to stop me.

In the bedroom I've been staying in, I stare at the ceiling. The painting of the exploding star now takes on a new meaning for me. There's no way I'm the Supernova. It would take someone much more special than me. I'm too ordinary.

I take a deep, prolonged breath to decide what to do. How could so much happen in just a few days?

_Arthur! Arthur_! I cry in my head.

Nothing.

Where are you, Arthur?

I need you.

Nothing.

He's gone.

A sharp pain stabs at me. Deep inside, I've always been afraid of this day, but I had never allowed myself to consider it on a conscious level. _What'll I do without Arthur?_

I chastise myself for feeling sorry for myself. This is no time to wallow in self pity. I've got a decision to make, and I can't be wishy-washy. I've got to be strong.

I go back to my predicament. Should I go back to my fake parents? Should I take my abductors up on their offer to free me from the horrible life I led? I weigh all the options and exhale a choppy breath. Then I ask myself the question of questions: If I had a choice, would I have changed what happened to me?—the abduction?

No!

The word pops in my head so fast and determined that I realize how true it is. These clever people have dangled a carrot in front of me, and I am unable to resist.

I don't want to return to my old life.

What does it have in store for me anyway? What do I have to go back to? Fake parents who could care less about me? A school I hate? A government I despise?

I'd be going back to Estraphil—the drug that kept me in a fog and away from my memories of my real parents. And I'd be back in the hands of their murderers if what my abductors are saying is true.

I have nothing to go back to and everything to stay with the resistance for. But still. How can I believe such an outlandish story of me being a supernova?

"May I come in?" Peter asks gently, his hazel eyes vivid through the slot.

"Sure," I say, sitting up on the bed.

He pushes the button that makes the door slide up, and he steps into the bedroom. I motion for him to sit next to me.

"You've forgiven me I hope," he tells me, his eyes intently on me.

"Forgiven you?"

"For abducting you."

"Yes, of course I forgive you," I say, smiling.

He smiles back. "What a relief."

"I need to ask you something that has been gnawing at me for a while."

"What is it?" he asks with curiosity.

"About Andrew."

"Andrew?"

"He's the boy George said you drugged the day you took me."

"I know who Andrew is," he states. "What about him?"

"First of all, are we talking about the same guy? Andrew 7024?"

"That's him."

"Did you abduct him too?"

"No."

"Then why did you drug him?"

His hazel eyes fix themselves on my own. "We had to put him out of commission, or we wouldn't have been able to take you."

"What?"

"He was always watching you," he growls.

"I . . . I . . ." Come to think of it, Andrew was always staring in my direction. In my foggy brain, I had ignored it.

"We think that he is a spy for the government."

"A spy?" I ask in disbelief.

"They kept very close tabs on you, Madrigal."

"Do you know for sure that he was a spy?"

"No, but we had to take precautions. We couldn't let anyone see what we were doing. We had a mission to accomplish."

"A mission?"

"Yes."

"Abducting me was a mission?"

"Bringing you to your full senses was our mission. I know how weird all of this is," he comments, patting my hand. "I know that human supernovas and world conspiracies sound like science fiction but they are much more natural than what the world leaders have done to our planet."

"That actually makes a lot of sense," I assert.

He chuckles. "We're not crazy, Madrigal. We just care about the world, and we care about you.

"Me?"

"You're special, Madrigal, very special."

"How long have you been with the Freedom Warriors?" I ask, embarrassed and changing the subject.

"Royce and I were kind of born into it."

"What?"

"Royce and I are cousins."

"You're cousins?!" I exclaim, surprise bursting out of me.

He laughs loudly. "I know we don't look at all like each other."

"No, you don't."

"His coloring is darker than mine, but we feel the same about what's happened to earth. Even when we were in grade school, we felt the same way."

"School?" Then it dawned on me why he always seemed familiar to me. Why hadn't I realized it sooner? "Peter, we went to the same grammar school, right?"

"You finally remembered."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought it would be better for you to remember."

"With all the junk out of my system, my brain is working in a whole new way," I declare.

"Exactly."

"It's like I lived in a dense fog before this."

"You lived in one alright."

"I didn't have a firm grasp on reality, but I saw a lot just the same."

"Royce and I saw a lot of things ourselves while growing up. In fact, it was because of one of those power plays that we were put in separate schools after grade school."

"How was that?"

"One of the teachers thought we were too smart together."

"Too smart?" I ask, baffled.

"We'd always be able to figure out every answer—if not apart then together. Then we started asking questions about the running of things. Why was this fair, and why did that have to be? They stuck us in different schools."

"Is that why I never saw you after elementary school?"

"Yep. My family gave us a good talking to after the reshuffling."

"What did they tell you?"

"They told us never to show what was inside our heads. The time would come for action but in the meantime, we had to lay low."

"Lay low?"

"Yes."

A realization burst inside of me like a sudden light after darkness. "You pretended to be what you weren't."

"Right."

"Even acting as if you were in cahoots with the privileged students," I state, thinking of Royce.

"Right."

"But you really weren't."

"We hated everything they stood for."

"Me too," I chime in.

"But unlike you, we couldn't show it."

"I paid the price for showing my disgust of them."

"We couldn't show our true feelings. We had to keep them bottled up inside while putting on an act."

"Royce did a good job pretending," I say wryly.

"That's because so much depended on him being convincing."

"It did?"

"A lot happened to my family too, Madrigal."

"What happened?" I asked, curiosity bursting through my words.

"Royce's parents were also killed by the government."

"They were?" I ask, surprised.

"Murdered."

"That's beyond horrible!"

"He was raised by our grandparents who had to fake disgust with the subversive behavior of their daughter in order to be allowed to raise him."

"Royce lost his parents too," I blurt sadly.

"I'm sure he'll tell you about it someday."

He must miss his parents as much as I miss mine. He must live with a hole inside of him every day of his life.

"They are so evil." _I won't be part of their game anymore,_ the vivid thought comes to my head like a jolt of lightning and surprises me with its strength and conviction.

"Yes, evil."

"Most definitely," I murmur strongly. "Let's go to the Freedom Warriors Headquarters."

"I have to warn you that we'll be heading into massive danger. You've got to do this with your eyes wide open."

"I know."

"As much as I'd love for you to get away from your true captors, I want you to really know what's at stake."

"I'm in."

### Chapter 13: The Decision

"You're sure about this?" asks Constanza. After I had told Peter my decision he had ushered the group to my room.

"Yes."

Royce's dark eyes stare intently at me. "You've thought this out carefully?"

"Why are all of you questioning me?" I ask, perplexed. "Isn't this why you abducted me?—to free me?"

"We want you to be completely positive," explains Constanza. "There's no room for any doubt in this operation. This is going to be dangerous and will take one hundred and twenty percent dedication."

"I'm in," I repeat strongly.

Constanza eyes me. "Are you su—"

"If there's any chance I might be able free the person my real parents intended me to be then I have to try," I announce.

Constanza nods. "Yes, you need to be the person you were born to be."

"Exactly," Peter expresses.

"I'm definitely in."

Peter smiles. "I didn't expect any less from you."

"I am, however, concerned with others risking their lives for me," I express.

"Don't be," Peter rushes. "You are our beacon of powerful light—our hope for the future."

"Are you sure about risking your lives for me?"

"We know exactly what we're getting into, but I'm still worried that you don't, Madrigal," states Constanza, "the leaders won't kill you because they're scared of what might happen with your supernova energy. But this time, instead of beating you down with horrible parents, they might lock you up or do something just as bad."

"Believe me, I know their cruelty. I know what I'm up against."

"Are you sure about leaving your old life?"

"Positive."

"We're thrilled about your decision,'" Constanza announces happily. "We can be part of your supernova future."

"What's next?" I ask. "What's the strategy?"

"Royce and Peter are going to go with you to the Freedom Warriors Headquarters," Constanza informs.

"Peter and . . . Royce?" I ask, not helping the grimace on my face when I say the latter.

Royce winces. "I'm going," he says quietly.

"There are no better warriors than these two," asserts Constanza.

"When do we leave?" I ask.

Constanza lets out a long breath. "As much as I'd like for you to get to headquarters ASAP, I can't let you go just like that."

"What?" I ask, baffled.

"She means that you need training—even if it's just the basics," explains Royce.

"Training?"

Peter nods. "Survival training."

"I wish we could give you a full course of it," Constanza regrets, "but we can only spare a few days. I'm afraid you'll have to learn fast."

"Let's do it," I declare. The sooner the better—I'm anxious to get to my new life.

Peter and Royce take me to a small gym close to my room. Some weights and mats are strewn about as if ready to be used.

"Survival is in the mind and heart," assures Royce, his voice unwavering and strong. "That's the first thing you should learn."

Peter nods. "He's right, Madrigal."

"Believe it or not, the most important trick to survival isn't about the gadgets or even the training you have."

"What is it about then?" I ask with curiosity.

Royce's dark eyes sit on me. "It's about your state of mind—your belief in what you're doing and you're belief in yourself. It's got to be in every cell inside of you."

"Every cell?"

Royce nods quietly. "During dangerous situations, well trained people die all the time. People with fancy gadgets too. The ones who survive are the ones who push everything they have inside of themselves to move forward."

"Your whole heart has to be in it," explains Peter.

"Is that how a resistance survives when it's up against those much more powerful?" I ask quietly.

"It survives because to leave things as they are is a complete abomination—a compromise with the devil that can't be made anymore," Royce declares, between his teeth.

Peter nods vehemently. "That's right!"

"You've got to want to survive, want to set things right, want to shake what needs to be shaken. You've got to want it with every single thing you've got inside of you."

"I do," I blurt passionately.

Royce smiles. "Okay, I think you're ready."

"Are we using weapons," I ask.

"No guns," states Peter.

"No guns?" I ask.

"We can't risk you being shot, Madrigal," explains Royce.

"You could detonate the world," Peter agrees.

Royce nods, his dark eyes on me. "It's too big of a risk."

"I'm like an atomic bomb," I sigh unhappily. "A big, destructive thing."

Peter shakes his head. "You're much more than that."

"Madrigal, you're the Supernova," states Royce. "Don't forget it."

"Let's hope I'm good for something other than explosions."

"You are our hope," assures Peter. "The seers have always been right."

Royce's dark eyes stay on me. "And they're right about you."

During the next few days, I learn about surviving dangerous situations. Peter and Royce teach me to start a fire with natural materials, navigation strategies, first aid, and how to procure food, water and shelter.

"I'm amazed at how fast you're catching on," states Constanza, her eyes proud of me.

"I've got to confess something."

"What is it?"

"This isn't the first time I've been taught these skills," I assert.

One of her eyebrows arches up. "No?"

"My father taught me survival skills."

"You're father?" she asks, baffled.

"My real father."

"He taught you this stuff when you were small?" she asks, surprised.

"He started when I was three."

"Three years old?" she questions, astonished.

"Yep."

"And you remember?"

"A lot of memories are coming back to me."

"And you're relating them with what you're being taught now?" she asks, amazed.

"It's like riding a bike," I assert.

"Madrigal, I can hardly remember when I was five—much less three."

I shrug and let out a breath. "It's just one of those things."

"Well, after all you're the Supernova."

I don't know about the exploding star business which still leaves me with many doubts, but I do know that I have to fight for what I want. And there's one thing that I need that will help do just that. When waking up one morning, I have a recollection that shows me the way.

"I need a slingshot," I tell Peter and Royce.

"A slingshot?" Royce questions, baffled.

"I'm good at throwing things."

Peter smiles. "I know," he says as he puts his hand on his head where I had hit him with the tube of toothpaste.

"A slingshot will help me throw further than with my hands."

Peter chuckles. "If this bruise still on my head is an indication of her abilities, we should make sure she has a slingshot."

Royce nods. "We'll have to make one."

Between the three of us and the memories that I have of my real father making one for me, we construct a sturdy one from wood. Both Peter and Royce stare intently at me as I make the first try. As I start pulling back the thick rubber band, the rock falls flat to the floor.

"It's been many years since I did this," I explain.

"Try again," orders Royce.

This time, I manage to keep the rock in the rubber part of the slingshot. I pull back again and then let go, but the rock only goes a few inches and drops sluggishly to the ground.

"I need lots of practice," I mumble, embarrassed.

"Don't worry, Madrigal," Peter offers, putting his hand on my shoulder. My first reaction is to slap it away. I'm not very good with demonstrations of affection, but I convince myself not to be rude. "Practice makes perfect," he assures. "You can do it."

I smile warmly at him, his touch still bothering me but my fondness for him stronger than my need for space. "Thanks."

Peter returns my smile. "You're welcome."

"You're so kind, Peter," I utter.

"You deserve kindness."

"I hate to break up this _lovefest,_ " grumbles Royce, "but we have a lot of work to do."

"I need to practice with my sling—"

"Let's forget about _rock throwing_ for the moment," Royce declares dismissively. "We need to go over self defense techniques—that's priority."

As much as I dislike his spiky tone, I agree. Self defense is very necessary. As he teaches me tactics, I try to soak them all up. It could mean the difference between life and death, and no one is more aware of this than me. To my great relief, I realize that unlike the slingshot fiasco, old moves my real parents taught me come back easily and I'm able to flip even Royce to the ground a few times. On one occasion, he gets me unprepared and I'm the one who hits the floor with a heavy thud.

Peter rushes to me. "Are you okay?"

I gather whatever breaths I can with the wind knocked out of me. "I'm fine," I manage to piece together.

"Hey, Royce!" he cries angrily, "What's wrong with you?!"

"She needs to defend herself, and we can't baby her."

"You could've hurt her."

"Our enemies will hurt her more if they catch her."

"Hey—"

"He's right, Peter," I interject, finally getting my breath and strength back. I start lifting myself off the ground, and Peter immediately tries to help. I shake my head at him. "I can do this by myself."

He nods solemnly as I stand up on my own. "I still think that was too rough," he insists.

"Don't worry," I assure him. "I'm not a delicate figurine. I'm not going to break."

"She's fine," Royce tells Peter.

Peter's hazel eyes delve into Royce's. "You and I should practice," he hisses.

"I think that's a great idea," agrees Royce, his own voice unrelenting.

"Give me everything you've got because I'm not holding back!"

"Let's roll!"

Before I know it, they are going at each other, knocking one another around as if the fight is for real. I'm stunned. It seems too rough to be practice.

"What are you two doing?" I demand to know.

They don't pay attention to me as they continue roughing each other up. It's a wrestling match with some martial arts thrown in. Blood is now spurting from Peter's mouth and a wound on Royce's cheek. Sweat pours off them, and I'm frightened that the cousins will do serious injury to one another.

"Stop it!" I yell.

"Don't get in the middle of this, Madrigal," states Royce.

"We have to make sure we're prepared for the worse," explains Peter.

"But—"

"Stay out of this," Royce insists.

"Stay far away from us, Madrigal. You might get hurt," Peter interjects.

Royce wrestles Peter to the ground and pins him down. Roughly pulling Peter's right arm behind his back, Royce's dark eyes gleam with satisfaction.. "Say you give up," demands Royce.

"Never," hisses Peter.

"Give up!"

"No!"

Royce yanks at Peter's arm so forcefully that I'm terrified he's going to pull it out of its socket. I can see the excruciating pain in Peter's eyes, and my own heart hurts. How can his cousin be this cruel?

"Leave him alone," I demand.

"Stay out of this, Madrigal," Royce repeats.

"But—"

"Everything is okay," Peter tells me with short, spastic breaths.

Everything is most certainly not okay! Peter's savage beast of a cousin is unrelenting. I have to do something. I consider climbing on Royce's back but judging by his enormous strength, he'll probably just throw me off. I have to think of something else.

Then it hits me.

With fury boiling inside of me like an explosive volcano, I grab my preferred weapon.

This time my slingshot feels like its part of me. The rock doesn't sputter, it doesn't wimp out on me, and it doesn't travel sluggishly. It violently crashes into the small of Royce's back. He abruptly falls to the side before realizing what happened.

### Chapter 14: The Eve Before The Journey

"I just remembered how to do this—my little _rock throwing,_ " I say, trying to sound as dismissive as Royce had been toward my slingshot.

Peter chuckles as he gets off the ground while Royce tumbles up, rubbing the place where the rock had rammed into him.

"Good job," Royce mumbles.

"I'd say better than good—great!" Peter announces. "Great aim, Madrigal."

"My little rock throwing is not so useless, right?"

"I'd say it's pretty awesome," Peter agrees. "You could do a lot of damage with your slingshot."

"Yes, you could," Royce states, still rubbing his back.

"Glad you can admit it," I say, chuckling darkly.

"I never said you couldn't," grumbles Royce.

I smile wryly. "You implied it—you implied that my slingshot was just a toy."

Royce's dark eyes stare back at me. "My bad—I apologize. I really didn't think that a slingshot could be that much of a weapon."

"Now you know differently," Peter declares, smiling.

"Yeah, now I know _differently,_ " mumbles Royce.

Dinner is a succulent roasted chicken with the side dishes of mashed potatoes and squash. This is the last supper before we start our journey tomorrow. The diners at the table, including me, are tense and quiet.

"I've got an announcement to make," declares Constanza. Everyone at the table leans forward to listen. "I've chosen a leader for this expedition."

"A leader?" I ask.

"Someone has to lead the way. It's way too dangerous out there,"

"Who did you choose?" Peter questions suspiciously.

Constanza exhales a long breath. "Royce."

"Royce?!" I mutter loudly.

"Yes, Royce."

"Why him?" I blurt. "Why not Peter?"

Staring at his plate solemnly, Royce doesn't make a sound.

"Royce is the obvious choice."

"Why?" I question.

"I've got as many leadership qualities as Royce," Peter interjects. "I've trained with him."

"He's the only one of the three of you who has made the trek to headquarters. He knows where to go."

"Constanza, you should at least give me a chance."

"Peter, I can't risk this mission on a chance. Royce is leading this expedition and that is all there is to it."

When we finish our meal in stony silence after Constanza's announcement, she informs me that there is an important matter to take care of. We silently walk to my room. I'm more than a little curious as to what she wants to tell me.

"Everyone in the world knows what you look like," she states as we enter my space. "They've been airing your fake parents pleading for you every day since we took you."

"What do we do?"

"Change your look."

I suggest we experiment with my hair color, but she responds that it isn't necessary. "It might call more attention to itself if we mess with it," she explains.

Instead, she lets it loose. I had always worn it in a tight bun on top of my head because my fake parents insisted on it and also because any loose hair would annoy me—part of the affect of the drugs. The horrible sensation of stray hairs gliding over my skin felt like rough scratches. Now that I am off the Estraphil, my long, loose hair is nothing short of freedom. The waist-length curly black tendrils are set free along with me.

"Look in the mirror," Constanza says, guiding me to the body length mirror on the inside of the old fashioned closet door. I'm stunned when I see my reflection.

_Is that me?_ I ask myself.

My skin is no longer pasty and splotchy. It's the color it was meant to be—a cinnamon with pinkish tones. My eyes are focused and not glazed or reddish. The hair I was always so careful in harshly pulling back now falls to the small of my back and has a certain shine to it. I realize another affect of the drugs—opaque hair.

The clothes I now wear also change my appearance. Gone are the silver jumpsuits that contained me, that locked me in. The brown cotton pants and blouse feel much better on my skin.

"Well, what do you think?" Constanza asks, smiling.

I return the smile. "I think I've just found myself—the true me."

In my lonely room, after Constanza leaves, I realize that on the eve of the dangerous expedition, I crave for company. Peter, who is on guard duty in the tunnel leading to the waterfall, takes a step back when he sees me.

"Wow!" he exclaims when he finds his voice.

I'd forgotten about the change in my appearance and start fidgeting. "How are you doing out here?"

He ignores my question. "I almost didn't recognize you."

"That's the whole point," I state.

"You're beautiful!"

"Thanks," I say, uncomfortable. With the exception of receiving compliments from Arthur and my real parents, they've been rare in my life.

He suddenly gets down on one knee in an exaggerated way. "Marry me!" he gushes.

I can't help but laugh at his mischievousness and the unserious, silly look on his face. "Don't you think we should get to know one another?"

"I've seen everything I need to see."

"Really?"

"You don't believe me?" he asks with an over-the-top, crestfallen face. "You've stuck a dagger in me."

"How big of a dagger?"

He chuckles loudly. "Okay, so I overdid it a bit," he declares, getting up off the floor.

"Just a little," I say, smiling.

His eyes reach out to mine. "But with all sincerity," he asserts, "you're the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen."

I grimace. It's not a good or a proper reaction to a beautiful compliment, but it's a knee jerk one. I don't have it in me to react differently. "Let's go outside," I request, changing the subject.

We sit on two tree stumps, leaving the tunnel entrance open with the steel door up. The cascading waterfall in front of us glistens in long, translucent sheets. I can't think of ever having seen a more beautiful landscape. The sounds of falling water lull us into a peaceful state.

The question that has been bothering me suddenly comes to the forefront of my thoughts. "What if all this supernova business is a lie?"

"It's not."

"I'm supposed to have some sort of abilities—powers of some kind. I don't think I do."

"Even if you don't, you're the light we've been waiting for. That's enough."

"Madrigal, you've got to stop questioning yourself," states a voice coming from the tunnel.

Peter rolls his eyes. "Why are you in this conversation?"

Royce steps outside. "I couldn't help overhearing. I was coming to see if you needed to be relieved."

"I'm fine," Peter mumbles.

Royce turns to look at me, his dark eyes curious. "You look different," he states.

"Yeah," snaps Peter. "She's totally beautiful."

"She's always been beautiful."

I eye him, surprised that he'd pay me such a compliment.

"I already told you that I don't need relief," Peter states. "You can go back in again."

"You don't tell me what to do."

"You don't either."

"Who's in charge of this expedition?" Royce growls.

Peter stares furiously at him.

"Who?" Royce repeats.

"Just because you're in charge doesn't mean you can be a tyrant!"

"I'm not a—"

"Stop it you two," I demand, tired of their squabbling.

Royce's heavy sight travels from Peter to me, his eyebrows snapped tightly together. Sitting very near to one another, Peter and I stare defiantly back at him. His dark eyes on us and frowning mouth manage to make me self conscious as if I'm committing an act of treason.

Peter places his hand on my arm. My first instinct is still to slap it away but instead I take a deep breath. _Our friendship is so important to me,_ I tell myself.

"Do you mind if we get some privacy?" Peter growls at his cousin. "'Three's a crowd.'"

Royce's face snaps to mine. "Do you need some privacy too, Madrigal? Privacy with _him_?"

I don't know what to say. "I . . . I—"

"Never mind—I've got to go," he mutters, rushing back into the tunnel.

I'm completely puzzled over the whole conversation. "What just happened?"

"My cousin's weird."

"I've already gotten that."

"Sorry about the privacy thing—that's the only way I could get rid of him," Peter explains.

"You wanted to get rid of him?"

"He's such a pain," Peter remarks.

"Peter!" I chastise. "He's part of your family. I thought you were close."

"Not anymore," he grumbles.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Family is so important."

"He's acting like a tyrant just because Constanza made him the leader of our mission," Peter scoffs.

"I tried to get her to consider you."

"Thanks, Madrigal. You're a true friend."

"I dread him being the leader—ugh!"

Peter eyes me pensively. "Madrigal, I need to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"You don't think I'm a loser, right?" he asks quietly, his face hopeful.

"Why would I think that?" I'm baffled by his question.

"Constanza chose him and not me."

"So?"

"I just couldn't stand it if you saw me as a goof off," he blurts.

"Peter, you're the best person in this place."

His eyes flicker at me. "You know I'll always be there for you, don't you?"

I nod energetically. As long as we're speaking heart to heart I feel the need to ask him what has been gnawing at me for a while. "Peter, do you remember when I was detoxifying?"

"Boy, do I. It was awful seeing you so out of it."

"Were you the one who stayed with me?" I blurt. "I know someone was in the room with me."

He eyes me carefully, not wanting to speak.

"I know someone was with me," I repeat. "So don't deny it."

"I'm not going to deny it anymore," he mumbles. "I couldn't stand seeing you that way, so I stayed with you."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"There are _secrets_ I'm bound to," he murmurs.

"Secrets?" My senses erupt.

"I can't say anything else."

"Are you Arthur?" I blurt before I'm able to catch myself.

He stares intently at me. "You mean, your imaginary friend?—the one who's been with you since you were a kid?"

My mouth drops wide open. I can hardly breathe. "That's him," I manage to get out. If he knows about Arthur then it can only mean one thing. I've finally found the owner of the voice in my mind!

"Forget about Arthur—his usefulness is gone," Peter announces, his vivid eyes solemnly on me. "He's just a fantasy made up to help you through your bad stuff. It's just you and me now—in the flesh and not stuck in your head."

Breakfast is even more solemn than the dinner the night before. It is very palpable in the air that we may be going on a fool's journey but everything inside of me is saying we're doing the right thing. I no longer have any lingering doubts.

My real parents are beckoning me to my new life.

If I play my cards right, I'll be free from my fake parents and drugs. If I don't, I may perish but the risk is worth it. Even with the strange animosity between Peter and Royce, I can see that they feel the same about our mission. They wouldn't dream of backing out. I don't think they've considered it for even half a second.

I haven't either but ever since my discussion with Peter yesterday, I've been trying to keep my head from losing focus. The earth shattering discovery about Arthur can pull me deep into an ocean if I let it. I've got too much of a difficult road ahead of me to allow my concentration to waiver. During the past few weeks, it's been one incredible revelation after another. I've got to assimilate them as much as possible. I come to the conclusion that Peter is right about Arthur. Fantasy has to be left behind because we have to concentrate on reality. Besides, why do I need a fictional Arthur when I have the real thing in Peter?

I eat my _huevos rancheros_ —thick tomato sauce with peppers on top of fried eggs and corn tortillas. I try to let the delicious taste linger in my mouth even though I'm not very hungry. The guys tell me that we don't know what's in store for us—starving may be a reality out there.

"Eat everything you can," commands Constanza.

I nod and take a bite of bacon. Peter and Royce also eat slowly. Their appetites aren't as hardy as they usually are, and a faraway look overtakes their eyes.

"We need to talk about something," Royce announces, grumbling. "And we have to cover it before we go."

"What is it?" Peter questions, his tone icy.

"This is a very dangerous mission."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Tell us something we don't know."

"We have to be a coherent group."

"We are a coherent group," Peter announces defensively.

Royce shakes his head quietly. "We're not."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Peter questions.

Royce's dark eyes sit heavily on Peter. "You and Madrigal are a team, but I'm left out."

"Don't be sill—"

"Peter, hear him out," Constanza demands.

"But—"

"I'm not part of your team," Royce asserts quietly.

"Royce is right," agrees Constanza. "I've noticed it too."

I turn my puzzled face to her. "You've noticed it?"

"I think you still resent Royce for what happened at your school," explains Constanza.

I was going to deny it, but it's useless to do it. Somewhere inside of me, I still resent the horrible experience he condemned me to when he was with QT100. I know it's petty and unfair of me since he was pretending to be someone he wasn't, but unfortunately, those bruises are still a deep throbbing purple. Anyway, I'm not sure if I'd like the guy even if we had just met. He was beating up his own cousin very badly when I stopped him with my slingshot.

"Let's agree to put our differences away while we get to the Freedom Warriors Headquarters," Royce suggests.

"Okay," mumbles Peter.

"Yeah," I agree.

"We have to work as a cohesive group," Royce brings up again.

"And don't forget that Royce is the leader," Constanza asserts. "There's a good reason why he's the one in charge."

Peter nods solemnly. "I got it."

"If you want to stay alive then you'd better follow him and not give him any grief."

"Okay," I say.

Constanza eyes me with a chastising expression. "Both you and Peter need to get it through your heads that Royce is the only one who's made it to our headquarters undetected and lived to tell about it. Do what he tells you to do."

As I nod, someone steps in through the door opening of the dining room. I don't allow my shock to paralyze me as I grab my slingshot.

It's a government guardian.

### Chapter 15: The Goodbye

"No, Madrigal!" yells Constanza.

Royce, who is the one closest to me, knocks the slingshot off my hands. I reach for it on the ground, but he pins me down by locking his arms around me from behind. I feel his ragged breath on my neck, and I cringe.

"Let me go!" I demand, struggling to get out of his vice-like grip.

"Let her go, you idiot!" Peter snaps as he starts to rush over to me.

"Everyone calm down!" orders Constanza as she moves in between the cousins before Peter reaches Royce. "Everyone stop what you're doing and take a breath."

Royce sets me free but grabs the slingshot from the floor before I can get to it. "Hey!" I yell, furiously.

"You're going to hurt someone with this thing," he announces.

"Isn't that the point?" I declare as I remember why I had pulled it out and glance at the guardian who is standing amused at the door.

"It's George, Madrigal," Constanza explains.

"George?" I ask, puzzled. Upon further inspection, I realize it is him.

"Still as feisty as ever," George declares, a huge grin on his face.

My eyebrows come together. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"I work for the government."

I do a double take. "You what?"

"I work for the government," he repeats.

"Why would you do that?" I ask suspiciously.

Peter grins sheepishly. "You know what they say, 'keep your friends close but your enemies closer.'"

"How can you stand working so close to those tyrants?" I inquire.

"Working for the government allows me certain privileges and to know certain things," George explains, matter-of-factly.

"George's contributions to the resistance have been invaluable," Constanza states.

A realization suddenly dawns on me. "Including having transported me in a government van."

George nods enthusiastically. "How do you think we did it? Government vehicles are impossible to get."

"You've got to have an in to get one," Constanza asserts, smiling at George.

Peter grins. "We're lucky to have one."

"Are we good to go?" George asks.

"We're going with you?" I question.

"You'd better believe it," he announces proudly.

"We're ready," states Royce.

I shake my head. "Not quite."

"What do you mean?" Royce asks, a quizzical expression on his face.

"I want my weapon back," I demand, eyeing Royce as I extend my hand out, palm up.

"Okay." He solemnly places my slingshot on my hand.

"Thanks a lot," I mutter as my fingers curl themselves over the weapon.

"I had to do it," he tells me quietly. "You would've hit George—probably incapacitated him, and we wouldn't have been able to start our mission."

"I understand," I say with ice in my tone. He's right, of course, but he didn't have to be so brutal with me. I can still feel his gorilla-like arms squeezing me until I could hardly breathe.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"It seems to me," Peter interjects, "that you're always having to apologize to Madrigal."

"I know," Royce mutters.

"Maybe you should stay away from her," states Peter.

Royce glares at him. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Peter's eyes ignite. "What I'd like is for you to stop hurting my friend."

"Didn't we just have a conversation on cohesiveness?" asks a frustrated Constanza. "I'm very close to pulling the plug on this mission."

"No," I blurt. "Please don't."

"What kind of a director would I be if I let you go through all that danger without trust in each other?"

"Constanza," Peter says, "we trust each other."

Her eyes narrow. "Well, you've got a funny way of showing it."

"I know Royce is a good leader," Peter announces. "I'll follow his orders with no problem."

"What about you, Madrigal?" Constanza asks. "Can you set aside those feelings from the past to follow him?"

I look straight into Royce's dark eyes. "I can."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Constanza sighs deeply. "You know, Supernova, eventually it's you we'll all be following. You could do a lot worse than learning leadership from someone like Royce. You just don't know him yet."

I nod. "I'll take that into consideration."

"Can we leave now?" George asks impatiently. "Our window of opportunity is going to close."

"Let's go," Royce states.

I circumvent my need for space and hug Constanza before stepping onto the elevator hidden in her bedroom's closet. It takes us to the bottom of the cliff. I'm assuming that this is where they brought me through when they abducted me. I follow the guys through a tunnel that takes us to huge, chalky gray boulders covering the opening. I'm curious as to how we're getting past them, to the outside.

Royce presses a button on the side of the tunnel and the rocks push forward. Apparently, they're held together by a device. We're in a very clever hiding place between the waterfall on one side and the boulders on another. I step outside to the fresh air, and the beautiful scenic place with dark-green foliage growing abundantly soothes my overactive nerves. It would be paradise if it wasn't for the danger. Constanza's last words to me echo in my mind.

"You can do this, Supernova. You can lead us back to democracy."

This time, the van George had procured has windows and several rows of seats. He doesn't have to worry about me trying to escape. I try not to look at him. His dark suit with the silver guardian pin on his lapel unnerves me.

"I didn't recognize you, Madrigal," he says, climbing into the driver's seat.

"You didn't?"

"You look completely different," he states, starting the ignition.

"Good. I'm supposed to be unrecognizable."

George's eyes meet mine through the rearview mirror. "You're beautiful."

"Thank you," I say uncomfortably. I had received too many compliments lately.

"Feisty but beautiful," he adds with a smile as the van pulls out.

"Feisty and mega-awesome," Peter interjects, grinning.

"Stop it, you guys," I grumble. My fake parents had cared so much about appearances that I'm leery of them and of people who put a lot of stock in them. "You'd better get used to it," Peter declares.

"What?"

He chuckles. "You'll see."

"What do you mean?" I question.

"He means that guys will be all over themselves to be with you," answers Royce dryly. "They already do."

"That's ridiculous," I blurt.

Royce's steady sight stays on me. "It's true."

"I'm on a mission," I declare, wanting this conversation to end, "not trying to find a boyfriend."

"You can accomplish your goals while still having a boyfriend," Peter interjects.

I energetically shake my head. "A boyfriend is the furthest thing from my mind."

"Oh," Peter mutters, disappointed.

"She's right," Royce declares, "We're on a very important mission. We can't let romance get in the way."

"It wouldn't have to," insists Peter.

Royce shakes his head. "Feelings always do."

"You are such a cynic," guffaws George.

"When you feel romantically tied to someone, it can cause problems."

"Don't be ridiculous, Royce," scoffs Peter.

"I guess falling for QT100 must've been the pits," George asserts. "She was the beauty you had to leave behind."

"She's a total monster," sneers Royce.

I'm completely taken aback. "You think she's a monster?"

"I know she is."

"That doesn't mean you can't have a crush on her," George interjects.

"Yes, it does," Royce snaps.

"Royce is right," mutters Peter, eyeing me carefully. "You should care about the person for who they are and not what they look like."

"Let's finish what we need to finish and then get romantic," Royce grumbles.

I nod quietly. I can't believe I'm agreeing with Royce. "Yes, important things come first."

We quietly travel through the Center of Order—that's what the United World leaders call the city that used to be Austin, Texas. It is now their residence and where they make all the decisions for earth. I cringe when I see the road leading to my fake parent's house. It was never my home, and I have never thought of it as such.

I feel years away from that place—from that girl I used to be. I can see my fake parents in my mind's eye sitting in the living room watching a government documentary about how much our planet has improved from the old days. I can see my fake dad nodding his head gleefully while eating from a huge tub of banana nut ice cream. I wasn't allowed to touch it since it would make me fat. My fake mother would be by his side as blissful as he was and eating chocolate bars that were also prohibited to me. The majority of the planet was starving but food was never a problem at my house—especially for my fake parents since I wasn't allowed to eat most of it.

I would sometimes wonder how they could be allowed to decide the fate of so many people while being so selfish and self centered. They constantly stuffed themselves with food prohibited to almost everybody. When they'd gain any weight, they'd approve fat reduction surgery for themselves and whittle down to their skinny weight. They did this while rejecting many necessary surgeries for the others that could save lives. I sigh.

My fake parents disgusted me so much.

Thank goodness I'm free from them.

"Rush hour!—great!" chortles George as we move onto the freeway.

It is busy with government executives heading for home. Of course, there are no private vehicles on the road but there is government issued transportation like law cruisers, delivery trucks, utility vehicles, ambulances and cars.

"One day our society will be free," Royce announces.

Peter nods quietly. "We've been planning for so long."

"It's hard to believe we're finally here," Royce comments.

Peter's lips curl up. "It's hard to believe that we've got the Supernova with us." All eyes bounce over to me. I shift in my seat uncomfortably.

"We can't fail in our mission," Royce passionately declares.

"No, we can't," I agree.

I think about the many people who are depending on us—those who are put at the margin of society just because they are deemed the others, and I make a silent vow to do what I can. It's such a huge undertaking, though, to make it to the Freedom Warriors Headquarters. I want to sink in my seat when I think about how closely society is watched. Will anyone catch us as we're moving in this van?

"Wouldn't it have been better to be in a closed vehicle?" I ask.

"It's better to be in the open," George remarks confidently. "People always wonder what's in a closed van."

"Good point," I say but then I see a car that looks exactly like my fake parent's government one. I cringe.

"Are you okay, Madrigal?" asks Peter.

_It's not them._ I tell myself to contain the disgust. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The traffic comes to an abrupt halt. We're nearing a checkpoint! I've always despised being so closely watched from all corners. I take deep breaths as I glance out the window. Vehicles are piling up.

"What are we going to do?" I ask to no one in particular.

"We've got this handled, Madrigal," Royce answers.

My eyes shift to his face. "But if they check our fingerprints—"

The frenzied noise of government dogs barking disrupts my thought process. I turn towards the ear splitting chaos, wanting to squeeze my hands over my ears to muffle the tumultuous racket. Instead, my mouth drops open.

Those fierce animals are in pursuit.

They're accelerating towards us.

### Chapter 16: Checkpoint

The rabid, sandy-colored dogs hasten towards our van as a checkpoint guard scrambles behind them. He glares at us with beady, laser-like eyes.

"Act normal," whispers George but I can hear the fear locked in his voice.

"Yes," agrees Royce with a steadier voice, "don't act guilty. George, you especially have to keep natural. Remember, you're a government guardian. You should be able to get us out of this."

"It isn't going as planned," George blurts, his eyes on the incensed guard. "Who is that guy?"

"Plans change," Royce announces just before the deranged dogs reach us. George opens the window to the guard pointing a menacing black pistol at us.

"My dogs don't seem to like you," he sneers at George. The furious animals snarl and growl while thumping against the van.

"Hi," George manages to say. "You're new, aren't you?"

"You're a guardian?" he snarls, looking at George's guardian lapel pin with doubt.

"Yes, my name is George ST8000. I'm due at Headquarters 2 in about an hour."

The guard's arrogant face stares George down. "I suppose you think that because you're a government employee like me I should let you go just like that?"

"Well—"

"Wrong! My job is to protect," he snaps, "and my dogs have chosen your vehicle." He glares into the van, snarling at us. "You've got a huge problem, buddy! My dogs have sniffed the most wanted criminal's clothes, and they seem to think something's wrong here!"

My fake parents must've given them an article of my clothing. I tell myself not to panic.

"Something is very wrong," the guard emphasizes.

"Maybe they don't like my deodorant," George mumbles nervously.

"Very funny—a comedian!" the guard sneers. "Now, park this vehicle on the side of the road."

With vehicles both in front and behind us, we can't escape even if we tried. George maneuvers the van to the shoulder of the road. The growling dogs and the guard follow us.

"This is a mistake," states George nervously. "A big mistake. I—"

"I need your thumbprint— _NOW_! And when I finish with yours, I'll have everyone else's!"

We're goners. I put my hand on my slingshot because I'm not going down without a fight.

The guard pulls a fingerprint device from his pocket with his left hand.

"Put your thumb on it," he orders as he places his own on the corresponding part. The identity scanner is only set to work if it can identify who is demanding the fingerprint.

George obliges and an approval sound rings. The guard studies the information eschewed from the small screen of the device. Grunting, he looks at George. "So, you're who you say you are."

"Of course I am," George says, sounding indignant. "Who else would I be?"

"Look, rules are rules," he snaps. "The dogs are going nuts for a reason, and I'll have to check everyone else's prints before I can let you go."

My hand curls itself around the slingshot in my pocket. I'd have to judge the best time to use it—without endangering anyone. The guard has a gun after all.

"You're next, girlie," he declares, looking straight at me.

This is going to get very sticky in just a few moments. "Okay," I mumble as I stick out my thumb.

"What are you doing, TP0000?!" a spiked voice roars at the guard as I am about to put my thumb on the identity scanner.

"Commander, I—"

Another guard with shinier emblems eyes him with disgust. "Why are you wasting your time here when we've got to check so many vehicles?"

"But, commander, the dogs . . ." TP0000 says helplessly.

"Down!" the commander yells at the dogs, and they immediately become calm.

"I'm just doing my job."

"I'm a few minutes late and all goes crazy," the commander grunts. "It's a good thing I came when I did, or you would've been kicked out of the force, rookie."

For the first time, the guard lets down his arrogant stance and gulps heavily. "I would've been fired?"

"Do you know who this is?" he asks, indicating George.

"I took his thumbprint and—"

"He's a higher up guardian—a lot higher than you."

"But—"

"Put the stupid pistol DOWN!" he orders.

"But—"

The commander swiftly yanks the gun out of the guard's hand with one swoop.

"My weapon," the guard mumbles helplessly.

The commander turns to George. "I apologize for this inconvenience, Mr. ST8000."

"But the dogs signaled his vehicle out," the guard declares defensively.

"Of course they did," the commander states. "We're testing the dogs."

"Testing the dogs?" gulps TP0000.

"We're making sure the dogs are on target. We do this ever so often. Didn't you learn anything in training, rookie?"

The guard gulps again. "I'm sorry . . . I didn't know . . ."

"This is meant for an exercise and not to harass one of our most important citizens," the commander snaps.

"I'm very sorry . . . I—"

"Stop apologizing to me. I'm not the one you offended. Your incompetence makes me wonder about you."

The guard turns to face George, very different from the arrogant person who had pointed a weapon at us. "I'm so sorry . . . I didn't know about the exercise . . . I hope you don't use what happened here against me. . . I was just doing my job," he grovels. "I'm so sorry."

"Its okay, TP0000. But next time, know what's going on," George snaps.

"I will," he mumbles. "You're not going to report me, are you?"

"I'll let this one go—this time."

"Thank you! Thank you!"

"Go back to your post," orders the commander. "I'll take this from here."

Only too happy to leave, the guard rushes away. The commander turns to George as soon as TP0000 and the rabid dogs are back at their station checking other vehicles and far away from us.

"Sorry about that," he announces. "My tardiness couldn't be helped."

"Nothing serious I hope," George says.

"The same old stuff from the old farts at Headquarters 1 . . . I hate those idiots so much," he growls.

He's one of us!

"I'm afraid we're in for trouble," the commander continues.

George rolls his eyes. "What are they up to?"

"Let me put it this way, it's a good thing you're undertaking this mission now. They're about to re-set the spy cameras."

The government had been trying for a long time to put the whole planet under its watchful eye—to protect us according to them, but something always goes wrong with the electronics. After the environmental changes took place on earth just before the United World leaders took over, electrical systems changed. Climate change altered magnetic energy.

"This time we won't be able to mess up their system so easily," the commander says dryly.

"When are the spy cameras set to work?"

"According to what they told me this morning, they're set to be on in a few weeks."

"A few weeks?" asks Peter, concern in his tone.

The commander nods. "Unfortunately, yes."

"We'll just have to be at Freedom Warriors Headquarters by then," Royce declares. "We don't have a choice. Supernova has to get there."

The commander's face turns to me. His blue eyes sweep over me.

"Is she the one?" he asks excitedly.

"Yes," George states.

"You're her," he gushes, grabbing my hand with both of his.

"I'm _me_ ," I mumble, puzzled by this man's odd behavior.

His tough guardian stance folds, and he looks like a giddy child with the first ice cream cone of the summer. "I'm so honored to meet you."

"To meet me?" I ask with disbelief.

"You're the Supernova!"

"That's what they tell me," I mutter nervously.

"The Supernova!" he repeats with flourish. "We've been waiting for you for so long."

"Waiting?"

"We were waiting for the right time to get you where you need to be."

"With a few weeks before the spy cameras are on," Royce says dryly, "we'd better hurry."

"I'll wave you across the checkpoint," the commander declares, his tough stance returning.

"Thanks," Royce says.

"It's been an honor to meet you, Supernova."

"Likewise," I return.

"George, just remember you have to be at Headquarters 2 shortly," states the commander.

"I know."

"I'll call them to tell them that there was a problem with our rookie, but that won't buy you much time," the commander informs.

"I'll make it."

"Good luck—all of you."

"Í thought we were going to get caught," Peter mentions when we're far from the checkpoint station.

George nods solemnly. "That was a close call!"

The dogs' arduous barks are still fresh in my ears, and TP0000's arrogant eyes twist my stomach with disdain.

"I just can't believe that the commander is one of us," I express, the words shooting out of my mouth.

"You'd be surprised at how many are with us, Madrigal," Royce declares.

Can it be true? "Really?"

"There are many who are frustrated and ready for a change," Peter explains.

I contemplate his words. "Really?" I repeat.

"You saw how the commander is risking it all for the resistance," Peter asserts.

I nod in deep thought.

George heavy foot pushes down on the gas pedal. We're traveling above speed limit on the freeway.

"You're going too fast, George," states Royce. "Ease up on the gas."

"I need to get to Headquarters 2 on time."

"We can't risk a law guardian stopping us."

Frowning, he slows down. "Okay."

"What are we going to do at Headquarters 2?" I ask, despising the idea of being at the government offices.

"I'm the only one who's going," George explains.

My eyes abruptly shift to him, puzzled. "What about us?"

"We've got our own path to take," Royce announces.

I examine the road ahead of us. More freeway. There's another checkpoint at the entrance of Area 2, and Headquarters 2 is just a few feet from it. My guess is that George will have to leave us off somewhere before he arrives at his official destination. Area 2—my heart thumps with frenzied excitement and dread at the same time. I was born in Area 2 when it used to be San Antonio before the leaders put the world in regions and threw away their names. Paris is no longer Paris—it's Area 50. Of course, it isn't the same tourist city it was before, nor is San Antonio or any other popular vacation spot because travel no longer exists. All people, except for the guardians, have to stay in specific areas. The leaders tell us that it's for our own good. If they keep track of us, they can make sure we're safe. What liars! They want to keep us in place but according to my new _friends_ , more people are questioning their nonsense.

Good!

It's about time!

As we quietly travel, heading towards my birthplace—a place I haven't been to since I was a child—I stare at the green scenery outside. Even though I appreciate the lush surroundings, I'm not really looking at them. I'm dreading returning to the place my parents died in even though it's completely different from when I was a kid there. Because of climate change, earth has completely transformed. Extreme weather like floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, tsunamis, and other tragedies have struck most places on the planet. The United World leaders swept in like saviors to rebuild our crumbling environments—at their convenience of course.

_What a conundrum,_ I tell myself as we near my birthplace, _to love and dread a place at the same time._

"You can leave us off here," states Royce.

The checkpoint to Area 2 is only a few miles down the road.

"Are you sure you don't want me to get you closer?" George asks.

"No," Royce answers. "It's too dangerous. We can walk."

George maneuvers the van off the freeway, taking the first off ramp that comes up. He only stops the vehicle when we're in a wooded area—hidden from view.

"Be very careful," he pleads with concern as we tumble out of the van.

"We will," Royce says as he pulls out a backpack from under the seat and hands it to me. "We'll each carry one," he states.

Good thinking. We've got supplies.

I give George a hug before we set off. I'm surprised at my tendencies toward affection lately.

"Don't say good-bye," he orders me, his eyes full of tears. "Just say, 'I'll see you.'"

"Okay," I return, my own eyes blurry. "I'll see you soon."

We hear the van leave behind us as Royce, Peter, and I walk into the woods. We're quiet and with a determined look on our faces. The large, bulky trees infuse me with strength as I gaze at their majestic poses.

"I hope you know where we're going," Peter tells Royce.

"I do."

"Are we going through the city at all?" I ask with a small voice.

"No, we're staying in the woods."

I'm relieved and disappointed at the same time. I won't get to see my place of birth or the place my real parents are buried in.

"We could die in the forest," Peter smirks.

"We're not going to die," snaps Royce.

"It's a possibility."

"Keep your negative thoughts to yourself."

"But—"

"Stop fighting," I demand. "Remember what we promised Constanza."

Peter groans unhappily. "Sorry for questioning you." He doesn't sound the least bit sorry.

"We've got plenty of supplies and water in our backpacks. We aren't going to die any time soon," Royce declares, a growl in his tone.

"Of course we're not," I state. "Let's stop talking about death, okay?"

Royce eyes me. "I think that's a great idea."

"Yeah, okay."

"Agreed then," Royce utters.

"Do you think we could stop to eat?" asks Peter. "All the hoopla at the checkpoint made me hungry."

"You're already hungry?" Royce asks, disbelief in his voice.

"Yeah," Peter states, his voice sounding defensive.

"We can't stop to—"

When a twig snaps, I instinctively dive into the branches of a fallen tree on the ground next to me. The plentiful, green leaves cover me. Royce and Peter are not so lucky.

"Don't move!" snarls a soldier as he comes into view with a threatening military rifle pointing at them.

### Chapter 17: Captured

With a menacing weapon staring at them, Royce and Peter have little choice but to fling their hands up in surrender. I make them out through the intricate myriad of leaves, and I prevent myself from sighing disconcertedly. Luckily, it seems the soldier isn't aware of me. I have to figure out what to do.

While training us, Royce had engraved in our minds, "No unnecessary heroics! Our mission is to survive and to do good by our planet—not to be heroes."

_He sure walks the talk,_ I say to myself. Royce is doing precisely what he told us to do in a volatile situation; he is staying calm and collect. "Bad situations have to be defused," he had taught us. "The only way to do that is to keep your head cool." Peter, on the other hand, appears to be jittery and shocked.

"What are you doing out here?!" the soldier demands to know. My hand curls itself over my slingshot. I will wait for the right time to use it.

"We were camping," Royce states calmly, not missing a single beat. He and Peter are straight in my vision. If I didn't know the truth I would've believed Royce's natural and nonchalant posture.

"Camping?" the soldier mutters.

"Yeah."

The soldier eyes Royce's and Peter's backpacks with suspicion. "Open them carefully and dump the contents on the ground."

Doing what their told, the guys cast the survival gear to the ground. The military rifle stays firmly on them. Kicking the piles around, the soldier finds a first aid kit, a fishing hook, a Swiss knife, a compass, and a change of clothes for each along with dried food, water canteens, and other assorted items.

Satisfied with the findings, the soldier growls at Royce and Peter, "Do you have permits?"

"No," Royce says, still as calm as a floating feather. "You know how it is—it takes forever to get permits, and we wanted to be prepared before we graduate from school and serve the military."

The soldier nods understandingly. "I was the same way."

"It's about having a warrior's heart," Royce announces.

"Very few of us have one."

Royce nods in agreement. "It's a shame about that."

"Look, guys, even though I get what you're doing, you shouldn't be here. We're practicing military maneuvers and you could get seriously hurt if a stray bullet hits you."

"So we'll have to go home?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Okay," Royce says, starting to put the gear back in his backpack and Peter follows his lead.

"Wait," demands the soldier. "What's that?" he questions, indicating something sticking out of one of the pockets of Peter's backpack.

"Nothing," Peter utters nervously.

"Get it out!"

Pulling the object out of his backpack, Peter's hands shake. Royce gives an involuntary groan when he first sees the flare gun.

"What are you doing with it?" the soldier demands to know. "They are illegal to civilians!"

"We got them on the black market," Peter rushes with a shaky voice.

One of the soldier's eyebrows shoots up. "Black market?"

"How can we learn proper survival techniques without flare guns?" interjects Royce, obviously trying to save the situation.

The soldier's suspicions are already awakened. "How would you have connections to the black market?"

"It's complicated to explain but—"

"But nothing! I'm going to need to scan your fingerprints," he snaps as he fumbles in his pocket for the device. He keeps pointing his menacing weapon at the guys with his other hand.

"But—"

"Quiet!"

Royce's left eye twitches. If the guys are scanned, they'll be on the radar. I frown and mutter under my breath. It's very important to stay under it. Even though I'm positive that both Royce's and Peter's records are clean, many questions are going to arise like what they're doing so far from home. They are from the Center of Order and not from Area 2. Why aren't they in the woods over there?—how did they get past the first checkpoint?

My fingers tighten around the slingshot. Fortunately, the woods are full of rocks. Two medium ones—the size of a newborn baby's fist—sit next to me. I have to take the perfect shot and not fail, or it can cost all three of us our lives.

Pulling out the identity scanner, the soldier smirks, "Now we'll know who you are."

"Okay," Royce says as he starts nearing the soldier.

"Stop!" demands the soldier. "What are you doing?"

"I thought you wanted to take our fingerprints?" Royce answers innocently. Of course I know what's really happening. He's trying to get close enough to overpower him.

"Stay there!" snaps the soldier. "I'll shoot!"

Royce stops moving forward and puts his hands back up, trying to calm the situation. "Okay, okay," he says soothingly.

"Don't get near me—either of you."

"How are you going to check our fingerprints?" Royce asks. "The identity scanner needs your fingerprint at the same time it gets ours." The soldier would have to put down his bulky weapon to do it.

"I know," he grumbles. "It's obvious I'm going to need some help. Good thing I'm not the only soldier in the woods."

Royce seemingly nods at the soldier, but he's looking straight towards me. He offers me a signal that I really don't need. I'm very well aware that I've got to take the shot soon or else it'll be impossible with other soldiers around.

"Hopefully they're not far away," the soldier continues as he returns the scanner to his pocket and fumbles for something else.

"Shoot!" he yells, frustrated. "B22 has my squawk box," he says more to himself than to the guys.

I let out a breath of relief. Someone else has his communication device. He can't alert other soldiers.

"Can't you just let us go?" asks Royce. "Why go through all this trouble over a flare gun?"

"I'm not going to let you go," he snaps. "Something's fishy here. You might've fooled me at the beginning but not anymore—just look at your friend practically having a heart attack."

"It's his first time doing anything like this," explains Royce as he looks at a trembling Peter, "of course he's jittery."

"No," the soldier insists, "something else is going on here."

"What else could be going on?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out."

"You don't need—"

"A shot in the air will get my buddies over here." He moves the barrel of his weapon away from the guys.

Now! I demand of myself. My hand on the slingshot. My fingers on the rock. Sharp focus.

The soldier moves his rifle upwards.

CRACK!

The solid rock rams into the back of his head. As he crumbles to the ground unconscious, a shot fires in the air. Royce kicks the weapon away from him. "Peter, I told you not to bring the flare gun," he grumbles. "We can't use it."

"I—"

"Stay where you are, Madrigal," Royce orders when he sees me stumbling out of my hiding place. "Peter, get your backpack, now. Others are probably coming. We'll hide with Madrigal."

Spaced out like a zombie, Peter doesn't make a single move. Royce shakes him sharply.

"Hey!" Peter snaps, getting out of his stupor. "Stop that! You have no right to—"

"We don't have time for this, Peter. We need to get ourselves out of sight now! Just do as I say."

The gravity of the situation dawns on Peter, and he does exactly what Royce tells him to do. With their backpacks, they arrive at my hiding place quicker than I thought humanly possible.

"Good hit, Madrigal," whispers Royce.

For some reason, his praise fills me with warm feelings. Before I can respond with a thank you, voices come towards our area.

"I'm sure the shot came from this direction," one baritone male's voice says.

"You're right," a female's voice answers.

A group of soldiers of both genders come into view. I tell myself not to panic. There are about twenty of them—all armed—all dangerous.

"It's D412!" one of them says as he rushes to the soldier I had hit with a rock from my slingshot.

"Why is he on the ground?"

"It looks like he's been hurt."

"Is he okay?"

"He's not dead," the soldier who had rushed to D412 informs, having knelt down and checked him.

"Ow!" D412 mumbles from the ground. He's coming back to consciousness.

"D412, what the heck happened?!" the one with the most arrogant posturing questions furiously.

"Ow! Ow!" D412 can't manage to say anything else as he rubs his head where I hit him with the rock.

"He's only half conscious, sergeant," one of the female soldiers informs.

"He'd better wake up soon if he knows what's good for him!" retorts the sergeant.

"Yes, sergeant."

"What's he doing here by himself?" the sergeant demands to know.

"Sergeant, you know how he is," says one of the females.

"What does that mean?" the sergeant snaps.

"He's a loner."

"A loner?!" the sergeant snickers. "There are no loners in my troop!"

"I wish he knew that," another soldier grumbles.

"Where's his buddy?" the sergeant demands to know.

"I'm here, sergeant," one of the soldiers nervously mutters.

"You're his buddy, C22?"

"Yes, sergeant."

"Why weren't you with him?!" roars the sergeant.

"He said it would be better if we separated, sergeant."

"What kind of stupidity is that?!" he snaps. "You're assigned a buddy so that you stay together, you idiot!"

"Yes, sergeant."

"You've got kitchen and latrine duty for a week—see if you can grow some brains during that time!"

"Sergeant—"

"Be grateful I don't put you in the brig for insubordination like I'm going to do with this idiot as soon as he finishes his beauty sleep!"

"Yes, sergeant."

"And I still need to see what kind of trouble he got himself into! He may be in the brig for a long, long time!"

"Yes, sergeant.

"Soldiers, secure the area. We need to find out what happened to this idiot!"

"Stay calm," whispers a barely audible Royce.

"Check everything!" the sergeant demands. "Leave no stone unturned or leaf for that matter."

"Yes, sergeant," the soldiers say in unison.

With a heavy scowl on his face and a cigar hanging from his lips, the sergeant takes the safety off his military rifle. He's ready to fire if necessary.

Then with a determined and ferocious look on his face, he starts his own search.

He's moving towards us.

### Chapter 18: Hiding

I shove a gasp into myself as I see the sergeant's snarled face coming nearer and nearer. Next to me, I hear Peter's uneven breath and my fingers gently touch his. He squeezes them tightly. Our green outfits blend well with the woods, and we are well hidden under many tree branches with their abundant amounts of leaves, but if the sergeant is close enough and if he searches, he'll easily find us.

He gets closer and closer.

"Sergeant," says a female soldier who had stayed with D412, "shouldn't we take him to the hospital or something?"

"No!"

"He may have a concussion, sergeant, or something worse."

"I don't care! If he has the audacity of going against my orders and gets himself in a stupid situation then he'll have to wait until we do what we have to do!"

"Yes, sergeant."

A few short steps away from us, the sergeant stops to put out his cigar in the dirt. Stomping ferociously on the ground, I can just imagine what he will do to us if he finds us. Eyeing the fallen tree branches we're in, once again he heads towards us.

I count backwards to keep calm.

Suddenly, his black boot is only a few short inches away from me. Peter clutches my hand tighter. I'm certain that not any of us are breathing.

The menacing barrel of his weapon is lowered to shove the leaves aside. We're toast.

"Sergeant! Sergeant!"

He quickly pulls back his weapon. I start breathing again.

"What do you want, corporal?" he snarls.

"I think I figured out what happened," she says excitedly, next to where D412 is still on the ground moaning.

"Well, what is it?! Out with it!"

"I can't just tell you. I have to show you."

"Show me?" the sergeant snarls unhappily.

"Yes, sergeant."

"What am I?—a kid that needs to be shown!" His voice contorts in disgust.

"D412 got knocked out by a rock," the corporal explains.

My breath grows ragged again.

"A rock?" the sergeant asks in disbelief.

"Yes, sergeant."

"How? . . . What? . . ." His voice sounds confused.

"With all due respect, sergeant, that's why I wanted to show you."

"This better be good!" the sergeant snickers as his heavy boots move away from us. Peter's fingers loosen their grip on mine.

When the sergeant is a safe distance away and grumbling loudly at the soldier, Peter whispers in a barely audible voice, "We need to make a run for it."

Being so close to him, I can feel him ready to pounce.

"Stay still," demands Royce.

"But—"

"Royce is right," I say, surprised at my own words.

This seems to settle him because I can feel his body going slack next to me. I let out a breath of relief. We're safe—at least for a few more seconds.

"So what's the story?" the sergeant demands to know.

"D412 tripped."

"Tripped?"

"Yes, sergeant."

"I thought you said a rock did this to him?" he growls.

"He tripped on the vines underneath the tree there," she states, pointing to the bottom of a tree next to D412. "Then he hit his head on that big rock next to him," she finishes smugly as she shifts her index finger to the white, ankle-high sized rock embedded in the dirt.

"What a dumb jerk!" the sergeant retorts.

"His weapon must've accidentally gone off when he tripped."

"How did I get stuck with a dumb idiot like him in my battalion?! How did he pass basic training is what I want to know?"

"His father is a colonel."

"I should've known," the sergeant retorts. "His _daddy_ got him in!"

"The whole family is strange," she remarks.

"I'm not having this in my troop! No!"

"Ahhhhh," D412 moans.

"I'm transferring him out as soon as we get back!"

Soldiers start coming back with their weapons no longer in shooting positions but slung on their backs.

"We couldn't find anything, sergeant," states a soldier.

"Of course you couldn't," snarls the sergeant as he angrily eyes D412.

"Nothing seems to be out of place or suspicious, sergeant," a soldier states.

"This worthless idiot sent us on a wild goose chase when we've got much more important things to do," snaps the sergeant. "The idiot tripped over some vegetation and bumped his little head."

"Tripped?" D412 mumbles as if he's trying to piece his breath together.

"Looks like he's finally awake, " the corporal states.

"I . . . didn't . . . trip," D412 says haltingly.

Just when I thought we might've saved ourselves.

"What do you mean you didn't trip?" the sergeant demands to know.

"I didn't."

"You didn't?" the sergeant snaps.

"I don't think so."

"You don't _think_ so?"

"No."

"What do you _think_ happened?" smirks the sergeant. "Please tell us! We're waiting to hear the story with baited breath."

Laughter erupts as heads shake and sneering noises are made.

"I think there were two young guys and maybe a third person and—"

"And one of them hit you?" retorts the sergeant.

"No, they were in front of me, and I got hit with a blunt object from the back."

"You sure about that, D412?" asks the corporal.

"We've combed the woods and have found nothing," states another soldier.

"Nothing?"

"No."

"Are you sure things didn't happen another way?" the corporal asks.

"I've already told you what happened."

"You sure about what you're saying—about two guys and a hit to the head from the back?" she asks.

I think that's what happened."

"What did these two culprits look like?" the corporal asks.

D412 rubs his head. "I don't remember. It's still sooo foggy in my head!"

The sergeant shakes his head furiously. "I'm getting tired of this! You know what I think happened, D412?" the sergeant snaps.

"Sergeant—"

"Like an incompetent idiot you fell and banged your empty head on a rock!"

"No, sergeant, I—"

"Now you're trying to save face in front of your fellow soldiers by concocting this ridiculous story!"

"Sergeant, I assure you that—"

"Private, you can't assure me of anything!"

"But sergeant—"

"Stop your caterwauling!"

"Sergeant—"

"We've wasted enough time already!"

"But sergeant—"

"I'm personally holding you responsible, you idiot, for us deviating from training!"

"It's not my fault that—"

"Shut up, private!"

"My dad—"

"Don't you ever bring up your father to me—daddy's boy!"

"I—"

"I already told you to shut up! That's an order or do you want to be court-martialed for insubordination?"

"No, sergeant," D412 says in a small, frustrated voice.

"We've got to be getting back to the fort," snaps the sergeant. "We've got to get back not having accomplished our training!"

"Sorry, sergeant," mumbles D412.

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?!"

D412 stares at the ground.

"We'll have to be back tomorrow," the sergeant mumbles furiously, his face contorted.

We quietly remain in place until the last soldier leaves and the three of us exhale ferociously at the same time. After a few minutes, we move our stiff bodies, trying to get the blood flowing to our limbs again. Royce tells Peter and me to stay put as he starts stumbling out of our hiding place.

"Where are you going?" asks Peter.

"I need to make sure no one's around."

"I'll go with you."

Royce shakes his head. "Stay here."

"But—"

"Peter, stop fighting me on everything."

"Okay," he mumbles.

"Stay with me," I tell him.

Peter rewards me with a smile. "It'll be my pleasure."

Royce lets out a small snort as he leaves us. I watch him expertly move without making much noise and diving into hiding places like bushes and foliage. After a while, I can't see him at all.

"He's gone," I whisper to Peter.

"Not for long," he retorts.

"What a day!"

"You can say that again."

"It's been one close call after another," I state.

"I thought that when the sergeant came over, we were busted for sure."

"Me too."

"Good thing I didn't make a run for it," he mumbles.

"Something tragic might've happened if you had done it."

"I don't know what I was thinking."

"You were probably suffocating under here like I was," I comment, indicating the fallen tree.

"I really wanted to run out and get away from here."

"Me too."

"I felt so frustrated at not being able to do anything."

"Luckily, your cousin didn't lose his cool."

"Yes, luckily," Peter mumbles.

"He probably saved our lives with his quick thinking."

"Don't give him so much credit," snaps Peter.

"But—"

"You saved our lives, Madrigal, with your quick thinking and your sling shot."

"At first I doubted that I could make the shot, but then I told myself that I didn't have a choice."

"It was a great shot just like my cousin said it was," he states.

"Royce is so cool under pressure," I comment.

Peter grimaces at the small spikes of admiration in my voice. "Are you thirsty?" he asks, changing the subject.

"I'm totally parched," I say as both of us grab our canteens from our backpacks and drink.

"Are you hungry?"

"I think we should wait for Royce to eat."

"Why?" he asks with a grumble in his voice.

"It would be rude to eat without him."

"Rude?"

"We're civilized, aren't we? And civilized people are considerate of others."

"Why should he care if we eat?"

"Even when there's a lot we don't like about him, we're still a team, right?"

"But—"

"Peter, we're a team and need to act like one."

"Yeah, I guess so," Peter grudgingly says.

"We've got a long way to go—we have to work together."

"He's a jerk now that he's made it to the top."

"We've got to ignore his weirdness. We've got to get to the Freedom Headquarters. Remember what Constanza told us about working together?"

"Yeah."

"Agreed then."

"Yes, agreed," he states.

"You're starting to _like_ him, right?" His tone has spiky and sad sounds at the same time.

"Not really," I mutter.

Peter groans deeply. "If I could just get in your head . . . again . . . like when I was Arthur," he mentions with trepidation. "I could see what's really in there."

"Arthur?" Saying his name fills me with strong emotions.

"I just can't be him anymore, Madrigal. By some quirk of fate I was able to connect with your brainwaves, but now that you're so physically close to me, I get completely depleted when I try."

"You do?" I ask, surprised. I always felt more energized when I connected to him, but he's the one who has to infiltrate my mind and not vice versa.

"That's why I had to tell you good-bye that night—you remember, right?"

"Yeah, I remember," I mutter, my voice shaky.

He pulls my chin up with his fingers. "Don't be sad. I'm here in the flesh now. I'm here for you."

"Thanks."

"Come with me," he says as he starts stumbling out of the hiding place.

"What are you doing?" I ask, baffled.

"I need out of here. My muscles are fossilizing."

"Peter, get back in here," I insist, upset. "Royce told us to stay in place."

"Don't worry, Madrigal. I just need to stretch my legs a little."

"I really don't think that's a good idea."

"What could happen?" he asks, moving further and further away from the fallen tree.

"A lot can happen," I state, dryly.

"Madrigal, you should come out here," he gushes. "There's a great breeze!"

"Peter, I wish you'd get back in here."

"You'll suffocate in there. Come out with me."

"Peter—"

It is then that I hear it—one of the strongest and most frightening noises I have ever heard.

R-R-R-ROAR!

A huge, fierce, black grizzly bear is moving swiftly towards Peter.

### Chapter 19: The Bear

With one hand I jerk my slingshot out of my pocket and with the other I search for a rock.

The ferocious grizzly bear is getting closer and closer to Peter!

Peter is frozen with fear.

My fingers jam the stone in the leather pocket pouch of my weapon and I pull back the elastic. Letting go, I have to wait what seems an eternity to see if I hit the terrorizing animal. The wild beast is moving so fast that I had to shoot in front of it—hoping the rock would land where it was supposed to.

I miss!

Peter's face is ashen before he collapses.

He appears to be unconscious. Maybe it's for the best with the circumstances being what they are.

I grab another rock. _I can't miss,_ I tell myself. _This is my friend's life._

This time the rock hits the bear squarely over its right eye. A heavy clunk sound resonates in the air and the fierce animal tumbles down a few feet away from Peter with a deep moan that abruptly shuts off when the bear's heavy body crashes to the ground.

"Peter! Peter!" I cry out. But my friend is out like a light.

I have to get him away from the bear because the animal might wake up at any moment. Jumping out of the hiding place, I start rushing towards Peter. My heart beats rapidly in my throat.

"Peter, please wake up!" I call out to him as I try to make my legs go as fast as they can.

He wakes up.

But it's not Peter I'm talking about. I stop moving as the animal's dark furious eyes pierce through mine. The grizzly looks at me—straight at me!—and then it stands up on its hind legs and R-R-ROARS! The maddening sound chills my bones—turning my insides to ice.

_Do something,_ I tell myself. _The bear's going to kill us!_

I frantically look around me for a rock—nothing! No rocks anywhere near me. How is this happening?

The fierce grizzly bear falls back on its fours and pushes forward—its heavy body not slowing it down any. Glaring at me as it goes toward me, thoughts crash in my head. If I run, the wild animal will surely outrun me. I push the dirt around on the ground—there has to be a rock somewhere. The wild beast is planning on devouring me, but I refuse to go down without a fight.

I finally find a rock! It's not very big, but it's better than nothing. I send it flying, and it dives into the beast's right eye. Howling in pain with blood coming out of the wound, the animal stops hastening towards me, but I know this is only temporary. I frantically start searching for another rock—hopefully a bigger one.

Piercing the air with agony and rage, once again the ferocious animal starts towards me at an accelerated speed.

It's hungry.

It's furious.

It's on a vendetta.

Not finding anything bigger, I pelt the grizzly with tiny pebbles. I'm not going down without a fight! But the small rocks do absolutely nothing to it.

"Madrigal!" I hear my name from what seems very far away. Peter had just woken up and is gawking at the scene in front of him with complete terror.

The bear is so close that I can almost smell its ponderous breath. Don't give up, I tell myself. My hands push harder through the dirt.

I find a medium-size rock!

Thrusting it into the leather pocket of my slingshot, I'm about to fire when a silver flash of metal coming from behind me at a tremendous velocity flies ahead. It abruptly pushes into the bear's heart. The wild animal roars in pain before collapsing to the ground. Bright red blood gushes through the wound with the knife stuck into it.

The ferocious grizzly is dead.

I solemnly stare at it, feeling the adrenaline in me subside and in its place is a tremble I hadn't allowed myself to feel.

"Madrigal, are you okay?" asks Royce, reaching me.

I hadn't realized he could throw a knife with such expertise at such a far distance.

"Fine," I mumble, preventing any tears from leaving my eyes.

"Are you okay?" he repeats, his dark eyes steadily on me.

"Fine."

"Are. You. Okay?" His voice is firm but gentle.

That third time did it for me, and I grab a hold of him as if he's my favorite stuffed animal. I succeed in preventing any tears, but my arms will not cooperate with me, and I keep squeezing him.

He squeezes back.

"Get away from _her_ ," demands Peter, just reaching us.

Royce doesn't let go, even when I'm smothering him.

"Get your hands off her!" Peter insists.

"I've got her," states Royce, unmovable firmness in his voice.

Angrily, Peter stomps off to the bear and gives it a swift kick. "Ow," he yells as he bends over in agonizing pain and rubs his foot.

I stifle a chuckle, and Royce bites his lip so he won't laugh either. As the moment lightens up, I start feeling anxious with his proximity. Rarely has another human being been so near me. I promptly let go of him, suddenly feeling awkward.

"You're okay now?" he asks, his dark eyes heavily on me.

"Yes," I mutter. "Please let go of me."

"Sure about that?"

"Positive."

"You heard her," states Peter, having limped over to us from the bear.

"Royce," I utter from deep inside myself.

His dark eyes sit on me, curious as to what I'm going to say. "Yes?"

"Thank you for saving my life."

His lips curve in a smile, and his unwavering sight stays on me. I find it impossible to look away. I don't even blink.

"You're welcome," he expresses, our eyes locked.

"Hey!" Peter exclaims furiously. "Stop looking at her like that!"

The strange spell is broken, and I shift my eyes away.

Royce's gentle eyes leave me and land furiously on his cousin. "What happened here?" he growls. "Didn't I tell you to stay hidden?"

"I was suffocating under the fallen tree," Peter snaps.

"Madrigal, judging by where you were, you stayed where I told you to until the bear got here, right?"

I nod solemnly.

Royce turns to Peter. "You didn't," he mutters quietly, but I can sense the volcano wanting to erupt inside. "You put all of us in danger—especially Madrigal."

Peter's defensive stance loosens as his eyes reach my face. "Gee, Madrigal, I . . . I . . ."

The situation is unbearably uncomfortable for me. "Its okay, Peter."

"No, it's not okay!" Royce snaps, unleashing the fury inside.

"I'm so sorry, Madrigal."

"You're sorry?" Royce scoffs. "She tries to rescue you—almost getting killed while doing it, and that's all you can say?"

"What else can I say," Peter explains quietly, shame in his voice. "I know that what I did is unforgivable."

"Peter—"

"Don't Madrigal," Royce mutters. "Don't give him absolution yet. Maybe he'll learn something."

I shift my eyes to the ground and start measuring my suffocating breaths. It's the only way I know to let the thick tension dissipate from the crushing vibes in the air. I stay where I'm at as does Royce, who is still next to me, but Peter ambles over to a nearby tree and forlornly plops under it. No one feels like talking for a few minutes.

"What are we going to do next?" I ask Royce, breaking the silence.

"I didn't find any signs of soldiers anywhere—I'm pretty sure they're gone," Royce murmurs, "but now we have another problem."

"What is it?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"We've got to be invisible and thanks to no one believing D412, we were until now."

I'm completely puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"The bear."

"The bear?"

He exhales deeply. "It's too heavy for us to try to move it. It must be close to 900 pounds. When the soldiers come back tomorrow, they're going to know something is going on when they see the dead bear."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Peter interjects. "A hunter might've killed it."

"The people around here are not allowed to hunt for sport. They hunt for food," Royce explains. "There should be hardly anything left of the animal."

"So when the soldiers get here tomorrow and see the bear intact," I state, "they'll be suspicious."

"At the very least, they'll be going after the person who hunted for sport."

"We'll be long gone by then," Peter blurts.

"We need to be under the radar!" Royce snaps. "Authorities all over will be alerted of illegal hunting!"

"What if we carve the bear and take some meat with us?" Peter asks desperately.

Royce shakes his head. "There's no way we can take that much meat with us."

"What if we bury the pieces?" Peter offers.

"That's probably our best choice. Let's hope the soldiers aren't training with dogs tomorrow."

"Let's hope so," I murmur.

"We'll be wasting time burying the animal instead of moving forward," Royce comments with frustration. "This is an unnecessary setback."

Peter fumbles to his feet. "I'm sorry—I—"

"Let's start cutting up the bear," interrupts Royce, "the sooner we finish, the sooner we can get away from here."

"Okay," Peter mumbles quietly.

"Let's do it," I say. "We—"

"Sh-sh," Royce abruptly utters. His head tilts to the side as if he wants his right ear up in the air to listen. I do the same and catch what he must be listening to—many feet and muffled voices coming our way.

"Get back in the hiding place now," he whispers strongly. The three of us dash to the fallen tree and dive under. I feverishly wonder if any of us left anything out that could be detrimental to us. I feel for my pocket and am deeply relieved that my slingshot is safely put away.

The knife—Royce's knife is still in the beast, I realize.

"That bear has to be around here somewhere," a voice clearly says, close to where we're at but still not visible to us.

"I heard it too," states another voice as he comes into view—a short, stocky man with a rifle.

"Bear meat would be mighty tasty tonight."

A group of ten rag-tag hunters—both male and female step into view. Even though their clothes are worn and in tatters, all of them are armed with rifles, knives, and axes. Peter takes in a breath next to me.

"Any meat would be great!" another hunter says.

"We thought the guardians were so generous in letting us hunt and giving us these weapons but these woods are hunted out. They've already taken most of the food in it."

"They're just playing games with us," retorts an elderly woman with wiry hair that sticks out all over her head.

"They just want us to watch the woods for them."

"Jerks!"

"Lookee here!" a man excitedly exclaims. "I found the bear! And it's already down!"

The hunters rush to where the man is—where Royce had killed the wild animal.

"Yep, he's dead alright," a hunter comments excitedly.

"What luck!" yells another hunter, and other voices of contentment fill the air.

I'll call the rest," the elderly woman says as she lifts a white, animal horn to her mouth and blows. A loud, baritone noise reverberates through the woods.

"This is the knife that killed him," a hunter comments as she pulls the sharp instrument out.

"Something's strange here," murmurs the elderly lady. "Somebody got to the animal before we did, and then they left the meat."

"Why would anybody do that?"

"I don't know," a huntress about my age with long, thick, caramel hair responds in a gruff murmur as she starts heavily eyeing the area and stealthily moving around. The others follow her.

"What is it, Pilar?" asks the elderly woman.

"Probably nothing," the huntress answers, fully concentrated on her movements around the area.

"Nothing?"

She shrugs in an uncommitted way but keeps her concentrated expression as her eyes continue to dart in different directions.

"Who would kill a bear?" asks another hunter.

"Maybe the military did it."

"I doubt if they would've used this type of a knife. Theirs are different."

"Then who did it?"

The hunters' voices seem right up against my ear. Their owners are very near us, and all I can do is wrap my fingers tightly around my slingshot. Next to me, I can feel the guys tense up.

"Why in the world would anybody leave food on the ground?"

"Yeah, what kind of moron would do that?"

"Why don't you ask them?" states Pilar, in front of the fallen tree.

"Ask who?"

"Those hiding _there,_ " she announces, pointing at our hiding place.

"What are you talking about?" asks another hunter.

Pilar's eyes narrow in a smirk. "You can get out now. You're busted!"

### Chapter 20: The Others

We have little choice but to stumble out of our hiding place. There are too many of them with weapons to try to make a run for it or to even use my slingshot. We stand up with our hands in the air.

"I'll be!" laughs a hunter. "Pilar, you're the best tracker alive!"

"My goddaughter can see what others miss," the elderly woman states proudly. "Broken branches, footprints in the dirt, torn leaves—all of that stuff and more!"

"Who are you?" Pilar asks us.

"We were hunting," Royce says calmly. "We were about to carve the bear when we heard you and thought you were soldiers, so we hid."

Pilar eyes him suspiciously. "We've never seen you in these parts."

"And you don't look like us," the elderly woman announces. "You're the others."

There it is—the ugly word I hate that claws my ears and separates all of us in this world. _How do they know we're_ _others_ _and not_ _them_ _,_ I wonder. Then I realize that even if we're not dressed in our silver jumpsuits, we look well fed with our teeth taken care of and skin with a healthy glow. These people have to fight for anything they get—including medical care and scraps of food.

"Why would you privileged ones be in our neck of the woods?" asks the elderly woman with suspicion.

"We wanted to camp, but it would take too long for a permit," explains Royce, still calm as can be.

"Camping?"

"Yes, but the bear unfortunately found us, so I killed it."

"You're lying," Pilar declares.

"Look, keep the bear but let us go," Royce says.

"I don't think so."

"We're not doing anything bad to you," Royce insists," In fact we're giving you food. Why don't you just let us go?"

A whole new group of rag-tag hunters comes into view. The horn had called to them and here they are, looking hungry and fierce. I count about eight of them and an involuntary breath escapes my mouth. We're up against eighteen of these hunters now.

"What do we have here?" one of the newcomers says.

"These fancy ones are trying to pull one over on us!"

"Really?"

"Yep," Pilar responds. "They're lying about why they killed the bear."

"Killed the bear?" the tallest and thinnest man asks excitedly.

"Look over there," Pilar says, tilting her head in the direction of the dead animal.

The tall man gives a whoop of joy. "We'll be eating good tonight!"

"Let's start carving up the bear," one of the newcomers suggests.

"What'll we do with them?" another hunter asks, pointing at us.

"Turn them in of course," the tall man expresses.

"Sonny," Pilar says to a boy of about ten, "go get my dad. Papi is at the house. Tell him to bring the contraption."

_The contraption_? I wonder. Whatever it is, it doesn't sound good and apparently it will lead the guardians to us.

As the bear is carved, Royce, Peter, and I are forced to sit down on the ground as two people with rifles guard us.

"What'll we do?" I whisper to Royce when the two guards seem preoccupied with what's happening to the bear meat. They ask that some be set aside for them.

"We'll think of something."

"It's hopeless," Peter comments, his voice in a panic.

Royce frowns. "It's never hopeless."

"But it is. We're doomed."

"Stop it, Peter, stop being negative."

"But—"

"Royce is right—we can't give up," I state. "There's got to be a way out of this."

"What's all that whispering about?" one of our guards retorts. "Shut your traps."

Silencing ourselves, I glance at Royce who seems lost in his thoughts. I can almost see Royce's brain going a million miles a minute. He's trying to figure out how to get us out of this with as little danger to me as possible. In the unlikely event that I am this Supernova, a shot to me could cause an explosion. He can't risk that happening and has to think of a way of us escaping without bullets flying all over the place.

"Hey, you," sneers Pilar who indicates Royce as she leaves the bear and comes towards us.

His right eyebrow shoots up. "Yes?"

"I bet you think you're so much better than us, right?"

"I don't think I'm better than anybody."

"Of course you do," Pilar insists.

Royce shakes his head. "You don't know me."

"I do."

Royce keeps shaking his head. "You don't."

"It's not hard to see who you are."

"Oh?" Royce lets out. "Who am I according to you?"

"Just look at you all good-looking with everything in perfect place—I don't think I've ever seen such a beautiful specimen."

"I'm not beautiful," snaps Royce, deep irritation in his voice, "and I'm not a specimen—I'm human just like you."

"Nope! You're not just like me."

"Yes, I am."

"You get fed on the regular, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"You have medical care, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"You get what you need, right?"

"I—"

"You live in a nice home, right?"

"But—"

"You don't have to scramble for clothes, right?"

"No, but—"

"You go to a nice school with computers and a cafeteria, right?"

"Pilar—"

"Did I tell you that you could use my name?" she snarls.

"What's wrong with calling someone by their name?"

"Like if you would ever bother to know my name if you weren't in this situation," guffaws Pilar.

"I would—"

"Please! Don't lie!"

"Would you let me talk?!" Royce snaps. "Stop interrupting me before I can explain."

"Why would I want to hear your excuses?"

"If you ask a question, it's polite to listen to the answer," states Royce.

"I'm not polite—especially to people like you."

"People like me?"

"Rich ones who never look at us except to order us around."

"There you go assuming about who I am."

"I don't need to assume—I know you and your kind."

"You've probably suffered at the hands of those on the other side," Royce murmurs quietly, "but I'm not like them. I'm really not."

"Right!"

"I'm not a jerk," Royce insists. "I'm much more like you than you think."

"You're not! You're not anything like me."

"But—"

"You've got food, clothing, and things."

"Yes, but—"

"Then you're not just like me, are you?"

"Pilar—can I call you by your name? Is that okay?"

She hesitates before answering. "Okay," she grumbles. "I'll allow it for now."

Maybe Royce will make some inroads with her. The best thing for Peter and me to do is to not say a word.

"Pilar, I hate uppity jerks as much as you do," he says soothingly, his voice as smooth as honey.

"Do you?" Pilar snickers sarcastically.

"I really do."

"Your parents must've taught you differently from all the other ones on your side."

"My parents are dead," Royce murmurs quietly.

The tough shield over her face softens. "Gee—I'm sorry—I—I'm sorry."

"They died when I was a little kid. Do you still have both of yours?"

She nods. "Yeah."

"You're lucky—much luckier than I am."

The temporary truce erupts as her face hardens again. "Don't talk to me about luck."

"Pilar—"

"How did your parents die, rich boy?—don't tell me all their money couldn't save them."

"They were murdered," Royce explains quietly.

"Murdered?"

"They were killed."

"Why?" Pilar asks, her face softening again.

"They were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"That's rough."

"So you can see, I didn't grow up with everything at my fingertips."

Her face shuts down again. "Still, you grew up with a lot."

"But I didn't grow up with what was most important."

I can absolutely relate to what he's saying. For the first time, I feel closer to him than to Peter.

"So you would've picked your parents over the conveniences you grew up with?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Really?"

"I would happily pick having nothing if I could have my parents back. Wouldn't you if you were me?"

I know what I would choose.

"Yeah, I would," Pilar blurts.

Royce nods. "Of course."

"I guess you're not so bad."

"I hope not."

"No," Pilar expresses in deep thought. "You don't seem to be like other rich kids I've seen."

"I'm more like you than you think."

Pilar eyes him carefully with suspicion. "You're good," she hisses.

"What do you mean?"

"You're good with words."

"What do you mean?"

"You almost had me going," Pilar retorts. "You're trying to tangle me with your words, but your parents are probably alive and well in some mansion."

"Pilar, my parents are really gone. I wouldn't be lying about something like that."

Pilar shakes her head and grunts. "Do all the girls fall for you where you're from? Do they look deep into your dark eyes and fall for whatever you're telling them?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't fall for a pretty face. Where I'm from we have to keep on our toes and not get fooled by appearances," Pilar retorts, turning to me. "I'm curious, though, why do you go for wuss over there instead of him?" She points to Royce. "If you fall for someone, you might as well fall for the brave one."

Royce's dark eyes intently sweep over me.

Peter speaks up for the first time. "I don't appreciate you calling me a wuss! You shouldn't—"

"I call them as I see them."

As Peter opens his mouth, Pilar points her rifle at him. He abruptly flattens himself on the ground.

Pilar chuckles heartedly. "Just as I thought."

"You must enjoy intimidating people," I interject.

Pilar nods nonchalantly. "Yep."

"And just for your information," I blurt, "the three of us are friends. I'm not with either of them."

"I'm good at noticing things—that's why I'm a tracker, and I can tell you're closer to the wimpy one than the gutsy one."

"I'm not with either of them," I repeat dryly.

"Suit yourself but if I were you, I would pick the guy with the warrior's look in his eyes."

"I'm a warrior too," blurts Peter, growling at Royce whose eyes are still on me.

"Right!" guffaws Pilar. "I know warriors—he's one and she's one," she points at Royce and me, "but you're a great big, wussy guy."

"You don't know anything about me," snaps Peter.

"Tino's here!" yells a voice.

"Stand up," Pilar orders us.

"What's all this ruckus?" a slight man asks as he is nudged towards us. The rest of the group of hunters steps over too. "Who are they, and why did you get me out of my house?"

"We found them hiding in the woods, Papi," Pilar states. "We need to turn them in."

"Turn them in?"

"Yeah."

Tino pulls out a cell phone. My heart plummets as I imagine what's going to happen next.

"You sure?" Tino asks.

"What do you suggest we do with them?"

Tino's eyebrows come together in pensive thought. "You're right! Besides, the guardians will give us good money for them—three of them!" Tino gushes excitedly.

"Please don't," I blurt. The elderly woman with the horn eyes me carefully. "Don't turn us in."

Examining me closely, the elderly woman's sight stays firmly on me. "You look familiar," she states.

What if she recognizes me from all the reports on T.V.? I tell myself not to panic as I turn away from her to talk to Tino. "Please, let us go."

"Why should we?" Pilar asks.

"Because we'll be in a lot of trouble if you don't," explains Royce. "Why not just take the meat and let us go?"

"Listen here, pretty boy," Tino blurts, "we were given this contraption to report anything strange."

"Yeah, you know what they'd do to us if they found out that we didn't report you?" asks Pilar.

Meanwhile, the elderly woman has moved from her position to keep dissecting me. I want to push her away, but I realize I have to show restraint.

"Why do you want to report us?" Royce asks. "You don't even like the guardians."

"No but we have to do what we have to do."

"You don't have to snitch us out."

"We're not snitches!" snaps Tino angrily.

"It seems like you are," Royce announces, baiting him.

"Don't call us snitches," the tall man demands, furiously.

Royce folds his arms in front of him. "Then don't act like them."

"It's our duty to report you," states Tino, his fingers punching the buttons.

We are in deep, deep trouble.

"Tino, put the stupid phone down," demands the elderly woman.

"What?" he asks, surprised.

She strides to Tino and opens her palm in front of him. "Give me the stupid thing."

"But Meggy—"

"Give it to me," she demands.

He grumbles harshly as he places the cell in her hand.

"Meggy, what's this about?" asks a puzzled Pilar.

"A miracle!"

"What did you say?" asks Tino.

"A huge miracle!" the elderly woman gushes excitedly as she rushes to me and smiles broadly.

"What are you talking about, woman?" an elderly man asks.

"She's the one we've been waiting for!"

"The one?"

"Without a doubt!" The elderly woman's eyes don't leave my face.

"What are you talking about, woman?"

"The prophesy is true!"

"Meggy, get a hold of yourself and tell us what's going on."

"She's the Supernova!"

Chapter 21: Discovery

"What?" is echoed from all over the group.

Meggy nods enthusiastically. "It's her!"

"It can't be," Tino insists.

"It is!"

"How can you be sure?" asks Tino.

"I know because I know."

"But Meggy—"

"Don't you dare doubt in Meggy, Papi," Pilar spurts. "My godmother is a special _seer,_ and you know it."

Meggy taps my hand. "I dreamt about you, my dear."

"But this girl could look like the Supernova and not be her," insists a tall man.

"It is her," Royce assures.

"Yes, she's the Supernova," Peter chimes in.

"But—"

"Shut up, Tino," someone snaps.

"We're sorry about everything," Meggy tells me. "It's just that we don't know who to trust, and we thought you were testing our loyalty. The leaders have done that before."

"They have?" I ask, disgust in my voice.

"Yep," growls Pilar.

"But everything is about to change!" Meggy gushes excitedly.

As Royce, Peter, and I sit in Meggy's modest home—an old shack with as many personal touches as possible like children's drawings and colorful rocks, we are unsure about accepting her hospitable offer of staying the night.

"You can't leave tonight," insists Meggy. "It'll be like committing suicide."

Peter's face is scrunched in concern and doubt. "Wouldn't it be better to travel in the darkness?"

"Not with wild animals on your tail. Besides, you have to really know your way around to travel in the dark. You need to know that soldiers have been training all week. Tonight is the last night they'll be doing it."

"I scoured the woods earlier," says Royce," and didn't see any military."

"That's because the first group left, but the second is coming about now and will be training all night."

Royce nods absentmindedly. "It's lucky then that you found us."

"On the contrary," blurts Meggy, "we're lucky we found you."

We eat the bear meat in silence over mats on the dirt floors. Meggy doesn't own any furniture. I hardly taste the food, but I have to keep up my strength. Food may be hard to come by for what's ahead of us. What is very disconcerting are all the eyes on me.

"Are you really her?" asks Sonny, his child's voice excited. "The Supernova?"

"Í don't know," I mumble, "That's what they tell me."

"I bet you are the Supernova," Sonny announces, sure of himself.

Royce smiles fondly at him. "You're a smart kid."

"I can see it in her eyes," declares Sonny.

"What can you see in her eyes?" Peter asks curiously.

"The stars."

"The stars?" asks Tino, amused.

"Her eyes sparkle," states Sonny.

I smile at him, at his youthful exaggerations. "Thank you, Sonny, but my eyes are pretty average."

"You're wrong," Peter interjects. "Everything about you is special."

"You're really gone for her, right?" asks Pilar.

"I'd rather not talk to you," Peter retorts.

Pilar lets out a heavy sigh. "Don't tell me that you're still angry with me? I had to keep all three of you captive because I didn't know who you were."

"I understand, Pilar," Royce says, smiling.

"What about you, Supernova, do you forgive me?"

"Everything's cool, Pilar."

"I'm the one you insulted," Peter retorts.

"You're still angry over that little thing?"

"Little thing? You called me a wuss—how can I forgive you?"

Pilar shrugs her shoulders with a smirk on her face. "I guess the truth hurts."

"The truth!" Peter explodes. "I'll have you know I'm every bit as brave as Royce is!"

"You really believe that?"

"How dare you insult me!"

"I'm only trying to clear things up."

"Can we cool down," I interject. "Peter, I'm sure Pilar is only teasing you."

"No, I'm not."

Peter springs up off the floor. "I'm not going to put up with this! I'll be outside—getting some fresh air—it stinks in here."

"Don't go far, Peter," Royce warns, his voice steel.

"Stay close to our shacks," demands Meggy. "Remember that soldiers are all over the woods, and the forest can be very dangerous at this hour."

"I can take care of myself," Peter grunts.

"Peter," Royce says with a menacing tone, "do what she says."

"Yes, Peter, please be careful," I ask of him.

"Be careful," Pilar interjects, rolling her eyes.

Peter smirks as he steps out the door. I let out a worried sigh.

"Maybe I should go with him," I offer.

"If you go with him, he'll try to prove his _manliness_ to you," declares Pilar with disgust in her voice. "It'll make everything worse."

"But—"

"Unfortunately," Royce states dryly, "Pilar is right."

Pilar's face turns smug. "Of course I'm right."

"But he can get himself into a whole lot of trouble," I assert, standing up.

"I'll go after him," Royce announces, jumping up. "I think we're due for another talk."

As Royce hurries out the door, Pilar pats the ground next to her for me to sit back down. I do so with trepidation. I worry about Peter and Royce.

"You don't know what an honor it is having you in my home, Supernova," states Meggy. All eyes are on me. I cringe.

"Please call me Nova." Royce had warned me about not using my real name since it's all over the airwaves. We had agreed on the name I would use. In Spanish no va means doesn't go—like I was for many years under my fake parents with the drugs they were feeding me.

"When did you find out that you were the Supernova?" Pilar asks with curiosity.

Everybody in that tiny hut—about ten people—seem to be holding their breath till I answer.

"Just a few days ago but—"

"But what?" Meggy asks.

"I'm not sure I'm her."

"That's what I would expect the Supernova to say," bursts Meggy happily.

"Yeah, I'd hate an arrogant hero," Pilar declares. "Arrogant like your friend, Peter."

"Peter's not arrogant," I'm quick to point out. "He's just confused."

"Confused?" Pilar retorts. "Listen, I know you're the Great One we've been waiting for and all, but I have to set you straight."

"Set me straight?"

"Pilar," chides Meggy, "careful with your words."

"What do you mean?" asks an insulted Pilar. "I'm always careful with my words."

"Right!" Sonny blurts with a sarcastic tone.

"What does _that_ mean?" asks Pilar, hurt.

"You can be abrupt," explains Tino.

Pilar's face contorts in surprise. "Me abrupt?"

"Yes, you," Tino states.

"I'm a nice person—I am."

"Sometimes."

"Well, somebody has to set things straight. Es verdad o no?"

Tino starts translating what his daughter said, but I stop him. "I understand Spanish," I blurt, surprised that I do. "She said, 'Is that true or not?"

"Wow, you actually did understand me!" Pilar expresses.

My real parents had taught me Spanish but after the United World order took over, only one language was allowed—English. Since it was considered the universal language and many people of the world already knew it, it was ruled to be the official language while other tongues were strictly prohibited. I'm thrilled that Spanish is still inside of me, that I don't just remember a few stray words.

I smile admiringly at Pilar. Most people would be terrified of defying one of the government's strictest laws. "Your Spanish is very good."

"My papi taught me—in secret of course. Now I can set people straight in two languages," she laughs.

"What do you want to set straight?" I ask.

"The mission you're on is very important—very, very important. You don't need anyone messing it up!"

"Are you talking about Peter?"

"I'm sure not talking about Royce."

"Peter was selected for this mission for a reason."

"Nova, wake up and smell the stinky ego!"

"Pilar," chides Meggy, "more respect towards Supernova."

"With all due respect, Meggy, she doesn't need someone to worship her right now. She needs someone with the guts to shake up her naiveté and that person is me."

"Naiveté?" I ask.

"If you don't stop with this misplaced loyalty, you'll jeopardize the mission!"

"Jeopardize the mission?" I say, my voice tight.

"Yes, completely mess it up."

"Pilar," scolds Meggy, "stop your insolence. I'm sure Supernova knows what she's doing."

"Hey, everybody needs help sometimes—even stars!"

"What are you saying about misplaced loyalty?" I ask.

"I don't know what's between you and Peter, but he's nothing but a huge stumbling block to both you and Royce. It's easy to see, even after just meeting you."

"But—"

"Wake up, girl!"

"I'm awake," I mumble.

"Nova," Pilar says impatiently, "what happened with the bear?"

"I . . . uh. . ."

"I saw the tracks! My guess is that you were trying to protect Peter when Royce stepped in and killed it. Am I right?"

I nod disconcertedly. "Yes."

"I knew it!"

"Peter's human," I comment. "He makes mistakes."

"He can't follow orders, he's egotistical, and he's in love with you. That's a very bad combination."

I try to absorb what she's saying. "But Pilar—"

"If Peter goes with you, he could ruin the whole mission. Just think about it."

"I—" The door swings wide open and the tall man from earlier rushes in, almost ramming into us on the floor. Frantic and hyperventilating, he tries unsuccessfully to tell us something.

"What's wrong?" Meggy questions, her voice in a high pitch.

He keeps trying to catch his breath. "It's . . ." His breathing is very heavy. "It's . . . it's . . ."

"For goodness sakes, tell us what happened," demands Pilar.

"Royce . . ."

"What happened to Royce?" I snap, jumping to my feet.

"Peter . . ."

"Peter?" I question, my head swirling with the confusion of what the tall man is trying to say.

"Dead!"

### Chapter 22: The Argument

"Royce and Peter are dead?!" I garble, shock, panic, and disbelief pushing onto me, squeezing my vital organs.

"No, not . . ." but the man's heavy breath stops him.

"Not who?" I desperately question him.

He finally finds his ragged voice again. "Not Royce."

"Peter's dead?!" I utter.

"He fell into . . ."

"Into what?" demands Pilar.

"Bear . . . bear—"

"He fell into a bear trap?" Pilar blurts.

The man nods.

_Arthur is dead?_ It just can't register in my head. Complete shock numbs me. Everything around me starts happening in slow motion as if time doesn't exist anymore. Even my tears are stuck in the granite-like space I've crawled into.

_You've got to react,_ I tell myself after a few excruciating seconds of being lost. _You can't zone out._

The abrupt quiet in the room makes me realize that everyone is in the same place I am—including Pilar. A word starts rocking my insides.

No! No! No!

How can Peter be dead? It's got to be a mistake.

"Can you take us to him?" I ask, my voice broken.

Nodding, he rushes out the door as we follow him. Pilar reads my mind as we go deeper and deeper into the woods.

"What was he doing here so far from the homestead?" Pilar questions angrily. "Didn't we tell him not to go in the woods?"

_Peter,_ I say in my head, _why didn't you listen to Royce_?

When we arrive at the destination, a group of people surround a gaping hole in the ground. I rush to the opening to find Royce already in it, and Peter lying motionless with blood spurting from several wounds. It violently jars me to see the sharp spikes of wood he fell on top of—the ones that Royce had already freed him from.

"My gosh!" I gasp in horror. It's more blood than I had ever seen in my entire life.

"He's not dead, Madrigal," Royce rushes to say.

"He's not?" My tone is breathy and choppy.

"No, he blacked out."

Relief envelopes me, and the numbness starts wearing off. "Thank goodness."

"He's hurt very badly, though. We've got to get him out of here."

Royce along with volunteers carefully remove him from the bear trap and carry him to Meggy's shack. Immediately cleaning his wounds, Meggy's hands are fast and sure of themselves. I can't help thinking that the dried plants she applies don't seem enough to stop the bleeding.

"Don't you worry, Supernova," says Tino, having noticed the concern on my face. "Meggy is better than any doctor! She's the one who takes care of us when we get sick."

"She's the best," assures Pilar. "He's going to be fine."

I appreciate their words of comfort, but I'm well aware of the seriousness of the situation. Even Royce, who's an expert at covering his feelings and projecting strength, looks worried. Peter might've done a stupid thing by not following orders, but he's still Royce's cousin after all.

"He's lost a lot of blood," Royce murmurs with clipped words, almost to himself.

"He's young and strong," Meggy points out.

Royce nods solemnly. "I don't know why he had to go into the woods," he blurts.

"He's too stubborn for his own good—that's for sure," Pilar comments.

"Pilar!" chastises Meggy. "Now is not the time for that."

"Okay," Pilar says dejectedly.

Meggy places the back of her hand on Peter's perspiration soaked face. "The herbs will cut the infection, but we've got to get his fever down."

Sonny rushes outside and returns with a bucket of water from the well. Meggy soaks rags in it and places them on Peter's exposed skin. I take one and sponge Peter's face.

"Pain . . . hurts . . . ow . . ." Peter mumbles, his eyes shut but his mouth forming words.

_He's starting to react_! I say to myself, my breath evening itself out. Royce's face loosens from the tight stance it was in.

"Peter," I tell him softly.

"Ow!

"Can you hear me?" I ask gently.

"Ow! Ow!"

"C'mon, Peter," Pilar blurts, "stop being a baby."

"Pilar!" scolds Meggy.

Pilar puts her hands up as if to surrender. "Okay, okay—I'll shut up."

Meggy turns back to Peter. "Now that he's semiconscious, I need to get some medicinal tea in him. It'll bring down his fever."

She quickly prepares the tea by starting a fire in the small make-shift fireplace in a corner of the shack and heating it in an old, black kettle. As she puts a chipped cup to his lips, Peter groans but still drinks the nasty smelling concoction. I'm reminded of when I was taking Estraphil, and I give an involuntary shudder.

"Are you okay?" Royce asks, his concerned eyes firmly on me.

"I'm fine," I quickly tell him, embarrassed that his cousin is nearly dying, and I'm taking attention away from who really needs it.

"Nova . . ." Peter mumbles.

"I'm here, Peter," I inform him, relieved he remembered to use my fake name.

"You are?"

"Yes," I assert, taking his hand.

"Good."

"Rest, Peter. Don't overexert yourself."

"Will you . . ."

"Will I what, Peter?" I ask soothingly. "What do you need?"

"Will you . . ."

"Yes? What can I do for you?"

"Marry me." He passes out before I can react within my stunned stance. Pilar chuckles loudly, breaking the silence.

"He's delirious," I finally say. Royce stares at me with a pained expression.

"Let's face it, girl," Pilar tells me, "the guy may be in horrible shape, but he still knows that he wants to marry you."

"Pilar!" Meggy chides.

"It's true," Pilar declares dejectedly.

"He's delirious and doesn't know what he's saying," I insist. He had kidded about it when we had been training for this mission. He couldn't possibly be serious about it now.

"I bet he knows exactly what he's saying," Pilar blurts. "What I want to know is—do you want to marry him?"

_What kind of a question is that_? I tell myself. Pilar can really get on my nerves.

I expect Meggy to chastise Pilar but instead, Meggy's and all other eyes are firmly on me.

I involuntarily meet Royce's leveled stare. His sight is so penetrating that I have to force myself to tear away from him. "I'm too young to marry," I state, hoping to stop being the center of attention. "I'm only seventeen years old."

"Do you love him?' Pilar asks bluntly.

I hear Royce taking in a sharp breath.

"I'm on a mission," I declare. "I'm not here to fall in love."

Pilar grins broadly. "Good answer."

"Yes, good answer," Royce mumbles.

A few hours into the night, Peter's fever breaks. He sleeps soundly and profoundly as if nothing pains him. The rest of us take the time to get some shut- eye ourselves. Meggy had convinced us that she would look after him but that Royce and I had to get some sleep because we had a long journey ahead of us.

My slumber is filled with nightmares of fierce bears, angry guardians, and my fake parents forcing Estraphil into me. Royce, who sleeps on the floor next to me, gently shakes me awake.

"You look like you were having a bad dream," he comments gently.

My mouth is excruciatingly dry. "I was."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not important right now—Peter is."

His dark eyes fix themselves to mine. "Peter is fine."

"Are you sure?" I ask anxiously, looking towards Peter who seems fitfully asleep with Meggy snoozing next to him.

"I got up a few minutes ago and checked on him. He's fine."

I let out a deep breath. "Thank goodness."

"You really care about him, don't you?" he asks with a strained voice as he eyes me carefully.

"Of course I do."

His eyesight drops. "I thought so."

"I care about you too, Royce."

His opaque eyes come back to mine. "You do?"

"Of course I do."

"Really?"

"All three of us are in this together. We've got to take care of each other."

He nods solemnly. "We do."

My nightmares ease their sharp spikes as he gently caresses the side of my face with his gentle fingers. I almost shove his hand away, but I change my mind. I know that I probably shouldn't let him do it—someone might wake up and misinterpret the kindness of his act but his light, caring touch soothes me. I haven't felt this type of warmth since my real parents were alive.

I peacefully fall asleep and don't wake up until Peter's loud voice reverberates through Meggy's shack in the morning.

"Ow! Ow!"

He makes that noise all day in his semiconscious state. Meggy plies him with teas that seem to calm him for a few hours. Royce and I stay indoors with him, fearing that we may get caught by the soldiers in the woods.

"He's in pain," states Royce, "but he's alive."

After returning from hunting, Pilar and a few other hunters insist that they overheard the sergeant say it'll be the last day of training.

"Let's hope so," Royce murmurs, obviously worried about the military being so close and his cousin who won't fully wake up.

"Can someone give me something for the pain?!" Peter howls at dawn.

"Good morning to you too, Sunshine," chirps Pilar sarcastically. She had slept next to Meggy.

"I'm not in any condition to deal with you," retorts Peter.

Meggy's eyes scold Pilar, preventing a quick come-back. Pilar groans as she pantomimes zipping her mouth shut. "I'll give you something for your pain," Meggy tells Peter as she ambles over to the fireplace to prepare a tea.

"How are you feeling?" asks Royce.

"How do you think?" Peter snaps. "How should I be feeling after I fell into a bear trap and impaled myself?"

"You're alive—that's what's important," Royce says patiently.

"Maybe that'll teach you not to do stupid things," blurts Pilar.

Meggy must agree with Pilar's words because she doesn't chastise her but instead stirs the tea.

"What happened to me is your fault," he growls at Pilar.

Pilar's right eyebrow shoots up. "My fault?"

"If you hadn't been insulting me, I wouldn't have had to leave to get some fresh air."

Pilar's eyes flash with ferociousness. "Blaming me for your stupid mistakes—that's just great!"

"If you wouldn't have torn into me last night, I wouldn't have left."

"Hey, Little Prince, did we or did we not warn you about how far you could go out there?!"

"I . . . but . . . but—"

"Stammer your way out of that one, Little Prince," Pilar chortles.

"Drink up," says Meggy, who has been holding the cup of tea close to his lips for a few seconds. "It'll help the pain."

Peter scrunches his face in dislike when he smells it, but she coaxes him to take it. He quickly gulps it down.

"How long will it take to work?" he asks Meggy.

"Not long."

"I'm in terrible pain."

"It'll work soon."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Don't question Meggy," snaps Tino.

"I'm the one hurting," he sneers. "I need to make sure I'm getting the help I need."

"Stop being such a baby," Pilar retorts.

Meggy doesn't say a word to her.

"If you'd be going through what I'm going through, you'd be complaining too!" snaps Peter.

"I've been through a lot worse than falling on a bear trap," she scoffs, matter-of-factly.

"I doubt that," he snarls.

"It's true."

"Liar."

"I don't lie!"

"Big fat liar," Peter smirks.

"You're just upset that I'm not a wuss like you!"

"Stop calling me a wuss!"

"Wimpy boy. Wussy prince."

"You'd better stop—"

"Let's cool down, okay?" Royce interjects, his voice firm.

Peter's eyes narrow, glaring at his cousin. Pillar, in turn, openly sneers at Peter.

"I'll be so happy when we finally get out of here," Peter mumbles under his breath.

"You're in very bad shape," states Royce. "You won't be ready to leave for days."

Peter groans loudly. "Does that mean we have to be here for a while?"

"Not we," declares Royce, strength behind his words. "You."

Peter's head snaps up. "What are you saying?"

"You know what I'm saying."

"You're going on without me?"

"Yes."

"But—"

"If the military is gone like we think it is then Nova and I will have to be on our way."

Peter unsuccessfully tries to sit up. "You can't be serious!"

"I am."

Energetically shaking his head, Peter's fury is strong. "You can't go without me! You can't!"

"Yes, they can," retorts Pilar, grinning.

"Shut up, Pilar," Peter snaps.

She crosses her arms in front of her. "Make me."

"I would if I wasn't so close to dying."

"That's why you're not going with them—you're useless."

"Shut up! I'm going with them!"

"Peter, please understand that we can't wait for you to get well," Royce explains. "Time is running out."

"You can't go without me! I won't let you!"

"Peter, we have to. Every minute we waste is a minute closer to those spy cameras being turned on."

"I won't let you leave me!"

"You have no choice."

"Who do you think you are making a decision like that?'

Royce eyes him solemnly. "I'm the leader of this expedition."

"Why don't you just admit that you want me out of the way so you'll be alone with Nova?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Royce blurts, losing his calm cool.

"It's true! It's very true!"

Royce's eyes blaze a scorching fire. "Don't accuse me of being unprofessional! I'm on a mission and that is that!"

"Why don't you just admit how you feel about her?"

"I'm on a mission," Royce stresses through clenched teeth.

"You can't even admit to what you feel. You're a coward."

"I could care less what you think of me," Royce states.

"Everyone thinks that you're so perfect, but it's all a lie!"

"I never said I was perfect, but I do have the responsibility to lead," Royce snaps.

"I don't have to follow your orders! I won't!"

"You'll have to."

"I won't!"

Royce lets out a deep, frustrated breath. "Yes, you will."

"I'm tired of you telling me what to do."

"Then don't come with us," Royce challenges.

"I'll do as I please."

"No, you won't."

"Stop telling me what to do! You're a nobody! A nothing!"

"Maybe so but I'm still the leader of this mission and I know what my duties are."

"You're not my leader anymore! I'm not following your orders."

"Will you follow mine?" I ask solemnly as the room grows painstakingly quiet with my words.

"What?" Peter turns to me surprised.

"Will you listen to what I tell you?"

"What are you saying, Nova?"

"You can't come with us, Peter," I murmur softly.

"Nova—"

"I, as the Supernova, am telling you that you can't come on this mission."

### Chapter 23: Pilar

"What?" asks Peter, baffled and upset.

"You're staying here, Peter," I say. A pin dropping would be able to be heard—the room is so quiet. Royce stares intently at me with surprise.

"I can't believe you're doing this to me."

"Peter—"

"I'd expect this behavior from _him,_ " Peter sneers as he points at Royce, "but not from you."

"Peter, you can't take this personally."

His watery eyes sit on me. "Then how should I take it?" he mumbles quietly. "You sided with _him._ " Royce grimaces and crosses his arms in front of himself but to my relief, he doesn't say anything. He's letting me handle this.

"This mission is not about Royce. It's not about you. It's most definitely not about the Supernova. Now I understand that it's about something much bigger."

"What are you talking about?"

"We shouldn't be in this for how powerful our going against the one-world government makes us feel. We're in the resistance for freedom—to be able to decide our own destiny."

It may be my imagination but out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a smile on Royce's lips.

"But that's why I'm risking my life along with you and Royce—for freedom."

"Peter, do you care about the disenfranchised in this United World order?"

"Of course I do."

"Do you care about making our planet a better place for the majority instead of for only the few?"

Peter nods energetically. "Of course."

"How much do you believe in the resistance?"

"More than you and Royce give me credit for."

I eye him carefully. "Okay, if you feel so strongly about our world, then there is no other alternative but for you to stay here while Royce and I continue the mission."

"Hey, wait a minute! I—"

"Peter, is it or is it not true that you'll be out of commission for at least a few days?" I question, my voice taking on a steely undertone.

"Maybe a day or so."

"No, Peter, it'll be a lot longer than that—and you know it."

"But—"

"Let's not fool ourselves," I chide.

"Okay, maybe it'll be a few days," he admits grudgingly, "but so what? It's better if you two wait for me instead of running off by yourselves."

"Peter!" I snap. "It's not like Royce and I are going off to a fun-filled vacation."

"No, but—"

"Time is running out. Each day that passes becomes more and more dangerous for us."

"You're better off with me going with you," Peter insists.

"What if we risk it and wait for you but things take a bad turn? What if your leg doesn't heal like it should and you can't be on the run? What do we do then?"

"I'm sure I can—"

"Peter, understand that we've got to go and can't wait for you."

"You can wait! You just won't do it!"

"Peter—"

"It's just not fair!"

"Life isn't fair. Just ask anyone in this room," I retort, waving my hand at all the struggling people in Meggy's shack.

"Your loyalties are so messed up, Nova!"

I let out an exasperated breath. "You are being so selfish in asking us to wait for you," I blurt angrily.

"Nova," he mutters, hurt, "I can't believe you said that to me."

"Well, believe it."

"It's not my fault I accidentally fell through a bear trap! It's not my fault I'm in so much pain. It's not my fault—"

"It's _all_ your fault!" I growl loudly.

All eyes in the room widen. A smirk forms on Pilar's lips.

"My fault?" Peter chokes out.

"Yes, _your_ fault," I assert, deciding that I'm tired of sugarcoating things.

Peter's hurt eyes delve deeply into my frustrated ones. "How can you say that to me?"

"All you've done since we started on this mission is buck whatever Royce tells you to do."

"But—"

"And he's been right about everything."

Royce takes a step back in astonishment, but I have to give credit where credit is due.

"Not everything," Peter retorts.

"Yes, everything. And you've gotten us into lots of trouble because of it. You almost got me killed."

"Nova, I didn't mean to—"

"Yes, yes," I mumble impatiently, "I know you didn't mean to almost get me munched on by a bear, but it seems you don't learn from your mistakes. You still ran off into the woods last night without considering that soldiers were out there and could catch you—maybe even have you lead them to us and it wouldn't just be us who would be in trouble but all these good people too. Did you think about that?"

Peter shakes his head forlornly. "No."

"I didn't think so. Now, tell me again how much you care about this mission—how much you care about others."

He stares solemnly into space. I, however, feel better at letting loose what was eating at me.

"When do we leave?" I ask Royce.

He seems to be looking at me with different eyes. "First we have to make sure that the training exercises are over."

Pilar rushes to the door. "I've got this," she states.

"Thanks," Royce tells her.

"Anything for the Supernova," Pilar announces, smiling at me as she steps out the door.

Once it was ascertained that there were no soldiers in the woods close to the shacks, Royce and I sit outside eating our breakfast of fried bear meat and also fresh eggs from the chickens clucking around Meggy's home. We eat quietly and solemnly, waiting for Pilar to come back and give us what we hope to be good news.

In deep thought, I realize I don't want to wait days to leave here. In the first place, time is critical and in the second, if I am truthful with myself, I don't want to give Peter a chance to heal. I don't want him with us. He's dangerous to our mission just like Pilar had said. It's taken me a while to come to terms with it but I have.

"You know," Royce says, breaking the silence, "I was surprised to hear you admit to being the Supernova."

"What?"

"When you made Peter listen to you."

I chuckle lightly. "I was just trying to get him to stop arguing."

"You should be proud to be the Supernova, Madrigal." We're alone, so he feels free to use my real name.

"I still have my doubts about it."

His dark eyes anchor themselves to mine. "You shouldn't. You're her."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am."

"But—"

"I'm not the only one who is sure," he expresses. "Just ask Meggy."

"It may be wishful thinking on her part."

"She dreamt about you."

"She thinks she did anyway," I state.

He shakes his head. "You are so stubborn."

"Royce, do you really want me to pay attention to a dream?"

"What's wrong with dreams?—especially prophetic ones?"

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?" he asks calmly.

"You're too down to earth to believe in such things."

"What?"

"You're too logical, too unemotional, and too deliberate with everything."

"You make me sound like a robot."

"I didn't mean to make you sound like that but you are Mr. Cool, even when things go crazy."

"Madrigal, I have feelings like everyone else, and sometimes I freak out. I just try to keep myself together—that's all."

"You freak out?" I tease.

"Of course," he says, irritated.

I can't help continuing my teasing. "You have feelings?"

His dark eyes sit coolly on me. "There's stuff about me that would probably surprise you."

"Like what?"

His eyes stay anchored to me. "There's a lot I care deeply about."

"That's not something you need to convince me about. You wouldn't be in the resistance if you didn't care deeply about it."

He nods solemnly. "I'm glad you can see that."

"I'm not blind."

"There's a lot more to me than meets the eye."

"Tell me more about what I don't understand about you."

"I'm not as stuffy as I seem," he sighs.

"I didn't say you were stuffy. I said you were mature—you know—solid."

"Same thing."

"It's not a bad thing to be called solid."

He eyes me carefully. "Sometimes it's a pain to be the one everyone expects the most from. You'll see."

I frown deeply. "You mean because people think I'm the Supernova?"

"Yep."

"I may not be her. That's still not a sure thing."

"You are," he states, leaving no room in his voice for doubt.

"But—"

"Are we arguing about this again?"

"You don't want to listen to me. What if the real Supernova is out there, and you're wasting your time with me?"

He shakes his head. "I'll say it again—Meggy dreamt it was you."

"Dreams are foggy and unclear things."

"Madrigal, Meggy picked you out as the Supernova just like that. She doesn't seem flighty to me. Does she to you?"

"No," I grudgingly say, "but people make mistakes."

He groans loudly. "I guess you'll have to come to terms with it in your own time."

I sigh a ragged breath. "I'm not trying to be difficult—I'm really not."

"Really?" It's his turn to use a playful tone.

"It's just that the resistance is so important. We can't afford to mess up—especially to have the wrong Supernova. The world has to be saved from tyranny!"

His lips upturn in a special smile he uses only rarely. "You're really something, Madrigal."

My discomfort over the compliment must show because he stops speaking. His particular smile stays put as he continues to observe me in the silence that has overtaken us. I abruptly shift my eyes away from his, trying to break the spell-like connection. A realization erupts in my head, shaking me like a mega-earthquake.

The guy sitting next to me, the one I thought was hideous and disgustingly ugly when we were in school, has changed before my eyes. Pilar was right when she called him beautiful. As ridiculous as it sounds, I hadn't noticed his appearance. Our repulsive past had made me see him as the most unattractive of human beings but now that I'm getting to know him better, my view of him is transforming.

I scrunch my face, ordering myself to stop any stray thoughts about Royce. So what if his chocolate hair hangs gloriously rebellious to his shoulders or that his dark eyes illuminate from deep within or that his face and body are chiseled to perfection.

So what?

I'm not going to attach myself to this new way of viewing him.

"Is everything okay, Madrigal?" Royce asks, concerned. "You look strange."

"I'm fine," I state quickly.

To my immense relief, Pilar rushes in to where we are before anything else can be said.

"The coast is clear! No training soldiers!"

"Are you sure?" asks Royce.

"Very sure."

"Great!" Royce says, his voice relieved.

"Awesome," I let out.

"Those soldiers are gone, gone, GONE!" Pilar chortles happily.

"Time to go," Royce tells me.

As Meggy's shack door swings open, a limping Peter staggers out with a determined look on his face. He must've seen the exchange between Pilar, Royce, and me from the glassless window. Meggy follows him with frustration, trying to get him back into the shack.

"Look, I know I've been a giant pain but I promise I won't anymore."

Royce sighs with exasperation. "Peter—"

"I'll follow orders. Just don't leave me here with this big mouthed kook," he pleads, pointing at Pilar.

"Peter, we can't—"

"Take me with you," he blurts venomously, "or else . . ."

### Chapter 24: The Woods

"Or else what?" Royce snaps furiously as he stands up, off the ground, and towers over his cousin.

Peter eyes him nervously. "I don't know—I'm just trying to convince you to let me go with you."

"We've already talked about this."

"Nova," he utters, turning to face me with a slight reproach. "Have you forgotten what we've meant to each other?"

_Arthur—he's talking about Arthur,_ I tell myself. But Arthur feels dead and buried now. I'll always be grateful for his company all those years but sometimes a person has to let go of the past. Dreams aren't always what they appear to be when reality touches them. And that's what Arthur is now to me—a beautiful dream that has nothing to do with the reality of Peter and myself at this moment.

I'll always mourn for the shimmering fantasy I once had, but time moves forward. I have to move with it.

"I'm sorry, Peter," I express with a strong voice, "but like I've said over and over again, this mission is more important than either one of us."

"You can't leave me here! You can't!"

"We've already talked about this," Royce repeats, a severe growl in his tone.

"I know but—" Peter cuts himself off when he starts teetering off balance. Fortunately, Royce catches him before he stumbles to the ground.

"You should be resting and not out here," frowns Royce as he holds Peter up.

"I . . . please take me with . . ."

"Peter, are you okay?" I ask, concerned.

"I . . . I . . ." It's all he says before passing out.

"Let's get him back inside my shack," states Meggy. "Frankly, I'm surprised he didn't faint earlier."

"Me too," quips a smirking Pilar.

Carrying Peter back to Meggy's home, Royce lays him down in his spot. The sleeping boy doesn't stir at all as Royce and I gather our belongings. Outside the shack, Meggy takes my hand.

"You're our biggest hope," she says.

"You're your own biggest hope," I correct, smiling.

Meggy eyes me intently. "Don't push who you are down, my dear. Let it flow up."

"I—"

"Let. It. Flow. Up," she emphasizes.

"I'll try," I murmur.

Realizing that we're leaving, all the people who are still at the homestead stumble out of their shacks and form a line to bid us a warm good-bye and wish us a safe journey. A cautious Royce makes certain that no one knows where we're actually heading to, but they know its Supernova business so it's dangerous. As they bear hug us, I squeeze back. I don't wince, I don't feel suffocated, and I don't have an overwhelming urge to pull back. Their touch doesn't frighten me, it doesn't turn my insides to ice, and it doesn't make my heart tremble with confusion. My trust issues are improving as I'm starting to get used to being cared about.

It's not a bad feeling.

Not a bad feeling at all.

"Let's head out," Royce states.

"I can't believe I got to meet you," Sonny gushes, his child's exuberance sweeping me up.

"Sonny," I say, grinning fondly at him, "I can't believe I got to meet you."

"We really have to go," Royce announces.

"I'm going with you," Pilar interjects.

"What?"

"I'll go with you part of the way," asserts Pilar. "I can help."

Royce shakes his head. "You don't have to. It's dangerous and—"

"No one knows these woods better than I do."

"I know but I wouldn't dream of asking you to risk your life."

"You're not asking me—I'm volunteering."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask her.

"It's not that I'm trying to play hero. It's that your cause is my cause and as smart as you two are, these woods are my territory. I'll teach you a few survival skills you probably don't know as we go along."

"Okay," Royce announces. "I'm glad to have someone like you with us."As we leave the friendly faces behind us, Pilar's confidence eases me. When we step deep into the woods, she turns to Royce.

"Show me where we're heading, and I'll tell you if it's the best way to go."

Practicing caution as usual, Royce draws a map indicating the general direction of where we'll be going and swears her to secrecy. "It's not that I don't trust you," he says, "but if we're captured, the enemy can be ruthless in ferreting out information." Then he warns me that we've got a long way to go before reaching Freedom Warriors Headquarters.

"A long way?" I mutter, preventing myself from gulping.

"Unfortunately, yes," Royce frowns.

_Don't think about it,_ I tell myself. Just take one step at a time. It just occurred to me where Region 3 is—it used to be El Paso, Texas. He's not exaggerating when he says it's far—especially on foot.

When Pilar examines the map Royce had drawn, she quickly makes certain adjustments. As it turns out, it's been a long time since Royce made the trip and there are changes in the territory. I'm more grateful than ever for Pilar and her insistence on accompanying us.

"The main thing about being a good tracker is to pay attention," she remarks as we hike. "Don't overlook any prints on the ground, broken branches, or out-of-place items. Know your surroundings—really know them."

"Good advice," comments Royce.

"Always be looking and always be listening."

"How long have you been a tracker?" I ask with curiosity.

"I was born to be one."

"You were?"

"My dad says that ever since I was a little kid, I was always paying attention to details—I guess I was looking everywhere for my grandmother."

"Looking for your grandmother?"

"She died when I was five. I thought that if I looked for her, I'd find her."

"You became a tracker at five?" I ask, amazed.

"Yeah. It's a nifty trick when you're always looking for food," she blurts. "Always, _always,_ scrounging for it."

"Must be tough," Royce murmurs.

"What would you know? Struggling for food on a little journey like this one is nothing compared to a lifetime of it!" snaps Pilar. "Sorry," she rushes. "My defensiveness is a reflex action."

I understand reflex actions very well.

"You don't have to be sorry," Royce declares. "You should be angry at how you've been treated."

"But I don't have to bite your head off. It's not your fault you were born into privilege."

"No, but I don't mind letting you take some of your frustration out on me as long as you know that I'm on your side."

Pilar's admiring eyes set themselves on Royce. "You're awesome!"

"Let's concentrate on where we're going," Royce mutters, his voice uncomfortable.

As we step out of Pilar's more familiar territory, we travel in complete silence. Pilar's full concentration buries itself in the task on hand. We need to get through the woods without being detected.

Finally, underneath a tall tree, Pilar stops. Royce and I follow her lead.

"I think we should rest and eat," she announces.

Royce nods in agreement. "That's a good idea."

She removes rations from her backpack—dried bear meat and dried fruit. We eat quietly until she speaks.

"We're not too far from the river."

"The river?" I ask, puzzled.

"We have to cross a river to get to where we need to go," informs Royce.

Pilar nods, her eyes concerned. "I hope you know how to swim."

"I can swim."

"Me too," I assert.

Her face relaxes. "Good."

Royce chuckles lightly. "The person who can't swim is Peter."

"Peter can't swim?" I ask, surprised.

"Not very well."

I let out a confused breath. "But weren't both of you taking survival skills way before I came into the picture?"

"Yes, but he hates being in water. He always has, so learning to swim has been hard for him."

Pilar makes a grunting noise. "I just have to ask this—have to."

"What is it?" Royce inquires.

"Why in the world was Peter picked for this mission? I just don't get it."

"Believe it or not, he's actually a very talented guy."

Pilar's face explodes in surprise. "He is?!"

"Royce's cousin is not as bad as you think he is."

"Royce's cousin? He's your cousin?" Pilar questions with distaste in her mouth.

"He's my cousin."

"You're kidding!"

"I'm not."

"You have to be!"

"Peter is my cousin."

"The apple falls very far from the tree!—and rolls into stinky mud. How can you be family?"

"We were actually very close before this mission."

Pilar's eyes widen. "What happened?"

Royce glances at me before answering. "I'm the one who got picked to be leader. It was hard on him."

Pilar lets out a loud snort. "Poor baby," she coos. "Power does strange things to people."

"And to the people around you," mumbles Royce.

I nod forlornly. "Yep."

"So the putz kept making stupid mistakes because he was trying to prove himself?"

"Something like that," Royce states.

"He really has the ability to be _great,_ " I say, "but he let his ego get in the way."

Pilar shakes her head in disgust. "Too bad. Not many people can carry power on their shoulders with their heads in perfect place," she announces, eyeing Royce carefully.

After finishing our meal, we start our journey again. Pilar asserts that it's very important to reach the river before nightfall. Quietly heading for it, my mind wanders to Peter. How's he going to react when he wakes up and finds us gone? Hopefully he'll come to his senses.

"Almost there," mumbles Pilar when we've traveled a few miles.

As we near the river, the sound of its fast-rushing water reverberates through the air. The deafening noise pains my ears, and the twisted trees next to it are ominous. Royce's sudden unguarded expression makes me realize he's thinking the same thought I am. How can we swim across it when it's so fierce?

"Ugh!" exclaims Pilar, glaring furiously at the river.

It is so full, vicious, and wide that attempting to cross it will be suicide.

"What'll we do?" I mumble.

"Is there a way around this thing?" Royce asks, his eyes darting around.

Pilar gruffly shakes her head. "No! We have to get across this monster!"

"We'll drown," Royce declares.

Pilar's tight facial expression suddenly softens. "I know what we can do!" she gushes excitedly.

"You do?" Royce asks, a flicker of hope in his voice.

"Wait here," she throws out as she rushes away.

"Where can she be going?" I ask, baffled.

Royce shrugs calmly but behind his eyes, I can see concern. "Hopefully, she'll get us out of this one."

Royce and I are alone together. This is a first. I mean, at Pilar's homestead we had been outside with each other, but shacks with people inside surrounded us. This time it's just him and me. I feel him taking a deep breath and then turning to me. I keep staring straight ahead. His dark eyes sweep over the side of my face, and I don't have the nerve to meet his gaze. When he moves his eyes away from me, I'm relieved and disappointed at the same time.

Staring at the water, Royce and I fail to hear Pilar when she returns. When she speaks, we're both completely startled. I immediately see the self-chastising look on Royce's face for having let his guard down. It could've been an animal or a soldier sneaking up on us. Neither one of us can afford to be sloppy in any way on this expedition.

"I know how we can cross the river!" Pilar exclaims, her voice energetic and confident.

Royce's eyebrows shoot up. "How?"

"Follow me."

Taking us along the river banks marked with bushes and foliage, Pilar moves swiftly and decisively. She finally stops at a fallen tree that extends from one side of the menacing river to the other. It seems like uprooted trees are our salvation on this journey.

"How did you know about this?" Royce asks, not removing his eyes from the makeshift bridge.

"My dad."

"Your dad?"

"Papi was hunting around here about a month ago and mentioned that he had seen a fallen tree making a sort of bridge."

"Your father is my new hero," comments Royce, smiling.

"We still have to see if the tree is solid," Pilar states.

"Let's get to it."

Royce, Pilar, and I muster all our strength and try to move the tree—nothing happens. It won't budge. Climbing to the part of the uprooted trunk that lies on the ground, Royce jumps up and down with concentrated determination. The tree keeps its position.

"I'll go first in case anything goes wrong," he states, "then you two can go later."

"We should all go at the same time," comments Pilar, "that way if something happens, the three of us can help each other."

Royce shakes his head. "I need to test the tree first."

"We already did."

"She's right, Royce," I interject. "The bridge is solid. The three of us need to stay together."

He frowns. "I don't know."

"Do you want to be on the other side of the river and us on this side if something comes up on us?—a wild animal or something?" Pilar asks.

"You're not telling me you're afraid, are you?"

"Of course not," Pilar snaps, insulted.

"I didn't think so," Royce states. "I'd like to see the beast—human or otherwise--that can go up against you two."

"True," Pilar nods confidently, "but still, we should stay together. I have a feeling about this."

"Me too," I assert.

He sighs. "I go first, though."

"Okay," I say.

We decide it's better to crawl across than try to balance our upright bodies on the thick tree trunk. Slowly and deliberately, we start angling forward. I try not to look at the raging river but instead concentrate on moving ahead. With Royce first, me second and Pilar last, I'm sandwiched in the middle.

"Royce, I forgot to tell you. Be careful with rotted—"

But Pilar's words are too late. The left side of the trunk Royce is on crumbles like a cookie in the hands of a hungry child.

He plunges into the vicious river.

### Chapter 25: The Raging River

I don't even take time to think!—it's a luxury I can't afford. With my left hand I grab Royce's backpack while with my right one, I hug the tree trunk as tightly as I can. Meanwhile, Pilar also reacts fast and grabs Royce's leg. Thank goodness we are so close to each other.

The water rages and pulls fiercely at us, and I sincerely don't know how long I can keep this up. The unrelenting monster of the river promises to snatch Royce away and maybe Pilar and me along with him as the three of us fight to the death with it.

_Hold on, Madrigal!_ I tell myself.

The monster tries to tear my arm out of its socket.

Royce battles for control while being flung around like a feather instead of a six foot, all muscle human being. The gladiator-like struggle only makes his face more determined. Finally, he manages to grab the tree trunk, easing the tremendous pressure on Pilar and myself.

Acting with lightning speed before the hostile water makes us let him go, Royce pulls himself up, onto the trunk. He's out of the clutches of death. We don't speak while catching our breath. The shock of what just happened and that tragedy could've touched us sits heavily on us.

"Let's keep going," Royce finally says, breaking the silence.

The sooner we get out of this situation the better. As he starts inching forward, this time he checks the wood before moving to make certain he doesn't repeat the same mistake again of being unaware of the rot covered by green plants. The method is painstakingly and excruciatingly slow but necessary. Royce, of course, reaches the other side first and helps Pilar and me to our feet as we arrive.

"Give me a second," he mutters as he swiftly moves to behind a tree and changes into his second pair of clothes.

"Let's go," he states, stepping over to us.

Nothing else is said as we leave the raging river behind. Pilar calmly shows us the way. We let the near tragedy hang in the air instead of bringing it out in the open. It's for the best. Royce unflinchingly stares ahead as if his brush with death was a minor inconvenience—the guy is made out of steel.

As we continue our hike, the shock and numbness of what just happened wears off.

_What if he had drowned,_ pops in my head, the razor sharp edges of the words cutting deeply into me.

I can still see the water trying to swallow him. It's not a picture I can easily get out of my head. In fact, it's seared in my mind—branded there.

"Thank you," Royce utters, breaking the loud silence between the three of us.

"What?" I ask, coming back from my punctured thoughts.

"Thank you for saving my life," he says as he grinds to a halt. His dark eyes travel from Pilar to me.

"You don't have to thank us," I quickly express.

"You really don't." Pilar agrees with me.

"Yes, I do."

Pilar shakes her head. "But—"

"If you hadn't convinced me that you should be on the log with me, I would've been on the log by myself and then . . ."

"I don't even want to think about it," I blurt, my sight firmly on him.

"I would've downed," he mumbles, meeting my stare.

"Don't say it," I repeat.

His dark eyes flicker at me. "You'd care?" he asks quietly.

I'm angry at the silliness of the question. "Of course!"

Pilar eyes go from me to Royce with a sheepish grin on her face. "It's not that hard to care about someone like you, Royce."

"What?" he asks, puzzled.

Pilar's grin grows wider. "You're one of those guys that girls flock to."

"Don't be ridiculous," Royce grumbles, irritated.

Pilar's sight sits on him. "It's not ridiculous."

"Just ask QT100," I declare with spikes in my voice.

Royce eyes me carefully. "She was a snake."

"She was beautiful," I mumble.

"No, she wasn't," snaps Royce.

I don't know why he's lying. "She was."

"I couldn't stand her," he retorts, disgust in his voice.

"She adored you."

"She adored the false image I projected."

"You had a girlfriend named QT100?" asks Pilar, chucking.

I nod dryly. "Yes, he did."

"What a stupid name."

We laugh wholeheartedly—the three of us including Royce. In a much better mood than before, we smile at one another as if we're the best of friends. Maybe after our horrible ordeal, we are. Hearing the sounds of the deafening, raging river close by, I try not to shudder. Royce abruptly turns to us, his face solemn.

"Sorry," he expresses.

"Sorry for what?" I ask.

"I messed up at the river."

Pilar frowns loudly. "Royce—"

"I let you down."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, baffled.

"I should've been more careful on the trunk—all three of our lives were at risk."

I let out a deep breath. "But—"

His face turns serious as he eyes me. "It's important that you trust me."

"I trust you."

"I need you to believe in me—to believe in my ability to get us where we need to go. I don't know how much of Peter's distrust in me rubbed off on you."

"It didn't."

"Not any of it?"

"None."

"Not even a little bit?" he questions, his intense eyes firmly on me.

"No."

"Gee, Royce," guffaws Pilar. "Nova isn't a moron. She knows you're awesome. She knows what went down with Peter."

"I don't doubt that she understands about Peter but still, it's normal for some bad stuff to creep in your head—especially with our history."

"Your history?" asks Pilar.

"It's a long story," I explain, "but to make it short, Royce was charged with spying on me at school, and he acted like a jerk so I wouldn't suspect."

"I wasn't spying on you," Royce explains indignantly. "I was trying to protect the Supernova."

"He acted like a jerk?' Pilar asks.

"You can't imagine what he and his uppity girlfriend would do to me."

"I already explained that I had to do it. Besides, that's all in the past, isn't it?" he asks hopefully, his dark eyes firmly on mine.

I try not to be taken into his deepness. "Yeah."

"You don't sound too convinced," he mumbles.

"She's convinced enough to make it up to here with you—and without Peter," Pilar comments.

"That's right," I state.

As we start walking again in silence, a solemn Royce seems to be a million miles away in his own mind.

Night falls on us suddenly, and we decide to rest. Each of us will take turns pulling guard duty as the other two sleep. When my turn arrives, I stumble out of the blanket I'm sharing with Pilar, the one that had been in my backpack. Sleeping bags had been outlawed a long time ago. Only the military is allowed to use them. I tell Royce I'm ready to do my share.

"You up for this?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Wake me up if you hear anything, okay?"

"I will," I state.

"Don't play the hero or try to handle anything on your own."

"I won't."

"Don't worry about waking me if you have to."

I smile at him. "I won't."

"Don't—"

"Royce," I say, chuckling, "I've got this. Go get some rest before we stay up all night arguing."

Nodding, he lays down where I was but doesn't get in the blanket with Pilar. He lets her have all of it. I stare into the night trying to focus my untrained ears to strange sounds. The woods are certainly noisy at night with the sounds of different animals scurrying around. Thankfully, the moon is full and moonlight surrounds us. It's not pitch dark. I've got the flashlight that Constanza had packed in my backpack just in case I need to shine it on a dangerous situation.

In the stillness of the night, I start thinking of something I had shoved to the back of my mind.

Arthur.

I wish I had never found out who he was.

I wish he could still be my imaginary friend. He's not as buried as I thought him to be.

_Move on,_ I instruct myself.

When Pilar's turn finally comes up, I get in her old position and wrap the blanket over myself. Then I notice that Royce looks cold. Even though he had dried off from the excursion in the river a long time ago, the chill of the night and us being on the ground must be affecting him. I cover him gently so he doesn't wake up, but he opens his eyes abruptly and seems ready to pounce until he notices it's just me.

"I'm just sharing my blanket with you," I mumble.

His dark eyes anchor themselves to mine, and I find myself gazing back. "You don't have to."

"I want to."

This seems to please him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"By the way . . ."

"Yes?"

"I know I hadn't told you, but thanks for setting Peter straight."

His handsome face is breathtaking in the moonlight. "It was the right thing to do," I tell him, trying to keep my thoughts straight.

"Your support is everything to me."

"Your dedication to the resistance is everything to me."

"Do you mean it?" he asks, eyeing me.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

Royce's vivid stare is too much for me. I shut my eyes. As his gentle breathing lulls me into a calm space, I let go of all tension. It's his comforting presence I'm thinking of when I fall asleep.

My dreams are full of images of my life. My real parents hug me, my fake parents say quiet insults, Meggy tells me to remember who I am, Pilar shows me the ways of a warrior, and Arthur's voice fades.

Fades.

Out of a raging river, a robust figure emerges—cutting through the violent waters. He stares into me, and I stare back. Royce. We can't seem to be able to take our eyes off each other.

"Wake up!" an enraged yell demands.

I abruptly unglue my eyes to find a furious soldier standing over Royce and me with a military rifle pointing at us. Pilar is no where in sight.

"Wake up, _NOW!_ " he snaps.

### Chapter 26: Caught

Already on his feet, I can see Royce's consternation at not being able to overpower this guy, but he can't risk the weapon going off and shooting me. If he had been alone, he probably would've risked it. I quickly climb out of the blanket. "What are you doing here?" hisses the menacing soldier. His dark blue eyes squint with irate emotion.

"We're hunting," Royce answers calmly. "We're allowed to hunt for food according to new regulations."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Why are you camping?" he snaps. "Camping isn't allowed!"

"Look, all we're doing is following the food—that's all."

"Show me your permit," he demands, his weapon still fixed firmly on us.

Royce pretends to be searching for it but then thumps his head with the palm of his hand as if having a recollection. "The water must've taken it," he tells me.

"What are you talking about?" the soldier hisses.

"We were trying to make it across a river on a fallen tree, but I fell in the water. Almost drowned! The current must've taken the permit."

"I don't care what happened to you. No permit, then no hunting! I'm taking you in!"

"I've got the permit!" yells a voice above us.

I turn my face up to find Pilar quickly scrambling down the giant tree near us.

"What are you doing up there?" snaps the soldier.

"I saw an eagle earlier, and I went up to get the eggs from its nest."

The soldier rolls his eyes. "Can't you people do anything normal?"

"You've never been _hungry,_ have you?" blurts Pilar.

"I eat like a civilized person and don't stuff my mouth with junk."

"It's good that the government feeds you," Pilar snickers.

"Are you going to show me your permit or not?"

"I'll be happy to," she states.

Jumping down from the last branch, she lands firmly on the ground with a large eagle's egg in her left hand. Her right hand reaches into a pocket in her pants and pulls out a white piece of paper.

The soldier eyes her with suspicion. "Why did he say he had it?" he asks, referring to Royce.

"He forgot that I actually had it," she informs, handing it to him.

The soldier quickly examines it while pointing his weapon at me.

"As you can see, it's good for a few months," Pilar comments.

"Still, you shouldn't be camping," he retorts.

"Check the bottom of the permit."

Quickly glancing at it, he frowns.

"Doesn't it say, 'camping permitted'?" she questions, rubbing it in.

He flings the paper at her. "Just pick up your junk and leave! Hunt somewhere else where I don't have to see you."

"We'd hate to get in the way of any training exercises," interjects Royce. "Where do we go where we won't bother anyone?"

"There are no training exercises," he growls. "My colonel and I are on a special assignment. Just stay out of our way!"

Royce, Pilar, and I swiftly pick up our camp with the scowling soldier looking on. As we head out, Pilar turns to him and waves mischievously.

"Tootles!" she chortles.

"Get out of here!"

When we put enough distance between the soldier and us, Royce turns to Pilar and chuckles darkly.

"Pilar, you infuriated the guy," he comments.

"He was a jerk."

"Still, it probably wasn't a good idea to aggravate him," I express with traces of laughter in my voice.

"Tell the truth, didn't you enjoy seeing the vein pop out of his neck?"

Royce grins with a smirk on his face. "Yep."

"Pilar, why did you go up that tree for an eagle's egg?" I question with acute curiosity.

"I thought that Royce would like something fresh instead of that stuff we've had to eat."

My eyebrows shoot up. "For Royce?"

"Yes," she says smoothly, her adoring eyes set on him.

"Thank you," Royce voices out awkwardly.

"I'm sure Royce can climb up on a tree all by himself and get his own breakfast," I blurt sharply.

"I thought it was a nice gesture," Pilar coos.

"I suppose you're going to cook it for him too," I demand to know.

Pilar shakes her head. "I can't cook," she states nonchalantly.

"I can cook my own egg," interjects Royce, his face extremely uncomfortable and embarrassed.

"That's good," I grumble.

"A guy who leads, has heart, and cooks too— _WOW!_ "

"Pilar," I can't help the edginess in my voice, "what were you doing on some tree trying to impress Royce with breakfast instead of on guard duty?" Her face completely collapses, and I'm sorry I asked the question.

"What happened back there was all my fault. If I had been doing what I was supposed to, that soldier wouldn't have crept up on us. You don't know how sorry I am."

'Everybody makes mistakes," states Royce.

"I know better than to let my concentration wander even for a second, but I messed up."

Royce gently smiles at her. "At least you came to our rescue."

"I tried to ascertain the situation first," she rushes, gulping, "and then I realized it was better to show him my family's permit. Good thing it occurred to me to bring it."

"A very good thing," Royce agrees, eyeing her fondly.

Grimacing at the intimacy they seem to be sharing, I follow them in stony silence as we continue our journey. Royce suggests we stop for nourishment when we're miles away from the soldier. He cracks the giant eagle's egg open and cooks it in a small pan we had brought with us. Adding shredded dried bear meat to the scrambled egg, he completes the meal.

"It's really good," gushes Pilar with a mouthful.

"How do you like my cooking, Nova?" he asks, eyeing me with curiosity.

"Good."

"You're going to make a really awesome husband some day," comments Pilar.

A red flush spreads across his face. "Thank you."

"You're quite a guy, Royce. I really mean that."

"Let's get going," he blurts.

"Yes, let's," I agree dryly.

After picking up after ourselves, we head out. The hike is calm and unexciting but still, we don't trust it. With what just happened to us, we listen very carefully for sounds. The soldier's colonel is skulking somewhere out here, and we need to avoid another clash with the military if possible.

"Wow, look at that!" exclaims Pilar.

I turn to the direction she's eyeing and realize why her excitement is so sharp. Apples! An apple tree is just ahead of us. We rush to it in mouth-watering anticipation to find that the fruit on the ground is rotten.

"I'll climb the tree and get us some fresh ones," Pilar volunteers.

"Don't bother," I state, taking my slingshot out of my pocket and shooting down several red apples.

"You're really nifty with that thing," Pilar announces, smiling.

We stuff as many apples as we can in our backpacks and continue our journey. Munching on the deliciously sweet fruit, our stomachs don't feel as empty, and their honeyed fragrance sharpens our exhausted senses.

"Wow!—this is sweet! Taste this one," Pilar tells Royce as she hands him her apple.

After biting into it, an expression of surprise covers his face. "Very sweet."

I roll my eyes and try not to gag on my own fruit. To my relief, we continue our hike in silence. I avert my eyes away from Pilar and Royce who are walking right next to each other. Very close. I try to keep from frowning involuntarily.

"We need to stop here," states Pilar when we arrive at a river—this one significantly calmer than the other one.

"Why?" asks Royce.

"I need some sort of a bath."

"I could use one too," I interject.

We jump into the water—our dirty clothes reaping the benefits too. The cool, refreshing water works its way into my tired muscles. I try to pretend I'm on a picnic instead of on a dangerous mission. As Pilar flagrantly stays close to Royce, I stubbornly keep away from them. They seem to be having much more fun without me. Pilar playfully splashes Royce, and he reciprocates with no hesitation.

I grit my teeth until we climb out of the river and sit in the sun to dry. I position myself away from them.

After a few quiet minutes of soaking up the rays, Pilar abruptly stands up. "I need to go," she blurts. Royce and I stare at her, flabbergasted.

"Go where?" questions Royce.

"This is a good place to leave you and Nova while I look around."

"Why do you want to look around?" Royce asks.

"Just a feeling."

"A feeling?"

"Yes, like the one I had at the crazy river when I suggested that all three of us stay together."

"Shouldn't all three of us stay together now?"

"Trust me—I need to go alone, so I can do my tracking with no distractions."

Royce exhales a long breath. "Okay, Pilar. Go do what you have to do."

She beams a heavy smile at him. "Thank you for trusting me—you're the best—really the best."

I fidget with irritation on the thick, fallen tree branch I'm sitting on. As Pilar leaves, Royce ambles over to my spot and plops down next to me. I turn away before his deep eyes can reach me.

"So far so good," he comments.

"Yep."

"Would you like another apple?"

"No thank you," I answer, my eyes still avoiding his.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Would you like some water?"

"I still have some in my canteen."

We had been filling our canteens at every drinkable water spot we could find. Of course we used the water purifying tablets.

"How about a towel?"

"No thanks."

He lets out a frustrated breath. "Don't you want anything coming from me?"

"I'm fine, Royce. I don't need anything."

"Why are you giving me the silent treatment?"

"I'm not."

"You are," he insists.

"I've been answering all of your questions."

"You're barely answering them."

"I've got stuff on my mind."

He looks at me suspiciously. "Like what?"

"Stuff."

"What stuff?"

"My stuff," I state.

He eyes me carefully. "Your attitude wouldn't happen to be about Pilar, would it?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Are you sure you're not jealous?"

"Jealous?" I utter indignantly. "Of course not. Why should I be jealous?"

"You tell me."

"I know she's a great tracker and a great person, but I try not to be jealous of anybody."

His eyes sweep over me. "I wasn't referring to her qualities. Maybe you're jealous for another reason."

"What other reason could there be?"

He exhales deeply and continues to stare at me.

"What are you doing here?!" snaps a voice, and I look up to a barrel of a rifle staring at me.

_Not again,_ I say to myself.

### Chapter 27: The Talk

Unfortunately, the guy with the rifle, a tall, raven haired man, is not alone. He's with a group of armed hunters. History is repeating itself.

"Are you here by yourselves?" questions the raven haired one.

"What?" Royce asks

"Is there anyone else with you?"

"No," Royce answers without hesitation.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"What are you doing here?"

"Hunting—what else?"

Raven-hair narrows his eyes. "Hunting?"

"Yes, and camping."

"What would rich kids be doing hunting and camping?" he snaps.

We couldn't fool them. They could see in us that we weren't part of their culture. People at the top rarely looked down, but people at the bottom had no choice but to be constantly looking up.

"For sport," states Royce.

"Sport?" he snickers.

"Yes."

An angry gasp explodes from the crowd. Furor burns from Raven-hair's eyes. "It must be nice not having to hunt for food! It must be nice to always have your stomachs full! It must be nice to play at life!"

"We don't mean any harm," Royce murmurs. "We just want to be on our way."

"These are our grounds," he snaps, "and we say what goes!"

"Then what goes?" I ask, keeping my voice calm. "What are you going to do with us?"

"I'll think of something."

"We should let them go," the young girl next to Raven-hair says. "What if we get in trouble for threatening them?"

"I'm tired of _them!_ They're not better than us. I'm so sick and tired of the way we're treated!"

"Besides," another hunter states, "they shouldn't be in our woods no matter who they are."

"We—"

"Shut up until we tell you to speak," Raven-hair tells Royce.

"You shouldn't be in our area," snaps a tall hunter, glaring at Royce and me.

"Yeah," Raven-hair announces, suspicion in his eyes. "Something's fishy here—they aren't allowed in our woods. They've got their own frou-frou campsites. The guardians try to keep us separated."

"And what are they doing with those clothes?" asks the girl, disgust in her voice. "Why are they wearing what we wear?"

"We need to get to the bottom of this," Raven-hair snaps, pointing his weapon straight at me. "Start talking!"

"Hey, point that rifle somewhere else!" demands Pilar, as she steps into the clearing.

"Who says?" Raven-hair snickers.

"Me!"

"Why should I listen to you?"

"You'd better!"

"Why should I?"

"I'm better than you at everything!" Pilar chortles.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am!"

He chuckles darkly as he sets his dangerous rifle down. "Nice to see you, couz."

"Couz?!" Royce exclaims, surprised.

"Yes, this is my cousin Claudio." Pilar grins broadly as she embraces Raven-hair. "And by the way, Couz, you were pointing your deadly weapon at the Supernova."

The crowd gasps loudly—this time in explosive surprise instead of sharp rage.

"The Supernova?" Claudio mumbles.

"She's the one we've been waiting for."

"The Supernova?" repeats Claudio.

"Her name is Nova."

"Are you sure it's her?"

"Very sure."

Claudio gawks at me with saucer-like eyes. "The prophesy is true then?"

Pilar energetically shakes her head. "I would say so. Meggy picked her out."

"Meggy is never wrong," Claudio murmurs.

"I went looking for you. I'm glad you found us," announces Pilar.

Claudio snatches his eyes from me and glares at Royce. "I asked you if no one else was with you. Why didn't you tell me Pilar was here?"

"How was I supposed to know that she's your cousin?"

"Claudio, don't get upset with Royce. I didn't tell him I had family here," Pilar explains apologetically. "I thought it would be a nice surprise."

"We've been looking for you for a while now."

"You've been looking for me?"

"Yeah."

"You knew I was coming?" asks Pilar, surprised.

"Your dad sent me a message with a carrier pigeon."

Pilar grins. "Good ole dad."

"He thought you might need my help."

"Those carrier pigeons are lifesavers."

Claudio's eyes narrow. "Yeah, we don't have phones like the others do."

A short time later, the delicious aroma of fried fish wafting across our noses makes me insane with hunger. An old tire hub cap with legs made of large rocks sits on top of a fire with fish frying in wild boar fat. We wait impatiently at the homestead, almost identical to Pilar's one with shacks dotting the clearing, for the food to be done.

"This is a special occasion. We went all out for you, Supernova," declares Claudio, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Thank you," I express, uncomfortably smiling back.

Pilar shouldn't have announced that I'm the Supernova. Dozens of eyes stay on me like they did at Pilar's homestead. It's unfathomable that for most of my life I was basically ignored or mistreated, and now I'm being treated as if I'm a somebody. Inside of me, it doesn't compute.

"How do the fish look?" Claudio asks, leaning into me.

"Delicious."

Claudio grins wider. "Nothing's too good for our Supernova!"

"Thank you, but please call me Nova."

"I had no idea the Supernova would be so gorgeous," declares Claudio, his eyes steadily on me. I grimace involuntarily.

"She's on a mission," snaps Royce, his voice tight. "She's not looking for a boyfriend."

"I'm just making a comment," Claudio states, irritation dripping from his voice.

"Royce is just very protective of the mission," announces Pilar with admiration. "He's the most focused person I've ever met! He's the best of leaders, the best of human beings, the best of—"

"I got it, I got it," chuckles Claudio. "You really like this guy."

"What is there not to like?"

"If you say so," he snickers.

I let out a vociferous grumble. All eyes shift to me, and I go for the quick save. "Sorry—it's my stomach. That fish is making me hungrier and hungrier."

"Lucky for you, Nova," declares Claudio, "it's time to eat."

As we each are handed a fish on a chipped wooden plate, we ravenously attack the food. After having so much dried bear meat, this is nothing short of rapturous. The fresh taste and crunchy bites stay on my tongue until I force myself to swallow them.

I shut out Pilar's close proximity to Royce to keep enjoying the food. She eyes me intently, and I grimace back before I can stop myself. Smiling at me, she acts as if I'm returning her good humor instead of scowling at her. This irritates me even more.

"I'm still amazed that you're actually here, Supernova," gushes Claudio. "Through the years, I had doubts about the prophesy being true."

"I did too but not anymore," Pilar asserts.

"Who would've thought that I'd have the privilege of meeting you or that I would have you as my guest?"

"I'm just a human being," I insist.

"No, you're much, much more," Claudio assures.

"And so is Royce," Pilar interjects.

I eye her with narrow eyes. "You would say that," I blurt.

Instead of being furious at what I had blatantly said, she chuckles wholeheartedly instead. I'm more than irritated with her at this point. "Are you baiting me?" I ask, trying to keep my exasperation in check.

"Nova, take a walk with me," she says, smiling.

"I don't—"

"We've got a lot to talk about."

At the corner of my eye, I see Royce's right eyebrow shoot up. "What about?" I question.

"You'll see."

"But—"

"Just come with me," she mutters, impatiently.

I finally give in. My curiosity is definitely piqued. Standing up, I follow her into the woods. She's stone quiet as we arrive at a small clearing where she plops down on a tree stump and signals for me to sit on the one next to her.

"What do you want to tell me?" I question.

"About Royce—"

"You don't have to say anything about the two of you."

"But—"

"You don't," I persist.

"I do."

I let out a deep sigh. "If you're attracted to each other then it's none of my business."

"Don't tell me you're not jealous."

"I'm not," I say resolutely.

"Then what are all those angry glances about?"

"It's your imagination," I lie.

"Don't play that game with me, Nova. I don't imagine things. Let's put our cards on the table."

"Look," I state, "Royce and I are just friends. We're not involved—never have been. You're free to pursue him, and he's free to do the same thing with you. . . I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

"Admit that you _like_ him."

"Of course I like him."

Pilar frowns deeply. "I don't mean the like of just friends and you know it."

"I don't—"

"Admit your feelings for him," insists Pilar.

"Stop this inquisition," I demand.

"Not until you admit what you feel."

"Why are you doing this?" I ask with exasperation.

"Believe it or not, I'm doing this for you."

Surprise and disbelief bursts through my voice. "For me?"

"For you."

My eyebrows snap together. "I suppose you've been hanging on Royce's every word for me? I suppose you've been gushing about who he is for me?

I suppose you've been blatantly flirting with him for me?"

"Yes, for you," Pilar states, matter-of-fact.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It bothers you that I've been paying so much attention to Royce, right?"

"Pilar—"

"Right?"

"But—"

"Right?"

"I don't—"

"We can keep playing this game all day long," Pilar states, "but I'm going to get an answer from you."

"Pilar—"

"It bothers you, right?'

"Stop this. Stop—"

"Right?'

"Stop—"

"You feel deeply for him, right?"

"Pilar—"

"Right?"

"Don't—"

"Since you refuse to admit it, I'll have to kiss him and see what happens."

"Kiss him?" I gulp, acid in my throat.

"Yeah, I bet he'll be a great kisser. I bet I'll get completely hooked on him. I bet—"

"Stop it!" I hiss. "You're _not_ going to kiss Royce!"

A mischievous grin stretches on her lips. "Why not?"

"No!"

"What should you care if I kiss him?"

"Okay I care!" I blurt loudly. "I care a lot!"

Pilar chuckles darkly. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"Stop laughing," I demand. "Why are you making me admit it when you are so obviously in love with him?!"

"I'm not in love with Royce," she explains. "I mean I could fall for him if I let my guard down—he is an awesome guy after all but . . ."

"But what?" Suddenly, I absolutely need to know this.

"He's not for me."

"What do you mean?"

"He's for you."

"What?" I ask, startled.

"You two obviously belong together."

"Pilar," I say, irritated. "Let's not go there."

"We have to go there. I've been sacrificing our friendship so you can go there, so you can admit your feelings for Royce."

"That's why you flirted with him?"

"Didn't it bring out something in you? You were jealous, right?"

"Maybe a little."

"A little?" Pilar guffaws.

"Okay, a lot."

"He is quite a guy—intelligent, smart, good-looking—"

"Are you trying to make me jealous again?"

"Maybe," she smiles.

"Are you sure you don't want him for yourself? He's fair game, you know."

"He belongs with you," Pilar insists.

"He may not choose me."

Pilar looks solemnly at me. "He already has. You're his choice."

"You think?"

"Stop being so blind," she retorts impatiently. "It's obvious."

"But—"

"He'd never pay attention to me while you're in this world."

"Pilar," I utter. "I've seen how he admires you."

"Admiration is one thing—squishy feelings are another."

"Squishy feelings?" I ask, puzzled at her wording.

She nods strongly. "Yeah, you know the kind. I-melt-for-you feelings."

"Pilar—"

"Nova, take this however you want, but I have to tell you something."

"What do you need to tell me?"

"Open your heart."

"What?" I blurt.

"Open your heart."

"Open my heart to what?"

"Everything."

"My heart is open," I assert.

"You're starting to free yourself but aren't quite there."

"What are you talking about?

"You're heart is only halfway open. It's critical that you open all of it."

"Critical?"

"Critical to our cause."

"I'm not following you," I say, puzzled. "I already know how important the resistance is to you."

Pilar eyes me. "I feel there's something inside of you that needs to get out."

"Like what?"

"I've seen it in animals and I've seen it in humans—I especially see it in you, Supernova."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your power. Open your heart and unleash the power stuck inside of you. You are the Supernova after all. Meggy told you to let it float up, right?"

"Yes, but—"

I have to cut myself off because a wild, black boar hastens into the clearing—straight towards us.

### Chapter 28: Continuing On

I swiftly pull out my slingshot and rocks from my leather pouch. The beast is unwavering in its path towards us. The stone hits it between the eyes and it falls to the side as if stunned. I quickly re-load, but then I hear a shot and turn around to find Claudio with a rifle in his hands. The wild boar isn't ever going to get up again.

"I got it!" he yells. "But not before you did, Supernova."

I solemnly put the slingshot back in my pocket as Claudio strides over to the dead animal.

"You're very powerful," whispers Pilar. "Your slingshot abilities are only a small part of who you are. Learn to use all your power."

Claudio takes the wild boar to the homestead where it is carved, salted, and prepared to be eaten the next day. Royce frowns when he learns what happened.

"Didn't you see or hear the boar coming?" His face is scrunched in concern.

"We were having an important talk. I guess we weren't paying attention to what was happening around us," Pilar explains, her voice with a lamenting tone.

I nod quietly. "It happened so fast."

Royce shakes his head disconcertedly. "We've been making too many mistakes. People and animals surprising us—it's not good."

"No," I say simply.

His dark eyes flicker towards mine. "A tragedy could've easily happened."

"Nova is too good with her slingshot," Pilar interjected. "She kept us safe."

"We're letting too many distractions mess up our focus. We have to keep on our toes," he states.

I nod solemnly. "I agree."

He stays eerily silent and reserved for the next hour when darkness falls. I try not to be too anxious about what it means. Maybe the danger is getting to him? Maybe he's sorry he embarked on such an overwhelming journey where he even had to leave his cousin behind? Maybe he wonders what it would've been like to stay with QT100 on easy street?

He says he detests her, but maybe he's exaggerating.

Pilar leaves him alone—not trying to get into his thoughts as she's done in the past when he's climbed into himself. She no longer flirts with him but smiles at me as if we have a secret we share. Royce seems relieved at not getting so much attention from her.

As thoughts of what she and I had discussed in the clearing clutter my mind, Royce announces we are continuing on our journey first thing in the morning.

"At first light," he states.

We sleep on the floor of Claudio's shack. It looks surprisingly like Meggy's one with no furniture and very meager things. I'm beginning to realize that all the shacks are this way. Material comforts are reserved for the very few—the privileged people in this world.

Pilar tells me, "Good night," before shutting her eyes next to me. She hadn't angled herself to be near Royce. It feels good to have such a good friend.

I delve into a deep sleep with this thought.

"Let's go," Royce tells me as he gently shakes me. The orange of the dawn comes through the slat-breaks of the wood in the shack.

"Okay."

Pilar is already awake even though everyone else sleeps soundly. After Royce and I grab our backpacks, we're curious as to why she leaves hers alone. She motions us to follow her outside.

"I'm sorry, guys, but I'm staying," she sadly informs us.

"Staying?" I ask incredulously.

"Remember when I told you I'd be going with you part of the way?"

"Yeah," Royce answers solemnly.

Her eyes turn shiny and wet. "I'm afraid this is where I get off."

"You do?" I ask, a painful knot stuck in my throat.

"I wish I could go all the way to headquarters with you, but I can't," she expresses, tears rolling down her face.

"I understand. Thanks for everything," Royce says, looking as downcast as Pilar and I.

I push my tears back. "We couldn't have made it this far without you."

"I have to be at work tomorrow," Pilar explains, her voice shaky. "If I'm not there, they'll go looking for me at home. I've had several write-ups already, and they said they weren't putting up with anything from me anymore. . . I'm so sorry."

"Its okay, Pilar. Don't apologize for what's out of your hands."

"I hate doing this to you."

"Pilar," Royce says soothingly, "Nova and I will be fine—thanks largely to what you've been showing us."

"If only I could go with you but I can't."

"How will you get home?" asks Royce, concerned.

"Yes, how will you?" I interject, also very worried.

"Claudio will go with me. We can take shortcuts. We don't have to be afraid of being caught. We've got permits, and we'll show up fine on the identity scanners."

Royce looks relieved as he warmly embraces her. "Bye, Pilar. Thank Claudio for me."

"I will."

"Goodbye, my friend," I barely get out with a cracking voice as I hug her after Royce had stepped away from her. "I hope to see you again someday."

"You can bet on it," she states as she sniffles.

"Pilar, you should be the Supernova and not me," I blurt with deep sincerity. "You're a much better person than I am."

"Don't be talking stupid," she retorts, smiling. "Take up your mantle."

"I'll try."

"Remember to be open."

"I will."

Royce and I step away from her without turning to look back. We are well aware that Pilar is staring after us with a painful expression on her face.

"She'll be fine," whispers Royce.

I nod solemnly.

"So will we," he states.

We head towards the colorful sunrise. Nature is waking up. It's indescribably odd to be going on without Pilar, as if a piece of an important puzzle is missing. She had become an integral part of our ensemble–much more than Peter I have to admit. I'm certain Royce is thinking the same thing I am but we must go on. We have to.

After we move past the charred remains of a tree split wide open, apparently from a lethal strike of lightning, Royce eyes it carefully and turns to me. "What was Pilar talking about?"

The abrupt question startles me. "Huh?"

"Pilar told you to be open. What did she mean?"

"She thinks I'm closed off."

"What do you think?

"I guess Pilar is right."

Royce's eyebrows come together in deep thought. "With parents who are dead, it's kind of hard not to be that way."

"Are you talking about yourself?" I blurt, surprised that I had let the question leave my head.

"Yes."

I nod with deep understanding. "If my parents had lived, I'm sure I'd be a different person."

"Me too."

"I guess it's no use lamenting the past," I murmur.

"Nope."

"Pilar thinks that if I open myself more I can get in touch with my supposed Supernova abilities."

He eyes me intently. "She's right."

"You think so?" I meet his gaze.

"I know so."

_What would you say if I told you that she wants me to open up about how I feel about you?_ I ask in my mind.

"Pilar is very smart," I express.

"She's one of the smartest and bravest people I've ever met."

I nod. "True."

"Looks like that talk she had with you yesterday did you some good."

"It did me a lot of good."

A fat drop of water splatters on my face. Startled, I look to the sky. Dark clouds have formed, and a burst of rain starts pounding down. Royce and I scramble under a leafy, tall tree for cover. It's one of the few trees left in a vast clearing where most of the others have been chopped down. We sit on a large, fallen branch when we realize the shower isn't letting up.

He pulls two apples from his backpack, leftovers from when I had brought them down with my slingshot. As we start munching on them, the heavy rain cascades all around us in a circle. Such beauty and tranquility robs me of my breath. I try not to be so aware of Royce's nearness to me, of his overwhelming presence. Instead, I stare at his rough hands—calloused with the work they've had to do. My own hands are calloused too. They stopped being the hands of the privileged ones a long time go.

He notices where my eyes are at. "I guess we've worked them hard," he says, softly touching my hand with his fingers. The warmth bolts into my skin, shocking it, and I abruptly pull away.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

"You don't understand—"

"I didn't mean to touch you."

I sigh deeply. "Royce, it was okay. It's just that I'm kinda freaky. I'm not used to anyone touching me."

"You're fake parents?"

I nod solemnly. "They were very cold. I'm not used to warmth."

"I understand."

"You do?" I ask hopefully.

"You'd be surprised at how far I can see inside of you," he murmurs.

As the rain calms down, noises reverberate from a distance. Automatically silencing ourselves, we strain to hear.

"Where do you think they went, colonel?" asks a voice.

"They're here somewhere," answers a booming voice as it gets closer to Royce's and my location.

"We'll get them."

Royce and I abruptly snap our eyes towards each other. There is no time to run. The clearing is too wide and the voices are very near.

What'll we do?

### Chapter 29: The Colonel

Royce urgently gets my attention and whispers, "Up." His index finger points in that direction. I nod vehemently, and he says, "You first." There is no time to argue who goes first, so I start scurrying up the tree. I'm surprised at how agile I am as I scale the trunk and grab onto branches. It must be all the physical challenges we've had to contend with on this mission.

_It's also my real parents,_ I realize with surprise. They had shown me how to climb trees, and it's all coming back. It's so great not being drugged anymore and being able to recall hidden memories.

I keep scaling the tree, hustling as fast as I can with Royce closely behind me. We're close to a hundred feet off the ground when Royce motions me to stop. The voices are too near, and we have to be as quiet as we can. We both stand on heavy branches on opposite sides of the trunk from one another but on the same level as we hug the tree and each other tightly. I subvert the anxious feelings washing over me as I try not to concentrate on Royce's touch. His proximity and athletic arms threaten to suffocate the air in my constricted lungs.

"Where are they?" booms a strong voice.

"I don't see them anywhere."

Can they be talking about us? I ask myself. I delve into Royce's deep eyes and realize that he's wondering the same question.

"If it wasn't for the blasted rain I would've gotten them! How am I supposed to track them now?"

"Colonel, I'm sure we'll be back on their trail soon."

"What do you know, Stupid Head?"

"Sir, I'm just saying that—"

"I can't believe I got this close and then—nothing!"

"It's not our fault, sir—it's the rain."

"The doggonit, blasted rain!"

"Sir, we're getting wet. We should take cover under a tree."

"Okay . . . I need to get my thoughts in order," the colonel grumbles.

I push a gasp into myself as they rush under the tree where Royce and I are at. If they happen to look up, even a tiny glance, they'll see us.

"It's all your fault, private," the colonel sneers furiously.

"Sir, I didn't have anything to do with the rain."

"I'm not talking about the blasted rain, Stupid Head!"

The overwhelmed private steps away from the colonel. I can see his face for the first time.

Uh-Oh!

He's the soldier who had threatened Royce and me when Pilar had shown up with the permit!

I quickly glance at Royce. His eyes tell me he recognizes the private too.

"It's all your fault that they've escaped!"

"Sir—"

"If you had told me about them when you first saw them then we'd already have them, stupid!"

They _are_ looking for us!

Oh no!

"But, colonel, you told me we were looking for two males and maybe a third person—not two females and a male."

"My son got hit on the head; he probably doesn't remember very well."

Could this possibly be D412's father? I ask myself. It seemed ages ago instead of days when we had run into that arrogant soldier, and I had used my slingshot to disable him. Hadn't we overheard the rest of the soldiers say that he had a strange military father?

"Maybe he _thinks_ he saw them, sir."

"What!" yells the furious colonel. "Not you too! You'd better listen carefully if you know what's good for you—my son isn't delusional!"

"I'm not saying he is, sir."

"Then what are you saying, Stupid Head?"

"With all due respect, colonel, you did say he got hit on the head."

"He saw what he saw!"

"Sir, head injuries can—"

"D412 may not remember with perfect clarity, but most of his memory is back. Do you get that, private?"

"Yes, sir."

"You'd better," he snarls with a deep growl.

"Yes, sir."

"I have to clear my son, and you're of no help at all!"

"Sorry, sir."

"You're worthless!"

"Yes, sir."

"How are we supposed to find those degenerates now? There trail is cold!"

"Sir, it might not even be them. You yourself said that there are only two sets of footprints now. Where's the third?"

"I don't know but in my gut, I'm certain they're the ones who ruined D412's reputation!" he roars. "And I'm going to get them no matter what it takes!"

With relief I realize that Pilar had been careful about any tracks to her cousin's home. That's why the colonel hadn't been led there. It had been impossible to cover all tracks as we were coming, but she had done an excellent job of not leading anybody to her family.

"Let's get out of here! We need to look!"

"Colonel, it's still raining," he states, his eyes looking at the sky. If he shifts his eyes over a tiny bit, we're busted!

"It's just drizzling," the colonel snickers with disgust.

"The tree is covering us, but out there it's a lot worse," he states as his head starts to turn up. "This tree is very leafy."

Uh-oh!

"How did a worthless marshmallow like you get in the military?"

The private's face jerks back down. "Sir—"

"I don't want to hear any explanations from you, Stupid Head!"

"Colonel, I was just trying to say—"

"Shut up!"

"Yes, sir," he says dejectedly.

"My son is being ridiculed while we're here lollygagging. Do you have any kids, private?"

"No, sir."

"Good—a dumb person like you should never have kids."

"Yes, sir."

"We need to find the slippery miscreants who ruined my son's life!"

"Yes, colonel."

"Let's go," he demands, his voice echoing in the forest.

I don't exhale until their figures are lost in the woods. Royce puts the top of his head to my forehead and also lets out a long, trapped breath. I don't pull back or shove him away. The time we've been holding onto each other has acclimated me to him. We don't say a word, but it's obvious what each is thinking. Our situation just got a lot worse with the colonel nipping at our heels. I gently put my hand on his cheek to assure him that I'm ready for anything. The colonel isn't going to stop me from what must be done.

No way!

Royce's dark eyes pull me into him. I no longer see the boy who tormented me in high school—these aren't his eyes, this isn't his face. The past is the past. This warrior goes with my future.

My hand keeps caressing his cheek and his face turns toward it, kissing it gently. His breath vibrates on my rain-speckled hand, and his lips inject tingly explosions in my skin. He turns his face up to look at me—as if to ask me permission for what he is about to do next. My eyes go to his mouth, and he knows my answer.

I wait.

Impatiently.

His lips finally reach mine, a tenderness in them that I didn't expect from such a tough guy. This is the first kiss I've ever had—so sheltered has been my existence until now. He represents safety when everything around us is danger. I'm completely stunned that my knee jerk reaction isn't to push him away. Instead, a slight tremble takes over my will power. I unclench my heart as I go deeper into his inviting lips, deeper into his soul, and deeper into my own self.

A crying hawk above us reminds us of that we are still on the tree, and we disengage. Disoriented and catching our breaths, we hold tightly onto one another from each side of the trunk. The tree might be in between us, but the kiss closed the gap.

"We have to get down," Royce says quietly after gaining control of his breath again.

I don't say anything, but I nod. I still don't have control of mine.

He starts to climb down first, slowly and carefully. I follow. As I step onto a thick branch, my head is still in a spin. I try to get a solid footing, but the branch is wet and slippery. My feet suddenly slip forward. I try to unsuccessfully grasp at anything. I fall! Miraculously managing to grab the branch before crashing down, my hands squeeze it with such force that they feel permanently knurled and bloodless. I am now hanging on the wet tree limb with my body dangling below me.

"Are you okay, Madrigal?!" Royce questions from the branch below me with a shaky, punctured voice. His face is completely drained of color, and his unguarded eyes are wild with a fear I've so rarely seen in them before.

I can only nod. Fortunately, my voice had left me, and I hadn't screamed. The colonel might've heard me if I had done it.

"Hang on—I'll be right there," Royce tells me.

Climbing back up, he steps on the branch I'm holding onto.

I find my voice. "Don't come any closer," I mutter when the branch starts cracking.

He frowns in frustration. "The branch won't hold the two of us."

"No."

"Give me your hand," he says, reaching out for me. His hand tries to stretch as far as it will go but finding that it won't go far enough, he's forced to loosen the arm wrapped around the trunk. Unfortunately, it's the only way to get closer to me. "Just make sure you hold on tightly with the other hand," he implores.

"I can't."

"You can."

"No."

"We have no choice, Madrigal. You can't hold on forever."

"I can't let go," I assert.

"Yes, you can," he says soothingly.

"I'll fall if I let go."

"I won't let you fall."

I hold on tighter. "It's a long way to the ground," I announce.

"I'm here for you. Give me your hand."

"I can't."

"You can."

"I can't. I just can't."

He lets out a frustrated breath. "Madrigal, you've got to give me your hand," he demands, his voice losing patience.

"I don't think I can hold on to this branch with one hand while I take the other one off."

"Madrigal, you can do this," his voice is soothing again. "I promise you can."

"How do you know?"

"I know you. Just think of how brave you've had to be so far."

_I can't just wimp out now,_ I tell myself. _Be strong. Be brave. And get yourself together!_

"C'mon, Supernova," he entreats.

"Okay," I mumble. "Are you sure you can carry my weight with just one hand?"

"Positive."

"You'll hold on to me tight?"

"I'll never let you go unless you want me to."

"Let's do this then," I sigh.

Making certain my left hand has a firm hold on the branch, I carefully start letting go with my other one. Sweat beads roll down my forehead, but Royce stares intently at me, willing me to keep going. As I finish prying my hand from the tree limb, I realize I'm stronger than I think.

"Good job, Madrigal," he coaxes.

I start reaching for Royce.

Crack!

The branch I'm holding onto is breaking.

### Chapter 30: Falling

His hand swiftly reaches for mine. We connect with intense force. My fingers intertwine with his, but then the unthinkable happens.

He falls with me.

He had had to loosen his grip on the trunk even more than when he pushed himself ahead to grab me. The force of my falling pulls him down with me.

Falling!

Royce doesn't let go of my hand as we tumble down, smashing into branches as we go. I bite my tongue in order not to scream, and our backpacks harshly slam to the ground. I try to grab at anything with my other hand, and he does the same.

Crack!

Crack!

The branches break on contact. Thankfully, though, they are slowing our descent to the ground—to death.

_I'm not going to die like this!_ I vow. _Not before reaching my freedom!_

NO!

I finally grab onto a branch. It's flimsy and will eventually give way, but it allows us to slow down enough for Royce to grasp another one just below it. As my branch fractures, I fall again but am prevented from going further down by Royce whose hand grips mine. This time, he doesn't allow the force of me falling to pull him down with me. Instead, I find myself dangling with my only lifeline being Royce who is also hanging from the branch he clutches for dear life.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically shaky the second time in one day.

"I think so," I manage to say.

Don't look down, I tell myself.

"Let's take a breath, Madrigal.'

"Okay."

I try to even out my breathing, but only accomplish to prevent from hyperventilating. The situation is too dire for me to calm down. We're dangling from high on a tree—who knows how long till our arms give out? Even though it's hardly raining anymore, wind is starting to pick up and pushing our bodies in different directions. This is fatal.

Fatal.

_Get a hold of yourself,_ Madrigal, I instruct myself, pulling up my free hand to clutch where Royce is holding onto my other one.

"This is not as bad as it seems," Royce utters quietly.

"What do you mean?" I say with clenched teeth—one thing is to be optimistic but another is to be totally unrealistic.

"At least we're not splattered all over the ground."

"Not yet anyway," I mutter.

"Madrigal, we'll find a way out of this."

I sigh with a long breath. "Royce, that branch we're hanging from will probably give out. You know that, don't you?"

"We'll find a way out of this," he persists.

"If you let me go," I say quietly, "you'll be able to use both your hands to pull yourself up."

"Don't even say it," Royce snaps furiously.

"But—"

"I'm not letting you go! Do you understand me?"

"Listen, I doubt if I'm this Supernova. I'm sure I won't explode if I hit the ground."

"Do you think that's the reason I won't let you go?" His incensed voice has flashes of deep disappointment.

"Maybe," I respond meekly.

"I thought you were smart."

"I am," I affirm.

"Then why can't you see the reason why I could never let you die?"

"But—"

"I'm not letting go!" he snaps. "You go and I go with you!"

"Thank you," I utter quietly. Other than my real parents, I had never known this type of incredible loyalty in my life.

"You're welcome," he says. "Now, we have to figure how to get out of this."

The wind had picked up even more. The only reason why we had heard each other was because we were so close. The noise is almost deafening and the shrill air is starting to push violently at us. We need a miracle.

We need one right now!

A bright, explosive flare sweeps through my mind. It's like a sudden light illuminating me. Then I see it—my miracle.

I mean I see it in my head like a vision.

Flashes of scenes evolve in my head as if they are about to occur. Nothing like this has ever happened to me, but they seem so real! My heart throbs wildly as if begging me to pay attention.

I _see_ the fierce wind pulling in a tree branch just a fraction but enough for me to have an opportunity to grab onto it. It will happen within the next few seconds. It will save me if I believe in this vision. It will save Royce too.

Dare I believe in it?

"Royce," I mutter, "I don't have time to explain—just trust me—swing me towards over there." I take my free hand off his as I show him the direction.

"Okay."

"Ready?" I ask. I'm relieved that he trusts me even when I'm not sure about this myself.

"Ready," he answers.

As Royce sways me in the direction I told him, the wind rips through the tree, but we don't travel far enough. I don't reach the branch. He swings me again with much more force, and I manage to curl my arm around the tree limb when the fierce wind pushes it slightly in.

He lets me go.

I feel oddly disconnected.

The other hand he had been grasping automatically goes to the branch. Like in my vision, I pull my legs up and wrap them around the tree limb. I start inching towards the trunk at a snail's pace. I'm under the branch and not over it but have a firm hold on it. From my periphery vision, I see Royce doing the same as I am.

We meet at the gray trunk at nearly the same time. He quickly wraps his arms around me and even though the tree is between us, I still feel his thunderously beating heart. Neither the heavy wind nor the deafening ruckus can alter our moment. We hold one another for a long time.

The wind finally calms down as if tired of its own insanity.

"We should go down," he comments, loosening his grip on me. "Let's take advantage of the break in the weather, don't you think?"

I nod in agreement. "Yes."

"Be very careful this time, Madrigal."

"You can be sure of that."

He climbs down first and tests every branch by shaking it harshly before stepping on it. I painstakingly set my feet carefully over each one of them. With excruciating slowness, we finally reach the bottom where our backpacks are laying.

What a relief!

My joy is short-lived when I notice an expensive lighter on the ground. The colonel must've dropped it. I suddenly remember why we climbed the tree in the first place. The colonel could be lurking around.

I start to open my mouth when Royce puts his index finger to his lips. Then he motions me to grab my backpack, and he snatches his as he sweeps the lighter in his hands. We can't afford to waste any resources. The lighter will probably come in handy.

He swiftly scans the clearing, his sight darting from one end of it to another. No one's here except for us. I'm sure he's guessing that if the colonel had heard us, he would've already gotten here. At the moment, though, I feel particularly vulnerable with us being out in the open like we are. The clearing, with the scarcity of trees, is too exposed.

Royce quickly moves towards the wooded area. Taking care of only stepping on grass and not leaving any muddy footprints, I follow his lead. When we are safely in the coverage of an abundance of trees and foliage, he motions me towards the only kind of tree I know the name of—a Weeping Willow. A thick blanket of leaves cascades down in dense perfection from the top to the bottom of it. We can't see the trunk with its leaves being so plentiful.

We crawl inside this fortress. Feeling well hidden and as safe as possible under these dire circumstances, I take a good look at us for the first time. We are bumped and bruised with purple marks all over our battered skin. Miraculously, we hadn't broken or even sprained a single limb.

'You're bleeding," Royce whispers in my ear as he gently extends my hands, large blisters and cuts throughout them.

"I'm fine," I whisper back.

Even though the bulbous blisters throb and one of them has already popped, I'm not going to let anything minor like this make me into a coward. I _can_ and _will_ deal with the pain.

He takes a small bottle of peroxide which he had removed from a basic first aid kit in his backpack and pours it over my wounds. I hardly notice what he's doing. His close proximity to me and touch are becoming too familiar. I frown.

"Why did you swing me to the branch without asking questions?" I whisper in his ear to get me to concentrate on something other than his nearness to me.

He looks at me with a perplexed look as if he doesn't know what I'm talking about.

I continue, "You know, on the tree?"

His face loses its question mark. "Constanza told me that your special abilities would eventually come to you. The urgency in your voice told me the time was here—was I right?"

I nod, surprised at his accurate guesswork.

He releases my hands, leaving me disconnected again. Opening his backpack, he pulls out a few strips of dried, wild boar meat. It wasn't from the one I had helped kill, but Claudio had given us his personal stash—one that was already prepared. The bear meat had long been eaten.

Royce quietly hands me a piece. I start to chew, and he does the same.. Lost in our own worlds, we're silent for the next fifteen minutes. We had gone through so much—especially today.

I think back to the desperation at the tree when the vision had come. Had it been true? It seemed like a strange dream. Everything had happened so fast.

Meggy's words come at me, "Let your power float up."

Then Pilar's advice quickly proceeds after, "Open your heart and unleash your power."

Had I finally unleashed my abilities? Could I believe that?

Could I?

I had opened my heart to Royce—opened all of it. It had been easier than I had thought. Having been closed for most of my life, being sprung open is frightening.

Royce stares at me as if wondering what I'm thinking. I eye him back. Does he know how I feel about him? Does he feel the same?

My clumsy fingers touch my lips. They no longer feel like those of a child because that's what they felt like before Royce had kissed me.

My first kiss.

His sight falls to my mouth, and I wait for him. Wait for him to come to me again.

I don't have to wait long.

His overwhelmingly handsome face starts nearing mine, and I lean his way. I place my hands on it wanting to feel the warmth of his skin. Abruptly pulling them and myself back, I flinch in agony.

"What's wrong?" he asks, concerned.

I smile as I show him my hands, reminding him of their painful condition but at the same time, showing him I'm fine. I move towards him again for the promised kiss. This time, he doesn't meet me halfway.

"What's wrong?" It's my turn to ask.

"We can't," he whispers.

.I look at him with perplexed eyes; hurt emanating from inside of me.

"We just can't," he states, turning away from me.

### Chapter 31: Rain

"You can at least look at me while you're rejecting me," I utter, trying to keep the deep hurt from my voice.

Face me like I'm facing you!

"I can't," he mumbles

"You can't or you won't?

Outside our little nest the drizzling rain is coming down again. We hardly feel any drops because of the blanket of leaves around us, but the sound makes it difficult to hear each other. I have to lean into him to decipher what he's saying. At least we seem safe from the colonel picking up our voices.

"You don't understand," he explains with a burst of emotion that I rarely see in him.

"What don't I understand?"

He finally turns to me, his dark eyes entreating mine. "I can't let my emotions get the best of me anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"You have to know how I feel about you, right?"

"I think so," I say with insecurity.

"Don't _think_ so, Madrigal— _know,_ " he blurts with frustration. You know how I feel about you—you do."

"How should I know if you've never told me anything?"

"That kiss on the tree didn't tell you?" he asks incredulously.

I shake my head. "For all I know it could've been the craziness of the moment."

"For such a smart girl you can sure be clueless," he grumbles. "It's obvious to everyone except you how I feel about you."

"How you feel about me?"

He rolls his eyes. "Madrigal, how do you not realize this?"

"Royce, how am I supposed to realize it when you keep your emotions so controlled?"

He exhales a deep breath in frustration. "That's the problem—I haven't done a good enough job of managing them," he expresses quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"It's been one mistake after another—surprise after surprise with people shoving rifles in our faces and leading to what happened at the tree. It almost cost us our lives and even the world if you had exploded."

I nod solemnly.

His dark eyes stay on mine as he continues, "We only have to think about what happened to Peter to understand what happens when you let your feelings go crazy, right?"

I nod again.

"Peter and I grew up with the same ideas. We always knew how important the resistance was and were both passionate about it. But the minute he falls for you and Constanza chooses me as the leader, our ideals take second place and he feels he has to prove himself. He feels he has to satisfy his ego."

"That wouldn't happen to you. You'd never let your ego get in the way."

He exhales a deep breath. "But I've let my feelings for you do that."

"Royce—"

"I've let them distract me."

I sigh, letting my eyes rest on him a few seconds before I speak. "I guess I've let my own feelings for you distract me too."

"That kiss—that kiss was just too much. I should've been checking every branch but instead I was thinking about you—about when the second kiss would happen."

"Me too," I say quietly.

"We can't let anything like that happen again. We have to always be on guard—always!"

I nod solemnly.

"Now you understand that I'm not rejecting you," he states, his deep eyes firmly on me. "I care about you, Madrigal, more than you can imagine, but we have to put all our concentration on staying alive."

"I know we do."

"Maybe when this is over," he murmurs, "we'll see where we go from here."

"That sounds like a good plan."

Deciding that it would be too dangerous to travel in the dark, we camp out where we're at for the night. Royce takes the first watch while I shut my eyes to invite sleep, but thoughts spring to my mind.

He has feelings for me.

But we have to keep ourselves in check—our lives depend on it.

I had opened my heart. Even though we couldn't be together, I'm glad I did.

When I wake up in the morning, Royce is gone. I quickly sit up. Before I can start looking for him, he crawls back into our hiding place.

"Good morning," he says.

I return his greeting as he drops raspberries on my lap. "I found them while I was poking around and thought they'd be good for breakfast," he comments.

I smile. "Good idea."

"No one seems to be around," he assures. "As soon as we eat, we should head out."

"Okay," I say, jamming a few berries into my mouth.

"There are some poisonous berries out there, but these are safe," he asserts.

After we finish the delicious fruit, we leave our safe nest. To an extent, I'm sad to leave it behind. With the evil colonel and his sidekick searching for us, we have to tread much more carefully than we've ever done. We try to speak as few words as possible—whispering in each other's ears if anything important comes up. The ground is still wet from yesterday's rain, so we try to keep to the grass at all costs or our footprints will be glaringly visible. We hide our tracks as best as we can—leaving no broken branches and such—like Pilar showed us.

"But still," she had said, "there's no way to erase all tracks. Living creatures leave there marks no matter what."

Royce and I hope that the colonel isn't anywhere near as excellent of a tracker as Pilar, or he'll find us for certain. When we've been walking for a few hours, keeping our ears open and making as little noise as possible, we hear an out-of-place sound not too far from us. Royce and I slide into some leafy bushes that completely cover us but still allow us to see in front of us.

"We're not too far from them," states the colonel, coming into the area.

I tense up but realize that if I make even the slightest of movements, the shrub will move with me. I keep myself like a statue.

"How can you be so sure, sir?" the private asks, also coming into view.

"Are you questioning me, Stupid Head?"

"No, sir. I'm just curious as to how you know they're near."

"I may not be an expert tracker, but I'm a step above an amateur and there are some signs I've been watching closely."

Hopefully, he's exaggerating his abilities, but he's come this far—so close to us that I can distinguish the small differences between the military rifles of the two soldiers. The colonel's weapon is newer and has more gadgets.

"Where do we go, sir?" asks the private.

"I'm pretty sure they went that way," the colonel states, pointing and moving in the general direction of the bushes where Royce and I are in.

I tell myself to be prepared to grab my slingshot if the need arises. _Be prepared for anything._

The colonel stops a few inches away from us. I'm reminded of the time Royce, Peter, and I had hid under the fallen tree when we were beginning this journey. Bending down to tie his boots, he scowls at what he sees. He's so close to us!

"I'm noticing . . . ," he furiously snaps, unable to finish his sentence.

"Yes, colonel?"

"I don't believe this!"

"What is it, colonel?"

"How did I not notice it before?"

"What is it, colonel," the private repeats.

"Look down. What do you see?!"

"Sir—"

"What do you see?"

"Sir—"

"You didn't shine my boots very well, Stupid Head!"

"Sir, I—"

"How incompetent are you?! You can't even shine some boots correctly."

"Sorry, sir. Next time I'll do a better job."

"You'd better!"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's go!" he demands. "Time is a-wasting!"

They rush past the bush Royce and I are in. We wait for a few moments, listening carefully and trying to catch every movement in the woods before leaving our hiding place.

"We're going the opposite way," Royce whispers in my ear.

As we quietly and carefully continue with our journey again, the sky remains clear of rain. We keep traveling, only stopping to re-fill our canteens with water at a spring along the way.

I try not to swallow all the water in my canteen when the purifying pills have taken their affect and it's properly clean. However, Royce tells me to drink up and stay hydrated. A person can subsist for weeks without food but water is a different matter. Still, I don't want to go through our water so fast. It feels wrong to be so greedy with it, but it's excruciatingly hot, muggy, and humid. The rain yesterday had made a misery out of today and while there are a few clouds rolling around in the sky, it doesn't look like it'll rain any time soon.

As we keep a steady pace, the scorching sun pushes down on us. I take another desperate swig of my canteen when Royce and I hear the joyful gurgling and flow of fast water. We move swiftly towards the sound. A river. We've reached a river—and this one is not like the violent monster Royce had fallen into. This one is as wide as that one but much calmer. I quickly kneel down on the bank and splash my face.

"Let's get in," Royce suggests.

He doesn't need to mention it again. I kick off my shoes and fling my backpack off my shoulder and dive in. As soon as the cool water hits my burning skin, I'm a different person. The heat-infused fogginess in my head dissipates.

Royce doesn't get in right away but instead, he grabs my backpack and shoes where I had discarded them and hides them in a shrub along with his own things.

"Sorry," I tell him when he jumps in the river. "I didn't think to hide my stuff."

"Just taking precautions."

I smile at him. "I know."

"I don't mean to be such a stick in the mud."

"I'm glad that you're not a careless person. I doubt if we'd still be alive if you were."

"Is that a compliment?" he asks mischievously.

I return his smile. "Maybe."

When we've been in the glorious water for a few minutes, he turns to me with serious eyes. "That colonel was too close, right?"

"That was intense with him staring down at his boots."

"And us in the bush next to him."

"Yep."

"You're good at not panicking and jumping the gun," he tells me with a grin.

"I'm learning from the master."

"You're learning from yourself," he points out.

"I'm trying."

"You pick up fast."

"I have to—it's our lives."

His dark eyes flicker. "Madrigal, I just want you to know that we're not far from the person who's going to get us to headquarters. When we reach him, our hiking days should be mostly over. Much of the danger should be over with too."

An ear-splitting gunshot suddenly reverberates through the air.

Royce's eyes automatically meet mine. We are no longer alone.

### Chapter 32: Vision

The shot came from somewhere near. Royce and I scan the area and find no one in our vicinity— _YET._

"How stupid can you be?!" yells the colonel. "Pay attention to your weapon!"

His voice is getting closer and closer. A sudden flash rushes to my mind like the time we were dangling from the tall tree. I motion to Royce to get under the embankment with me. As the vision had shown me, we barely fit underneath an overlap of land. Water had eroded a portion of the mud on the sides of the river. While water reaches to just below our noses, we stay very quiet—calming our breaths in such a claustrophobic place.

"I can't believe you fired it!" snaps the colonel, his voice now sounding dangerously nearby.

If we would've been on the opposite side of the river, he probably would've seen us but where we're at, we're well hidden from view.

"Sir, I thought it appropriate to fire on a dangerous animal."

"It was a raccoon, Stupid Head!"

"It looked like a wild boar, sir."

"Only an idiot would confuse a raccoon with a boar!"

Hands abruptly appear in front of us. One of soldiers is washing his hands, not having a clue as to how close we are to them.

Splash!

The happy limbs seem to rejoice in the water.

Royce eyes me with eyebrows snapped together. I can read his look. By now we can practically tell what each other is thinking. Worried that the embankment above will give way with the hollowness of where we're at, Royce and I brace ourselves for the worse.

"What are you doing, private?" snarls the Colonel.

"I'm just washing up, sir. It's so humid today."

"Stop lollygagging and stand up!"

The private stumbles up, stepping away from the edge of the embankment. Royce's face relaxes.

"Sir, I was thinking—"

"What did I say about trying to use your pea-size brain?"

When we had run into the private the time Pilar had rescued us with her family's permit, his arrogance had been sharp and biting. Maybe he was punishing us for how his colonel treated him?

"Sir, I just thought it would be good to take a swim," he asks hopefully.

"A swim?"

"Yes, sir."

"What a great idea."

I take in a sharp breath.

"Really, sir?" the private quips happily, his voice not as strained as before.

"Sure."

"With the heat and—"

"Sure, let's take a swim," snaps the colonel. "Let's lollygag in the water while my poor son's military career is going down the drain. Frolicking in the water is much more important than my son, wouldn't you say?"

"I just thought—"

"I already told you—stop using your few brain cells—stop using equipment you've never used!"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's go, Stupid Head—and no more idiotic suggestions from you, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"I've got enough on my mind with trying to outmaneuver those degenerates who messed with my son."

"Yes, sir."

"The jeep was left nearby for us, right?"

"That's what I was told, sir."

"If you hadn't given them the wrong directions then we wouldn't have had to change directions!" he growls.

"Sorry, sir."

"After this is over, I want you out of my battalion."

"Yes, sir."

"Now we have to get the jeep and gain the ground already lost with your incompetence."

"Yes, sir."

Waiting a few minutes after we can't hear their boots anymore, Royce and I sneak out of our hiding place. We change behind trees to our second set of clothes and wring out the wet ones as best as we can.

"I heard them go that way," whispers Royce as he shows me with his hands, "and we're going this way."

I nod my head, but I'm not as trusting this time. They had changed directions once and could do it again.

Traveling more carefully than before, we're reluctant to even say a single word for fear that we miss an important sound. The clouds grow darker the longer we walk. It's certain to rain. Royce hands me strips of dried boar meat—we're not stopping to eat. If a downpour happens, we'll be forced to interrupt our journey but in the meantime, we need to continue with our hike.

I stifle a snicker when we arrive at a tree with a nearby raccoon eating an acorn on the ground. Really?—how can anyone confuse such a tiny animal with a bulky boar? The private must've been hallucinating.

"Don't move!" yells a voice as the owner of it jumps down from the tree. His weapon points menacingly at us.

Don't move," repeats the private with a sheepish smile on his face. "Hands up!" Royce and I lift our hands as he starts chuckling with joy.

"I can't believe I caught you! After all the names the colonel has called

me, I'm the one who caught you! After he left me here so he could try to find tracks, I'm the one who gets you! Sweet bliss!"

The raccoon scurries to another acorn, and the private fearfully jumps back. "Get away, get away you," he demands.

How odd—a military man who is scared of raccoons. He was probably on the tree to hide from it. Of course, raccoons climb trees, but the private doesn't seem to know much about them.

"I'll shoot you if I have to," the private announces to the small animal. "I don't think my colonel will be angry now that I've found them."

The them he is referring to with such disdain is Royce and me.

"I bet you thought we wouldn't find you," he snickers at us.

"Why were you looking for us?" asks Royce, his voice steady.

The private's face knots itself in a scrunch. "Don't play innocent with me—you know why."

"What are you talking about?"

"You hit D412 on the head with something."

"Who's D412?"

"He's my colonel's son!"

"Your colonel? When we saw you the other day, you were by yourself."

"I told you I was on special assignment with a superior officer," he grumbles.

"Your special assignment involves us?"

"You messed with the colonel's son—admit it!"

"I'm not going to admit something I didn't do. I don't know this D412."

"What are you doing in the woods then?"

"You already saw our permit."

"Where's the other girl—the mouthy one?" he asks suspiciously.

"She got sick."

"That's too bad," he snorts. "I bet you're glad that big mouth isn't with you anymore."

"We miss her."

"You're kidding! Isn't this your girlfriend?" he asks, referring to me.

"Yes," he answers with no hesitation.

"Why would you want a third wheel with you?"

"Company."

"Honey," he tells me, "if this guy doesn't know how to treat a beautiful girl like you then call me."

"Hey, dude, you're not putting the moves on my girlfriend right in front of me, are you?"

"You snooze you lose."

"C'mon now."

He chuckles loudly. "I guess I am being kind of obnoxious."

"Yep," Royce says, laughing with him. I make myself laugh too.

"I haven't laughed like this in days. I haven't even smiled," he informs us wistfully.

"That stinks."

"It stinks a lot."

"Too bad you can't ditch the colonel and come with us."

"I can't. I'd be court-martialed."

"It's just as well. I'd hate for you and your slick moves to be around my girlfriend."

"I'll tell you what—I wouldn't hold back," he states, guffawing. "She'd end up being my girlfriend."

_Want to bet?_ I retort in my mind.

"It's good that you're not coming with us then," smiles Royce.

"Geez," blurts the soldier, "I like you guys. I wish I didn't have to turn you in."

"You don't have to."

"My colonel will kill me if he finds out that I had you and let you go."

"Why would he find out?"

"What are you afraid of if you're innocent?" the private asks suspiciously.

"We're not afraid. It's just that your colonel sounds like a real jerk. Didn't you say that you hadn't even cracked a smile in days?"

"He calls me the worse names ever," he growls.

"That's bad."

"I hate him—can't stand him!"

"I had a boss like that once."

"You did?"

Royce nods sympathetically. "He'd insult me all day."

"What did you do?"

"I messed up his favorite guardian sports car to get back at him. He never knew it had been me."

"He didn't?" he asks, excited like a puppy.

"Nope. The car never worked right again. He moped around for weeks—completely unlike himself."

"That must've been great," he gushes, a sparkle in his eye.

"Yep."

The private turns contemplative. Royce leaves him alone in his thoughts.

"If I let you go, do you promise not to tell anyone about it?" the soldier blurts.

"We promise."

"I'd love to get back at the colonel," he growls.

"This is the perfect way to do it."

"Go then."

"Thanks, man," Royce expresses.

"Thanks," I chime in.

"Be careful with the hunting," he states. "The animals here are treacherous." His eyes are on the raccoon as we start going past the animal.

"We will."

"People don't think raccoons are dangerous but they are—just look at their beady eyes."

"They're scary alright," Royce announces, trying to keep a straight face.

"Be careful when you shoot, or the colonel might hear you."

"We'll be quiet."

The guy won't stop talking long enough for us to finish leaving.

"Bye, now," Royce states, trying to put a stop to his chatter.

"Remember, don't shoot—hey stop!" he yells, pointing his weapon at us again.

"What's wrong?" Royce asks calmly.

"If you're hunting then where are your weapons?"

"We don't shoot animals," Royce explains. "We get them other ways."

"Other ways?"

"We have different ways of trapping animals."

"I didn't see you with any animals today, and I didn't see you with any animals the other day either."

"The pickings are small. The woods are almost out of food."

"Really?" he asks sarcastically.

"There are too many hunters for so little food."

"Something's fishy here. I need to let the colonel sort this out."

"But—"

"Shut up!"

"But—"

"I said, 'Shut up!' I'm not listening to you anymore!"

There's no reasoning with this guy anymore. I catch Royce's eyes—he'd better be prepared for what I'm about to do.

"The raccoon!" I exclaim with supposed horror.

"Where?" he asks, terrified as he turns in the direction my eyes are at. His rifle moves with him, and Royce takes advantage of the opportunity. Jumping the soldier, Royce tries to grab the weapon but it's flung far away with the struggle. Harsh punches begin, and I hurry towards the military rifle as Royce begins to overpower the soldier.

"Missy, I wouldn't do that if I were you," The colonel says, stepping out of the woods with his own weapon pointed straight at me as I'm about to pick up the one on the ground.

### Chapter 33: The Weather

"If you don't want me to shoot her," the colonel tells Royce, "then let my worthless soldier go."

Royce's eyes travel from the colonel to the weapon pointed at my head. He gets on his feet, away from where he had the private in a headlock.

"Good boy," chuckles the colonel.

The private stumbles up, muttering furiously under his breath. Trying to punch Royce, he's stopped by Royce's fast hand.

"This isn't over yet," the private snaps.

"Stop rambling and get your weapon, soldier," demands the colonel.

He strides towards his military rifle, sneering when he passes me. I return his scowl. He's furious. Royce gives him a warning look.

"I'll shoot you!" the private shouts at Royce when he snatches his military rifle off the ground. "Let's see how brave you are with my weapon in your face!"

"You're not shooting anybody unless I tell you to—do you have that straight?!" the colonel snaps.

"It's just that—"

"Stop your whining!"

"Yes, sir."

"It's not his fault you're such a worthless soldier. The guy disabled you just like that. Maybe I should leave you and take him with me."

"Sir, I _did_ find him and his girlfriend."

"Find them?" the colonel retorts. "You didn't find them! This is where I left you, so you wouldn't mess up my search anymore. I'm sure they just walked in your path. You couldn't find a cube of ice in an icemaker!"

"Sir—"

""I was right," he says more to himself than to anyone. His voice is self-righteous and pleased. "It occurred to me that there's an enclave of others close to here that you may be heading toward," he informs us.

"We're just hunting," states Royce.

"Yeah, hunting without rifles," the private guffaws.

"I've already told you—we don't hunt with rifles. We can't. We don't have any, so we do what we can."

The colonel eyes us suspiciously. "You're the ones who almost cracked my son's head open, right?"

"Why would we do something like that?"

"They're hiding something—I just know it!" exclaims the private.

The colonel's eyes sit heavily on me with an intense glare. I turn my face, but his unwavering sight stays on me.

"What would we be hiding?" Royce asks innocently.

"Her," the colonel says simply as he motions towards me.

The private throws a puzzled glance at me. "Her?"

"I've got a good eye for faces."

"You know this girl, sir?" the private asks, surprised.

"She's been all over the news."

The private's eyebrows come together. "The news?"

"Missy, you're very clever in changing your look. Most people wouldn't be able to put you together with the picture in the news, but I'm not just anybody."

"I don't understand, colonel."

"Stupid Head, this is Madrigal X1147."

The private gasps loudly. "It can't be, sir. They don't look anything alike."

"Oh, it's her," the colonel assures. "It's her all right!"

And just like that—my cover is busted wide open.

While the colonel takes us to the jeep at gunpoint, Royce tries to convince him that I'm not the person in the news. Royce uses as many persuasive arguments as he can, but the colonel won't budge. When Royce is unable to convince him, I try my own influence.

"My name is Nova—not this Madrigal you're talking about," I state, making sure my voice is steady and self-assured like Royce's always sounds.

"I just bet it is."

"Colonel, " I continue, "I don't know why you'd think I'm her. I don't look anything, not even a little bit like her."

"Missy, you don't fool me."

"That girl is probably long gone. Maybe even dead."

"That girl is here."

"But—"

"You're worth a lot of money, missy. They're offering $100,000 for you."

I'm astounded. The government is now offering money for me. That's bad—very bad.

"Colonel, you don't want to make a fool out of yourself by taking in the wrong person. I—"

"You're Madrigal X1147. Stop lying about it," he snaps furiously.

Nothing I say deviates him from his plan. Instead, after arriving at the green military jeep, he tapes Royce's and my mouths shut.

"I'm tired of your yammering!" he exclaims.

The colonel then forces us to the back of the open vehicle. After haranguing the private for not having brought enough rope to properly tie us up, only our hands are bound, he makes him guard over us from the passenger's seat. The private's torso twists towards us, keeping his eyes and weapon glued to our forms to make certain we don't try to escape.

It seems hopeless.

But I'm not going to accept it.

Instead, I wait for a vision. Something will come up. I'm sure of it.

I glance at Royce who motions me with his eyes to look up. With no roof on the jeep, my sight is able to shoot to the sky. Something severe is happening. The weather is changing. Clouds are turning pitch black, and the wind is picking up. It's starting to howl in the woods.

I don't know if this is good or bad, but we're in this for better or worse.

A few miles down the dirt road, the wind is now so ferocious that the jeep trembles and pulls in different directions. The private seems jittery and nervous. The guy is frightened of raccoons after all. Being out on an evening like this one has to be excruciating for someone like him

"I LOVE THIS WEATHER!" loudly chirps the colonel, in a much better mood than I had seen him.

"You do, sir?" the private asks, his voice shaky and small.

"SPEAK UP, STUPID HEAD! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

The crashing wind barely allows for any other sound.

"YOU REALLY LIKE THIS WEATHER, SIR?" the private says at the top of his lungs.

"DON'T YOU?!"

"NO, NOT REALLY, SIR."

"YOU'RE SUCH A WUSS, PRIVATE! I REALLY DON'T KNOW HOW YOU GOT IN THE MILITARY!"

Meanwhile, tall trees and shrubbery bend with the unforgiving force of the furious wind—havoc and destruction at its beck and call. The jeep lurches violently to the sides, having trouble staying on the road. Lightning starts flashing through the sky, and the vociferous thunder that goes with it comes bearing down all around us. A torrential amount of rain is probably on the way.

I brace myself with the freezing needles of piercing air being shot into my skin. The heat of earlier in the day gave way to an icy cold fueled by the violence of the wind. It occurs to me that the jeep could actually turn over and with both Royce and me tied up, who knows what will happen to us.

A bolt of heavy lightning slams into the stretch of road we had just left seconds ago.

The colonel throws out a raucous and gregarious laugh. "I REALLY, REALLY LOVE THIS WEATHER!"

_He's crazy!_ Those soldiers at the start of our journey, when I had disabled his son, were right about him. A real psycho colonel!

"SIR, MAYBE WE SHOULD STOP AND FIND SHELTER!"

"ARE YOU TELLING ME WHAT TO DO, STUPID HEAD?!"

"NO, SIR, BUT IT SEEMS DANGEROUS TO BE TRAVELING LIKE THIS!"

"WE'RE SOLDIERS, STUPID! WE LAUGH AT DANGER!"

Judging by the consternation on the private's face, laughter is the last emotion he's thinking about right now.

I turn to Royce. His concerned eyes stare into me. The weather, the thunder, the psycho colonel, and even the private's shaky hold on the military rifle—take your pick--we could die at the whims of any of them.

"SIR, PLEASE LET'S GET OFF THE ROAD!"

"PRIVATE—"

"PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU!"

"YOU'RE A DISGRACE TO YOUR UNIFORM! SOLDIER'S DON'T BEG!"

"PLEASE!"

"STOP BEGGING!"

"PLEASE, PLEASE STOP THIS STUPID THING!"

"YOU'RE IN DEEP TROUBLE, SOLDIER!"

"COURT MARSHALL ME IF YOU WANT—JUST STOP THIS DEATH TRAP AND LET ME OUT!"

"GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!" the colonel orders, slapping the private on the head. The weapon slips out of his hands and crashes to the road where the jeep runs over it.

"LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID, STUPID HEAD!"

"COLONEL, I—"

"SAVE YOUR EXCUSES! GET MY WEAPON ASAP."

As he's about to grab the colonel's weapon next to him, he stops abruptly. He sees what we see.

A huge swirling tornado is coming towards us.

### Chapter 34: Flying Whollopalooza

"LOOK AT THAT BABY!" the psycho colonel exclaims, gushing. "HAVE YOU EVER SEEN SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT?"

The giant tornado, just a few miles down the road, swirls its destruction. It uproots and slams aside anything that's unfortunate to be in its way. Unreal and surreal at the same time, I have to remind myself I'm not watching a movie. This is for real.

The worst kind of reality.

"DON'T YOU FEEL ITS POWER? FLYING WHOLLOPALOOZA! WHAT A RUSH! YEAH!" the colonel yells with glee.

The private's eyes are popping out of their sockets. "SIR—"

"DO YOU KNOW HOW LUCKY YOU ARE, STUPID HEAD, TO BE EXPERIENCING SOMETHING LIKE THIS?!"

"SIR, WE'VE GOT TO GO THE OTHER WAY!" he blurts, his voice on the verge of a melt down. "WE'RE RIGHT ON ITS PATH!"

"DON'T BE SO STUPID! TORNADOES TURN DIRECTIONS ON A DIME. JUST ENJOY IT!"

"SIR—"

"DON'T YOU FEEL THE EXHILIRATION? FLYING WHOLLOPALOOZA!"

"SIR, WE'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF ITS WAY!"

"FLYING WHOLLOPALOOZA!"

"SIR, IT'S GOING TO KILL US."

"DON'T BE SUCH A STUPID HEAD! NOTHING LIKE IT CAN EVER KILL ME! I'M THE COLONEL!"

"SIR—"

"NOW GET MY WEAPON AND WATCH THOSE TWO IN THE BACK!"

"BUT—"

"DO IT!"

Miserably, the private does what he is told to do. Tears now run freely down his face as he guards us with the psycho colonel's military rifle. The weapon shakes in his unsteady hands. We are in so much trouble! As we get nearer and nearer to the circling cyclone, I emphatically search in my head for what we can do. It's death for certain at the rate we're going.

I've got to figure something out.

In desperation I shut my eyes to see if I can search for a solution in my head. Something has got to occur to me.

Flash!

The flash of a vision reverberates through my mind. The view I had of it is as clear as looking through a sparkling window. I know what must be done! It's risky but at this point there isn't much of a choice.

My small optimism deflates when I realize that I can't tell Royce what we should do. Our mouths are taped shut. Even if they weren't, the private is keeping a close watch on us and speaking out loud would be out of the question.

What'll I do?

_I saw your vision, Madrigal,_ a male voice states as it goes through my mind.

_Arthur!_ I exclaim.

Or you can call me Royce.

What? I say, immediately throwing my sight to Royce who's staring intently at me.

You're Arthur and not Pet—

Madrigal, we don't have time to freak out or talk about this right now. I promise we'll talk later when we're safe. We have to act on your vision—it's our only chance.

I nod solemnly at Royce, and he nods quietly back. The private is in such a state that he doesn't notice our exchange. I look ahead to find that my vision is coming true—the tornado Is almost upon us—so close that even the colonel is abruptly slowing down the jeep.

It's now or never, I sigh. I make my face contort into absolute fear. It isn't difficult with the frightening scene evolving in front of me. Grunting through the tape on my mouth, I catch the private's attention. He automatically turns to the front where I'm looking. As in my _vision,_ having the tornado so close makes him drop the colonel's weapon, and it hits the ground breaking apart like his own rifle had done.

"SIR! SIR!"

"STOP YOUR WHINING! I'M SLOWING DOWN AND MAKING A TURN SOON!"

I eye Royce, and he eyes me back.

The time is here.

Jumping out at the same time, we land on the hard ground. We quickly roll ourselves to a nearby ditch I had seen in my vision.

I look up to witness the tornado snatching the jeep from the road.

Up, up it goes!

The private's arms are flaying in all directions, and the psycho colonel tries desperately to maneuver the jeep.

Higher and higher they go.

Gone.

We can't see them anymore. They've entered an abyss. And then the tornado does precisely what the psycho colonel said it would do—it turns on a dime moving away from us. We stare after it morbidly fascinated by its power and domination. I literally can't turn away from the swirling funnel.

As soon as we can't see it anymore, we tear the tape off our lips with hands we're barely able to maneuver because of the rope.

"That was close!" remarks Royce.

"Very!" I agree as I grab a piece of glass—remnants of the jeep—and start cutting into his rope. After I finish, he quickly slices through mine. We rub our wrists trying to get the circulation back.

"I wasn't sure about getting out alive this time," I blurt.

His dark eyes pull me into him. He reaches for my face with both hands and puts his forehead on mine. We stay in that position for a few seconds, gleaming strength from each other. It's been a horrendous day, but we've managed a few miracles.

We're alive.

We're together.

Pulling his forehead away, he leaves his hands where they are. He gently brings my face to his until we are breathing the same air and our lips are just a few centimeters away from each other. It doesn't take long for him to close the gap.

The second kiss.

What I had given my all to not think about because . . .

Because . . .

Because it takes all my breaths and thoughts away.

"No!" he blurts with a shaky voice as he pulls away. "We can't . . . we shouldn't."

"I know," I return with the same intensity. "We can't afford to be so into each other."

"We still have a long way to go."

His comment brings me back to our situation. I inhale an abrupt breath to pinch my senses. Time for reality. Sitting in a muddy ditch, I scan my surroundings. Silence. The wind seems to have left with the tornado.

"It's the quiet before the storm," states Royce.

"Please don't read my mind."

"Sorry."

"You've got a lot of explaining to do, Royce—or is it Arthur?"

"I know I owe you the truth, but that conversation will have to wait for later—more extreme weather is coming."

He's right about another storm coming. The sky has remained dark and ominous.

"We've got to get out of here," he announces. "The tornado is still out there."

"Where do we go?" I ask.

A loud thunderclap falls from the sky, electrifying the area. It's the signal for the wind to continue its unbridled fury again.

"It's going to start pouring down any minute. And it's getting darker with the night about to get here." he asserts. "Come with me."

We bounce out of the ditch, lucky that we hadn't broken anything with the quick getaway from the jeep. Bumps and bruises are a small price to pay for still being on the ground instead of _who knows where_ like the private and the psycho colonel. I follow Royce, not having a clue of where he's taking me but trust at this point can't be in question for either one of us.

The wind picks up even more, and a few thick rain drops splash on me as we hike through a trail. After a mile or so, Royce stops at a water well. I can't help but wonder about the strangeness of a well being in the middle of nowhere.

"This marks the spot," Royce states. He scans the area as if searching for something. I helplessly stand around not having an idea of what he's doing.

"I found it!" he exclaims with a relieved tone, standing over a huge pile of branches.

"Found what?"

Instead of answering, he pulls away the branches. Then he taps on the dirt underneath which oddly enough has no grass growing on it. Pulling out a metal pick from his pocket with one hand, he feels the ground for something. To my surprise, he locates a lock previously covered in dirt and promptly opens it with the pick.

"Are there any other talents you haven't told me about?" I ask him with a sly smile.

He chuckles darkly. "Picking a lock isn't a talent; it's a necessity."

I laugh with him. "Okay."

"I wish I didn't have to do this," he announces, his tone turning dry.

"We've been forced to do a lot of things we shouldn't have had to do."

"Right," he says solemnly.

Thicker drops of water start splashing down. The downpour is around the corner. Royce quickly removes the lock and shoves the dirt away. I gasp when a large, dark, metal square becomes visible. When he yanks the trap door up, I peer inside with unbridled curiosity. I'm disappointed that the hole that is large enough for Royce and me to crawl into is pitch black. Royce, however, isn't fazed as his fingers search for something in it.

"Found it!" he announces for the second time.

'What did you find?" I ask again.

"The lights," he says simply. I hear a click, and the inside of the opening becomes illuminated.

Fascinated, I'm able to see that this aperture is really a living quarters. A ladder down leads to an elegant place full of expensive furniture. A million questions pop in my confused mind.

"I'll answer your questions later—let's get in before the rain gets worse," states Royce.

"I thought you weren't going to read my mind without my permission?"

"I didn't. Your face is as clear as glass." He motions for me to go first.

As I start climbing down the ladder, he follows me after shutting the metal trap door behind him. My steps are careful. Having so many bruises, causing ache and numbness throughout my battered body, I need to be careful not to misstep and fall.

At the bottom, I stand around in a daze.

Wow!

Unbelievable!

With my mouth wide open, I take in the fluffy, gold-colored rug on the floor and the antique bedroom furniture. An old fashioned, heavy, four poster king-size bed sits in the back while a matching, dark cherry-brown dresser, a vanity and two night tables complement it.

"What's this place?" I ask Royce as he gets to the ground.

He stares around in disbelief too. "I can't believe it really exists!"

"What?"

"Hearing about it is different from actually seeing it."

"Hearing about it?"

"I hate what this place is about," he grumbles.

"What are you talking about?" I question, more curious than ever.

"This is a getaway for one of the top guardians and his mistress."

"You're kidding me," I blurt, my face scrunched.

"Nope."

"Are you serious?"

"Very."

Bile rises to my throat. "People out there live with the bare necessities and sometimes not even that while this idiot has a place like this to cheat on his wife?"

"Yep."

"Despicable."

"Yep."

"Unforgivable."

"Yep."

"Those guardians live in the lap of luxury, doing what they want for their selfish reasons and not for the best of the world. We're nothing but marionettes for them to play their idiotic power games with."

"That's all we are to them," he agrees, his voice tight with disgust.

"They rule our lives, telling us nothing but lies to _handle_ us. They manipulate actions, words, and thoughts to control us. In the meantime, people out there are suffering—really suffering!"

"They don't care—as long as their agenda is taken care of—that's all that matters to them."

"They're monsters."

"They're worse than monsters, but more and more people are waking up to the truth. That's where you come in, Supernova."

"That's where we come in, fellow Freedom Warrior," I correct.

"We," he says, smiling.

I smile back. "We."

Crash!

A clamorous noise shakes the ceiling.

### Chapter 35: The Getaway

Royce swiftly climbs back up the ladder to check the resounding noise. After opening the trap door, rain pours down through the chasm. The storm is unleashed. Strikes of thunder from the outside reverberate through the underground room with flashes of light. He shuts the opening and climbs down.

"What made the weird sound?" I ask, keeping my voice steady.

"Thunder."

"Thunder?"

"Yes," he explains, water dripping from him. The deluge had managed to soak him the few seconds the aperture was open. "It hit a nearby tree and split it in half."

"It must be pretty bad out there."

"It's really ugly."

I turn pensive. "What if it floods, and we're underground?"

"The trap door is made to fit tight. That's why when it's closed, no water drips inside. And we're on an upslope. The ditch we rolled into is for floods. The guardian sure knew where to put this thing."

"Yeah," I retort, "I guess he wanted to protect his interests."

"We should be safe here."

I glance at his moisture-dripping apparel. "That is if you don't die of pneumonia."

"Wouldn't that be something? We go through all that danger, and I die because of wet clothes," he declares, chuckling darkly.

I don't find the idea of Royce dying the least bit amusing.

"You should change," I tell him.

Our backpacks had been flung aside by the psycho colonel when he had taken us prisoners so unfortunately, Royce couldn't get into his second set of clothes. Stepping over to the dresser and pulling the drawers open, I find a pair of blue pajamas and give a whoop.

"I'll turn around so you can put these on," I say.

"There's a bathroom here."

"How did you find out about this palace?" I ask with curiosity as I hand him the clothes.

"My cousin told me about it. He takes care of this place while the guardian is gone."

"The water well outside was put there as a marker?"

"Yep."

I roll my eyes. "How convenient," I retort. Then a frightening thought occurs to me. "Royce, what if the guardian and his mistress had been here?"

"I didn't think they would be with so many official meetings going on right now and besides, the lock was on the outside."

"The lock keeps the secrets inside," I comment.

He stares intently at my face, stepping in closer to me. "Secrets," he mutters. We're both thinking about the one he's been keeping from me for so long. "Big, well-kept secrets."

"Huge secrets," I return, my voice shaky.

"About Arthur—"

"Don't," I blurt.

"What?"

"That's going to be a long conversation," I explain quietly. "Change and then we'll talk."

He nods solemnly. As he steps through an old fashioned, ornate, wood door on the side of the room, I start looking in the drawers for apparel I can wear. I'm muddy and dirty. Once I go through the lingerie, I find a sturdy pair of aqua flannel pajamas for females.

Taking an empty nylon trash bag from a trash can, I place it on the seat of a wingchair close to the ladder and sit down. Soothing shower sounds fill the room. I'm certain it'll be a while before Royce comes back out. Then it'll be my turn. Just the thought of a warm shower rattles my brain, but what scrambles my mind even more is the conversation I'm about to have about Arthur.

Can it be true?

Is he really Arthur?

Had I imagined the whole mind reading episode at the jeep?

Usually I can tell if Arthur is inside my head—a feeling of not being alone. But if my senses are altered, I lose touch with what grounds me, and I can't decipher what's inside of me. Arthur had caught me by surprise earlier. It's no wonder with the deranged nightmare we were in the midst of.

When Royce steps out of the bathroom, I steady my breaths. I'm so much closer to the truth now—the truth of my life. He smiles sheepishly at me, looking like the Adonis he is with his elegant pajamas and scrubbed face.

"I'll be right back," I tell him, bouncing through the bathroom door. I try to shower quickly but once the warm water hits my skin, I find it impossible to end our new acquaintance. It's been such a long time. Bathing in cold rivers is very different from bathing in warmth.

Forcing myself to leave the stall, I quickly change. My heart is beating as fast as when Royce gave me my first kiss. I place my hand at the bottom of my throat. My breath catches on itself, and I have to tell myself to get it together.

_Stop this!_ I propound.

But the moment has come and it's useless to ignore what is happening to me. I actually feel vulnerably disoriented—like having the rug pulled right from under me. I had already come to terms with Peter being Arthur and not as virtuous as I had always thought him to be.

What would Royce prove to be?

Not that so far he had proved to be anything less than brave, chivalrous, and dedicated. Still, with him being Arthur and me knowing about it, the dynamics in our relationship are bound to change.

What if it turned out to be a bad thing?

When I finally make it to the bedroom, I can hear his light respiration coming from the bed. He's fast asleep over the navy blue bedspread. I take in a breath—the guy is so beautiful. Maybe it's wrong to describe a guy like that, I tell myself for the umpteenth time, but there's a reason why all the girls at my school acted like blubbering idiots around him—and they hadn't even known his remarkable insides.

I knew them.

My life will never be the same because of it.

I carefully lay next to him, snuggling into the space in front that he left open. Facing away from him, I make certain I don't look into his face any longer. It aches to be so close to his astonishing looks. It hurts.

The soft mattress feels strange when I've been sleeping on the hard ground for so long now. It's almost too comfortable. I shut my eyes to invite sleep. It doesn't take long for it to catch up to me—waves of exhaustion pull me down—and my surroundings start to go distant as if they are in the far background of a movie.

"Madrigal," Royce's voice calls my name. Am I dreaming it?

"Madrigal," he repeats. My eyes start to flutter open, and I have to concentrate to remember where I'm at. As my vision starts to focus, I discern Royce's intent sight sweeping over me. Royce has flipped himself over to face me.

"Royce," I say simply.

"Sorry to wake you up."

"It's okay."

His dark eyes stay on mine. "I can't believe I went to sleep," he expresses.

"You're tired. We both are."

"But we have something very important to talk about."

"It could wait to tomorrow," I assure, trying to sound convincing even though I desperately want to discuss Arthur.

"Sorry, Madrigal, but I can't wait to tomorrow."

"You can't?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Why not?" I mutter quietly.

"I need for you to know who I am."

"Arthur?" I murmur.

"I need to tell you so much," he blurts.

"Tell me everything."

He takes a deep breath. "I had to play a repulsive part for so long because my parents had been rebels, and my grandparents were scared I'd get murdered like my parents."

"The leaders wouldn't think twice about killing a child, would they?" I ask, my voice disgusted.

"No, it's a miracle my grandparents convinced them to keep me alive."

"You had smart grandparents."

He takes another deep breath before continuing. "When I'd see how they treated you at school, even when you were a small kid, I didn't know what to do to help you. The problem was that I had to pretend to be what I wasn't. I hated not being able to be your friend."

"Royce, you wanted to be my friend when you were a kid?"

"Ever since we were first graders."

"I could've used a friend."

"I know. One time I saw you crying in your favorite corner at the library."

"I don't remember—"

"You played it tough most of the time, but I guess you broke down once—just that one time. I'd be watching you, so I knew you kept your real feelings very hidden except for that one small moment."

"I didn't want anybody to feel sorry for me."

"We were little kids, but we were forced to grow up very fast, right?"

"Right," I agree.

"You don't know how thrilled I was that we got to be in the same classroom in second grade."

My memory goes back in time. "That was the year . . ." I stop myself. I'm so overwhelmed.

"The year of what?" he murmurs, his dark eyes intently on me.

I find my voice. "The year I got the Valentine's card."

"I remember you telling Arthur about it."

"It was handmade with painted hearts," I gush.

"Kind of mushy, don't you think?"

"No," I declare. "My secret admirer was awesome!"

"Awesome?"

"I just wish I had found out who he was," I sigh.

"Maybe it was better for you not to know."

"Why?"

"You might've not liked him," he comments quietly.

"What are you talking about?" I blurt, indignant. "Of course I would've—" I interrupt myself. The pieces start coming together. "Wait a minute . . . I thought Andrew could've given me the Valentine out of kindness, but it wasn't him, was it?"

"No."

"It was you," I declare, my heart beating fast in my throat.

His eyes sit calmly on mine. "Guilty."

"I still have the Valentine in my fake parent's house." I murmur.

"You kept it all these years?"

"It's the only Valentine I've ever gotten. You don't know what it meant to me."

"You don't know how much I wanted to tell you that I was your secret admirer."

"If only you could've," I blurt. "It would've changed my life."

"I know how awful it was for you—how much the kids bullied you—prodded by the teachers who had orders from the leaders."

"The teachers had orders from the leaders to make my life miserable?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"I can see snippets in certain people's minds," he explains uncomfortably.

"Snippets?"

He nods solemnly, obviously not at ease with the subject. "I can see bits and pieces of the lives of people I know and care about, and what is affecting them."

"You can get in their minds?" I ask, puzzled as to whether this was the same as seeing snippets. He could talk to me in my mind. Maybe he could do the same with others.

"In small, fleeing fragments."

"But with me—"

"With you it's different—very different."

I let out a confused breath. "I'm not following you."

"I should finish my story before explaining," he says, gently stroking the side of my face. His fingers lightly caress my skin.

"Okay, go ahead."

"At school, I could see how miserable you were—even after the Valentine. Because I couldn't talk to you, and I could see snippets into people even as a kid, I became obsessed with sending you encouraging thoughts. I figured that maybe I not only had the ability to receive brain waves but to send them too."

"That's so noble of you."

"It was a kid's vivid imagination but to my surprise, it worked better than I could've ever imagined. You started answering me back!"

"That was bizarre when it first happened. I really thought you were an imaginary friend."

"I'm pretty real," he asserts, a sly smile on his lips.

"I know."

His dark eyes flicker. "Anyway, that's how Arthur came into your life."

"Thank you for letting me choose the name," I express.

"To be honest with you, Arthur was much more real to me than who I was being Royce. I came to hate this fake persona so much that I rebelled for a while—not wanting to live a double life anymore. Peter followed my lead. That's when they separated us. They put him in a different school."

"You started hanging out with QT100 after that," I grumble.

"It was torture."

"Where does she think you are?" I ask with curiosity.

"Her dad broke us up," he announces gleefully.

"The principal broke you up?"

His eyes turn mischievous. "I might've helped it along," he says slyly.

"How's that?"

"She knows how to drive, and I put her up to taking her father's guardian car and going on a joy ride—"

"She's such a blind follower–not being able to think for herself," I snicker.

"You wouldn't have followed my advice?"

"Not when it doesn't make sense."

He lets out a hearty laugh. "That's why you're the Supernova."

"Let's not get into that," I say dryly. "So, what happened after you steered QT100 wrong?"

"I got sent to my uncle's farm in the middle of nowhere as a punishment, but little does the principal know that I'm not there. I'm here with you instead."

"I'm sure QT100 is still crying over you."

"I could care less what that that girl thinks of me," he snaps, disgusted. "I did my jail time—now I'm free from her!"

"She was your ticket to easy street," I mutter.

"I'd rather be with you almost drowning in rivers, hanging off trees, being led at gunpoint, and practically being sucked into a tornado than spend one more minute with QT100. And now that you finally know I'm Arthur . . ."

"Our connection is stronger than ever before," I finish his sentence.

We stay silent for a few moments, contemplating this new planet we had discovered. He eyes me carefully as if wondering where we proceed from here. I smile brightly at him. The way he had explained it, I was special to him since we were small. Which gal wouldn't like that?

And after all these years, I know who my secret admirer had been.

"Why didn't you tell me you were Arthur as soon as we started this mission?" I finally ask, my voice in a murmur.

"You hated me."

"I didn't know the real you," I assert.

"I wanted you to know the real me before I confessed about Arthur."

I nod with understanding. "I see your point. Still, I would've liked to have known before the misinformation."

"Misinformation?"

"Let's just say that I'm glad that you're Arthur and that Peter isn't."

His face becomes puzzled. "Peter?"

"Peter told me he was Arthur."

"What?" His voice is gruff and unable to fathom what I had just said.

"Peter had specifics—specifics that only Arthur and myself would know. I believed him."

Royce frowns angrily. "Peter was my confidante. He's the only one who knew about my ability to get in your head."

"He used the information you told him in private against you?"

Disappointment envelopes Royce's face. "Yes."

I nod disconcertedly, not knowing what to say. Peter was worse than I had thought—much worse.

A memory suddenly comes to the forefront of my mind, and I debate whether to investigate it. I come to the conclusion that I have to find the truth. "Were you the one who spent the night with me when I was detoxifying?"

He nods quietly. "That was me."

"I thought so."

"You figured out that someone was with you?" Royce asks.

"Even with me being in such bad shape, I knew I hadn't hallucinated. Someone helped me through the ordeal, but I was led to believe it wasn't you."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Don't tell me that Peter told you . . ."

"He told me it was him," I murmur.

"That lying skunk!"

"I heard two guys talking. He's the one who told you not to stay in my room, right?"

"Everyone at the cave thought that because we didn't know anything about your powers as the Supernova, we shouldn't be too close to you when you were getting off the drugs."

"But you didn't listen."

"No."

"Thank you."

"I'm your Arthur, Madrigal. I'm here for you. I'm here for you in the good times but especially in the bad times. I'm here for you—always."

Waking up in the morning after having fallen into a fast, easy sleep, I scan the room for Royce. He's gone. I don't panic because I know he sneaks off to take care of business. He's checking the periphery or performing other important tasks. His one track mind keeps us safe and moving forward.

Impatiently, I wonder when he's getting back. I'm so accustomed to being with him that without him, a throbbing ache forms. It fuels me with the anxiety of missing something enormously important. He's certainly right about us needing to keep a sort of distance from each other. We can easily melt into one another. Easily! And completely forget our mission.

We've got to be very careful with our relationship.

We've got to put everything in its proper place.

Jumping out of bed, I head for the shower. I might as well take advantage. The hot water feels every bit as miraculous as it did the night before. I throw on my clothes—Royce and I had washed our clothing after our respective showers and hung them on the towel racks to dry. Now I have clean clothes to wear.

As I return to the bed to make it, I wonder once again about Royce. Is he having any trouble out there—any danger? Then I realize I don't have to be in the dark. We have our very own way of communication.

_Where are you?_ I ask him in my head and then wait for his familiar ray-of-light presence to envelope my head.

It does in a matter of seconds. _Miss me?_ he asks.

_Maybe,_ I say carefully _. Do you?_

Always.

I chuckle. It's much easier to have an intimate conversation with him in my mind than in real life—maybe because Arthur is so familiar to me.

_How can you always miss me if we've been stuck together like glue for weeks now?_ I ask him.

I miss that we can't be a real couple—that I can't kiss you when I want.

For such a tough guy, you sure are sweet.

I'm not that tough.

_I beg to differ,_ I state.

You're the one who's tough. You're one tough cookie, Madrigal. Sometimes it's hard getting close to you.

My fake parents weren't touchy feely.

I know.

They didn't nurture an affectionate side in me.

_It's okay,_ he assures. _I'll nurture it._

_Where are you?_ I ask again, needing to change the subject or drown in him.

I've been looking around—psycho colonel and his sidekick could've survived the hurricane.

_Did you find anything?_ I question.

So far I've found nothing belonging to them. What I did find were our backpacks. I was worried that someone would come across them.

That wouldn't be good.

_No, not good at all. We've got to cover our tracks,_ he asserts.

You're smart having remembered them.

We can't leave any loose threads out there.

Definitely not.

Don't worry, Madrigal. I have it covered.

_How far away are you from the getaway?_ I ask.

I'm almost there.

I'll be waiting.

Quicker than I thought, I hear the trap door open. My lips automatically form a smile as I wait for Royce to come down the stairs. The anticipation flutters my stomach.

He angles down the ladder.

It's not Royce.

### Chapter 36: The Traitor

I quickly reach for my slingshot as the stranger looks at me perplexed. "Who are you?" he asks, his blue eyes in a large question.

"Who are _you?_ " I return.

He swiftly ducks as I let a rock loose—good reflects on his part. It hits the wall behind him, making a hard, cracking sound. As I load another stone, he makes it to behind the wingchair.

"Stop trying to hit me," he implores, scrunching down as low as he can.

"Why should I?" I retort.

"Because . . ."

"Because what?"

"Because he's my cousin," Royce's voice comes at me from the top of the ladder.

"Your cousin?"

"Please stop trying to hurt him," Royce tells me with a smile as he reaches the bottom.

"I didn't mean to scare you, Royce's cousin, but I didn't know who you were."

"You didn't even let me explain."

"If you had gone through what Royce and I have gone through, you'd _shoot_ first and ask questions later."

"Anyway," Royce says, "Donny, this is Nova. Nova, this is Donny."

"Hi, Donny," I greet.

"I'm not coming out of my hiding place until she puts that lethal weapon away—she's dangerous!"

"Donny!" chides Royce.

I stuff the slingshot back in my pocket. "You can come out now, Donny."

He peeks from the side of the chair, his platinum blonde hair sticking out in spikes all over his head. Even his hairdo looks scared. I muffle a chuckle.

"I'm not used to being attacked," Donny asserts, standing up.

"I can't help it if you surprised me."

"I didn't mean to."

"Can I come down?" asks a female voice from the top of the ladder.

"I bumped into Deena outside," Royce announces. "I told her to let me go in first."

"Come in, honey," says Donny.

A pretty ash blonde with green eyes and a friendly smile climbs down.

Donny moves toward her and then points at me. "Honey, this is—"

"You don't have to tell me! This is the Supernova!" she exclaims, bending by the waist and lowering her head.

Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing? I'm horrified! "What are you doing?"

"You're the Supernova!"

"I forgot about that," blurts Donny, disconcerted. "I'm sorry if I offended you." He makes the same movements as Deena.

"Why are you bowing?" I ask, incredibly uncomfortable and flabbergasted as Royce stares on with an amused look.

"You're—"

"I'm a human being—that's all."

"The Supernova isn't just another human being," declares Deena.

"Please don't bow," I rush, my voice still startled. "I don't want anyone bowing to me."

"But—"

"We're equal."

"But—"

"Equal," I assert.

They straighten out their bodies. I exhale a breath of relief.

"My name's Nova," I tell Deena, my freaked-out voice starting to return to normal.

"My name's Deena. I'm Donny's wife," she informs me, eyeing me carefully as if unsure about what to think of me.

"How did you know we were here?" Royce asks Donny.

"Ever since you called me to tell me you were coming, I've been on the lookout."

"That was quite a while when I called you from Constanza's phone."

"I didn't know how long it would take you to get here. Then with the tornado and the soldiers that were found, I guessed you might be in this place."

"Soldiers?" mumbles Royce.

"A colonel and a private. The colonel was dead when they found him. Funny thing—he was clutching a steering wheel. The rest of the pieces of his jeep were scattered all over the place."

"And the private?" I ask, gulping. "What happened to him?"

"Ah, he's the one who led me to you."

"He talked about us?" questions Royce, his body shaping itself into defensive mode from its relaxed state.

"Sort of. He babbled on about the colonel driving straight into a tornado, a scary raccoon, a reward, and then he said something about prisoners escaping."

"Prisoners?" I mutter.

"Don't worry! He didn't say anything after that. The poor guy died. I'm the one who put two and two together, wondering if he could be talking about you. Everyone else thought he was talking about himself trying to escape from being the colonel's prisoner. The colonel had a reputation. Did he really drive into a tornado?"

Royce nods. "Yep."

"Was he as nuts as they say he was?"

"Yep."

"He must've been completely deranged if he went toward a tornado!"

"Nova dubbed him psycho colonel."

"Good name," Donny asserts.

"Were you in the jeep with him?" Deena asks, alarmed.

"I'm afraid so," I answer.

"Really?!"

"Yep," Royce interjects.

Donny's eyes form round saucers. "How did you escape?"

"We jumped off the jeep."

"You jumped off the jeep?!" exclaims Deena, her voice in a high pitch.

"We did," I assert.

"Did you get hurt?" asks Deena, concerned.

"Luckily, the colonel had slowed down a lot—I guess he was having trouble maneuvering the jeep," explains Royce. "We only got some bumps and bruises."

"If you hadn't jumped, you'd probably be dead too," Donny comments.

"Yeah," Royce utters.

"Let's not even think about it," Deena blurts, unhappily.

"I wonder why the private didn't jump too?" asks Donny.

Royce's face turns contemplative. "I think the tornado left him so freaked out that he didn't do anything to save himself."

"Sad," Deena mutters quietly.

"You've got to think on your feet all the time," Royce comments, looking at me. "That's what we've had to do to survive."

"I guess he just didn't have it in him," I say. "It's just lucky for us that he didn't say anything else about us."

"After saying his last words, I started wondering about you, Royce."

"Donny, you're a quick thinker," Royce asserts.

"I thought to myself, 'If they were the escaped prisoners, where would they have gone in a storm like last night's?' Then I remembered having told you about this place."

"It's perfect for hiding," Royce announces, "with the exception of not having any food that is."

"You've been here since last night without food?" Deena asks, concerned.

"It's okay," I state, "food wasn't the priority when we got out of that crazy weather."

By now, I'm used to the hallow feeling of hunger in my stomach. I'm sure it's the same way with Royce.

"I can't have the Supernova starving on my watch," gushes Deena. "I'll be right back," she announces, heading to the ladder.

I want to tell her not to trouble herself since Royce has our backpacks with the remaining dried meat inside, but the anticipation of fresh food stops me. My mouth actually waters. My tongue tingles with expectation.

As she reaches the top and climbs out, Donny stares after her with a loving expression. "She's so great," he says.

"She's one of the most considerate people I know," Royce asserts admiringly.

I love that Royce notices and appreciates such qualities in people.

"I had left her out there while I looked inside. The possibilities were good that you had been the one to pick the lock, Royce, but in case it hadn't been you . . ."

"It's good that you protected her from Nova's lethal slingshot," Royce declares, smiling.

Donny nods energetically. "You can say that again."

"You're right about her being very dangerous," teases Royce.

"Quit," I say.

"Nova, have you ever bashed a person's head in with that thing?" Donny asks with curiosity.

"No."

"But she caused amnesia," Royce announces.

"What do you expect me to do with my slingshot?—shoot grains of sand or something?"

"Just don't shoot us," Donny says, smiling.

I smile slyly back. "Don't get in my way."

"Others have tried to and look at where they're at," Royce declares.

"Others?" Donny repeats in a puzzled way as if an idea suddenly pops in his head. "Come to think of it, shouldn't there be one more person with you?"

"What?" asks Royce.

"Hadn't you told me that our cousin was coming with you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Where's Peter?"

The name suddenly triggers a reaction in me. Snippets of visions race before my mind's eye. Royce notices what is happening to me, knowing my patterns by now, and immediately slips into my mind.

"I can't believe this!" he exclaims with explosive anger and disbelief.

"What is it?" Donny asks, alarmed at Royce's demeanor.

Royce pushes his right hand forward, palm facing Donny and fingers extended out, to stop any questions for the moment. "I've got to check this out for myself."

Royce's eyes glass over as if he's in another place. Then his face comes back to life alarmed and furious. "It's definitely Peter—the traitor!"

### Chapter 37: The Reward

"Peter?" asks Donny, dismayed. "What is he doing?"

Royce slumps in the wingchair and puts his face in his hands. "No! No—it can't be happening!"

"What is it?!"

"I can't . . . I can't talk about it," Royce mumbles.

"Peter's turning Royce in to the government!" I blurt.

Donny shakes his head with fury. His blond spikes bounce. "That's impossible—not Peter."

"It's true," I tell him.

"No!—not Peter. He isn't a traitor!"

"Don't yell at her—it's true," Royce asserts, his voice almost as shaky as when I had fallen off the tree.

"Royce, we have to do something," I plead.

"I can't think . . . I can't—"

"Will someone explain to me what's going on?" roars Donny.

"You know that your cousin can see snippets into people's lives, right?"

"Of course."

"I have a similar ability. We saw Peter at the United World's main headquarters. He's sitting in a room by himself, waiting to speak to a head guardian. He's going to make up some story about Royce and me being star crossed and having run away with each other to the woods."

"He wouldn't do that!"

"He is doing that," snaps Royce.

"We have to do something," I utter, my voice in a high pitch.

Royce's breathing is ragged. "I can't—"

I bend down, placing my face directly in front of his. "Listen to me, Royce," I whisper urgently, "I know how devastating this is, but we can't afford to freak out—the resistance is at stake."

His words had worked on me when we were on the jeep, and I had just discovered he was Arthur. They had to work now.

"My vision didn't tell me what to do. I assume this is up to you and not me," I continue, catching my hurried breath.

His eyes focus on me, and he pulls my lips to his, pecking them gently. "I can't let anything happen to you." he expresses.

"What'll we do?" Donny desperately asks, looking as if he's finally coming to terms with what's occurring.

"Give me your cell," demands Royce, out of his stupor.

Donny's hand plunges into his pocket and pulls out a small, gray phone. Royce immediately grabs it and starts punching numbers into it.

"The tiger and I are fine. We're at point four, but the chicken has flown the coop," Royce barks into the phone. "He's about to get in league with the fox unless you do something."

If I understood the coded message correctly, the tiger is me and Peter is the chicken.

After listening to what the other person on the other end quickly says, Royce hangs up. His face is a little less constrained than before he made the call.

"Constanza said she'd take care of it," he tells me.

"How is she going to do that with Peter already at headquarters?" I ask. "Can she get to him on time?"

"Actually, yes."

"How's that?" I ask.

"The memory pill?" asks Donny.

Royce nods. "Yep."

"I had forgotten about it," comments Donny, relief in his voice.

"So had I until Nova shook me out of my paralyses."

"What's the memory pill? "I question, curiosity about to gnaw a hole in me.

"Our scientists invented a tiny device that looks like a pill. Every Freedom Warrior has one implanted in the head. Constanza and certain people at our headquarters can activate it."

"What does it do?" I ask.

"Erase your memory."

"Erase all your memory?"

"Yes, except for some basic stuff. Peter won't remember anything to do with our mission or anything to do with you."

"What a relief," I state, feeling the tight tension leaving my body.

"Let me check on him and make sure Constanza activated the memory pill before he spoke to anyone." Royce's eyes glass over again. Donny and I wait impatiently for the verdict. "Done!" he exclaims, returning to our reality.

"We're saved!" gushes Donny.

Royce abruptly stands up and grabs my hands, his skin still clammy from the tragedy we had just averted. "Sorry."

Puzzled, I took into his grave eyes. "For what?"

"I shouldn't have freaked out like that. I'm the one always telling you that we need to keep our heads calm and alert."

"I don't expect you to be perfect, Royce, even though you almost are. I expect you to make mistakes once in a while—we're only human."

"I can't afford to make mistakes—not with you."

I smile at his eager face. "We'll just have to be there for each other and catch one another when we mess up."

"That sounds like a good plan to me," states Donny, chuckling.

"It's a stroke of luck that your boss gave you a cell, so he could contact you," Royce mentions.

Donny nods frustratingly. "Yeah, so he could have me at his beck and call, especially with his getaway here."

"It saved us though—even when I choked."

Holding Royce's hands gently, they start warming up in mine, "I understand that you kept it together when bears, strange people, and tornadoes were chasing us, but this thing with your cousin devastated you."

"It threw me off too," blurts Donny, his voice cracking.

"I still can't believe he'd do something like this," Royce grumbles.

"At least he wasn't going to spill the beans about the Freedom Warriors or get you in super trouble by saying you abducted me," I offer.

"How kind of him," Royce retorts.

Donny's face scrunches up. "Do you think he betrayed you because of greed?"

"Greed?" I ask.

"Do you think the money tempted him?"

"What money?" I ask.

"You're Madrigal X1147, right?"

"Donny," warns Royce.

"I know you've told me that she's Nova. She's probably not supposed to tell anybody who she is, but I've put two and two together."

"You're just too smart for your own good," Royce says dryly.

"Does anyone other than Donny and me know who you really are, Supernova?"

"Now with Peter's memory being gone, just the Freedom Warriors at the cave know about me."

"Good."

"The only other one who suspected it is dead," explains Royce.

"The colonel," I murmur.

"I'm glad no one knows because the reward for you went from 100,000 to one million!"

"One million dollars?" I mutter, gulping hard.

"Oh yeah."

Royce frowns unhappily. "They must be desperate to find you."

"Do you think that's why Peter was turning her in?" Donny asks.

"Maybe, but I think it was mostly his pride."

"His pride?"

"He was upset that he couldn't finish the mission with us. He kept ignoring my orders and then he fell into a bear trap. We had to leave him at a homestead to heal. I guess he couldn't take being left behind and also . . ." Royce eyes me carefully.

"Also what?" Donny asks anxiously.

"He has a thing for Madrigal. Maybe he thinks he can have a second chance with her if he gets her home."

"Peter, how could you do this to us?" questions Donny, speaking to the air.

Royce nods angrily. "Yeah, how could you?"

"We've got so much against us," I sigh.

"We're going to have to act faster than I thought, Royce."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"With a million dollar bounty on your head, Supernova, we're going to have to get you to our headquarters ASAP—there's no time to waste!"

"ASAP?"

Donny nods energetically. "By the way, soldiers are going to start combing the woods tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" asks Royce, his voice tight.

"Tomorrow," affirms Donny. "That's why I was praying that you two would be here today."

"We're lucky that our government's arrogance in thinking you couldn't go far in a police state kept things at bay, Madrigal," Royce says dryly. "They didn't fill the woods with soldiers sooner because of it."

"They didn't comb the woods earlier because they didn't want people to see that something was out of their control. Now with what's happened, they don't have a choice," explains Donny.

"What happened?" I gulp.

"The spy cameras or the safety monitors, as they call them, were supposed to start working this week according to my boss."

"What happened to them?" Royce questions.

"They didn't work," Donny guffaws.

A grin spreads across Royce's lips. "Our scientists must've found a way to stop them."

"Exactly."

"You think you can get us out of here before tomorrow, Donny?" Royce inquires.

"My boss has been wanting me to deliver some furniture to him in Region 3. I've been doing all kinds of things to delay it, hoping you'd get here. Frankly, I don't think I could've held my boss off for much longer. He's a real jerk, but now we can go."

"We can?" I utter, excited about finally seeing the light at the end of a very dark tunnel.

"We'll leave tonight when it gets dark. That'll give you a chance to get out of here without anyone seeing you."

After our huge meal of ham with potato salad, Donny leaves to make the final arrangements. The unaccustomed, odd fullness in my stomach causes a small discomfort but one I can live with after all the sharp hunger pangs during this expedition. Deena smiles sweetly as both Royce and I thank her profusely for the food.

"Hopefully we'll be able to return the favor someday," Royce tells her.

"You don't owe me any gratitude," Deena announces. "Not when you're part of the resistance and fighting for democracy."

The dedication and commitment of so many people I've met on this journey inspires me. It's a bright light during a dark storm.

As Deena, Royce, and I wait for Donny, we tidy up the place so it looks exactly like we found it. We aren't about to leave any loose ends no matter how small they may be. Deena informs us she'll wash the clothes that Royce and I used. When Donny finally returns, his grin stretches from ear to ear.

"Everything is set," he states. "The truck has been loaded with my boss's antique furniture."

"Ready?" Royce asks me.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Let's go then," Donny announces. "Follow me."

Royce frowns, his mouth a tight line. "That's not a good idea."

"What do you mean?" Donny asks, perplexed.

"You have to meet us there, Donny."

"Why?" Donny's eyebrows knit together.

"Several reasons," explains Royce. "For one, if Nova and I get caught, I don't want you mixed up in this and—"

Donny shakes his head. "We're not going to get caught!"

"Also, you need to be there before we are in case you need to deflect attention from us."

"Oh," Donny utters.

"You do see the strategy in that, don't you?"

Donny nods quietly. "I see what you mean."

Drawing a detailed map to the warehouse, Donny makes certain Royce can easily follow it. Royce calmly nods at him with perfect understanding of where we're supposed to go, what roads to take, and how to get there without being seen. Before leaving, Donny clasps his wife in a long, strong embrace.

"Please, please take care of yourself," she pleads, her shiny blue eyes streaming with water.

"I will."

"Don't let anything happen to you."

"It won't," he asserts.

After he rips himself away from her and leaves, Deena stares disconcertedly after him. I mildly pat her back, not knowing what to do or say. Being an emotional cripple has its enormous disadvantages. Her husband is risking his life to protect us, and I can't find the words to console her. Maybe there are none. It's no use trying to fool her into thinking our mission isn't dangerous. She knows perfectly well that it is.

The silence that sits on us threatens to suffocate me. Even though Deena is weeping, she isn't making a single sound. Royce and I are supposed to wait it out for a specific amount of time before leaving. It'll be a long twenty minutes.

"Deena," Royce speaks softly, breaking the loud quiet, "he'll come back to you."

"Sure about that?" Her words are clipped and barely audible.

"I'll do everything I can so that he does, okay?"

"Okay," she mumbles.

When the twenty minutes finally pass, Royce eyes me somberly. "It's time to go," he mutters.

"Let's go," I utter softly.

After grabbing our backpacks, Royce and I step over to Deena. His strong arms go around her in a warm embrace. As my turn comes up, I'm about to hug her when she starts bowing to me.

"No," I tell her, motioning her to straighten her body.

"Supernova—"

"Forget that," I blurt, "I'm so imperfect, Deena. I'll never accept being worshipped. We're in this fight together! Don't ever give me your blind allegiance or to any other human being—we're too flawed—give your loyalty to the cause."

I embrace her, and she embraces me back. Along with the others I've met on this arduous journey, I feel my circle of family is increasing. I'm astounded when I realize that only a few short weeks ago I was limited to a fake life surrounding me.

"I'm proud of you," Royce whispers to me when we climb up the ladder and hit the outdoors.

I'm well aware of the routine as we head to our destination, making as little noise as possible and listening for all sounds. The full moon lights our way, making our steps go easier. The forest drips quietly, still wet from the storm the night before and the light showers today. I wince painfully when we make it back to the road where Royce and I had jumped out of the jeep. The lifesaving ditch has water draining from it like a mini-river. Trees and other foliage lay lonely on the ground, uprooted from their homes in the dirt. They had been in the tornado's destructive path.

When we arrive at an immense, gray warehouse located by itself in a clearing in the woods, Royce squeezes my hand. We made it here without a single problem. As we survey the place, we don't see anyone. Several semi-trucks seem to be waiting outside for their drivers.

"We're traveling in one of those?" I whisper to Royce.

He nods.

I had thought we'd be traveling in a much smaller vehicle—a moving truck. As Royce stealthily leads me to the one we're getting on, we take extra care with our movements since flood lighting throws partial light over the area. Suddenly, voices echo from the opening of the front of the warehouse as people are stepping out of it.

"Hurry," Royce whispers.

We climb up through the back of the open 18 wheeler. The antiques are already carefully placed. Our feet move as quietly as possible over the wood bottom and past the expensive, dark cherry-brown furniture. Royce carefully leads me to the back where we hide under a bulky desk with filing cabinets in front of it.

"Did you hear that?" asks a male voice, coming from the front of the warehouse.

"Hear what?" asks Donny.

"I thought I heard a noise."

"We're in the middle of Timbuktu—it was probably a raccoon or something."

"I guess so."

"With that tornado yesterday, everything in the woods is discombobulated, don't you think, Shane?" asks Donny.

"Yeah. It was scary last night."

"We're lucky that the cyclone didn't destroy the warehouse or any of our trucks."

"It hardly did any damage except for those two soldiers."

"Yeah, that was a shame."

The ringing of a cell phone blares through the air, an awkward noise in the middle of the wild woods. Shane promptly answers it.

"Bad news!" he tells Donny as soon as he hangs up. "Looks like there's another storm coming. You won't be able to leave tonight."

### Chapter 38: Journey

"I can't leave?" questions Donny, his voice upset.

"Nope, they've revoked our permit."

"That's just great!"

"I know how you feel, Donny. I don't envy you having to tell our boss. He's expecting the stuff tomorrow, and he'll find a way of blaming the storm on you."

"That's right," Donny retorts.

"Remember that time his _girlfriend_ took off into the woods because she was angry at him?"

"How can I forget? She tripped on her own two feet and bumped her head. Who goes into the woods in high heels?"

"Mr. BO60 blamed you for not clearing the forest of all dangerous elements."

"He docked me a week's pay," Donny growls. "And I couldn't do anything about it!"

"He did the same to me when lightning struck one of his trucks and shattered the glass. He blamed me when he's the one who mapped out where he wanted his trucks. That jerk! That cheapskate!"

Their conversation is interrupted when a ringing cell phone blares again. As Shane answers, a much welcomed breeze flows through from the back opening of the big rig. It's getting hot and muggy in here.

"You're in luck!" Shane exclaims, after hanging up.

"What do you mean?" Donny asks.

"They had given me old information. It turns out that the storm changed directions."

"That's great!"

"Looks like you'll be able to deliver the junk after all. You won't get docked a week's pay!"

"I'd better go," Donny declares, "before I'm late with Mr. BO60's furniture."

"Be careful on the road. You know how the cheapskate is about his stuff. A scratch on one of those things could send him into a frenzy."

"I know. I'm going to get on the truck and check one more time that everything is perfect."

"You do that, Donny."

A few seconds later, heavy steps resound on the semi-truck. Royce and I are quiet until we're certain who they belong to.

"Where are you," Donny whispers, moving towards the back.

"Here," Royce answers lightly.

Finding us under the bulky desk, Donny quickly says, "I'm sorry I couldn't put you in the cab, but there are several checkpoints from here to Region 3."

"It's okay," Royce responds.

"My boss likes to keep the wood of his antique furniture breathing, so he had this truck specially made with ventilation holes all over. You should be okay riding in here."

"Sounds good."

"We'd better leave."

"Okay."

Donny steps off the 18 wheeler, slamming down the metal sheet in the back and shutting Royce and me in. I try to not let the feeling of suffocation drown me. When the ignition starts and we pull out, the claustrophobia slightly eases. Royce and I had been living in a wide open space for weeks. Now we were completely enclosed. Fortunately, a few miniature lights on the sides of the ceiling keep us from total darkness.

"We're on our way," Royce declares, smiling with confidence.

"We're on our way," I repeat, trying to keep my distance as best as I can when we're squeezed together under the bulky desk. I constantly have to keep from melting into him.

"We've made it this far. We only have a little more to go."

"That's a relief."

"With your ability for visions we should make it to headquarters easy."

"They don't always work, though," I frown.

"I'd say your ability to see the future has worked very well so far."

"I didn't see the private in the tree that time he caught us in the woods or even the colonel when he sneaked up on us," I remind him.

"That's probably because we weren't in any immediate and total danger like the tornado."

"Maybe."

"You're still learning to work with your abilities," explains Royce. "They'll get stronger as time goes on."

"I guess you're right. Immediate danger seems to trigger my visions and so do key words."

"You mean like when Donny said Peter's name?"

"Exactly."

"Peter," murmurs Royce, painfully wincing. "I'm sorry I had to wipe away his memory."

"It had to be done."

"Yes," he expresses, his face still tight.

I gently place my hand on his arm. "Come to think of it, there's been something I've been wanting to ask you."

"What is it?" he asks, his steady eyes on me.

"About the memory pill."

"What about it?"

My eyebrows come together. "Why haven't I been inserted with one?"

"You're the Supernova."

"And?" I ask, puzzled.

"We can't insert anything in your head, Madrigal. What if it affects you?"

"What if I'm captured? What if I'm forced to spill the beans?" I'm horrified just thinking about it.

Royce's hand reaches into his pant pocket and pulls out a small, long, plastic container. Twisting the lid, he extracts a gold pill-like device from it. "This is your mind scrambler. I'm instructed to give it to you if anything happens. All I have to do is put it in your mouth, and it does the rest."

"I'll take that," I say, extending my hand with my palm facing up.

He places it back into its container and hands it to me. I stuff it in my pocket. Having it eases me. I'd like to think that I'd keep my mouth shut in case of capture, but the government has torturous methods for extracting information. My fake parents mentioned several occasions where people died during interrogations. They were later found to be innocent of all charges against them.

"I wonder how Peter is," I murmur, thinking about interrogations unnerves me. Royce's eyebrows came together. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring him up again."

"He's fine."

"He is?"

"I've checked on him. After losing his memory, the guardians wanted to throw him in prison for playing a joke on them."

I take in a sharp breath. "Did they put him in jail?"

"Constanza warned his parents of what was happening, and they took off for the main United World headquarters. It took a lot of smooth talking, but they managed to convince the guardians that Peter wasn't right in the head—that he had fantasies about being a guardian so that's why they knew where to find him when he went missing."

I exhale with relief. "Good plan."

"A risky one. If the guardians had dug a little more—asking for his doctors or more proof—the gig would've been up, but they were tired of messing with him and his talky parents and they were happy to get rid of them with the warning that next time something like this happens, Peter will definitely go to jail."

"I'm so glad he's okay."

One of Royce's eyebrows shoots up. "Are you?"

"Of course!"

He eyes me carefully before speaking. "Madrigal, do you still have feelings for him?"

"Feelings?"

"I know there was a time you liked him," Royce mumbles.

I shrug my shoulders. "He was very nice to me."

"Stop being coy!" he blurts impatiently.

"I'm not being coy," I state with my own impatience. "For heaven's sake, Royce, say what you mean."

"There was a time you had romantic feelings for him, right?" he demands to know.

"Yes." It's best to be clear and to the point.

"Are some of those feelings still lingering in you?"

"No."

His tight face softens. "Are you sure?" he mutters softly.

"Positive."

"Then why are you so worried about him?" he asks suspiciously.

I exhale a long exasperated breath. Why is he asking me such a silly question? "He's your cousin, right?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You care about him—even almost losing your steady composure when you learned what he was up to, right?"

He nods, still puzzled. "Right."

"What hurts you hurts me," I tell him nonchalantly, irritated that I had to explain it at all.

His eyes widen, steadily staring at me as if taken aback. Why is he surprised? I hope I don't have to explain any more than I already have. Thank you, fake parents for my inability to express my emotions.

"Thanks for caring about me, Madrigal," he murmurs.

I nod, trying to put an end to this conversation. Noticing my jittery mood, he grins.

"You've got a soft heart," he says, teasing.

"I don't," I counteract.

"Yes, you do—we both do. If I can admit it, you can too."

"I'm not admitting to it," I state.

"You're stubborn."

"You're not?" I ask, challenging him.

He chuckles darkly. "I am too."

"So stop calling the kettle black."

"Okay." He chuckles again.

"You've got your stuff to deal with, and I've got mine."

"You're the one who said I was almost perfect," he says mischievously, his eyes dancing.

"I was trying to be nice."

His chuckle turns into raucous laughter. "Nice?"

"I know I said it at the getaway, but don't you be getting a big head, okay?"

"How can I? Your opinion of me changes so often. You used to think I was the most horrible person on earth—remember?"

"Those times are long gone."

His eyes, shifting from amused to serious, search through mine. "Are they?" he asks gently.

"Yep," I announce with a jittery voice. It's getting uncomfortable for me again.

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere."

"We've always been somewhere," I announce. "Now we're in this semi-truck going to our destiny."

He nods solemnly, letting the conversation drop. Neither of us says anything as the lull of the traveling truck speaks for us. My even breathing gets in tune with its motion. The claustrophobia is gone as the calm envelopes me. We're not fighting beasts or dangerous humans. We're not avoiding booby traps or staying constantly on guard—never fully resting even in sleep.

It's good to be here, I decide. It's feels safe even though I know it's really not. But I'll take this tiny sliver of peace. I'll take it with both hands. I stretch out adjacent to the desk, and Royce does the same. Soon I'm drifting off to sleep with Royce lying next to me, his hand gently caressing my face.

"Madrigal," Royce whispers urgently.

My eyes flutter open. "Yes?"

"We've stopped. I think we're at a checkpoint. We need to be awake in case something happens. Let's get into our hiding place."

We scramble back underneath the massive desk. Even though it would be impossible to see us from the front, Royce and I are only too aware that we shouldn't take any chances and that we've got to be prepared for anything. My hand feels for the slingshot in my pocket.

Because of the ventilation holes, we hear what's happening outside. A checkpoint guard asks Donny for his documentation allowing him to be on the road with the merchandise. The guard leaves to check the paperwork inside the small station on the side of the checkpoint. Donny disembarks from the semi-truck cab.

"Don't worry," he whispers to us through the ventilation holes. "This is routine."

A few minutes later, quick steps move towards Donny. "You're out of your truck," the guard snaps accusingly.

"I was just stretching my legs," Donny says apologetically. "They were full of charley horses."

"Well, everything's in order," the checkpoint guard declares. It seems like he's satisfied with Donny's explanation. "You can leave."

A few moments later, we're on our way again. This time when I fall asleep, I try not to plunge in too heavily. A few hours later when we stop at another checkpoint, I immediately wake up and Royce and I rush into our hiding place. When the checkpoint officer comes back from checking Donny's documentation, he demands the opening of the back of the semi-truck.

"I've got to see if you've got what you say you do," he snarls.

"It's just furniture," Donny tells him.

"We'll see."

I huddle underneath the desk with Royce as the back of the 18 wheeler goes up. Clamorous footsteps resound through the entire truck—the checkpoint guard's arrogant strut hits the wood bottom heavily.

"So much furniture!" he groans.

"My boss is crazy for antiques."

"It's just old junk," the official retorts.

The steps start coming closer to Royce and me. They stop at the filing cabinets in front of the desk Royce and I are scrunched under. I curl my fingers around my slingshot.

"It's all furniture," the guard snickers.

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose I should let you go."

"I've got a deadline to meet," Donny explains.

"Why should I care about your deadline?"

"My boss would be very upset if I didn't deliver this on time."

"Why should I care?"

"You know who my boss is, right?" asks Donny. "You saw his name on the paperwork."

"I know he's a top guardian, but I have my work to do!"

"What?"

"I just hate how those idiots pull strings and think we have to jump."

"Sir—"

"I'll teach those idiots at headquarters who really rules the roost," he snorts sardonically.

"But--"

"I want everything off this truck _NOW._ I'm checking every corner of this thing!"

### Chapter 39: The Command

"I really don't think—"

"Why should I care what you think?" roars the checkpoint guard. "You're a nobody. Now, do as I say and get this crap off the truck!"

Uh-oh! My slingshot feels ready for action in my fingers.

"Off the truck!" the guard repeats.

"What's happening?" a female's voice echoes from the back of the big rig, at the opening.

"Ma'am," the guard clears his throat, "I'm just taking care of things."

"P20, why is this vehicle not on the road yet?" The voice is getting closer as she steps on the ramp of the truck that Donny had slid out, and she moves towards him and the guard.

"I was checking it, ma'am," he says nervously.

"For what?"

"For whatever," he answers, his tone shaky.

"All I see is furniture—how about you?" snickers the ma'am.

"I really think we should check every spot, ma'am. I told him to unload."

"Unload?" she asks incredulously.

"Yes, ma'am."

"He's supposed to unload all these things by himself?"

"Well . . . he—"

"Were you going to help him?"

"No, of course not," the guard snaps, insulted but then he remembers who he's speaking too. "I'm sure he's strong enough to do it himself, ma'am."

"It'll take him the whole night!" she retorts. "That is if he doesn't break his back doing it!"

"But it has to get done, ma'am."

"P20, didn't you take a good look at the paperwork you took inside for me to check?

"I did, ma'am."

"Did you see who this furniture is going to—who his boss is?"

"Yes, but—"

"But what?" she explodes. "You've been at this job for a week and you think you can do whatever you want?"

"No . . . I . . . I—"

"What kind of a fool are you!"

"I'm not—"

"Shut up!"

"Yes, ma'am," the guard says dejectedly.

"Now let's get this truck on the road!" she commands. Quick steps move away from the filing cabinets that are in front of where Royce and I are huddled under the desk.

"I'll be on my way," assures Donny, sounding like a mountain had been lifted off him.

"Give your boss my regards."

"I will."

"And you P20, stop causing me so much heartburn!"

A few short minutes later, we're traveling again. My hand is cramping from having gripped my slingshot with such force.

"Was she one of us?" I ask, neglecting to tell Royce who I'm talking about.

"No," he seems to know that I'm referring to the ma'am, "but she sure saved us just the same."

This time, it's much more difficult to fall asleep. I try to return to the place of safety I was in before the checkpoint stop. It's impossible. The illusion of security is completely shattered.

When I finally enter a sleep state, my slumber is jerked around with disturbing dreams. The psycho colonel yells, "Whollopalooza!" as he points his military rifle at me. His raucous laughter explodes to the highest decibels when I grab my slingshot and it disintegrates in my hands.

"Madrigal!"

The voice is coming from outside my dreams.

"Madrigal! Wake up!"

I try to force myself to awaken but the more I attempt it, the more I'm stuck in my nightmares. _Move any part of your body,_ I tell myself, but the struggle is too difficult.

Wake up, Madrigal, Arthur implores in my mind.

I can't. I'm in an awful place!

_You can. Just calm down,_ he says soothingly. _Ease up on yourself. Easy._

Taking deep breaths in and out, I try to anesthetize myself. _Calm down,_ I tell myself over and over again, imitating Arthur's comforting tone.

"You're finally awake," Royce murmurs with relief in his voice.

My eyes try to focus. "Kind of."

He chuckles lightly. "I'll take this kind of any time over the way you were a minute ago." His voice turns serious. "I couldn't wake you up."

"I know."

"I had to get inside your head."

"Thank you," I tell him.

"You're welcome."

"It was scary in there, wasn't it?" I murmur.

"Psycho colonel is dead—he can't hurt us anymore, Madrigal."

"For some reason, his dementia stuck in my mind."

Royce gently strokes the side of my face. "We're fine, Madrigal."

"For the moment," I blurt.

"Let's just concentrate on this moment—this moment when we're together. What do you say?"

"I'll try."

He nods. "Great."

"Okay."

"Let's have a talk," he states, his voice trying to lighten up.

"What do we talk about?"

"Tell me about your parents," he says.

"I don't want to talk about them," I blurt with more sharpness than I had intended.

"I don't mean your fake parents. Tell me about your real ones."

"You really want to hear this?"

He smiles softly. "Definitely."

"Okay," I chuckle. "I'm about to unload a whole bunch of memories that can only be interesting to the person they happened to. You asked for it."

"I did."

"You're probably trying to get my mind off my nightmares, right?"

"Yes and no."

"Yes and no?"

"Yes, I want you to put your mind somewhere else but no, that's not the only reason I want you to tell me about your parents. I really want to know about them."

"Why?"

He rolls his eyes as if I asked a silly question. "You were glad when Peter was okay because of how I felt about it, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I want to hear about your real parents because of your feelings. Is that okay with you?" His eyes flicker and his lips curl, daring me to say it isn't.

"Sorry if I'm being thorny," I express with sincerity. "I'm very possessive about my memories now that I've been able to get them back."

"I understand."

"To be honest, I'd love to share them with someone."

"Share them with me."

"Okay," I say, my lips starting to curve upward.

"Tell me about your real parents."

I grin broadly, a gesture that automatically comes when I'm thinking of them. "They were awesome."

"I can imagine."

"My dad always talked about righting the wrongs in this world."

"And your mom?"

"My mom had a heart of gold," I explain.

"She was a caring person?"

"She'd always be helping people."

"That's really great."

"Unfortunately, people were always stuck on her looks."

"Her looks?"

"My mother was mega-beautiful."

"I bet," he says, his eyes sweeping over me.

"You don't understand. When I say beautiful, I mean she was one of those people you stop to stare at on the street or wherever."

"Oh," he says, grinning widely at me.

"She was really, really beautiful."

"I get it," he asserts, his voice sure of itself as he carefully eyes me.

"The times I had with her were sometimes freaky."

"Like what?"

"We'd go places and people would drop what they were doing and gaze at her," I explain. "You probably think I'm exaggerating."

His thumb lightly slides down the right side of my face. "I'm sure you're not exaggerating at all—not even one little bit."

"People would think she was stuck up because of how she looked, but then they found out that she was even a greater person on the inside than the outside."

His thumb leaves my skin and goes to my lips and outlines them with feathery strokes. "It can take people a while to see into hearts."

"My parents had the best of hearts."

"So did mine," he mentions quietly.

_What a jerk I've been,_ I realize. I had been going on and on about my parents without having asked him even once about his. They had died young like mine.

"I'm so sorry," I rush. "I've been so selfish and inconsiderate. Tell me about your parents."

"I didn't mention them so we could talk about them," he murmurs as he takes my hands in his. "We were talking about you and not me."

"I don't want to talk about myself anymore. I want to hear about you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." I declare.

"What about me?"

"Let's start with your parents," I state. "Tell me about them."

"They were hardworking, great people," he says solemnly.

The stinging hurt in his voice convinces me to change the subject. "Tell me about your grandparents."

A shiny glint comes to his eyes. "You'd love them."

"I would?"

"They loved me, nurtured me, and cared for me—everything you could ask for."

"That's awesome," I comment, smiling.

His index finger leaves my hair, and he rubs his thumb on my cheek. "Your fake parents didn't do any of that, did they?"

"The past is the past, right?" I try to take the growl out of my voice.

"Unfortunately, the past stays inside of you."

"We'll, I'm excited about my future."

"I promise you that from now on you'll get lots of affection."

"I will?" I ask, beaming a smile.

"Lots of warmth."

"Great!"

"Lot's of caring."

"Is that a promise?"

He eyes me intently. I promise I'll do everything I can so you won't ever lack for love. Madrigal, I don't care if I have to climb mountains, fight monsters, or scale tornadoes. I'll risk it all so that you're where you need to be."

"As long as you're with me, I feel I'm where I'm supposed to be," I murmur.

"Madrigal . . ." He can't seem to finish what he started to say.

"Sorry," I rush in, "I didn't mean to be mushy. I--"

"Shush," he says putting his finger on my lips.

"It's just that--"

"Don't ruin the moment."

"Okay."

After that conversation, I drift off into a deep sleep—this one without psycho creatures or other nightmares. Just a peaceful slumber.

Another vision!

Jarring me awake, the terrible scene in my head clutches me with long, twisted fingers. I try to catch my breath as I relive the horrible vision in my head. It can't be true, I tell myself. No way!

It had to be another nightmare!

"It wasn't," Royce blurts. With the upheaval in my head, I hadn't noticed him having been in there.

"But—"

"It was real."

"It couldn't have been."

"We have to act quickly!" he states in a rush.

"No!"

"Madrigal, we have to!"

"No!"

He starts getting nearer, closing in on me. "Madrigal—"

I shove his arms away. "Get away from me!"

"Don't fight me."

"Don't do this!"

"I have to."

I throw out fierce punches. "Get away!"

"Stop fighting me," he snaps angrily, grabbing my hands.

I kick and shove with all of my strength, fighting him with all the ferociousness I can conjure.

"Get away!" I repeat.

"We don't have much time!"

"Then stay away from me!"

"You know I'm not going to."

"I'm ordering you to!" I demand.

"Forget it!"

Managing to finally subjugate me, he abruptly crushes his body to mine as he lies on top of me. I can barely breathe as I keep struggling to escape him.

"It has to be this way," he murmurs.

"If you die . . ." I can't finish the sentence—my throat is too choked up.

"I promised I'd do anything for you. I meant it."

"Not this, Royce! Not this!"

"Especially this."

When we hear a colossal popping sound coming from the outside and the semi-truck starts jackknifing on the road, I keep trying to shove Royce off me but he refuses to let me go. Sacrificing his life for mine, he stays firm.

He's too willful and tough.

All that's left for me to do is hold on tightly to him. It may be the last time I see him alive. Ending my fight, I put my head over his heart. His heartbeat is fast and strong, and I cling fiercely to it.

As the 18 wheeler rolls over, I bump my head and lose consciousness.

### Chapter 40: Hiding

_Where am?_ I ask myself, moaning. My head pounds with viciousness, and I put my hand on it finding a huge bump in the back.

I hear something opening—like metal. My mind fills with scenes.

I remember what happened.

Forcing my eyes to open, I yell out, "Royce!" Miraculously, the miniature lights are still working, but I can't see him anywhere. Furniture is turned over and broken pieces are scattered. It's chaos.

"Nova! Royce!" cries Donny who had just opened the back.

"Here!" I call out as I force myself to stand up, even with the nausea and lack of balance that has overtaken me. I've got to keep looking for Royce.

Donny reaches me quickly. He doesn't look to be in great shape either. His right eye is purple and swollen, looking as if he received a hardy punch, and a trickle of blood travels down the right side of his face.

He immediately tries to explain, "A tire blew up and—"

"Donny, we have to find Royce!" I implore of him

With desperation, we start shoving away parts of furniture. My heart is squeezing itself shut with every passing second.

"I found him!" shouts Donny.

Rushing to where he's at, I pray in a litany, _Please let Royce be alive. Please let him be alive. Please—_

Donny pushes aside the heavy bookcase on top of Royce. The shock of seeing him so still and motionless almost paralyzes me, but then I instruct myself to get it together.

"Is he . . . Is he dea--" Donny stops himself from saying the rest as he chokes.

"Don't say it!" I demand.

I quickly kneel to feel for a pulse, but my hands shake so much that I can't coordinate myself. Putting my ear to his heart, I exhale profoundly.

It's beating!

He's alive!

Donny examines my face and lets out a sound of sheer joy. Royce's eyes start trying to open. His mouth mumbles words so low in pitch that we can't understand what he's saying. I put my ear to his lips.

"Madrigal," he says, barely audible.

"I'm right here," I state. "We're going to get you some help." I turn to Donny. "Is your cell still working?"

"I think so."

"Call emergency. We need to get Royce to a hospital."

"No!" Royce manages to push out. My sight snaps back to Royce to find his eyes completely open and him trying to unsuccessfully sit up.

"Royce—"

Looking as if he could pass out at any minute, his eyes have a difficult time focusing. "No hospital . . . no . . . no . . ."

"We have to, Royce," I tell him. "You're in very bad shape."

"Guardians . . . can't . . . find . . . us."

With overwhelming distress, Donny places his face in his hands. "If they find us then our lives are over."

"But Royce will stay alive."

"No!" Royce pushes out again.

"I hate to say this, but he's right, Nova. Royce and I will probably get executed because you're with us, and they'll suspect about the resistance and our headquarters. They know the Supernova prophesy better than we do."

I stare miserably at Royce. We're in a no-win situation. What'll we do?

"Nova, we've got to do something fast before someone drives by and sees us," Donny desperately says.

"We hide," Royce demands with a choppy, breathless voice as he tries to sit up.

I let out a deep breath. "Help me get him up," I tell Donny. I hope I'm doing the right thing because if Royce doesn't survive this, I don't know how I'll forgive myself for not having forced him to go to a hospital.

Donny and I each take an arm of his and wrap it around our necks. Standing him up, we steady him and ourselves as much as we can. Royce is barely able to stay on his feet—even when leaning on us, but he manages it somehow. Grabbing the scattered backpacks that Donny and I had located during our search for Royce, we carefully start ambling towards the opening. The truck is lying on its side, and it's jarring to look at. Royce puts one foot in front of the other slowly and with unwavering determination. Agonizing pain jerks his face.

When we reach outside, the dawn is barely breaking. The pinks and oranges paint the sky in the desert. We are most certainly not in the woods anymore but in a dry place of quiet mystique. Sand and moisture-less plants permeate the area. The turned over semi-truck is completely out of place and odd in this setting.

I quickly scan in front of me, desperately seeking where to hide. Would a huge Yucca plant do? What about the mesquite trees? Then I see our salvation.

"Over there!" I exclaim excitedly as I point to an old, dilapidated adobe structure that must've been a home at one time. Most of it is already in shambles on the ground, but one room is still standing.

Donny and I move toward it with Royce in tow. Fortunately, it's not too far from us but far enough to be away from the frenzied activity that will surely take place when the accident is discovered. Before entering the old house through an entrance with a missing door, I grab a flashlight from my backpack and shine the light in it. While there's some light coming through the broken windows, I still want to make sure I inspect it carefully—a dangerous animal could be lurking in a corner. Except for a few spiders, everything seems fine.

Donny and I take Royce inside. I remove a blanket from my backpack and lay it on the concrete floor. Royce's face softens when we lower him to it, and he can rest.

"What'll we do now?" I ask Donny. I notice for the first time that his face is very pale—like a sheet of paper. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he mumbles, his voice shaky and eyes unfocussed.

"I don't think you're fi—" But I don't finish my sentence. He suddenly jerks forward as if his equilibrium is completely off and holds onto the wall. I rush over to him.

It's at that moment that I see it.

A huge red stain.

"What is that?!" I ask him, pointing at the left side of his waist.

"What's wrong with my cousin?" mutters Royce, barely able to form the words. Donny and I are behind him and out of his line of sight.

"Nothing," Donny mumbles, his voice shakier than before.

Stepping over to Donny, I pull up his shirt. He protests vociferously, but I discover what he has been hiding—a rolled-up, blood soaked rag. After I remove it, a long, deep, bleeding gash comes into immediate view.

"Donny!" I blurt, shocked.

"What's wrong?" mutters Royce.

"Nothing," Donny insists. "Don't tell him," he whispers to me with a pained voice. "Help me get back to the truck."

I nod solemnly. "Royce, we're going to the semi. I'll be right back."

"But—"

"Everything's fine, Royce," I lie. "I'll be right back."

I put Donny's right arm over my shoulder, and we stumble out of the dilapidated house. He winces every time we move, but it can't be helped. As we make it to the 18 wheeler, I'm relieved that the road is desolate at this early hour of the morning. Then I notice a guardian vehicle on the other side of the road. I'd be panicking except for the fact that it's crashed on its right side, and it's got a blown tire.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that the tire that popped wasn't ours. The car ran into us.

An examination of the 18 wheeler confirms my suspicions. Its tires are in perfect shape. I wonder how the passenger in the car is doing. Donny's face is now green, and his eyes keep trying to close. The cell phone rings as Donny and I arrive at the truck. He plops down in the open back as I grab his cell. It's his boss on the caller ID. Even though I had rarely used these contraptions, my fake parents couldn't survive without them. I knew how to work them.

The cell blares in the quiet desert. Taking a look at Donny's dire state, I make a quick decision.

"Donny, you're going to answer this and say, 'Accident', okay?"

"Huh," he manages to mutter.

"Ac-ci-dent," I enunciate. "Accident—you're going to say it, okay?"

"Okay," he barely mumbles.

I press the button to answer it. Before I can get Donny to say what I told him, the gruff voice of his boss blasts out. "What took you so long to answer?! Where the blazes are you? I've been waiting for my antiques for fifteen minutes?!"

I tap Donny's mouth, trying to get him to speak.

"Answer me!" the guardian's booming voice explodes from the cell. This seems to slap Donny awake.

"Ac-ci-dent," Donny manages to get out.

"What?!"

Donny takes a huge gulp. "Accident." And he passes out.

"Accident where?!"

But Donny is completely out. I'm just grateful he had been able to speak at all.

"Donny! Donny!" the guardian snaps. When he realizes no one is answering back, he yells, "I'll be right there!"

I'm brought to action. No telling how fast it'll take him or emergency services to get here. All vehicles are equipped with tracking devices. I start making it back to the dilapidated house, getting rid of as much of our tracks as possible. Donny's blood had spilled in some areas, and I cover them with sand as swiftly as I can. Arriving at the adobe remains, I exhale a deep, unwavering breath. Help will be here soon for Donny and even though the passenger in the car that crashed into us is a guardian, I'm relieved that person will get help too.

_The only person not receiving aid is Royce,_ I mutter to myself.

He lies perfectly motionless on the hard floor. I rush to him, my hands twitching uncontrollably. Upon close inspection, I realize he's just passed out. Apparently, I'm the only one awake in this horrid scenario—thanks to him who acted on my vision. He saved my life, but what now? I'm with a gravely injured Royce and stuck in an overwhelming desert I've never been in before. And when the ambulance comes for Donny, I can't ask for help because I'd be signing their death warrants.

_Stop the pity party. You have to think yourself out of this one—for your sake and Royce's,_ I tell myself.

A blare of a crying siren breaks my thoughts. I sit close to the entrance of the old house to decipher what's happening. I can peek out from a side of the wall without being noticed. Fortunately, a mesquite bush grows almost directly in front of the doorway providing some cover.

An ambulance, a fire truck, and a law cruiser arrive simultaneously. I have no regrets in having forced Donny to tell his boss about the accident. Even though Royce and I are in danger of being discovered, if Donny doesn't receive medical assistance fast, he'll probably die. Deena's desperate tears would haunt me for the remainder of my days.

A bright-red guardian sports car grinds to a halt and a furious gray-haired man jumps out. He stomps over to the big rig where he ignores the paramedics working on Donny and steps onto the back of truck.

"My antiques!" cries the guardian with agony in his voice.

Burning bile rises to my throat. He's more upset about the furniture than his employee.

"What did you do?!" he snaps at Donny.

"Sir, he's unconscious," informs a paramedic. He and his partner had already gotten Donny to a gurney.

"How fortunate for him," growls the guardian. "What the blazes happened?!"

"It looks like that vehicle over there," the law guard points at the crashed car, "had a blown tire and caused the accident."

"What was my employee doing so close to that car?" hisses the guardian.

I fantasize about pulling out my slingshot and slamming a huge rock into the jerk. I can't do it, of course, without disclosing that people are in the dilapidated house. I wish I could, though, wish it desperately.

"Is he going to be okay?" asks the guardian gruffly.

"We have to get him to the hospital to see the extent of his injuries," answers a paramedic.

"Save him so that I can kill him!"

"The accident wasn't his fault," the law guard reiterates, her voice firm.

"Someone has to pay for what happened to my furniture! Do you know how precious these antiques were?—not only in price but also in their uniqueness?"

"I can't say I know anything about furniture," she grumbles. The law guard doesn't seem to like Donny's boss any more than I do.

"It's not just furniture!" explodes the guardian. "It's art!"

"Art?"

"Why am I wasting my time talking to the likes of _you?_ " he retorts. "What do you and your kind know about the fine things in life. You're only a step above the uncivilized, savage _others!_ "

I squeeze my slingshot in my hand. It would be so easy to send him an example of my art. One that would pummel his elevated senses.

After the paramedics leave with Donny and the person who was in the crashed vehicle, Royce moans painfully.

"Water," he mumbles.

Relieved that he's awake, I pull out his canteen from his backpack. We had filled our flasks at the getaway before coming. He takes huge gulps as I place the water container on his thirsty lips.

"What's happening?" he asks with a weak voice when he finishes drinking.

I explain what's happening outside—toning down Donny's injuries. Trying to sound confident and unconcerned, I tell him we'll soon be out of this mess.

"How?" he asks, his voice filled with worry.

"We'll think of something."

"Like what?" he questions, his voice still shaky and breathless.

"We'll figure it out."

"Madrigal, stay with me, okay?"

"Why do you even ask?"

"Stay with me until . . ."

"Until what?"

"I'm dying," he murmurs softly.

### Chapter 41: Water

"Don't say that!" I snap with a force I didn't know was in me.

"Madrigal, you've got to save yourself."

"I'm going to save both of us," I assure.

"But if I'm not around, you have to—"

"Stop it! Stop saying you won't be around."

"Madrigal—"

"Stop!"

He sighs. "More water please."

I put the canteen to his lips, and he gulps the water down. After the dawn had passed, blistering heat arrived in the desert. It's not as hot inside the dilapidated house, which provides some kind of shade, as it is outside, but it's still sweltering. Royce's face is shiny with perspiration. I wish I could say it was just the heat causing this, but I know it's also the agony he's feeling. I don't want to think about the kind of internal injuries he sustained.

"What's happening outside?" he asks.

After taking a peek, I inform Royce that the law guard is still there. Traffic is now congested, and she guides the road. The crashed vehicles will eventually have to be removed from the site. _How long will it take?_ I ask myself.

Many hours pass. Bustling activity permeates the outside with a tow truck picking up the car and a slow removal of the semi-truck. Meanwhile, the torching heat increases. Royce asks frequently for water.

"Whose canteen is this?" he asks in a forced voice, just above a whisper. He abruptly stops drinking as if an idea has just occurred to him.

"What does it matter?"

"Whose water is this?" he repeats, gulping for air between words.

"Royce—"

"Is this yours?"

"Just drink," I coax.

"This is your canteen, right?"

"So what if it is?"

"My canteen is empty, right?" he mutters, more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, but—"

"I've hardly seen you drink."

"I'm not thirsty," I lie.

His weak fingers curl around the canteen and shake it, almost dropping it before I balance it in my hand. "Hey," he says as loud as he can with his weak state. "I've drunk most of the water."

"It's okay. I don't want you to dehydrate."

"What about you dehydrating?"

"I'm not the one who's injured," I point out.

"But you need your strength to get out of here when . . ."

"Don't say it!"

He sighs. "Okay."

"We'll figure out what to do after it gets quiet outside."

"Okay, but do me a favor," he mutters.

"What can I do for you?" I ask.

"Drink some water."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Don't lie to me, Madrigal," he snaps with a weak, hoarse voice.

"I'm not—"

"We've always been very honest with each other—don't start lying to me now."

"But—"

"Remember—I can get into your mind."

I groan as I grab the canteen and slam it to my lips. The crystal life-sustaining liquid runs deliciously down my throat. It's the best tasting water I've ever had. I force myself to stop. There is only a little of it left.

"Satisfied?" I tell Royce, looking into his unfocussed eyes.

"Yes."

His pallor is so light and sickly looking that I hardly recognize his face, its healthy glow completely gone. We need to get out of this situation soon.

His face is so shiny with perspiration that I grab his backpack and yank out a gauze cloth from the first aide kit. My fingers are so clumsy with tension that I accidentally let a lighter slip and crash to the floor.

"I've got to tell you something," he states, his voice growing weaker by the moment.

"You can tell me later," I insist as I start to gently wipe his face with the cloth. "Rest."

"I've got to tell you now."

"Royce—"

"Later, it might be too late."

"Don't—"

"Madrigal, let me say what I need to say."

"Okay, let's get on with it so you can rest, but I'm warning you—I don't want to hear anything about you dying."

He lets out a frustrated breath. "You don't make this easy."

"Royce—"

"You need to hear how sorry I am."

"About what?" His statement takes me completely by surprise.

"I had to make up that you were crazy."

"What are you talking about?"

"School," he lets out in a pained voice.

This time I'm the one who exhales a frustrated breath. "Royce, we don't need to talk about it. I already understand that you had to play a part."

"Having made up that you were crazy goes beyond playing a part."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my curiosity fully piqued.

"I had no choice but to make up that awful lie."

"Why?"

"They were starting to get violent with you."

"You mean the other students?"

"Yes."

"And?"

He takes a huge gulp to catch his breath. "What you don't know is that the leaders made the parents manipulate their kids into treating you badly."

"They what?!"

"The government was really out to get you—to keep you down."

"They manipulated everything and everyone around me?" I ask, my mouth going dry with anger.

"That's the only way they could control you, Supernova."

I groan loudly. "Those jerks!—ruining my life for their power games."

"Yes."

"I still don't understand why you made up that crazy thing, though."

"The violence," he explains, his breath growing more raggedy.

"What about it?"

"I couldn't do a lot with the verbal abuse. I had to play the game right with them," he expounds, his voice wavering and jagged. "But I had to do something when the physical abuse started."

"I defended myself okay."

He smiles painfully. "I know."

"I didn't let them treat me like a punching bag."

"But it got to the point that you couldn't fight against so many—there was only one of you. And like I already told you, even the teachers were in on this."

"Yeah, I've got to admit it was tough."

"I had to do something," he states. His voice is so low that I have to get closer to him to hear.

"So you made up that I was crazy?"

"It scared them enough to stop hitting you."

It made perfect sense. "The violence did stop when you told them I was crazy," I blurt.

"Madrigal, I sweated blood over that lie—I really did," he gulps, trying to catch his breath. "I must've spent hours and hours thinking of ways to help you, but I couldn't think of anything better. It was the best that I could do. You've got to forgive me."

"Royce, there's nothing to forgive."

"I know what that lie did to you."

"Royce," I say gently, "I forgave you for it a long time ago, but now that you tell me this, I realize how much I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I owe you a lot," I insist. "You've saved my life so many times."

"So have you."

"We're even then," I announce, giving him a warm smile.

"I know you say you forgave me a long time ago, but I'm having a hard time forgiving myself for what I did to you," he mentions, his voice so raspy that it sounds as if it hurts him just to use it.

"What you did to me during school had to be. Let it go, Royce—I have."

"I need you to tell me you forgive me. I need to hear it before I . . ."

Flashes of anger burn me. "Don't say it!"

"Madrigal—"

"Don't."

"I'm not doing so well, Madrigal."

"You're very strong, Royce! Your injuries won't beat you!"

"We've got to face reality."

"I'm not going to face a reality that takes you away from me."

"Madrigal—"

"What I've learned on this journey is that the biggest reality is the one we make."

"This is out of our hands."

I lose all composure. "You listen to me, Royce! You've taught me never to give up. Don't you dare give up on me! We're going to get out of this even if I have to carry you to safety. Is that clear?"

"Madrigal—"

"Is that clear?" I repeat more vociferously.

"Yes, commander."

"Don't you dare die on me," I demand. "I won't allow it."

"Yes, commander."

"Now just hold on till I get a handle on what to do, okay?"

"I'll try." His tired voice is barely audible.

"Don't just try—do it!"

"Madrigal," he manages to say as his eyelids fight to stay open.

"Yes?" I ask, gently wiping the perspiration from his face with the gauze cloth I had taken out earlier from the first aide kit.

"I love you—completely and totally."

I'm stunned. What do I say to that? As I ponder on his startling words a horrible vision flashes through my mind. Can it be true? I stare fearfully at Royce, my breathing shallow and painful. Boiling tears rush down my face.

"It has to be," he barely gets out as his eyes close.

"Royce!" I cry with desperation. "Wake up! Don't leave me!"

I fling myself across his chest and sob like a child.

"Got you," a voice retorts, the owner of it stepping into the dilapidated house with a revolver pointed at me.

I look up, my eyes blurry with weeping, to find an enemy I barely remember.

"So you're boyfriend's dead like you will be soon," snaps D412, looking a lot like his dad—the psycho colonel.

### Chapter 42: Revenge

"I've got you now!" D412 repeats with relish.

I put my wet cheek on Royce's face, rough tears and harsh noises exploding out of me. "I told you to keep fighting. Why didn't you do it?!" I snap at him.

"Stop that whimpering!" demands D412.

"How could you die like this?! How could you!"

"Stop babbling!"

"How do I finish what we started without you?"

"Stop!"

"You might as well ask me to stop breathing," I hiss at D412.

"That can be arranged," he snaps, waving his black revolver at me.

I push my face in Royce's chest, muffling my cries.

"That's better," he states. "I don't want to kill you while you're like this. It seems wrong somehow."

"Why do you want to kill me?" I ask when I finally get my voice back, numbness starting to take over.

My dad is dead because of you," sneers D412, his own eyes spouting water.

I sit up. "What are you talking about?"

"That colonel that took you prisoner was my father."

"I didn't kill anybody!"

"He went to look for you to help me, and he ended up dead!"

"What are you talking about?" I repeat.

He bends down to pick up the lighter that had accidentally slipped from Royce's backpack when I had taken out the gauze cloth. "My father's specially made, gold lighter!" he mumbles.

With a jolt, I remember how Royce had picked up the psycho colonel's lighter after we had climbed down from the tree where we had almost fallen to our deaths.

"I knew it was you who killed my father!" he continues. "Now I have proof that you did it!"

"I had nothing to do with it."

"The soldier with my dad said something about prisoners before he died. He was talking about you!"

"I had nothing to do with your father's death," I repeat.

"Stop lying!"

"I'm not."

"Are you going to deny having been captured by my father?" he asks as he slips the lighter in his pocket.

"No, but I deny having killed him."

"Stop trying to convince me of your innocence."

"But—"

"Tell me something," he snaps.

"What do you want to know?"

His eyes dig furiously into me. "How does it feel to have someone you love die, huh?"

"What do you want me to say?" I gag on my words.

"How does it _feel_?!" he repeats furiously.

"Like the whole world collapsed on you," I mumble, my throat in a choke hold as I slowly run my hands over Royce's hair.

"How do you think I felt when my dad died, huh?!" D412 hisses.

"I'm sorry about your father."

"Who are you trying to kid?"

"I'm being sincere. I know what it's like to lose your parents."

"It's your fault he's dead!—you and this dead guy over here and . . . Hey, where's the other guy?" he asks, furiously.

I have to untangle my brain to figure out that he's talking about Peter. "He got hurt a long time ago."

"I hope he's dead," retorts D412.

"Let's just say that he's no longer himself."

"I hope he's suffering."

I exhale deeply, my head throbbing. "You're very vengeful, aren't you?"

"It's about pride and honor," he declares. "I'll go all out to clear the family name—just like my dad did when he went after you. I bet you're the one who hit me from the back while hiding somewhere."

"How did you find us, anyway?" I ask with curiosity.

"When my father passed away," he says, wincing, "I just knew his soldier was talking about you before he died too. I had to scrape together the bits and pieces. You were obviously escaping from something, and the military was about to hit the woods big time. You had to find a way out, so I called around to see which trucks nearby were leaving. I followed a semi to see if you were in it. When I saw the driver talking to someone in the truck through the ventilation holes at a checkpoint, I knew I had hit a jackpot."

"You were following us?"

"It was easy. It was dark, and one guardian vehicle looks like all the rest, so your driver never noticed me."

An idea suddenly dawns on me. "It was _your_ tire blowout!"

He frowns deeply. "Life surprises you sometimes. I almost got killed!"

"But the paramedics took you to the hospital. I saw it with my own two eyes. You were unconscious."

"It was just a concussion."

"They released you fast."

"I released myself," he states. "I _borrowed_ a guardian vehicle to get here. It wasn't hard guessing that you'd be in this old house."

"You've gone through a lot of trouble—even stealing a vehicle."

"My father's death keeps me going," he snaps.

"I didn't kill him."

"Let's not start with that again."

"You should stop blaming others for what happened to your dad," I argue.

"I should just shoot you and be done with it!"

"Á tornado killed your father—not me."

"You'll be joining your boyfriend now," he growls, his revolver staring at me. "I'll be nice and let you say your goodbyes to life—maybe say a prayer."

"I guess you don't want the million dollars."

"What?!" he spouts.

"Don't you want the million?"

"A million dollars?" he chokes out.

"Yes, a million."

"What do you mean?" he asks suspiciously. "This better not be a stalling tactic."

"My name's Madrigal X1147—does that ring a bell?" It was strange saying the name I've kept hidden for so long.

"You're Madrigal X1147?" he asks, surprised.

"That's me."

He eyes me suspiciously. "I don't believe you."

"Your father knew it, and he was taking me in to get the reward when the tornado hit."

"His soldier mentioned something about a reward."

"That's right."

"A million dollars," D412 mumbles under his breath.

"That's a lot of money."

"How do I know you're telling me the truth about who you are?" he snaps.

I pull my hair back. "Look closely at me."

"You do kinda look like her," he mumbles, eyeing me carefully.

"Your father had a good eye."

"So do I," he blurts angrily.

"If you'd rather kill me than be rich then—"

"Get up!" he demands. "Get up off the floor!"

My trembling mouth goes to Royce's lips. As my kiss touches him, I push my sobs inside. His motionless face is as heartbreakingly beautiful as ever. Stumbling to my feet, I try to find my equilibrium. It would be so easy to collapse.

"Walk!" D412 orders me, motioning me to the entrance with one hand and pointing the revolver at me with the other.

"Where are we going?" I ask nervously.

"I'm turning you in—finishing the job my dad started."

"But Royce—"

"He's dead. Stop worrying about him and worry about yourself—keep walking."

"I can't leave—"

"Walk or die," he demands menacingly.

I don't have a choice. As soon as we step out of the dilapidated house, the fresh air of the evening in the desert assails me. Sunset is happening, darkness and neon oranges at the same time. Everything seems _still_ around us. The accident was cleared hours ago and traffic is nonexistent at this hour. D412's guardian vehicle is parked close to where the semi-truck had been after the accident.

A deep sob bursts out of my throat. "We can't leave Royce—"

"Shut up and keep walking."

The emotion assaults me with full force and before I know it, I've stumbled to the ground.

"Get up!" he retorts as he walks to the front of me. "I'm not helping you up! You'd better stand on your own!"

I nod solemnly, blinking back tears and hyperventilating. As I start to get on my feet, I stumble back down when I see what's in front of me—behind D412. My mouth swings wide open, and my eyes grow twice their size.

"What?!" he snaps, turning to look. His pistol moves with him.

My fingers are already on my slingshot. Without hesitation, I jerk it out.

"What is it?" he asks, still trying to decipher the crisis I had pretended was behind him. "I don't see anything."

The rock slams into him on the side of his head as he's turning back to face me. He crumbles to the ground, dropping his revolver. After returning my slingshot to my pocket, I quickly grab the gun, empty the bullets—putting them in my pocket for disposal later—and take a deep breath.

"Good job, Madrigal," a voice says behind me.

When I turn around, three guardians are carefully eyeing the fallen soldier and me.

### Chapter 43: The End Of The Journey

"Great!" sarcastically escapes from my mouth.

The guardians chuckle darkly. Their unrestrained laughter twists in my stomach. Then I notice their lack of weapons. As quick as lightning, I pull out my slingshot. The male guardian closest to me leaps in my direction before I can get out the first rock.

"Get off of me!" I yell.

"Don't hit us with that thing," the female guardian tells me as she kneels in front of me and points at my weapon.

I clutch my slingshot fiercely. Unfortunately, with the guardian on top of me, I can't do anything with it.

"I wish I could hit you," I snap.

"Madrigal, calm down," the female guardian tells me.

I groan with frustration. They definitely know who I am. They had already said my name two times.

"You don't understand," the other male, the one standing up, tells me.

"What don't I understand?" I snarl.

"We're not who you think we are," states the female, her rich ebony skin with a healthy glow.

"Who are you?"

"We're from the Freedom Warriors Headquarters."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Why are you dressed like guardians?"

"It's a good way to get around," laughs the female,

"Very helpful," the blond one holding me down says.

I eye them, still suspicious.

"How did you like Constanza?" asks the man standing up.

"Fine," I mumble.

"Was Royce a good guide?"

"Excellent," I blurt.

"We've got lots to do, Supernova," states the female. "Jordan, let her up. I don't think she's going to hit us with her slingshot anymore, are you, Madrigal?"

"No."

"I'm so sorry I tackled you," Jordan tells me as he lets me go. "I had to do something before you hurt us."

"I understand," I utter, shooing his hands away and standing up on my own. My head is still in a fog over what's happening.

"By the way, I'm Aretha and this is Malcolm—my husband. You've already met Jordan."

"Nice to meet all of you," I say, trying to focus my swirling mind.

"We're thrilled to meet you," Malcolm comments, his skin coloring exactly like his wife's tone.

A thought jolts me. "We've got to get to Royce!"

"Let's go," Aretha states.

"I'll stay with him," offers Jordan as he points to D412.

"If he starts waking up, hit him over the head," Aretha tells him, her dark brown eyes serious.

Jordan's blue eyes meet hers. "I will."

Aretha, Malcolm, and I move toward the adobe house. I rush with single minded focus, knowing what I left behind. They have to speed up to keep up with me.

I come close to stepping on Royce as I arrive at the entrance. He's sprawled out in front of it not making a single movement.

"He must've tried to get to you," explains Aretha.

I plop down and place my head over his heart. Exhaling a giant breath of relief, I realize what has to get done. "We have to get him to a doctor! We have to!" I insist.

"He's alive, right?" questions Malcolm.

"He's just unconscious!"

"Let's get him some help," rushes Aretha.

Malcolm carefully swings Royce over his shoulder. I grab our backpacks, and we head out. Their jeep is hidden behind several mesquite bushes on a road that is in the opposite direction of D412's vehicle.

At the green enclosed jeep, Malcolm lays Royce in the back. He glances at his wife. "You don't need me to go with you, right?"

"Are you staying?" she asks.

"I think it's going to take both Jordan and me to do some clean-up."

"Yeah, there are a lot of tracks to cover up."

"I don't know what to do about the soldier, though," he frowns.

"Here," I say, pulling an object out of my pocket.

"Is that what I think it is?" asks Malcolm, taking it.

"It's my memory pill. Give it to him. I'll get another one later."

"I'll be back to pick you and Jordan up after I leave Madrigal and Royce," Aretha tells Malcolm. "You know where to wait for me."

"We'll be there."

As we drive off at top speed, I keep an eye on Royce from the front seat. He hasn't come into consciousness.

I need to keep my mind occupied before I go insane with worry. "How did you know about the accident?" I ask Aretha.

"The news."

"The news?"

"The news reported on an accident and gave the names of the injured people. We knew that Donny was transporting you. We were relieved that they didn't find you, so we figured you were hiding."

I nod. "Good reasoning."

"We tried to get here earlier, but there was a huge ruckus here all day."

"I know," I say dryly.

"When things quieted down, we came back but saw a guardian car close by."

"That was D412's stolen vehicle."

"He stole it?"

I sigh. "It's a long story. I'll tell you later. Finish telling me your story, please."

"There isn't much more to tell," Aretha asserts. "We sneaked over to the old house—not having seen the person from the guardian vehicle anywhere—and saw him pointing a gun at you."

"What did you do next?"

"We knew we couldn't step in," states Aretha. "We'd have to wait until the right time to do it. We hid behind some boulders."

"What happened next?"

"We saw you being led away at gunpoint," she continues. "That must've been scary for you."

"Actually, that wasn't the scariest part. It was leaving Royce behind when he was in such bad shape."

When we arrive at Freedom Warriors Headquarters, the doctor insists that his nurse check me while he attends to Royce.

"I'm fine," I insist.

"Just by looking at you, I can see you're dehydrated," he barks, his light brown eyes meaning business. "Don't give me any problems, young lady."

Doctor Grajeda's stern stance convinces me to do what he asks. Besides, the sooner he leaves my presence, the sooner he can give Royce his full attention. The nurse finds I just need to hydrate. An IV is immediately inserted in my arm. Royce isn't so lucky.

The liquid drips slowly into my arm, and I frown. As I wait for Royce to come out of the operating room, his internal injuries serious enough for immediate surgery, I wait impatiently in the room we will share. Freedom Warriors Headquarters amazes me—what I've seen of it that is. I haven't had an opportunity to examine all of it since Royce and I were rushed to the infirmary as soon as we arrived. What I do know is that this is an extremely organized operation.

Everyone I've met so far seems to know what to do like Aretha, Malcolm and Jordan who sprang into action right away. Just the fact they have a place to take care of their sick gives me so much pride to belong to such an organization.

As I count the seconds for Royce to come back to me, people keep stepping into my room and introducing themselves. My head isn't on straight, but I can tell they forgive my aloofness and scattered ways. But truth be told, it's hard to concentrate on anything other than Royce.

I shudder to think about what would've happened if he had been too far gone to connect with my vision. He had to play dead, or D412 would've shot him for certain. We had no options. In my vision snippet, I saw D412 with a gun lurking on the outside of the dilapidated house. I wouldn't have been able to use my slingshot on time.

I pace up and down the room, dragging the medicine tree with me. I almost trip a few times, but I can't sit still.

Just when I think I can't stand it any longer, Royce is wheeled into my room.

"How is he?" I ask Doctor Grajeda anxiously as I rush to an unconscious Royce. The middle of his torso is wrapped up with bandages.

Doctor Grajeda peeks over his spectacles. "He'll be fine."

"Really?" I blurt.

"He's sore and in pain but fine. Let him rest."

After a long moment of watching Royce rest peacefully, I snuggle into my own bed. Night has fallen. I don't pay attention to any soreness in my body. All is well for the time being. I slip into a deep slumber.

"Madrigal," a voice wakes me up.

I flutter my eyes open. Sharp daylight floods the room. It seems to be afternoon. Could I have slept that long?

"Madrigal," the voice repeats and then I realize that Royce is speaking to me. I quickly turn my head towards him.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," he says, chuckling from his bed.

I grin as I stumble out of the hospital bed, grabbing onto a rail to steady myself, and I rush to him with the medicine tree in tow.

"How are you?" I ask gently.

"Fine," he says. "And you?"

"Everything's great!"

He looks around. "We're at the Freedom Warriors Headquarters, right?"

"Right."

"You got us here, Supernova."

"I'd say we both got us here."

"I really thought I was going to—"

"Don't say it," I demand sternly.

He grins at me. "Thank you for not letting me die."

"You would've done the same for me."

"Donny's fine and I'm fine thanks to you."

"Donny's fine?" I ask, trying to absorb what he's saying.

"I checked in on him as soon as I woke up."

"What a relief."

"You didn't tell me he had been injured."

"You were in bad shape. Donny and I didn't want to make it worse."

"You did a great job taking over the reins of this mess."

"Thank you."

His eyes sweep over me. "You're ready to be a leader now."

"Thank you. Coming from you, that's a real compliment."

"The only thing is . . ."

"Yes?" I ask with curiosity.

"Well . . ." he says, a mischievous tone to his voice.

"What is it?"

"You've got to stop scolding me in my head."

"What?"

"When D412 showed up, you ordered me to play dead and not to die."

"Do I have to remind you that you were the one who got in my head first?"

"We had to communicate somehow."

"I needed you to keep fighting even when you pretended to be dead."

His mouth turns into a sly formation. "How could I not—with you bullying me into it."

"Bullying?" I ask, offended that he'd use such a word to describe me.

"Yeah, and at the same time acting devastated in front of D412. Man, you're a great actress."

"Not really."

"You are, believe me, you are."

My voice turns serious. "No great acting was involved. All I had to do was just imagine you were dead, and my emotions came scrambling out."

He gently strokes my face with his fingers. "I don't know what to say to that," he announces quietly.

Discomfort takes over me. "Don't say anything."

"I want to hear out loud what you told me in my head before leaving our hiding place with that lunatic," he murmurs.

"It was nothing."

"It was everything to me."

I clear my throat. "I can't say it out loud—I just can't."

His eyes flicker brightly at me. "Try."

"I thought you had said we should stay away from each other romantically."

"I know, but I need to hear it before we start our next journey."

"Royce—"

"Call me Arthur if it helps you open up to me."

"I can't repeat the words," I declare. "I'm sorry, I just can't."

His face crumbles with such deep disappointment that my heart starts aching. Could I inflict such pain in him?

I squeeze my eyes shut and shoot it out—the dreaded words, "I love you!"

"Open your eyes, Madrigal and say it while you look at me."

I open them. He looks so hopeful that I could drown in him. "I already told you."

"You're feelings for me must not be very strong," he murmurs sadly.

"That's not true."

"It's obvious that it is."

His assertion frustrates me. "How can you say that after what we've been through?"

"Maybe you just feel close to me because of all those close calls we've had," he states.

"Maybe that's the way it is with you," I blurt, my eye twitching.

"Madrigal, I've been totally nuts about you since we were small," he murmurs patiently. "My feelings toward you can't be in question."

"But mine are?"

"Yes."

"Look Royce or Arthur," I spout, "I do love you like crazy, and I don't see why I have to say it for you to know it. What's the deal with that? If you ever question me again, I'll knock you down with my slingshot!"

Royce's eyes sweep over me. "I love you too with every single speck of DNA inside of me," he murmurs. "I always have."

"Always?"

"We were always meant for each other," he explains as he grabs my shoulders and moves my mouth to his.

When our lips touch, I give a tiny gasp. It's silly and completely involuntary, but I just can't help myself and my swirling emotions. These stolen moments that I yearn for at every moment are so surreal that I have to keep telling myself that I'm not in a dream. It's not in my imagination that I taste Royce's lips, I breathe his air, and I feel his heart next to mine. My defensiveness changes to tenderness as his warmth fills me. I'm safe with him as he is with me.

"I love you, Royce—totally and completely," I whisper, letting my carefully constructed guard down.

His eyes lock into mine with a vibrant glint as his gentle fingers stroke my face. "That didn't hurt, did it?"

"Maybe a little," I tease but before I can say anything else, his kiss finds me again. And it is every bit as awesome as the very first one.

