 
# Concealed in the Shadows

## Gabrielle Arrowsmith

### Contents

Content Disclosure

Regions of the Nation

Counties of Region Two

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Reduced to Dust

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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Concealed in the Shadows

Copyright ©2013 Gabrielle Arrowsmith

All rights reserved.

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Summary: Sydney Harter has long awaited September 12th, 2033—her eighteenth birthday. She can finally apply for guardianship of her sister, who is her only family and entire world. She hopes they will be lawfully reunited, but is prepared to defy authority and risk everything to escape the captivity of Miles County so that they can be together.

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ISBN: 978-0-9894701-0-0 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-940534-49-7 (e-book)

Cover Design by: Marya Heidel

Typography by: Courtney Knight

For more information about our content disclosure,

please click on the picture above or visit us at

www.CleanTeenPublishing.com.

# Counties of Region Two

"Sweet is the voice of a sister in the season of sorrow."

~Benjamin Disraeli

# Chapter One

I ached for sleep to come last night but, as usual, my mulling mind prevented it. At least this time there is a cause for the clutter that has risen in these still hours. In too short of time, I will fight in court for any outcome but the fourth, the one that haunts my wakefulness.

Hour after restless hour, I've battled to allow only matters of this afternoon's hearing to enter my mind. I've incessantly reviewed my plans to advocate for the best possible result. But in my vulnerable state, a sorrowful image pushes its way into my thoughts to remind me why the hearing is necessary.

It's a few hours before sunrise and I crave sleep still, but it has betrayed me once again. At this point, even any sleep an iota is an impossible prayer. I lie hollowly under my tattered sheets, staring at the ceiling that hovers over me. I prefer lying in emptiness to the alternative that could overcome me in a moment. If I lie here any longer my past will seep through my mind and into my heart, and I can't allow that. I have to get up. I am practiced at replacing the threat of remembering with doing.

I tussle the tangled sheets loose from my legs and sit on the edge of my bed. Already my weary body loathes my mind's resolve to escape my thoughts in the only way I have found that works—running.

I run for two unwavering reasons. For one, I can't spend another second bottled up in my thoughts, fretting over situations I can neither predict nor alter. More importantly, I expect a time will come when I'll really need to escape, not as a temporary outlet, but as a permanent solution to my menacing reality. I'll have to be ready to run fast—faster than their technology can trace and their arsenal of weapons can stop or kill.

I slip my tablet from its dust-lined case. Outdated as it is, it is still in pristine condition. While most people, and undoubtedly all other teenage girls, live with their tablets glued to their sides like an inseparable companion, mine spends its days trapped in its protective case, lying alone on the nightstand adjacent to my bed. I have some items secured in a fragile wooden box that is tucked safely into the back of a dresser drawer. They go untouched for months, or even years at times, because they are cherished. My tablet is not such a precious commodity to me. I hate it. It appears so cared for because I neglect it, contrary to the common law of society.

The seam nearly disappears as the shiny black device unfolds into one sleek touch screen. The tablet immediately perks up from its coma and demands that I identify myself. I wish I could wake up from the daze left by my insomnia that quickly. Like a vacationer returning to their pampered pet, I swear I can sense my tablet's outward grudge and inward excitement that I'm finally back to pay it attention.

The square-inch scanner sits between the built-in camera lens and microphone on my tablet, neither of which I trust. It examines the contours of my thumbprint, and then prompts me to type my password. I clumsily touch the characters on the translucent keyboard that match the lengthy password that I'm bitter to have to recreate each month. This month, I'm using an alternation between the letters of my name, Sydney Harter, and my social security number, which is bar-coded on the chip in my right wrist.

As is more frequent for me than most, my stubborn tablet also requires voice authentication since it has remained powered-down for more than twenty-four hours, much more.

"Demetri," I whisper. Resentfully, my tablet fires an _Authentication Denied_ error at me. I clear my throat and raise the microphone closer to my lips. Lack of sleep the last few nights, and this afternoon's stakes, have heightened my emotions. As I say his name a second time, my eyes well and an unexpected tear falls before I recoil, remind myself that he's dead, and face the fact that he is not here to help me, and neither is anyone else.

Finally my tablet forgives me and allows me to access a world drowned by media, data, and communication. This is the world that others choose to live in—most unaware that any other one exists.

Notification bubbles erupt on the screen and their accompanying pings pain my tired, overwrought mind. I have five new messages, but I'm not alerted like my tablet desires, nor am I the least bit interested. I tap _Dismiss All_ and get on with why I've come to this device's mercy in the first place; I'm seeking a remedy that will take an edge off the twinges that my dilapidated body suffers and will perhaps even reverse its decay. Technology is good for some things.

As always, I have the predictability feature enabled, so when I direct my tablet to inspect my health, it automatically bypasses the emotional and psychological health reviews and displays my physical statistics instead. Here again, technology is tolerated, even preferred. It's cold, emotionless, and doesn't pry once I've made it known that I have no intention of having my emotions or psyche probed.

I'm not surprised to see that there are a number of yellow health alerts since I've been sleeping fitfully, if at all, and haven't eaten well lately. Low iron, low vitamins D and B-12, mild dehydration, and menstruation period beginning. Great. Just when I thought the fatigue and emotional instability I've been experiencing couldn't be more aggravating.

My tablet accompanies me as I trudge from my bedroom to the equally tight kitchenette. I tug on the knob that opens the little cabinet above the sink. Not yet ready to turn on the fluorescent lights, I direct my tablet's glow on the various pill bottles. On my tiptoes, I squint to read the labels and select what I have of the medley that my tablet specified for me. If I had more funds available in the chip that resides within me, I'd indulge in more vitamins and minerals. Next would be a new pair of runners.

I gulp down the pills and half a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator. By the time this effort can begin to promote bodily repair, I'll have begun depleting it of its already lacking strength. I refill the half-empty bottle with lukewarm tap water and place it in the freezer.

In my barren bedroom, I pull on my sleek, black running attire. To my tablet's sorrow, my gear is a more prized possession than it. I wrap my tangled, chestnut hair into a tight ponytail, and secure my overgrown bangs away from my face with the spiraled, turquoise headband that hangs from the knob of my top dresser drawer.

For curiosity's sake, I tug at the bottom drawer. Of course, it's jammed and won't budge. Why would I think otherwise? The furnishings don't know they should be prepared to host a guest.

This drawer has been a nuisance since I first moved in. I'm irritated enough that I could work on it now, but fixing and emptying the drawer will have to wait until after the sun has risen. With any luck, the decrepit dresser will be struggling to withstand a heap of teenage glamour by this evening. But luck has never been on my side, so I don't allow my hopes to rise too high.

Reaching under my bed, I pull out my waterproof pack, deliberately stocked with defense and survival tools. It carries a folded knife, three protein bars and dried seaweed, a matchbook, a tiny, high-powered flashlight, a plastic bag of tinder, and a tin that contains a needle, a spool of thread, three fishhooks, a few butterfly bandages, a tiny tube of ointment, and two aspirin.

Back in the kitchen, I draw the chilled water bottle from the freezer and slide it into its designated place in my pack. I tighten the straps that both secure the contents and fasten it to the buckles on the back of my shirt, intelligently engineered for performance.

By the time I lace my runners, I'm done feeling sorry for myself, and am determined to prove the thickness of my skin.

I quietly lock up behind me and head toward the miniature window at the opposite end of the hallway, can't possibly fulfill the fire code. I am especially stealthy as I cross the central entryway of the transitions building. When I reach the space in front of the window, I pause to look and listen for movement. When I'm confident there is no one stirring in the building, I effortlessly pull myself onto the waist-high ledge, using the weak framing for my stronghold.

A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that I am the only nonconformist that prefers the peacefulness of four o'clock in the morning to the bustle of bodies that intensifies throughout the day and late into the night. I'm not sure if it's the noise and chaos that bother me or simply their demeanor. All are constantly engaged in their media, yet cold and aloof to those who surround them—to people who could use the interaction and are starving for help.

I swiftly slip my key under the ceiling tile above the window and noiselessly dismount from the window ledge. I am a ghost as I exit out the back door of the transitions building. A mere instant after I push the door closed, my feet are in motion.

The atmosphere is calm and chilly this early, but also heavy with moisture and swathed in the stench of the city. My nostrils flare with each inhalation. This tainted air doesn't belong to me. I run easily through the moonlit streets toward the air and scenery for which I yearn. Only there can I escape the possibilities that plague me long enough to regain the sharpness of mind needed to process them.

A few minutes into my route, the city stench and the beeps of the grounds and waste management crews readying the streets for another day become fewer and more remote. Finally, I detect the aroma of life nourished with fresh air. This is my air. It fills my soul and propels my lightened feet to their destination—the Environmental Protection Agency, or EPA, building positioned between Sector Seven and Eight.

This EPA building is one of twelve that line the circumference of Miles County. It is sometimes referred to as EPA 240 because it is 240 degrees clockwise from the northernmost EPA in Miles. Most often, however, it is called EPA 7-8, as it marks the invisible border between the two sectors.

Government officials crafted the 2015 population bill to disunite the nation's states in an effort to appear too preoccupied to join our allies in war. However, the balance was delicate because a disarrayed nation would certainly attract the lustrous eyes of power-hungry nations. Those times, and especially the aftermath, were unstable, more so than the present.

Four historic time zones and three disproportionate latitudinal sections now divide the formerly unified nation into twelve distinctive regions. Circular borders were construed around the twelve most populated areas within each of the twelve regions. All citizens living outside of the nation's one hundred forty-four counties were given offensive financial settlements and then forced to leave their homes and relocate inside their assigned county. To conclude the obsession, these overpopulated counties were all split into twelve sectors, marked by the equally distanced EPA buildings.

Each EPA was formed for the same outward purpose, to preserve the natural world that our ancestors were destroying at an exponential rate, soon to make the world uninhabitable if left unchallenged and unreformed, or so the old propaganda says. I suspect the government has used this rationale to veil their chief intent—to institute ever-watchful eyes guarding against attempts from citizens to flee their experimental Petri dish.

It took me at least ten attempts to scale this wall the first time I tried. Today, I execute the undertaking without thought or sweat. My movements from one hold to the next are now so ingrained that I easily accomplish the climb despite the predawn darkness.

The only detail that continually needs attention is my timing under the rotation of the camera mounted on the corner of EPA 7-8. I can't risk that my clothing, pack, or even a wisp of hair be detected by surveillance when I propel myself atop the building. I don't know whether it's environmental protection agents or some government-created task force who are the observers on the other side of the camera's lens. Whoever they are, I know that they don't have to distinguish a face to determine whom it was that breached. They can locate an escapee's position the very instant that they glimpse an oddity by cataloging all nearby chips. Depending on how many miles a runaway has attained, they may earn at most five minutes of freedom before they're captured, held, and interrogated in a manner I assume to be sinister.

I safely slink on top of the roof and continue to study the camera's position. The first time I foolishly jumped just over two years ago, I was extremely lucky. The next time, and every time thereafter, I've calculated. I have precisely twenty-two seconds to disappear before the camera scans the landscape, which must appear undisturbed.

I methodically count down the seconds as I jog toward the far side of the roof and double-check the vacant street. Ten seconds until optimal jump time. I focus on the dim ledge opposite me. Five. Four. I bolt from my line and instantaneously push off the ledge at one.

Paralyzing pulses radiate through my body for two excruciating seconds as I'm propelled through the fifteen-foot, high-voltage barrier that encompasses Miles. I snap myself alert and am able to gasp for air right before I splash into the holding pond whose northern bank nearly meets the fringe of the barrier. Lifelessly, I sink to the bottom, holding my breath and counting the seconds required for the ripples to subside and the camera to pass over the place where I lay waiting.

Scouring Miles' borders over the last few years, I've encountered only this plausible point of exit. The building's slight altitude allows me time, and therefore distance, to get to, through, and past the barrier—a cruel entrapment designed to shock those who tempt it and kill those who defy it. But its design is imperfect, because the higher the escapee's chip is elevated above the underground line, the less shock they endure. I can't recall the pain from my first careless jump, but I always soar with my right arm up, just in hope that it may make a difference. It's imperative that I stay conscious and cognizant enough to inhale before the splash.

The pond was the only consideration I made when selecting this spot to jump from a couple of years ago. Jumping from the height that I was, I knew an absorbent landing was crucial for me to evade serious injury. I hoped it was enough to not become a mangled mess. I was desperate then. I needed out so terribly that I wasn't concerned by the threat of death by electrocution. Since then, I have found no suitable alternative location, and so, I can never falter.

I emerge subtly and breathe in the intoxicating air. I swim above the deepening water for a pinch, until the camera moves slowly in my direction and sends me below. Poised and content, I swim underwater until I know I'm in the clear to surface for air.

I continue the timing game once more as I creep toward the steep bank and ready myself. When the time comes, I spring from the water and dart through the thick grasses to a broad larch tree. The forestry encircling Miles has been planted with various species of deciduous trees, but as my timing game progresses, it's the towering, native, conifers that dominate.

My sense for the camera nearing has developed over the last two years to where it feels almost innate. Finally, I'm certain the density of the forest is adequate cover, and I can forfeit the timing game.

I draw off my soaking wet outer clothes and hang them across the needles extending from a low-hanging branch. After a quick stretch and an indulgent examination of two neighboring types of ferns, I accelerate into a brisk run through the old-growth forest.

There isn't another soul in my haven, but I come out here to race—not against someone but something. My legs tire, my mouth dries, my left side aches, and my head pounds. Still I run, harder and harder with each twinge of pain. They propel me. My pain fuels me. I think of nothing but pushing through it. This is my release. This is the only time and place that I am able to let go of all that troubles my mind.

I purposely veer toward the obstacles on the forest floor—fallen branches, protruding rocks, and the intricate mounds and tunnels formed by pocket gophers. I jump swiftly at full speed and land solidly on my ever-strengthening ankles. I hardly notice twigs that scrape my exposed arms and legs as I lunge by. After some time sprinting and bounding around the rough terrain, the vitamins surrender to my will to deplete my final ounces of strength.

The forestry has been changing to include colorful aspen and Rocky Mountain maple, but overall the trees have thinned. I'm approaching my favorite destination on earth. I drive myself forward with all remnants of strength and run as hard as I can uphill—to the highest and farthest point I've dared to reach in my forest ventures. I've dared to reach in my forest ventures.

The inclined portion seems as lengthy and exhausting as the rest of this endeavor today. I'm utterly spent. within their circle has just updated their status. Through the turquoise this is as fast as I can push myself to go, having not watched my entire journey here from the stench of Miles' Sector Seven. within their circle has just updated their status. Through the turquoise

I collapse on the summit just as the sun's first rays begin to brighten the sullen sky. It takes a couple of minutes for me to recuperate enough to sit up and enjoy the astounding beauty of the sunrise. My breathing regulates as I take in the powerful, golden sun rising above the vast expanse of woodland hills interlaced with peaceful, clear streams.

This time of year, when the leaves are just beginning to transform into a variety of yellows and oranges, is my unsurpassable favorite. The colors are exaggerated and the overall view enriched by the backdrop of the stoic evergreens. Even the city looks attractive from this distance. I can see the tops of the tightly packed skyscrapers that stand in the center of Miles, and can gain a general sense of the breadth of the suburbs that used to be inhabited beyond the border. Forest and rocky hills surround the rest for as far as I can see into the mighty rays of the dawn.

Perhaps The United States' leaders did preserve a precious gift when the population bill was passed, and people were made to relinquish their scattered homes and concentrate in the counties. It truly would be a dismal world if this beauty existed nowhere.

But yet, what good is our sacrifice if we're not allowed to see its result? _For our children's children_ , the propagandist would say. Still, it's so unfortunate that the people of Miles will never stand below the overarching branches of a forest or atop a hill that overlooks it all. They only see these things in pictures. Citizens experience all the natural beauty their lifetime will allow when they enjoy a controlled walk along the invisible, yet gravely known, barrier of Miles County. They look at the trees, smell the pine, listen to the birds sing, and smile.

I'm ruined for that. I've seen infinite beauty, the way my ancestors in this region did. I suppose more souls would be likened to mine if others could take in the magnificence that I have earned my right to see. They might begin to question their telltale lives and search for deeper meaning and truer pleasure, like I do.

There it goes. I have stolen my own peace. One dissenting thought and my mind is again bombarded with possible scenarios for this afternoon, and what each outcome might mean. I need to have my Evvie back. She is my rock of sanity and sole reason for existing. My little sister keeps my heart light and, sometimes against my will, connects me to the modern world. Without her, I become fixed in my own thoughts and solitude. I know that's not healthy, but my tablet and I simply haven't been able to coexist.

In reverse, I fear how our long separation may have changed Evvie. Sometimes during an overnight stay, I notice that the front she puts up breaks and a giddy, teenage girl— affected by undulating, noxious media—breaks through. Over the last two years, she has lived surrounded by an uncontested presence of people that live and breathe a sickening blend of high technology and high fashion. This can only have stunted Evvie's impressionable mind. Reaping those poisons from her, and helping her remember which elements of the world still hold meaning, could be quite an undertaking, but one I'm prepared to take on.

None of this matters though—unless I can get her back.

# Chapter Two

I'm on my feet again, leisurely descending the hill to give my outerwear time to dry and my mind the time it needs to process all that hassles it. Scenario one is least likely. I've never heard of it being granted, but it is within the realm of possibilities. In this odd chance, Evvie would be given a variance to live with me under Merideth's continued guardianship. If my sister is able to live under my care, it is more plausible that this would have been granted through scenario two. I would be allowed to legally adopt Evvie, putting the next four years of her life on my parenting account, in accordance with the law.

Everyone in Miles is allowed thirty-six combined years of parenting. I presume this to be uniform throughout the disjoint nation, but I guess I've never looked into it. This is just one piece of the finely printed details of the 2015 bill to contain population growth. Notice the wording. They didn't choose reduce or control, but contain. This broad and ambiguous wording was intentional. It did not prevent the government from immediately construing and enforcing a physical _and_ numerical boundary.

Adopting my little sister in accordance with scenario two would allow me to bear only one child of my own, if I ever decide to do so. Additionally, I could adopt and raise a four-year-old who has been orphaned, and whose otherwise willing relatives all already have two children. Similarly, I could foster three or four teenage girls, depending on their ages, until they turn eighteen. Doing this would eradicate their chances of facing the prevalent abuse that comes from male fosters that adopt young girls from the orphanage. I have considered adoption of this type to be a part of my future. I know what it's like to fear that fate.

It's a nonsensical and unjust system, especially for the unfortunate children who mourn the recent loss of their parents, and aren't allowed consolation and care from their loving relatives. Instead, the cold authority of the law requires these tragic children to be stuffed into the overcrowded orphanage. There, children wait to be handed over to any requesting guardian or foster, suitable or not.

My sister and I didn't have a single living relative left when my mom died, so the orphanage was as good a place as any for us. We didn't find the system quite as unforgiving as children who had relatives they could have lived with, if not for the law.

Scenario three is the status quo. Evvie continues to be the foster child of Merideth Layton and is not granted a variance to live with me. It's not what I'm hoping for, but Evvie would be plenty fortunate to live out her 'childhood' under Merideth's guardianship.

Merideth is safe, means well, and doesn't live terribly far from the transitions building in Sector Seven where I live. Merideth can also give Evvie a lot of worldly things that I can't dream of affording. Some of these things I would refuse to provide even if I could. To me, it's critical that Evvie grows stronger and wiser than the average inhabitant, and those traits aren't fostered by possessions from the trendy, technological, and media-infested world.

The fourth scenario is the one that I refuse to allow. This is only a possibility if for some reason Merideth forfeits her guardianship of Evvie, but the county does not transfer that guardianship to me. Such a situation would leave Evvie in the hands of Miles' governing body as she approaches a fragile age for orphaned girls. My stomach roils as I walk through the thickening forest. The slimy leadership looks the other way as despicable men adopt and either keep the girls to themselves or enslave them in underground brothels. That's a poison that no amount of love could erase from Evvie's heart. She would forever be a broken woman, assuming she could even get out at eighteen.

Such an adoption would undoubtedly be a closed one, where I'm not permitted an iota of knowledge about who has custody of my sister or in which sector she'll reside. These girls vanish underground. Their instruction monitors mark them truant, and eventually it's assumed they've dropped out of school. Evvie's TabFile rarely goes a few hours without an update, but it would sit untouched for days. Her friends would wonder, _What's up with Evvie lately?_ I would know.

I can't risk losing her like that. If that verdict is delivered today, I'll make sure she never leaves the orphanage unless it's with me under the glow of the moonlight. I have to be ready for anything.

I drag my damp clothes from the branch overhead and pull them on, turning my tenseness into a renewed will. I suck down the last of the water from my pack with an aspirin for my knotting stomach. I tuck the bottle back inside my pack, along with not much more than the flowering part of two sunflower plants that I picked at the foot of the hill.

I head toward a lake formerly called Spotted-Eagle, which is due west of my entrance pond. The circle around the south side of the lake is relaxed. With my shoes sticking in the muddy bank, I bend down and fill my bottle with water, and place the sunflowers inside. When I reach Spotted-Eagle's northwestern bank, I shut and reattach my pack.

The rotation of the cameras on EPA 7-8 and EPA 8-9 are shrewdly synced to maximize exposure outside the county's limits. When I first sense that I'm within viewing distance, I duck into the cover of tall, weedy growths that sideline the lake. I slowly creep through the brush; searching with my hands for the large stones I've laid to mark my crawling path.

Here it is. I have transformed the former home of a pocket gopher or a large rodent to stow a pair of binoculars. The binoculars are needed to outwit the cameras and to check for early morning occupants of the street. I check for people and cars first. There are none. Next, I spy on the 7-8 camera to my right. I nod my head to count the seconds as I scan across to the 8-9 camera. After calculating, I replace the binoculars and bury them shallowly. The timing game begins again.

I dart short distances, carefully angling my body behind grasses, bushes, and scattered clusters of young larch, ash, and aspen that aim to add to the effectiveness of the electric barrier. I suppose they have thickened and grown, but they're nothing impressive compared to the forestry surrounding my exiting point.

I'm careful to turn this way and that as to avoid the view of both cameras as I approach the only bur oak I've ever encountered. It stands tall and sturdy amid the two EPA buildings, with two overarching, parallel branches that reach into Miles.

By the time I arrive at my reentry oak, I've regained plenty of strength to climb to the lower of the twin branches. Aware of the watchful eyes that are alert even at this hour, I wrap my arms high around the tree and raise my right foot to a knot that sits at my naval. I pull myself up the tree and quickly change my hold. This is the pinnacle of the excursion. I unwrap my arms and clench grips of bark with just my shaking fingertips. Dropping my head, I push through the seconds until I can release my tortured fingers from their narrow holds at my shoulders. My arms envelop the trunk again, but there's not a moment to recover. The next and final branch of the climb has to be done with haste, yet precision.

My final foothold to mount the lower branch faces town. I quickly power up and around to it and hoist myself up to grapple tackle the chest-level limb. Swinging atop it, I use the trunk to stand—my feet now elevated about eight feet above ground. I take hold of the higher branch at my rib cage to steady myself as I jut toward Miles County.

With each stride outward, the bottom branch sags more under my weight. Just before the inner ring of the electric barrier, I begin to endure pulsating shocks as my chip advances toward the consuming underground wire that drives the force field. There's no time for timidity as I dart across the thinning and warping strength of the oak's limbs.

I know I'm across the barrier once my fingertips no longer reach the top branch. My feet are the only surfaces connecting me to the oak, but I don't fret over poor their balance for as soon as my hands are free, I confidently step backward off the branch. Both hands firmly grab the lower branch as I fall, and hang on for just an instant to slow my decent and save my heels.

After a bit of a tumble, I stand tall, check the camera and the street, brush my palms against my pant legs, and release a sigh of relief. From Sector Eight where I've landed, I round off today's run with a light trot back to the transitional-living center in Sector Seven.

My building is as dormant two hours later as it was when I crept out before daybreak. There are still no passersby to concern me while I retrieve my key from under the ceiling tile. I head inside, lay my pack on the floor, and squelch off my wet shoes. I head to the bathroom to rally through a cold shower that will wash the evidence of the earth from my hair and fingernails.

Afterward, I draw on a silky, simple black dress that belonged to my mother. She had only worn it once, to my grandmother's funeral service. It feels crisp and stiff, and reminds me why I hate dressing up. I wasn't made to belong in the city. This dress is all I own that can attempt to transform me into the presentable, responsible young adult that I need to be in front of the judge this afternoon.

For good measure, I extract a small jewelry box from my rickety, top dresser drawer. From under the delicate lid, I remove a strand of Tahitian pearls that also belonged to my mother. I clasp them around my neck, and poke in the matching earrings. Examining myself in the full-length mirror that lazily rests against the side of the dresser, I find that I do appear a little older, and certainly more financially secure, in this sleek attire with my hair tucked into a low barrette. I feel uncomfortable, and look strangely foreign to myself, but this appearance can only help my case.

I think about eating, but I'm too nervous to muster an appetite. It may come all on its own in a half an hour or so. I'm usually famished about an hour after a hard run.

My body is still tired, and desperately wants to flop across my bed, but instead I sit neatly on the edge, being careful not to wrinkle the dress.

This time, my tablet unlocks readily when I open it and press my thumb to the scanner. Oddly, I'm a little disappointed that it doesn't ask for my typed and oral password. Maybe my tablet boycott over the last few days was feeding an underlying desire to say my father's name. My stubbornness was certainly meant to further escape from reality until today, when I need to be present and focused for Evvie.

I still don't bother listening to any of the older messages of which I'm again notified. They're all too predictable. The first one I _delete permanently_ is from my instruction monitor, likely to nag me about fulfillment of my weekly EduWeb hour quota. I agonized through a few hours on Monday, but completed none while my tablet hibernated the rest of the week.

Another of the older messages is from Evvie, probably just to check on me in her sweet, motherly way. She worries about me living all alone just as much as I worry about her living apart from me. There are three new messages from Merideth, which is atypical, but understandable with the trial being this afternoon. I'm sure one, if not two, of those are to remind me about meeting at the coffee shop next to the courthouse at ten o'clock this morning. I'll see her soon enough and I'll deal with listening to her then, when I absolutely have to.

The three additional missed messages that weren't there at four o'clock this morning gravely concern me. While I was out I received a _no subject_ call from Evelette Harter at 4:37 AM. At 5:11 AM, she called again, adding _urgent_ to the description. At 5:56 AM, Evvie left another urgent message. I tap this notice and listen intently, my heart beginning to race.

"Sydney?" Immediately my heart caves as I listen to my sister's tearful tone. "I can't sleep. I'm worried about tomorrow." Today, she should have said. She was probably hopeful at that time that she'd fall asleep and rise after the sun, making it feel like a new day. There's a long pause, followed by a carefully whispered message. "Think of a way that I can talk to you even if I don't get to come with you. Meri can't know, only you. It's extremely important, Syd. Try to figure something out... I can't."

"Call Evelette Harter," I tell my tablet more urgently and less carefully than Evvie was wise to sound.

"Calling Evelette Harter, Yes?" it asks aloud.

"No. Cancel call," I command.

"Canceling call, Yes?"

"Yes," I confirm. I don't want to wake Evvie if she's managed to fall asleep, but that's not the main reason I change my mind about returning her call. I can't give into by my instincts, which scream for me to call my little sister, to see what's bothering her, and to tell her that I'll make everything all right. Believing that freedom of speech exists is a costly mistake. I need to take time to consider my reaction to Evvie's call. I also want her to trust that I have a plan when she does hear from me, and the best way to convince her of that is to figure one out.

Before now, I hadn't considered that Evvie might have a desire to escape should none of the first three scenarios be granted. She has no idea that I already plan to steal her away from the orphanage and attempt to get out of Miles if scenario four is her fate. This might be a suicide plan, but like that day two years ago when I first made the jump, what choice do I have?

Veering from my EduWeb requirements, I once read an article on the Internet about a refugee who tried to escape into the mountains surrounding his county. The article didn't say which, but there is a prominent mountain range within Region Two, so he could have been an escapee from a neighboring county. This man must be really smart and crafty, or he must have been that way if he's no longer alive.

He allegedly jumped the barrier and booked it toward the distant mountain, which is much farther off than the close cover I'm lucky to have surrounding Miles. The article's daring writer almost highlighted the man's genius and bravery. The picture showed a stout Mexican-American man with a beaming smile. It was captioned: _Rico Aves, a Man for True Freedom_.

I spent some time looking for archived articles by the same newspaper or magazine, whichever it was. I also searched for information on the history of the free man. In both fields, I found nothing, not a single trace of this Rico Aves or the source that glorified him. An hour later, when I thought of something else to search, the domain of the article produced no results. The site had been blocked or disabled.

I have two theories regarding this man, and since this is the only escapee attempt I've ever heard of, I guess it's appropriate to say that I have two theories regarding all refugees. One theory is that Rico Aves was tracked and sent for. Some secretive, special task force captured him and he either remains in their custody still, or is dead, and that's why nothing of his history can be found.

My second theory is that the government was paying no special attention to this man. He escaped easily, and was welcomed into the neighboring nation to the north. In this theory, Rico Aves smiles to encourage me. He invites me to join him in _true freedom_.

I can't know which theory is true, but I hope for the latter. My plan stands. I don't have proof of a single case where someone has escaped and made it, but that doesn't deter me. I would rather us both be dead then chance Evvie being abused or enslaved underground. I won't sit powerlessly as somewhere, by the hand of someone, Evvie cries for help.

I need a way to guardedly detail my plan out for her, should the worst happen.

# Chapter Three

"I have to tell you something important, okay sweetie?" says the woman with dark gray hair pulled into a long, low ponytail. She goes on when the little girl smiles and gives a modest nod. "It breaks my heart to make you grow up so fast, but it doesn't seem I've been given any choice." She crouches even lower and leans in to hold both tiny hands in hers. "Have you ever noticed how you don't see very old people around, sweetheart?" she begins.

The little girl with long, shiny locks twists her face and says, "I see old people, Grandma." She tosses her wavy, flowing hair that has just been brushed by a warm, loving hand over her shoulder. "Like you," she adds brightly to the not-so-old woman.

The grandmother allows a little laugh to arise from her heart but, just as suddenly, her cheer is erased. A perplexing tear strolls down the woman's cheek. The little girl doesn't ask what is wrong, but squeezes the woman's hands and waits until she is ready to carry on. "Not too long ago, people lived a lot longer than they do today. Some people used to live to be a hundred years old, sometimes even older!" she exclaims. The little girl is interested in this subject, but doesn't understand why teaching this new information pains her grandmother. "But then our president and the other people that help to make laws decided that as people get older, they begin to cost too much money."

"Why do they cost more money?" the little girl wonders.

"Well, sometimes they get sick and it costs money to make the medicines that can make them better."

"Can't they work at a job to get money?" the astute child asks.

"Well, that's just it, sweetie," the woman smiles and taps the girl on the nose. She's so proud of her little granddaughter. "When people get really old their mind and body slow down because of all the work they've had to do in their long life. When I was as young as you, the government helped people save money while they got older to help pay for their food, home, and medicines when they couldn't work anymore. But now, our nation has decided it would be better if people didn't live so long."

"So that they wouldn't have to hurt?"

"Something like that, sweetie."

"Well, what did they do, Grandma?" asks the concerned child, already predicting a worrisome answer.

"Well sweetie, the people who make the laws worked together with doctors to find a way for the old people to leave the world very peacefully, before most of them are old enough to get very sick or have much hurt."

Suddenly, the little girl isn't so brave. Tears overtake her small face as she buries herself in her grandmother's lap. "You're not going to let them take you away, are you, Grandma? You can't leave us!" The desperate pleas of the helpless child prove to be too much for her grandmother. The tears escape her too, but she fights to hold in the anger and the revulsion in order to be strong for the sake of the child.

"I wish I could stay forever, sweetheart. I wish I could see you and your sister grow into the strong, beautiful women that I know you will become. I wish I could see your mother get healthy again." The tears try to choke off her words, but she forces them out. "But, you see, last night was my last Friday night sleepover with you and your sister, and sweetheart," she places her hand on the shoulder of the little girl and smiles, "it was one of the best days of my life. I get to leave this world with warm memories of baking cookies and painting flowers with my two favorite people in the world."

"I don't want you to go!" the child protests as her heart boils and her face floods. She pulls her grandma's arms around her and buries her head into her chest as she begs, "Just tell them you don't feel sick. Tell them you want to stay a little longer." She closes her eyes tightly and wishes that it were a nightmare. But already the little girl knows better than hoping for happiness in her life. She knows there are no exceptions to the unchallengeable laws.

"I know, sweetheart, I know." The woman strokes and kisses the distraught and fragile girl's hair as the child clings to her tightly. A few more tears slide from her weary eyes before she finds the strength to make a final request of her beloved grandchild.

"Sydney?" She looks down to where I'm still clinging to her, not ready to come away and meet the eyes I love so much as she tells me that this is the last time I will see her. "Sydney," she tries again, this time gently pulling my chin from her chest. "I need you to do me one last favor, okay?" My grandma can see that I can't handle this. How can she ask me, a mere child, to let go of the one I love most, the unyielding presence in my life? Her next words seem sharper than the rest in the memory, and I never let them go.

"Sydney Harter, I know it will be hard, but you have no choice other than to be the bravest girl there ever was. You have to be brave so that you and Evvie can grow up strong. Grandpa and I, your dad, and Grandma and Grandpa Harter, want to look down on you and smile because of how proud you've made us." She waits. My wails have subsided to sobs, but the pain hasn't lessened any. "You want to make all of us proud, right honey?"

"Yes," I reply shakily. It took so much to utter that single word because with it came the acknowledgement that I had only begun learning hardship.

"Good, sweetheart. Good girl," she soothes. "What I need you to do is try your very hardest to take care of your sister. Be good all the time and try to help your mom when she seems sick." Grandma's eyes enlarge and she squeezes my hand more tightly. "Never _ever_ tell anyone about your mom's sickness, even if it seems like they are trying to help. Can you be a big girl and do those things for me, sweetheart?" I nod that I can, although I don't believe it, and empty my heart in her lap for the last time.

I wake pained with the recollection and tears form at the corners of my eyes. I quietly dab them away. Against all odds, sleep finally came on the high-speed rail, or HSR, as I traveled the short ride toward the center of Miles.

It feels incredibly cramped to me in the small rail car, but everyone else seems plenty comfortable. Most are dressed professionally, fitting the archetype, and appear on their routine commute to work. The majority of Miles' population is accustomed to taking the HSR or walking everywhere, as each are only allowed to travel a total of five miles by personal electric car every even day for females and every odd day for males. If you drive or ride in a car on a day not assigned to you, or if you go over your daily limit, the car is stopped by remote satellite and you're left stranded. Additionally, you're unmistakably charged costly fines.

I tried my hardest to make my grandmother proud, but my bad luck caught up with me four years after my grandma was mercilessly put to death. I was headed to a grocery store on the northeastern side of Miles. I knew better than to visit the same stores too frequently. There are certain things that people become suspicious of before machines detect the peculiarities, like a tiny child consistently buying groceries for the family.

Somehow, when paying the fare to board the high-speed rail, my wrist wasn't scanned, and therefore my transportation limits were not temporarily disabled. Whatever governmental body watches for these deviances shut the rail down dead in its tracks when the computer database showed that the implanted chip of a female was traveling at a speed over twenty miles per hour on an odd day.

When the two investigators arrived on scene, they asked me a few questions. My lack of an answer to the very first question disclosed my secret. The lead investigator had asked me if I was alone on the rail, and where my guardian was. His partner seemed especially agitated, and was looking uneasily up and down the rows of passengers. I stared blankly at the man who had asked the question and apologized to my grandmother in my head.

Finally, the agitated man returned to their squad car. Along with waste management construction, and distribution vehicles, squad cars are larger and follow a hybrid design so they can travel at great speeds.

Thinly veiled complaints and eye rolling spread through the passengers. They were much more worried about getting to their workplaces on time than they were about a lonely twelve-year-old girl with far too much responsibility on her shoulders. Reacting to their needs, the lead officer dictated for his tablet to send a message to transportation to enable HSR Five to run again. I was placed in the back of the squad car as the HSR car sped away.

The drones crowding the railcar today remind me of the people who were riding the one that was stopped that day six years ago. I had searched their blank eyes for help, or any recognition that I was a person, and not just an annoyance delaying their morning commute.

I wonder if any of this morning's passengers are regulars that take this same railcar at this same time each day. You would never guess it if they are. None speak or even smile hello to one another. One older gentleman looks out the window, but the rest are focused on their tablets. They're reading, texting, playing games, and many appear to be working already on their short ride in. Why not when they have the accessibility to do so? These people are unaware of how ignorant they are, and what a deep, impenetrable sleep they are in.

When the railcar slows as it enters the exact center of Miles, I'm the first one on my feet and out of the car and railway station. The memory and its lasting impression were suffocating me.

I know today to be another beautiful, late summer day from my outing early this morning, but I appreciate this in secret. I fall in stride among the masses of distant people in the heart of the city and feel the day around me from their perspective. The air is still heavy with moisture, but here it's stuffed with the odors of business byproduct. The towering buildings, smashed unbelievably close together, heavily hinder the sunlight's potential. If the unsociable group on the railway this morning is a small-scale version of society, I imagine workers may know the people behind the outer office windows of adjacent buildings as well as they know their own coworkers.

I spot Merideth sitting next to the turquoise glass pane inside the coffee shop. My heart skips and then pounds a succession of quick, irregular beats when I notice Evvie is not with her.

# Chapter Four

"Happy birthday, Sydney," Merideth greets excitedly. This annoys me. I don't view my birthday in the same sense that Merideth does. Because I'm eighteen, today is the day that my application for guardianship of my sister can finally be tried. That's the importance of today. Merideth's wish shows that even though I'm eighteen, she sees this birthday as my special day, a day that comes just once per year where it's all about celebrating me. I hope it is a happy birthday. What may be worth celebrating today is not something as futile as adding a year to my age.

"Where's Evvie?" I ask, without thanking Merideth or acknowledging her greeting at all. My eyes are scanning the coffee shop for a five-six, fourteen-year-old girl with long, light brown hair with a hard-to-accept splash of lime green. I don't see her.

I suppose that's fine. I'm actually a little bit relieved now that I'm teetering with the decision to attempt escape given scenario four is the judge's verdict. I waver back and forth, knowing that should she reenter the orphanage today, she could just as easily stay in the orphanage or be adopted by another acceptable person like Merideth. And then what need would there be to risk our lives?

"She wouldn't get out of bed this morning when I tried to wake her. I suppose she probably didn't sleep much. I'm sorry, Sydney."

Her apology aims to point out that Evvie chose sleeping, in her house, over coming along this morning where she'd have the chance to see me. I know that Evvie skipped her overnight last week because of her new hairstyle. I suppose Merideth didn't know the reason, and is now reading way too much into Evvie's decision not to come again this morning.

Could she really think that my sister prefers being with her to being with me? The proof for me lies right in the fact that Merideth had to _suppose_ that Evvie did not sleep well last night. I know it for certain. I wish I could sting Merideth with that fact, but Evvie's direction was very clear: _Meri can't know_.

"It'll be good for just the two of us to talk, anyway," Merideth says. _Why?_ Evvie is fourteen years old and very mature for her age. She's not a child. She knows all the options for today as well as anyone. There's nothing to keep from her. "Would you like something to drink?" Merideth offers.

"No thanks. I don't drink coffee."

"What about a smoothie or tea? They have an amazing herbal tea that I think you would really..."

"I'm not thirsty," I interrupt. What does she know about me? My stomach muscles are tense and my jaw is equally sore from clenching my teeth. _Relax_. She didn't mean anything by it. Maybe I'm reading too much into it as well.

I definitely feel animosity toward Merideth because she gets to spend every day with my sister, who I rarely get to see. But this isn't her fault. I should be grateful for all she's done for Evvie and here I am snapping at her every word. Now I feel bad for being rude, but I'm too stubborn to apologize. Instead, I wait for Merideth to try again, which I know she will.

"Look, Sydney. I care a lot about Evvie. I do," she insists when I don't look up from the sticky coffee stain on the bleach-white table. "I'm hoping for the best for her, which I think is going to be living with you _in light of recent events._ "

I'm again insulted that Merideth doesn't wholly identify Evvie coming to live with me as being unmistakably best for her. I raised her for twelve years of her life to Merideth's two. How could I not be exactly what is best for her? Then for the same reason that I became angry about her comment, that she hasn't seen me raise my sister, I let it go. She must only imagine what damage could have come from a small child trying to raise herself and a toddler under the influence, though slight, of a qualified lunatic. She never had the opportunity to see how well I did.

I reluctantly bring my eyes to meet Merideth's, and watch perplexedly as a tear slowly leaks from her eye. I revisit her last words. What did she mean by in light of recent events? Clearly I should have been listening to the latter part of her statement rather than allowing myself to be caught up by something not so significant. Could these recent events that Merideth is alluding to explain why Evvie was so upset in her message?

"You didn't get my messages, did you?" _I did. Three of them_ , I think. But I didn't listen to any. Clearly that was a mistake. Merideth reads that I'm clueless and continues, "Sydney," she sighs, "my sister passed away."

Here I am getting angry over Merideth's every comment while she suffers the loss of the closest person to her. "I'm sorry, Merideth." This time it's Merideth who stares absently at the table. "When? I thought she was getting better."

"So did the doctors. And then out of nowhere, she went," she says, shrugging to make it easier on her. "It was just on Wednesday."

Suddenly I understand what this means, why Merideth called multiple times to tell me this. "Where will your nieces go?" I ask.

"That's what I wanted to tell you, Sydney." I'm sorry now that I chose not to check those messages. "I am going to adopt Brynn. I've already applied for her. My sister's brother-in-law and his wife are taking Mada, the little one. I had hoped they would adopt both girls, to keep them together and to give more options to Evvie, but with the girls being so young, they would have to give up having a child of their own. I can't blame them for wanting to hold onto that. I don't even have enough years left on my account after fostering four kids to keep Brynn until she's an adult. It sickens me already, but I'll be forced to give her up to the orphanage when she's fifteen."

That sickens me too. It's disgusting that anyone with a perfectly good family or guardians should have to live in the orphanage, with the county's hope that couples or singles will choose to foster instead of having their own children. All to shave a number off the population count.

It's absolutely repulsive that Merideth could raise little Brynn so wonderfully, just to turn her over to only God knows what when she's just a bit older than Evvie. Merideth's recognition of what can befall a young orphaned girl helps me to make up my mind. With scenarios one and three now out of the picture, I'll fight like mad to obtain scenario two, full guardianship of Evvie. If it's denied and scenario four, that my teenage sister goes back to the orphanage, is the delivered verdict, I'll do anything to get her out, and we'll run together.

"I told the girls about you," Merideth says. She pauses to wait for my attention. "I wanted to inspire them to be brave, so I told them your story, what I know of it." I don't think she can know much of it, since I've tried to keep many parts even from Evvie. I suppose no secrets will be left undiscovered by the end of the case this afternoon.

"I'm glad they have you, Merideth," I tell her. It's true, but I'm also sick over the limitations to my sister's options. I hope this conversation comes to a close. I don't want to be here. I want to leave. I don't care to where. I just need to be by myself to digest everything and to plan a stronger case. I have to be liked by the judge and seen as a suitable guardian. There is no alternative.

"Me too. It's still not easy to see them have to go through this, but I can't imagine..." she leaves the rest unsaid. I can. I don't have to imagine. Evvie and I went through it.

"You're going to make a great mom." _Guardian_ , I correct in my head. I'm not going to be Evvie's mom. It irritates me that she considers Evvie a little girl. She's not. She just alluded to what Evvie and I have been through. No one stays a child through that. "I'm not talking about being Evvie's mom," Merideth continues, seeming to read my thoughts. "I'm sorry to take more of your already small potential family away."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not going to have any kids," I tell her. "And you're not doing it, they are." Merideth's face reddens at my boldness and she gives me a disapproving look. I'm not sure whether she's more troubled by her own tie to where I just moved the conversation, or the fact that she's hoping to hand Evvie over to my care, and here I am speaking slanderous words freely. Both probably contribute to her frustration with me.

"It may seem imperfect at times, but it helps ensure a future for all of us." At first I thought Merideth was providing the cover that I don't care to fabricate, but I sense some sincerity in her words.

"Do you know everything you're going to say to the judge to campaign for Evvie?" Merideth asks as she pulls her opened and running tablet from her purse and sets it on the shiny table. I wonder how many minutes of inactivity she has set her preferences to allow before her tablet goes to sleep. In Merideth's world, you just never know when you are going to need it, and God forbid it not be ready that same instant.

Merideth waits expectantly for me to tell her everything I've prepared, every detail that has been floating around in my head the last few days. She acts as if she wants to help me plan but I see through that to her desire to edit my tongue. Merideth does love my sister, and she doesn't want to see her back in the orphanage any more than I do, but I don't want Merideth's help. Evvie's my sister, and I'm going to handle this myself.

"I have to think about that, now that my options have changed," I say carefully. I don't want Merideth to become sensitive or to somehow feel that she's caused this predicament by adopting her niece. I may not particularly like her, but I would never want her to feel guilty for making that choice. She has a responsibility to family. I understand that very well.

"Well, you have a little over an hour," she says, glancing down at the time on her tablet before returning it to her purse in the same way she found it. "Call me if you need anything. Evvie and I will see you at the courthouse at noon."

My eyes lock on the coffee stain on the table again. Meredith lingers for a moment, awaiting an official goodbye, but I don't offer any, or acknowledge her departure.

I watch her cross the street and head toward the rail station. When I'm sure she's not looking back at the translucent windows of the coffee shop, I slide out my tablet. I filter through the contents of my small bag to find my smart pen. I only purchased it a little over a year ago, but already it is an anomaly amongst tablet accessories. Most use speech-to-text technology or perhaps short-text if they want to type to keep their thoughts confidential. For me, there is something therapeutic about placing the pen on the screen and forming letters. I have more success organizing my thoughts this way.

I also take pride in the fact that I know the proper strokes for writing letters by hand, and can do so quite legibly. Before it became too old to find any longer, I used a tablet pen that intelligently studied my writing strokes to predict the letters, and then the words, that I was writing. It created a font unique to me. Instead, this pen automatically changes my writing into one standard, preset font to make communication more universal. Just what the world needs, more technological monotony and less creative expression.

My tablet isn't succeeding in deciphering my markings, which aren't letters at all, but simple lines, curves, and dots as I try to muster an outline of my plan.

"Ah! Oh, that's just great, look what you did!" An overly-made-up woman is turned and yelling at a teenage girl who stands with her back to the lady as she waits in line at the brewer and talks with her friends. She is wearing a large backpack, which I presume to have bumped and upset the woman's space as she was holding her tall thermos under the brewer to fill.

"I'm so sorry. I'll get you another one," the young girl offers, moving her wrist toward the scanner at the side of the brewer.

"Yeah, well, you should pay for both orders, and atonement for the burn I'm going to have on my arm." The veins in the woman's neck are bulging as she exaggeratedly wipes coffee from her arm with a wad of napkins.

"I'm really, really sorry," the girl repeats. "I can transfer money to you if you want."

"I doubt you're thirteen, and I don't have the time to wait for you to explain your carelessness to your parents so they can approve the funds. I guess it's your lucky day," the woman snarls.

"I am thirteen," the girl states as she bashfully extends her arm, palm side up, toward the fuming woman, "...and my parents don't have to approve my transactions," she responds nervously.

I'm suddenly reminded of an old film that my mom used to watch where a woman teaches her friend how to politely reach for her purse, which then carried credit cards and paper money, but to take too long fussing over finding the money so that the man would offer to pay. There was no such thing happening here. When the girl stretched out her hand, she sincerely intended to offer payment for her accidental bump into the foul woman.

The woman continues to gripe about the spill as she turns and scans her own wrist for another double serving of coffee.

No longer in the mood to order their own beverages, the girl and her two friends make their way toward the door, one mocking the woman to her red-cheeked friend, and the other speech-to-texting the ordeal as her new status on her TabFile, the principal social profile linking all tablet users.

"Don't check it; it's just me," the updater tells her friends as their tablets alert them that a friend within their circle has just updated their status. Through the turquoise glass doors I watch each of them pull out and unfold their tablets anyway, speaking their way through icons as they cross the street. Moments later, they are reading, or listening to, their friends' update and laughing girlishly.

# Chapter Five

"Good afternoon. Please be seated." My document from the county indicates that the Honorable Judge Lera Sutton will provide over my case. She didn't waste a moment of time to distinguish her honorability. "We will begin our proceedings with a statement from Miss Harter." She is shorter than I pictured, and emits no signs of arrogance despite her status. "Miss Harter, what do you request the county do with Miss Evelette Harter, now that you are eighteen years of age?"

What do I want them to _do_ with my sister? Judge Sutton didn't ask what home, or even residence, I thought would be best for her. It was a bit cold to ask it the way she did, but I understand that she hears cases like ours regularly. I also recognize that the system we live under is harsh and that home is a fleeting term for orphans. Those facts make ' _what do you ask we do with her_ ' just as an appropriate way to word it as any. I respect Judge Sutton's no-nonsense disposition, and the direct tone with which she is speaking to me. Eighteen is in fact an important number to her. She intends to treat me as an adult.

"It is my request that Miles County grant me full guardianship of my sister."

"Miss Harter, I have spent time looking over your case, but for the record," Judge Sutton motions toward the device converting and storing our oral proceedings into Miles' courthouse database, "why should the county grant you this right?" Judge Sutton turns and looks at me, really looks at me for the first time. "In other words, please explain why you are fit for this role," she says with more attention and a softness I did not expect her to possess. "And do be detailed," she adds with brevity and unfamiliarity again.

"I've been responsible for Evvie since before she was born. My father died before I turned four years old. My mother had just become pregnant with Evvie. She never recovered from his death, and was unfit to properly care for herself and the unborn Evvie during her pregnancy," I state.

"Please elaborate on that, Miss Harter. How did she exhibit this unfitness?" Judge Sutton requires.

"My mother used to be normal. Loving. Functional." I can't help providing this seemingly irrelevant information, but I want the judge to see that my mother's insanity was acute, and brought on by tragedy. It was not chronic. Chronic mental instability is often regarded as an inheritable trait. I don't want the judge to entertain that thought.

"After my father died, my mother fell into a deep depression and suffered from mental illness. The doctors explained that she could not overcome the emotional pain of the loss of my father, and so she created and clung to alternate scenarios in order to blame someone for his death. She convinced herself of various conspiracies and could no longer perform the most elementary life functions for herself or her dependents."

"Now, I understand that this mental illness wasn't professionally diagnosed for eight years after your father's passing. Are you sure your mother was mentally ill beforehand?"

I am overwhelmingly sure. If only Judge Sutton had seen her, even once, she'd have her proof. Prudently, I answer, "Yes Your Honor, I am sure. The symptoms of her mental illness were immediate. My mother talked about how the government had murdered my father and she spoke of a plan to run away from Miles. She was irrational, constantly panicked, and never conscious of how her actions were affecting her children."

"You were awfully little to remember that clearly. About four years old, right?" Judge Sutton asks skeptically.

"I don't remember details, but I do remember my mother fighting with my grandma all the time over these conversations. I remember that my mother would wake me up in the dead of night to tell me that we were running away. This happened about once a week during her first and second trimesters. I can clearly remember crying and begging her to wait until after the baby was born."

"Okay, well enough. How about after Evvie was born?"

"Actually, my mother was a bit more stable for a while. I guess the demands of a newborn pulled her focus back. I suppose she was very sleep deprived, and when she had a spare moment, she learned to rest rather than scheme."

"So she took care of you as well as the baby during this time?"

"Yes."

"And how long did this period last?"

"The hysteria set in again when Evvie was about four months old. I remember the day I noticed it was back. We were pushing Evvie in the stroller around the perimeter in Sector Seven, when she left the stroller and ran toward the barrier. She reached out and let the barrier send shocks through her." It was easy to relive this memory, vividly, as I relayed it to the judge.

"Momma! What are you doing?" I'm shouting at her.

"Sh!" she scolds. "Come here, Sydney," she says as she pulls me in close. She squats down and takes my right arm in her two hands. "Listen, baby doll. You, Evelette, and I aren't safe here. I listened to you, sweetheart. I waited until your sister was born. She has grown strong and healthy now. We can't waste any more time here. Come here, Sydney."

I continue to explain the memory to Judge Sutton. "With my arm still in her grasp, my mother began to pull me toward the barrier. I remember crying and protesting. I remember her shushing me and yelling at me to be quiet, but by then Evvie was wailing in the stroller behind us too. She dragged me to the barricade anyway, and without warning, thrust my arm and hers across the line." I look up to see Judge Sutton listening carefully, but without empathy for the little girl whose insane mother abused her through electric shock.

"This happened time after time, and one day my mother slapped me for yelling for help beforehand. At my birthday party that year, I told my grandma and grandpa on my mother's side. I told them what she had been doing and how she said she was preparing me to cross through the barrier." I remember my grandma crying and holding me. I remember feeling so safe in her arms but also so bad for making her cry. I wonder if her tears were more for the daughter she had lost than for the pain that I had suffered by that daughter's hand.

"Yet your grandparents chose not to report this abuse, or your mother's insane and/or rebellious thoughts to the authorities," Judge Sutton points out.

"No, ma'am. My grandparents did not want to see my sister and me orphaned."

"And what do you think of this misstep, Sydney?"

_That's a loaded question, and leading_. "I don't challenge the decision they made. After my experience in the orphanage and with a foster, I'm glad they didn't report my mother's state." Judge Sutton eyes me intently. "I can't be held responsible for condoning their decision then, or even now, as it worked out to be truly best for my family. But that doesn't mean that I don't take mental illness, abuse, and perimeter breaching seriously," I stress, lying about the last item.

"Thank you for your clarification, Miss Harter," Judge Sutton says. She jots some quick markings on her tablet, making no indication that my words have convinced her. I hope I haven't extinguished my chance of obtaining guardianship of Evvie. "You may continue, if you have more examples of how you were your sister's primary caretaker while you both lived with your mother."

"From 2020 through 2024, Evvie and I spent all of our hours at our grandma's."

"Miss Harter, are you referring to the forty hours per week that each individual is allowed away from their legal place of residence?"

"Yes," I confirm. We stayed from early Friday morning until late Saturday night. I always called the piece of the duplex Grandma's, because I only knew my grandpa for a short time. He was older than my grandma, and so his date came up when I was very little. "My grandma taught me how to cook, clean, change diapers, potty train, and anything else that I needed to know how to do in order to take care of my sister and myself while we were at home the rest of the week. My mother had also neglected her own needs, so I took care of her as well."

"After my grandma's euthanization in 2024, and as Evvie grew up, I took on other responsibilities that my grandmother had done for us, like grocery shopping. I made sure Evvie put in her hours on EduWeb each week. Sometimes I would research home remedies if someone fell ill. We were too young to go to the doctor on our own, and we surely couldn't bring our mother with. She had difficultly going minutes without garbling conspiracy theories. I became fully responsible for our family's well-being. I didn't do it all perfectly, but I did it well enough for us to make it."

"While I uphold that your grandmother's decision to teach you to hide and cheat was not in your best interest, I do acknowledge and respect _your_ efforts in following what you believed to be right _at the time_." Her emphasis heightens my worry that Judge Sutton has a way of seeing through me. She seems to sense my forbidden despise for the nation's set-up and the leaders who made it this way.

"Miss Harter," the judge continues, "when and how did this charade end?" I suppose this is when I have to explain my blunder, what led to the two of us always wondering where our next makeshift home would be, or more worrisome, who it would be shared with.

"In 2027, a light-rail driver missed my wrist when scanning for fares. We hit twenty miles per hour and I was found out. They took me home, assessed my mother, and took us all into custody."

"Please summarize your role as Evelette's caretaker, beginning in 2027 when your mother's longtime illness was finally diagnosed and dealt with."

_Dealt with_ —another stab in wording delivered by Judge Sutton. I feel less forgiving about her choice of words this time, as she has read my case and knows exactly how my mother's mental illness was _dealt with_. Poorly. She lived in cramped, eerie quarters amongst other ill patients who fed into her delusions. She saw a therapist only one day a week, though she was undoubtedly unstable for all seven, and was only allowed a visit from us once per month. Our mother was substantially worse the first time we went to see her. So much so, that Evvie refused to visit at the end of our mother's second month. But for this I am glad, because that is when I alone found my mother dead on the tile floor of her living space, completely barren, except for the picture of our family that Evvie had drawn her the month before.

I take a few moments and a deep breath to forget that image and collect myself. "We were in the orphanage from December 2027 to January 2030. We were treated well, but I still felt most responsible for staying on top of, and attending to, Evvie's schooling and behavior."

"Was that difficult?"

"No. Evvie enjoys learning and most subjects come easily for her. She has always listened to me, so behavior was not a concern, but I suppose that's because I enforced behaving so well."

I can only think of two times in Evvie's life when she did not do what I asked of her. She stayed behind at the orphanage when I went to visit our mom at the end of her second month in the institution. Then there was the time Evvie wouldn't leave the orphanage with her new foster, Trista. That's funny. Both of the times that she disobeyed me, it turned out for the better. I am the parental figure, but maybe her intuition is better than mine.

"Tell me about your stay with the foster," Judge Sutton pushes the proceedings' pace.

I see a flashback of Evvie's tear-flooded face. She's pulling at my shirt and begging the dark-haired stranger, not more than thirty, and me to listen to her. Those tears saved her from the damage that could have been caused when Trista adopted us after our first year in the orphanage.

Trista had two years left on her parenting account, and decided to adopt each of us for a year. She wasn't the type to be doing this from the goodness of her heart, but rather for the tax cut—only I couldn't tell that then. Her together and loving personality that day was a veneer hiding the destructive person she was. I had begged her to take Evvie only for two years instead of taking both of us for one. I wanted something better for Evvie, and misread that Trista could be it. But, like a blessing in disguise, Evvie wouldn't comply with the separation. She cried and begged me not to leave her the same way that I had begged my grandma. But unlike my grandma, I had a choice in the matter. I hope I never have to see her cry like that again.

Trista was a dangerous, raging alcoholic—who never recovered from the loss of her son or the pain that caused her and her husband to split. What little money she did have, she spent on booze, not our necessities. But, again, I was there to protect and provide for Evvie. A year later instead of two, we were thrilled to be back in the orphanage, eating, bathing, and dressing properly. We liked having our own beds again too. We were much too grown to be sharing, and even after a full year, I still felt uncomfortable sleeping in her deceased son's bed.

"We were both fostered for a year when I was fourteen and Evvie was ten," I tell Judge Sutton. "We were less taken care of there than we were in the orphanage. In that situation, I also gained another responsibility that I hadn't had before, even back when we were living with our mother. I was responsible for protecting Evvie. Our guardian, Trista, drank nonstop and was very unstable. It was typical for her to slam and throw things around the house, sometimes directed at nothing in particular, and sometimes at us."

"I assume you stepped in to protect your sister in these instances."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And what did that mean for you, Sydney?" It's the first time Judge Sutton addressed me by my first name. She didn't make eye contact when she asked the question, as if she didn't want to fully let in what she knew I was going to say.

"It meant getting hurt."

"Go on," Judge Sutton says, peeking above the rim of her eyeglasses. She gives me a look to encourage and comfort me, but I don't need it. I don't have difficulty talking about this, but it seems people have difficulty hearing it. I know I'm going to receive an unwanted shower of sympathy from Meredith, who I'm guessing hasn't heard this before, unless Evvie has told her.

"Mostly just slapped. Evvie too, but never more than once. I would push, hit, or kick Trista until her anger was diverted from Evvie and focused on me. Those instances usually meant getting pushed to the ground, held down, slapped, hit, or pulled around."

"Were there any severe beatings that you experienced?" Judge Sutton prods. I had hoped the application would save me from telling this part orally. This is somewhat difficult for me to tell, mostly because of the way people react. It needs to be on the record, and it may help me get Evvie back.

"One night Trista barged into her son's old room where we slept. She was intoxicated. She discovered that Evvie had replaced a picture of her and her son that rested on the shelf with a doll that she got from a neighbor girl. She yanked both of us out of the bed that we shared, screaming about being ungrateful and disrespecting her in her house. I told her the doll was mine. She punched me in the face and shoved Evvie down for crying. She dragged Evvie out of the room and blocked the door with a chair. She hit me repeatedly. Everywhere. When she stopped hitting me, my face was a mess of blood coming from my nose and mouth."

Merideth winces as her sorrow turns from silent tears to an audible whimper. I continue, "Then she made me apologize to her dead son in the photograph. She made Evvie go get one of her bottles of alcohol. She taunted me, saying that it would help take my pain away. She plugged my nose and forced me to drink gulp after gulp of it. The police arrived without a call about a half an hour later, when a large amount of alcohol was detected in a minor's system. Evvie spent the night back at the orphanage while I was treated in the hospital. The case was tried less than a week later. Short of a fine, nothing was done about what happened. You know how it is with what fosters can get away with," I say to at Judge Sutton.

"I'm sure I don't, Miss Harter," she scornfully shoots at me. Whether she admits to it or not, she knows. I'm not accusing Judge Sutton herself of the mistrial, but am looking for verbal acknowledgement of what her eyes suggested when she asked if any of the beatings were ever severe. She is just as afraid of the county as anyone else. Afraid to stand up to the expectation that fosters should never lose their guardianship right. Afraid, like the judge was back when I was fourteen, to let the record show that she found credibility in my testimony of the crime. Instead, she verbally refutes the well-known truth that judges never find fosters guilty of subtle or grotesque injustices.

As if to escape the tension in the tight court conference room, Judge Sutton orders a ten-minute recess in which none of us are allowed to talk to each other. She and Merideth step out, leaving me to myself in this uneasy room. I elect to lay my head down on the oversized metal table, and regret my sharpness with the judge, who will soon determine Evvie's fate.

# Chapter Six

Merideth reenters the room just moments before the tablet-like device at the end of the table indicates our need to rise for the honorable Judge Lera Sutton.

"Please be seated. Miss Harter, your testimony is finished for now though there are a few questions I will have for you at the end of the trial. Miss Layton, please state for the county record your wish for Evelette Harter."

Ceremonially, Merideth sits up straight and clears her throat. "It is my wish that Evelette live under full guardianship of her sister Sydney, Your Honor."

"Forgive my bluntness, Miss Layton, but I do need you to ascertain whether this has always been your intention or if in light of the recent passing of your sister are you only _now_ finding Sydney a suitable guardian for Evelette?"

"This has always been my intention," Merideth asserts, although that answer is something of an uncertainty to me as well.

"Why?" Judge Sutton asks with a touch of irritation.

"I admired the remarkable strength and selflessness that Sydney conveyed from the moment I picked Evvie up from the orphanage when she was twelve years old. Evvie didn't want to come with me," Merideth admits, "and Sydney convinced her to. She spoke to her like a mother, and didn't take no for an answer." No, I didn't. Merideth had several years left on her parenting account, so I knew if Evvie went with her, we would be spared all worry over a male fostering her.

"I sincerely believe that I've done great with Evvie the last two years, but she's never seen me as a mother figure. She never seemed to need one. Sydney brought her sister up to be a strong, independent young lady. In the two years that Evvie has lived under my roof, Sydney has continued to be the primary influence in her life. Sydney is the first person that Evvie turns to in good times and in bad."

"Like?" Judge Sutton prompts.

"Well," Merideth fumbles, intimidated by the judge. Her intention speech was crisp and rehearsed, but under the pressure of the judge's unpredictable questions, she falters a bit. Finally, she finds an example. "Last month, Evvie earned an award from her instruction monitor on EduWeb for being the most helpful and encouraging classmate in forums. Evvie told me all about it when I came home from work," Merideth smiles proudly. "In the same breath, Evvie told me everything that Sydney had to say when she had called her earlier. They were all the same things that I planned to say—that I couldn't be more proud of her and that helping others means more than earning the top one-percent distinction that she barely missed. I didn't get to be the first one to say these things though, Sydney did. Instead, I was left saying, ' _Your sister's right_ '. Later in the week, when she didn't ace an exam I told her, ' _Remember what Sydney said about what is most important._ '"

Suddenly my heart aches for Merideth, like hers ached for me before the recess. She was devastated listening to the account of a child who had already suffered the death of many loved ones, which necessitated unheard of responsibilities, only to, against the odds, be further abused by someone as destructive as Trista. Merideth mourned the fact that life remained unkind to us when it could have finally taken a better turn when we had our first foster.

Like we held hope, Merideth too had been searching unsuccessfully for love from a man or the children that she's fostered throughout her life, and had probably thought that she had finally caught a break when she found a child with as soft a heart as Evvie. Only once again, Evvie's heart did not belong to Merideth, but to me.

"What about the bad times, Miss Layton?" Merideth appears confused by the question. "Can you give the court an example of a bad time, as you articulated, where Evvie went to Sydney rather than to you," Judge Sutton provides.

"Oh, right," she understands. This time Merideth has an anecdote ready. "Poor Evvie's been a ghost since yesterday. I couldn't even get her to come to the coffee shop with me this morning. She's been so worried about today." Merideth had brushed over Evvie's state this morning, simply equating her to the average teenager that can't be dragged out of bed. As if reading my mind, Merideth justifies, "I'm sorry, Sydney, I just didn't want to worry you when you had so much to be thinking about already."

I would have never done it, but I instinctively desired to take her hand moments ago when I was feeling sorry for her. Now, I'm irritated with Merideth and regret that feeling. She should have told me the truth about why Evvie would not come with her this morning. I would have called her, because, as Merideth just pointed out, I am the one who can soothe Evvie, and let her know that it will all be okay.

Merideth directs herself back toward the judge. "I suppose that's not an example of when Evvie went to Sydney _instead_ of me, but it does show that unfortunately Evvie will never fully trust and open up to anyone but her sister. And being able to talk about problems, fears, crushes, and whatever else with your guardian is incredibly important. As Evvie gets older, she is going to need interaction with her sister, and placing her in the orphanage cannot guarantee that contact will be possible."

"Thank you, Miss Layton, that should suffice. Before we bring Evvie in to make her statement—is there any reason you see Sydney unfit to be Evvie's guardian?"

"No, Your Honor," Merideth answers without hesitation. Judge Sutton presses a few icons on the tablet-like device on her left while she simultaneously types notes or fills in information on her high-tech, county-issued tablet on her right.

I detect footsteps behind the door, and it slowly creeks open. Merideth's reference to Evvie as a ghost was no exaggeration. Her skin is porcelain and somehow she looks frail, as if she could be easily broken. I notice her hands shake as she places them softly into her lap. Evvie's wide-set, pale blue eyes are intense and apprehensive. They remind me of my mother's eyes. Not well.

I've never seen Evvie like this. Everything about her contradicts the fun-loving, strong, and confident girl I know her to be. Even the new feather-patterned, neon-green dye streaked down the thinner side of her parted hair sharply contrasts with the demeanor she now holds. She won't even look at me. There's clearly something deeply concerning happening here, and I'm beginning to feel its power goes beyond the outcome of this court case. The trial will be over soon, hopefully with the result for which we all came, and I can talk to Evvie then.

"Hi Evelette. I'm just going to ask you a few questions today, okay?" Judge Sutton asks more sweetly than we've heard from her so far. At the same time, she isn't treating my sister like a child, which Merideth sometimes does. Evvie hasn't been a child for a long time, since forever maybe, and I respect that Judge Sutton sees to treating her fittingly.

"It's Evvie," my sister manages. I realize then that worried isn't the right word. It's frightened. Evvie seems frightened, petrified even. If Judge Sutton were to rule that option four be enforced, that Evvie return to the orphanage, she would have good reason to be terrified. But judges virtually never deliver such a verdict when there are perfectly good parenting years to steal off someone, and Evvie knows that.

I know better than to trust that the orphanage would always remain in our good sights, but Evvie remembers it to be a favorable enough experience. My sister wouldn't fear the outcome of this case the way she fears whatever terrible unknown plagues her. I want this over with. I need to know this monster so I can fight it.

"Alright then, Evvie. What do you ask for from the county court today?"

"I ask that my sister, Sydney Harter, be granted full guardianship of me." Good girl. For an instant before she spoke, I fretted that she was going to say that she no longer wanted to live with me. I realized that might have been what she needed to talk to me about when she couldn't sleep and that it was me, and my reaction, that she feared.

"Very well. We've been hearing a lot from your sister and some from Miss Layton as well this afternoon, so what I'm going to ask from you is just three words that summarize why your sister would be the best guardian for you, okay?"

Evvie nods her head. "Protective, smart, and loving," she answers.

"Good enough for me. Now Miss Harter, Sydney, that is, before I make my final decision I have two important questions to ask you, which I expect you to answer honestly. First, should you ever recognize in yourself or your sister tendencies of psychosis or mental illness will you take the proper steps—proper steps being that you immediately seek medical attention and if the insane party is you, that you immediately notify to the county that you are no longer fit to continue being your sister's guardian?"

"Yes," I decide, assuming I would recognize psychosis in myself. My mother had no idea she was so off the rocker. She didn't see what she was doing to us, or what she wasn't doing for us.

Suddenly, I am shaking thoughts of my mother out of my mind and allowing Judge Sutton's words to sink in. She asked if I would notify the county if I am unfit to continue as Evvie's guardian. We've done it! Evvie and I will finally be together again after two long years apart. That is the verdict that Judge Sutton expects to deliver, provided my response to her second important question is acceptable.

"Good. I hope so. These things are known to follow genetics. Secondly, and please take a serious moment to think about my next question," Judge Sutton counsels. "Do you have any intention to remove yourself and/or your sister from Miles County by means that you may or may not now know?" A suspicion twists in my stomach that somehow Judge Sutton knows about my breach this morning, perhaps all of my past transgressions. Then I remember my testimony about my mom pulling my arm across the line to prepare me for escape. I assume she is asking this question in response to the topic of escaping from Miles being such a prevalent and disturbing presence throughout my childhood.

The truthful answer to this question is that I would always do whatever I believe is best for my sister, for my family, at whatever cost. I have broken plenty of laws before, and I don't mind the addition of perjury to the list if it secures victory for us in this case. "I have no intention of leaving Miles, now or in the future, Your Honor," I declare.

"Then be happy to know I am ruling in favor of all of your requests." A smile and laughter erupt from inside of me. Merideth smiles as well. She is happy for us, and ably covering her sadness in losing Evvie. Evvie's smile is less convincing as it attempts to façade whatever tears at her. I suspect I'm the only one that can see that clearly.

"As of 1:23 PM on this twelfth day of September, 2033, I, Judge Lera Sutton, ad litem for the county of Miles, grant Sydney Harter full guardianship of her sister, Evelette Harter, until she reaches age eighteen or until Sydney Harter is deemed unfit by Miles County court of law," Judge Sutton announces. "Thank you and I wish you the best," she concludes with sincerity.

# Chapter Seven

"Do you think Merideth's going to be alright?" I ask Evvie on the HSR.

"Yeah, she'll be fine," she answers.

"I suppose she'll be busy moving her niece in." Evvie doesn't seem to be listening, or even pretending. I change the subject to try to engage her. "We're going to have to get you a bed, Ev." Still nothing. My attempts at conversation are going unheeded, but I continue to talk anyway. I can't stand the quiet with the elephant in the railcar. "My stuff only takes up two of the dresser drawers and less than half of the hanging space in the closet. Do you think we'll be able to fit in all of your things? By the looks of your luggage here I'm worried we won't," I tease.

"We'll make it work," Evvie responds absently. "I can get rid of a lot of the stuff Meri's gotten me. I just couldn't do it before I packed it," she says.

"I see." I can't break the stiffness between us, which is heartbreaking with how utterly thrilled I am to have her back. There is a mysterious, dark cloud robbing both of us of this hard-to-come-by time of honest happiness.

"I see now why you skipped coming over last week, you little rebel," I joke as I lift the strands of neon-striped hair and mischievously flick them toward her face. Evvie leaves the hair hanging in her face and says nothing. At this point, I decide I have to offer some settlement to my sister's anguish to help her relax until we're able to talk. "Evvie, I got your message. I can tell this is important. We'll talk just as soon as we can, okay?"

"Okay," Evvie concedes. Her eyes glisten the instant my support is offered, but I can see she's not secure that I'll be able to handle the information that she brings. Her hands are trembling again.

I feel completely powerless, as I have so many times in my life. I am powerless to two entities: death and the county government. Death first took my father, and upset my entire future. Then it stole my grandma, my stronghold. Lastly, it found its way to my poor mother, covered in blood on the cold, white tile.

The government had their hand in the death of my grandma by way of an appallingly agreed upon law that forces the elderly to be euthanized on a randomly drawn date during their sixtieth year. The government's ugly population plan and unforgiving system for orphaned children tore an innocent pair of light-eyed sisters apart.

I'm tired of feeling helpless. I finally have my sister back. I am finally old enough and brave enough that I will never allow that to be changed again. But I have to be patient. Against my protective instincts, I have to wait to dispel whatever is bothering Evvie.

Instead, I place my hands on her cheeks and shush her, tucking the feathery strands of hair behind her left ear. I lay Evvie's troubled head against my shoulder and hold it there until she calms. Her eyes close and I dry the tears that have carved their way down her cheeks. I breathe in and out with Evvie, until the rhythm soothes her so much that she falls asleep.

"Evvie, we're here." I gently pat her knee to wake her from the light sleep that only lasted a few minutes. It's time to depart the HSR; this is a close to the transition building as it gets.

None of the pretentious passengers bothered to take notice of how distraught Evvie was earlier and, following suit, none offer a helping hand to the two young girls trying to carry loads of luggage through the bustling bodies that are exiting and boarding the rail. We don't need anyone's help anyway. We've always gotten along without it.

It takes us some time, and certainly a lot of effort, but we manage to jiffy up two rigs to haul her two suitcases, three boxes, and a ridiculous lamp the extra quarter-mile we have to weave by foot to reach the transitions building in Sector Seven.

Evvie and I get right to work unloading her belongings into pockets where we make room. The place is quite small for one—it's certainly not intended for two. I don't think I'll mind the increased tightness because it means that I'm back with my sister. But I imagine the hostel will be some adjustment for Evvie, who had her own bedroom and attached bathroom for the last two years. Hopefully she prefers this living space to the openness of the orphanage, which I know she still remembers clearly.

After everything is sorted and situated, Evvie and I gather trash and empty boxes to be taken out back. I pick up the teaming box Evvie artfully labeled _free_. She insisted that I call her less-than-practiced writing artful rather than sloppy. I was happy to see a piece of her humor return.

Evvie follows me toward the entrance of the transitions building with the garbage and recycling. I picked up the heavier item, but definitely left the awkward bits for her to juggle. I let the box plummet to the floor with a thud and use my foot to usher it against the wall. I take a couple recycling items from Evvie's hands and one from under her chin.

When we round the corner back to our hall, I drop my items and signal for Evvie to stay put and watch me. Noting no stirrings in the hallway or stairwell, I swoop onto the window ledge, tuck the key under the ceiling tile, and land weightlessly onto the thin, stained carpeting.

"You're going to grab it on the way back," I whisper as I lead my sister toward the back door and opened it for her.

"What if I'm not tall enough?" she asks.

I take the trash and recycling bags from her after discarding my odds and ends and hurl them into the appropriate bins. Additional stench extricates from the dumpster as the trash makes its landing. Evvie doesn't seem to notice. She was closer to the center of Miles where she and Merideth lived in Sector Ten, which means she has built up a strong tolerance for these kinds of odors. I hope to help her promptly eradicate that tolerance. It's one I won't allow.

I step in close to Evvie to compare her height to mine. Her eyes are only slightly below mine now. "You'll be fine," I confirm. I grin excitedly, but she remains vexed.

Evvie tries to hoist herself onto the window ledge, but having such a minute hold, she fails. Her forehead wrinkles and jaw tenses as she focuses her current frustrations into her fingertips. The fear she holds fosters her determination as she tries a few more times. Evvie swings her body's momentum onto the ledge, and uses her strength to patiently pull herself into a delicate stand. She steals the key from under the ceiling tile, and descends with perfect finesse.

My sister doesn't allow me a moment to bask in her success. She approaches me after her ten-point landing and urgently whispers, "When are we going to talk?"

"We can try now," I say as I shepherd her back inside our apartment, "but it's possible that we won't be able to." I search for the right coding to make Evvie understand me and yet create a plausible mask. "We might not have enough time with the pizza already in the oven." I truly had slid a pizza in two minutes ago, before we had taken its wrapping and the rest of the trash out.

What I hoped to convey to Evvie is that we might not be able to talk within the bounds of Miles, just to be on the safe side. I detected the seriousness of the problem instantly when I saw Evvie's anxiety in the courtroom. Since it didn't dissipate at all after the case was won, I know that I need to find out what is going on as soon as I can. I'm tired of trying to imagine situations that could be causing her this much distress. Not knowing is driving me crazy.

"I'm not hungry, Sydney!" Evvie spews. She is beginning to become angry with me for not finding a way to listen to her and solve the problem. She clearly isn't wise enough yet to pick up on my subtleties. How can I clue her in on my plan to talk outside of Miles without leaving an obvious trace in our conversation? There is enough of a rumor buzz about tablets, projectors, and speakers being tapped for sound and video feed that people with dissenting views often express them cryptically.

I have a better solution than code. I know how to get out of Miles entirely—to where we can speak openly. It's clear that my ability to go on outings is going to be an indispensable tool when dealing with my fourteen-year-old sister. My only option is to lead Evvie on the path that will take us out, and trust that she can follow without getting herself hurt or the both of us caught. Violating my promise to the judge that I would never leave the limits of the county would surely result in her being ripped from my grasp.

The oven dings to let me know the pizza is hot and ready, and it circumstantially relieves some of the rigidity in the air. I don't care if Evvie is ill-tempered right now—it's still nice to sit down to a dinner with someone. I never quite realized until now how lonely I have been the last two years, living here by myself. At first I loved the quiet compared to the cafeteria in the orphanage. But quiet grows gray fast too.

"So how are we going to talk? Where are we going to—" I forcefully raise my pointer finger to my mouth to shush Evvie, but she's already given more away than I would have liked. I angrily lop down from the stool and go back around to the kitchenette. I yank an empty glass from the cupboard and clumsily place it between the slices of pizza lying untouched on our plates.

After scrounging, I pull a notepad, an ink pen, and a matchbook from a poorly organized drawer. I quickly scratch the words, _BE MORE CAREFUL_ and _TRUST ME PLEASE_ , on the pad. Evvie's eyes follow the words, and then she sorrowfully lowers her head. I tear the note from the pad, crumple it, place it into the glass, and promptly light it on fire. On the other side of the kitchen, I wrap my arm around Evvie's shoulder as we watch the paper burn. I feel terrible for having to be sharp with her so soon, but I need her perception and understanding to mature quickly if we are going to pull this infraction off by morning.

Evvie's eyes alternate between the untouched pizza sitting on her plate and remnants of the charred paper in the glass. "Evelette Harter, eat your pizza," I command. "I have an eventful day planned for us tomorrow and you are going to need your energy." My eyes narrow in and lock on hers. Finally, she understands how this business must be done. Hopefully she will be able to decipher my code naturally like she did when she was very little. I had to tell someone about the world beyond Miles County, and Evvie is always my someone.

"We're going to go shopping tomorrow," I say matter-of-factly when we've both finished our dinners.

"For a bed?" she asks.

Evvie has taken me literally, although we've practically just finished going through heaps of unnecessary items. Does she really think I'm interested in getting her anything new? I guess answering yes, that we're going to go shopping for a bed, will be a sensible cover. I need to make this more obvious to her.

"Yes. I'm going to wake you up early to go because I _love_ shopping but I don't love the crowds." I catch Evvie's attention by using the words _love_ and _shopping_ in the same sentence. She knows me way better than that. I have her—now we can get somewhere. Hopefully, I can dull down the corniness from here on out. Obvious sarcasm is fairly contradictory to well-coded thoughts and plans. "If I take you shopping with me, don't go running off. _Stay close_ ," I say, emphasizing the last words.

"Okay," Evvie nods. She's hooked. She knows my first rule.

"I literally want you on my coattails. And no stopping to yap while we're out, okay?"

"Not a word," she promises. That's my girl. She's catching on. Evvie's breathing accelerates and she focuses on my every word, calculating.

"Good. I want to get in and get out, so quickness is very important. It's a good thing you're in track. Hey, by the way, did you take up long jumping like I suggested?" I ask in a literal sense but to ascertain crucial information so that I know how to proceed with her on the jump.

Evvie looks a little puzzled. She is striving to be careful and is trying to determine whether this is code. I show her an _okay_ hand gesture and then roll my hand in waves as if to roll her answer along. "Yeah, I just started, like two weeks ago."

"You have to be pretty brave for that event. That's how I knew you would be good at it. You have to be pretty confident that you'll make the pit. How many feet can you jump?"

"Almost sixteen. My coach says I'm a natural," she boasts, spirits rising some.

"That's my sister!" I give her a little squeeze on the shoulder, quite proud of her sporting feat. I'm also overjoyed to know she'll have no problem jumping a distance that will get her into an area of decent depth in the pond across the barrier. "Maybe you can show me sometime tomorrow."

Evvie nods that she'd like to show me. The essential messages have gotten across successfully. "Syd, am I going to be able to stay on my track team?"

"Probably not, Evvie," I confess. Merideth had no problem providing Evvie with some positive opportunities that I can't afford for her. I am sorry for that, but it doesn't change my belief that being with me is right for her. She might forget about organized sports altogether after she partakes in tomorrow's adventure. That kind of adrenaline is in a league of its own.

"What if I work?" Evvie suggests.

"You're a year too early for that, and I don't think we need to go asking for a variance to allow you to work a year early. It might show weakness, like I can't provide well for you, and we don't need to give the court any reason to change their minds about this. Plus, if you were working, you might not have enough time for sports on top of school. Your schooling is more important and I know that you know that." I feel sorry for her, but Evvie just nods and accepts it. She doesn't appear too upset.

"What do you say we order a movie and call it an early night after it's over?" It's not as much of a question as an outline of how the rest of the night will go. "You go order it. I'm going to clean up here and pick something out for each of us to wear tomorrow. There's an intense day of shopping ahead and we need to look the part. Also, you better hydrate and stretch during the movie for good measure," I giggle, trying to make my underhanded command seem as though it's a girlish joke. In my mockery, I pull a genuine smile from my delighted sister.

# Chapter Eight

Evvie lies sleeping with her back to me while I tactically dress. I was more invested in her sleep last night, and was able to reason with her that she should accept the bed. I did fare a couple of hours of shuteye last night, but I had hoped for more. My legs burn as I bend down to pull on my socks. Running the way I did yesterday morning was brutal on them with as little sleep as I had then. I'm glad our focus today is on talking and not running. I need the rest.

I'm glad to see that my sister was able to sleep. I must have given her a fair amount of assurance for her to calm enough to do so. I sit on the edge of my bed and nudge Evvie. Her sleep has presumably been light; she wakes very easily. My pointer crosses my lips to remind her that we're making no sounds this morning. I have an uneasy feeling of foreboding and a discomforting sensation that we're being watched. On paper, we still possess the _unalienable_ _right_ of freedom of speech, but there's far too much paranoia in that right for it to be believed. Speech is only free through the costly risk of crossing the barrier to anywhere but here.

I point to the clothes that I set out for Evvie last night. Then I signify the bathroom across the slender hallway. She nods. Finally, I point to myself and then direct my finger to point to the kitchenette where I want her to meet me when she's ready. To be safe, I also point to our short stack of tablets on the nightstand. My hands and head move in tandem, explaining that these tools should not be used. Evvie pulls off her covers and grabs the clothing anxiously.

I spread a peanut butter and protein-fused paste onto two pieces of wheat toast. I decide to go ahead and eat my piece rather than wait for Evvie. She tiptoes out of the bathroom just as I finish washing down the dry toast with orange juice.

Evvie is dressed similarly to me. She wears dark colored, lightweight wicking material. The discernable difference between the two of us is the uncertainty Evvie's eyes hold compared with the confidence in mine. When I'm gearing up to go across the limits of Miles County, I fill with adrenaline and endorphins that leave me looking wide-eyed and alert. Evvie looks this way too, but out of doubt and worry.

I indicate her piece of toast sitting on a paper towel. It lies in front of the place I have assigned to Evvie. It's nice to have someone occupy that stool. Despite the qualms she may have, Evvie musters a healthy appetite this morning, which pleases me. I don't want to scold her into eating like last night.

I head into the bathroom to grab another hair tie. Evvie's hair is much longer than mine, and I don't want to risk that the camera discover it. I chunk Evvie's ponytail into three sections and begin weaving them around each other as she chews. My grandma taught me how to braid. I used to do this for my sister all the time when she was still a little girl, but she stopped wearing them after our grandma died. I wonder if she's thinking about grandma right now too.

Evvie quickly finishes her orange juice to meet me at the doorway where I am lacing up my runners. Merideth bought Evvie a sophisticated pair of tennis shoes that she doesn't need to lace. They were molded to fit her foot exactly so they don't need a tongue or laces like mine. They have spits of elastic here and there for give, and a tiny, pliable zipper that opens at the inside of both of her heels.

This is it. We're ready.

I hop onto the ledge of the window at the end of the hall and hide our key. We are out of the back door of the building without a sound louder then the crunch of our toasted breakfast.

Our jog to the EPA building is about half my usual pace. Evvie seems a little confused by this. I know she would be able to keep up just fine, but I don't want to risk her twisting an ankle. I can't chance that anything could prevent our necessary task.

The extra time the dawdling trot allows begins to aggravate me too as I get closer to finding out what is wrong. My feet pick up pace without my permission, and I have to pull them in frequently. My anxiety is considerable as well. I want this all over with as badly as Evvie does.

When we arrive at EPA 7-8, I slink up quietly as usual, but more slowly, exaggerating each of my grips and footholds to Evvie below. I'm careful to communicate the importance of the timing under the camera protruding from the top of the building. It took her a few attempts to reach the ceiling tile above the window yesterday, but I offered her no help then. This morning, I help to hoist Evvie atop the building when the timing is right.

I lay on my stomach once both of us are on top of the building. Without my direction, Evvie does the same. I point out the large pond below us, and watch as Evvie peers into the darkness to see it. She looks at me and nods, but her eyes ask, ' _How do we get there_?'

The middle and pointer fingers on my right hand transform into the legs of a miniature demo man. The little finger man starts at the ledge and runs towards our chins, my lips counting off each of his steps. His pointer leg scrapes a mark into the ground like an anxious bull before a fight. I assume Evvie will know how to find her mark after taking up long jump in track. I'm glad she listened to me.

I turn my left hand into a circular pond and float it over the top of the camera that rotates beneath. The little finger man runs from his mark, jumps, and soars toward the pool of water.

Evvie tugs at my shoulder but I'm not finished explaining the important parts. I hope her protestation is due to burning questions and not severe reservations about the risky jump. Without words, I silence her uneasiness, directing her to keep watching and learning before she questions me or protests anything.

I put the little finger man back below the surface of the water where he was destined to splash before Evvie pulled at me. Deliberately, I mouth the words one, two, three, four, and so on, eyeing the camera before us. I feel Evvie's gaze turn from my lips to this ominous threat. I make the little finger man surface once the camera is beyond being able to catch him.

The man returns to being the strong, precise fingers on my right hand, another noble position. My sister's eyes lock onto mine, professing their trust in me. I indicate to Evvie that I will jump first so that I can help her with her timing. Even if the timing game weren't such a fragile and exacting exercise, I would need to jump first to instill in her the confidence to take the plunge. I'll be there to guide her through the rest of our escape; all I need my sister to do is conjure enough bravery to follow me.

I wrap my arm around Evvie's shoulders and give her a squeeze before I hop to my feet. I typically just eyeball where to begin my sprint, as I can make it into an adequate depth comfortably, but today I mark my strides for Evvie's sake. I need to place in her every ounce of confidence that I can for her first jump. The anxiety that she has been suffering is clearly great, but I doubt it matches the sheer desperation that propelled my jump two years ago.

I take the twisted, elastic headband out of my hair and set it where the toes of Evvie's right foot hit for the fifth time. She couldn't make fifteen and a half feet in a pit with only ten strides to her usual sixteen or more, but our runway makes up for the space it lacks with its elevation. With that, it's my hope that she can make seventeen feet, enough distance to clear the barrier and splash a safe depth into the water.

I instruct Evvie to wrap my headband around her wrist before she jumps. I don't want to leave any traces of us behind. I toe-up to my invisible mark about a half step behind her and ready myself for the jump. My left foot drops back and balances me as my shoulders lower. I bend my knees and rock back on the heel of my dominant foot. The rock comes full swing and I exhale. The rock backward is faster the second time as I prepare to drive my shoulders forward.

Evvie is suddenly in front of me, holding me back and vehemently shaking her head from side to side. Either something is not right about my stance to her trained eye or she's not ready to make the jump yet. I never did let her question my directions or protest my expectations. I stand up straight and raise each of my arms from my sides with a shrug of irritation.

She points her brows and answers me by silently running her little finger man to the end of her left palm. Only at the end of her fingertips, the unfortunate man trips or takes an extra step after the ledge and falls off the roof. The building is a little higher than a standard story, meaning the finger man might break a knuckle, but the chances of death, paralysis, or something else severe are pretty slim from this isolated height.

The real problem lies with falling into, rather than soaring through, the barrier. That's why it's important that we are high above the underground wire and zinging quickly through the air while we pass over it. An object in motion stays in motion even as it sustains electric shocks. But a tentative sister who falls in the void would be faced with the impossibility of removing her shuddering body from the area of high-voltage shocks. I would probably instinctively enter the barrier, knowing that if I did I would not make it out either. Tripping before the ledge or scratching past it is simply not an option.

I take both of Evvie's hands in mine and look deep into her eyes. Her pupils engulf her irises in the dark and in her anxious state. I mouth, ' _You'll be fine_ ' and ' _Trust me_ '. I can't let her see that saying the words to her doesn't reassure me any. All of this seemed like it had to be done up until a moment ago when she demonstrated the little finger man falling into the barrier. I was willing to risk a minor injury to Evvie and even being caught and losing her to the government because she made it clear that her secret, whatever it is, is worthy of those risks. But no piece of information or revelation of a threat is worth losing Evvie for good. I couldn't handle that. I'm powerless to death.

Abruptly, I decide this can't be done. There has to be another way. I turn back toward Evvie, but see that she has followed my original order to trust me. I can't see her eyes from here, but somehow I can feel the intensity of her fearlessness and focus. This does have to be done and it can be. It's the only way I know, and now my sister is ready.

I check the camera and back up quickly, counting. I sprint and launch myself, raising my arms as I pass through the barrier. The loud thud into the pond starts a relentless ringing in my ears. As I allow time for the waters to quiet, I try to compose my new fears and trust that Evvie will make it beside me.

After counting sufficient time for the camera to pass, I pop up to signal for Evvie to go. Already, the whites of her shoes are making the last, tightened stride as she reaches the edge of solid ground. I'm relieved as I watch her glide from the edge, but it's too late when I realize I've watched her too long. Without inhaling, I dive below the surface, frantically trying to move away from Evvie's landing space.

I miscalculated my sister's jumping ability with her reduced runway and speed. I should have moved to the side to be safe, but in panic I tried to move back toward the opposite bank by the forest. Evvie's feet-first landing jabs deep into my rib cage. The blow causes me to gasp and cold water penetrates my lungs.

I surface for a microsecond to expel some of the water. I take one breath between the coughs, but the water that on its way out taints the air I breathe in. Underwater, my mind searches for the math behind whether I was quick enough for the camera to miss me while my chest, throat, and nose burn with the misplaced fluids. I fight the urge to resurface, as I know it is now crucial to let the water settle and plane. I'm tempted to quicken the seconds I count. The desire to breathe clear air simply can't go unsatisfied.

Finally, I burst from underwater, coughing and gagging. With a great deal of pain, I am able to obtain the air that my lungs so desperately needed. I yank Evvie up from underwater. She's barely above the surface and already she's fretting. "Are you okay?"

"Time to go!" I command. Evvie's eyes dance as she wonders where she is supposed to go. I take another sweet breath and pull her shoulders under. I find Evvie's arm underwater, and pull her deeper below the surface. The tops of submerged aquatic plants tickle our faces for a moment as we slowly creep into the depths. Fifteen seconds after we submerged, we resurface in the center of the holding pond where our toes don't quite stir up the mucky decay in the lowest layer of stratification.

I breathlessly rattle off our next step. "One more swim. Next time we're up, we run behind that tree." I point out the wide trunk of a larch ahead. "Back down," I expel before I inhale another breath to soothe my still-burning throat and nostrils. I let go of her hand so that the two of us can glide smoothly and gain more distance.

Sunken against the steep pond margin opposite EPA 7-8, I count down to the final second. Two. One. I break out of the water and make a run for the tree, noting the roar of Evvie's surfacing and her catching footsteps behind me.

"I call this the timing game," I manage, a bit out of breath and still trying to cough away the burning sensation. "We'll do this until there's enough cover not to have to worry about the camera spotting us anymore." We breathe for a few moments. "Now!" I say as I dart from the tree, sprinting toward another.

"Twice more. We need to split on this one," I tell her. "There's a tree just left of the one I'm going to run to. See it?" I ask as I point ahead.

"I think so," Evvie lies. All she sees ahead are trees too thin to adequately block us from the camera's view.

"You'll know," I assure her. "Okay!"

We both make it behind our trees without the camera coming close to spotting us in sprint. This time, we remain hidden by facing each other instead of the vast expanse of forested valleys ahead.

One more seven-second sprint and I'll know why we're out here. On this last dash, I run without instructing Evvie. Still, she's less than two steps behind me when we're a safe distance from the eye of Miles.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay? Where did I kick you?" The words flood from my sorrowful sister.

"I'm fine. And you don't have to be sorry—it was my fault for being in the way. How about we sit, little sister," I chuckle, plummeting to the plush grass and letting my chest rise and fall easily for a bit. It's so fresh and perfect, but neither of us can focus on that right now.

The last breath I take before I sit up is a nervous one. "Okay, Evvie, what's going on?"

Evvie cautiously sits beside me. She swallows hard to lubricate her confession. Still fretful, she looks over each shoulder, one hand trembling as she scratches the other one.

The image of her entering the courtroom yesterday cuts into my mind. Whatever she is about to tell me is what caused her such fear. I rub the shoulder that she scratches, and take her hands in mine. She pulls away from the empty forest behind her and looks to me. I nod to let her know that it is okay to tell me now. Our words are safe here. With my encouragement, my sister's tremors subside and she whispers, "I think our mom is alive."

# Chapter Nine

_W hat_? Instantly the anxiety and qualms that have enslaved me since I heard Evvie's voicemail are freed. I found my mother. The few people who cared always emphasized that. "I heard she was the one to _find_ her," one of my classmates wrote in a message not meant for me. She was mortified, and I was trying to figure out if I was supposed to be after having found her that way.

Dead. I have many uncertainties about my mother, but whether she is still living is certainly not one of them. I often wonder if she was always crazy—even before my father died. I question whether she could have really loved Evvie and me because of the way she neglected our needs. I speculate on those things, but I've never wondered about her death. I am certain of the cold, hard truth that my mother is dead.

Evvie and I aren't here, beyond Miles, because of my doubts. She was clearly shocked and rattled by something or someone that made her think that our mother could be alive. I need to hear her out instead of cutting her off for how silly this sounds to me.

"What makes you think that?"

"On Thursday afternoon, I stopped in the court to see if I could make my typed statement about the case instead of waiting until Friday. I felt like I would need more time crafting it than it would take for you and Merideth to make your testimonies." I bet my sister is regretting that decision now. If it was a long enough case to merit a recess, it was plenty long for Evvie to craft a brief statement. Then again, she does have difficulty abbreviating her thoughts and feelings.

Until she mentioned it, I had forgotten that Evvie wasn't technically allowed to orally testify in the court on her own behalf since she isn't fifteen. Like thirteen and eighteen, fifteen is another staple age where things are first allowed. Since teenagers can begin driving and working at this age, fields of life that often produce lawsuits, they also have to be allowed to testify in court. Evvie is only fourteen, and so, she was permitted only a lightly weighed, typed statement to assert her wish to live with me.

"So I took the light rail into the city while Merideth was at work," Evvie continues. "After going through security, a secretary gave me a laminated card with directions for how to get into the statement program of the computer in the soundproof station where she said I would be able to speech-to-text in private. The secretary told me she would sign as my witness when I was finished."

I nod, but my patience for her extra babble is wearing thin. _You're straying, Evelette. Get to the point_. She has a tendency to do this when she's nervous.

"The secretary told me to scan my wrist first, and then follow the directions on the card. When I scanned my wrist, my Miles public record came up. I was supposed to click on the _Court Cases_ tab to get started, but I noticed a guardian list section toward the bottom of the biographic tab that was automatically open. I waved this part of the screen up because I couldn't remember Trista's last name and thought that I might need it for part of my statement."

Evvie was only ten when we lived with Trista and had already learned every adult in her life was temporary. What need did she have for remembering some irresponsible caretaker's last name when the lowlife lush did no good for either of us? I couldn't fault Evvie for forgetting.

"You know when you're scrolling on a touch screen and your finger accidentally sticks to the screen or your wave across the interface is misread and you end up opening something you didn't mean to open?"

"Yeah," I answer, wondering where this is leading. Did Evvie open something that she wasn't supposed to see? How did it suggest to her that our mother could possibly be alive? Most importantly, if something in her records was indeed amiss—why is it that way and who might know what my sister has mistakenly seen?

"Well, I opened a link attached to Mom's name. And I honestly don't even understand why her name was part of my file because I wasn't listed as a biological child or a non-biological child. It only listed you as her biological child."

I know I was little then, but I remember my mother. I remember her growing tummy, as she explained it to me. Unlike earlier times in history, there were no such things as baby mix-ups by 2020, the year that Evvie was born. The chips protected against that by verifying DNA upon implantation. Evvie was our mother's biological child, and is my biological sister. Nothing else is possible.

"Your name probably wasn't listed with Mom's information since you had to scan into this account, right?" Evvie looks displeased that I am pointing out plausible causes for the situation. "I'm guessing the program is designed to show the family members of its user, but not the user itself."

"Sydney, I opened Dad's too," Evvie explains. Her shoulders droop with the gravity of this information. "I was listed right after your name under Dad's biological children, but I wasn't listed under Mom's." My sister's words scrape through her tightening throat.

The inconsistency does take me by surprise. I'm glad she risked snooping around on the system to rule out the justification that I tried to offer. Every detail is going to be helpful in sorting this out. "Are you positive?" I ask intently, even though I'm sure she is since she specifically looked into this.

"Yes, Sydney," she answers with frustration.

"Okay. I believe you," I assure her, but I'm too late. Tears that have been summoned are too stubborn to change their mind. "Evvie, you _are_ my biological sister and our mom's biological daughter." She wipes at an eye ashamedly. "I am one-hundred percent sure of that."

"I know. It's not that." Evvie pauses and exhales in effort to release some of the tension tangled inside of her. "I'm just frustrated."

The tears are my fault. I've been stopping her and questioning her like she's incapable of differentiating improbable coincidences from frivolous mistakes. I raised my sister to be a conscientious, shrewd girl. Now isn't the time to forget that. "What made you think Mom might still be alive?"

"There were, or are, two people listed under non-biological children for Mom, both from 2027 through the present. Their names are Tuli and Tigonee Braves. I didn't look into that at all. I got really freaked out about what I saw, and paranoid that the secretary was watching me. I started following the directions on the card she gave me, but I was too upset to think straight. I just said your name and three words to describe you."

Protective, smart, and loving. I think I'll always remember and hold close to me the words she chose. "Ev, you did the right thing by looking into Dad's link after what you saw on Mom's. It sounds like you played it safe with the secretary too. That was smart."

"Who cares, Sydney?" she groans as she rises to her feet. "I don't. I want to know why the hell our mom is being the guardian of other kids if she's alive!"

"She's not alive, Evvie!" I find myself yelling. "She's dead! Our mom is dead." Evvie stares at me blankly. If she can be frustrated that I didn't believe her outright than I can be just as angry with her for having not listened when I said it the first time. Our mother is long dead. I calm down when I unintentionally realize a difference between Evvie's frustration and mine. She provided me with evidence for why she thinks that our mom might be alive, but I haven't given her the proof for how I know that our mother is dead.

It's time to tell her the truth about our mother's death. This may very well settle her disbelief. "Mom didn't die from an accidental medication overdose," I divulge quietly, Evvie's gaze still fixed on me.

"What?"

"I lied to you, Evvie. You were just a little girl then. I should have told you the truth before now. I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?" she asks, but I can see in her fiery eyes that she knows the answer. "You lied to me?" Her accusatory tone scours deep into my heart, searching for something to burden with the guilt of betrayal. "How did she die? She took the pills, didn't she? It was never the nurse's fault—it was hers! She killed herself and left us."

I acknowledge her assumption and accept her anger, even that which is misplaced. The tears roll uncontrollably down both of our cheeks now, but from different emotions.

Evvie sits down away from me and buries her head in her knees. I waited way too long to do this. The truth is—I don't know when I would have told her. The whole truth has to be told today if I want any chance of reconciling with my sister.

"I found her," I choke out. Evvie doesn't ignore me, but she refuses to meet my eyes. "I told you that I went there and that a nurse sat me down and told me that my mother had died, and that she loved us both very much, but that's not how it happened. That happened afterward."

My sister raises her disheveled face to look at me. She shakes her head slightly, willing this to be the lie. I look away this time, because I can't look at her while I recall the horrific memory. "They buzzed me through to her hall. I knocked on the door and turned the knob when no one came." I dispel the sorrowfulness from me, and get on with the unsightly tragedy, choosing not to shadow a bit of the truth from Evvie. "Mom was lying on the floor, and it was evident that she was dead. It wasn't an overdose."

As my eyes timidly meet my sister's, I see that the anger and betrayal have been replaced by the deepest kind of hurt, which is now shared with me rather than directed toward me. "The nurse helped me come up with something to tell you. I'm sorry that I lied, but I was so sad and scared to tell you, Evvie. As the years have passed and you've gotten older, I've felt more and more guilty but never less sad. I just—"

"It's okay," Evvie cuts in. "I forgive you."

This time it's me who buries my head into her arms as she come back over to my side. I had little issue relaying the account to the judge yesterday, but it's very different with Evvie today. I'm shaking and crying because it simply breaks my heart to have to kill another small part of my poor little sister by revealing our mother's suicide.

I imagined I would feel disgusting and just as guilt-ridden for telling the secret and causing her pain as for keeping it, but Evvie's graceful forgiveness lifts an immense burden from me that I've been carrying for years. Still, it troubles me to know that her soul is dimmed as mine is lightened, but it can't be another way. Against my wishes, she has had no greater fortune in her life than I have had in mine.

"I'm sorry, Syd," Evvie moans, regretting her earlier upheaval. Here we both are being sorry to each other for something to which we were both powerless. Our mother is the one who should be sorry. She is the one who could have prevented all of this pain and sorrow.

"So she's dead then?" Evvie says after a minute.

"Yeah. She is." My feelings even out to the emptiness that I'm accustomed to feeling in replacement of other emotions. "I remember first noticing the unnatural way she laid on the floor, second the pools of blood spreading from her body, and third the cut that was gouged up the arm that was visible to me."

Pinkish rays dance through the forest of evergreens before our eyes and elegantly lighten the haven Evvie and I now share.

"Why do you think those kids' names were listed as Mom's children?" Evvie asks, as if to rid us of these evils before the majesty of the dawn breaks.

"I don't know, Evvie. Maybe the database has someone mixed up. Maybe there's another Loretta Harter who has adopted those two girls. It was probably added to Mom's information by mistake."

"Does that happen?"

"Sometimes," I guess. Actually, the databases rarely have errors that substantial, but it is true that an error is possible, and the most probable explanation I can gather for what she saw.

"Why do you think my name wasn't listed as a biological child and yours was?"

"I'm not sure, Evvie," I answer honestly. It was also quite ironic that the account showed that Loretta Harter began parenting these children in 2027, the same year that she died. Ironic, yes, but I saw my mother's lifeless body. I experienced the frantic nurses ushering me out of the room after they heard my cries. They paid their attention to a crying kid and not the bleeding woman because they knew from a glance that she was beyond revival. So did I. I didn't cry for help, I just cried.

The kind nurse who sat me on her lap sincerely tried to calm my shattered heart. It's been almost six years since I've allowed anyone other than Evvie see me cry. That nurse was the last. I didn't know her name, and couldn't remember her face for very long, but after we were placed back in the orphanage, I used to pray that she would come find Evvie and me and take us home to live with her. If she had children, they were very lucky.

"I'm going to keep thinking about this stuff, but I don't want you to burden yourself by any of it, okay?" Evvie nods and thanks me with a smile for reliving her of all of this. "I'm really glad you told me," I say as I rub her back affectionately.

"You too, Syd."

I stand up before the sorrow can seep in again. "I think you set a record with that jump today," I congratulate much for the sake of changing the subject. Evvie smiles. "Really, Ev. I'm proud of how brave you have become. The stuff you just told me, the case yesterday, making the jump, all of it. You're growing up fast. Stop it."

"Yeah, to be just like you," Evvie laughs. I swear I can actually feel the atmosphere lighten.

"I hope so! Nothing wrong with that!" I jest. "Let's strip our stuff off to dry and I'll show you around this little slice of heaven."

"I can't wait until the sunrise. It's beautiful out here," Evvie says, seeming to notice only now that her weight has been lifted.

"I know the perfect spot, but we've got to hustle," I say, dragging my things off as Evvie struggles. "And you have no idea how beautiful yet," I say as much to myself as to her. Evvie shrieks wildly and both of us giggle as I lead her in a race through the changing forest. Our path was rough getting here, but everything feels perfect in this moment. I'm certain that I'm the happiest I've ever been.

# Chapter Ten

"So when are we going shopping next?" Evvie asks after we finish hauling the bed into our room. I know she's referring to our escapade before dawn and not the search for an affordable bed that took the rest of the morning.

"I love it, Evvie, but I try not to make a habit of going too often." _It's still risky_ , I try to convey, but Evvie seems almost flighty now compared to her manner this morning. Though the contrast probably does skew my perception, there is an evident effect that going to the mall in the innermost circle of the city has had on Evvie.

We were forced to go to the mall to find an extra-long twin bed frame and mattress. I was hoping to find one at the second-hand store I go to when I need to buy something other than food and toiletries. I should know better than hoping luck could be on my side, in large and small matters alike.

I hate to give Evvie a hand-me-down, but I've outgrown my juvenile bed and she's still a few inches shorter than me. Since another twin is all that we can fit into the narrow bedroom, and I definitely won't be buying anything larger after the price I paid for the twin, it makes sense that I ought to get something more fitting for me. Evvie doesn't mind getting my old bed. She's happy that I put practicality before my desire to make everything perfect for her.

"I think you need some gymnastics lessons. Focus on the high bars," I tease, referring to Evvie's question about when we can go out to the forest again. I had put so much thought into preparing Evvie to get outside of Miles, but didn't think to spend anytime preparing her to get back in. She wasn't tall enough to use the upper branch to balance herself as her feet scooted away from the trunk on the lower branch. She realized this about halfway across and scurried back behind the tree. I continued to scan nervously for cars or early-morning passersby, by luckily none materialized.

Evvie started out just as speedy on her second attempt. Below, I was rambunctiously motioning that I would catch her when she let go. And catch her I did, with my whole body. I hadn't anticipated how detrimental the quick hold of the bottom branch was to the ease of the landing. I also didn't realize how impossible it is to successfully catch a body falling from such a height. There was an undeniable forcefulness to the landing. Bruises are sure to turn up here or there on both of us, but it was nothing too much to keep us from laughing.

"Huh?" Evvie complains, not following gymnastics as my allusion to the fact that we can't go outside again until we find a way for her to practice the fall back into Miles, Sector Eight. The average teenage girl must lose all wits about her after a trip to the mall if my sister is flighty. Maybe she is still elated from getting everything off her chest this morning.

"I'll catch you." My clue couldn't be more obvious as I plummet to the media-room floor.

"Oh!" she exclaims. I roll my eyes in her plain sight. She looks as if she's about to protest my all-in-fun annoyance with her, but then something shifts. "That reminds me," she says about as snootily as possible, "I need to put in some hours on EduWeb. We're going to wait to assemble your bed, right?"

I'm not sure how our tumble earlier, or my mockery of it now, reminds her of school, but I don't bother to ask. I'll become privy to the feeble connections swirling through her girlish mind soon enough. "Yeah, that's fine," I answer. "I'm going to jump in the shower."

It's funny how either the circumstances that brought us into this situation, or simply surpassing the brevity of an overnight stay, are giving me new insights to my sister. There is a keener intelligence and greater emotional depth than she's presenting this afternoon, but I'm glad to see her lighthearted side too. I am prideful of the efforts I put forth and unashamed of the things I suffered on her behalf when she briefly seems the average teenager.

I strip off a sweaty set of clothes for the second time today. Lugging the box spring, mattress, and the box containing the frame and headboard into the building and to the end of the hall was not light work. I still can't believe a non-electric, wheeled scooter and a jumping rope enabled us to move the freight from the railway station to the transitions building.

I had left Evvie to wait at the station with the items while I ran to our building to look for something to help haul them. I don't know what I may have concocted to get the job done, never before having the need to transport something so hefty and feeling a desperation to return to my abandoned sister. It so happened that out in front of the Sector Seven transitions building were two little boys who had fashioned their own ride from toys that would become my perfect tools.

Children who live in the transitions buildings will probably never be sick from a day of spinning and eating sugary sweets at the amusement park in Sector Three. Their families wouldn't have the means to take them there. Although tablets are government mandated, the little ones in my building will never own models that provide them with the same educational possibilities that other children enjoy. Fancy, high-tech toys are beyond their desires.

However, these children have the potential to have just as much fun as anyone. Maybe more. I promised each of the two little boys five dollars if they let me borrow their imitation Gravitron, a ride based off the principles of centripetal force. They weren't at all hesitant to give up their toys to help a stranger. Sweet kids.

After the haul, I had the boys take me to their mother, likely a non-biological guardian judging by their difference in race. She denied the transfer since helping a neighbor was the right thing to do. Instead, she suggested that Evvie and I play with her boys for a little while as a sort of repayment.

I think those two were made of giggles, which is a rare thing for foster kids. I thought they would tire with or become nauseous by what they called _growed-up speed_ as I took one end of the rope and whipped the rider in circles around me. The boys took turns on the scooter, allowing them a break from the spinning, which Evvie did not provide to me in the center. I was finally released from their fun when I began to really worry about the effects of my queasiness. Thankfully, the boys didn't feel like seeing me vomit. They did, however, enjoy and poke fun at the sweat trails that moistened much of my shirt.

Thinking about playing with the two little boys this morning reminds me of two little girls whose fate was also in the hands of fosters. I'm not thinking about Evvie and me this time. I'm wondering about Tuli and Tigonee Braves, the mysterious girls who are listed as my mother's non-biological children. I resolve to investigate them just as soon as I towel off and dress.

"How was your shower?" Evvie asks when I emerge from the bathroom.

"Refreshing."

"That's an interesting way to say freezing," Evvie jokes. The transitions building charges for heated water, an expense I'm not willing to pay for very often. I always let Evvie use hot water on her overnight stays, but now cold water is something she is going to have to tolerate.

"What are you watching?" I ask, snooping over her tablet screen. Evvie tilts the screen toward me. A smile dances within me. She is watching Olympic archives of gymnasts on the high bars. She's eager to return to my haven. Our haven.

"That's hardly school!" I tease her.

"Not true. World Olympic events count toward my physical education credit hours.

"I doubt you need anymore Phy. Ed. credits."

"Yeah, but they do count towards my quota this week."

"As if you haven't already met it." My sister can't fool me about much. It's Saturday—the final day to complete weekly hours. I know how important Evvie's school is to her. Even with her discovery shaking her up the way it did, I know she would not have allowed her credit hours to slip.

"Mr. Vanderil says you can never know too much." Wrong. Apparently he doesn't live in the same society I do. You can know too much, and if you do, it's very dangerous. "I met this week's quota on Wednesday and I'm already way ahead of my quarterly goals in every core area," she boasts.

"Alright, smarty pants. Why don't you dismount the couch and cartwheel into our room to help me assemble this bed."

I half expect her to do it, but the abrupt hall and doorway are far too narrow for a gymnastic escapade. "What's on our agenda for the rest of the night?" Evvie asks as she follows into our room.

"We'll put together this bed, cook something for dinner, eat, one can hope you'll decide to shower," I kid, "and that's it," I decide. "The rest is up to you."

"Sydney?" My name falls off Evvie's tongue with a seriousness that hasn't characterized our interactions since before the sunrise. "I was thinking about this while we were at the mall today, and again a little bit ago. I just wanted to say that I really am sorry about Mom. Not necessarily that _I'm_ sorry," she points to herself, "but that I'm _sorry_ ," she clarifies. "I just feel really sad for you, Syd," she continues, her throat tightening some. "Like, it's hard for me sometimes to think about how unfair my life is, and it's not bad at all compared to everything you've gone through and have been expected to do," she says, referring to herself as a burden.

"Don't do that," I interject before Evvie says more or tears up. "Don't you ever feel sad because I've had to look after and take care of you. Evvie, what would I have if I didn't have you?" I don't give her the opportunity to answer—nothing would be true. "I've never, ever been upset about my responsibility to you. Never. So you certainly don't need to feel bad about it. And thank you for the unnecessary apology about Mom. You're very empathetic." _You're a good person with a good heart. You're not like the others._ "I hope you really do forgive me about having lied to you."

"I do. I also understand why you did."

Evvie and I spend a moment in our own thoughts as we tear apart the packaging around the pieces of my new bed frame.

"One more thing, Ev. I don't want to hear anymore swearing out of you, little miss." Evvie studies me for a moment to see whether I'm really scolding her for using a curse word much earlier this morning when she was frustrated with my listening, my _trusting_. She's at a loss to figure out whether I'm serious, because I'm not sure if I am. A smile escapes from the corner of my mouth and hers follows suit.

"Do you care if I take my shower first and then we put this thing together?" Evvie asks.

"Please!" I kid. "No, that's fine. We ought not break a sweat doing that."

"Oh my gosh, you talk like such a dork. We ought not..." she mocks.

"Get out of here. Go enjoy a cold shower!" I throw back. And I do feel like a total dork, because I find that I'm still grinning wildly after Evvie's been out of the room for minutes.

I pick up my tablet from the nightstand next to my old bed and decide now is as good of a time as any to look up Tuli and Tigonee Braves. I want to see if there is any history of them in the orphanage, because most kids who have been moved into fosters' care have at least some stay, however lengthy or brief, at the orphanage first. This isn't always the case, but it happens that way more often than not.

I type the names into the Internet search engine, remembering how Evvie spelled them before we climbed the bur oak to return to Miles. Shading quickly fills the loading time indicator, and a _no results match your search_ message is delivered. That's confusing. No, unsettling.

I decide to search each of the girls' names individually, but have no success in my search. _Everyone_ has _some_ information that can be found about them on the Internet. Everyone has a chip, which means everyone older than thirteen (and most older than three) also have a tablet. You automatically have an indestructible TabFile when you register your new tablet to your social security code number. All basic, public domain information like given names, ages, birthdates, birth genders, natural-eye colors, ethnicities, and county of residence are provided. Every person owning a tablet or another device capable of connecting to the Internet has access to this public knowledge.

There is a chance that neither of the Braves girls owns a tablet. The court record showed that they were adopted six years ago, meaning they are at least six years old, but one sister is likely at least a year older, being that twins are exceedingly rare.

Children with tablets can begin logging hours on EduWeb at age three, when they qualify for preschool. This is why most children over the age of three own a tablet. At five, or sometimes six with a variance, children are required by law to begin their formal schooling. Miles County does have two elementary schools to which an elect population opts to physically send their children. Willing fosters usually do not have the funds or the desire to send their children to these elite institutions.

A forced foster, someone who adopted the child or children of a deceased friend or relative, might be wealthy enough to afford this. It is possible Tuli and Tigonee have gone six or seven years without owning a tablet, but it is unbelievable that their names have gone unmentioned on the Internet by a friend, relative, teammate, or an instruction monitor.

I type Loretta Harter on the floating keyboard because I don't want to say my mother's name out loud. Suspiciously, the search again yields no results. I was actually not searching to view my mother's information, but to see if there are any other Loretta Harters living in Miles. No results? How can this be possible? I have looked up my mother's name dozens of times before and have clearly seen her picture and basic information on her TabFile. I've also read a little anecdote of my parents' marriage on the county's unions' database. I've seen these and other mentions of my mother on the Internet before, including her obituary. Where have those gone? Why can't I find them now?

I'm beginning to believe there are far too many coincidences here. I've invented many excuses: the misappropriation of the Braves girls to our Loretta Harter, the chances that the girls do not yet own a tablet and do not have any trace of their existence online, and now all of my mother's information mysteriously evaporating—the likelihood of all of these unconnected events occurring together by chance alone is absolutely miniscule. Impossible.

That's because these events are connected and not by chance. Evvie is more right than I realized about her instinctive reaction. And again I have to forego telling her the truth to protect her. Her instruction monitor was wrong. There is such a thing as knowing too much, especially when the informed mind belongs to an untrained, fourteen-year-old mouth.

# Chapter Eleven

I scratch a handwritten note to Evvie before I sneak out that says, _I'm gone. Be back soon. Or at Tiana's._ I'm not sure how late Evvie will sleep in. I might be back and gone to work already if she's finally able to steal some solid sleep. I hope this is the case. She needs it and it will give me more time to think about this mess and decide what to do about it.

Serving is beyond easy in this high-tech age. Most customers book their reservation ahead of time and receive a message directing them to their table number when their tablet sees that they've arrived on the premises. They use their tablets to order their drinks and meals as well, sometimes before they arrive and sometimes as they sit down. All a server has to do is bring the items and scan someone's wrist at the end. Occasionally a customer complains about a dish or needs more syrup, but those things are easy to handle while covering many tables.

Hardly anyone comes between ten and eleven o'clock. If any late-risers do come in, most order a simple cup of coffee and perhaps a light side of some kind. This irritates my boss, Tiana, because she intends to be serving lunch and not late breakfasts at this time. She needs to realize no one but obscurities are on that schedule on a Saturday in Miles. Some residents may still be living their Friday _night_ to its fullest at almost five o'clock in the morning. I have to delay my excursions if I choose to go on Saturdays or Sundays, because sporadic partiers will still occupy the streets at four.

My day begins now. My hope is that my run this morning will clean the slate of worries in my head. From nine o'clock, when I have to report to work, until eleven, when Tiana's preferred customers come in for lunch, I'll have time to think about the lack of information about Tuli and Tigonee and decide how to proceed. Hopefully Tiana finds something to busy herself with instead of spending this time chatting with me.

I allow the run over to EPA 7-8 to be lighter than usual, since I slept poorly again last night. My insomnia is really starting to take a toll on my strength. My arms feel a bit shaky on the climb and my splash falls short of where it normally does. Regardless of my shortcomings, I'm in no danger of being caught. Even the timing game bores me today. And I'm certainly not going to seek out obstacles and push myself to my limit like usual. All I want to do is get to the top of the hill where Evvie and I enjoyed the sunrise yesterday.

I lazily start to slump off my top when I hear quick thuds approaching me. The sounds are unmistakable. Feet. Running right at me, _for_ me.

I spin halfway around to see the blur of a sturdy man as he grabs me and covers my mouth. Strangely, my first feeling isn't fear but remorse. Why did I try to turn? I should have run the instant I heard a sound misplaced in my place of solitude.

I lurch about in my captor's grasp with every iota of strength that belongs to me. He whips me around and I flail my legs, circumstantially making contact with a second, wiry man who jolted out from behind a bush. The solid blow sends him back to his knees and he holds his face for a moment, shocked and pained. He can't be much older than me, if at all. He isn't dressed officially, like I'd imagine a county captor would be, but instead he wears simple, earthy shades.

I fight an arm free with the thrash that knocked this man's partner down. I immediately thrust my elbow into his ribcage. It loosens his grip, and I bolt from his grasp.

I can hear that I have about a five-step lead on one and a few more on the other. I've trained for this. I'm sure I can outrun and outlast just about anyone on my best day, but I'm slow today, and as much as I'm trying, I can't muster enough power to maintain my lead. They're gaining. Quickly.

I don't make it a distance greater than a timing game sprint from one tree to another before I sense the larger man only two strides behind me. In another eight seconds, he'll be able to grab me. I urgently dive into my pack and fortunately find the handle of my knife. By the time I have it out, I have two seconds to open it, turn, and thrust it into my attacker.

But I don't get that chance. I'm barely beginning to pull it out of my bag when my legs are kicked out from under me. My arms are tied up in this unexpected assault. I'm falling rapidly without my arms to brace myself.

I hit hard. The back of my head makes contact with something solid, sending stabbing sensations throughout my head and down my neck and back. Two blurry figures are on me in seconds, pinning down my feeble arms and legs. One forces my head to the side and presses my skull against the rock-hard surface. I think my eyes are open, but I'm not positive because I can't see clearly. There are only blurs of light and dark. Suddenly, I feel something warm run down the insides of my thighs and I realize how terrified and helpless I am.

"Ah shit. Hurry up," the one restraining my legs says. The other man tugs and pulls on the skin of my neck with one hand as he presses into my jaw with the other. _I'm sorry, Evvie_ , I think as I decide I'm unable to put forth more of a fight to free myself. The man stops fussing with my neck for a second.

_Let me go, please,_ I think in the hiatus of the attack. I feel a prick in the wad of skin he's selected and then a deep burn as a needle slides into the vein. It's not over here. These men plan to take me somewhere where they can prolong whatever torture pleases them. I feel myself drifting away and then feel the deepest black, a heavy calm. I wonder if I'm dead.

What seems like a blink later, I cautiously open my heavy eyes.

"You're a righty," says a man dressed in blue scrubs. He looks to be in his late forties, maybe older.

"What?" I ask, dizzy and confused.

"Your chip. It was in your right wrist. Not many of those, I imagine. Sorry about the scar on your left."

Who is this man? Why is he talking about my chip? Where am I? I examine my wrists to find them wrapped in dingy bandages. Suddenly I remember the attack in the forest. The man in this artificially lighted room wasn't one of my attackers, I know that much. Both of them were taller and in their prime. Still, I'm scared and distrusting of this stranger and this place.

I can blow past this guy. He won't expect it and he'll never catch me. His head tilts sideways as he tries to read my thoughts. He's astute and suspecting. I can read it in his eyes. The time is now.

I spring from my horizontal position, disregarding the blanket that covers me. It tangles my feet and the IV tears at my hand.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" the man panics, rushing to the end of the bed. He reaches for me, but he's an instant too late. The IV stand crashes to the floor about the same time that I do. "Della!" he yells over his shoulder. I lamely move my arms and legs in any kind of resistance. I become so woozy that I vomit on myself. "Sedative!" he orders to the clicking feet that enter the room.

"Again?" a dark-haired, stoutly woman asks, looking at me and not him. I take her to be another doctor or a nurse, since she's dressed in scrubs too. I might trust them. I might think that someone has rescued me from the men that attacked me, but the surroundings of this supposed hospital are amiss. "Now!" he demands. I watch uneasily as she scuttles to upright the IV stand and pierces my pinned hand.

I regain enough strength to pull my other arm away from the man, but he has the advantage of knowing what I am trying to do. He lets me hit him so long as he protects the hand containing the IV. My effort is futile. The doctor's weight lightens and his eyes focus on mine. "Go to sleep. It's okay. We're not here to hurt you."

I wish I could believe that some hero rescued me and brought me here, to a real hospital, to real doctors who can make me better. But they removed my chip. My instincts tell me that these people disguised in blue are associated with my attackers. They are two more who have abducted me, who mean to confine me. I want to keep thinking, I need to figure out a way to escape, but my mind turns to paste and I drift away again.

# Chapter Twelve

"She's waking up," a masculine voice announces. "You talk to her this time. I'll be right outside the door."

"Hi there. My name is Dellaphine and I'm your nurse. Della, if you like. How are you doing?" asks a woman with a funny accent. She sits on the edge of the bed I lie in. She blinks blankly as I hesitate to answer.

"I don't know," I answer.

"Do you feel nauseous at all?" she asks with an overly friendly grin that makes me feel as though she's talking to a child.

"I don't think so," I decide. The nurse anxiously places something that was in her hand on a nearby tray. I follow the clinking and see that the device, some kind of shot, rests beside blood-crusted surgical tools that line the tray.

"That's good. Last time you got sick," the nurse says. "I don't know if it was because of the concussion or the fluid you had in your lungs. You're lucky we found you. You had swallowed enough water to become very sick from secondary drowning."

_Last time? Drowning_? What is she talking about?

"Just remember we're here to help you, okay? What's your name, darling?"

Something is wrong. "I don't know," I realize. Am I supposed to know this person? Am I supposed to know where I am or how I got here? I'm sure I'm supposed to know my name, but I don't. I don't know my own name. My heart begins to race.

"It's okay, honey. You can trust us. We're here to help you," she repeats.

"Help me with what?" I wonder out loud.

She ponders this for a second. "We're here to help you get away from Miles."

"Who's Miles?" I ask her. _What has happened to me?_

"Galv!" the woman calls. She stands up from the bed and adjusts her garments.

"I heard," a man sighs at the doorway. I don't think I was supposed to know he was there. He paces in and pulls up a rolling chair beside the bed I lay in. "My name is Galvesten and I'm your doctor. Do you remember who this is?" he motions toward the nurse who stands and smiles awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

"Dellaphine," I answer. "What happened to me?"

"Della, yes. It seems like you are experiencing amnesia. Do you know what that is?"

"It's where you can't remember," I answer.

"Right. Good. That's a good sign. This happens sometimes. It's probably very temporary. You'll start remembering soon," he assures. "I know it's tough, but the more relaxed you can be, the better for your recovery."

Now I notice that I do feel dizzy and nauseous. I also see that both of my wrists are wrapped in bandages. I don't know who I am but I'm worried that I tried to kill myself. Something about that burns deep within me. "Did I hurt myself?" I ask, slightly lifting my wrists, but too ashamed to lift my eyes.

"No," Dellaphine responds quickly, realizing my reference before the doctor does. "I've got this, Galv," the woman says to the doctor. He cautiously removes himself from the room. "Listen. And try to trust me, okay? You used to live in Miles County. Does that sound familiar to you?"

"No," I admit.

"That's okay, you will remember, hon," she assures. This Della seems very sweet. I do feel like she reminds me of someone. At the same time, I feel like it bothers me that she's using all of these terms of endearment with me. I'm torn with how I feel about her, and utterly confused about everything else.

"My head hurts some. I had a concussion?" I ask.

"Have," she corrects. "You had to have hit it pretty hard. I can get you some more medicine to take the pain down if you'd like."

"Do you know how I hit my head?" I ask. I am more concerned with finding out who I am and why I'm here than with feeling better. Della and I hear two knocks against the doorframe.

"Come in," Della invites amiably. A young man walks through the doorway. He is of average height with a toned build and has light, ashen hair. I take him to be some kind of laborer, who spent most of his summer days under the hot sun. "Oh, it's you. Shouldn't I see you with an icepack on that face?" I take a closer look at his bronzed face. One of the lids above his tranquil, green eyes is red and puffy. The skin below that eye is yellowing from the inside corner. In fact, the whole left side of his face is swollen a smidge wider than the right. His tanned skin reddens when he becomes aware of my persistent peer.

"I'm fine, Del," he snickers. "Doc said she might have amnesia," he says as he looks to me. He and the nurse exchange a look and she nods. They've agreed upon something secretive, and I'm irritated that I'm not let in on the secret since it clearly pertains to me.

"I'm Cy," he says. His expression is a mix of concern and bashfulness. The tone he uses to introduce himself and his shyness signify that this is probably his first introduction to me. His warmth and soft eyes are inviting, but why is he here if we don't know each other?

"Do I know you?" I ask.

"No," he responds, looking a little dejected to say so.

"Do you know me?

"Kind of," he decides after a moment of deliberation. He lifts his hand and begins to nibble on his thumbnail, as if putting something to his face takes the pressure off him.

"Do you know my name?"

"Sorry, I don't," he confesses. I conclude that he doesn't know who I am any more than I do right now.

"I feel like my name starts with a V," I offer to the nurse.

"Oh, okay!" Della chirps. "We'll try to help you think of it. Um, Victoria?" she guesses. I shake my head, but I'm not really sure either way.

"Veronica?" Cy suggests, entering the room. He seems to appreciate a direction in this conversation between strangers.

"I don't think so."

"You just stop us if you hear something that seems familiar," Della instructs.

"Venus?" Cy tries.

"Venus?" Della cracks at Cy. "Does she look like a Venus?"

_I don't know_. I have no idea what I look like.

"Hey! Inside names can be quite creative," Cy remarks sarcastically. What does he mean by _inside names?_

"Is there a mirror?" I ask, deciding looking at one might be a better avenue to finding out who I am. Della and Cy stop their babbling abruptly when they realize why I'm asking to see a mirror. Della mumbles as she sifts through a couple of large, zip-up briefcase bags on the floor. Cy leaves the room and goes down what must be a hallway to look for one. The way Della rummages about the room makes me wonder if she really works here.

"There's one in that bathroom at the end of the hall," Cy peeks his head back in to inform us. "We'd have to move the generator and the light." I look up and notice that the source of light in the room is a high-wattage lamp clamped above the bed. It's plugged into a heavy-looking machine that has chords tangled all about it.

"We'd have to move the patient," Della coyly adds. _The patient_ , the lonesome girl who is devoid of a name. Here I sit, too attached to machines and wires to venture down a hallway. I'm clearly in a less-than-healthy state, yet there is no one that knows or cares about me enough to support me during my recovery. There must be _someone_. Maybe no one knows that I'm hurt and that I'm here, wherever here is.

"Here." Cleverly, Cy removes the medical instruments from the shiny tray that stands at the head of the bed next to an IV stand. The apparatuses haven't been cleaned, but the blood does not faze him. No one touches a stranger's blood with their bare hands in a hospital. I may not know much else right now, but I know that. This room is eerie and these people are too peculiar. I have an uncanny intuition that all is not right here.

Cy holds the makeshift mirror in front of me. I see a young woman whose eyes I'm drawn to. They're deep-set, yet prominent. The blue-green iris is outlined heavily in dark blue, offsetting the golden ring that surrounds the pupil. Light freckles dot my smooth, pale skin. I have thick, chestnut hair hanging just below my neck in an unsightly ponytail. A few long, stray bangs stick to my forehead. I've either recently been very sweaty, and have naturally wavy hair, or it was slept on wet.

"Valerie or Vanessa?" Della suggests, still holding the tray for me. I stop looking at myself because it doesn't seem to help me decide on my name.

"Violet," Cy tries again, half-jokingly to annoy Della. His initial awkwardness has quickly faded and already he seems comfortable, even charming.

"That sounds familiar." I'm a bit embarrassed that his joke may be my name, but I'm not going to ignore that finally something pings of familiarity just because a stranger thinks it's absurd. Cy shoots a surprised glance at Della, and a regretful one at me. "I don't think that's it though. Maybe it doesn't start with a V, but I feel like it has one in it. I don't know," I admit.

Della and Cy immediately take heed that I'm feeling a little overwhelmed and a touch depressed.

"It's okay, honey," Della comforts. "It'll come." Quietly she changes her focus to Cy. "Your partner didn't stop in. Am I to take it that he didn't get hurt or didn't get _too_ hurt?"

"Too hurt," Cy laughs. "He's on chip duty."

"What and where were his injuries, Cylis Davids?" Della demands. I enjoy the jesting between these two and I suddenly decide I like them both.

"Bruising maybe. Nothing much. Rib cage. Twice," he adds with a smile.

"What happened to all of us?" I ask Cy, assuming my injuries are connected to his.

"You happened," he chuckles. "I'm not too proud to say it."

"What?" I thought he didn't know me. I'm growing irritated that no one is giving me a straight answer about how I got here. You would think Cy does know me for how accurately he identifies my change in temperament again.

"You live in Miles County. It's small compared to the others, population wise I mean. Do you know what a city is?" Cy asks.

"Yeah. A bunch of business buildings crammed into a circle," I reply.

"Yes, good. Especially the circle part." He winks at Della and waits for her to acknowledge my progress. My nurse concedes it, which makes me feel a bit better.

"I'm going to step out. Holler if anything changes, Cy." Della takes only a step toward the door when she whirls back around. "Oh! Your medicine," she interjects. "I'll be back with it."

Cy scoots his rolling chair closer to me. "Anyway, you didn't like Miles, and you were thinking about escaping out here."

My head is flooded with questions. Why didn't I like Miles? Where is out here? And how can this outsider possibly know my intentions when he doesn't even know my name? I decide on one question to ask. "Where is _out here_? Where are we now?"

"We are at a hospital."

"It doesn't sit well with me," I tell him bluntly. "It doesn't match up to what a hospital should look like, and I don't think it's because I bumped my head."

"That's because our real hospital is three hours from where they found you," Della supplies as she returns. "And even that hospital wouldn't look like the hospitals you're remembering." She attaches a little vial to the tubing between the bag of fluids and my hand. "The medicine should kick in soon," she says, pointing to the drip.

"Our township is between Billings, Miles, Rapids, and Casper counties," Cy continues, "but I suppose those names mean nothing to you." He's right. I don't recognize the names of any of the places he mentioned. "It's mostly south, and a little bit west of Miles County, where you lived. Right now we are at the temporary hospital. It's vacant unless we have an emergency. We called Galvesten and Della to meet us to help you."

"Thank you," I offer, deciding the formality is probably in order. "What was the emergency?"

"Your concussion," Della responds, dumbfounded by my question. "We gave you an ample dosage of steroids to reduce the swelling."

"How did it happen?" I ask Cy, deciding Della isn't apt to answer the question.

"Where is she?" A harsh voice cuts in from around the corner. I hope it is someone who knows me that is finally arriving to this desolate place.

"Who are you?" the young, tall man demands from me. There is no denying he is strikingly handsome. He has dark hair and deep blue eyes. I might be attracted to him if he weren't screaming at and unnerving me.

"What's your name?" he shouts, now getting in my face.

"Relax, man," Cy says, lamely trying to pull him from my space. "What's your problem?"

"Her chip had a mike and she looks a lot older than three to me."

"What?"

"You heard me, Cy," the man says harshly, but there's a sorrow in his eyes as he tells this to Cy. These two know each other well. He must be Cy's partner. Cy told Della that he suffered blows to the ribcage during whatever scuffle we all endured. If he's hurt, it doesn't show. His presence makes me feel small, weak.

"She's a trap!" he says, shaking Cy's shoulders with the intent to eradicate any protestations from my new acquaintance. Somehow, the heated man does not intimidate Cy. He shakes himself free of the man's grasp.

"You don't know that," he throws back. "Just settle down and give her a chance to explain." If I am a trap, whatever that means, I sure don't know it. How am I supposed to explain myself?

"I have amnesia," squeaks out. It's all I can offer.

"The hell you do! You're playing dumb, aren't you? Did you set us up?" he accuses as he powerfully takes hold of my bicep.

Suddenly, it feels hard to breathe. I become extremely dizzy as my lips quiver and find no words to defend myself to this stranger. One of the machines I'm connected to starts beeping fitfully.

"Knock it off, Crewe," Cy begs.

"Galv!" Della calls as she frets over me.

"What is it?" The doctor hurries in to see what the ruckus is about.

"Panic attack, maybe?" Della questions. I fight for air, but can't seem to swallow the knot in my throat that's preventing me from inhaling.

"Crewe, get out of here," the doctor orders. The man doesn't budge. "I'm in charge in here," the doctor says, glaring at him. "Now!" He finally turns and makes his way out, but not before punching the doorframe with his bare fist. I'm glad to see him go, but it doesn't help the air come any easier. "Cy, you too. Just go," the doctor demands, without allowing a moment for protest.

The doctor raises my legs onto his shoulders. "We can't issue any more of the sedative," he says to Della. "It's sure to be what brought on the amnesia."

"What if Crewe's right, Galv?" Della begins to panic. "If she is a trap, we should be moving quickly, shouldn't we?" Something should be done quickly, but it's not moving, it's saving my life. Can't they see that I'm suffocating? I reach up for the doctor who distractedly cycles my legs.

"You need to stay calm, Della. All right? We'll handle that. Disconnect her. We _are_ going, and she's coming with us."

"She can't like this. She needs—"

"Chloroform," Galvesten interrupts. I hope that's something to help me breath. I know I've heard the word before, but I can't find its meaning. Della fiddles with a large medical duffle bag while Galvesten decides to unplug the beeping machine and the other chords from the unit. He pulls sticky pads from my chest and gets up to shove them in another bag.

Everything goes fuzzy. Am I dying or just passing out? Something wet is gently placed over my nose and mouth. "This is going to help you breathe, sweetie." I can sense her by my side, but Della's voice sounds so remote. "Just breathe," she says as she methodically strokes my hair.

Thankfully, this treatment does help me to breathe. Then, just as quickly as this mystery substance became my savior, it becomes my enemy. It's useless to fight the paralyzing power of the liquid. I don't trust this group anymore with the addition of the raging man and the accusation he brought against me. I'm terrified as I lose myself, falling victim to their control.

# Chapter Thirteen

I wake up in a moving vehicle, leaned up against the window in the back seat. A white and blue patterned hospital gown is draped over me like a blanket. I can feel that I'm clothed, but everything feels bunched and twisted.

My waking is unnoticed by the other four passengers who are packed tightly into the speeding vehicle. The car is small, but it's still much larger than the toy-like electric cars in Miles. Miles! I sit up in a flash and shout over the dull conversation. "Take me back! You have to take me back!"

"Easy now. Easy," guides Della in the center seat next to me. I ignore her and speak to Cy, whose stunned gaze is upon me.

"It's not Violet," I tell him. "It's Evelette!"

"Okay, good," he starts.

"No!" I silence him in my need to be understood. "My sister. _Her_ name is Evelette." I turn my attention to the driver, the one who accused me of being a spy. "You have to take me back!"

He slams the brakes, puts the car into park in the middle of the road, and turns around to face me. "Who are you?" he demands again as he did back in the hospital. Only now, I remember the events before waking up in the hospital. I remember the attack.

I turn back to Cy, just as stunned by what I have just realized as he was a moment ago. "It was you." I know little about him. In fact, after this revelation, it turns out I knew nothing at all. Yet I feel deeply betrayed, as if by a long-standing friend. He seemed so honest, so true. He _played_ me.

I should run. I should let them see if they can catch me twice, but my rage glues me here. I direct it all toward the man who accused me of being the mole. "And you! You attacked me and injected me with something. So the real damn question is who are you?" I fire at him.

Hot air slides uneasily through his gritted teeth. "My name is Crewe Davids. Cy is my brother. We're seeksmen. _That's_ why we took you. Our _job_ is to find refugees from the counties and bring them to Sheridan."

I don't know what he's talking about. It's not the amnesia—that seems to have gone as suddenly as it appeared. It doesn't matter.

"I don't care who you are or why you _attacked_ me!" I interject. "I have a younger sister in Miles. I'm her guardian. You're taking me back!" I demand.

"Have you talked about being out?" Cy asks.

"What?" I'm so irritated. I told them to take me back, not to waste precious time with stupid questions. Get his gas-guzzling car in gear and turn it around.

"Have you talked about being outside of the county?" Crewe asks, matching the forcefulness of my inner thoughts. "Ever? To anyone?" I inhale to spew something out, I'm not sure what, but I'm stopped by quick words. "Your chip had a mike."

_Had_? Panicked, I examine my right wrist. It's bandaged. They removed my chip and stole with it my identity, my claim to my sister, and the meager funds that will keep us alive.

"Answer his question," Cy raises his voice, his patience waning.

"Yes! Yesterday. Yesterday I showed my sister how I get out of Miles. We talked, but we were outside—"

"Shit!" Crewe yells as he slams both hands into the steering wheel. He shoves the car door open and slams it behind him, leaving the engine idling. He walks briskly away from the car and squats down, squeezing his head in his hands.

"What else did you talk about?" Cy asks. He's intense and frazzled too, but he remains composed enough to get the information his brother is too hot to hear.

"I got my sister back two days ago. She was terrified by something. She couldn't talk to me about it while inside Miles," I explain. "We went out together yesterday before dawn and talked. She was upset because it looked to her as if our dead mother was still alive."

"What? What does that mean? What do you mean by that?" Cy stutters.

"The court database showed my mother as the guardian of two foster or adopted girls, beginning the year that she died and continuing until now. I looked up their names but found nothing."

"What, specifically, did you say about being outside of Miles?" asks the remarkably calm doctor in the passenger seat. "Think about the whole transcript. What, if anything, shows without a doubt that you had escaped from Miles?"

I was distraught then, am more so now, and suffered a dizzying concussion and amnesia in between. The specifics aren't going to come back to me. I can't think that I said too much directly, even though I wasn't concerned with censoring my tongue.

"Think about what your sister said too," Galvesten adds. "You had an extremely high-powered mike, like we haven't seen before. We can assume it picked up your sister's voice too. That is, if she doesn't have a mike of her own," he hypothesizes.

Why would the two of us have microphones in our chips? I've never even heard rumors of such things. It was clearly a shock to Crewe when he came in the room demanding to know who I was. I can tell it's not something they've seen often. Who am I to the county? What threat am I that they would need to tap my conversations?

"My sister said, ' _It's beautiful out here_.'" There's one thing I can remember. "I told her I would show her around." Oh no. My memory doesn't fail me. I have a bad feeling about telling them the next piece of information. But if I'm going to tell the group, the time is now when the threatening member is still having a tantrum on the roadside.

"Later on, I told my sister what our way back inside Miles would consist of, so that she'd have an idea before we attempted it."

"Try to retell exactly what you said yesterday," Cy advises.

Rage builds. I have a pressing determination to return to Evvie right now.

"Listen, I know I've given you no reason to trust me," Cy says, "but try to understand that finding out what you said is every bit as detrimental to your sister's safety as heading back toward her."

I listen to Cy. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to travel back to yesterday. "I told her we were getting close to our way back in. I told her we were going to do the timing game again and that she could follow me."

"What's that? What's the timing game?" Galvesten asks. Cy rests his brows on his enlaced fingers. He doesn't present a need to listen as I answer the doctor.

"It's where we run from tree to tree while the camera scans the opposite side of our location," I answer as I study Cy. His head remains in a position of defeat. "I don't even know if the EPA 8-9 camera is in range of my reentry point, but I do it anyway to be safe."

"What else?" Galvesten insists.

"I told her we were going to climb high in a tree after the timing game. I told her that the tree has two branches that we were going to walk across above the barrier, and then we'd jump down."

"Crewe?" Cy calls as he opens the back car door opposite me.

"What?" his brother snaps.

"She talked about her way back inside Miles—about the tree," he confesses brokenheartedly.

"Directly?" Crewe asks with an eerie calm.

"Clear as day," Cy sighs. He hangs his head and waits for someone to give us all direction.

"Let me talk to her," Crewe says. I'm out the door the second I hear him say it. As I approach this perilous man, I notice his demeanor has altogether transformed. "Sit down," he states as he does so himself. He peers into the vast expanse of overgrown fields and forestry ahead.

"No. We're wasting time! If someone inside has a reason to listen to my sister or me, then they've heard everything."

"And just like they used satellite radio to pick up your conversation outside of Miles they used infrared or satellite imaging to track everywhere you've been since. Do you understand we're being watched right now? We won't make it to your sister. They'll take us down as soon as we're in range, long before we reach the barrier."

"I'm not asking you to join me," I tell him. "I can see that's not going to happen. You _need to understand_ that it's my _job_ to protect my sister. I won't let anyone stand in my way when there's a chance that someone might hurt her."

"They're not just anyone."

"I wasn't talking about them."

"What's your name?" he asks me out of the blue.

"Sydney."

"Sydney who?"

"Layton," I lie. I don't trust Crewe. He attacked me, sedated me, and is now holding me against my will. The last thing I want to do is tell him who I am.

"They'll kill you, Sydney. I've seen it done. They know your face. They're tracking you now. You get anywhere near your sister and you're dead. What good does that do her?"

What if he's right? What if trying to save Evvie is a suicide mission? I still think I have to go. I have to try. I'm infuriated that he's done this. He's put my sister in harm's way and has caused my looming death for trying to protect her. It's impossible to save her and impossible to stay and save myself. The latter is my own fault, but it's only been made necessary because of him.

"So that's what you do then?" I scream as I shove the powerful Crewe to the ground. "You abduct people from their families and then turn your back on whoever's left behind!" I shriek as I relentlessly push him into the gravely roadside. My hands clutch the lapels of his jacket and I press my weight into his chest to pin him down.

"It's not like that," he defends himself from underneath my hostile grasp.

"No? What's it like then?"

"I didn't mean for this to happen, Sydney. I didn't know," Crewe yells back. He drops his skull to the gritty ground and surrenders. "We see you out there all the time," he says softly, sorrowfully to the blue sky above. "Usually that means the person is alone, that they don't have a family. They're trapped in a damn Petri dish with a bleak future. That's what we saw for you, Sydney, and we wanted to change that. We were trying to help."

They've seen me out there _all the time_. How long have these brothers been watching me? Long enough to study me and to wait for what they thought to be the most opportune time. Crewe's right about being confined in a Petri dish. Strange. That's what I call the counties too.

It's completely his fault that we're in this predicament, and I hate him for it, yet I see that Crewe is not all bad. He believes he has a worthy duty. The truth is that I might sympathize with his cause, if Evvie and I weren't victim to it. I let him up, knowing that I couldn't have held him if he tried to be released.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?" I ask.

"They watch for us. It's a good thing anyway since you have a mike. We sedate people and prep them for chip removal. We do the explaining later. Talking was tried before Crewe and I started seeking, but some people decided not to leave their county. Back inside they'd talk. They were tortured for their privileged knowledge and killed for the threat that it brought to their county. Seeksmen were hunted using the citizen's information, their fate being the same. Seeking has to be done the way we do it."

"Well, you were wrong about me—I have a family." I turn and look into the troubled eyes of my abductor. "I know the risk, but you have to understand that it doesn't matter to me. You need to let me go."

"I'll go with her," Cy says, revealing himself from behind where we sit.

"Cy," Crewe warns.

"No. She's right, Crewe. You know she has to go. And we did this. We were wrong. We should go with her."

"I know that she has to go," Crewe says as he rises to his feet. "I also know there's a good chance that she'll die if she does." Crewe approaches his brother. "You know that too. Don't try to be a hero."

"You'll let her go alone then? She knows our names and she knows about our town. They'll suck that and more from her, Crewe. We can't keep her and we can't let her go alone. We have to fight."

Crewe's hands cover his face again and he begins to pace. "Alright," he compromises. "I've got a plan."

"What?" Cy and I inquire together.

"We'll go back to the safe house," he tells Cy. The next part of his plan is directed more toward me. "We'll head to Miles tonight. We'll hope for the chance that they're expecting this; that for whatever reason, and without knowing it, you are a trap. We'll hope they aim to keep you alive. Did your sister know that you were jumping this morning?"

"I left a message." Crewe covers his face and Cy hangs his head. That's evidently not what they wanted to hear. "It was written. Evvie will know to burn it when she realizes something is wrong, and that won't be until late. My tablet isn't on if my boss has been calling." Both men regain a little faith with this.

"Will she call your boss when she starts to worry that you haven't come home?" Crewe asks.

"I don't think so. She'll be careful if she thinks there's a chance I never made it to work." She'll be terrified, but she'll be smart, I hope.

"Well, we'll hope for that. The five of us will hide out around the arc of Sector Seven at dusk. We'll wait and watch to see if your sister comes. If she does, we'll be ready. Can you handle a weapon?"

"I've never tried."

"Can Della handle one?" Cy asks, trying to be funny in an untimely manner.

"They'll both learn," Crewe says.

"Sydney, you have to know there's a chance she'll get taken out. My brother is right, this is our fault, and we'd be wrong not to help, but you have to be sure this is what you want. They might just let her be inside."

"And they might torture her, right?"

Crewe answers with, "I'm sorry," and heads back to toward the car, knowing what my answer is.

# Chapter Fourteen

"There are homes everywhere." I am perplexed by the scatterings of houses as we drive the abandoned road back toward Miles. Most of the houses are average-sized. Some are brick, but most are painted or sided in white, brown, soft blue, or a variation of tan. I imagine they are covered with dust and cobwebs on the inside, and barren of all homey furnishings and belongings, but if you didn't know better they could look occupied from the outside, except for unkempt yards with long grasses, weeds, and garden ornaments that have tipped over or blown about.

"They're not everywhere. Not out here. Most of these are homesteads. Have you noticed all the red buildings?" Cy asks.

"The barns?" I return.

"Yeah. You know that, huh?" Apparently he's surprised that a county girl like me knows about farms and barns. He probably thinks I don't know any better than to assume the plants and animals we eat live and grow on the cargo planes that drop them off. We're not that unaware on the inside, at least I'm not.

"I've learned what I can," I tell him.

"Good for you. This area was mostly farming communities. No population overgrowth threats here. But they were still made to go. Anyone east of this highway went to Billings and everyone west went to Miles."

"Neighbors. Split apart by a road," Della sighs dramatically.

"Not just neighbors, families," Galvesten corrects. "Brothers." I detect he may be alluding to his own past, but I decide to leave it alone. I know it can be difficult to talk about being separated from your family, and I've only just met this man.

"So how long have each of you been out?" I ask.

"You make us sound like inmates catching up after the slammer," Galvesten laughs.

"Counties aren't too different," Cy joins in. I don't know a lot about that. Large cities used to be hubs for crime, but chips have prevented much of that. Miles County doesn't even have a prison. A serious criminal or fraud comes up now and again, but they're shipped to the Billings Penitentiary. If you're not a government official and you're allowed to travel outside the county, you're either one of Miles' rarely produced criminals or Olympic athletes.

"When we got out, I was twelve and Crewe was fifteen, right?" Cy asks his brother.

"Seven years ago," Crewe confirms.

"How'd you do it?"

"Same way it happened to you," Crewe says. "The captain found us the day we made it outside—outside of the orphanage and outside of Miles."

"You're from Miles?" I can't picture these foreign brothers growing up in the same place that I did. "I lived in the orphanage for three years."

"No kidding?" Cy says. "When?"

I turn my attention to the younger Davids brother since he seems interested in the coincidence. "First from when I was twelve until I was fourteen, then again from fifteen to sixteen. I got a living variance then."

"How old are you now?" Cy asks.

"I just turned eighteen. Yesterday, actually. That's how I was able to get my sister back."

"Well, happy belated birthday. I'm nineteen, so I suppose Crewe and I got out of the orphanage the year before you got in."

"Still sounds like prison talk," Galvesten notes.

"Were you from Miles?" I ask the doctor.

"Nope. I lived in Billings."

"I was from Tennessee," Della laughs. "When I was growing up we were still the land of fifty united states," she beams. It's clear Della doesn't hold the _'world teetering on famine and devastation'_ view of the old world that EduWeb presents. "My family moved to Nebraska when I was in high school. After I graduated, I was all set for college, but my parents were too nervous to let me go. The colleges were buzzing with radical ideas of reform that my parents didn't want to see me involved in. They talked me into waiting a year, which I'm glad I did, because I was going to go to NDSU to study nursing, which means I would have been in Region Three, forever separated from my family."

College students and men and women in the armed forces were among the people most often misplaced into a county in which they didn't truly belong. Since the mapping of the counties within each region was done according to census data, the government was rigid about movement from one's last-known address. Keeping military recruits in clusters was a tactical maneuver, so those appeals were quickly cast off.

Initially, the newly established county courts heard appeal cases for absentee students or families, like Galveston's, which were split. Eventually, the courts needed to turn their attention to cases of crime and outrage as people protested the implantations of chips. The dispersed family members were told video chat would have to suffice for the rest of their lives.

"Does your family live in Sheridan?" I decided to ask Della.

"No. Only Mom and I were able to escape. My daddy and my brother made sure we got out, but they stayed behind to try to fix things. You know men. They were both killed at the hand of the government, God rest their souls. My momma died just last year due to complications of pneumonia."

"I'm sorry," I offer.

"No worries, baby doll. She was sixty-two," Della says proudly. "She earned two extra years of life in Sheridan. Her life had more quantity and quality than it could have inside a county."

"How many people live there, in Sheridan?" I ask.

"Two hundred forty-nine," Crewe answers without hesitation.

"Two hundred fifty-one if we make it back safely with you and your sister," Cy picks up. "There's sort of an unspoken competition right now between the seeksmen who cover counties Nine, Six, Four, and Twelve. Two-fifty is a milestone, and each team wants to be the one to bring that number home."

Crewe flashes a sharp glare at Cy in the rearview mirror. Crewe is certainly more mature than his brother, and understands that any slight correlation between the danger my sister faces, the danger we all face, and a stupid competition will not please me.

"Our mission is to seek people who visit the outside frequently, and carefully determine when it's their time. The population count is only circumstantial to the time we felt you were ready," Crewe counters.

"How long have you been watching me?" I feel more compromised now than angry. I think about all of those times I stripped down to run in my sports bra and spandex while my outer clothing dried. The forest was my haven, my getaway. And here I'm finding it never belonged to me at all. I was the invader to the seeksmen's territory.

"What's your end goal?" I wonder out loud when neither of the brothers answers my question. I want to know what the purpose of all of this is—the hiding, snooping, and abducting, the competition over which team of righteous abductors will add the two hundred and fiftieth person to their microscopic town. Why are they trying to grow their population when the rest of the nation is trying to reduce it?

Crewe does respond to this question. "We don't know, yet. Obviously we want people to have the option to live in freedom. I have my own personal ideas, but they're not necessarily everyone else's. Right now our aspiration is to help anyone we can. If we grow our numbers in doing so, great, because we expect to meet resistance inside Region Two someday. And two-hundred and fifty pales in comparison to 1.4 million."

"More," I state. "Two hasn't made that reduction goal yet."

"I know, and Boise is paying for it," Crewe adds.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You know that all the counties have identical square mileage, right?"

"Yeah."

"Each county's limited area has nothing to do with preserving the natural world—you can see there's plenty of it out here now." I had noticed that during this ride.

"It was all to make the people feel contained so that they'd fear population overgrowth and work to lessen it," Della says.

"No," Crewe counters. "They compacted the people the way they did in hopes to help spread disease more quickly in the counties that needed to make the most significant losses."

"What?" Can that be true? I know the world Americans live in now has been turned upside down from what it once was, but I had no idea the government could be so revolting as to try, actually put forth an effort, to destruct its people.

"Boise has more than ten times the amount of people that Miles has. I haven't seen it, but can you imagine? The government's hope was for epidemic to break out and reduce that large population in Region Two exponentially compared to the other counties."

"But it hasn't happened naturally in the eighteen years everyone's been under the government's confinements and restrictions. We have inside information that the government is going to initiate an epidemic in one," Cy conspires. One being Boise County.

The counties within each region are ranked according to their population size. Miles has been twelfth since 2015 when the bill was written and the incarceration initiated.

"How?"

"We don't know," Crewe states. His square jaw line tenses again as he contemplates the potential calamity. Unexpectedly, I'm beginning to feel in sync with him. He lived where I lived. Some misfortune left him and his younger brother orphaned. He found a way out, and learned of an outside world that he and his brother could join. But he didn't stop there. He fights for Sheridan to grow to preserve the human heart and the existence of true freedom. Crewe Davids' heart burns for righteousness and his mind searches for the tactics to ensure it.

"What's our plan, Crewe?" Galvesten changes the subject to the matter at hand, to acquiring Evvie.

"We go to the house. Eat. Take out the guns and teach these two to shoot," he answers, referring to Della and me. "We call Merick and let him know what's happened and what we plan to do. We set stations for each of us, we go in, and when night falls, we watch for her."

"And for them," Cy adds.

"Who's Merick? Is he the captain, the one that got you out?" I ask. There are endless questions that I want answered, now that I know I belong with these Sheridans. I know their cause enough to believe that this is the right move for Evvie and me.

"No," Cy responds. "Merick isn't the captain. If there were an official hierarchy, Merick would be only a rung below him. Merick is always in Sheridan, so he feels more like our town's leader. But the captain is the one who started the effort to seek and acquire refugees."

"Where does he go when he's away from Sheridan?"

"Other towns. Other collections of the free inside Region Two. There's a small cluster between Bozeman, Missoula, and Great Falls counties. They've named their town after their staying leader, Braves. There's another between Idaho and the other two Falls counties. They're just called Idaho, like the old state."

"There's a leader named Braves? Was he from Miles?"

"No, why?" wonders Cy.

"Nothing. Never mind," I say. I suppose now I'll never know why Tuli and Tigonee Braves were shown to be the foster children of my deceased mother. "Why is your town called Sheridan?"

"I can answer that one," Della smiles. "It was named after a Unites States general from the Civil War. We didn't name it," she clarifies. "We just decided to resurrect the old name."

Sheridan is home to almost two hundred and fifty people. There are two other refugee towns in Region Two. I'm estimating that there are roughly seven hundred non-county inhabitants in Region Two. That's seven hundred more than I knew existed, but far less than what would be needed to create any kind of resistance to even just one county. "What about Cheyanne and Rock Springs?" I ask when I realize I haven't heard anything about these Region Two counties.

"Eleven and Three? We don't know. None of us have ever met up with anyone fleeing from there. But that doesn't mean they don't exist," Cy speculates.

"What about other regions? Are there towns of refugees in other regions of the nation?"

"We don't know that either," Crewe answers. "Do you know about the armed boundaries?"

I shake my head. I have no idea what he's talking about. It sounds awfully oppressive.

"Armed guards line the latitude and time-zone boundaries around each region. There are bases where operatives watch for vehicles, boats, jets, or people on foot trying to cross it."

"That must take a lot of manpower."

"Not too much. They use mechanized, thermal imaging to detect infrared energy waves being emitted," Crewe explains. "The guards are alerted if any large-massed body with a temperature between ninety-six and ninety-nine degrees comes within a mile of the border. The machine bypasses deer, mountain lions, bears, and other large mammals whose body temperatures are normally above one hundred degrees. It's brilliant technology, unfortunately for us."

"I'm involved in developing ideas for healthily inducing fevers among a force from Region Two that may try to travel across into Three to search for others like us," Della shines. I hadn't expected her to be a component in a ploy like this, but I suppose doing research in a lab and blogging about it constitutes as being involved for Della.

"Problem is, we don't know what kind of technology they have in Three, and what kind of hostility they'll bring if they spot our invasion," Galvesten reminds all of us.

Crewe lets out a sigh heavy with responsibility. I feel the weight of it too. This conversation is stirring questions about tonight, therefore agitating me. We may be detected if our every move is not being monitored already. We could be caught. If we are, we have no idea what decisions the agents in Miles will make. I get the impression that both the merciless, quick kill and the torture for surrender of knowledge methods have been used in the past.

"We're here," Crewe announces.

# Chapter Fifteen

We pull into the driveway of a plain and modest home. The three, large windows facing us have dark curtains pulled tightly shut. Crewe puts the car in park and jumps out, but no one else unlatches their seatbelt. He opens a flap on the rim of the garage door, and presses his thumb to the screen.

"I reprogrammed it for us," Cy brags as the door opens. "That's my niche." Crewe crouches back into the cramped car and pulls us into the garage. This time when he puts the car in park, everyone unbuckles and exits. When I get out of the car, I notice that the garage door windows are covered with cardboard.

"Do you come here very often?" I ask anyone of them.

"Crewe and I try to come for a couple of days each week," Cy answers as Crewe unlocks the door to the house, this time with a key that dangles from a chain that he pulls from under his tee-shirt. "We drive here in the evening, get set inside, and make our way to Miles County by foot."

Cy keeps talking as we all cramp through the doorway, but I'm not paying much attention to the answer to my question. Everyone but Crewe walks through to the house to a large, central room. He lingers in the kitchen where knives and guns line the counters.

"We seek from dusk until dawn," Cy is still saying. "Then, we walk back and crash." He releases the word _crash_ in timing with an exaggerated flop onto a couch. It seems as if this space would be the media room, but no projector or media screen is present here. Even my lowly apartment had a built-in screen for maximizing tablet media. This doesn't even have an ancient television set. I suppose if it ever did, they've since removed it.

Scattered across the better part of the floor are incomputable gadgets. They are ugly, bulky technologies of the old world, which sharply contrast with the small and sleek ones I am used to. The only built-in feature in the room is what was probably an electric fireplace. The space has since been gutted and supplied with real wood, which Galvesten now perfects. Cy motions for me to sit in a downtrodden chair beside him.

I feel guilty sitting when it seems there is work to do. Galv is lighting paper beneath the ideally stacked logs in the fireplace. After fighting with the zipper on one of the medical bags that was brought in from the car, Della now carefully extracts surgical tools that are stained with my blood. Crewe emerges from some rummaging in the kitchen with a deep pan that he hands to Della, and jerky and apples that he tosses to the rest of us.

"For a year we spent the late afternoon and evening hours walking by foot to all the neighbors' houses to harvest and strip whatever they had that we might be able to use," Cy says, as he chomps his food. "We hit the jackpot once, didn't we Galv?"

"Sure did. These boys found an old gas station. Of course the fuel tank was empty, but there were a lot of jerricans filled with gasoline and gallons of oil."

"Della, how often do you come here?" I ask her.

"The doctor and I come along whenever Crewe tells us to. We're on his team. If the two of them decide someone is ready, then they tell us it's time for a trip up to Miles. We go and get the hospital ready while they get the recruit. It was actually never a hospital, the place where you woke up. It used to be an old folks' home. It's just a few blocks down that way," she points. "There's a good store of equipment there, and enough beds should something go wrong, like Cy here getting kicked in the face."

"We've never _needed_ a bed," Cy defends. "But I wouldn't want to wake up here," he says, gesturing to the messy floor before us. "Someone might think we were stealing their organs for trade on the black market." The others laugh at Cy's joke, but I ponder it for a moment. That was a real crime, another one the chips successfully put an end to. I guess there are some advantages for chip implantation. You just forget about those after living with the restrictive cons for so long.

"How long have you been watching me?" I decide to take another stab at asking Crewe as he digs and divvies ammunition from an oversized cardboard box. Crewe rests his hands to answer my question this time, but he doesn't lift his eyes from the ammunition.

"About two years, maybe a little less." Two _years_? That's not the answer I was expecting. Crewe hesitantly looks up and sees my astonishment. "I know that sounds bad, but in all that time we probably only saw you ten times. We don't skimp on the time it takes to read people, to decide their story. We don't take seeking lightly, Sydney."

I'm very torn on the subject. As much as I am glad for the fact that they study people rather than brashly abducting them, I also feel so invaded by their watchfulness. Besides, after all that time they still got it wrong.

"How many people have you taken?"

"Not a lot. Seven, including you." He's right. Seven is not a very productive count for at least a two-year time span. At the same time, seven can be seen as a lot of people. I didn't think there was a single other soul in Miles who had ever gotten out. I wonder if any of them used the same outlet or inlet that I used. I can't believe I never bumped into any of them, or heard about anyone mysteriously disappearing from the county.

"You were the first person I saw when I joined Crewe about a year and a half ago. I couldn't officially enlist until I was eighteen, captain's rule. Crewe was the first seeksman stationed at Miles. There were others, like the captain, floating around now and again before, but there was no systematic way to find and help refugees until our force was officially created."

"Has anyone ever gotten hurt badly? A seeksman or a refugee?" I have a hard time putting it that way. I still want to call the person _the_ _abducted_ or _the victim_.

"We lost one once," Galv says. Della lowers her head in a sorrowful manner as she extracts surgical tools from the boiling pot of water. "He was an older man, and a hemophiliac. Of course we didn't know it. We didn't have the proper drugs to help him clot. We couldn't stop the bleeding once we'd removed the chip."

"It was okay though," Della tells herself out loud. "His expiration date was sure to come up soon, and he got to die knowing freedom exists and humanity isn't doomed."

I hadn't thought of their mission that way, the way Della emphasized the word humanity. She didn't mean the human race in the scientific sense—she was talking about saving the human heart. I think about the lack of humanity in the way that the government forced my grandma's death. I think about the cold railway passengers the day that I was found out. I think about the woman at the coffee shop the morning of the trial. Della aims to preserve and rekindle human relations.

I am intrigued to know if there is a warmer feel between the people of Sheridan. If so, I think that might be the most worthy cause of the seeksmen. I hope Evvie comes tonight and that we come away with her. I want her to have the opportunity to experience humanity.

"Have you ever been close to being caught by the EPA?" I ask, back to business.

"The EPA? No. The cameras on the EPA buildings don't even belong to their agency. They belong to the government and its longstanding dirty workers. All of this," Cy points to the covered windows, "is a futile effort to keep us hidden from the BOTs."

"BOTs?" I ask, hinting for elaboration.

"Black-Operations Teams," Crewe provides. "They're the ones to worry about. And the answer is no, we can't really say we've ever been close to being _caught_ by them, because we'd probably never have gotten away. They know we're out here. They know we do this. But they haven't attempted to stop us. We're not sure why. Seeksmens in Six and Four haven't been so lucky."

"Deck, you'll meet him, he lost his partner outside of Four. What was it, two months ago?" Cy wonders.

"I think it's almost three now," Della helps.

"About a year ago, a whole team who tried to go inside Six was wiped out," Cy adds with renewed seriousness.

"How long have the BOTs been around?" I ask.

"Since the United States as far as we know. Maybe by another name then," Crewe speculates. "There's more food in that pantry if you're still hungry," he points.

"Or there's seaweed in your bag," Cy teases. "We confiscated your knife, but now we're going to give you a gun. You're not going to shoot us are you?"

"Not until you teach me," I kid. I have no appetite due to my apprehension, but even with it, Cy manages to make me smile.

# Chapter Sixteen

"Wow! Really, that's impressive," Cy beams. "Are you sure you've never shot before?" I look the part dressed in hunter's camouflage. More items that Crewe and Cy have mustered together while off-duty during their years of seeking. Surprisingly, I shot about eight for ten. I don't let on that my arm is tired, that my shoulder is bruised, and that my recently operated-on wrists are screaming with pain.

"Come on, you know the laws on weaponry," I play. I've never even seen a gun in person before.

"I don't take you for much of a rule follower, knife bearer." By no fault of Cy's, I'm feeling unsettled again. His remark reminds me that he and his brother have been watching me for years. They've also been through the contents of my pack. I keep teetering between hatred toward the both of them for their invasiveness and for creating our current situation and admiration for what they're doing. As the seeksmen and their doctoral team see it, they're using whatever means they can to rescue confined souls and bring them to true freedom in Sheridan.

Cy, for one, clearly means well, and I accept him more readily, probably simply because it wasn't his arms that first arrested me. Also, although I have no need to, I do feel a little sorry for kicking the overly-friendly Cy square in the face.

Crewe on the other hand, I have less sympathy for. I see him as my abductor and the facilitator of my untimely separation from my sister. He abrasively accused me of being a spy while his neighborly brother kindly tried to help me figure out who I was. Even now, Cy stands at my side, teaching and praising me as I prepare to shoot dead any threat to my sister, should she emerge from Miles tonight.

The leader of this mission, Crewe, stands aloof and takes no notice of us. He tenses with frustration for every soup can that he misses. I notice that his cans are scattered with more distance than Cy's, but still he angers over any missed target. His arm doesn't seem to tire from holding the relic rifle, nor does his shoulder mourn the beating it takes from the gun's backfire.

Cy sports a less outdated, semi-automatic rifle with a box magazine. He admitted that he uses this firearm because it can shoot multiple rounds, giving him a higher hitting percentage than he would have with a weapon like Crewe's that requires more accuracy.

Galv helps Della handle a lighter, twelve-gauge shotgun. She hasn't hit a target yet, and I worry about arming her tonight.

"Can we talk?" Crewe unexpectedly approaches me.

"Yeah, sure," I answer when I realize he's talking to me and not his brother. Cy carefully helps disarm me and begins reloading in order for him to practice again.

Crewe and I walk around to the side of the house and sit against the yellowed siding.

"I've been thinking about some things and I have some questions for you," he states. I feel as though I'm about to undergo another interrogation like Judge Sutton's. "You're important," he says, looking me directly in the eyes. "I don't know why," he says as his gaze turns to nothing particular ahead. "I hope that you're not keeping anything from me." He's relaxed around me, but there's more than a hint of distrust vexing him.

"I'm not," I defend. "I'm as perplexed about the mike as you are."

"It obviously wasn't implanted when you were born. The technology is too new, the newest model we've seen."

"I was the first baby in Miles County to have a chip implanted at birth. I don't understand how I could have had such an advanced chip then."

"Did you ever have surgery for something?" Crewe inquires, thinking that he may have hit something of importance.

"This morning was my first," I state. Then suddenly, I think of it.

"What is it?" Crewe asks as he recognizes my change in disposition.

"I was in the hospital for a few days when I was my sister's age, fourteen."

"What happened?" Crewe asks. I decide I'm okay with answering him honestly. He won't smother me with sympathy the way Merideth would, or maybe even Cy.

"I got beaten by my foster," I say, looking down at my lap. I shouldn't feel embarrassed by the times when I've been vulnerable, but I can't help feeling that way. Crewe doesn't react at all to my confession. He just continues to stare ahead. "I had alcohol poisoning too. I was out a long while. It could have happened then."

"I suppose law enforcement knew about the incident?" he quietly questions.

I nod. All this time, I had thought the police had come to my rescue. Really, they only came to take me to their superiors who planned to seize the opportunity to infiltrate me. When it was done, they discarded me. Evvie and I went right back to Trista's incapable hands. At least there were no more beatings after that.

"I'm sure you were heavily drugged in the hospital. They would have worked it to where you couldn't notice. Can you remember which arm had the IV?"

Wow. I'm astounded. I do remember because of the ploy that was played. This time I'm not disgusted, I almost find humor in my failure to recognize what had happened.

The IV had been inserted into the wrist of my right hand. They told me I had a slight infection spreading, and that I had to have some antibodies inserted into the surrounding area. After two or three shots a day, my wrist was quite sore in an isolated area. The shots were probably nothing but fluids, same as the IV. It was the new chip that was causing the pain.

I had the same nurse throughout my stay too. She always kindly blocked my view as she undid the wrapping and administered the antibodies. Her false objective was to prevent a weak-stomached girl from fainting. The bandage was changed at the end of my stay, and I wasn't allowed to remove it for three additional days. That gave the single stitch time to dissolve and eliminate the evidence of a chip-replacement operation. Chip scars are so slight that I thought it came from the injections. Given the pretenses, why wouldn't I have thought exactly that?

"That was it," I finally answer Crewe. "The IV was in my right wrist. They told me I had an infection."

"Why was a fourteen-year-old in foster care such a threat that a secret team had to come in and update your chip?"

"I wasn't," I answer. I was no threat then. I had nothing. My general disgust for the government didn't develop until later. Even now, my dissention wouldn't have been significant enough to permanently mike me, would it?

"What about people close to you? Do you think this could have anything to do with them?"

"Evvie is my only family," I turn to Crewe to say. Our hardened, empty eyes meet. This time it's mine that break away. "She's all I have."

"I'm sorry, Sydney. I want you to know that," he says, his gaze still fixed on me. "For my mistake, for scaring you, for yelling at you when I thought you were a spy, and most of all for telling you that I wouldn't go back with you. I thought I was doing my job, but I was being a coward."

"You were doing your job, Crewe," I call him by his name for the first time. "You were protecting your brother. I know that job."

Crewe's expression grows graver. "I suppose you do. So I hope you'll understand why I'm not willing to put my brother on the front lines with us. This is my fault, not his. I don't want to lead him to his death, Sydney. I can't do that." My eyes are welling with the pain we're both experiencing. I want as many people fighting for my sister as possible, but it would be unbearable to live knowing that I cost someone else's life for hers, unless that life was my own. I accept Crewe's plan.

"Della and Galv have even less to do with what we seeksmen do," Crewe goes on. "And a good doctor and nurse are always needed back home."

"I understand," my delicate voice cracks. "All of it," I assure him, meaning I agree about Cy's responsibility being severed too.

"If whatever threat you pose to the county is significant, then I expect they've been tracking us through thermal and satellite imaging. They'll have no problem taking us out as soon as we cross the line and enter sniper range."

Crewe sure doesn't sugarcoat the eminent danger we face. So it is just the two of us. Two young lives crossed in an unfortunate circumstance. Tonight, we pursue a potentially lost cause though it might mean the end of our not-yet-lived lives. But it's a fight that has to be undertaken. I'm not sure whether he's trying, but he can't talk me out of the commitment I've made to safeguard my sister.

"If my sister is in any danger now, or could come into it if she breaches, then I will be there to do whatever I can to protect her."

"I know. I just wanted to be honest with you. I want to ensure that you know all that's in jeopardy, for preparation's sake as much as anything else. If you're all in, then I am too," Crewe says bravely. "Let's hope for the best," he says as he stands and offers his hand to me. I hesitate to take it in the gravity of what this gesture means. Trust. Do I trust this man with my life and with my sister's? Will I go with him to whatever end awaits us? I break down a layer of the barricade that's kept me distant from people. I allow Crewe's firm grasp to help bring me to my feet. Our eyes meet in understanding for a moment and I'm not embarrassed when a tear leaks.

"We're disengaged and the ammunition is packed," Cy says as he comes around the corner. Somehow, I hadn't even noticed the gunfire during my conversation with Crewe. "You okay?" he asks me as I wipe away the tear with my baggy sleeve.

"Yeah. I'm fine," I say, willing my answer to be genuine as I dab at my eyes.

"Hey," Cy encourages as he takes hold of my shoulder, "it's going to be okay." I know he won't be there with me, but somehow the courage coming from this endearing young man comforts me. I nod and allow a little smile to escape me.

"Will you fuel up and stock the car?" Crewe asks his faithful brother. "It has to be ready in case we need a quick getaway when we make it back."

Minutes later, the five of us are gathered around the now barren kitchen counter. The knives have been pushed into a pile toward the sink and the guns now lay in the garage, awaiting their pending use.

Before us lies a piece of paper, which Crewe uses to lay out our plan. The accuracy and artistry in his strokes impress me. Assuming we make it that far without facing gunfire, he and I will be stationed behind neighboring trees a short distance south of the pond. Cy will be a good distance behind us, instructed to provide us with cover if an attack ensues.

Galvesten is next, but clearly out of a sniper's precision range. He'll be armed with a high-powered, long-distance rifle that will reach us, but no further. Finally, Della will wait unarmed, safely out of gunfire range, but not protected from any kinds of heavy artillery. Crewe doesn't think anything like that will be used. Miles County wouldn't want its inhabitants to know there are others out there who are being fought. They won't want their people to know that there is another way of living.

A cellular phone rings. I'm not sure if it belongs to any one person, but Crewe answers it.

"This is wrong," Cy asserts once Crewe is engaged in conversation. "I should be on the front line. You have no business being there," he says to me.

"I have more business there than you," I state calmly. "She's my sister."

"You only learned to shoot today!" he flares. "Galv, you know I'm right. She shouldn't be in the ranks." So it's not about where he should be—it's about where I shouldn't be. "And his campaign about you being farther back in case anyone gets hit, you know that's crap!" he says to the doctor. "If they hit us, we won't be wounded. We'll be dead. There's no two ways about that. I should be on the front line and you should be covering," Cy riles the doctor.

"I'll back you, Cy. You're right," Galv confirms.

"Who was that?" Della asks before I'm able to weigh in on the argument.

"Merick. He can't trace her," Crewe answers.

"Crewe," Cy starts, but I overtake him before he has a chance to negate Crewe's lineup.

"What does that mean? He can't trace her?"

"It means they've blocked your sister. Merick had our main tech searching for your sister. He can infiltrate the county's system to see some of the same things they can see: where she is, and if she has a mike, what she's said and who she's spoken to. But apparently she's undetectable right now. If they've made the effort to reroute her movements and communications so that we can't see her, we can guess that wherever she is, whatever she does, they're watching," Crewe says hopelessly. Cy curses under his breath.

"What else did Merick say?" Galvesten asks, alluding to something other than the information about Evvie being blocked from view.

"He said we're a go." That means the order is we go in anyhow, even if our chance of meeting hostility, which has been equated with clear-cut death, has just increased. "He pulled the other teams. They're coming prepared for full assault. They're well on their way, but they won't make it in time to be back up."

In other words, the leader of Sheridan and the other teams of seeksmen are coming to avenge our deaths. Well, not mine, or my sister's. These people don't even know us. Yet they're coming headstrong to meet whatever battle lies in waiting.

"No. This isn't their fight," I plead with Crewe. We just talked about this. Why doesn't he stop Merick from risking more peoples' lives?

"It's been their fight forever. Since each of them was captive in whatever county. No, their fight isn't about your sister—it's about the county governments denying anyone the freedom they seek. It's time to go."

"I'm switching with Sydney," Cy declares.

"You're staying right where you've been told," Crewe counters.

"She doesn't belong there!"

"Neither do you!" Crewe fires, turning on his brother.

"You just said it, Crewe! It's all of our fight too. So why do you—" Crewe cuts his brother off when he grabs fistfuls of his jacket collar. Crewe pulls Cy's nose close to his. "You'll follow your orders and you _won't_ do anything stupid while we're out there. You got that?" Cy's nostrils flare and he clenches his teeth in silence, refusing to respond to his stubborn brother. "Cy, I swear—"

"I got it!" he bellows over Crewe. "I got it," he repeats, glaring straight into the eyes of his superior. Crewe holds his brother hostage for another moment before he loosens his grip.

"We're leaving!" Crewe commands the rest of us. He brushes past his brother through the living room.

Cy clued me in on this term while we were practicing our aims. Back in his town, they don't call them media rooms. They are not meant to gather people together for the purpose of viewing media. _People_ are the focal point of the rooms. People are enough. In Cy's town, they are called living rooms. I guess they always were; I have just never heard it before.

At first I wonder whether I'm supposed to follow Crewe. I think that maybe we're headed out through a part of the house I haven't seen yet. Since no one else moves, I stay too, hoping I haven't joined in some defiant demonstration. Crewe returns with a box. He dumps the contents onto the rest of the rubble that litters the living room floor. He throws the empty box aimlessly into the corner, and picks up one of the black, padded vests.

Cy waits for his brother to exit into the garage before he straightens his collar and moves toward the vests. Against his desire, which is visible to all of us, Cy continues to bite his tongue as he passes out the vests. All of us strap or zip our vests while we walk in silence into the garage.

Galvesten lifts two of the guns, his and mine, and scrapes past Crewe without words. Crewe shakes his head and mumbles, irritated that Galvesten supports Cy's position.

Della pulls the two medical bags from the car, and tries to juggle them along with her gun. I take one of the bags off her hands, since all I'm carrying is my pack.

I take advantage of the men's egos and brisk walking to hang back and discreetly ask Della for some pain medication. "Hey Della," I whisper. "Before we get going, can I take something to help with pain? Something light maybe?" I need something powerful enough to take the edge off so that I can sturdily hold my weapon, but something light enough that I will be able to handle it coherently.

"Sure. What's aching?" The sweetness in Della has been swept away by the arguing men and the perils ahead. I feel terrible for the situation that's befallen her. I'm glad she's been positioned as far back and as much out of reach as possible.

"I'm most worried about my wrist, but my head aches too." I don't find pain to be an inspiration and propellant like I did when I ran about carefree through the forest we walk to tonight.

"Can you see clearly? Probably shouldn't have been shooting those guns," she says in the same breath. Della hands me two large, blue pills.

"Yeah, I can see fine," I say as I remove the water bottle from my pack.

"Everything okay?" Crewe calls over his shoulder to us. Cy turns back too. He looks a little dejected, but has seemed to accept his order.

"Fine," I answer. "We're coming." I gulp down the pills and follow the seeksmen outside. Heavyhearted, the five of us walk to Miles in silence.

# Chapter Seventeen

My timing game, learned by Crewe and Cy throughout years of watching me, commences. Only timing has less to do with it now. It's not the watchful eye of the camera we're avoiding—it's that of the black-operations teams. With their heat-seeking technology and superior, sniper weapons, there is _no_ time when it's safe to be exposed.

We flash shorter distances than what I'm accustomed to, and at a more frantic speed, yet our movements between the immense conifers have a stealthy sleekness.

We're about a hundred yards away from the pond now. As far as we know, we've been undetectable to the naked eye, but we know better than to celebrate that. Although our bodies are hidden behind the larch trees, our heat signatures blaze in contrast with the cool, night forest.

Crewe signals for each of us to take our final position.

My eyes catch the movement on top of the EPA building before Crewe's do. Simultaneously, as I fall to his flank, I cock the rifle and pull it into position at my shoulder. Crewe frantically reacts to my draw and blindly aims his weapon toward EPA 7-8.

"No, Crewe. It's her," I caution him as he zeroes in on the water erupting from the pond. My eyes remain trained on the place where Evvie splashed while the sight of Crewe's rifle lifts and searches the EPA rooftop and high-standing solar panels on each end.

Evvie's head undulates smoothly above the surface and back below as she takes a shallow breath in the middle of the pond. This indicates to me that she knows too—she knows they're watching her.

Contrary to orders, I decide I need to go to Evvie. I have to be there, at the water's edge, when she next lifts her head. I need to take a bullet for her should someone be hiding in the distance with their weapon engaged and aimed to kill.

My runners grip the moist soil and undergrowth as I push off toward a patch of trees only a few yards away. I hear an explosion of successive rounds and feel their power drive me to the ground as they whiz by. Another inch this way or that, another second faster or slower, and I might have been dead. Through my ringing ears, I hear a bellowing scream approach from my right.

_So this is how I cause the death of Crewe Davids_ , I mourn. I defy his orders and miraculously evade the scrupulous aim of a trained BOT. In desperation to keep one of his subordinates alive, Crewe pushes forward with all of his might to reach me. I close my eyes and listen for the inevitable, for the gunfire to renew. Over the hum in my ears, I hear the distant clanks of a gun as it drops to the ground. So it's the other Davids brother who dies first. A silencer just killed Cy, positioned farther from harm than Crewe and I were.

Crewe effortlessly drags me off the ground and sits me up behind the nearest tree. He's bent over and fussing over me, but I can't make sense of what he's saying. Thudding footsteps approach from behind him. If this is Galvesten, he's next. No gunfire sounds, and the boots draw closer.

I grab hold of Crewe's collar, pull him to his knees, and reach for my weapon. Wide-eyed and terrified, Crewe dives across my lap and knocks the gun from my single-handed grasp. Behind him, a pair of hunting camouflage is revealed.

Just as quickly as I'm relieved that I'm alive this second, I'm terrified to see the expression of sheer terror on Cy's moonlit face above me.

"Are you hit? Are you hit?" Crewe is yelling and shaking me, but I'm fixed on Cy's eyes as they spot something ahead. His feet take off running toward, not away from, the threat.

Evvie. I push off Crewe's shoulder to peek around the clump of trees as I pull myself on my feet. Crewe wrestles me back down and yanks my face toward him. "Sydney," he says. For a split second, I lock onto his intense, anxious eyes, but as soon as I do, he's gone. Like the hero he told Cy not to be, he's after his brother.

I rise to my feet and round the tree cluster, paying no attention to the camera as I burst from the cowardly hideout. Ahead, the hurtling Crewe wraps his gun into position to cover Cy. I expect the seeksmen to be shot dead in their tracks, but no gunfire ensues. They're running toward the pond. They're still trying to save my sister.

I try to match the bravery of the Davids brothers. It should be easy; I'm farther back than them and, unlike Cy, I still hold my rifle. What caused Cy to drop his weapon? Has he been shot and is now propelled by a desire to leave life as a hero?

A braided head emerges from the edge of the pond. Cy reaches in and rips her from the water. Evvie manages the beginnings of a scream before Cy stifles it. He passes the flailing Evvie to Crewe, who turns and runs with her behind the tree nearest to the pond, the first tree I use in the timing game.

An instant later, I meet them at the tree. Evvie is kicking and flailing the same way I did in Crewe's grasp. It takes her a few precious seconds to recognize me and calm down. When she stops lurching about, Crewe hands her over to me. I wrap her firmly in my arms and continue to cover her mouth. She doesn't seem to fear that I've been brainwashed by the strangers who ripped her from the water's edge. She trusts me completely and doesn't fight me at all.

"Let's go!" Crewe shouts when the camera passes. My hand remains latched to one of Evvie's as I pull her from our inadequate cover, forcing her in front of me as I follow Crewe and Cy's long, risky sprint past Cy's original station. In dead sprint, Crewe bends to the ground to grab the muzzle of Cy's rifle and hikes it behind him to his brother's waiting hands.

Galvesten has already been on the run since hearing Crewe's order to go. He slows a bit to hoist the two medical bags from where Della abandoned them.

Hiding would be futile and slowing at all would be a costly mistake. Thus, none of us bother with the timing game. We are engaged in an all-out sprint, knowing that our lives depend on our speed. Direction is important too, which is why I worry that Della is our current leader.

Crewe slows, takes my gun from me, and ushers us ahead of him. He had sped to the front to ensure his brother got his weapon, and now that he knows Cy is armed, he drops back to be our shield. Evvie and I must still be within range of our hunters.

"Don't go to the house," Crewe shouts from behind us. "Plan B!" he yells ahead to Cy and to Galvesten who has already caught up with Della. I feel more secure knowing that Galvesten now leads us, but I'm not sure he could make out Crewe's order.

"Where's plan B?" I yell behind me. I turn and see that Crewe holds the cellular phone to his ear.

"How long?" He must be talking to Merick, who has been on his way north to meet us with backup teams.

"What's going on?" Evvie pleads.

"Shhh!" I scold. "Trust me."

"How many are there?" Crewe shouts into the phone as we all frantically run. I pray he's inquiring about the number of troops on our side and not some resistance they've met. "Clear them out," Crewe says. "We need it."

"Hey!" Crewe calls. I turn back, recognizing that this time he is talking to me. All Crewe needs to catch up with us is the time we waste to turn around. "Tell her about it." Crewe taps his wrist. "I'm going to catch the others and prep them. Stay back and watch your words."

"Okay," I answer. The others have slowed in their struggle to move Della along. Crewe catches them easily. Gladly, Evvie and I lighten our pace and fall about fifty yards behind the others. Crewe wouldn't have us fall back if we were still in range. It's no reason to relax; I expect the BOTs are on the move as well, keeping the danger we face immediate.

I tear the bandage from my wrist and hold my arm out to my sister. "Look." The fresh scar and stitches are neat, but more sizable then what city doctors and their technology can accomplish. I grasp an imaginary microphone and pretend to speak into in like a master of ceremonies. I point to my wrist to indicate that there was a microphone in my chip. Evvie's brows furrow in concern, then disgust. I clutch her arm with one hand and turn the fingers of the other into a claw that motions to remove the chip from her wrist.

"I trust you," Evvie says, beginning to lose her breath. She shakes her head to indicate that I don't need to try to lay out what's coming for her like I did when we breached. It's easier for her to trust me than to decipher code as we sprint through the dusky forest. I'm glad my brave sister trusts me so readily.

"Let's catch up and then we'll have a break." I easily quicken my pace again, but Evvie's exertions don't make her legs move any faster than they were going. I have to pull her along for us to make gains. It takes us nearly a minute to get only about halfway to the Sheridan clan. I decide that will have to be close enough.

"Cy!" I call ahead. He doesn't look back. "Cy!" I call again, knowing that he can hear me. It doesn't look as if Crewe is still prepping them, so why won't he turn? When he does, I see that devastation has hijacked his spirit. "Hang back with her," I tell rather than ask him. Evvie looks to me with alarm. I give her hand a squeeze to reassure her.

Cy falls back obediently, but purposely avoids making eye contact with me in passing. What has Crewe been telling them up there? What order has he given that makes Cy unable to face me?

I accelerate to meet the group. I am about to demand to hear the plan when Crewe instinctively begins to outline it.

"Plan B is the station," he reveals as he runs steadily. "Merick and the others will meet us. Doc and Del will have to take her chip out on the go."

It's an unsightly thought for sure, but the ghastliness of Evvie's surgery isn't what made Cy estranged from me. Chip removal also isn't as pressing as the present. "Are they pursuing us?" I ask, wondering what Crewe's not telling me.

"If they want to, they sure have viable lanes!" Crewe snaps at me. I decide now isn't the time to bicker with him, so I draw back to my sister again.

I take off the camouflage hunting jacket with which I was outfitted and secure it around my waist. Legs still pumping, I unzip the bulletproof vest and hand it to Evvie, who readily accepts it. She slows up even more as she looks down to fight with the zipper. I wish I could make her faster. I stuff the jacket into her hands too, leaving only the lightweight, running shirt that I wore out here before dawn covering my back. Evvie pulls the jacket on more easily, but she isn't getting any faster.

Della lags behind too now, but she fights on for her survival. Somehow I don't think the BOTs are interested in taking her out. They'll go for Evvie first. I am _important_ , as Crewe put it. She might be too.

_Why_? Why are they after us? Usually when I'm running out here like this, I'm doing it to clear my head. Tonight, I have to think on the run. I have to reason out why my chip was upgraded almost four years ago to a technology that's not even known to exist today.

I think about Judge Lera Sutton. There was a kindness that flashed through her every now and again. Surely government agents could have appointed one of their own to preside over and judge our case. They either appointed or threatened the nurse who blocked my view of my wrist while I was in the hospital after getting beaten and poisoned. Looking back, I don't get the impression that Judge Sutton was one of theirs or was threatened by them. She had decided her verdict solitarily.

That draws in more questions. If the BOTs didn't interfere with my case, then they really didn't care where Evvie was to go. If she was delivered to me, I would have been content. I would have had no reason to leave Miles. Maybe if she were dragged back to the orphanage they had a crooked, closed adoption plan ready. They would have successfully kept me tied to the county, searching for my sister for the next four years until she turned eighteen.

Something doesn't add up. With the microphone installed, I know they were listening to my conversation with Evvie about our mother. I know they were tracing my meanderings online. They watched me search for Tuli and Tigonee Braves, and another Loretta Harter, only to find nothing. They know that the empty results for the girls and articles about my mother that I've been able to view in the past would heighten my curiosity and fear.

They must have also been watching the Davids brothers. They've allowed them to remove people from the county for years without any resistance. Have they been waiting for this? Have they allowed the seeksmen to carry out their job in hope that one day the Harter girls would be snatched? They didn't take the seeksmen out this morning when they abducted me. I wonder if they watched approvingly as the car turned around and headed away from Sheridan and back toward Miles.

They waited until I returned on scene, until I returned for my sister, to try to eliminate me. If I were truly the important one—they wouldn't have shot at me. They have to be after Evvie. What threat could she bring? What could they possible want from my little sister?

Right now they have their choice of using the global positioning engrained in Evvie's chip, the infrared energy radiating from all of us, or satellite imaging in the moon's glow to pinpoint us as we run for our lives. I estimate that we've made it about a mile from the circumference of the county, so we're out of sniper range. However, the county could be sending a fighter jet or a chopper, revived from where I suspect they have lied dusty in storage. Ballistics or bombs fired overhead will easily annihilate all of us. A bulletproof vest won't save anyone from the heavy artillery and explosives that they have at their disposal.

Are they toying with us? Why aren't they acting? I wish they would get it over with. We are miles from Miles; there will be no mess to cover up so that their citizens don't learn of the county's transgression. Perhaps they're waiting until we reach a hideout and meet the others to maximize the casualties. They could take out all the seeksmen with one blow. They could assist other counties in the region by taking out different clans of seeksmen who have been pilfering their people. It makes sense for Miles' BOTs to act as soon as we're unified with the others. I can't help but reason that we're sprinting toward our imminent deaths.

# Chapter Eighteen

Several sturdy men stand armed outside of an extended van. Like us, they are dressed in mismatched hunting camouflage. Behind the men stands a concrete canopy with gasoline pumps and a stripped store house. I assume this _plan B_ location is the station where Cy ' _hit the jackpot_ ' by acquiring loads of gasoline and oil for Sheridan. Today, this place has no glory.

Crewe is already engaged in conversation with one of the men. I take him to be Merick, the leader of Sheridan's militia. Cy files in, hunching over to rest. Evvie and I are only seconds behind. Once we arrive, the enemy of the county will be complete. I have no choice but to hope that I'm wrong. I pull my sister along to catch the end of Crewe's distribution orders.

"Fill them in on everything we know," Crewe orders Cy. "We'll meet you in Sheridan." Crewe tosses the cell phone to Cy, who catches it with one hand and stuffs it into his pocket. "If there's any trouble, you call me right away." I'm aware of the pain in Crewe's heart as he makes the call to part from his brother.

"I know," Cy snaps. He misses the opportunity for a truce with his brother. I wonder if the tension between them goes beyond the intensity of what we've been running from.

Cy leads the handful of men in a continuation of his sprint. A moment passes, and they are gone. I wish he hadn't avoided my eyes as I passed Evvie into his care in the forest. It would be too much to expect that I'll see Cy again but I hope for it anyway. I don't think the world could get along without his smile.

"Where are they going?" I demand, worried for their safety. Merick looks surprised by my nerve to challenge the plan. Maybe it is his plan and not Crewe's. I don't care if my question is perceived as disrespectful to this rough leader. He is nothing but a stranger to me. Why should I trust him? I wasn't asking him anyway. I was asking Crewe, who has become less of a stranger in the day that has passed.

"Get in," Crewe orders. He chooses not to enlighten me on the destination to where the team of soldiers runs. I'm about to protest again when Merick's movement toward the van and Crewe's glare convince me to do as I've been told and leave the rest alone.

I send Evvie in the van before me and glance back at Crewe for assurance that we're going to be okay. His expression softens and apologizes for the glare he probably didn't intend to discharge so harshly.

"Nothing until afterward," he says, pointing to his wrist. Right. No talk of our plan or that of Cy and the others until after Evvie's chip is removed.

"She's all the way in the back," says the grizzly leader in the driver's seat. Evvie's makeshift hospital bed is a folded-down bench seat. The rest of the van has been gutted and the seats reworked to fold down, like old theater seats did, from the side opposite the large sliding door.

I fold down the only seat adjacent to the sliding door, but Merick in the driver seat tells me that it's reserved for Della. Right, she'll need to be closer to Evvie than I will. I shuffle over to the other side and pull down a seat one away from where my sister sits. Following my lead, Evvie stands and begins to fuss with the lever that will raise the backing of the bench seat to its upright position.

"No. Leave it," I tell her. "Be brave, Ev." I know that's all I can say to her with our assailants listening.

Crewe helps the wheezing Della into the van. He silently communicates to her that the operation needs to be done in route. Her eyes bulge, but she nods and readies herself with a series of deep breaths.

Crewe whips around to the twin hatch doors at the back of the van to lug in Galvesten and his baggage. Crewe seals up the back from the outside, hustles around, jumps lightly onto the van flooring, and slams the slider closed. He yanks down the last seat between me and another trooper.

In buckling alone, Crewe's bulk jostles me back and forth. With the van in motion, I decide to creep a spot closer to my sister. Crewe notices, but takes no offense. He lifts his weapon from the floor and places it on his lap, resting his pointer finger just above the trigger.

Della is already elbow-deep in the contents of one of the bags that Galv lifted to her. She carefully lines a clean towel with a selection of surgical utensils.

I stroke Evvie's shin as Della lays her back and places a wet towel over her face. Evvie's eyelids grow heavier and heavier and the creases in her forehead give way. I'm happy to take the burden of worry from her as she slips into unconsciousness.

Although I'm concerned that she's not completely under, I have to trust Galv and Della. We can't waste any time. Della rubs alcohol along Evvie's wrist while Galv tightly ties a band below her elbow. Although we are riding quickly and unsteadily, Galv's hand is unwavering as he makes the incision.

At first, there is little blood. That changes substantially after Della helps Galvesten switch his tool. He has to enter the radial artery to remove the tiny chip and the cilia-like sensors that protrude from it. Doing so requires some twisting and reentering of the tool. Warm blood begins to spill messily from Evvie's wrist. My weak stomach begins to sicken from the compilation of the image and the worry it arouses.

I feel a gentle hand come to rest on my back. I turn to see Crewe has either been watching the beginnings of the surgery too, or has been watching me. "Here," he whispers as he ushers my queasy head between my knees. "It'll be okay." He leaves his hand on my back for another moment. I close my eyes and nod, feeling the hand lift after I indicate that I'm composed. Crewe doesn't push friendliness or familiarity with me. He knows some uncertainties about him will linger in me until this whole ordeal is resolved.

"Crewe," Galvesten calls from my right. Crewe sets his gun on the floor and unbuckles. I keep my head lowered, knowing that what Crewe reaches for is the bloodstained chip that moments ago floated amid the swimming fluids in my sister's artery.

The driver stops the vehicle and turns off the headlights. The dark-haired, wiry young man sitting on my left unbuckles and opens the heavy slider. I peek to see Galvesten hand Crewe a magnifying glass just as Della redirects the portable, halogen light into my eyes. The driver anxiously turns to await Crewe's examination of the chip.

He gently flips the miniscule chip in his palm and squints to investigate. My heartbeat grows irregular. I hold my breath. Crewe's face drops. He looks to the apprehensive driver and releases a depressing, "Yes." I know the unasked question he was answering. Yes, the county government has been able to listen to my little sister all of her life through the unmistakable microphone Crewe sees in her chip.

Crewe runs from the vehicle. The driver's palms smash the steering wheel. The man in the passenger seat exits the car while the one to my left drops his head in his hands. I've brought all of this on them: melancholy, rage, and fear. These weren't the men who abducted me from my haven, but in just eighteen hours, these perfect strangers have been dragged into the disaster surrounding my sister and me.

"I'm sorry," I offer to the man two seats away.

"It's not your fault," the driver answers for him. "It's no one's," he adds, clarifying that the other troopers should not misappropriate this misfortune to Crewe's leadership.

"You must be Merick," I say.

"I am," he confirms. "And you must be Sydney Layton," he says blandly as he reaches his hand back to shake mine. That's right. I had forgotten that I gave Layton, not Harter, as my last name.

I unbuckle to shake Merick's outstretched hand. His handshake is firm yet welcoming. He trusts me despite the fact that my sister and me could easily be viewed as spies with our ahead-of-our-time, microphone-infested chips. Yet I don't trust him, or even the Davids brothers, enough to reveal my real name. I hope there won't be hell to pay when I decide to tell them the truth. Hopefully, they can understand my reasoning.

"Jerus!" Merick yells out the passenger door that was left ajar. "Get back in here."

"My name's Decklin," says the young man next to me, whose face was buried in his hands. "It's nice to meet you," he says absently.

The heated man named Jerus returns to the van and slams the passenger door. "I didn't give you an okay to get out of this van," Merick scolds the man, not much younger than the leader himself.

"He needed to have cover," he says, referring to Crewe. Now that darkness has eliminated one of our adversaries, satellite imaging, the BOTs have only thermal imaging and global positioning to rely on. It's probable that a warm-blooded body darting away from the others with the signal of a chip belonging to Evvie might be believed to be her. Melting and discarding her chip is a more dangerous job than usual.

"He can handle himself," Merick scolds.

"Against _BOTs_?" Jerus returns.

"He is a trained seeksmen," Merick holds firm.

"Who's never seen resistance! He hasn't been in combat like we have. He took off running in a straight line!"

"Our duty is to the people of Sheridan!" Merick yells, cutting through the van. Galvesten pauses his stitch job in the back. "We protect them, foremost. If the BOTs strike, it's one more casualty we add if you're disobeying orders to provide him with _cover_ ," he says, making a mockery of Jerus' point. "If there were ten of us providing him with cover then eleven would be dead if they wanted it that way. Now shut up and buckle up!"

Galvesten gets back to his stitching and I lift my seatbelt to buckle myself in again. Merick isn't an improbable hero then. He's real, calculative. He's faced real combat, true warfare, in his life. He knows that on rare occasions men become heroes, but most of the time they die trying.

"Model two, but with a mike." Crewe shakes his head as he enters the tense vehicle. "Another first." He pulls the door shut and buckles into his seat. The tires squeal, releasing some of Merick's frustrations as we resume our travel.

"Nothing from Cy, right?" Crewe asks Merick, who carries the other cell phone.

"No. They should have arrived by now. They must not have met any hostility."

_Or they were obliterated by it before they had the chance to call_ , I think silently. I wonder if anyone else has the same unspoken thought.

"So what happened out there?" Merick asks Crewe in the review mirror. "When did the BOTs fire?"

"No sir, the gunfire was our own," Crewe says to his feet, too embarrassed to look up.

"What!" Merick shouts simultaneously while I think it. My heart sinks to my stomach and then rises up in fury.

"She moved from her post against the orders that were given. He wasn't expecting it. He thought he saw movement toward her. He panicked and fired."

He. Cy. Cy shot at me! In his defense, his eyes deceived him. He thought he was protecting me.

If Crewe or Galvesten had been the gunman, I might wonder if the shot was intentional. They would have the foresight, and thus the temptation, to end this ordeal and the potential for the casualty count to rise by killing me. One of them, Crewe especially, might have seen a quick solution, an alternative to endangering the lives of the seeksmen, or the whole town for that matter.

Cy could have never intended to harm me. The darkness to do it just doesn't exist in him.

"You see what happens when you go against orders?" Merick shoots toward Jerus. I'm the one who takes his words to heart. "You're lucky to be alive," he says to me.

I am. Whether the bullets were from BOTs or the trigger of the person I was beginning to trust most, the terror was nothing less. In that moment of sheer panic, Crewe's instinct was to throw himself over me to steal the bullets from the flesh they sought. Cy could not have lived with himself. Thank God his aim was awry.

"Wait," Decklin pipes in. "You're saying we don't even know if the BOTs are aware that she's out? That either of them are out?"

He's right. The BOTs didn't fire a single shot. I kept expecting heavier fire, but it never came. Now I understand why. Now I'm again uncertain who they're really after.

"They know," Crewe states. "Gunfire sounded, and in the panic we're sure to have been caught on surveillance. You know they've reviewed it by now. I'm sure they were tracing her chip long before we made it to the station, likely all day."

"Then why wouldn't they fire?" Jerus questions, his temper enflaming from before.

"They mean something to Miles," Crewe says, looking at my unconscious sister and me.

"Give me a hand with her, will you?" Galv unsteadily steps over Evvie and Crewe unbuckles to come to his aid. Galv lifts Evvie's legs while Crewe takes her back. She looks like a rag doll as her unsupported head hangs. This image of my tattered sister, of whom I've strived to take good care, overwhelms me. My throat burns and my eyes well knowing that I couldn't keep her safe even for a day.

Della pulls the lever and I snap out of it in time to help her raise the seat backing. I use my shoulder to discreetly wipe a stray tear from my cheek. The men gently place Evvie's limp body on her side across the seat. Galvesten fusses to bend her knees while Crewe takes care to buckle a seatbelt across her lap.

I return to my seat at Evvie's feet. This time Crewe shuffles down one place to sit at my side, making room for Galvesten to sit between him and Decklin.

"You didn't know any better when you ran," Crewe quietly consoles me, misconstruing my sorrow for the danger I've brought to them. "And my brother didn't know any better when he shot."

"I don't mean any disrespect," I tell him, "but you, your brother, and your town are the lesser of my cares. For fourteen straight years my sole purpose in this world has been her," I say as I lay my hand on Evvie's ankle. I lift her outside foot and unzip the little plastic zippers on the insides of both of her cutting-edge shoes. Her feet are sopping wet and are probably keeping her chilled. "I just never thought I would fail so quickly."

Crewe seems equally sympathetic toward an older sibling looking out for a younger one and angered by my lack of guilt as his family, friends, and uninformed town live minute by minute under the observation of Miles County's black-operations teams.

After a pause, he looks forward and plainly says, "We may make it through this yet."

The last sounds heard in the cab as we travel to Sheridan are Della's utensils clanking as she heaps them back into the bag. When she's finished, she carefully lifts Evvie's bandaged wrist onto a package of instant ice in her lap. Della lovingly strokes Evvie's hand and fingers. I don't begrudge her this. Instead, I send a smile as thanks.

# Chapter Nineteen

"Alright, everybody stand guard. We're closing in," Merick announces after what seems like an eternity of stubborn silence.

"Hey. Any company on radar?" Crewe asks someone on the other end of his call. Merick must have passed the cellular phone back to him sometime in transit. "Alright. We're clear," he tells the whole troupe as he ends the call. Apparently, this means it's time to bail. Even Della is unbuckled with the handles of her bags in her hands before I understand that we're leaving the van.

Out of nowhere in this darkness a distant, dilapidated homestead appears. Merick and Jerus depart from the van first. Crewe slides open the door and is next to jump out. Decklin follows, and offers a hand to Della as she dismounts from the high base of the vehicle. I unbuckle and grab the gun I've been issued. I hesitate to exit until I see who plans to carry the still unconscious Evvie.

Crewe opens the back door and grabs some provisions.

"It's you," Merick says to Crewe as he comes back around to the side of the van.

"I know," he says, lifting the materials he's already gathered for the job. The way he readies his gun tells me he is not going to be helping with Evvie. He has another job to do.

"Jerus and I will be close with the girl," Merick tells Crewe, nodding for him to go ahead. I'm dissatisfied with these rough strangers handling my sister, but I'm out of jurisdiction here. I had weight to pull with Crewe being that he was responsible for abducting me, but I am completely subordinate to these veterans. The two approach the slider and indicate for Galvesten and me to lift Evvie to them. I take her legs, and together we jostle her into the arms of strangers.

"Sydney, you're Crewe's cover," Merick tells me. "Catch up." Crewe is a few paces ahead, walking tall with a flashlight to lead his way. Shouldn't I know something about where we're going or which direction gunfire might be coming from if I'm to be his cover?

The muzzle of my gun sweeps the dense, waist-high grasses of the field that surrounds us, and the shadowy trees that line the property. Crewe glances over his shoulder and doesn't attempt to hide the shaking of his head that follows. I wonder if he's irritated that Merick has sent one of the worst weapon handlers, a girl known to disregard orders, to watch his back or if he's upset that they've sent me because he still feels a need to repay me for my untimely kidnapping.

I already consider that score even. He fronted the line when we returned to Miles to watch for Evvie, and he hurled himself over me when bullets flew from his brother's rifle. Crewe doesn't owe me anything now. His debt has been repaid.

Crewe slides the large, horse-fooler latch of a small barn, painted red and white just like I've seen in pictures. Only this paint is faded and has chipped and peeled enough not to resemble the pictures I've seen at all, especially in the dark.

Without worry, Crewe pulls the bulky door open. I'm not a step inside yet when something springs from the floor on our left. Crewe's gun blasts in its direction. Della shrieks a distance behind us. I quickly pull my weapon back to eye level and stare down the barrel.

"Easy," Crewe says, as he pushes my barrel toward the ground. A furry mammal lays dead in the dirt and sparse hay. "Misfire. We're clear," he yells behind to the others.

"Did you know?" I ask. Crewe shakes his head no and releases a guilty smile. Oddly enough, the startle may have actually relaxed him a bit. He picks the creature up by its legs. "What is it?" I ask.

"Badger," Crewe responds, talking more to the men who arrive in the doorway. He takes a step outside and hurls the corpse. "Must have been rabid the way it came at us." He looks to me for assurance that his secret is safe. The badger was probably moving away from us in fear. I don't lament its loss. I'm glad Crewe is on edge enough to fire at anything that moves. It could have easily been something else.

"You've never seen one before, Sydney?" Decklin asks me. This must amuse him and the others. They've lived among wildlife for many years. The only creatures I know of are commonly domesticated pets, little birds and rodents that cross the barrier, a few larger mammals that I've experienced first hand during my outings, some fearsome predators that I can't forget from the zoo in Sector Five, and the animals from which county citizens' staple diet is derived.

Sheridan probably has farms, but I suppose out here the seeksmen can't be as selective about their meats. They've probably encountered scores of species in the hunt for food. I would have liked to take a better look at the badger had Crewe not already hurled away the evidence and had this not continued to be a life and death trip from Miles to Sheridan.

"Tell Galv to lock up," Crewe passes to Decklin. "Wait here," he tells me. Merick and Jerus gently lay Evvie on the ground. I wonder how much longer she will be out. I need to be by her side when she wakes in case her memory lapses like mine did. I need to assure her that everything is going to be okay.

Della and Galvesten make it inside, and Galvesten locks the hinge on the inside of the barn door. Crewe returns with a large cardboard box that he plops behind me. A few more paces through the barn, he begins to lightly stomp on the surface of the ground. I hear the hallowed thud for which he was searching. We are going below ground.

Crewe uses his feet to brush aside the stray hay that covers a wooden doorway. The handle is tiny, much too delicate for the force Crewe renders in order to lift the heavy door. He carefully sets the flashlight on the ground, directing its glow onto a few stairs that are revealed below the opening. Crewe abandons the flashlight where it lays and returns to the huddle around Evvie's still body.

"How many do we have?" Galvesten asks, kicking the cardboard box.

"Seven. It'll be fine," Crewe answers readily. It doesn't take me long to count that there were eight of us in the van. Whatever is in that box is something that one of us is going to have to go without. He digs through the box and begins throwing what appear to be wetsuits at each of our feet.

There's a tiny, manmade lake attached to the amusement park in Sector Three in Miles County. This is another reason why I've been more fortunate to live in Miles County rather than any other. Some of the other counties contained part of a natural lake, but they were filled in so that the underground line of the electric barrier could be buried and to create more land for businesses and residential apartments. I'm sure Miles' lake will be removed one day soon.

Our grandma took us there to see a water show when Evvie and I were little. I remember I was impressed by and jealous of the young girls whose waterskiing team provided entertainment before the semi-professional competition began. They were dressed in colorful, matching suits like the ones on the floor before me now as they pushed and pulled each other to climb into a floating pyramid as they skied.

"Leave it," Crewe orders as I bend down to pick up the suit. "Alright, listen up," he continues, although we are already silent. Crewe appears to be much more the leader of this operation than Merick does. "Your body heat will warm the suits quickly. We want to be under the sheet before they do."

It seems as if the purpose of wearing the suits is to make our infrared energy suddenly disappear so that we can rest safely. The BOTs can trace our heat signatures from Miles to this barn, but they will not know where to go from here. Hopefully, they'll assume we are hiding somewhere other than right under their noses.

I notice everyone but Della and myself begin to strip off their hunting camouflage and vests. I don't hesitate to follow the others. I'm not too bashful in my spandex and running top. I might have been, had I not known that Crewe has seen me this way tons of times before. I also don't want to stand out as the girl in the troupe as the others unconscientiously strip down to their underwear. Della makes the mistake of letting embarrassment get the best of her, and in her hesitation she winds up bringing more attention to herself.

"Evvie's suit goes on last," Crewe directs. "Sydney, Merick, and Jerus—you're on that."

"We're carrying her down standing, with her arms around our shoulders," Merick instructs Jerus. "They'll know a horizontal body to be her."

"Galv, you're leading," Crewe carries on. "Keep your suit on to bring the others' up once they're under. The others should be arriving soon." Crewe takes a moment to look each of us in the eye to receive a nod of acknowledgement that we know our duty and are ready. I'm to put on the suit at my feet as quickly as I can, help wriggle Evvie's rubbery limbs into her suit, follow Galv down the underground stairs, and return the suit to him to carry back up. I nod confidently.

"Let's go," Crewe claps.

I'm glad for the neon-yellow patches of my suit that are sufficiently visible in the dark. The suit is much too big for me, but I suppose that will help the neoprene mask my body heat longer. Together, Merick, Jerus, and I slide the gaping suit over Evvie, who is dressed in the running gear I had laid out for her two nights ago. Our world has changed so much in that short time.

Merick instructs me to go under while he and Jerus hoist Evvie into an upright position. The shadows from the trio behind me play tricks on my eyes as I attempt to descend the stairs. I miss my footing and fall into a curved, brick cellar. My left knee takes the brunt of the fall. It stabs with pain, but only for a few moments.

Faintly, I can see crouched bodies removing their suits. The space is tight already. I don't know how we're going to fit Cy and the others when they arrive.

I take charge in unzipping and peeling off Evvie's suit while the men hold her upright. I'm afraid it's too chill down here for her not to have some kind of cover besides her gear. Then I remember the idea is for us to be lowering our body temperature to expel less infrared energy. The colder she is—the better.

I slop out of my suit, allowing myself a second to rub my swelling knee. I collect Evvie from the veterans so they can heap their suits onto Galvesten's arms.

Wire arcs into a canopy overhead. It is uncomfortable to lean against, but there isn't enough room to be away from it. I pull Evvie into my lap. I'm glad she'll continue to rest comfortably.

"It won't be long now," Della says, noticing Evvie's grumblings as I move her.

"What is this?" I ask Merick, standing across from me. Galvesten returns down the stairs with our clothing.

"This is an old wine cellar," he says as he pulls on his trousers. I pull on my jacket, but decide to use the pants to blanket Evvie and myself. The bulletproof vest isn't going to do me any good to wear. If we're fired upon down here, it won't be by bullets. It'll be bombs, which this puny vest can't protect against.

"What about the canopy?" I ask. Crewe closes the hatch overhead, leaving us in complete darkness.

"We constructed it. The clear sheets you saw are acetate. A few feet from the hatch we've laid thick, glass panes over our heads. Both block penetration of the thermal imaging systems the BOTs use. It makes target acquisition pretty tough."

I'm glad Merick is here. He's an intelligent soldier who, unlike the Davids brothers, has been in combat and handles himself with composure. He makes me feel safe, even calm.

Something itches on my left knee, the one I fell on. When I scratch it, I feel a plethora of warm, wet blood that caused the sensation.

"Della," I call, alerted. "I think I'm bleeding."

"Where?"

"My knee." The impact must have caused the skin to split open when I fell down the stairs.

"Bad?" Galv asks.

"There's a lot of blood," I decide. My hand is covered with it.

"I'll go up," Galv announces. I hear some fussing and assume he's getting back into his neoprene suit that's only been cooling for a minute. He thuds up the stairs and knocks for help with opening the cumbersome cellar door.

"Has Cy called yet? I need my bags and the light," we hear Galv tell Crewe.

"No. What's going on?"

"Sydney fell down the steps. She might need a few stitches."

"Jeez, yeah," Crewe groans. The bright light attacks our eyes as he hands it over. Galv passes the light to Della while he waits for Crewe to retrieve his bags just inside the barn door.

"It's not me! It's Evvie!" I shout when the beam of light reveals that the blood I felt on my knee was only a portion of what's been steadily streaming from Evvie's wrist. Galv rushes down the creaking stairs with the bag and squats down. The bodies in the tight tunnel shuffle around to allow Della to get in closer as well. Galvesten unwraps Evvie's wrist, putting pressure on the vein while Della unzips that pesky bag.

"The seal must have broken open while they carried her down." Della's right. The men held her contorted arms against their shoulders to make her limp body upright like the rest of ours. Her wrist probably opened up then.

Galvesten hurriedly disinfects a small, slightly curved needle. I'm surprised he bothers with this precaution, being that Evvie was the last person the needle was used on, and he and Della don't seem to follow much for medical protocol. Galvesten soundly threads a synthetic line and snips a length with some kind of surgical scissors. This time I watch as he pokes the needle through the skin close to where Della is now holding.

"Keep pressure," he tells her. "Let's give it another minute to clot."

Evvie's head stirs in my lap. I lament that she could possibly be feeling all of this. Trained to do so, Decklin lowers his head to his feet as he sits cross-legged to the left of the little pool of blood. Galv presses the needle through the skin again. This time, I drop my head back and look up at the acetate and wire concoction above. It's still too much for me as Evvie squirms in my lap, fighting to regain consciousness and confront her torturer. I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

A moment later I feel a wet cloth and long fingernails wipe the residual blood from my leg. I start to look down, but Della stops me. "Not yet, honey. We've still got to wrap it. You just sit tight." They don't need another hyperventilation scare from me.

The cell phone rings above. "Good. We're clear in here too," Crewe says. That has to be Cy on the phone. It turns out they weren't obliterated. They're perfectly well. I'll get to see Cy again after all. "Galv, about done with the light?" he calls down.

"I'm coming up," Galvesten answers.

"Are you still in the suit?" Crewe asks. "Better change it," he says as he throws down a fresh one. With Galvesten's doctoral adrenaline heightened, the suit is likely to match his body temperature by now. Della zips up the bag while Galv unzips his suit and squirms into the new one. I scoot Evvie closer into my lap to make room for the new arrivals at the barn door.

# Chapter Twenty

Sharp pings of light aggravate my eyes as more pairs of feet find the stairway leading to the wine cellar. I avert my eyes from the light and the men as they strip off their neoprene suits and get back into their camouflage.

The combination of light, thumping feet, and chatter stirs Evvie awake in my lap.

"Hey little sis," I welcome her. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Where are we?" she wonders as she blinks her eyes clear of tears and sits up to observe her surroundings.

"We're somewhere safe for the night," I assure her, not sure whether that's true myself.

"Where are we going?" she asks. I know all the questions that saturate her mind right now. Evvie leans in close and whispers, "Who are all of these—?"

"Not tonight, Ev. I'll answer all of your questions in the morning. Right now, I just want you to sleep," I tell her.

"What if I can't?" she protests, looking for an excuse to gain her sought after answers. She'll have endlessly more questions with each question that she has answered. _I_ don't even know a fraction of everything that I want to know yet.

"You're going to try. We all need our rest, Evvie," I say, acknowledging the room full of burdened soldiers in hunting gear.

"Hi, Evvie," the good-natured, young man says as he holds out his hand to my sister. She doesn't hesitate to take it. "I'm Cy," he says as he smiles and shakes my sister's hand. I wonder if Cy is just too friendly to resist welcoming a newcomer, or if he was eavesdropping on our conversation and has decided to help me out by providing just a little comfort to my troubled sister. He certainly owes me this assistance, after nearly killing me when he shot at me in the forest just hours ago.

"And I'm Della, the nurse," she smiles from across from us. "You let me know if that wrist or anything else bothers you okay, sweet pea?" Evvie nods and I smile a _thank you_ to Della again. Evvie should have enough security to rest her head for the night.

Cy runs the suits back up to Crewe. The brothers exchange a few hushed and hurried words. When Cy's feet contact the cement landing, the flashlight is turned away and the hatch closed. In the pitch black, I hear Cy taking off the last suit. This one must remain in the cellar for later use.

"So Deck, ya got one for us?" I recognize the inquirer's voice to be Cy's as he settles into a space.

"Sure do," Decklin replies from my left. "Dear Lord," he says with tranquility before I have time to realize what is happening. There is a bit of rustling as everyone searches for one another's hands. Decklin grasps my left hand and in the darkness I reach for Evvie, who sits between my outstretched legs. When I find her hand, I squeeze it tightly. I wonder who holds her other hand, and how comfortable she is praying with strangers like this. It's not something we're used to.

"We thank you for keeping all of us safe today, and for bringing Sydney and Evvie Layton to us." I had forgotten that I had given Crewe a false last name. No wonder Evvie couldn't be viewed by the techie that Merick had working on tracing her. Maybe she was never blocked at all. I regret not telling them the truth now. Tracking Evvie could have saved us from a lot of unknowns earlier.

I feel Evvie turning toward me in confusion so I give her hand a few squeezes to quiet her distress. I hope she doesn't worry with distrust of these people since by lying about who we are I've made it clear that I'm not one hundred percent sure of them. It's a precaution I might as well carry on with until I see Sheridan for myself. Then I can decide if it's safe to reveal the truth.

"We pray for your protection over us and the members of our town tonight and as we travel back home tomorrow."

Home. I haven't had a home for six long years. Even then it was in such turmoil around my mother's sanity swings and my struggle to keep up with my responsibilities that it never really felt the way that a home should. Home is how things felt before my dad died, I think. The truth is—I can't really remember that far back. I can't remember him or what my mother was like before he died. I like to believe that it was stable, secure, and peaceful. Homey.

"Amen," the voices resonate against the brick walls and acetate-covered ceiling.

"Sleep well, everyone," someone across from me wishes. I rarely sleep soundly after a mundane day, so I expect tonight to be extremely restless.

A few people shuffle around on my right and I find I have a new neighbor for the night. "Hey," Cy whispers. "Sydney, I'm really sorry about... out there."

"You mean when you tried to shoot me?" I tease, but in the dark, Cy can't see my smile. "It's okay," I say. "Just don't ever do it again."

"I'll try not to," he laughs. I couldn't hold a grudge toward Cy about it if I wanted to. Anyway, it was more my bad judgment to move against orders than it was for him, in the heat of the moment, to shoot at an awry movement.

"I'm going to switch watch with Crewe in a few hours, and I need some information from your sister before then." My eye roll is invisible in the dark, but my exasperated sigh is not. I know Cy needs information for all of our sakes, but I don't want Evvie's head to start spinning so quickly that it can't be calmed. "Sorry," Cy murmurs.

"What do you need to know?" Evvie asks. I hope she knows better than to leak our true identities. I want those kept hidden just a little longer.

"What did you do today?" Cy begins.

"Nothing special," she answers simply. She's either being way too cautious, or she thinks this is just a casual _getting to know you_ conversation.

"Evvie, he needs to know every detail of your day, so let's hear it," I encourage, trying to convey that it is okay to do so, should she be being vague to protect us.

"I got up at 8:45. I had breakfast. I read something."

"Online?" Cy interjects. I feel Evvie secretly tap my leg.

"The note," I answer for her. "She read my note."

"Then what?" Cy asks. "Did you destroy it?" I lifted Crewe and Cy's faith in our survival when I told them that she would know that she should destroy the note.

"Yes," she answers, "but not until much later." When a moment passes, Evvie realizes that she's supposed to continue giving us a play-by-play of her day. She opens up a little more when she understands that most of the truth is fair ground. "I remembered that Sydney told me last night that she had to open for work at 9:30."

Was that only last night? It seems like such a long time ago. I guess that can be attributed to waking up and then getting knocked back out a few times. Also, my world has changed so much since then. It's surreal that it was only last night that Evvie and I reorganized my apartment in the transitions building—a place that had the potential to feel like a home for us.

"I did some hours on EduWeb, mostly math. Then I took a break for about an hour. During that time I ate lunch and watched a program that I ordered. Afterward, I worked on a science lab write-up on my tablet." So her day was very typical. She must have thought I had already gone to work when she woke up.

"No more Olympics or anything else that might pertain to getting out?" I ask.

"No. Just school stuff. And the program was about the history of domesticated animals." Evvie is my sister after all. Even after living closer to the hub of city life the last two years, both physically and socially with Merideth, she chose to watch a historical program rather than some mind-poisoning reality show.

"After the program, I made a video tour of the apartment to send to a few of my friends and my classmate cluster online. Merideth called after dinner to tell me that she saw my post, watched the video, is happy for me, blah, blah, blah. She asked if you were there," my sister tells me. "She said she wanted to ask how the rest of your birthday went."

More like she wanted to check in to make sure that I had baby-proofed the apartment for Evvie. I find myself tensing for a moment, but relax in awe when I realize that I'll never have to prove myself to Merideth again.

"I told her you were at work," Evvie continues. "I started to get worried around 7:00 because you weren't home yet, and I figured you would have called or messaged if you had to work overtime or something. I started to panic a little."

"Okay, be really thorough with the rest of the evening," Cy tells Evvie. "Don't leave out a single detail."

"Well, first I just kind of paced and checked my tablet constantly. Then I burned the note. I thought about calling Tiana's, the restaurant where Sydney works, but I didn't. It was around 7:30 when I figured out that I could check the ceiling tile so I would know for sure whether you ever made it back after escaping."

"Clever," I sincerely whisper to my sister. "That's where I hide my key when I go out," I explain to Cy. He's probably surprised that anyone still has a key on the inside, but except for the built-in media screens, no technology has been updated in the low-funded transitions building.

"Since it was there, I knew that you never came back," Evvie's voice cracks. I was so worried about getting her back that how alone and terrified she was never even crossed my mind. She probably thought I had gotten caught or, like her little finger man, had tripped into a grave of electrocution.

"I thought maybe you had gotten caught, so I kept waiting for a phone call. Finally, when nighttime was around the corner and I still hadn't heard from you, I started to think that maybe you had gotten hurt badly and were trapped out there. I started to search for anything that I thought could help get you back in, if you had broken your leg or something," Evvie trails.

"Was your search inconspicuous?" Cy asks.

"Did you search carefully, thinking about the possibility that someone might have been watching what you were doing?" I clarify Cy's question for my uncomprehending sister.

"Yeah, pretty carefully, I think," she answers unconfidently. "I thought about going door to door to find those kids with the jumping rope and scooter." Evvie had stayed outside and talked to the little boys when I went in to see if their foster mom would accept the fund transfer. Apparently she hadn't caught the older boy telling me their apartment number.

"Eventually, I just put on yesterday's gear and went out to jump, even though I wasn't sure about the timing."

"Well, good. No calls and no evidence left behind. You did a good job, Evvie," Cy tells her. "My brother will be glad to hear it."

Finally, through my sister, the first piece of good news can be offered to Crewe.

"Time to sleep?" I ask Cy.

"That should do it," he answers. "Goodnight, Sydney. Goodnight, Evvie," he wishes warmly.

I pull Evvie's head against my chest and allow her to lean comfortably into me. "Goodnight, Cy," I respond.

"Thanks for helping us," my sister says. "Goodnight."

When Evvie's breathing grows heavy, I close my eyes and allow myself to fall asleep.

# Chapter Twenty-One

Even after an uneventful night's stay in the wine cellar, we take precautions on the short drive into Sheridan. Merick gave the orders that he, Jerus, Galvesten, Della, and a female seeksman named Alix ride in the van, apart from Evvie and me. They are the indispensable members of the battalion sent to Miles.

I hadn't even noticed that Alix was female as she stood among the group outside of the van when we doggedly arrived at the station last night. Like me, she must not have distinguished herself from the others as she hurriedly slid off her neoprene ski suit. In the dim light the flashlight provided, and in my preoccupation with my sister waking, I had paid no attention to her or any of the other seeksmen that accompanied Cy.

This morning, Alix made herself known to me, though not by her intention. As soon as I took notice of her gender, I began to study her. She carries herself with more arrogance than some of the others, she swears profusely, and she spits periodically. I suspect that she can handle herself every bit as well as the men can. I also doubt that she takes the time to study her victims like Crewe and Cy do. I see her being more impulsive, not caring much whether the person has ties to a family inside.

Aside from these five, Merick gave the orders that the rest of the seeksmen could choose either vehicle to ride in. Being that a small threat of danger still lingers with my sister and me this morning, all the seeksmen chose to squash into the van. All but two.

A smile erupted from both Crewe and I when Cy patted his brother on the back and called shotgun. I suspect Evvie and I will be forever linked to the Davids brothers.

"So what happens next?" I ask either of the guys in the front seats. I've still put the blocker on Evvie asking questions until I have all of mine answered. Most of the questions that stir about in her head will be answered upon arrival in Sheridan anyhow. For now, I've given her the job to soak the remnants of water out of her shoes that didn't dry in the cool cellar over night.

"A lot of things will be happening," Cy answers. "How old are you, Evvie?"

"Fourteen," my sister answers, pressing paper into the shoes.

"Well, you'll have to get enrolled in school."

"Not through EduWeb," I assume out loud.

"Better. A traditional high school. We have, what, six teachers between the junior high and high school now?" Cy asks Crewe.

"I don't know," Crewe answers indifferently. "We'll worry about school in a few days," he tells us. "We'll give you girls some time to get settled first."

"What's the normal procedure when you bring in new refugees?" I ask Crewe.

"Typically the first thing we do is introduce them to Merick, but you've already had that pleasure," Crewe smirks. "Then a collection of people help ready a new living space, but that may be different for you girls as well."

"Why?" I ask.

"The chip business. It's still too bizarre. We want to keep a closer eye on both of you and provide you with protection for a while."

I'm a little annoyed that I'm thought to need protection after having come so far and meeting no resistance, but I say nothing for the sake of my sister. I want Evvie to have all the protection that they offer until I know more. "So where will we stay?"

"Somewhere on the outskirts, but not as far out as the barn we stayed below last night." Right, just in case the BOTs decide they want to blow us up. They wouldn't want the rest of the town to be too near.

"Are there jobs available?" I ask.

"Always," Cy replies. "There are two more mouths to feed now so that means there is more work to be done."

"What kind?" I ask.

"Well, I wouldn't recommend you become a nurse," Crewe jokes. "Although being close to the hospital might not be a bad idea." The smile we share in the rearview mirror makes my cheeks flush. I continue to enjoy a private smile, thinking about being a nurse alongside Della. The lady is as sweet as pie, but I could not handle her all day.

Cy answers my question seriously. "There are farmers, techies, teachers, waitresses—"

"I was a server in Miles," I interrupt.

"The laundromat," Crewe reminds Cy.

"Oh right," he agrees with his brother. "There's a woman who runs the laundromat and she's always behind."

"I think a lot of it has to do with that kid," Crewe shakes his head. Cy turns around to look at me, and begins to laugh, presumably at the thought of me being in this kid's company. "We'll set you up there," Crewe decides.

I wasn't dead set on serving for the rest of my life, but I'm confused as to why the brothers ignored my inclination toward it. "Do people have much choice in their work?" I ask.

"Not like inside," Crewe begins. "First of all, there are substantially less types of work. We're a bit limited on resources since we haven't established solid trade networks. We're working on that, but we need a system of currency to import and export, and we obviously don't have one that holds value. In fact, we don't use a currency at all in our town. We just figure out what needs to be done and we do it for each other. It's been working for now, but as we grow in numbers, we need to grow in capabilities."

"So Sheridan is a commune," I summarize.

"You should be a teacher," Crewe grins in the review mirror again.

"You should be a politician," I return.

"Isn't everybody?" he jests, causing both of us to laugh unhindered. Cy looks less than amused but Evvie smirks at me. I know the conversation would have her totally lost, so I attribute her grin to the happiness she's seeing in me, and possibly the recognition that it's a guy that's causing it. I elbow her to hold her snickers, but doing so only makes her laughter more difficult to contain. She erupts with giggles in the back seat.

Cy perks up and rolls down all of our windows with the press of a button on the center console. "It's time for the parade," he turns back to Evvie and me to say. We've reached the heart of the town.

There is a tight assembly of shops on both sides of the street just ahead. The people of Sheridan stroll along Main Street. Cy unbuckles hastily and juts the upper half of his body out of the window.

"Two fifty-one!" he proclaims as he pumps his fist into the air. I think I'm seeing the happiest, most fun-loving Cy there could be. On the street, the walkers react with surprise and joy as they lift their hands to clap and cheer. Crewe unwillingly slows the car to a stop as the townspeople walk into the street to get a peek at the foreigners in the back of the car.

Evvie and I politely say hello and shake their welcoming hands. In this moment, I think all the questions are erased from Evvie's mind. She's happy, excited even, and giggling at Cy's antics like the average teenage schoolgirl. Seeing her this way couldn't make me happier. It wasn't long ago I thought I might lose her forever.

When it's freed from the human obstructions, the car leisurely rolls around the corner at the end of Main Street and pulls into a sort of parking lot with spaces separated by lines of neon-orange paint.

"This is The Lot," Cy says as he plays tour guide. "The overhang was actually a gas station, and these were the old pumps. We don't pump fuel anymore, we pour it," he says as he opens the car door for me. Crewe has already done the same for Evvie. "We're a bit frugal with energy," he continues. "You won't find any solar panels or wind turbines, but we do have water wheels that generate hydroelectric energy. There's one at the laundromat," Cy points out.

"How did Alix come to be a seeksman?" I ask, spoiling the mood. I noticed that according to Merick, she ranks higher than the David's brothers. I want to know her story.

"You can give that up right now," Crewe says as if he's known my desire to become one all along. "You're a sought-after woman. We're not going to dangle you out there as bait."

"What does that mean?" Evvie asks with worry.

"It's not normal to have microphones like we did, Ev. We're all trying to figure out why we had them."

"Until we do, we'd like both of you to lay low," Crewe tells her. Evvie nods understandingly.

I imagine there isn't much that will rattle my sister after yesterday evening. She had to find the courage to lift her head for air after hearing the ring of gunfire as she swam below the surface of the holding pond. She had to run for her life from Miles, the only place she's ever known, with complete strangers. She had to allow them to sedate and operate on her to remove the piece of metal containing her identity and livelihood. My sister has been through just as much as any of us have in the last day, and she's braver because of it.

"You can count on my brother and me to be there to protect you," Crewe assures Evvie.

The Davids brothers start walking toward the convenience store that was once a facet of the gas station. I don't know why, but I expect the shelves to be stocked with oil and funnels like I've seen in pictures of these roadside stores, as well as magazines and donuts like the convenience stores in Miles contain. What we walk into doesn't resemble my imaginings at all.

Upon opening the door, we see shelves and other spaces packed with everything imaginable. Half of the wall on our left supports towers of tires. The other half is lined with large barrels, probably containing gasoline.

The guys swing right and we follow. There is just enough space between the rows of miscellaneous materials and the wall for our bodies to wriggle through. I tuck my elbows tightly into my body so I don't knock anything off the shelves. I'm afraid setting off a single item could cause an avalanche of random debris.

"You girls look through the next row," Crewe says as he and his brother turn into one. "Help yourselves to whatever." He tosses us a mesh bag to share. He and Cy fill matching bags with various items from the shelves of their row.

Evvie and I walk around the corner to a row filled with clothing. The items are neatly folded and stacked in columns according to size. We skip past the infant, toddler, child, and preteen columns. The next section of the shelf is simply labeled _women_ , and then subdivided by sizes from extra small to double extra-large.

As expected, Evvie is a lot pickier than I am as she sifts for things to match her fancy in the random compilation of clothing. I don't expect she'll find a single item that's been in style within the last ten years, but she picks through diligently anyhow. By the time the brothers join us in the row, my patience with her has worn thin.

"Number one essential: toothbrushes," Cy says as holds up a plastic stick with bristles on the end. None of the toiletries and other necessities that he digs for and holds up to show us are electronic and sleek like the ones we are used to. Evvie looks more mortified by this shopping spree than she did when she received the news that atypical doctors would be removing her chip in a moving van. What a county kid.

"Why don't you look around a bit and see if there's anything else you need?" Cy suggests when he finishes his chipper inventory.

"What about showering stuff?" I ask.

"Oh! That's all stocked at the shower station," Cy returns. "We'll all head there next."

"Communal showers?" I ask a little uncomfortably.

"Less so for the girls," he answers. "The women have tied up a bunch of old shower curtains to provide some privacy. The old plumbing lines run just fine through the homes for everything else," Cy explains, turning on tour guide mode again. "Communal showers and laundry facilities are our two targets for reducing water and energy waste."

"I'm sorry I have to ask this," Crewe cuts in awkwardly, "but do you or your sister have any kind of hormone implants?"

"You mean birth control?" I ask. Crewe nods nervously, either embarrassed by the subject matter or worried that we may have missed something implanted into one of us that could contain global-positioning software or another microphone.

"No," I relieve him.

"Good," he sighs. "Sorry, I was just thinking about," he pauses, searching for the words that will embarrass him the least, "female needs, or whatever, while we're here, you know," he says, lifting one of the bags they have stocked for us.

"Did you know that infertility risk is no longer a consideration when the FDA approves drugs and processes?" Cy saves his brother.

"Another government-sanctioned scheme," Crewe adds.

"In other regions of the nation, new chips contain a chemical meant to destroy reproductive potential," Cy continues. "It's released by computer remote in accordance with a man or woman's parenting account."

"I suppose that's less costly than the mandatory implant or operation parenting twice," I say.

"That's exactly how the government sold the idea. Less taxes and more convenience." I have a feeling Crewe is going to tell me something more that I don't want to hear. "What the citizens don't know is that the chemical leaks, slowly reducing reproductive potential beginning at birth when the chips are implanted. The government can also remote abort certain pregnancies.

"What kind of pregnancies?" I ask. The question is written all over Evvie's face too.

"Twins, children with birth defects, or any person's child that they simply don't want to exist."

"Not children with diseases though," Cy adds. "If their life is likely to end prematurely, well, the government welcomes that because the years they did live will go onto someone's account."

There isn't a lot that's going to surprise me anymore, but I wish all of this hadn't just been dumped on my little sister. I do want her to understand the evils that we've escaped, just maybe not the details and not all at once.

"Speaking of the matter," I change the subject, "where can we find the things we need since we don't have the implants?" I wrap my arm around Evvie and playfully tug on the neon-green, feather-pattern streak in her hair. Not long getting used to this aspect of maturity, Evvie is mortified by my inclusion of her in my question. She must not have understood too much of the prior conversation because this frivolous matter would pale in comparison to what Crewe described. She would be too horrified to care about me embarrassing her.

"Back in the row where we just were," Crewe answers. I see I'm wrong to assume that Evvie didn't understand what we were talking about based solely on her expression of embarrassment, because Crewe was the one informing us, and he stands in front of us far more uncomfortable to answer my question than Evvie was to hear it.

I wonder if the brothers drew straws to see who would ask us about our needs when they spotted the feminine products. "Here," Crewe says as he awkwardly passes the bag to me, as if it's already contaminated by girl cooties.

Evvie punches me as we round the corner, releasing an unexpected bout of laughter. Somehow, the overall seriousness that has defined my life thus far has been gently lifted so that even when I'm surrounded by danger and deceit, I can find silly things to laugh about.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

"Hey. Can we chat?" Cy asks me as he pushes himself off the brick wall outside of the shower commune. His serious demeanor causes me déjà vu to when Crewe made a similar request yesterday during target practice at the safe house.

"Yeah. Sure," I answer, concern growing in me. "We need towels," I tell Crewe, who still leans against the wall where he was waiting with his brother for Evvie and me to finish up.

My sister and I had secured new clothing that suffices, and were able to rinse our gear some before the timer on the shower ran out, but we didn't have anything to dry ourselves off with, or wrap our wet clothes in. We took turns using a pair of jeans to towel off.

The brothers must have fashioned something similar, or perhaps they always have a towel and a fresh set of clothes set aside in the showering station. I didn't see either of them grab clothing for themselves from the storehouse where we got our necessities, but now they each wear blue jeans and clean, crisp tees.

"Oh, sorry," Crewe says. "Evvie, will you join me to pick out a couple of towels?" Crewe doesn't ask my permission to leave with my sister, and I try to mask my unease about separating from her. This is the first time I have to trust a Sheridan with Evvie's care without the immediacy of my presence. Distrust still lingers in me, much because I can never be confident that anyone can take better care of my sister than I can. But Crewe is not just anyone among the Sheridans, or seeksman even. He's the one who dove to protect me as the bullets whizzed by. I need to trust him. I need to believe that he would protect Evvie with his life if it came to that.

He is already walking back toward the parking area and storehouse by the time I decide it's okay with me for her to go. Evvie doesn't ask my permission either, or put any kind of weight to the moment, as she skips away at Crewe's side, asking him questions.

"What's going on?" I ask Cy as I wring cold water from my wet, wavy hair. Cy watches as I squeeze and comb my hair with my fingers. He's been watching me for years, but I suppose he's never seen me fresh and clean or wearing jeans with my hair down. I usually only let it down at bedtime. Another few minutes to air dry and I'll be out of patience with it and putting it up.

"Crewe and I were talking," Cy starts, finding my eyes. "We were thinking a different plan might be safer for tonight."

"Like what?" I ask Cy. Maybe I'm too preoccupied with untangling my hair, because I'm lost in the conversation already. Had we already discussed and determined a plan for tonight? There have been so many pressing plans made in such a short time span, that it's becoming hard to keep track of what we have talked about.

"It's not smart for us to be on the outskirts of town tonight. Crewe realized that'll be a red flag that we are the ones they're hunting. We don't think the BOTs know any one residence from another here, but just to be safe, we want to avoid our place too."

"That makes sense." I have no objection so far, but I have a premonition that there are more stipulations to come that I may be unhappy with. Why else would he have asked to talk, not before removing Evvie from the scene, rather than just doing so?

"So where will we go?" I ask him. He scratches at his damp locks, beginning to resemble the light, shiny color the sun has bleached his hair to be.

"That's the other thing. Crewe thinks we should split up." There's the key. The sweeter, younger brother was sent to convey Crewe's intention. I suppose Crewe hopes that I would be more trusting and open to the idea coming from his friendly and widely loved brother. "We don't have to split up entirely, but we don't want the two of you or the two of us to be together. The four of us can't stay together. You see the reason in that, right?"

"Yeah," I admit. At this point, I don't believe that Miles has been keeping a close eye on my sister and me, or the seeksmen that wade their woods now and then. Something would have happened if they were. It's better to error on the side of assuming they have been watching. "How do you suggest we split?" I ask Cy, really asking him to reveal what Crewe has already decided.

"You'll be with Crewe and I'll be with Evvie. It makes the most sense because my brother outranks me, so he should be protecting the one who had the more advanced and puzzling chip."

"Both of our chips had microphones. What makes mine more puzzling?" I argue. Again, I'd rather assume that Evvie is the important one. I'd rather my sister be protected by the best seeksmen, not the one who accidentally almost killed me.

"Yours was switched out a few years back. Hers wasn't. They made sure _you_ had the most powerful microphone, technology that's still not instituted today."

"Maybe it was simply circumstantial. I was hurt. They had an opportunity with me that they didn't have with Evvie," I reason.

"If they wanted Evvie's chip updated, they would have found a way to do it."

Clearly denying his evaluation isn't going to be enough. "Look Cy, your brother's decision is only logical if you're looking at the situation from his viewpoint, which I'll bet is the only one he took into consideration. Whoever is most qualified should be the one protecting my little sister. That's the way I see it, no offense to you. I can handle myself."

"I see your point, but you should know that my brother considers a lot more than himself when making decisions. Splitting the way he's decided is the best plan for the sake of the whole town, which he always considers foremost."

I fear Crewe Davids and I will always be in a stalemate then. To him, protecting me safeguards the town. If they're after me, whether to kill or capture, he needs to be there to prevent or control the backlash on Sheridan's inhabitants. I guess I'll have to try to respect that.

"We want you and Evvie to be a bit lost in the crowd today. Crewe is going to make a call to the school. Soon, all the students and faculty in the upper school will disperse around the inside and outside of the building for about fifteen minutes. Individuals will be told to wander home or to the hospital a block away."

"The area around the school and hospital are where most homes in Sheridan are located. It's about a mile west of here. You and Evvie will have a good little tour of that half of Sheridan while you're wandering. Before the fifteen minutes are up, all four of us should be settled somewhere. I'm not sure what Crewe has planned for him and Evvie, but you and I will meet in the hospital."

Cy has just fired a lot of information at me. My head is spinning. "I'm confused. I thought you said I will be with Crewe and you will be with Evvie." Maybe Cy has already decided that he's going to talk his brother into the best arrangement from my viewpoint.

"Oh, sorry. I will be with her tonight. We decided we should have the opposite companions for the day, to add extra mystery to our whereabouts," he shrugs. "Plus, I need you for some data hunting."

I'm quite ready for these precautions to end so I can get settled with my sister, and each of us can begin to see what Sheridan is like.

"We've got to figure out why you both had the chips that you did," Crewe says from behind me. I hadn't seen him and my sister round the corner to rejoin us. "That's the top priority before school, jobs, and whatever else we need to do to get you both acclimated—"

"And assimilated," Cy finishes their coined phrase. A data hunt. I can already tell the hunt will be fruitless. I have no idea why my sister and I were miked.

"Does the plan sound okay to you?" Crewe asks me. Nothing seems amiss with the plan, other than my difficulty with protecting the entire town over my sister, but I understand that I have to let that go.

"Yeah. Fine."

"Alright. There are five places to eat in town," Crewe says. "The school mess hall, the hospital cafeteria, two restaurants here on Main Street, or your own home, which you girls don't have yet. I think we should meet back up for lunch around noon, to put all of our minds at ease. We probably shouldn't sit together, but we can find a way to communicate a little if we need to."

"Evvie, will you be okay hanging out with Crewe for a while?" I ask her. "It's only a few hours until lunchtime."

"Yeah, the plan is fine with me," she shrugs, aggravated by my protectiveness. She doesn't want me treating her like a little kid, especially in front of these independent men. Her indifference and automatic trust don't make it easier for me to give her away, but I know that I can. My sister has learned to adapt and take each new situation in stride. She'll be fine without me today.

"Let's meet at the hospital cafeteria for lunch," Crewe tells his brother. "Evvie doesn't want to officially meet the school kids yet and it's probably not a bad idea to have Della check out her wrist sometime today."

"I was thinking the same thing," says Cy.

"I don't want you to leave his side, Evvie," I have to say, although I know it will further irritate my sister. "And the same goes for you," I tell Crewe. As I anticipated, I get an eye roll from her. Crewe responds with a sarcastically chivalrous ' _yes ma'am_ '. Beyond Evvie's notice, he and I exchange another serious understanding like we did yesterday. _You can trust me_. _We're in this together_ , his eyes say.

Yet I don't think it's of happenstance that Crewe and Evvie get a start toward the school before Cy and me. They're never more than a block ahead, and I can see them the whole walk to the school. I see my sister looking up at Crewe, nodding when he's answering her questions seriously, and giggling when he adds a flavorful twist or teases her for being too weak to lug along one of the stuffed bags to his two. Crewe has a comedic side just like his brother. He has just been under more pressure, preventing it from shining through.

"Sydney?" Cy awakens me from my trance fixed on the two ahead. "Would it be okay if I ask you a little about your history?" I don't look forward to divulging my life's struggle to Cy, but I understand that we are heading toward some corner of the hospital where Cy and his mentor retrieve data from inside the counties. I am aware that they will have to know my past to have direction in their research.

"Sure, Cy," I answer him. "Under one condition—don't smother me with sympathy."

I expect him to laugh or joke, but instead he answers matter-of-factly, "I can handle that." I realize that I know nothing about Cy's story. I don't know how he and his brother came to be orphans in Miles. I hope it's not the case, but maybe the Davids suffered as painful of a childhood as I did.

"I can't remember what my life was like before my dad died, but I think it was pretty normal. Afterward my mom went—"

"Wait. Hold on!" Cy interrupts, chuckling a little. "Listen, Sydney. I've gathered that it's not going to be a picturesque story, and I understand that it might be difficult to tell, but if you want it to be helpful to us you're going to have to plug in at least _some_ details for me," he teases.

Every detail of Evvie's recollection of her day was important after we got her out and, likewise, every detail is going to be important when trying to figure out what we mean to the county. I nod to acknowledge that I will be more specific. I've rehearsed this for the court case to win my sister back. Now I'll relay it to Cy to keep the both of us safe.

"How about we start with what your dad did for a living, how he died, and how old you were at the time."

I know how old I was when my dad died. I know that quite precisely. I was three and two-thirds. The other questions I have vague answers to largely due to how young I was when I lost him. When I was older, I asked my grandma about him and his death. My sweet grandmother spent her time telling me about my daddy's soul and how he looks down on me and watches out for me. She chose not to elaborate on things that I wouldn't have been able to understand.

After Grandma was gone, I tried several times to ask my mother about my father when she seemed well. That's all it took to start her hushing me and telling me never to speak about him. Her eyes would grow wide and she'd start looking over her shoulders frantically as if someone was in the room and could attack us at any moment. I tried to research my father on the Internet, but never discovered much. I'll have to answer Cy with the little bit that I know.

"My dad was in politics. He worked in the very center of Miles. He wasn't a politician himself. Obviously, he was a bit young for that. I think that he headed a campaign team or worked within one. He died of a brain aneurism one day while riding the HSR home from work."

"What's the HSR?"

"The high-speed rail," I answer. We really are from two different cultures. An everyday encounter for me is foreign to him and vice-versa, like the badger.

"Oh, right."

"I was a little over three and a half."

"I'm sorry," Cy offers lightly. "So how did things change afterward? You were saying something about somewhere your mom went before I cut you off."

"No," I correct him. "Crazy. My mom went crazy. She wanted to escape from Miles. She talked about it all the time." Could it be that simple? Could the county going out of their way to spy on us have to do with my mother's determination to escape?

"Do you and Evvie share the same father?" Cy asks cautiously, trying to avoid offending me by questioning my mother's fidelity. There isn't much that can offend me in terms of my mother.

"Yes. It was literally seconds after my mother ended the call she got about my father that her tablet had a red alert saying she'd become pregnant."

"And implanted in the baby was a microphone," Cy says through the hand that blocks his mouth as he nibbles on his nail. "Until last night, we didn't believe that technology existed at the time the second models of chips were being used. We've never seen it before. There must have been something that was unsettling to the county before your sister was born. It had to be more than just threats to leave Miles, unless you think your mom knew about us," Cy speculates.

Suddenly I'm questioning the opinion of my mother that I've held for so many years. The depiction where my mother was dangerously insane isn't quite so fitting if she knew that a colony outside of any county existed. Maybe she wanted us to escape to that place before Evvie was born because she knew the evils that would soon come. Maybe she knew about the Sheridans, about a better life, and desperately wanted that for us. I talked her out of it. I talked my mother out of trying to escape while she was still pregnant with Evvie.

"What did your mother do?" Cy asks me to try to see if she had the kind of profession, like my father's, that could possibly lead to knowledge about an outside world.

"She was a food analyst for a produce company, but she didn't work after my father died. We lived off his inheritance and my grandmother's help. I don't see how she could have known about Sheridan. If she did, I certainly never knew it. She kept on for years, her conspiracies growing and her ability to function plummeting. In all that time she never mentioned anything that would have led me to believe that she knew about this place."

Cy contemplates my account for a while, mumbling out loud every now and again. "We'll have to think more on it," he tells me at last. "I know you stayed in the orphanage and Crewe told me about the foster. Is there anything else that you think is important to add?"

"No," I decide. Now would be the perfect time to tell him our real last name, but I don't see how it will make any difference as far as our importance goes.

The difference lying does make is that these people wouldn't be able to trace me back inside Miles, or another county for that matter, if I find out that this town is something other than what I've been led to believe. By keeping our last name a secret, I'll have left one viable option for Evvie and me to regain our identities if we have to get away from here and return to a Petri dish. I've already outlined a story, much of which is true, to tell the county officials. I'll present us as unfortunate victims of a kidnapping who had our chips forcibly removed. I can throw in elements of amnesia and brainwashing if I need to strengthen our case. I think they would take us back with this, if the mysterious importance and information we possess is not enough to do the trick. I'm not willing to give up an option for escape yet.

"Hurry up! We're late!" Crewe calls from ahead. He and Evvie abandon their bags on the sidewalk and make a left hand turn to run up a few stairs to the main doors of a multilevel school.

"It's passing time for the junior high and high school kids on the top level," Cy says hurriedly as we quicken our pace. "Hopefully the administration has passed the word to extend the passing time and let the kids wander inside and out of the building. Our job is to get lost in the multilevel, thermal traffic," he tells me. Cy lightly grabs my arm just before the steps to make sure I'm attentive to his directions. "Listen, the hospital is two blocks north of the school. When you go to the front desk, tell them you're with Cy," he says as he puffs up his chest and smiles mischievously. I shake my head and wait for him to continue. "Wait in the waiting room until you see me come in. And don't worry," he adds, "Crewe isn't going to split from her."

Cy runs ahead and I accelerate my walk to an uncertain jog. Two boys who are exiting the doorway lift their hands in hopes for a high-five from the admirable Cy Davids. He doesn't concede it, and shakes his head disapprovingly at the guilt-stricken boys. Again, an agent extracting thermal signals from inside the building could identify Cy as the hero giving and receiving high-fives from all of his faithful fans.

I enter the building as a stranger and an intruder, but I immediately realize I won't stay one for long. In brief passing, these teenagers discreetly nod, say hello, and welcome me. Not one of them is tied to a tablet, zoned into a game, film, or music video. None of them are in the middle of a video chat, TabFile update, or online auction. They're simply with each other, happily talking. I have the utmost respect for them for understanding that being human is about being truly present with one another.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

My anxiety is heightened more than it has been since last night's exhausting run to the station. I was so sure we were running to our deaths, but when Crewe, Cy, Galvesten, Della, and I met up with the others and didn't face any hostility, I began to feel relatively safe in the hands of the Sheridan militia. After that point, I also considered my sister and me not so sought after.

Although a fire of nervousness is spreading through me now as I sit in the hospital waiting room, it is not on account of a matter of safety. I have decided to tell Cy the truth about my last name, and I'm loathing his reaction. I can't get further tangled into a web of lies that will be impossible to undo later. He needs to know the truth. If I want him to have any chance of discovering why Evvie and I had such advanced chips, he needs to know who we really are.

An old man a few chairs away erupts into another fit of coughing. Each cough makes me more and more uncomfortable. Maybe I'm nervous he'll choke, because there's a definite correlation between his coughs and my anxiety level. Added to my other worries, it's enough to put me over the edge.

What are Galv and Della so busy with that this man can't get some help? He's older than anyone I've ever seen in person. Forget choking, he may simply break from the strain the upheaval is putting on his frail frame. I don't want him to die in front of me. Just as I stand to urge the receptionist to do something about this old man's agony, Cy enters the building.

"Follow me, pretty lady," he flirts as he struts past where I am standing. Cy doesn't wait to see the solemnity that characterizes me now, as I've resolved to tell him that I've been lying about who I am, possibly further endangering his people.

I take one step toward the receptionist to say something but she beats me to a cold 'We know'.

Walking through the expanse of the hallway, I realize this building doesn't serve just as a hospital. It makes better sense to me now why this place was considered a decent location to become mixed in with Sheridan's people.

Galvesten and Della double as care providers in the general-health clinic, which is located in the western wing of the hospital. Additionally, this building is home to a dentist's office and a childcare center for non-school-aged children.

Lastly, it is apparently the technological hub of Sheridan, as I'm shown when Cy politely gestures for me to enter the room before him. There are antennas, wires, and screens clustered in a few different stations. There is also a large dish and what appears to be a tablet before they were designed to fold open.

"Rico, this is Sydney," Cy tells someone who is hidden behind a monitor. "It was her little sister that you were unable to discover anywhere in Miles' network." Finally the man unglues himself from his work and slides his chairs out our direction.

"Evelette, right," he says. "I'm Rico—"

"Aves," I finish abruptly. Though I had only seen it once, I still clearly remember his broad smile. I would recognize Rico's face anywhere. Under his smiling picture, this Mexican-American was captioned: _Rico Aves, a Man for True Freedom_. He was the escapee who I had mistakenly read an article about years ago.

"Oh, you know," he states without the puzzlement that I see in Cy's eyes. Rico must assume that Cy has already informed me about him, but he didn't. Truth is, I'm astonished to know he really does exist.

"I read an article about you a couple of years back." I wait for Rico to acknowledge the article that I stumbled upon online.

"You did?" he asks, his face changing as he realizes that this is how I knew his name.

"Yeah," I answer to the man who is now equally as astonished as I am. "I didn't think you were actually real, or still alive if you once were. I read the article, but an hour later when I tried to find it again, it was gone."

"An hour?" he laughs. "No. My propaganda only last seconds before they're wiped out. It's miraculous you ever saw one. I've only theorized that county drones, no offense, have had the opportunity to view them." I don't take any offense. Who but me would be chancy enough to look for what I was searching that night, only a few nights before I jumped for the first time. "Wow! This is great news," Rico continues. "But I suppose it has nothing to do with why you and your sister had the chips that you did."

"I'm afraid not," I confirm. I want to know more about Rico Aves. I want to know how long he's lived in Sheridan, how he escaped, how long he's been posting the propaganda he creates, and whether they have ever had any repercussions. I want to know all of this, but like Crewe said, the priority is discovering the meaning behind the microphones.

"As far as we know, Evvie had her microphone from birth. Sydney's was craftily exchanged when she was fourteen," Cy tells Rico. Rico switches to a different station and gets to firing up the machines connected to it. Cy also powers on a hulking system and begins wiggling a few of the wires around. I can't put off telling Cy about lying to him for another second. If I allow him to sit down in his chair, I won't go through with it.

"Cy?" I interrupt a bit impulsively. "I need to talk to you for a second."

"Okay," he answers with a growing concern. He and Rico both stare at me for an awkward moment. "Here, let's go for a walk." Cy motions for us to step into the hallway. Rico's brow remains furrowed as he continues to work and I lead Cy outside of the room.

The Davids brothers and I seem to be going back and forth with these serious, private talks. Momentarily, all will be out on the table and hopefully very soon, my sister will be safe enough to where we don't have to put so much weight on our interactions.

"What's up?" Cy asks nervously in the hallway. When we get a short distance from the doorway, I stop. I don't especially feel like walking back through the buzz and chatter of the hospital complex while I confess my deception to Cy.

I come right out with it. "I lied to you." I turn and face Cy, looking him right in his wide, grey-green eyes and waiting for him to speak.

"What about, Sydney?" he asks deliberately, showing that he has a renewed apprehension regarding the well-being of all of us.

"Our last name isn't Layton," I tell him. This time Cy does not drop his head or even pull his gaze away from mine. His expression twists from concern into indignation.

"Why would you do that, Sydney?" he asks briskly. I have an answer for him, but not a blameless one. I know that by the warmth in my cheeks and the hairs that bristle on the back of my neck. I have drawn this out far too long, especially when I was given good reason to trust these men. They risked their lives to save me. This should be more of an apology than just a confession if I could only say what I'm thinking, but I'm not good at apologizing.

"I didn't know if I could trust you. I thought I was keeping my sister and me safe until I saw this place for myself," I say, though it's a lousy excuse.

"Well, it's here. It's real. The people are real," he ridicules. "And you jeopardized all of their safety by lying to us." I try to agree with him, but he's not through. "You don't even make sense, Sydney. I mean, how could you lie to us when we were trying to trace Evvie? You would have bettered her chances of being safe if you had told us the truth, and you knew that by then," he escalates. "You put your sister and all the rest of us in _more_ danger by lying!"

He's right, but with how quickly everything was happening then, I had forgotten about the misinformation I fed them. It wasn't until afterward, when someone welcomed my sister as Evvie Layton, that I remembered.

That excuse doesn't make it better. In fact, it makes my misstep much worse that I was that careless in it, so I decide not to try to defend myself to Cy. I really did put my sister in more danger than she would have been in if I had trusted them, but that's simply not something that comes easily to me.

"I know. I did. I'm sorry," I apologize.

"Well, you better start acting smarter! There are two-hundred fifty people subject to your next move so I hope you are ready to trust me," he states. My feeble nod sends Cy briskly back to his workstation in the room at the end of the hallway.

Rico is panicking as he fusses with the plug-ins and antennae of an ancient modem box. Cy immediately knows that something is wrong. He joins Rico in the frantic wire swapping and gentle banging of the equipment.

"What's wrong?" I find the courage to ask.

"They cut the system," Rico answers when Cy doesn't. "This always happens. It takes them a while to trace our intricate web of bounced signals, but they always do. And when they do, they cut us down."

"Can you fix it?" I ask.

"The old one? No," Rico answers, discouraged. "But we'll get right to work on building a new one. Say Cy," he begins, "is she safe to go look for Crewe?"

"I don't know what she's safe to do," Cy looks at me begrudgingly while answering Rico. It stings deeply that I've betrayed Cy's trust by lying to him. He is the one person in this town that I can count on to back me up in advocating for my sister. That has been an extremely important characteristic, alongside his cheerful charisma, in our promising friendship. I'm sad to see it wither so soon. I need him. I need the closest thing I have to a friend.

"I'll be fine," I answer Rico since Cy provided him with a rather muddled and coded response to his important question. I notice Cy's regretful exhale as he considers whether he really wants to be at odds with me. "What can I do?" I ask.

"Just find Crewe," Cy answers without making eye contact. "I don't think he'll be back toward Main Street since we agreed to have lunch here. Check the school and then go door to door through the houses to see if you can find him. When you do, tell him we think the network has been broken. Have him try to make a few calls to verify that it's down."

"Okay. Then come back here?" I ask, content to have even this stale, flat conversation with him.

"We'll be here," Rico answers. "We're going to try to patch the old system until we know for sure that it's been cut," he tells me.

"Sydney," Cy calls before I get to the doorway. "Just be careful," he says without looking up from his work. With this I add _forgives quickly_ and _doesn't hold a grudge_ to my mental list of good qualities about Cy Davids. I exit the room with a deep breath and an appreciation for a task to keep me busy.

Thankfully, I'm ignored as I pop my head into classroom after classroom looking for Crewe and my sister. The administration of the school said that they didn't think Crewe and the _new girl_ were here, but that I could go ahead and look.

The brief peeks into each of the rooms give me a good idea of what schooling is like in Sheridan. The lessons appear rich with history, current affairs, and other things with practical applications, even in the lower grade levels. The small classes all seem engaged in their lesson, practice, or project. I don't see what was so wrong with children being taught this way rather than online. I suppose it was a matter of money and cold convenience.

Many of the inquiries into the homes surrounding the school bring no answer, and those that do frequently produce a nosey neighbor wanting to know all about my sister and me, what it was like back in Miles, and why I am looking for Crewe. As is customary for me, I'm not too pleasant in my brevity with each of them. They should excuse it, understanding that I have something important to do.

It takes me over a half an hour to locate Crewe and Evvie. Crewe goes outside the little white house with his phone to better his chance of receiving a signal.

"Do you like it?" Evvie asks me.

"Sheridan?" I ask, seeking clarification.

"I meant the house."

"It's nothing special, but it's fine. Why?" I ask. Before she opens her mouth to answer, I understand why she asked the question.

"It's going to be ours," she says remorsefully.

"Then it's perfect," I smile. Correcting my statement comforts her, but only because she knows I mean it. It's not the dwelling, but the people and the feeling that make a home what it is.

"There's only one bedroom with a big bed, but Crewe thinks we could swap it out for two smaller ones," Evvie tells me.

I lived in cramped quarters in the orphanage, at Trista's, and in the transitions building. Truthfully, I would have hoped for something more spacious like some of the other homes I had partial views of this morning. I suppose those homes belong to larger families than mine. In Sheridan there is little waste and no evidence of showboating.

Had coming to Sheridan been a choice for us, and a secure transition, I know she would have coveted a better living space, like Merideth's. After believing our mother was alive, thinking I may have been hurt or captured for breaching, and experiencing all the precautions under the guidance of the Davids brothers, I'm not surprised Evvie's preferences have changed to love something so quaint. I'll always be close by in this house, and there's no saying we can't change to something else once we've grown more confident being here.

"Do you like it here?" I ask Evvie after a bit. "Sheridan, I mean."

"Honestly, I can't believe the things they live without," Evvie laughs in her way. "I'm going to miss my friends," she adds seriously, "and Merideth too, but I think I'd rather live here and understand what's really going on in the world than live inside and be oblivious to it." I can tell those are Crewe's words replaying themselves through Evvie lips after she's spent the morning with him, but I don't let on. I just nod and agree with her wisdom and effort to accept this major change in her life.

"What have you and Cy been doing?" my sister asks me.

"Trying to crack the code on us," I elbow her. "But I guess their system is down. That's why I had to find you guys to have Crewe test it on his phone."

"No one else has a phone?" Evvie exclaims. I only laugh and revel in her agony. I expect her to laugh along with me, or tell me to knock it off, but instead she beams mischievously.

"He likes you, you know," she says unexpectedly.

"What? Who?" I ask unintentionally. My cheeks grow hot and tingle with embarrassment in being caught off guard by this subject.

"Cy. Crewe told me that he likes you," she reveals, now bursting with giggles.

"Oh," I answer apathetically. I'm pretty sure that feeling has since faded, now that I've crossed him by coming clean. Regardless, contrary to my girlishly excited sister, I'm disappointed to learn any feelings for me exist. I wouldn't know what to do with that kind of thing, other than awkwardly pretend that I don't know. I wish I really didn't. I wish that Crewe hadn't said anything, because a secret of that kind never lasts with Evvie. I enjoy Cy's sociability, humor, and loyalty, but I only hope to regain his friendship, nothing more.

"Let's go eat," Crewe invites from the homey porch where the sun shines brightly. He walks through the front door across from the couch that we sit on, probably so he can marshal us out, in a gentlemanly manner.

"What's our news for Cy?" I ask him, inquiring about the signal and trying to gain a read on whether Cy has told him about my lying.

"That he's got a lot of work to do," Crewe answers simply. Well, at least it seems that Crewe hasn't heard about my blunder and decided to hate me, but he probably will join his brother in that soon enough.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

I haven't learned to handle my new but archaic toothbrush any better than this morning, when I was finally able to rid my mouth of disgusting plaque buildup. Trying it again now, I find that both of my hands are equally incapable of making the looping motions that the electronic toothbrushes in Miles make for their users.

Somehow, I manage to knock the end of my brush hard enough against the gums surrounding my top molars to make them bleed. The taste of blood mixed with the distasteful paste causes me to gag. Luckily, Crewe is in the other room, rummaging through cupboards, and doesn't hear the awful sound.

He has spent the last few hours answering all the questions that I have thought to ask him about Sheridan. And as it turned out, there wasn't a single question he could ask me about Miles. He knows so much more about the county I lived in than I do. Like me, life experience has driven Crewe Davids to be wise beyond his years.

I spit the remainder of the toothpaste into the sink and briefly run the water. Conserving water was something I never put much effort into inside the county, where energy and resources seemed limitless. I guess I sort of felt as if I was already doing my penance for my ancestors' wastefulness by being forced to live inside the bounds of a county. I suppose it's only right that I become more conscious of conservation now that I'm living in and using what is supposed to be uncivilized territory.

I rip off a length of toilet paper to pat my lips dry and to soak the blood from my gums for a bit. I tear off another chunk and use it to dust off a circle of the mirror. Looking in the mirror, I allow myself a private smile for who I have become after all that has befallen me in the last few days. I am a free person, learning to survive as the Sheridans do. Though I can't take much credit myself for being here, I am happy that my sister has been shown a brighter future outside of Miles County.

I wrap the dusty piece of toilet paper around the bloody one, and discard them into a small paper bag in the corner. I gather the clothes that I shed from the countertop, and exit the bathroom, nearly bumping into Crewe. My cheeks flush a little and my stomach knots.

"Sorry," he says lightly, although it was I who nearly ran into him. Ever since the talk at the safe house, where Crewe and I learned to tolerate and understand each other, he's grown more patient with me. He didn't yell at me when I disobeyed my order and darted from the tree or when I blatantly told him that I care more about my sister's well-being than I do for the entirety of his town.

I think Crewe has also grown to care for me. It wasn't simply a high-ranking soldier acting heroically when he dove to take a bullet for me. He acted out of instinct because he needed to protect me. He compassionately placed his hand on my back when I grew queasy next to Evvie's makeshift surgical table. Over the last few hours, as we've conversed openly, my estimation of Crewe has been solidified. He is also someone I can call a friend. He is primarily loyal to the needs of his town, but loyalty to me does weigh in his decisions.

"The place is barren. No pillows," he apologizes.

"It's fine," I tell him as I squirm past him toward my bedroom for the night. The pillows here would have probably been stuffed with lumpy cotton anyhow. Lumpy pillows are another thing that I will have to try to get used to, as if I wasn't already a restless enough sleeper using the form-fitting pillows I slept with in Miles.

The home that Crewe and I are staying in tonight was abandoned eighteen or so years ago, when all people had to relocate their residence to their designated county. There are many like this scattered throughout Sheridan. Cy and Evvie are probably asleep in one by now.

Moving trucks were quickly booked up when the relocation date neared so long ago, forcing many people to leave behind all the items they couldn't fit into their own vehicle, if they were lucky enough to be allowed to bring their vehicle inside. This home, for instance, remains furnished with three beds, a large dresser, a couch, a kitchen table without chairs, and a treadmill. Crewe had to tell me what that was. Gyms and some homes have these back in Miles, but they are built into the ground and their settings are controlled through tablets. The one here certainly couldn't be disguised by a floorboard and rug.

All Crewe and I will make use of here are the beds. There is one king-sized bed and two twin beds that belonged to someone's little princesses, judging by the matching ornate headboards.

"Are you sure you want to sleep here?" Crewe asks politely after following me into my room for the night. Earlier, he insisted that I take the adult-sized bed and he would sleep on the couch. The couch isn't really a viable option, seeing as it is mysteriously missing the middle cushion.

I told Crewe I wouldn't feel comfortable in such a large bed since I have only had small ones in which to sleep. I doubt he slept well after switching watchman duty with Cy above the cellar last night. He doesn't need to fight with a lumpy couch tonight. I certainly can't imagine the tough and lumbering Crewe Davids trying to squeeze himself onto one of the twin beds. Imagining the scene makes me have to concentrate to withhold a smirk. We are both guests in this house, so there's no reason he shouldn't also be treated as one.

"Alright, well if there's anything else you need..." He leaves the statement unfinished and instead smiles lightly. He has a harder shell than his brother, probably due to hardship and responsibility therein, but there is a very likeable softness to him underneath it all.

"I know we should sleep, but I thought of another question to ask you, if you don't mind," I tell him.

"That's fine," he says, sitting on the uncovered mattress of the other little bed across from me. I toss the sheet over my pillow-less bed and sit atop it, pulling over me a light blanket that him and Evvie got along with towels from the storehouse.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Crewe waits for me to continue, not appearing to pull in the reins on his willingness to talk. "How did you and Cy become orphans?"

"You mean—how did our parents die?" he calls it what it is. I suppose he too has been asked this question over and over, so he sees no need to beat around the bush. "Our dad was a firefighter. The way the fire chief told it at his service, my father was faced with a choice. He had to choose whether to put himself in severe danger in order to put an end to a raging fire, or he could fight on from safety, knowing that the fire could swell, engulf the apartment building, and spiral out of control through the county."

Crewe lifts his eyes and looks at me. Even if his recollection wasn't prefaced with me knowing that Crewe's father is dead, I think I could have guessed his father's decision based on the man his son strives to be.

"Well, you know how packed the buildings are in the county," he looks up to tell me. "My mom said that in that moment, she knows that our dad thought of Cy and me. She said he made his decision so that he would know for certain that the fire couldn't reach us, a mile away. My dad jumped onto unstable ground, knowingly, and challenged the fire." Crewe looks down at nothing again. "After a minute, that part of the building gave way and collapsed. I lost my dad, but he saved a lot of lives."

"He must have been really brave," I offer as a form of condolence. I'm glad I asked him this question, because it has brought me to understand him better. Uncharacteristic of my usual sympathies, I add, "I bet your dad is really proud of you for all the lives you save by bringing people here."

Finally, I am able to see how much better my life can be thanks to his abduction of me. Reversed from before, that wording is no longer fitting. To be abducted means you are taken with hostility from somewhere you call home. Crewe _rescued_ me, and when he found out that I had a sister, he risked his life to rescue her too.

"Thanks, Sydney," he looks up and says meaningfully. I hope he knows how sincerely I meant what I said. I hope Crewe understands that I consider his debt to me settled.

"My mom was already suffering from cancer at the time," he continues to answer my question. "She didn't die until a year later, which is much longer than the doctor's predicted she'd survive. Sometimes I feel guilty that the stress we placed on her may have killed her faster. We tried to tell her not to worry, to rest, but my mom was a selfless woman. She searched and begged day in and day out during her illness, desperately trying to find someone to adopt us. It killed us to see her so sick, and upset, but she wouldn't give up. Right up until the day she died."

My throat starts to burn and my eyes well up a little. Ironically, I'm not thinking about Crewe's mother, I'm thinking about mine. His mother fought every day for over a year to find a suitable home for her two capable sons. My mother cared less and less about her young daughters, and in her insanity, brought us closer and closer to danger. My heart aches in envy of the love Crewe's mother had for her sons and fills again with disdain for my own mother.

"We were blessed with amazing parents, just not amazing circumstances," Crewe states.

I clear my throat to eliminate any signs of shakiness in my voice. "It does sound like they were each truly amazing. One last thing, Crewe, did Cy already tell you—"

"Yeah," he answers my unspoken question.

I am a little surprised by this, since he and I have had such a cordial evening. I would have thought he'd be lecturing me for what I did. "I'm really sorry," I tell him, even though he's already accepted my mistake.

"I know. I was livid when I found out after lunch."

Cy must have told him while Evvie got her stitches examined by Della. I wasn't allowed in so that we'd remain dispersed and probably also because of my history of a weak stomach. I was made to wander the hallways because I refused to go back into the waiting room.

"Cy calmed me down and made me see it through your eyes," Crewe explains. "I don't know that I wouldn't have done the same thing." I'm surprised to hear that Cy reasoned with his brother on my behalf. He didn't give me any inclination throughout the rest of the afternoon that he had thought about the lie from my viewpoint. He worked silently on creating the new network, which still hasn't been completed. I'm glad Rico was there to ease the tension in the room. He conversed with me while he toiled amid the frustrations of failure. Even still, it was an excruciatingly long day.

"Where did Layton come from?" Crewe asks.

"Evvie's last foster. Her name was Merideth Layton. I butted heads with her a lot, but she was the closest person to family that we have had." It's peculiar to be talking about Merideth in the past tense. She still exists, but not in a world where I'll ever see her again.

"So what is your last name, anyway?"

"Harter," I answer. Crewe's expression of light curiosity suddenly morphs into one of grave importance. At first he is rendered speechless in his shock. Then, a frightful urgency takes over him.

"Sydney Harter, Harter with a _t_?" He is stating this as truth rather than asking it, so in my bewilderment at this turn of events I say nothing. "Was your mother's name Loretta?" he escalates, now standing over me.

I mouth the word yes, but no sound escapes my lips. Frantically, Crewe sprints from the house, leaving the door ajar. This isn't like the time that he removed himself from the car to settle down and think when I demanded that we go back to Miles for my sister. Crewe is sprinting somewhere specific, and in a life or death manner.

I am utterly perplexed and panicked by his reaction to my last name. It evidently carries information that I am not privy to. I run out of the house as well, and listen for the sounds of his bare feet against the grass, cement, or pavement. At this hour, the citizens of Miles County would still be carrying on loudly with their extravagant evenings. Here, all but the nocturnal critters are at rest. Still, I can't hear the beating of his footsteps, but that doesn't stop me from deciding a direction to go.

I sprint as fast as I can through the yards of strangers toward the forgotten home where my sister is. As it turns out, this is exactly where Crewe headed. I fight to catch up with the glow of his white T-shirt, but this is no easygoing run for Crewe. As I realize the pace at which he is driving me along, I begin to wonder if he fears for his brother's life, for my sister's. Surely, he can't be moving the fastest I've ever seen anyone run just to share a piece of information with Cy, no matter how much weight lies in it. With the revelation of my last name, Crewe Davids has a renewed fear for all of our lives.

His pounds on the door a short distance ahead of me echo in the still night. Crewe doesn't wait two seconds before he issues more thunderous thumps on the door, with the addition of screaming his brother's name. Another few seconds, and Crewe exerts all of his force to kick the door in. I arrive on the lawn just in time to see the heavy front door knock the sleepy Cy against the wall.

Crewe grapples for his dazed brother, who slides against the wall and plummets to the floor. He lifts Cy's pained face into his hands as he crouches over him.

"What's going on?" I demand to know.

"You didn't ask what her name was, did you?" Crewe asks his stunned brother straight away.

"What? What does it matter?" he slowly mumbles.

"It matters!" Crewe yells. "This one matters." He stares intently at Cy. Crewe is able to convey something of meaning to his brother, who looks up at me in disbelief.

"What do you know?" I demand from either of them. Neither brother budges. "Tell me what you know!" I scream impatiently, grasping Crewe's arm to drag him up forcefully. He stands on his own and whirls his arm free from my grasp.

"Go check on your sister," he demands angrily in my face. My heart drops. The repetitive pounding, Crewe's screams, the door getting kicked in, my screams. Evvie should have been sprung awake in all of this. She should be out here, demanding like I am to know what is going on.

I don't argue with Crewe. Fretfully, I stride around him and his brother. I brashly force open doors to a bathroom and a closet, frantically searching for a bedroom. I yell out my sister's name, but my call goes unanswered. One of the brothers tells me it's the last doorway. That is the room where Evvie should lay in an incredible slumber since she isn't responding to my calls.

I open the door. A strong, cool breeze freezes the tears on my face. Filled with horror, I flick on the light. The windowpane is missing. Rustled sheets and a blanket lie partly on the bed and partly on the floor. Evvie is not here. My sister has been abducted.

# Chapter Twenty-Five

"Evvie!" I scream as I run over the bed to quickly climb onto the window ledge. I leap down onto the plush grass. "Evvie!" I cry out again.

"Go get Merick!" I hear Crewe yell behind me. "Go!" he orders his brother.

I run without direction, searching frantically for some sign of my sister. When had Cy fallen asleep? How long has it been since she was taken? It could be hours. I have to look for her here anyway. If I wake the whole town up by trying, then good—that's two hundred and fifty other people who can help search for my sister.

Crewe dives for my ankles and takes me down the same way he did in the thick, larch forest outside of Miles.

"Stop!" he demands, this time without covering my mouth to force me to obey.

"No!" I shriek, trying to fight him off of me. "Let me go!" I protest like a pinned beetle.

"You've got to stop!" he says, shaking me. "They'll catch or kill us too!"

My breath fails me and I stop kicking and squirming from beneath Crewe. Did he say that they will kill us too? He did. He just admitted the possibility that my sister may already be dead. I can't accept that.

Crewe has my arms pinned to the ground. I act on the only choice I have to free myself of him by smashing my forehead straight into his. I am successfully freed from his grasp, but suffer an excruciating pain that I didn't anticipate. Sharp stings shoot simultaneously through the place of impact and the back of my skull. I stand unsteadily, trying to regain my footing.

"Take your families and seek shelter!" Crewe calls. "Men, spread the word. Go!"

Sprinklings of nervous townspeople move about in a quiet panic. One man runs off his porch in front of me, looking ready to help Crewe contain me. A trickle of warm blood reaches my outer eyelid and clutters my lashes. Apparently, I've given myself a sizeable laceration from the head-butt against Crewe's solid skull.

I'm not sure whether it's this blow added to my recent concussion, or my indescribable agony over possibly losing my sister that produces a stream of vomit that overtakes my will to look for her. I bend my knee back to the ground and clench the grass for support.

Crewe continues to give orders to various townspeople before they can seek shelter with the rest of their family. I recognize the names Jerus, Decklin, Galvesten, Rico, and Alix among the ones for whom he sends. When it seems I'm finished retching, I turn to the overwrought and uncertain Crewe.

"Come here," he demands quietly, wrapping my disheveled being into his embrace. Tears were already leaking from my eyes, but they flow steadily now as I sob into his T-shirt pocket. "We will find her. It's going to be okay," he tries to convince me. Crewe's hand holds firmly to my hair and the base of my head as he presses me tightly into him. I barely take notice of a kiss he places on the top of my head.

"We have to move," he says, gently loosening his hold, but still supporting me. I give a weak nod and wipe the streaks of tears and blood from my view.

Crewe takes hold of my hand, leading me in a zigzag across lawns where alarmed townspeople in their pajamas look to him for direction. Crewe instructs various people to go to the hospital or to the school if they don't have a basement or storm cellar. He looks over his shoulder often as we run through the scattered homes and families on the run. His eyes scan all passersby, but he's not really seeing the familiar faces of his town. He's searching for unknown faces, for them.

Word has already gotten to Jerus, who waits anxiously outside a building on Main Street. Alix, the fierce, female seeksman, reaches the building at the same time that we do.

"What happened?" Alix asks. She focuses on my hand as Crewe lets go rather than my bleeding head.

"BOTs took her sister," he answers. "Evvie's gone," he tells Jerus.

"I know," he says.

This still doesn't feel real to me. Is my sister really _gone_? I can't breathe, though not from the near mile we just ran. I can't imagine how terrified she is, knowing so much more about the secret forces of the county than she did when she made the jump out of Miles on her own. Wherever she is, if she's conscious, she's petrified, and for good reason.

We walk up a flight of stairs to a congested conference room above one of Sheridan's two restaurants. Jerus tells me to take a seat in one of the disorderly chairs. I ignore him, but Alix takes him up on the offer. My legs have to keep moving. Pacing helps me breathe.

When Decklin arrives, Jerus tries to push the latest information on him. Decklin says nothing and waves him off. He remains next to the open doorway to the room at the top of the stairs, acting as guard.

I begin to feel queasy again, and decide I need to sit. I intentionally pull a chair away from the table to make it known that I wish to remain aloof from the others.

Cy rushes in a minute after Decklin. "Were you attacked?" he asks his brother with panic as he approaches me. Cy lifts the end of his T-shirt to his mouth and cuts through it with his teeth.

"No," Crewe answers him.

Cy bites into his shirt again and tears off a section. He distractedly reaches to wipe my still stinging forehead with the cloth while he turns back to question his brother. I raise my forearm and block him. He twists back at me with surprise.

"How could you let this happen? You were supposed to be _protecting_ her! You never should have left her side," I sourly rattle off at him, misplacing my pain.

Cy is done arguing with me today. He takes in every word that I say, and doesn't fight me on it. He places the cloth in my hand. "You should put pressure on that," he says emptily as he turns away. He pulls up a chair and plops himself at the table, starring absently at the wall.

"If a BOT wants to be inaudible they will be, even to someone waiting and listening for them," Crewe defends his brother. "You didn't do anything wrong," he tells him. He means no offense to me in backing his brother, and I take none. Cy can't be blamed for not being as precautionary as I would have been. The truth is, if he had been in that room with Evvie, he wouldn't be here right now. Crewe would have kicked in the door and raced to the bedroom to find Evvie missing, and his sweet, young brother martyred.

Two more seeksmen arrive. I recognize them from the exploit to bring Evvie and me back to Sheridan safely. I assume these two to be partners. I've never seen them separate from each other. They like to keep to themselves, but a duty to protect Sheridan ties them here with the others.

Finally, Merick arrives. "Sit down," he orders hoarsely before he ascends the final few steps. Chairs painfully screech as they slide across the linoleum flooring of this breathless room.

"Many of you know this story, but Sydney doesn't, and today she needs to.

"Merick," Crewe interrupts. "We don't have time for stories. I told her that we would get her sister back and I have every intention of keeping that promise."

"We're not going anywhere right now," Merick scowls, "and you know damn well why. So sit down and shut up," he demands. Crewe doesn't protest further, but he doesn't sit down either. The others eye him carefully.

I wonder if this story will be linked to my last name. I wonder if at last light will be shed on why my sister and I are significant to Miles County. Once I know the reason, I'll know better whether they've taken her dead or alive.

"There is another town like ours called Braves. There is a man there, their leader in fact, by that same name. He used to have two little girls, twins." Some members of the battalion are still fixated on Merick's story, but others sigh and drop their heads. Braves used to have daughters, Merick said. The ones who have dropped their heads already know how the story ends, how the little girls' lives were taken. I can tell from their reactions that whatever happened to these little girls still bothers them deeply.

My mind travels on a tangent about how precious the girls must have been simply for the fact that they were twins. Back in May, I presented a research project through EduWeb to round off my science credit hours. I was utterly obsessed with the social science behind twins. The current birthrate of twins throughout the counties of the nation is one-one thousandth of what it was before the population bill of 2015.

Back then, fertility treatments were legal and heavily impacted the birthrate of twins, triplets, and higher multiples. In addition to treatments being illegal now, any natural conception of a multiple when one child has already been born to the mother or the father is terminated. Furthermore, all identical twins that are conceived as a mother and father's first children are also aborted because their identical DNA poses potential problems. Finally, counties close females' childbearing timeframe prior to the late ages when having twins or multiples was once more common.

"While Braves was still living inside Bozeman County, he discovered a satellite image of a cluster of free people outside his county. He was a man filled with unrest by the injustices occurring in all the nation's counties. Rather than taking his family and quietly escaping, Braves decided to plant a technological virus that proclaimed his find and conspiracy theories about the authorities to the citizens of Bozeman."

"Naturally, the government was infuriated by his treachery, but couldn't kill him outright due to the popularity of the virus. His immediate death would be too circumstantial, confirming citizens' speculation of Braves' published theories and the existence of an alternative way to live."

"Instead, Sydney," Merick zeroes in on me, "they traced his global positioning, invaded his home, and restrained his family. No hand was ever laid on Braves, but he was tortured into publicly retracting his testimony."

"You mean they hurt his family?" I demand to know. Merick says nothing. The rest of the room remains silent. "Then why are we sitting here? Why aren't we doing something about the fact that they've taken my sister?"

"Because they're dead now, Sydney," Crewe says quietly from the wall he had blended into. "For weeks, Braves was controlled through the need to keep his family safe. In the end, after he had given them everything they wanted, his wife and the twins died tragically of carbon monoxide poisoning in their home. Merick's point is that we have to be extremely careful. You can't cross them, Sydney."

"The captain should be here in a few hours," Merick says. "Last time I spoke with him, he was going to drive through the night. This will be his decision." Merick looks deliberately at Crewe, who nods. "Galv and Rico are at the hospital, probably having to answer to folks rather than getting their job done. Cy, you're to head there and get our system back. Jerus and Crewe, you're staying with me. We need to have some rough options before the captain arrives. The rest of you, go home. Rest is going to be important for whatever we decide to do. Sydney, Galv is waiting at the hospital to give you a stitch before you're off."

"Off to where?" I question.

"You need your rest," he bears in on me.

"Like that's possible," I object bitterly. I'd sleep better on the edge of a cliff.

"Talk to Galvesten about that, not me," he returns. "I do want you close, so come back here to sleep. We'll have you set up," he says more to Crewe than to me. "Alright, go," he sighs, exasperated. "Everyone go."

Everyone but Merick, Jerus, Cy, and I thunders down the narrow stairwell.

I need to make Merick aware of something before any plans are drawn up. "Something you need to understand," I tell him, "is that I won't live without my sister. So don't consider my safety in this unless it's going to also increase her chance of living."

"Sydney," Merick returns, "many county eyes watched you and your sister carefully during the day today. They lost one of you in the shuffle. Knowing what I know now, I would bet my family's lives that they wanted it to be you when they removed that window. I'm going to level with you—trading which life we put at risk is a very viable option for us, so you better be sure you're ready for that, and you better be patient and let us handle how it's done."

I'm thankful that Merick understands and respects my wish, but I don't feel a ' _yes sir_ ' is in order. I nod and head for the stairs, feeling Cy's presence behind me.

"Can I walk you?" he asks sheepishly. I don't answer him and he follows me down the stairs.

"I didn't mean it when I said it was your fault," I say without looking behind me. Cy draws to my side when we're on the main level of the restaurant.

"She is alive now, Sydney. That I know," he says. "And what you said to Merick... I'm with you in that too."

Cy Davids will die for Evvie? He's not that righteous. It's better said that, just as Crewe did, he's willing to risk his life to protect me from the danger I'll face in trying to save her.

"I don't want you to, Cy," I stop and turn to tell him, tears welling in front of him for the first time. And I can't contain them. They streak my cheeks with the calamity that plagues me. "I don't want anyone to die," I render with a burning throat.

Neither of us holds pride from our earlier confrontations today. We succumb to our present vulnerability, our fear, and hold each other for strength. We're stuck this way for the longest time, not wanting to let go and face the crisis ahead of us.

When I open my eyes, I see Crewe turn to head back into the restaurant with a pillow and blanket in hand. I know that he's afraid too, so much that he can't stand by and watch us try to endure it.

Why has all of this happened to me? Why has my lot in life had to be so unfortunate? What did I do wrong? Why is God subjecting my innocent little sister to the same misery that he allowed to befall those poor twins? Most regretfully, why does Merick have to be right? Why can't I reject my fear and summon the will to die for my sister?

# Chapter Twenty-Six

The unwelcome bell screams throughout the sleeping quarters of the orphanage. Usually, my sister hangs her torso upside down from the top bunk and nags me to get up. I have a terrible headache, so I'm glad she doesn't pester me this morning.

Girls race for the changing rooms, their bare feet slapping the cement floor. Some tactically wriggle their clothes on underneath their bed sheets. Others, who have lost their sense of shame from living in the wide-open quarters for years, strip down to nothing and pull on anything from the drawer under their bed.

I sit up in bed at last, not wanting to withstand another lecture about promptness.

My sister's feet should dangle from above by now, her toes wrapping around the rungs of the ladder as she prepares to scoot down it.

I get out of my bunk and lift myself onto the first step so I can peek at my sister and see what's keeping her, but she's not there. Her sheets are still tousled about, so I know she hasn't gone down to breakfast early. Evvie is not a rule breaker. Her bed is always shipshape before she exits the quarters. Anyway, she never heads downstairs without dragging me with her.

I call for her among the easy chatter of the girls, but she doesn't answer me. I search for her face among the girls brushing or washing at the sinks. I scan the lines in front of the bathrooms and the changing rooms, paying attention to the girls who exit them. Where could she be?

I start to ask some of the girls if they've seen her this morning, but they don't answer me, they only stare back. Why won't they _answer_ me? I become more and more earnest, sending the lines of girls into fits of giggles. The joke isn't funny. I demand that they tell me where my sister is, but they only laugh harder.

Finally, I run from the sleeping quarters in my pajamas to look for Evvie elsewhere in the orphanage. I think I find her in the shower commune, but the shivering little girl with the long, soaking hair isn't her. I grab a towel off the high shelf that she can't reach and wrap it around her. The little girl smiles and thanks me kindly. I nod and turn to exit but she calls to me. I turn around to see what she needs.

"Did you try the dining hall?" she asks with a sinister grin. I cock my head with confusion. How did she know that I was looking for Evvie? Her eyes blacken and she lets out a menacing laugh, more chilling than the other girls giggling in unison. I back away from her slowly and then turn to run to the dining hall.

Below the split-level stairs, I hear the echoes of marching feet. I duck as I round onto the lower level to see what's before me.

All the boys wear hunter-green cargo pants and T-shirts. All at once, they turn their heads and glance at me at the foot of the stairwell. I wouldn't have noticed her otherwise, but the voice of the one who tells the rest to proceed is a girl just a bit older than me. I know her from somewhere.

The boys heed to their order and begin filing into the dining hall. I become aware of an African American boy who reaches for the hand of a younger boy with the same colored skin, who marches by his side. The little boy looks up at who appears to be his big brother. The little one reads bravery in his brother's face, but from my distance I can tell that it's feigned. The younger brother looks straight ahead and tries to find courage, for both of their sakes, while the older brother swallows hard.

At first, all that can be heard as they round the corner into the dining hall is the rhythm of their marching feet, but soon screams and wails of agony accompany the drum.

I run past the brick wall to the glass-pane hallway where I see the director of the orphanage. She wears a pair of black-rimmed, rectangular glasses and a black, ceremonial vestment, similar to a judge's robe. The director smiles at me and then electrocutes a boy with the click of a button. She holds the button, eyes fixed on me, until he falls motionless on the floor. Then I recognize a shriller scream to the side of me. Evvie.

She is strapped into a stilted chair, floating high above the action. She begs for the director to stop, but the massacre continues. Evvie cries to the boys, trying to warn them, but they march on, bravely, to their deaths.

I try to run to my tortured sister, but a thick glass wall stops me. I spin around but I'm engulfed by impenetrable glass. Evvie sees me, but she's not concerned that I'm trapped. She continues to whimper and plead, but now it's _me_ that she's begging to stop.

I look down to find the remote in my hand. My thumb presses the button. I drop it, but the groans of the tortured boys continue. The glass thickens and becomes foggy. I can't see what's happening. I can't see Evvie. The faces of the giggling girls upstairs suddenly surround the glass. They push the glass closer and closer, pinching my hand against the button on the remote that is again in my hand. I can't breathe, nor can I stop the screams or the laughter. I gasp for air, but find none.

Something light and cool strokes my cheek. Finally, air rushes into my lungs. I spin around and the girls are gone. So is the glass that trapped me.

"Sorry," a voice says. I roll over on the cold floor to see Crewe sitting beside me. He is dressed in camouflage again, and a gun lies across his lap. "You were having a nightmare. I just thought... sorry."

It was just a nightmare, but then so is the reality I've awoken to. I peer around the dark room to find it empty of its prior occupants.

"Where are the others?" I ask Crewe.

"With their families. Cy and Rico tapped into a signal. Merick called the captain and he told all of us to rest until he arrives. Merick tried to argue, but the captain didn't give him much opportunity. He'll be here soon, and he wants all of us ready for whatever he decides when he arrives."

"There's something important I didn't think to tell Merick before," I tell Crewe. "I didn't have the chance, I guess."

"What is it?" Crewe asks, praying there are no more surprises from me.

"I think I may have known Braves' daughters," I tell him.

"That's impossible," he says.

"Braves is the man's last name, right?" Crewe doesn't disagree so I continue. "Well, I didn't actually know them, but I knew of them. Were their names Tuli and Tigonee?"

"I don't know. I've heard the story before, but I don't know if their names have ever been included. How did you know of them?"

"I told Cy about this when I woke up and remembered who I was. You weren't in the car then." Crewe shakes his head a little, remembering how he stormed from the car to keep away from me. He's sorry that I ever had to fear him. I don't stop to tell him it's okay, that I trust him now. There is no time for that.

"The reason Evvie had been outside Miles County with me the day before she made the jump on her own is because she was afraid our mother was still alive."

"Cy mentioned something about that," Crewe recollects. "He said the court database had your mother listed as a foster?"

"There were two non-biological children listed on her parenting account, and Evvie didn't appear to exist. The names were Tuli and Tigonee Braves."

"I have to make a call. I'll be back," Crewe says. This news warrants a phone call, but nothing of the urgency he had when I told him my real name was Sydney Harter. "There's toast on the table, and gear for you over there," he points.

"I'm not hungry."

"Sydney," he protests. "You need to eat. Please." I don't offer any indication that I will. "Do it for her, okay?" I don't answer or nod, but he knows I'll do anything for my sister. "I'll be right back."

Since I'm awake, Crewe flicks on the light before he descends the stairs. The light aggravates my eyes and my head. I finger the stitches Galvesten had to give me in the wee hours of the morning. It was obvious that he too knows something about who I am that I don't know, but I couldn't break him. The more I tried, the more nitrous oxide he pumped into the concentration mask. I don't remember feeling the stitches at all due to this, but I feel them a little now with tissues still swelling beneath the seam.

I decide to change first in case Crewe comes back quickly. The gear is heavy with the weight of its history and the mystery of the precarious future from which it aims to protect me.

I stroke the padding of a bulletproof vest and think of my sister. I think of everything I have sacrificed for her, only to ultimately fail her in the worst imaginable way. I remember her as a chipper little thing, the way she should have been in the dream I had almost forgotten.

Will Evvie hate me if any of these people are killed in effort to save her? If she could weigh in on the discussion, would she wish that we stay so that we could each live long, happy lives in Sheridan?

My heart tells me she would. As brave and selfless as she is, she wouldn't want anyone of us, including me, to trade in his or her life to save her. Maybe knowing what she would ask is part of what keeps me from feeling fully ready, as Merick suggested I be, to die for her. If I knew for certain that Evvie would either die at the hand of the county or live through my bravery, I would step onto the unstable ground to challenge the fire. I would find the courage to be a hero that Sheridan would not soon forget.

Of the two of us, Evvie has always had a better chance of living a happy life. The fullness of my future was constantly diminished by the hardships I faced. I carried the burdens myself so they wouldn't steal the lightness of Evvie's heart.

Through her capture, years of my effort have already been undone. If a hand has been laid on my sister to give me up, then my entire life has turned to waste in a night. My soul will certainly be lost if she dies that way. Guilt would shadow the little light left inside of me.

I take a deep breath and decide to eat. I need to be fueled so I can put forth one last fight, my fiercest yet. I'm glad Merick and Galvesten teamed up to force sleep on me too, unless it's already all done in vain. _Don't do that. Believe Cy_. She's still alive, and she needs me.

A slice of peanut butter toast lies on a towel. Fittingly, there is a glass filled with orange juice from the restaurant downstairs. I laugh out loud for a moment, being that this is the breakfast I fixed for us for years when our mother was inept at taking care of us. It's also what we ate the morning before I showed her the way out of Miles.

My unbefitting laughter quickly turns to a burning in my throat and the pain's desire to leak from my eyes. I tuck the feelings away and sink my teeth into the toast. I'm done crying. Tears aren't going to get me anywhere, but there are steps I can take toward regaining my sister. Eating and hydrating are a start. Planning comes next.

"You were right," Crewe says as he barges into the room. I'm glad I decided to change first and then eat. "The twins' names were Tuli and Tigonee."

"Does that change anything?" I ask with my mouth full. Warm orange juice slides down my throat.

"It proves that they've been planning all of this. Everything. I don't think it was any accident that your sister came by those names. They wanted us to take notice. They've been waiting for this, which means they're ready to challenge our existence. This goes far beyond you and your sister."

"What do you mean they wanted you to take notice? Why would you or anyone in Sheridan take notice of what was listed on my mother's parenting account?"

"Because we've always watched that account. Not all of us, but at least one of us."

"Why?" I drop the toast back onto the table and demand answers from Crewe. "Why is my mother significant?"

A horn is honked a number of times down at The Lot, kitty-corner from the restaurant.

"That's the captain. You stay here," Crewe tells me, though he goes nowhere. He lingers a moment and swallows hard. He takes a step toward me and squats in front of me. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, tentatively touching my fingers that rest on my lap. He turns and leaves abruptly.

What is he sorry for? Have decisions been made that he knows I will disapprove of, or has he been hiding knowledge about why Evvie was taken, why they hoped to take me? I want to run after him and make him tell me, but this time I'm so fearful that their knowledge or plan will prevent me from saving my sister that I'm paralyzed in the chair.

The captain is younger than I imagined, though he has deep-set wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. I expected his entrance to increase my anxiety but, oddly, his presence comforts me.

"Hello," he whispers as he comes over and reaches for my hand. "I've heard a lot about you and your sister." His throat is tighter than mine as he tries to speak. I reach out and shake his hand, but he doesn't let it go.

The feeling in the air puzzles me. I look to Crewe, who stands rigidly against the doorframe. He watches ominously.

The captain follows my gaze to Crewe, and he too notices the stiffness of Crewe's demeanor. Crewe's eyes are locked intently on the leader. In doing so, Crewe conveys something of meaning to him the same way he did after he kicked the door into Cy and told his brother that my last name matters. _This one matters_ , he said.

The captain takes another timid and uncertain glance at me, and looks back to Crewe once again, shaking his head in disbelief.

"It's her sir," Crewe says shakily. "We found her."

The man turns slowly back toward me and kneels down to see me at eye level. His eyes flood as he stares deep into my soul.

"Sydney?" he questions again, barely managing the word.

He takes both of my hands in his to say something else, but he can't. And then I feel what I know can't possibly be true. "Dad?"

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

He reaches for my face and cups it in his hand. No. _No_! It can't be. I don't feel present in my body as my head shakes from side to side. The stranger pulls his hand away from my face, but continues to survey me in adoration. Beyond my control, my hand slips away from his grasp in my lap.

"It's okay," he whispers. "It's me. I'm your father."

It's unmistakable that he is indeed Demetri Harter, my father, as he says he is. His face is an aged version of the one I've secretly studied online, wondering what he was like, and what my family was like with him in the picture. His eyes are my eyes, only the deep blue that outlines my irises seeps further toward the golden sun that surrounds his pupils. My heart hasn't forgotten his voice. I felt it was him the second he uttered my name. I thought I remembered nothing of my father, but my heart beats uncontrollably as he whispers again, "I'm your dad, Sydney."

Tears burn at the corners of my eyes too, but I don't feel the awe and joy that so clearly illuminates his face. The overpowering love he feels is absent from me. I am in shock. All of this time I thought he was dead. I _knew_ he was dead.

He stands up and tries to pull me into an embrace, his heart so flooded with the magnetism of the moment that he's compelled to do this, but I dodge his arms. He looks at me with confusion and then appears wounded as I back away.

He may be my father, but I don't know him.

The walls creep toward me and the air thickens, making it difficult to breathe. He has had fifteen long years to dream about being reunited with me. He knows exactly what he wants to say to me, and how gently and invitingly to say it. But his gratification in this impossible moment will be short-lived. I have no choice but to ruin it.

I make a split second decision to push past Crewe at the doorway and stampede down the dizzying stairs. One of the restaurant tables clips my hip as I clumsily make a dash for fresh air. I look over my shoulder, and see that no one has followed me. Regardless, I run around the side of the building to ensure that I will be left alone.

My father is alive. He is the captain of an estimated six hundred refugees in Region Two between the towns of Sheridan, Braves, and Idaho. How can he be seen as a capable and beloved hero to so many while his own daughter sees him as a coward and betrayer?

Were we dispensable to him? Did he justify the pain of the few with the liberty and happiness of the many? If he cared about Evvie and me, wouldn't he have come for us? I know he was able to trace us, so that means he just stood by as our mom lost her sanity and as our grandma, our greatest hope, was murdered. He merely watched as my body fought to overcome the alcohol-induced coma and live for the sake of his youngest daughter, who sat alone and scared in a sleeping orphanage. How could any father allow the misery his children suffered? How could he witness it and not rescue us from the evils of Miles County?

I love the father that I know to have tragically died before his time. I've always believed that _that_ father could have amounted to a brilliant and caring politician, Chief of County even. He could have moved mountains in an unjust world if only he was given the chance, but life was stolen from him. That's the father who I love.

"Hey. It's just me," a cautious voice says from the opposite direction I came.

"He's supposed to be dead. He's been dead all of my life," I cry without acknowledging the intruder.

"Your whole life has been a lie, Sydney. An ugly lie."

"Why didn't he come?"

"Your father is a good man, Sydney." Crewe squats before me but doesn't force me to look at him. "He is the man who got Cy and me out, remember? He's been like a father to both of us for the last seven years, and you know how high my standards are when it comes to fathers."

"Good for you," I scorn.

"Sydney, I have been listening to the captain talk about his little princess for seven years, I just never imagined it would be you," he pokes at my arm, but I don't join in his untimely playfulness. "You'll get to see for yourself soon enough, but take it from me if you can—that man still loves you with everything in his heart, the same way he loved you the last time he saw you. He's also the most valiant man I know. You put those two facts together, and I guarantee you that nothing would have stopped him from coming for you if it was safe for _you_."

If I am to listen to anyone, it will be to Crewe Davids. The way I feel isn't going to transform instantaneously with an eloquent speech, but I am persuaded to at least hear my father out. Regardless of his relationship to me, he is the captain and he is here to help us determine how to bring Evvie home.

"Please," Crewe presses.

"You could have given me a heads up." I roll my eyes and allot my stubborn resentment onto Crewe. He scans my eyes for a moment. My scowl fades and my pursed lips soften just enough for Crewe to smile at my jab. Without warning, he uncrosses my arms and lifts me onto my feet.

"Sydney, one more thing," he says after I've moseyed a few steps toward the street. I turn around slowly as I don't like the worry in his voice. His face screams that there is something else he's been keeping from me besides the fact that the captain is my living father.

Crewe takes two hard steps toward me and unexpectedly envelops my lips with a kiss so passionate that it seems he must have ached for years to give it. My heart drops and fire tingles throughout me. I've known Crewe for just over two days. Part of that time I didn't even know who _I_ was, but I knew that I hated the fuming, accusatory man who I later found out to be my primary abductor.

Somehow, time and the transformation do not matter. My first kiss, something I never thought would happen so soon, if at all the way things were going, was very welcomed coming from Crewe Davids.

The kiss isn't a prolonged one. Crewe releases me and turns away too abruptly to know whether I feel the same way about him. Maybe he doesn't have the courage to see. My cheeks are flashing hot and my heart is racing. Crewe is only a few steps away when I gear up to run tell Evvie. She'll absolutely die to hear this.

Oh, Evvie. I'm called back to reality, and I'm immediately soiled with guilt for experiencing any pleasure in wake of her absence.

"I'm going to go talk to our dad, Ev," I whisper. "He's alive and he's going to help. We're coming for you, Evvie, together." Somehow telling Evvie gives me the strength I need to face my father. I will do anything to get her back. I will do whatever it takes.

I nervously creep up the creaky stairs and peek through the glass pane of the door. My hand rests on the knob, but I don't turn it. I watch him in secret for a moment, the way he's been able to watch me as I've grown up. He sits down now with his back to me, but I can tell that the strong, confident, and wise man from the picture I studied is stressed and dejected. His posture is slumped and he anxiously taps his fingers against the table.

I take a deep breath and enter the room.

He glances over his shoulder and stands hurriedly when he sees that it's me, not Crewe, who has returned. With his gaze upon me, the room feels no more comfortable than when I burst from it in need of air.

"Hi," he says awkwardly, being overly cautious now.

"Hi," I return from a distance. He turns another chair to face the one he was sitting in, and gestures for me to come join him.

"I thought you were dead," I murmur without moving my feet.

"No," he says sympathetically.

"You left. You left us." My speech is broken and my hands tremble though I'm not afraid.

"I did, but only because I had to," he says. "I would have gotten you out, but I was afraid they would do something horrible to you and your mother if I failed. I wasn't willing to take that risk. I had to let you go, you see."

"No, no I don't," I state. If it's possible, I think his face drops even more. "You were only in for a few years, and at the beginning of it all. Something horrible was done to us." I'm losing composure. I can't help, nor can I contain, the anger I feel. I'm furious that my father abandoned us. "We were made to live in that Godforsaken circle of misery without anyone to look out for us."

"I'm sorry, Sydney. Oh God, Sydney, I'm so sorry," he says. "You don't have to forgive me, or accept me even, but please don't hate me before we've figured out just how everything got so screwed up. Can we talk about your sister?" he asks.

I can't deny him this. I can't deny Evvie this. I nod and tentatively approach the chair that faces him. We sit, and I try to calm my trembling hands.

"How long has she been with you and your mother?" he asks.

I look up at him in bewilderment. How can he not know the answer to that question? Minutes ago, Crewe told me that he's been hearing about me through my father for the last seven years, about his little princess. Singular. Had he never spoken of a second daughter? He has no idea that Evvie is his.

"Forever," I answer him. "She's yours." I can see his mystified mind spinning with confusion. Merick and Crewe have been telling him about Evvie and me for the last two days. Now, arriving and learning that I am his daughter, he assumes Evvie to be someone else's child, perhaps an adoptee or foster. "Mom learned she was pregnant the same day that you died, the day we thought you died," I correct myself. "Evvie is _your_ daughter."

He glows with the news. "I have a daughter," he says, beaming like a first-time parent. "I mean two. I have two daughters." Suddenly his expression morphs into anger. "They hid her from me. They knew I would be watching, checking in." He remains very grave. "We're going to get her back, Sydney."

"She's smart. Careful," I tell him.

"Good. If she has half the strength of character and bravery that you have, we'll be okay."

I wonder if he only thinks that now that he has found out that the latest addition to Sheridan is Sydney _Harter_. _His_ Sydney. I doubt that Merick and Crewe's account of the events following my abduction painted the picture of a courageous heroine. It's more likely it left him dreading his meeting of the impatient and stubborn girl from Miles. Who knows, maybe he saw aspects of bravery within my strong will before he learned who I am.

"Your mother raised you well despite the horrors you spoke of experiencing inside. She must have taught you to ignore societal influences and be observant and cautious of the world. I can't believe you know so much and have still been safe all of these years."

I was afraid of that. How do I tell him that my mother, his sweetheart, is dead? Furthermore, how can I explain without disgracing her and offending him that she was absolutely lost, and that I raised us in surroundings that were far from _safe_? All of this will break his heart. He will understand for the first time that he truly failed us.

"Is your mother well?" the captain asks with care. He knows that when the girl from Miles remembered who she was, she demanded that she be taken back for the sake of her sister. He knows I left no mention of going back for my mother.

"How long?" he asks before I've said a word.

"Five and a half years," I answer. He drops his head. Earlier this morning, my father believed that his strong, beautiful wife and daughter of the same nature lived healthily in Miles County. Like a deceased loved one from the heavens, he checked in on us from time to time by tapping into the county databases. Only what he traced must have been a veneer covering the despair that defined our real lives. Through this deception he has gained knowledge of Evvie, a daughter he's never met, but he has also lost the love of his life.

"I'm sorry," I console him. It's so peculiar to be comforting my living father on the passing of my mother, who has been dead for five and a half long years, and droned for eight and a half years prior. I can barely tolerate my memories of her, and here I am comforting a man who has only beautiful memories of this woman and fantastical ideas of how she got along after he was removed from her life.

"How?" he asks.

I hesitate. I can't find the words to tell him. "You should probably have some background." I look up at his concerned eyes that harrow in on mine. "She didn't cope well after you died. She was healthiest for a few months just after Evvie was born, but soon the hysteria came back, even stronger than it was during her pregnancy."

"Hysteria?" he questions.

"She conspired that the government killed you." I suppose she might have had some reason to think that, now finding that he is alive. "She wanted us to try to escape, but I always convinced her against it. It scared me," I admit to him. "I was so little."

I wonder how my life could have been different, really different, if I hadn't questioned my mother when she was pregnant with Evvie, or even afterward. What if we had run, and made it out? We might all be together now, here in Sheridan. We might be a happy family of four, perfection in the eyes of the counties. We also may have been captured, or killed from the attempt itself, if my mother didn't have a surefire way out.

"She couldn't take care of herself or us. Delusions took over her." The image must not fit the picture that he has of my mother, because he's shaking his head and pinching at the inner corners of his eyes. I'm sparing him the details, too. If he only knew how awful it was, he may feel sick with guilt that he didn't come.

I remember how badly I hated the chatter. My mother talked nonstop, but not to us, and of nothing that made any sense. I couldn't turn it off. It was so hard to live with her frenzied static in the background all the time. And of course, there were the shocks that I greatly feared, but I won't tell him about that. I'll preserve for him the ability to feel love when he remembers her.

"We stayed with Grandma as much as we could, but then her date came up. I tried my best to take care of all of us, but one day the authorities found out about our situation. They took her to an institution. She was there for two months before she died."

"You still haven't told me how," he states when it appears I've finished talking about my mother.

"Suicide," I say reluctantly.

"No, that can't be," he says. I nod my head but I don't want to look at him. I don't want to see his denial, and I don't want him to see the feelings of betrayal that still surface in me when I think about what she did. She could have gotten better. She could have stayed a little longer, and given them a chance to help her.

"Listen, I know you knew your mother longer than I did... Look at me," he says with a parental tone. I look up and meet those deep, blue eyes. "Your mother loved you. She loved you more than life. I know that she would have never, _ever_ given up like that. If she really did kill herself, then she did it to protect you... and your sister," he adds. "But my guess is it wasn't suicide." The veins in his neck bulge and his temples flair in effort to keep his composure in front of me.

Why does the world keep flipping the way it does? Until a moment ago, I _knew_ what my mother was like. I was _certain_ that she took the easy way out. I despised her for it, and used my resentment of her to drive my desire to always be stronger and braver than she was. And now everything that the captain, who was supposed to be a stranger, is saying points to the contrary. He paints her to have died out of love for us, like Crewe's dad. My mother was not a heroine.

"I want you to believe me, Sydney, but you don't have to. She was probably terrified after my death, and alone."

I disagree with his statement but I don't let on. Our mom wasn't alone. She had two daughters. She had responsibilities that she neglected.

"Your mother knew a lot of things she wasn't supposed to know," he regrets.

Then she must have questioned them during her sane stint while Evvie was an infant. She must have tried hard to forget the terrible theories that her husband, my father, had told to her. But once you're brought from ignorance, you can't ignore the truth. It surrounded her. The government _did_ have something to do with my father's disappearance. She _was_ being watched and so were her children. Most frightening, they _would_ kill us if we stepped in the wrong direction. She was in a constant state of fear. One day she slipped from the sanity she managed to hold onto and lost her ability to return.

"What happened to you and your sister after your mother's..." He can't bring himself to finish the question. He needs time to process her death and accept it.

"We lived in the orphanage for two years, then with a foster for one. We returned to the orphanage for less than a year before Evvie was fostered again. I got a living variance just afterward, when I turned sixteen."

He pounds the table with a closed fist and startles me. "I'm sorry," he says, though I'm not sure if he's referring to our shuffling from place to place or for alarming me. "I didn't know. I traced your chip to the orphanage once, but the next day it went back to the little apartment I assumed you guys were living in. I figured you volunteered at the orphanage or something."

"No, they must have rerouted my global-positioning signal back to Trista's apartment. She was the foster we had for a year."

"Oh, that's right," he says regrettably. "I'm so sorry, Sydney. Crewe told me about what happened with her, how you came to have an updated chip. If I'd have known... Sydney, if I had known about any of those things... I would have done anything to protect you. You were my little girl."

"Unfortunately, you still have the chance to prove that," I tell him. "For your other little girl. We both do. Dad—" I pause for a moment. The word is forced, and yet it sounds sweet leaving my lips. This is my father, my Demetri. "Evvie is my entire world. There isn't a soul on earth who will ever change that. No one can fill the hole she'll leave if she's gone."

"I understand," he says, without sadness that I've belittled his importance. "We're going to get her back. We're going to be a family," he says taking my hands in his. I'm forced to smile at this. "I'll go tell the others to join us." My dad squeezes my hands, pats them, and stands up on stiff legs. He smiles a lengthy smile at me, and heads toward the door to go summon the others.

"Dad?" I say before he opens the door. He turns and waits. By Crewe's example, I push through my nerves and approach him. He only allows me to stand awkwardly before him for a split second before he follows my weak invitation. My father wraps me into his strong arms.

My shock and anger have vanished and I'm overtaken by the power of love. I've loved and missed my father for so long, and by some great miracle, he's here again. I squeeze him with all my might and open my heart to him.

"I love you so much," he says as he strokes my hair. Against my earlier will, my tear ducts give way and release all the tears I've suppressed for my dead father. We stand in our embrace for a long moment, not wanting to let go for fear that we might lose each other again. My dad is alive. He's here. He's going to help me get my sister back.

"You're going to love Evvie too," I say from within his hold.

My father looks into my eyes, but doesn't let go of my arms. "We're going to get her back," he promises.

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Well, I'll be damned," Merick says as he leads the others through the doorway. He pats me hard on the back. "I should have recognized your old man's attitude when you gave it to me," he jests.

Decklin smiles and Cy squeezes my shoulder. The two youngest seeksmen choose chairs on either side of me.

"I'm Cheng," says the Asian-American man in his late twenties. Apparently I merit an introduction from him now, but his partner still makes no move toward one.

"Sydney," I say, shaking his hand.

"I know," he says absently. That suffices for him as he moves away to take a seat.

Crewe enters somberly and shuffles around a few others without acknowledging me. I wonder if he is avoiding me because of the kiss we shared in the alleyway, or because what is best for Evvie may not be best for the town, who he will undoubtedly side with in our planning, no matter what his relationship is to me.

He lowers himself into a chair next to Merick, who sits on my father's right. I stare at him, waiting for him to risk a glance in my direction. Just before it seems the proceedings will begin, Crewe finally looks my way. With purpose, I release a small, side smile to him. If he weren't too tanned to tell, I think he might be blushing. He returns a heartfelt smile. I allot his eyes' diversion from me to boyish bashfulness, which is also becoming on him.

Even if he hadn't kissed me, I still don't think I would be cross with him for keeping to himself the information that the captain is my father.

Within moments of him learning my last name, he and I also learned that Evvie had been taken from under us. Since we would need to wait for the captain to arrive before any decisions about going after her could be made, deciding to forego telling me for that short time was an acceptable move. Forcing sleep on me instead of allowing me to be kept up all night with worry over my sister _and_ questions about my living father was probably for the better.

All of us look expectantly at my father, who gets right to it. "Here's what I know—Miles County sent at least one black-operation team into Sheridan last night and took Evelette Harter, my daughter," he says, scanning the eyes of the listeners. "Whether any harm has been done to her, I don't know. But regardless, they came onto our soil and took one of _our_ own. To me, that is a direct action of hostility.

"Now let's talk numbers. Last I knew of, Miles County employed six black-operations teams, with four to five members on each team. Now we know that they were planning this. We know that they put the names of Braves' little girls on my wife's account to taunt the towns of Sheridan and Braves. We can assume, then, that they've been gearing up for an assault. I wouldn't be surprised if Miles has fifty or more highly trained men and women between their teams. Look around the room. That's not very favorable odds."

"There are plenty of others here who are willing to fight for our families," Jerus advocates.

"Not who are trained," my dad counters. "We don't take anyone who isn't capable."

"So we train them," Jerus suggests.

"We don't have the time," my dad shoots back. He's right. The more time we waste, the less chance my sister has to survive. "Not only do we lack the experience and the manpower that their teams have, we also haven't found a secure way to interrupt their superior technology, which will also be hunting us."

"You're not making this sound too good, Captain," Cy points out. "Tell us what we do have and when we leave." He chuckles a little about the second part, but no one else so much as moves their eyes in Cy's direction. They've already lost faith with the captain's opening statements. I can see it in their eyes. They're calculating. They want to cut Sheridan's losses. They don't want to go. They want my sister to be left behind.

"We have love for our families, our friends, and our freedom, and love is a lot more powerful than the simple sense of duty that compels them to fight us," my father says.

"No disrespect, sir, but love isn't going to protect us from bullets or bombs," Cheng says.

"Secondly," my father glares impatiently in Cheng's direction, "I have a plan that will outsmart their technology just enough to get us inside without being detected."

"We're _sneaking_ in to take her back?" Jerus asks. "You said abducting her was a direct act of hostility, so we should be retaliating directly—with everyone and everything that we can muster."

"No." I sense that my father has only begun to speak again, but Jerus continues his rant.

"Captain, you can't think so _personally_. Firing should be our response to them taking the girl."

" _The girl_ is my daughter," my father scowls. "Taking her _was_ personal, but you better believe it wasn't _that_ personal. I want to stand up to them for all of us and for our whole town as much as anyone else, but not to an idiotic end," he throws at Jerus. "If we march in there screaming a battle hymn, we won't march out, and you know that. That's what they want. They took Evvie to create a catalyst that would ignite nineteen years of tension, since the day of the decree."

"Besides the fact that they would annihilate us and then our town, Jerus," he says sourly, "we would be made out to be the barbarians, and the county civilians would gain a new respect for and trust in the government that defended them against us. That counters everything we've been working toward. Whether the abduction is a personal matter to me or not does not change the fact that penetrating the county secretively is the best move."

"For how long?" Jerus continues his uprising. "How long do we allow them to continue to oppress people on the inside without doing something about it? You said it yourself—they want to spark a battle. Who's to say they won't just kidnap someone else, looking for the same result?" He looks around the room, and I do as well. His position is contemplated by a few.

"He's got a point," Crewe affirms. "If we win her back, it'll infuriate them. They could bomb us."

"They won't bomb us," my father says.

"How do you know?" Cheng asks.

"If civilians inside found out that the Miles government blew up two hundred and fifty people without a more justifiable reason than having broken the law by being out here, they may end up with a civil war on their hands. The people would be outraged by the lack of due process. Also, we have become a lot more than protestors, and the people will acknowledge that. They'll understand that we've governed our territory and people for almost two decades without oppression. Masses will try to join us if the truth seeps out. They won't risk bombing us to highlight their terrorist ways and the fact that escape, _freedom_ ," he accentuates, "is achievable. They don't want a divided nation with all that's happening in the world, and frankly, neither do we."

Cy shifts in his chair next to me. "Captain, you said that taking Evvie was a catalyst to spark the tension. What is the spark for if not for wiping us out?"

"What I believe they aim to do is put an end to movement from inside. They want us to think that our annihilation is around the corner so that we stop seeking."

"So, Captain, say after we get Evvie back, they take another citizen of Sheridan, I mean they came right in and did it pretty easily, what's our move then?" Crewe asks.

"I'm sure we'd figure it out if that happened, right Captain?" Cy says, cautioning his older brother on my behalf. But Crewe is right. What I'm thinking is—what if they take her again? Or worse, what if they come in and simply leave her dead for us to find?

"It's more likely we'll need you and Rico to figure it out. We'll either need a technological security like they've got with thermal energy, or we'll need a sounder way to infiltrate their systems to broadcast our existence. If we can threaten them with that, maybe we can convince them to stay away from our people."

"We're working on it," Cy tells my dad.

"I know you are, Cy, and we're all thankful for it. I know you guys will get there."

"No offense," Cheng looks to Cy and then back at the captain, "but those two have been working on that forever. It's a tight system to break. I don't think we can bank on it."

"Cheng's right," provides his equally dissenting partner. "Letting them pick us off slowly would give us the time to train more of our own and form a coalition between Sheridan, Braves, and Idaho, a force that could—"

"Let them pick us off?" my dad questions. "Are you suggesting we let them capture, maybe _kill_ our people, my daughter, to focus on our end game?" Cheng's partner folds his arms, disgruntled.

"If all the refugee towns in Region Two join forces—don't you think all the counties will do the same? Use your head." Merick's intolerance for Cheng and his partner has grown to match that of his despise for Jerus.

"I promised Sydney that we'd get Evvie back, _alive_ ," the captain shoots across the table.

"And so did I," both Davids brothers say in unison.

"And I promised my sister that I would never let anything bad happen to her," I add, needing to be part of the group advocating for the mission to save her.

"We don't know whether your promises are even possible anymore," Jerus leaks. At this, Crewe uncontrollably bursts from his chair, toppling it over. Although Jerus is across the table, and adamantly professes himself as an experienced war veteran, he recoils and cowers from Crewe.

"Crewe, cool it," Merick warns. "And Jerus—just shut the hell up."

"I can see where this is leading so we might as well get to it," my father says, releasing his glare from Jerus. "Before I tell you the plan, I want to tell you that we're obviously not all going. If something were to happen out there, we can't have our town left without anyone to lead and protect it. Merick, you have no choice, you're staying."

"Demetri," he protests.

"I can't leave the town in Jerus' hands, now can I?" my dad reasons. "Jerus, that means you're coming with me. I need someone else with experience out there, but don't even think about screwing it up. That leaves four more spots which I'll ask for at the—"

"I'm in," Cy interrupts. "I don't care what the plan is, Captain. I'm in."

"Three more spots," my father sighs. "And will the rest of you let me speak before you go weighing in?" He waits a beat, and we all wait for him. "Sydney," he looks at me intently. "I'm sorry, but you're not going unless we don't have enough volunteers."

"But I—"

"You don't have the training," he says sternly. "It's as simple as that. I know you want to be there, but I can't risk—"

"I'll follow my orders," I stand and interject. "I'll do everything you say. You have to let me go!" I assert.

"No, I don't," he says, "but we'll see." The captain lifts his hands to suggest that the others in the room will determine whether or not I go. He's not going back on what he's already told me.

"So let's hear it, Captain," Alix says. She shifts her eyes to Crewe, and they share an interesting moment. "How are we maintaining the element of surprise despite their technology?"

"We're taking the bikes, off-road," he clarifies. "We'll also go at night. That should cover satellite imaging. The maneuverability and speed of the bikes will make for a quick getaway."

"We're not riding them through the barrier, are we?" Crewe asks. He doesn't allow anyone time to answer before he reasons with my father. "They won't survive the shocks for any kind of getaway, and we may not either. If we don't explode right along with them, we'll surely be debilitated."

"The shocks are only administered if a chip comes within the barrier that the underground line projects," I tell Crewe.

"Not if they flip the switch," he says nonchalantly.

"What?"

"It's not just routine maintenance they've been doing on those lines," Merick explains to me. "But I thought you said you hadn't seen any indication of this in Miles," he says to Crewe.

"We didn't, but better to be cautionary," Crewe responds.

"I don't understand," I say. "What have they been doing to the lines?"

"They're being transformed to serve as an invisible wall protecting the county," Merick says. "The entire outside world is warring. An attack from a neighboring or even a far-off nation is always in the realm of possibilities. The project is much underway in Billings, where it likely begun. I doubt we have to worry about that in Miles."

"We'll have to take a gamble on this one, Crewe," my father concludes. Once again, everyone around me knows more about the counties than I do, and they've been removed from them for many years.

"How will we diffuse our infrared energy?" Crewe asks. I appreciate that he brings the discussion back to the matter at hand. I'm both mystified and intrigued by the barrier upgrade, but I don't want to be sidetracked for another moment.

"This part is pretty rudimentary, but we don't have the time to get inventive. We're going to wear the neoprene suits. It'll also be nighttime, so that will help."

"That won't be enough," Cheng appeals.

"Let him finish, Cheng," Decklin respectfully advises.

"I had thought of constructing some kind of wiring around the bikes to frame up acetate like in the cellar, but I don't know how durable it would be on the ride in. I suppose if Miles did pilot the new barrier system beyond our knowledge, wiring would only extend and intensify the electricity through our bodies, obliterating any chance of making it across alive."

"Increasing the size of the whole unit would make it harder to maneuver the weave of trees anyway," Merick says.

"I wish we had a way to get our hands on some of the technology the United States military had developed," Cy says. "Remember what Galv told us about, Crewe? Jets and tanks alike had plates that adapted to the heat signatures of their surrounding." I can see him wondering what such a thing would look like. I can see him try to bring his daydream to life.

"The best we can do to mask the heat signature of the engines is to mold some kind of acrylic-glass covering. Those that aren't going tonight will spend today engineering something shatter-resistant and just thick enough to emit an inconsistent infrared wave on the opposite side of the engine."

"What else will be used to mask body heat besides the suits?" Alix asks. I notice that she doesn't ask what we will use to mask _our_ body heat. Alix doesn't envision herself as part of this mission. I'm fine with that.

My father hesitates to answer this question that Cheng originally asked. Even I know that the neoprene won't be enough from the night we stayed in the wine cellar built with dense, clay brick. We were further protected by the acetate sheets inside the cellar arc and panes of glass that rested on the dirt packed above it.

"Adding acetate sheets with duct tape is all I've concocted," my father answers. Alix's eyebrows rise dramatically. "I know it's haphazard, but those of us not planning the invasion with me will have all day to develop the idea."

Everyone nods skeptically. To me, it doesn't seem that this is the weakest piece of the plan. How will they have any idea where to go once they're inside the county? Most of them have never been inside. "How do we find her?" I ask, willfully including myself in the operation.

"I'll lead them. They will prep their weapons and follow me," my father says. I don't like that he answered my question with _they will_ and not y _ou will_. "I have our entry point decided as well as a place to store the bikes. All of that can be talked about with the task force today while the others get the equipment ready."

"I'm in," Crewe says.

"Me too," Decklin is quick to follow. He surprises me. He's younger than me, scrawnier than all the others, and less than three months ago he lost his partner to a BOT attack outside of Billings County where he seeks. He also doesn't talk much, but when he does, he makes it count. I nod my head in thanks to him. I doubt I'll do the same to anyone else who pipes in, because they'll be taking my spot.

"There's room for one more," the captain says. He doesn't look at me, but prods deep into the psyche of the others in the room who are not stepping up. Merick can't volunteer and Cheng and his partner have backed Jerus' viewpoint during the whole discussion. I don't anticipate a little intimidation from my father will shake them. That just leaves Alix, the wildcard. She isn't expressing any interest.

I look to my father, who mourns that I've gotten my way. I don't think he will know how to accept the exchange of one daughter's life for the other, especially when I'm the only daughter he's known. But he'll understand my decision when he meets her. Evvie has my mother's features, including the smile he remembers her with, and God willing, she'll still maintain a freer spirit than I've known.

"I'll go." I spin my chair around to Alix in time to see Crewe looking at her the same way my father was. For some reason, Crewe's imploring of her has more weight than the captain's did.

"No!" I protest. "You're not volunteering of your own volition," I say to her. Some of the others begin to stand and disassemble. I look to Crewe, who looks guilty and fearful of the backlash from me, despite his head being held high as he stands too. Turns out it won't be the last one to volunteer who'll receive heat from me.

How could Crewe rip this away from me? I think I know why he did this, and that infuriates me even more. If he cared about me, he would let me go. I hurry around to him, driven by rage. He holds himself lucidly, although he knows what's coming. I latch onto the lapels of his jacket like I did on the gravely roadside. I shove him into the wall. Hard.

"Why?" I demand. "You know me. You should understand that I have to go—I need to go," I try to persuade him, but it's of no use. He won't release Alix from whatever obligation she has to him. "Look at me!" I scream, pressing harder into him. Crewe doesn't look, nor does he make any attempt to break free from my hold.

My father begins to pull me off him. I don't fight my father, though he's the one who has the real power to change this. But Crewe is the one I feel betrayed by now. "I hate you," I tell him, but the comment isn't filled with the spite such a remark should hold. Instead, it comes out emptily.

Crewe says nothing in his defense, but he does look me in the eye. He knows there's no worth in his reason for sabotaging my right to be a part of this fight. He knows that the love I have for my sister is the only love I possess and far outweighs anything he could feel for me. His desire to protect me from harm is futile and enraging. I slide loose from my father's grasp and stomp down the stairs behind the others. I don't need _anyone_ to protect me.

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

I hate this. I hate the waiting. I'm sure the rest of the town feels the same way, the majority of them trying to sleep upright in the school and hospital halls again tonight.

Someone should have called us by now. My stomach twists with the thought that something has gone wrong with the mission. There are a lot more lives at stake now. What if we never hear from them? What if all of them, including my sister, are lost to us forever?

A cold fear overtakes me. I'll become a symbol of walking misery, only it will be worse than it was in Miles. No one ever noticed my suffering in Miles. They would notice here. They would watch my comings and goings. They would stare at the girl who lost everything, a melancholy ghost mourning among the happy and liberated people of Sheridan. I would be smothered by their unwelcomed sympathy and constant effort to make things right for me. But they never could. No one could ever fix my world if she was stolen from it. I couldn't live if she was dead. I'm sure of that. I wouldn't do it.

The phone rings. Even Merick is too frozen to answer it on the first ring. He fumbles to pick it up. I can hear a frenzied masculine voice, but I can't tell whose. Information is fired quickly, but I can't make out a word. I can read Merick's expression, though, and it doesn't seem we've fared much better than my darkest fear. He stands and gestures frantically for the rest of us to get on our feet.

"Yes sir," Merick says before ending the phone call. Sir. My father was the caller. I'm glad I still have him, but I need more than that. I need Evvie most of all, but now I need the Davids brothers too. I never thought I needed anyone besides my sister, but the Davids brothers have wiggled their way into my heart, and I've made a place there for each of them to stay.

"Galv, get your bags. We need Della on this one too. Cheng, go make sure the van is filled with gas." The thumps of Cheng's footsteps echo up the stairwell as he rushes down to the lot. Merick continues directing the nervous doctor. He read the intensity of the voice on the phone and the solemnity of Merick's expression. "Pick her up and head straight for Lame Deer on the reservation. Do you remember where the college is?"

"I do," Rico says. He and Galvesten were invited to bring each of their expertise to the waiting room, in case of an emergency or immediate threat to Sheridan.

"No. I need you here," Merick tells him.

"Who is it?" I find the courage to ask, though I don't want to know the answer. "Who's hurt?"

"All of them," Merick answers dismally. "Sydney, I'm sending you with Galv and Della. They might need another hand."

_All of them_? That can't be. I wish they were sending me to meet Evvie, to hold her in my arms and tell her that I'm sorry. I'm the only person who can console her after whatever has happened to her.

"Evvie?" I ask him. Merick gives a quick shake of his head and begins down the steps. "Merick, don't just shake your head," I call after him. He stops midway on the stairs and looks back up at me in the doorway. "Didn't they make it to her?"

"The mission failed before they made it through the barrier," he says as he turns and continues down the stairs. Somehow, even his gait seems filled with gloom as he exits the restaurant.

Merick is the leader of Sheridan when my father is gone, which it sounds like is often. Not three months ago, he buried Decklin's old partner, and now today's disaster is added to his conscience. These are his troops. These people are his family. Shame spreads in me when I realize how selfish I was to be relieved that Evvie is not among those that were evidently attacked by the BOTs, and that my father is well enough to be talking.

I don't particularly like Jerus or Alix, though I do have an admiration for the female seeksman, but Decklin is a steadfast, goodhearted young man. He's brave and dutiful. And then, there are the Davids brothers. The lump in my throat grows and obstructs my airway. My throat and eyes burn as I hop into the front seat of the van with Galvesten. I can't lose Cy or Crewe.

I am inconceivably regretful that my last words to Crewe were ' _I hate you_ '. I didn't mean it even as I said it, but I wanted to hurt him the way he hurt me. I'm glad Merick is sending me along. I want to be there to apologize to Crewe. How could I have told him that I hate him? He and Cy are truly my heroes. They changed my fate, and so readily fight for me still.

Cheng opens the back door of the van and tosses in the jerricans.

"Good luck, Galv." Chengs extends his hand and shakes Galvesten's in a gentlemanly gesture. Bring them home if you can," he adds dully. Galvesten doesn't return anything to Cheng before the back doors slam. His voice is broken too.

I still don't know for sure if Evvie is alive, but I feel as though it would have been revealed to us by now, like the Braves twins were, if they had killed her. I believe my sister is alive, so the mission was not unmerited. But if lives are lost on her account, without her being rescued and returned to us, then I will feel as much guilt as my father, who led them into the attack and Galvesten who will try to save them.

He turns the key in the ignition, and puts the van into gear. I don't know how long this trip is going to be, but I can see Galv doesn't plan to talk for any of it. He is overwhelmed with the pressure his job brings today. He's not only expected to return with the lives of sons and a daughter of Sheridan saved, but with the protectors that this town so desperately needs right now. The demand is too much for him to bear. If it's affecting him this way, I wonder whether Della will be composed at all.

I'm sent into the hospital to retrieve Della. The population of Sheridan has seemed absolutely miniscule until now, when I see half the town's population crowded along the hospital walls. I've seen fifty times this many gathered at various events in Miles, but this sight fazes me in a way that none other has. These aren't celebrators detached from each other and attached to their devices like I would see inside. This community huddles together in fear.

"I'm looking for Della," I say to any one of the faces starring at me with angst.

"Right behind you, darling," Della says, not noticing the urgency in which I seek her. She holds a needle of some kind in her hand and walks past me to administer it to someone.

"We have to go now," I tell her.

"I'll just be a second." Her stubby legs hasten and shuffle away from me. "If she doesn't get her insulin—"

"Della, people are dying!" I'm forced to yell over her mumblings. After my statement, I realize the hovering fear of this crowd is only part of what makes their presence so overwhelming. It's their morose hearts that disturb me most. Their sullen eyes are glued on me now and voices fall silent throughout the main hall. The adults take a hushed moment for my words to sink in, for the faces of their town's protectors to settle in their hearts. The children who are still awake, however, erupt in frightened cries, waking the others.

Della drops the shot on the ground and walks dutifully toward me. A few men rise in the background, and approach me with a chatter of nervous questions.

"I don't know anything," I tell them. "All I know is people are dying and you're keeping us from getting there!" I say more discreetly this time, as not to undo the work of the parents who are trying to reassure their frightened children. With that, the men back off so that Della and I can take up our burden and travel to the ones who need us.

We open the front doors of the hospital just in time to see Galvesten and another man slide a casket on top of the bench seat in the back of the van beside another one. This is when the reality of the failed mission hits. Some may already be dead, or it's fairly certain that they'll return with us that way. We wouldn't be wasting the time we could be using to save them in order to make preparations for unlikely deaths. Less than six will return alive.

I gather myself and pull Della toward the van. Right away, she starts firing questions at the two of us. Did she not just hear what I told the men in the hospital? Perhaps she thought I was only saying it to quicken our escape, but it was the genuine truth. I don't know anything. I don't know whether Crewe and Cy Davids live. I don't know whether our strike against the county will endanger my sister. I don't know what I have done.

Neither Galvesten nor I answer a single one of Della's questions. Her frightened babble seems so remote to each of us, who are plagued by our own consciences. Finally, Della resolves to sit back and trust that she knows everything that could possibly help her to save their lives.

All of them. Merick said that all of them are hurt, yet we've left capable hands behind. I know it's not due to limited capacity is this oversized van. Merick had a mission of his own when he descended the stairs. Rico and the two seeksmen from Rapids County quickly followed. I wonder if they were staying behind to prepare for a full-scale assault on Sheridan. What good would four of them serve?

Then I entertain another thought. If annihilation is in the works, I'm in as much danger of dying as anyone else is. We're traveling a major road with nothing diffusing our infrared energy. If I had learned that Evvie were one of them among the wounded, I wouldn't care so much if I died. She would have been out of the hands of torturers. If she or I were blown to bits on the road, it wouldn't be anything I could protect her against. Evvie would know that I did the best that I could for her, and that would have to be good enough.

But that's not the case. Evvie is still entrapped by the Miles County BOTs. I can't die now. With Cy and Crewe's fate unknown, I am the only person that I know will fight for her. I've only known my father for a short day. I'm not yet convinced the captain would go for her. Actually, I not convinced Crewe would go for her either if it would put the Sheridan people at greater risk. Cy is the only one that I know would go, no questions asked. But I don't know if he, or any of the others, will live through the night.

After a stale hour, I break the ice in the gloomy van. "Galvesten, have you ever dealt with something like this before?" Immediately after I've asked the question, I realize it was wrong to ask. If he hasn't, I've only increased his qualms regarding what he is about to face.

"Yes," he answers. The heaviness in me lightens just an iota. "For my last residency after med school, I was a trauma surgeon. I was employed full-time at that hospital afterward." Pride flashes through him for just a moment, but the road we're headed down vanquishes it. "I worked there less than a year before I went into the service."

"You were in the army?" I ask.

"Marines," he corrects. "But I wasn't combat-oriented, too often," he decides. "I was a doctor. This is exactly the kind of work that I did before the nation's entire defense was called home for The Great Separation."

"Did you have family you were separated from?" Galvesten had alluded to this before on the car ride back toward the safe house after I demanded to return for Evvie. I hadn't wanted to pry then, even though I was desperate for as much information as I could get my hands on.

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm referring to. Being in the marines, or any branch of the military, you're privy to a lot more information than the average citizen. Of course when you relay it to them, you're just seen as a skeptic, a conspirator, a traitor," he concludes.

"What did you know?" I ask him. "What was _The Great Separation_?"

"Well you said you like to study history, so I suppose you know times weren't good economically at the time that the population bill was going through Congress. Do you know what Congress was?" he asks me.

"Yeah," I answer.

"People were beginning to liken it to the Great Depression of the 1930s, only it wasn't as severe. But it did have the potential to plummet, see. We were still involved in the wars overseas that were then only starting to spiral. War is a costly, costly thing, and I'm not just taking about casualties. We got out, rather abruptly, and it upset everything our allies had supported us in working toward for over a decade."

"You can imagine that the United States took a lot of heat after dragging other nations into the wars, and then bailing as the perils heightened. Not only did we abandon our nation's longtime loyalty to fighting against occurring oppression, we initiated oppression on the home front. We had to appear weak, see. For the first time since the American Civil War, we were a separated nation."

"Political unrest plagued our nation in the year prior to the bill being ratified. Then in 2015, the separation became literal and the protest remained. Our allies no longer viewed us as traitors, seeing the state that our nation was in, and we didn't lose our important trading rights with the warring nations. This world war has gone on longer than the previous two combined, and still our nation hasn't gotten attacked or become involved in any way. The Great Separation has enabled us to prosper in secret while the world's other great powers suffer. It was all tactical, see."

So that's it. That's what all of this has been about. I've often wondered how a nation so unified, so strong, could have succumbed to this. They couldn't have, unless it was intended to be that way. I wonder if this nation will revert to the United States once the war ends, if it ever does. I fear where greed may take us.

Galvesten lets out a heavy breath, but it's not in conjunction with our nation's profound history that he's been helping me understand—a battered old sign welcomes us to Lame Deer. We're here, but not ready. I can never be prepared for what I'm about to face.

# Chapter Thirty

My eyes scan everything in sight once we pass the sign for Lame Deer. I'm looking for anything that can give me an indication of whether the troupe has already arrived here. We turn a sharp corner, arriving at the forgotten college.

One disheveled bike lays tipped on its side. The bike with the sidecar blocks the main entrance to the hospital. The third bike is missing. A flash of Cy's fearlessly light and goofy face as he pined to drive the bike with the sidecar passes through my mind. In the end, Crewe and Alix were put on that bike. My father and Cy drove the other two.

My father is the one who called, so I know he is here and well, unless he was baring injury to be the brave leader he needed to be on the cell phone. Cy was the driver of the bike that is unaccounted for.

With the sidecar, it is still possible that four of the five seeksmen who partook in this mission have made it to Lame Deer, along with the captain. We may have only lost one in the battle zone. At the same time, perhaps some of the four, if there are even that many, will perish before returning home to Sheridan.

Galv shifts the gear into park and turns off the engine. These motions are unnecessary in the voice-activated technology of the little cars in Miles.

We sit not far from where the bikes lay abandoned. Although Galv and Della know every moment to be pressing in their profession, neither of them can bring themselves to move. Neither can I. All three of us are frozen, fearful.

We might have never found the courage to move if it weren't for my father, who was probably avidly watching for us to arrive. He runs out to meet the van. He's completely unscathed, and certainly doesn't resemble my idea of someone who has just been attacked by county BOTs. Hopefully, the others have faired better than we believed too.

Galv and I don't ask what happened. This time, Della is smart enough not to ask either. Time is too precious. It's all in the past now anyway. The matter at hand is saving the lives of whichever young, courageous freedom fighters await us inside.

My father lugs the door open and swiftly removes the bags from the vehicle. He finds the time to offer a sturdy arm to Della, who needs a little help coming down from the high ledge. Her legs are trembling.

My father carries the bags through the doorway into the college and we follow quickly behind him. He's saying something about a gunshot wound and about Alix's arm. Alix. Alix is alive. It sounds awful, but I'm not happy to discover this. It decreases the odds that the Davids brothers and the stoic Decklin are alive.

The college is not large by any means, and running down it, I am able to think one clear thought. I didn't say goodbye to Crewe. I was too prideful to thank him for everything good that's come to me through him. I was too pigheaded to give him the soldier's farewell that he deserved.

My nostrils flare with a foul stench as we near to the doorway outside the room to where my father leads us. It's like nothing I've ever smelled before. Even city stench does not compare. The captain is saying something about a burn. I think what I am smelling is Alix's singed flesh.

Why is it so quiet? Why aren't there moans and wails coming from the seeksmen?

"Sydney," a soldier weakly calls my name. Decklin lies on his left side, facing me as I linger in the doorway, afraid to cross into the room. My father, Galvesten, and Della crowd around his back, where a bullet evidently invaded him. Della frantically spills surgical tools onto the floor while Galv puts pressure on the wound and calls for devices. They're beginning with him, so his condition must be the least stable and mostly likely to turn fatal. He doesn't look well at all. I'm afraid we're too late for him.

I go to him and take the outstretched hand meant for me. "I want you to read something for me." Della moves about the room in the background and my father whispers a trail of information into Galvesten's ear. Galv's face goes pale, and then he curses.

"Sydney," Decklin pleads for my attention. I refocus on his glossy eyes. How can he be so present in his current state? "Under my bed back in Sheridan, I keep my Bible. I want you to have it. Read Isaiah forty-nine. I'm sorry we didn't get her this time, but have faith, Sydney. Have faith."

Della fastens an oxygen mask over Decklin and he is quieted. Decklin has spoken his peace to the world, to me, a relative stranger. I can see how badly Decklin looks, but he can feel it. He has told me that his Bible is now mine. He knows that his time draws near. His hand relaxes in mine as Della administers the oxygen and anesthetics.

Only now that the immediacy of Decklin's condition has expired, do I realize that only two seeksmen are here with my father. Decklin, who has been shot, and Alix, who grits her teeth in the corner.

No. It can't be. I understood that no more than five could have returned when I saw the bikes, but couldn't there have been at least those five? Only three have returned, and two of the three missing are the ones who have become dearest to me. Why do I have to be tortured this way?

My father soothes Alix, who is still motionless in the corner. I recognize that she's in shock. She's either numb from fear, from grieving, or from the magnitude of pain coming from her arm that her brain can't process.

I hadn't realized my feet were moving as I was examining her. I'm a step away from where my father is avidly comforting her when I realize the overpowering stench in the room does not owe itself to Alix's arm.

I turn my head slowly to have my intuition realized. No one sees me notice a fourth seeksman—a tall soldier whose durable boots stick out from where he lays covered on the floor. His feet are left exposed, but the inadequate wrapping covers his head. This can only indicate one thing. This soldier is not sleeping. This soldier is dead.

Please God, let it be Jerus. I have no remorse for this thought. There are three people that went on the mission who aren't in this room: Crewe, Cy, and Jerus.

Now I am noticed as I veer toward the man's body. "Sydney," my father takes the gentlest hold of my shoulders from behind me. The tone of his voice causes tears to erupt from within me. It's not Jerus.

"Why? Why!" I scream. I take fistfuls of my father's shirt, but it doesn't stop my heart from being ripped out. My father eases me to the ground as I begin to slip that direction and turns away to conceal his pain.

"Which one?" I weakly ask my father. One of the Davids brothers lies dead on the floor behind me. I don't think either answer will pain me less. Crewe Davids is a match to my soul. He is the only person I've ever met that really understands me. We shared that kiss, and then I yelled at him and told him that I hated him for trying to protect me.

And then there is Cy. Loyal, charming Cy. It might not seem right to say so with how brief a time we have known each other, but it is the truth that next to Evvie, Cy Davids is the best friend I've ever had.

"It's Cy," my father tells me. I'm frozen, cold, and empty. The tears cease but my breath still fails me. The beautiful smile and light humor of Cy Davids is lost forever. I think the entire world would mourn this moment if they had only the chance to meet him.

"Can I see him?" I ask. I want to see his face one more time. I want to say goodbye, understanding that it's truly the last time that I will.

My father's response is prevented by a sound that echoes from where Galvesten and Della jumble tools and their hands in a panicked desperation.

"The defibrillator!" Galvesten commands. The fingers of Della's blue latex gloves are painted a dark, liquid red. They fumble to seize a small, boxy machine and its components from among all the other tools that won't save Decklin. His body rises with each jolt, but the flat line persists. All of our hearts sink further into despair. Decklin's battle is lost. Decklin is dead.

Galvesten removes his gloves and discards them onto the floor. He wipes the sweat from his brow. "Let's pray," he suggests. "We owe that to him." Galvesten is right. We owe it to the battalion's unofficial chaplain to say a prayer for his young soul, which undeniably makes its way straight to heaven sooner than our words.

Della removes her gloves as well, and mournfully sets them on top of Galvesten's. Her face is streaked with rudimentary eye makeup. My father and I stand up and fold our hands in reverence. Alix peers down at her mismatching hands. She closes her eyes and keeps her head bowed instead.

Eventually, Galvesten decides it's him that should pray, since he brought up the invitation to do so. "Dear Lord, we ask that you bring your faithful sons home. Help us, God. Help their friends and family to understand that they've met the truest freedom with you. We ask that you watch over Crewe and Evvie. Keep them from harm, and bring them back to us, their families. Amen."

Each of us is too choked up to follow Galv's amen with our own. Della is the only one who tries, but it hardly escapes her trembling lips. Galvesten grabs a fresh set of latex gloves from the medical supplies that have been dumped before him. He hands them to Della. She dabs at her face with the sleeve of her shirt, and pulls them on. Galveseten grabs himself a pair as well.

"Alix, do you think you can walk next door?" he asks her.

"I'm afraid to move it," she admits. For some reason she looks over to me. "But yeah, I can do it," she decides. She winces in pain as she scoots herself to the edge of the table and slides off. She lets her arm hang at her side, careful that it doesn't touch her torso. I notice some kind of clear puss drip from her fingertips as she leaves the room with Della.

"We're going to have to do skin graphs on her," Galvesten tells us before exiting. "It's going to be a while," he tells my father.

"We're right here if you need anything," my dad says.

When I hear Galvesten talking to the women in the room bordering this one, I make eye contact with my father. "What happened?" I ask him. "Where is Crewe?"

"We were ambushed," he answers. "We met outside as planned and drove through together. It was a stupid plan," he regrets. "We should have been separated."

I know all the right things I could say to help console my father. I should tell them that it's okay, that he didn't know, that there's no way that he could have. But I don't offer him anything. He's right. They never should have gone in together. It's standard protocol that someone should have been made to go in first to make sure that all was clear for the others to follow.

It was done that way at the barn. Merick gave the order for Crewe to go in first and for me to provide him with cover. The rest followed sporadically. If the badger had actually been some kind of threat, only Crewe and I would have been in immediate danger. The others would have been given a warning to get their weapons ready or the chance to fall back or flee.

My father should have gone through first. I'm sure this was the plan for entering wherever it is that he believes Evvie is being held. Even if he thought that they had traveled toward Miles undetected, he should have exercised the same precautions with this leg of the trip as the point that was believed to be more treacherous.

"All of us made it into the barrier just fine. Loads of them came out from every direction. The riders had their weapons pulled as we drove in, but I don't think any one of us had the presence to get a shot off. We tried to retreat, but it was already too late."

Galvesten mentioned something about Crewe in his prayer that led me to believe he must be alive, or like Evvie, that he hasn't been confirmed dead. That must have been the contents of the whispers between Galv and my dad while Decklin spoke his last words to me. He hadn't mentioned Jerus though, who is also not here. "Jerus and Crewe?" I ask my father.

"Crewe is fine," he answers. "He drove his brother back here, but..." my father trails off. "But he was already gone when we arrived. I knew it, and Crewe did too, but I still helped him carry his brother in before Decklin. I don't know what difference it could have made. We knew they were both lost. Jerus was left behind at the barrier. He's in the hands of the BOTs now."

"Was Cy burned?" I summon the courage to ask. My father answers by pulling back part of the covering from Cy's face. He does it very strategically as to keep the portions of his face that are burned covered. He places one hand atop the cover on the opposite cheek and the other over Cy's heart. "You were a good man, and I'm so proud of you," he says. "I can never thank you enough for bringing Sydney to me, and for fighting for Evvie the way you did. I only wish I could have done more for you. You were a son to me, Cy. I love you, and I hope you can forgive me." With that, my father stands and exits the room.

I can't stop myself from stroking his cheek. "Hey Cy." Not so long ago this side of his face was yellowed and swollen from being kicked in the face by me. His cheek doesn't even feel cold with the heat still radiating from the nearby burns. This part of his skin feels smooth and looks pristine. If it weren't for the smell and the cover that sticks to the fluids escaping his body, I might not be able to accept his death. He might look only to be asleep.

"I don't know what I ever did to deserve you. You were my best friend, Cy. I want you to know that. I want to say thank you too, for bringing me to Sheridan, and to my father, but mostly for advocating for my sister."

"I also want to apologize for bringing all of this on you, but I have a feeling you wouldn't accept my apology if you could be here to hear it. You'd tell me that it was your decision and not my fault. I even think you may have tried to hold on until we made it here, just so you could tell me that this wasn't my fault. You probably would have been apologizing to me for not getting Evvie back. See, that's just who you were, Cy. You were the kindest, most genuine person I've ever known, and I'm so sorry you were hurt like this. I'm so sorry."

"I'm so selfish to do this, but I have to ask one last thing of you, Cy. I would do it myself if I could, but I can't. Who knows, maybe I'll finally be able to help you in some small way too. I want you to look over Evvie, Cy. Please be with her every time she's scared. Lastly, use your God-given charm back on Him. Help me get Evvie home. I promise to do all I can for Crewe. I promise to try to channel the lightheartedness that you helped me remember into him. I'll try to help him see the good that there still is in the world, because I know that you wouldn't have wanted him to miss it for your sake."

"I'm really going to miss you, Cy Davids. I'll always cherish the image I have of you shooting out the car window, pumping your fist and triumphantly yelling _two fifty-one_ to the town. I'll always remember you were the one who brought my spirit back." This is it. I say the word before my heart burns any deeper. "Goodbye." I lean down, kiss Cy's cheek, and re-cover him. I linger for a moment longer, stroking the cover like I had used it to tuck in the one I love. I force myself to stand and to walk away from him, from my best friend.

# Chapter Thirty-One

I can't reenter the room wherein lies Cy's scalded, lifeless body.

I've only ever been in the presence of a corpse once before—my mother's—but I was quickly taken away after I discovered her.

I never saw my father's body after we believed him to be deceased. We were told his TabFile indicated that he wanted his body donated to science. My grandma explained to me that even after he had died, my dad was so kind to give his body to doctors so that they could study it to better understand how to prevent such tragedies from happening.

When the elderly die, they are allowed one witness to be with them in their exiting room. My grandma reserved this sacred spot for my mother. I wonder what wisdom she tried so desperately to pass to her possessed daughter in those fleeting moments. Like everyone else, the elderly have two choices when their date arrives—they can donate their body to science or they can be cremated. Funerals don't involve caskets containing the body of the deceased like the tradition Sheridan evidently still holds.

It's torturous to be able to see their immaculate body after they've suffered some terrible death. You feel compelled to offer everything you possess, perhaps an exchange of your life, for God to awaken your dear one from their peaceful slumber. You wait for a warm smile to spread from their flatly tied lips as they blink their eyes open, but it doesn't happen. It never could. They're deceptively dead.

It's the same with Cy. I can't accept that his soul is gone. In spirit, he's probably sitting upright on one of the table-like desks swinging his feet and biting that nail while he sifts through all of the possible ways to cheer us up. I can imagine it, imagine him, but if I walk into that room, I won't see his peaceful spirit. I'll see a sheet hiding the terror his body endured. I'll see the pain and sorrow of a promising life cut short. I'd rather turn my back on reality and imagine something else, anything else.

I wander emptily outside of the college into the brisk night air. I decide the van is a good place to be alone. I can curl up on the open floor and drift away.

I need two hands to pull open the heavy sliding door. Inside, the moonlight reflects off the pale, unfinished wood of the caskets. This won't do. Cy is dead here too.

I walk aimlessly down the street for a while. Galvesten and Della are replacing the worst parts of Alix's arm with graphs of her own skin. My father is probably searching for the fortitude to wrap two of his seeksmen, not much more than children themselves, into whatever covering he can find stored in the college. I don't know him well yet, but somehow I know he'll find the strength to lift their fallen bodies out to the pinewood caskets in the van.

For no particular reason, I decide to meander into a house in Lame Deer. I plod onto the porch of the one I choose and turn the doorknob. The door opens, and I step inside. Knowing that no one will find me here comforts me. They won't know where I have gone. I suppose that Crewe has taken refuge in a similar way.

I don't want to think about Crewe. It is ten times harder to think about the pain that Crewe is experiencing in the loss of his only remaining family.

I'm suddenly driven to rummage for something, some symbol among the belongings remaining in this desolate home, to which I can attach a memory of Cy Davids. I want to always know that Cy is accounted for in the ghost town where he fought to make it alive for his brother, for my father, for me.

I immediately notice the ornate decorations on the wall, including family photographs. I study a photograph, noting the joy and unity of the family who used to live here. With the 2015 population bill, the United States government broke the promise that never again would Native Americans be forced to leave their homes and their lands. It's clear that this family resisted the decree and held onto hope as long as they could. I wonder what their home is like now and if they are well.

I change my mind about searching for a token. There is nothing here that will be right for Cy. No symbol or gesture can preserve him for me. A quiet tear rolls down my cheek, and I don't wipe it away. I know more will come now that I'm all alone. I sit in the middle of the dark hallway, bury my head into my knees, and sob for my loss. Quickly, my heart shifts into aching for Crewe.

He's out there somewhere. Right now, he's begging for a miracle from the depths of his soul. He's cursing and destroying his surroundings because he simply can't accept that he will never see his brother again. He'll never tease him and make him laugh again. This man with an unmatchable brightness, who has been by Crewe's side his whole life, has been stolen from the world far too soon. I know that for Crewe, the weight of his brother's death falls heavily on his shoulders. He feels as though he failed him, and won't listen to anyone who tries to comfort him with the contrary.

Crewe is like the boy from my dream who feigned courage while he took the hand of his little brother and led him toward tragedy. Only in my dream no one survived, so no one was left wishing they could switch places with the deceased.

Right now, Crewe wishes he were dead instead of Cy. I know this because he and I are the same. If I lose my sister, I could not persevere any longer in this life. How many fragments can a heart be broken into before it turns to a dust that can never be mended?

My heart breaks for the loss of my friend and the suffering of his shattered brother, but mostly it writhes in guilt because it was my sister that Cy was trying to save. I fear for Evvie's life now more than ever, but am completely powerless to save it. I am reduced to a sea of tears because what else can I do but mourn?

It must be nearly an hour that I weep alone for all that I have lost and the future that I will have to endure. I thought my life was rough before. I had to escape from it often into my haven. Now, I know nothing of my sister and people are dying around me in order to find and save her. Not just people, friends, her only hope.

I weep for the person I was not long ago. I was a stony, determined, capable woman that had risen from my life's trials. Now they've broken me and left me lost and empty.

The strangest thought creeps into my head. I wish Merideth were here. Cy is gone and no longer fighting my battles out of genuine valiance and feelings for me that I couldn't have reciprocated. Now that he has departed, I need someone who has a reason to fight like I do. I need someone who loves Evvie directly and will go to the ends of the earth to return her to safety. I need someone to be here with me now to convince me not to give up because I'm nearing that end. I don't know if I can take the hands of the giving, faithful soldiers—only to lead them to their deaths.

My attention is drawn outside to a chorus of people yelling my name frantically. I needed to be alone, but I was stupid not to have stayed close or to have told someone where I was headed. I can sense their anger, fear, and sorrow as they call my name, believing they've just been dealt further loss. They think I've been abducted like Evvie was. I wish it was true. Then I could be with her.

Shame trails me out the front door where I call to the three that are searching for me. They've been looking long enough to fear that I might be gone and that it was important for them to stay together.

The captain is livid, relieved, and sorrowful all at the same time. I absorb a heated lecture from him. I get in a faint, remorseful word every now and again, but I can never make my selfishness right. When he's finished yelling, my father searches my bloodshot eyes for permission to hold me. He hugs me tightly. I wait for him to tell me that it's going to be okay, but he doesn't. He wouldn't lie to me—he doesn't know whether it will be.

"This isn't over, Sydney. We're going to go back in the morning and regroup, but we're not giving up on her, and we're not allowing them Cy and Decklin's lives without vengeance."

I don't argue this. Crewe is missing on his own accord and Della is of no use behind a weapon. That leaves only the captain, Galvesten, and I, a feeble force for putting forth a fight at the barrier. Trying to attack now would be suicide.

"Dad!" I blurt when I realize the decision Crewe beat me to hours ago. I was wrong when I pictured him on a Lame Deer mountainside, swearing and lashing out at whatever his broken heart felt like destroying. He hasn't been mourning for the last few hours—he's been burning with rage. "Crewe is headed for the county. I know it!"

"What?" Galvesten asks.

"He would have taken a bike," my father reasons. He knows Crewe well, and agrees that he may have had an impulse to avenge his brother's death, no matter what the consequence to himself, us, or Sheridan, but he doesn't believe he went through with it. "Crewe knew you guys were coming with the van and that we'd have a way back," my father argues. "If he had it in his head to attack, he would have rode."

"No," I argue. "That's what he wants us to think. He didn't take a bike so we'd assume he's stayed close and just needs to be alone. That's not what he's up to. We have to find him and stop him!"

"She could be right, Captain," Galvesten frets.

"I know," my father decides. He regrets that he hadn't thought of this possibility earlier.

"He could have made it fifteen miles by now," Galvesten points out.

"But we know which direction," I say, "and we have the bikes and the van so we can spread out and cover more ground."

"Stop," the captain orders when the rest of us start moving. "He's either already there or..." My father doesn't finish the sentence but we all know the thought—or he was detected and has already joined his brother in death.

"How could he be there already?" Galvesten focuses on the former, not wanting the latter to be true.

"Crewe's smart. He wouldn't give them a day's worth of walking to pick him up. Abandoned vehicles surround us. If he were going to go, he'd have hotwired himself one long ago. He knows how to find the supplies he'd need; he's been doing it for years."

"So what do we do, Captain?" Della asks sheepishly. I am wondering this myself. I speculated that Crewe's solo undertaking could be a possibility when I realized it would be suicide for anyone to go back in tonight. In that moment, I understood that could be exactly what Crewe might look for in wake of his brother's death. That and any havoc he could inflict on anyone he suspects was involved in the fire that happened within the barrier earlier.

"We spend time now looking for him around here, just to be sure. We want to make it back home before dawn, so we give him until about 4:30 to turn up. If we haven't found him, we leave him behind."

"Dad," I plead, but I don't know what else to add to that. I can't argue Crewe's case at all because my father is absolutely right. We need to head back while it's dark, and sooner rather than later. For a moment, I consider asking if I can go after him alone. The bikes can't be that hard to learn to drive, and the route has to be simple—there isn't a lot of infrastructure in these parts. But then I decide that I can't try to save Crewe's life if it will mean one less person would survive to regroup and battle for Evvie's return. I choose her.

"He made his choice, Sydney. I love Crewe like a son, but I can't allow any more bloodshed in vain. Let's go look for him and hope Sydney's wrong. Della, you stay and monitor Alix."

"Just me?" Della asks with concern.

"Sydney, I'm going to have you stay here too, but Della, you're going to have to handle yourself. Can you handle posting her with a loaded weapon?" he asks me. I nod. Cy was a good teacher. I can arm Della. "Okay. You take one too and stay close to the college. If he's near and just having a hard time, he may come to you. He may also be stubborn, so look around some."

"Galv, let's check in with Della about every hour," my father continues. "Della, if it's been an hour and a half at any point and you haven't seen us, yell for Sydney." Della nods. "Don't come looking for us," my father tells me. "Call Merick, get in the van, and drive." He tosses me the cell phone. "Why don't you call Merick and brief him after you get Della set."

"Okay," I nod. "Dad," I say as he turns away. "I... I love you." My father takes hold of my shoulder, leans down, and kisses me on the forehead.

"I love you too," he says. He and Galvesten jog back toward the bikes at the entrance to the college. They're already gone by the time Della and I reach the store of weaponry in the foul-smelling van. As I imagined, while I grieved their loss in solitude, my father found the strength to come to terms with the death of his men and alone bore the burden to put them to eternal rest.

# Chapter Thirty-Two

The others file out of the upstairs room slowly, but my dad and I remain. Collectively, we have decided that no other leaders or seeksmen should go into Miles in effort to rescue Evvie or Crewe, who has still not returned. The others have agreed that my father and I are allowed to go in independently if we wish to continue the battle for her. We set a precedent minutes ago that family cannot be denied the right to fight for their loved ones.

This formalization doesn't matter much for other seeksmen. Crewe has no family left and Jerus never had one to begin with. As far as I know, Merick is the only seeksmen who has a family here in Sheridan, but they have not been trained as part of our force, so the directive doesn't apply to them.

I am now officially part of the battalion. My father could not keep me away for all of his effort. The others brought up good points about how I've been giving myself the physical training that they were required to complete. I've spent years preparing myself to be the fastest and the strongest that I can be. They also agreed that I've had a worthy crash course in combat experience over the last few days. That's something most of the others never had. Galvesten recounted my precision behind a weapon from the evening that we practiced before Evvie made the jump. Cy would have praised my natural ability even more.

Cy's funeral is only a few hours away. We buried Decklin yesterday, but decided to wait on Cy's to give Crewe one more day to return. We could hold off on the funeral forever and Crewe might never come. At some point, we may have to hold a funeral for him. We might have to assume he met death two nights ago before we even realized he was heading straight for it.

"What do you think has become of them?" I ask my father.

"Evvie and Crewe?" he asks.

"And Jerus too," I add, although I have no real concern for him.

"I believe two of them are alive and well. The third, I'm not so sure about.

Somehow I know that he didn't answer my question in respective order. Crewe is the soldier that he fears may not be well or may not be alive. I fear the same thing. "Was Crewe or Jerus wounded at all like the others?" I ask.

"No. Not at all. Something is amiss about the way they fired on us, and I'm still toying with the possible reasoning."

"What do you mean?" I ask him.

"Jerus and I rode on one flank, Crewe and Alix were in the center, and Cy and Decklin were on the other flank. The BOTs came out from all sides, but their fire was all directed to one place."

"Toward Cy and Decklin?" It doesn't make sense to me. Why would they have been aiming at those two noble-hearted, young soldiers?

"Yes, sort of. More specifically, away from Jerus and me," my father says. "I'm trying to figure out if it had to do with me or with Jerus."

"Why would they avoid firing at either of you?" I ask. Wouldn't they want to take out Sheridan's most experienced leaders first? I can't understand why their aim wasn't opposite.

"They can't use Evvie to blackmail me if I'm dead."

"Blackmail?" I wonder out loud. "What do they want from you?"

He shrugs. "Our town probably, and the others. They want their authority restored. Jerus' action is what troubles me though. Now I haven't said anything to Merick yet, so keep this to yourself, Sydney." He continues without assurance from me that I won't leak the information. My father trusts me. "I felt Jerus' arms go up in surrender before we broke the barrier, before a single BOT member came out from their hiding spot."

"How did Jerus know they were there?"

"I don't know for sure whether he did, and if he did, I don't know how. They came out from everywhere the instant we crossed into the barrier. Instinctively, all three bikes made a hairpin turn to try to get away. Then the firing began. Jerus jumped off the back of our bike into Miles' hands. In that instant, I thought maybe he was taking a bullet for me, but it was clear later that we went unscathed while the others were hit."

My father's voice breaks. He doesn't have to picture the event like I do. He was there. He saw it, and will probably always remember it. He can see the bullets making contact with Cy and Decklin, their faces pale and frozen in shock.

"Do you think Jerus set you up?"

"It seems likely." He tenses. "It's the only explanation for what happened in there."

"Where did the fire come from?" I pry. If the bullets were a difficult memory for my father to relive, the fire will be harder. I know this, but I want to know what happened out there, and he's talking about it now.

"I'm not sure. It all happened so fast. I'm not sure if they were hit with heavier artillery or if a bullet hit the gas tank and sparked the explosion. I don't know how Alix had the presence of mind to pull Cy off the front of the bike. The BOTs weren't fifty feet away from where we abandoned the destroyed bike and regrouped to ride away with our wounded. They could have finished all of us then, but they didn't. They watched us. Then they dispersed. I think they wanted us to return defeated and scarred. They wanted their message to reach the rest of our force and Sheridan's civilians. I'm afraid they won't have any reason to withhold fire from Crewe if he went asking for it."

Just as I thought, my father believes Jerus is the seeksmen that is alive and well. Jerus, a spy and a traitor. My sister is also alive and well but only because she is collateral. My father believes Evvie will live in exchange for the freedom of Sheridan's remaining two hundred forty-seven people now that we're down Evvie, two departed seeksmen, and Crewe Davids.

"Dad, I understand that you're unable to save Evvie's life if it will mean harm to Sheridan and the other refugee towns. This is truly another world out here, and I do believe in its preservation, but I can't let anything bad happen to her. She won't stay well if we don't act as they want us to."

"I know. Sydney, my heart was broken when I found out everything that I put you through by not coming for you and your mother. After you told me, I decided that I would never let a single tragedy befall my daughter again. That's why I couldn't let you go with us on the last mission, and why I'm not going to allow it now."

"You can't stop me," I protest. "I mean, we all just decided—"

"Forget the precedent," he interjects. "I'm not ordering this as the captain—I'm begging it as your father. Don't make me suffer failing you anymore than I already have. I will go for her, Sydney. I excused myself from going after you and your mother for all of those years because I didn't know of anything bad happening to you. That was foolish of me, and I know better now. You're right, Evvie won't remain unharmed long if we don't act. I won't repeat the same mistake with Evvie that I made with you. I still have the chance to be a good father to her and to try to make some gains with you by protecting you both."

"You don't need to protect me," I tell him. "I have been on my own forever, and that hasn't changed just because I've learned that you're alive. Evvie is my only world like I am yours. I can't fail her either, you see? You do need to go, but I need to go with you."

"I am begging you for the chance to save you both. I am asking you to trust me, to trust that there is hope left in your world too. Let me do this, Sydney. Let me try to save both of my girls. Your sister won't be the same without you. You want what's best for her, but don't you see that you're it? She needs you, Sydney. You have to let me go alone."

My father makes a strong point. What will life be like for Evvie without me here? She'll mourn my death and be guilt-ridden by the loss of lives in her name. I wouldn't be here to tell her that it's not her fault. She'll be the symbol of walking agony in Sheridan. She'll be ruined to lose me just as I would be ruined to lose her. My father is right. I have to let someone else do my job this time. I have to trust that he'll protect her.

"Okay," I agree. "I'll stay." My father is surprised by my decision, but he's glad of it.

"I'll go tomorrow morning. I want to make sure that you stay safe tonight." I agree to this. Even if I did feel safe alone there, I would not want to sleep in the little house that Evvie had begun arranging for us without her. I've felt secure with my father, and have even afforded a few hours of sleep.

"Dad? Can you show me where Decklin lived and maybe the Davids too?" I wish I could do these things alone, but I know that my father doesn't plan to leave my side until tomorrow morning.

We walk together toward the other hub of Sheridan, where the citizens have settled back into their normal routines at the school, hospital, and in their homes. Interestingly, we talk about my mother. He paints a beautiful picture of the woman she was. I wish I had known her the way he did. I wish her life hadn't caved the way it did. She may have been like Crewe and Cy's mother underneath all of her troubles. She may have deeply loved Evvie and me, but didn't know how to effectively protect us from the truths that haunted her.

When we arrive at Decklin's home, my father allows me to go in alone. He sits down on the cement step and pulls a slip of paper and an ink pen from a pocket inside of his jacket. I wonder if my father always wears his camouflage, which is genuine army wear unlike the hunting gear that many of the others wear. I like that he wears it. The people of Sheridan need a constant symbol of capable protection.

There is a busy-bodied woman inside the house when I enter. She is clattering things in the open kitchen. I plan to just scoot by, but she turns and sees me.

"Oh, hello there," she says. "Are you looking for something?"

"I'm Sydney Harter," I begin to explain.

"I know," she says. "I was in the hospital a couple of nights ago when you came for Della."

"Oh," I say. Her tone makes me feel guilty all over again for the way that I frightened the children that the adults were trying to keep calm and asleep. "Decklin wanted me to have something of his."

"Okay. Well, I've already packed a few boxes, but you're welcome to anything you like." I wonder who this woman was to Decklin. Most of the Sheridan inhabitants are without biological families, but they seem to form little family units anyhow. This woman wouldn't be old enough to be Decklin's real mother, but it seems she may have taken on a motherly role to him.

"He said I could find what I'm looking for in his bedroom."

"Second door on the right," she tells me. "Take as long as you need. I'll just be packing up in here." She smiles weakly and gets back to her packing. I feel her sorrow. She has also lost someone close to her.

I slide the Bible out from Decklin's neatly kept bed. It has a red leather covering and gold edging around the thin pages. I begin to flip through the marked pages, searching on the side for a label indicating Isaiah. I like how the pages flop heavily together as I flip them, and the antiquated aroma that results from the action. It's been a long time since I've opened a real book.

A few months ago, Evvie brought over a printed yearbook that Merideth had ordered for her, complete with a picture and electronic autographed stamp that each student in her class section had created. She brought the book along on her overnight. I picked it up to look at it, but she decided we should look through the online yearbook on the media screen, that way we would be able to hear the music and voiceovers, see the animations that accompanied each student's seal, and watch the video portion. The book was garbage in comparison with what the online yearbook held. Even then, Evvie was disappointed when she remembered that my old media screen didn't have three-dimensional projection capabilities.

I like having this book in my hands. My voice can't command that the book find for me what I'm looking for, and that's okay. I enjoy having to search for the section that I need among the folded corners and ribbons that mark Decklin's favorite verses.

A green ribbon marks chapter forty-nine of the book of the prophet Isaiah. It reads:

* * *

Listen to me, oh coastlands;

hear this, you distant nations:

Before I was born, the Lord called me;

from my mother's womb, he gave me my name.

He made me a sharp-edged sword,

and concealed me in the shadow of his arm;

he made me into a polished arrow,

and in his quiver he hid me.

You are my servant, He said to me,

through whom I will display my glory.

Though I thought I had toiled to no purpose;

that I had spent my strength in vain,

Yet what is to come is in the Lord's hands,

and my reward is with my God.

For now the Lord has spoken,

who formed me in the womb to be his servant

that Jacob may be brought back to him

and Israel gathered to him,

For I am glorious in the sight of the Lord,

and God is now my strength.

It is too little, he says, for you to be my servant

to raise up the tribes of Jacob

and bring back those of Israel I have kept.

I will also make you a light to the nations,

that you may bring my salvation to the ends of the earth.

* * *

Thank you, Decklin. He has passed onto me his inspiration to persevere through this battle to end the oppression of humanity inside the counties. He has found God's ancient words to hold as much relevance to today's struggle as it carried when it was written about Jacob and Israel. The only trouble is that we do not have a Jacob. I don't believe our leader will raise the other refugee towns to face the counties. We do not have faith that we can win—God with us or not.

I decide to take Decklin's Bible with me. He wanted me to have it. The woman is no longer in the kitchen. As I exit, I find her outside speaking with my father.

"Sydney, this is Gwen," my father introduces. "She works at the laundromat. I'm going to have you start working there tomorrow."

"But what about your trip?" I ask him, being careful to code my question in front of this woman. He can't expect me to be away from Merick, who will have the other cell phone to communicate with him. How can I do anything but wait while my father faces the lethal BOTs to try and save my sister?

"You're leaving us?" the woman asks. The question isn't casual. She was there in the hospital when I rushed Della along, telling her that people were dying. She's been packing up the belongings of one of the deceased for whom she cared deeply. Like any of the people of Sheridan, she is scared to have the captain go.

"Everything will be fine. Sheridan is safe," my father assures her. "Sydney, I don't know how long I'm going to be gone. Working might help you remove yourself from some of the worry."

"He's right; it does help," Gwen says. Of course it helps her worries, but we've kept from her where my father is really going. The caliber of my apprehension can't just be forgotten. "Plus, I could use the help."

My father decides to invite Gwen to join us for lunch. We go back to our place to stuff two towels into a backpack that my father wears. Each of us carries a box filled with Decklin's belongings back toward town. Gwen is going to wash up all the items, clothing and otherwise, and return them to the storehouse by the lot. All of his personal things will be divided among random members of the community who have need for something he used to own.

We decide to eat in the restaurant above where Sheridan's militia meets. That's what I've decided to call our force now. Seeksmen is not fitting, as seeking has been halted until further notice, and many members of our force were never seeksmen. The word army also doesn't fit a crew as small as ours. Militia is the best fit. We are a tiny band of soldiers. Now short the former members who have passed away, we are not even a battalion.

I find the restaurant uncomfortable and eerie. I have never seen it besides in the nighttime and early morning hours when it has been empty and despairing. Also, I'm repeatedly catching people staring at me. Everyone here knows each other, but no one knows me. I'm the outsider. Upon our homecoming, these citizens stopped in their tracks to greet and welcome my sister and me. Now, no one approaches me to introduce themselves.

I'm a plague to be feared. I've brought terror to their town, to their children. If that's not the reason their eyes avoid me when I glance at any of the ones who stare, it's because they pity my burden and my losses. Evvie's not even dead, as far as I believe, but already I'm a symbol of misery.

After lunch, we all get cleaned up for Cy's funeral. It turns out that a lot of others have the same idea. The showers are crowded and the nearby streets are bustling as people come to this side of town to prepare to say goodbye to a son of Sheridan.

My father and I walk among many others toward the church that connects the two sides of the town. Children and teachers were released from school at noon today due to the heroic big brother they lost, the dashing young soldier from whom they all felt honored to receive a smiling high-five. I can't imagine anyone will stay behind while Cy Davids is being remembered, except for the person who knew him best, his brother Crewe.

Once the town seems assembled and comfortable at the graveside service, my father leaves my side and walks to the other side of Cy's casket to face us. He pulls the paper I saw earlier from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He takes a deep breath and looks up at the devoted crowd before him.

"I spent a good portion of time yesterday trying to figure out how to begin Cy's eulogy. How do you speak to a mass of people about a son you dearly loved, who had a better heart than anyone you knew? Often times these things begin with a statement like: _If you knew Cy Davids like I did_. But the problem with that statement is that I already know that you did. Every one of you knew Cy like I knew him because that was Cy. There were no such things as strangers to him, and all of you gathered here to honor and remember him today are testaments to that."

"I want to tell you all a story about the day that I met Cy. He was twelve years old then and had been living in the orphanage in Miles County. He had lost his father, a firefighter, to a heroic act that saved the lives of many. For the next year while he mourned his father's death, he watched his mother become increasingly helpless to the cancer that spread in her. During the time that Cy was in the orphanage, he was abused on a regular basis by a boy older than him and Crewe."

"I didn't believe those things could be true when Crewe told it to me soon after their escape. I doubted it because the day that I met Cy..." my father pauses to regain his composure, "he was a little kid made up of smiles. Now tell me, what could someone who has gone through such torture possibly have to smile about?"

"During the car ride back to Sheridan, the boisterous twelve-year old asked me what I was searching for in the woods around Miles. When I told him that I was searching for my daughter, the scrawny, pure-hearted boy told me that he would help me find her. Cy Davids kept that promise, and even then simply finding her was not enough. With his genuine charm, he carved a channel into the hardened heart of my daughter, who faced her own demons through childhood. He brought my daughter back to me, and taught her to smile again."

The lump in my throat makes it impossible to swallow. I did not know all the hardship Cy had experienced as a young boy. My father is right to tell this account to illustrate what a miraculous soul he had to be the person he was despite his past. The captain had saved Cy from his nightmare, and so he would be forever loyal to him, beginning as a small child and extending to the day that he died for us.

"Two days ago, Cy was the first one to volunteer to go after my daughter, who he had known for only a day. She was the closest thing to a stranger that Cy had known, and he willingly gave his life for her. That's the man that Cy Davids was. He was a hero and a man his father would have been unbelievably proud of. I know I was."

"I'm going to ask two things of all of us here today; two things that I think Cy would ask us to do. Firstly, he would ask us to pray for two people. One is my youngest daughter, Evvie. I know that even in death, he would still feel an obligation to send protection to her. The other is his beloved brother, Crewe. Let's pray that he makes it home to us safely, and is able to take steps to cope with the absence of the best presence in his life."

"The second thing I believe Cy would want is for us to keep alive the exceptional humanity that resided in him. Abide by the rule he lived by. Never let any person stay a stranger. Find a reason to smile and to be good to each other. There is nothing too depressing, too overwhelming, to turn your smile over to. Keep it alive. Keep the spirit of Cy Davids alive in your hearts and in your actions."

My father unfolds an American flag that sits atop the casket. He smoothes it and beholds the stars and stripes that Cy and the people of Sheridan still believe in. He salutes the casket in a militaristic manner. I notice that a few others throughout the crowd do the same.

After the casket is lowered, my father scoops a shovel full of dirt from the place where Cy now lies. He says a few inaudible words, and lets the dirt fall from the blade. My father hands the shovel to me and walks away from the gathering. I thank Cy one last time and place my scoop of earth next to my father's, over Cy's heart. I pass the shovel to Rico, who has come up next. Galvesten and Merick take a step forward. Others begin shuffling through the waiting citizens. Rico releases his dirt, and walks on like my father did. This is the tradition for saying goodbye in Sheridan. I wish Crewe were here to take part in it.

# Chapter Thirty-Three

Merick is sleeping on the couch when I wake up in the morning. The sun is up, which means my father has already arrived at the barrier.

I quietly search for paper and a pen to write Merick a note saying where I have gone. I don't want to give him a fright like the one I gave my father, Galvesten, and Della when I wanted to be alone after Cy's death. I add ' _please keep me informed_ ' on the note and rest it on top of the cell phone Merick has placed next to his pillow.

I'm not sure if by my father's standards I am allowed to walk to the laundromat by myself, but he has to concede some forms of independence to me.

Merick was comfortable enough with my safety to fall heavily asleep, so I don't worry about being snatched by a BOT as I walk down the quiet streets in the fresh morning air. Something like that wouldn't happen in daylight. Though my father feels differently, I wouldn't mind being taken by a BOT because it would mean being taken to Evvie.

"Good morning, Sydney," the already working Gwen greets as I arrive.

"Hi!" shouts a little girl. She has blonde hair like Gwen, but hers is stick-straight, unlike Gwen's tight curls.

"This is my daughter, Lysia."

"Lysandria," she whines, upset that her mother did not introduce her properly. "It's a combination of Lysander and Alexandria. Do you know who Lysander is? It's from Shakespeare," she answers before I've had a chance to tell her that I do. My father's name, Demetri, stems from a character's name from the same story.

"Actually, Sydney, I'm supposed to meet Rico in a half hour at the hospital and I'd like to stop by the school first. Would you be comfortable watching _Lysandria_ for a while? I won't be long with Rico, just long enough to load the rest of Decklin's boxes onto the cart and haul it to this side of town."

"Sure," I say hesitantly, "but couldn't we help?"

"Rico has that covered. I'd actually love it if we could get these loads all flipped while I'm gone. Lysia knows how. She can show you and she _will help you_ ," Gwen warns her daughter.

"I know, I know," Lysia snaps. This one seems like a little handful. I think Crewe said something about that once. He said Gwen struggles to keep up with laundry because of _that kid_. This must be her. I don't want to stay here and have this little one pry into everything that's happening in my life, but I don't see what choice I have.

"Thank you, Sydney, and I'll be back soon."

Lysia doesn't allow a beat of silence as her mother exits the laundromat. "Guess why she has to stop by the school?" she says.

"Why?" I bite.

"I'm suspended," she grins mischievously. I don't doubt that judging by her gregariousness. It explains why she is at her mother's work instead of school on a Friday morning.

"How old are you?" I ask. She seems too little to have done anything serious enough to get in trouble.

"I'm eight. Aren't you going to ask what I did?" she plays.

"I'm sure you'll tell me," I say. A pinch of humor rises in me. Like my father suggested in Cy's eulogy, I found a simple reason to smile today, despite not knowing what is happening to him and my sister inside Miles County.

"I threw a bucket of crayons at another kid's face." Clearly, Lysia isn't remorseful about the action. I can't imagine such a young little girl committing such an infraction. Cyber bullying was the only real problem instruction monitors had to face with their students on EduWeb. I imagine behavior management is more of a struggle in a traditional school environment.

"He said that my illustration sucked."

"Hey," I scold automatically.

"Fine, he said it was ugly," she corrects her language. "She's going to the school so she can tell the principal that I did it because I was mad and sad about my uncle dying."

Did Decklin have a real family here? I suppose Gwen could be Decklin's older sister. Decklin had curly hair too, but much more loosely wound than Gwen's and stark opposite in color. "I'm sorry about your uncle. I was sad to lose him too. He was a good friend."

"Yeah," she sighs. "Your dad made a good talk at his funeral."

"Oh, Cy's?" I ask. It hurts to say his name, even in a light conversation with a child.

"Yeah," she says. "My uncle's. My mom let me put in her scoop of dirt too so I got to put in two."

Oh, so Decklin didn't have a family after all. I know Gwen isn't Cy and Crewe's blood relative, but I can see why Lysia might call Cy her uncle. There are probably loads of kids who think of him that way. It might not bother me coming from other children, but I don't like the way this little one refers to Cy as her uncle, especially when she says that she _got to_ put in two scoops of dirt. Those scoops were used to bury my best friend. This energetic, desensitized girl has no right to talk about him like he was hers. "Why don't you start showing me what we need to do around here?" I suggest, changing the subject.

"It really sucks that he died, huh?"

"Lysia, I'd rather not talk about it," I stifle the conversation. I do prefer that this forward child is telling it like it is rather than saying that it will get better and that everything will be okay. I would be more upset by something like that, but I still can't handle talking with her about it at all.

"You're not going to tell Gwen that I swore, are you?" she asks with no real concern in her eyes.

"I will if you do it again," I decide.

"Oh no," she mocks. I'm going to have to muster a lot of patience and tolerance today. I don't know how I'm going to manage that when I'm already on edge about my father's mission.

Lysia jumps down off an old, top-loading washing machine and goes over to a front-loading one that has stopped spinning. "This one is an H-E," she explains. "That means it gets done faster so I always have to watch for it first." What it actually means is that it is a high-efficiency machine, like the ones on the inside, only those serve as both washers and dryers.

The transitions building in Sector Seven where I lived has as many machines as I see here, even though it had only about a third of the residents that Sheridan has. Our machines take just over five minutes to wash and dry, but Lysia tells me some of these take up to a half an hour for each job. I can understand why one person is assigned to do the town's laundry rather than them coming in casually to do it themselves. The machines have to be in constant use, run efficiently according to like colors and appropriate load sizes, for the town to stay looking presentable.

Lysia is explaining how each household writes their number on the tag of each of their clothing items when Merick walks in looking for me. I come out from a row of stacked machines and a little shadow follows me.

"We need to talk," Merick says, rubbing his hands together.

"What is it?" I ask him frantically.

"Lysia, go find your mom," Merick instructs. He doesn't talk to her as if she's the young child that she is. I suppose adults don't use that type of tone with this one.

"She ain't here," Lysia says.

"I'm watching her," I say. It's as strange to Merick's ears as it is foreign on my lips. He either agrees that I am not fit to keep a child company, or he is equally as surprised as I was that I've been asked to watch _this_ little girl after just being introduced to her.

"Alright, you go do what you've been told," he tells her. "Sydney, let's just step outside here." Lysia stomps her foot and crosses her arms appallingly across her chest, but she stays put when I walk outside the door. Before Merick begins talking, I see her ear pressed against the glass from the inside. I decide not to do anything about it. I need to hear what's happened, _now_.

"First of all, I should tell you that your father isn't where you think he is."

"What?" I ask. Did my own father lie to me? Did he tell me that he would go for her so that I wouldn't?

Merick reads the betrayal on my face and stifles my questioning quickly. "He got a call late last night from Braves. Crewe is alive."

_Thank you, God. Thank you._ One of my heroes still lives. Now I can keep my postmortem promise to Cy. I can look after his brother. I can start by apologizing for telling Crewe that I hated him. From there, I can search to find little reasons to make him smile so that slowly, I can help heal the hole in his heart.

"You were right, Sydney. He had gone toward the county with his anger ablaze, but when he got there, he realized it wouldn't be what Cy would have wanted. Cy wouldn't want to see his brother die in vain like he did. He slept at the safe house. In the morning, he headed for Braves. Crewe didn't think that your father would want to lose more lives, so he hoped that he could convince Braves and his troops to enter the fight with him instead."

"Braves knew we were looking for Crewe because I called him to tell him the situation after you called me from Lame Deer. Crewe was hotheaded and threatened that he'd go on his own if Braves got on the phone to call us. I guess that's what Crewe ended up doing last night anyway, after Braves told him for a final time that he would not send his men. Apparently, there was a drawn-out, high-speed car chase and wreckage that finally enabled Braves to cuff Crewe and bring him in. Your dad went to Braves to try to talk some sense into Crewe so that we can bring him home."

We were due for a piece of good news. I'm glad to hear that Crewe is alive, but unfortunately his stunt has delayed my father from pursuing Evvie, and every moment the level of danger surrounding her increases.

"Does Crewe know my father's plan?"

"Yes, but he's lost his head. Crewe has always been protective of the people, and has been able to set aside his own desires and think about what is best for Sheridan. Now, he's demanding that he go along and that they basically blow up everything, and everyone, in their path. He's _angry_. He has every right to be, but it's made him the new largest threat to Sheridan and to the other refugee towns."

"So have their doctors stick a needle into _his_ neck. We need to get both of them back here so that my dad can go where he needs to go. We're wasting precious time, Merick."

"Actually, Sydney, that's a great idea. We can keep him cuffed and give him time to process here, in Sheridan. I'll call and make the suggestion in case none of them have thought of it yet. Will you be here if I need you later?"

"I suppose so," I answer.

"Alright," he says. He pulls the cell phone out of his pocket and dials as he walks across the street.

"What was that about?" Lysia begs the instant the door chimes. "Is he alive?"

She knows an awful lot about everything that's going on for an eight-year-old, but then again, I blurted to the entire hospital, children included, exactly what was happening a few nights ago. Since then, I'm sure her mother hasn't been able to keep her prying and persistent questions unanswered.

"If you're talking about Crewe, then yes," I tell her. I feel so relieved and so good to say so.

"Is he okay?" she asks with desperation and genuine fear, which I find curious coming from her.

"He's fine," I answer her. She instantly envelops me in a tight hug as high as her height reaches.

"Crewe is very special to you too, huh?" I ask the little girl still latched around me.

"Well yeah. He's my dad."

The conviction with which she says this is unsettling to me, even though I know it can't be true. Gwen must be a single mother. Lysia's father was either never in the picture or fell from it when she was little. Maybe he passed away or was left behind in a county. If that's so, she has chosen a good fatherly figure. A little young, I'll say, especially for Gwen, but worthy all the same.

Lysia can tell that I don't take her statement as truth, and is offended. "It's true. Gwen is not my mom. I'm adopted."

Now a strange concern grows in me. Crewe is too young to be this little girl's father. He would have just arrived in Sheridan, fresh from the orphanage around the time she was born. I just don't see it. Crewe wouldn't be seeking a dangerous job the way he does if he had a daughter, however crazy she may be.

"Oh! I'll let you guess who my real mom is!" Lysia exclaims. Now I'm utterly lost and confused in this little girl's dream. She is pulling my leg all over the place. "She gave me up for adoption because she was really young when she had me, and Gwen says that she wanted me to have a better life than she could give me."

Children do say the wildest things, but this story feels too real to be make-believe. "I haven't met that many people in Sheridan yet," I admit.

"Yeah, but you've met my mom," she says excitedly. "I'll give you a clue. Part of my name comes from her name." I wrack my brain for what I can, but I can't think of any women other than Dellaphine, whose name does not fit into Lysandria. "It's the second part of my name," she reveals. I think for another moment, but Lysia has no patience with me. "You were with her just yesterday morning," she says, rolling her eyes. I'm still perplexed. "She's a seeksmen," Lysia says. There is only one female seeksmen.

"Alix," I say flatly.

"Alix _andria_ ," she emphasizes. "She and Crewe dated for a couple of years, but they don't anymore."

She was telling the truth. Crewe Davids has a daughter. She is here, with me. This is the eight-year-old, jabbering daughter of Alix, who Crewe used to date. I am shocked.

I am angrier than usual the rest of the day, which probably doesn't make a good first impression on Gwen, especially since Lysia and I did nothing during the time that she was gone. I'm cross because it's easier and more natural to me than the emotion that I really feel. I'm crushed.

I never expected this. I thought Crewe and I were so much the same. Now I've found out about a daughter that he never mentioned. I don't feel as though I know Crewe Davids anymore, and I hope I can reconstruct a desire to keep the promise to his brother, Lysia's uncle Cy.

# Chapter Thirty-Four

When I wake up I realize the sun has not risen, but I have no idea what time it is. I go to the couch in the living room, and am surprised to find it empty. If Merick is not here, that can only mean one thing—my father is home.

I tiptoe back down the hallway to the bedroom across from the one I've been sleeping in. I turn the doorknob slowly and silently usher it open. My eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness to realize that there is no bodily form lying on the bed. I'm alone.

I am very surprised at this, so much so that I immediately believe that something is wrong. My heartbeats pick up pace and pressure. I turn the generator that rests between the kitchen and living room on and flick on the living room lights. The blanket Merick was using is missing from the couch, but then I see it folded sloppily on the floor. There is a note on the kitchen table. _Gone to babysit Crewe. Come over on your lunch break_. I wish a name had been signed to it, because I don't know if this is my dad's hand or Merick's.

I decide that I want to run this morning. Out of habit, I put on the same dark gear that I would wear each time I was planning to breach the electric barrier. I pull my snarled hair into a tight ponytail, and secure my long, unruly bangs back with my turquoise headband, the only splash of color against my stealthy shell.

I haven't gone for a run in almost a week, since the never-ending one from the perimeter of Miles County to the station several miles away after we secured my sister. We put forth so much effort, and now everything we accomplished that night has been lost.

I haven't been around the homes on this side of Sheridan much yet, but it's so small that it can't be difficult to maneuver. I only run a few streets when I decide that I have a destination that I want to run to. If I ever learned where Crewe's house was, it would be there. Instead, I decide to run to the restaurant to see if my father happens to be there. I want to urge my father along and ask him to take me to Crewe.

I've always been able to run hard on my outings, propelled by the thought that someday I might need to be ready to, for Evvie's sake and mine. That day has come but it hasn't passed. I'm able to push myself even harder now, knowing exactly what the BOTs of Miles are capable of, and the fact that they have captured my sister.

I arrive at the restaurant in a matter of minutes. The door is open, so I let myself in. I call up the stairs, but there is no answer. Back in Lame Deer, my father told me to check for Crewe in the nearby residences. He didn't mean for me to simply call for him, but to go in and search. The stubbornness my father knew Crewe would possess then has not changed. If he's being held here, he won't answer me.

I have the same uneasy anticipation as I walk up the narrow stairwell that I had as I entered each of the dark and deserted homes in Lame Deer. I expect to see Crewe dejected, head down, and cuffed to one of the tables that he could easily drag carelessly through the doorway, down the stairs, and out of the restaurant. When I look in, my image of Crewe and my father sitting or sleeping nearby is not matched. The room is empty.

Disappointed, I head back down the stairs. I decide that my run is only one-third of the way through, because I'll need to run back home to gather clothing and a towel so that I can run back here to shower. This showering situation in Sheridan is such an inconvenience, but not one that bothers me this morning. I want to keep running.

After my shower, I stuff my saturated running gear into the backpack that my father used yesterday. The air feels especially chill as I step out of the showering commune with cold, wet hair. I scrub my hair around in the damp towel and shove it into the backpack.

My emotions are taut when I see Lysia, Crewe's daughter, in the laundromat again today. It's Saturday, which I suppose is a day off for children in a traditional school. Crewe's daughter will be here tomorrow too. She'll become a regular presence in my life here in Sheridan.

I wonder whether Crewe will remain close to me, now that I feel less akin to him after finding out about Lysia. I don't know anything about dating or being a real parent. Being Evvie's guardian isn't quite the same as having your own child. Crewe clearly has experience in realms that I do not. I can't explain why, but he just feels different to me now. Besides my perception changing, real change has occurred in him after losing his brother. His grief and aloofness will affect him forever, even after the dangerous anger has had time to subside.

Numerous townspeople bring heaps of laundry to us because it's Saturday. Gwen says Saturdays and Sundays are the most difficult days to keep up with the loads. Aside from them being days off for many of the laborers, I suspect that the delay at the laundromat on the weekends can also be attributed to bouncy little Lysia. She's more of a hindrance than a help.

I feel bad taking a break for lunch when Gwen doesn't, but I justify it to her and myself as an order from either Merick or my father, whoever left the note for me this morning. Lysia follows behind my footsteps outside of the building, despite her mother's order to stay put. Gwen takes her by the arm and pulls her back toward the store.

"I want to see my dad!" she squeals. She follows with, "You're not even my mom!" I'm sure this has been used on poor Gwen time and again. She seems like a great mother, but she's had rotten luck with her adoption. I'm sure she loves Lysia for the good in her, but I'm also sure she spends a lot of time forcing herself to remember that.

Gwen's directions to find Crewe's home were easy to follow. I walked here very quickly, but have a difficult time taking another step toward the place that shelters him. What am I going to say to him? How can I look him in the eye and see the depths of pain and the anger that torment him? How can I expect to make anything better? I can't.

I know the door will be open, but I don't feel right just walking in. I want him to decide whether he's ready to open the door to me. I knock and take a step back from the door so that he can look through the ornate glass panes on either side of the door to see that it's me.

Merick opens the door. So he was the one who left the note, not my father.

He closes the door behind him and takes a seat on a bench swing on the porch. There's a matching chair and a hammock on their front porch as well. I can picture Cy reigning the hammock, mocking an arrogant king in fun-loving way. I bet he slept out here sometimes. He would not let a warm, summer night slip through his grasp without getting the most pleasure out of it.

"Where is my dad?" I ask Merick.

"He's not in Sheridan," Merick answers simply. Merick looks out at the street and sways back and forth on the bench swing. I get the feeling he hasn't embarked on his mission to rescue Evvie.

I ask the obvious question. "Where is he?"

"He's tied up doing captain business in Braves. The leader of Idaho is traveling up to Braves tonight. They're going to meet tomorrow to discuss forming a joint task force for a major assault on Miles. I guess Crewe brought up some valid points that have convinced Braves of a need for greater action than we've planned. Miles is the only county that has ever hunted down a refugee and come onto our territory to take one back. The leaders believe that we need to respond in a way that will deter other counties in Region Two from repeating the same action."

"What about Evvie?" I ask. I don't care what the other leaders believe or what their plans for the future are. I care about _doing something_ to get my sister back so that she can't be used as bait. "He was supposed to be inside already, trying to get her out! They're wasting time talking—something needs to be _done_."

"Sydney, I know this is an impossible thing for you to hear, but it can't all be about your sister. She is the center of _your_ world, but not Sheridan's, and certainly not the other towns'. You have to understand that."

This conversation and now Merick himself are intolerable. "Fine! Then I'll go. We've already decided that I'm allowed—I'm family."

"Your father doesn't want that."

"I don't care what he wants," I fire back. It's true. He may be my father but he has no power over me. I've been in charge of my life and Evvie's forever and that's not going to change.

"You don't even know where to find her," Merick says, trying to reason with me.

"Then tell me," I argue.

"I won't. I'm not going to encourage one, untrained girl going up against scores of BOTs."

"Well, I'm going regardless, Merick. I'm not going to sit around and wait for them to kill my little sister. So you ought to tell me so that I have half a chance of finding her."

"It's suicide," he says.

"No, if I die trying part of the responsibility is yours. Yours and my father's since you're doing nothing and not providing me the information that could help me bring her back."

"It'll never happen that way, Sydney. I'm sorry, but we won't get her back. I wish I could say differently, but I'm telling you the truth."

"So she's as good as dead then? You've considered her a ticking time bomb all along?" I accuse. "You never believed she could be brought back here."

"I wanted to, Sydney!" Merick's raised voice fills me with a cold, halting feeling. "I wanted to believe in the last mission, but I couldn't, and I couldn't stop your father, or Cy, any of them! Look what happened, Sydney. Open your eyes! We have no power against them. What we should do is let her go so that they don't try to use her against us. We can hope for her to be assimilated back into county society and _live_."

I know better than to believe that they'll let her live peacefully. They want to spark something, and they're going to harm her to get the reaction they seek.

I'm too furious with Merick to say anything. Instead, I open the door into Crewe's home and slam it behind me.

I call for Crewe but he doesn't answer. I burst through the first open doorway, still filled with rage. My heart is twisted, softened, and saddened when I come into the first bedroom. It's Cy's. It looks so lived in, filled with his belongings scattered about, but it lacks him.

I walk into the next room more calmly. The first thing I notice is Crewe's strong, tanned back, hunched over on the edge of the bed facing the window. The second thing I notice is the foul smell that seeps from the small trashcan between his feet. Crewe's body has been trying to eradicate the pain and sorrow he's feeling, but it can't.

I'm reduced to tears immediately at the sight of him. I knew this would be difficult, but I had no idea of the caliber of heartbreak that sits in front of me. I found more life in the previous room than I find in this one. Crewe is defeated and deadened.

"Crewe?" I say his name as softly and cautiously as I can. The silence is stiffening. I force my feet to take careful steps around to the other side of the bed. I say his name again, but he only lowers his head. I kneel down on the floor beside the trashcan underneath him. "I'm so sorry," I say, salty tears tickling my quivering lips.

My heart has never ached like it does now, not even when I begged my grandmother not to leave my sister and me. It was different then, because her time had come, and I always knew it would. Even volunteering to be a seeksmen or member of the militia in Sheridan doesn't prepare one for death like this. The threat was never real until Evvie and I arrived.

I raise my fidgeting hand from my lap and ease my trembling fingers toward Crewe's hand which doesn't cover his face. I barely graze his doleful fingers, hanging limply between his knees, when he swiftly pulls his hand back, forms a fist, and punches the wall in front of him.

"Merick's right! We never should have gone. I should have known better," he expels from between his gritted teeth. He looks ahead at nothing, his hands now trembling too.

"It's not your fault," I begin to tell him.

"Yes it is! I chose you over my own damn brother and now he's dead! Oh God, he's dead," he sobs. His anger transforms to sorrow and he wilts in front of me. It hurts so much to see him this way that I want to leave. I can't possibly console him because I've done this to him. It wasn't his fault. None of this is his fault. It's all mine.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. I promised Cy that I would look after Crewe. I am responsible for pulling him back together. With less guard, I place my hand on his warm, muscular back.

He swallows hard and pulls himself together in an instant, but not to see me. Not to let me in to grieve with him.

"Just go," he says coldly. I pull my shaky hand off his back. "Leave."

I make no movement to do so until his tense jaw turns toward me for the first time. His eyes glower at me they way they did when he was sure that I was a spy, a traitor. The tables have been turned. Crewe Davids hates me—only he has reason to mean it.

# Chapter Thirty-Five

I rush past Merick on the porch, now angrier with him than I already was. I guess I shouldn't be, because he only _helped_ Crewe see that Cy and Decklin's deaths are my fault. Merick didn't make it so, I did. He demands to know where I'm going when I hit the lawn. I don't answer him, but continue walking away with pace. I hear him curse and get off the swing behind me so I decide I'll need to speak to him.

"I'm not going out of Sheridan, so relax." Merick stands on the front lawn and watches me carefully, trying to tell from my back whether I'm telling the truth.

The neighborhood homes blur in my peripherals. No one is willing to go after my sister with her best interests in mind after losing Decklin and the beloved Cy the way we did. My father has suddenly become preoccupied with his greater duty. I am the only one left who cares about saving my little sister's life. For five days, I've patiently listened to others and have gone along with their unimpressive plans while I've worried about what may be happening to her. It ends now.

I rip open the hospital doors and enter briskly. "I need Galvesten," I tell the hospital secretary flatly. She starts to mumble something about him being unavailable, but I'm sick of everyone being too busy to help me. I roll my eyes and ignore her as I begin to butt my head into rooms down the hallway. She yells some kind of protestation in my direction, but I'd like to see her try to stop me. I'm not going to be very well liked in Sheridan either, but I don't care. When have I ever cared how anyone else feels about me?

Finally, I find Galvesten in the middle of an ultrasound of a very pregnant woman. "Crewe punched through a wall," I inform him. His eyes light up in alarm.

"He's back?" Galvesten exclaims. I guess I hadn't realized that my father and Merick might have aimed to keep his return private so that others wouldn't try to smother him with sympathy.

"He's home," I verify. "His hand or wrist might need an examination when you have the time."

"I'll go right after this," he promises. "Broken bones should be set early."

"Go now," the pregnant woman urges. "We're not going anywhere," she says, patting her belly. That's right, this is Sheridan. I was wrong to get fired up about people being too busy and absentminded to help one another. It's only my father who is guilty of that right now.

I exit the room and head for the man I'm really here to see. I hope he's had the strength to bring himself here after all that's happened. The door at the end of the hall is ajar. I walk through it and close it shut behind me.

Rico Aves looks up from the computer where he is mulling over something. His eyes are sunken and his complexion paled.

"Rico, I need your help, and I need you to promise not to tell another soul about what I am going to do."

"What?" Rico asks, shaking his head as if he's trying to wake himself up in order to make sense of what I have just required of him. "Sydney, I can't promise that when I don't know what you are trying to do," he says.

"You have to trust me." Now I'm wondering how I can ask him to do such an impossible thing as that. I have not proven myself trustworthy in any sense. I was right outside this same room when I first told Cy that my name was not Sydney Layton.

I carefully decide on something to say that might pull Rico onto my side. "I need you to jump all in with me, Rico, the way that Cy would. I just need you to trust me. What I want to do puts the town in no greater danger, and I believe it will bring my sister back."

"Why don't you tell Merick or the captain, I mean your dad, about—?"

"Because they won't listen, Rico. They're delaying everything and I swear to God I will not stand by and let her die in there. You and this idea that I have are my last resort before _I_ go in and start blowing things up."

"Well, that certainly doesn't sound good for Sheridan," he says matter-of-factly. Afterward, I feel like he may have even said it with a hint of humor. "What are we doing, Sydney Harter?" he asks me, reluctant to get involved but agreeing to take a leap. I know Cy helped me on that one, so I thank him for it. I sit down in the chair at Cy's computer station opposite Rico so that I can unravel my plan to him.

"I need you to slide one of your propaganda pieces into Miles. I don't want to start any kind of uprising, so there'll be no mention of my name." I'm sure that Miles County has pronounced me dead by now. Revealing that I'm alive to the general public would certainly cause a stir. Then again, chances are that any one of the remote number of people that would happen to see it would not have known that I existed in the first place.

"You said that they only ever last for a minute," I continue, "which means someone is shutting them down. Someone with power. Someone _within_. In the piece, I want you to provide a way for the county to join in a line of communication with us where I'll state my terms."

"What are your terms, Sydney?" Rico asks me gravely.

"I want Evvie returned to Sheridan, unconscious, so that she can't watch me go in her place. When I see her and confirm that she is alive, I will drive willingly to the county to take her place. I'll go wherever they tell me to go."

"What makes you think they'll take the deal?" Rico asks.

"They wanted me in the first place. They were expecting me when they came to abduct her. I'll be giving them exactly what they want."

"They're not going to trust that you'll come after she's returned," he argues.

"I'll give them permission to bomb Sheridan if I don't show up where I'm supposed to go."

"Whoa!" Rico interjects. "You said this wouldn't cause any further danger to Sheridan."

"It won't," I say, standing firm.

"What if you can't walk away from her when she returns?" I picture it for a moment. I picture Evvie lying there asleep with me by her side. We would be together again and free in Sheridan. This is just a dream.

"I'll have to, won't I? I'm not afraid," I tell him, and it's the truth. I am not afraid anymore to give my life for Evvie. I saw in Crewe that it would be far worse to live with the regret of having not gone.

"Your father will kill me," he says, and he's not just using the expression. He believes my father might actually kill him for putting his little princess, the daughter he finally got back, back inside. Actually, it will be a greater transgression than that. Rico will be putting me directly into the hands of the BOTs.

"I'll write him a letter. He'll have to understand my choice."

"I understand it, Sydney. I hate to be the one to help, but I understand that you have to do this." Rico is all in with me. The man for true freedom will help me free Evvie.

"Will it be difficult to do? Will it take a lot of time?" I ask him. I want to be here if I can when someone from the county negotiates with us. I want that responsibility to be mine, not Rico's. At the same time, I don't want to give myself away by not returning to the laundromat in a timely manner. I'm sure Merick will send someone to check up on me since his hands are tied up with Crewe.

"Actually, I already have a lane set for that. Your dad asked me to have something ready in case he had a need to communicate with the inside." _Evvie being kidnapped didn't present the need_? I wish I didn't feel like all of this could have been avoided. I wish I didn't know that lives were wasted by _plan A_ when other viable options had been considered.

"Let's do it," I urge Rico. He releases a downtrodden sigh and begins his fast finger-work. It looks as if he's designing in one program and copying the encoding into another. "It doesn't have to be fancy," I tell him.

"No, but it has to be recognizable as one of mine if you want their system to detect its upload." I watch Rico's speedy fingers go to work on the coded announcement entitled A Lucrative Exchange. Underneath the title Rico writes: _Send your silver sheriff badge to the number one western town, and we'll return to you the prized, golden one._ Lastly, he invites the reader to sign up today to learn more. Rico creates a forum in the module so that communication can occur between some evil headman and me.

"Are they going to understand what that means?" I ask Rico.

"Long ago, Sheridan was named the number one western town and my propaganda has been traced to Sheridan before. They'll know it's us. Sheriffs were in charge of towns in the Wild West, so they'll know we're speaking of something relative to the captain, who is in charge of our town. They should be able to decipher that the silver badge refers to Evvie, and hopefully since I wrote that we'll _return_ the golden one, they'll understand that means you. Are you sure about this?"

I take a final minute to think this over. There is no turning back once I set this deal in motion. I have been left no other options. This is the way it has to be. "Do it, Rico." He looks at me for a long moment, spins back toward his screen, and publishes the propaganda.

Both of us stare at the flickering screen. My eyes water from forgetting to blink and from my understanding that I've just forfeited my right to live.

When the computer makes a noise, Rico spins around to check that the door is closed. The words on his screen read _new membership request_.

Rico was right. It took less than a minute for his upload to be detected by the systems and for someone to decide to join. Rico's accepts the request and invites the user to join a private forum.

Somewhere in the county, in a place unknown to its residents, a swarm of operatives are busy contacting the person in command, notifying them of our message, and relaying their response to us. It's haunting to know what I imagine is not make believe. It exists within the place that I had lived my whole life.

The _unknown user_ accepts our invitation. A blank screen sits before the two of us.

"I want Evvie returned to Sheridan." Rico types the words on a flat keypad almost as quickly as I say them. "I want her sound asleep for the journey and for my departure. When I see that she has been delivered safely, I, Sydney Harter, will drive willingly to Miles." I keep my chin held high to say my final statement to the unknown user. "You may have my life in place of hers."

The user responds with two statements:

1. At 2:00 AM we will deliver her to the home from which we took her if the area is clear. If you try to hide soldiers in suits or under glass—she dies.

2. Sheridan can expect complete destruction if you do not come immediately.

"One," I say, and Rico types accordingly. "I am acting alone; it will be clear. Two, I will come." Rico clicks to submit my response. Seconds later, the unknown operative on the other side of our private forum sends the message: _See you soon, Sydney_.

The words are visible just long enough to send chills down my spine. Then, all the systems in the room and the networks they are tied to short out.

"Get out of here, Sydney," Rico orders. "Merick will learn that the cell phone isn't working soon enough and he'll come right over here to see if there is a threat.

I can't go yet. There is more I have to say. "Rico, I need you tonight. I need you to go to Evvie after the drop but stay far away beforehand," I stress. "I need you to keep her safe."

Rico stands up, looks me in the eye, and extends his hand to me. "Good luck, Sydney." I shake his hand meaningfully and turn away. I don't loiter another second in the hospital. I can't risk anyone seeing me here and interrupting this plan. The directions were clear—if I screw this up, people die. I won't be responsible for any more deaths, especially my sister's.

I speed back toward the laundromat on the other side of town, but make a final pit stop before I head back to work. I cross the busy street casually and walk away from the mingling strangers toward the lot at the end of Main Street. After double-checking that no one is watching me, I sneak into the old convenience store. Good, the shop is empty.

I lift a heavy jerrican from the shelf and quickly race it outside to an old, beaten red truck. Hiding behind the truck, I unscrew the fuel cap as I've seen the others do and let the gas spill from the jerrican can into the tank. I lug the heavy can into the truck bed. I want to be overly prepared so that I make it to Miles as I've promised. I walk low and swiftly toward the building, and then casually turn the corner.

"Sydney!" My heart stops as a familiar girlish voice shouts my name from down the street. A blonde squirt comes running toward me. I also quicken my pace toward her to put more distance between myself and the scene of my crime.

"What were you doing?" Lysia asks.

"Nothing," I respond with counterfeit confusion. When I checked the street I had forgotten to consider that an obnoxious eight-year-old might have had her face pressed against the window, awaiting my return.

"Lysia, what did I tell you about running out of the shop whenever you feel like it?" Gwen scolds.

Lysia ignores Gwen. "Did you see my dad?"

"Hey!" Gwen claps at her. "I have told you too many times to knock that off. Now you march back inside and get sorting." Lysia places an irritated pout on her face and doesn't budge. "You have three seconds to do what I told you before I cancel your plans for tonight. One...two..." Tauntingly, Lysia stomps her way back into the laundromat just before her mother's formed lips say the final word.

"I'm so sorry," Gwen apologizes. She looks weary from the strain Lysia has already put on her this morning. "Crewe is not Lysia's father. I'm not her real mother either—she's adopted," Gwen tells me. "She won't even call me Mom," she admits sadly.

"She told me she that yesterday, but she said Alix and Crewe were her birth parents."

Gwen releases an exasperated moan. "Alix is Lysia's biological mother, but Crewe hadn't even escaped Miles yet when she was born."

Wow. I can't believe I hadn't recognized that. I remember Cy telling me that he and his brother had been free for seven years. Lysia is eight years old, and Alix is from another county. I suppose I was so upset and surrounded by so much else going on that I couldn't think straight.

My heart lightens ever so slightly to learn that Crewe is not the father of the little spitfire who sorts the clean clothes into house numbers on the other side of the glass. I'm glad to know that he didn't keep something so monumental from me, and I'm glad there was one less element in his life forcing him to grow up too quickly.

"Her father?" I ask Gwen. This is more out of curiosity about Alix than about knowing Lysia's background.

Gwen purses her lips and shakes her head. "Alix's pregnancy was a fluke. We guess her implant must have malfunctioned. She was forced into a sad world under one of her fosters. They know it goes on but they turn their heads. It's sick, you know?"

I do know. I feared that with Evvie.

"She was only fifteen," Gwen says.

That's exactly where Merick's assimilation hope for Evvie goes wrong. I will leave nothing up to hope when it comes to my sister. She'll be safe soon, and I'll be strong.

# Chapter Thirty-Six

_F all asleep, Crewe. _I don't have a lot of time before I need to get going, and I can't afford to have Crewe hear me on my way out. Before the phone signal was lost, my father insisted from afar that Merick guard both Crewe and me tonight. Only my father assumes that if anyone would need to be stopped for attempting to head toward Miles, it would be Crewe.

Merick decided that it would be better for me to come and stay at Crewe's house than for him to join us at my father's place. Apparently, Crewe hasn't moved from his bed all day other than to use the bathroom. Merick said that he tried to talk to him into eating, but he refused.

My attempt at talking with him was again completely unsuccessful. There isn't anything that I feel I need to say to Crewe other than what he'll read in his letter from me, but I had hoped he would talk to me anyhow. I would take anything. I would love to hear something from him to replace the last words he said to me. In summary, he said that he regrets caring about me because it caused his brother's death. Then he told me to leave. This evening, he wouldn't say a single word to me.

Masked by Crewe's fitful tossing and turning, I glide from atop Cy's covers onto the floor beside his bed. Merick and I didn't exchange pleasantries when I arrived. Our communication was all business. I asked for an update on Crewe and he asked whether I would be comfortable sleeping in Cy's bed. I replied that I would be since I knew that I would not actually sleep tonight.

Cy has crossed my mind a lot over the last hour. Every moment that I've felt any doubt about my plan, I've simply looked around at his discarded clothing, shoes, and, humorously, beef jerky wrappers that litter the floor. This is Cy's room. If I can't find inspiration and courage here, then it's nowhere to be found.

I slide my pack out from under his bed, like I did time after time in the dark, quiet hours in Miles County. I pull three tri-folded letters from their discrete hiding place in my bag. I decide to read each letter one last time while I wait for Crewe to settle in so that I can make my escape.

On top is the letter addressed to my father. I open it and read:

* * *

Dear Dad,

I spent many years of my childhood wondering what you were like, and who you might have become if only you had been given the chance to live. I always pictured you as a hero, Dad, and that's exactly what you are. You are a hero to the people of Sheridan.

Crewe once told me the story of his father's passing. He told me that his father had to sacrifice his own life to save others from a deadly fire. There is deadly fire facing Sheridan now, only you are not Crewe's father, standing in the middle of the fire. You are not the one with the power to extinguish it, because you are not the one that the fire wants.

You are an onlooker this time, Dad, which means that you have to make an even greater sacrifice than giving your own life. You are going to have to allow your daughter, your little princess, to be the one to smother the flames. You have to let me go so that others can be saved, especially Evvie. You have to let me be her hero. Your place is on the outskirts this time, protecting the rest from the back draft. Sheridan needs you, Dad. The free people need their valiant captain.

I know it seems like our time together has been too short, but the truth is, you've been in my life all along, Dad, and me in yours. All this time we've been with each other in our thoughts and in our dreams. No matter what happens, we'll stay that way forever.

Be everything for Evvie that you've always wanted me to have. Protect her, love her, and be with her when she needs you. Be strong for her, Dad, and for me.

I've loved you forever, and I always will.

* * *

Your little princess,

Sydney

* * *

I refold my father's letter and tuck it under my crisscrossed leg. I hope that he doesn't feel as though he's failed me. I hope he doesn't feel that he's sent me to my death by prolonging the mission to rescue Evvie. It wasn't until I began writing the letter that I let some of my frustrations toward him go. He is the leader of hundreds of people, and their well-being falls in his hands.

The second letter is addressed to Crewe. He's been still for the last few minutes. I hope he's finally able to find some peace. There's a part of me that wants to slip this letter under his door before he falls into an overdue, deep sleep. A part of me wants someone to realize my plan, so that they can offer to take the burden off my shoulders. I know one person who surely would, but he isn't here. I wouldn't ask that of anyone anyway. Enough blood has been shed from other's fighting my battles for me.

* * *

Dear Crewe,

I can't express how sorry I am for your loss. I'm not ashamed to tell you that before I met you and Cy, I never really had a good friend. In the short time that I had the privilege to know your brother, he resurrected a spirit in me, a spirit for life, and for a freedom of heart that I had never known. I will always remember that.

You will always hold a special place in my heart as well. I have never known anyone to understand me the way you do, Crewe. I have also never had another soul be concerned over my protection the way that you were. It felt nice to be cared for.

When I learned of Cy's passing, I took his hand and I made him a promise. I promised him that I would look after and care for you the way that you were trying to care for me. I'm sorry to break this promise to him and this debt to you. I want to be there for you, Crewe. I want to hold your hand and tell you that it's going to be okay.

I'm sorry for all the pain I brought on you and your family of the free in Sheridan. If I could go back and change everything, I would. Instead, I have made the choice to go to the ones who threaten us. This way, I can keep part of my promise to your brother by keeping you safe. Let me go. Let me return my sister to a place where she can be filled with life. Where she lives, Cy's death was not in vain.

This will only begin to reassemble the good things that have been destroyed because of me. Hopefully you can find the fortitude to pick up the pieces to finish strengthening Sheridan after I'm gone. On Decklin's deathbed, he mentioned a passage from the Bible that he wanted me to read, Isaiah forty-nine. I read it, and all the while I thought of you. I believe that you can change the course of history, Crewe. You can be a light to the nations.

I am forever grateful that you took a chance on me to bring me to Sheridan. It was worth a lifetime in Miles. I will forever cherish you for that. I do hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for endangering your people and your town the way I have. With what I am going to do, I hope to bring lasting peace to them.

I will miss you, Crewe. I will miss what we might have meant to each other.

* * *

Yours,

Sydney

* * *

The last letter is by far the most difficult to open. Already, I have to fight to suppress my sadness to keep silent.

* * *

Dear Evvie,

I believe I love you more than any person has ever loved another. You have been my entire world from the day you were born. I am so proud of all of your accomplishments and so invested in all of your dreams. You are the best sister that anyone could have asked for, and I love you with every piece of my heart.

Evvie, I simply could not have lived without you. I hope you can understand that. That is why I offer my life to safeguard yours. I know it is going to be hard, but try not to cry for me, my sweet little sister. We have suffered too many tears together in our lives. If you never shed another tear in your life, it still wouldn't be enough. Therefore, I want you to live every minute smiling and laughing for me. I want you to live the happy, carefree life that was lost to me long ago.

Our father is alive, Evvie. It's really him. You can trust him. I want you to accept him and be the daughter he's spent years searching for. I want him to know what a beautiful soul you have. I want happily ever after for the both of you, together in Sheridan.

I know it's too much to ask for you to get on without me, Ev, but I'm begging it anyway. Please know that I want this, Evvie. No matter where I am, I'm only happy if you are. So try to find a reason to smile each day and pretty soon, you'll find that you won't even have to try. That's when I'll be happiest.

You will always be in my heart, little sister, and I'll always be listening when you need me. There is a whole world out there for you, and I love you to the end of it and so far beyond.

* * *

Your sister forever,

Sydney

* * *

I refold the paper that I was careful not to blotch with my tears and put it on top of the other two. I return the bundle of goodbyes to my pack and latch it closed. After a few calming breaths, I seal my eyes and compose my heart. I rise to my feet to begin one final journey.

Crewe is no longer stirring, and I'm happy for that. The last thing he deserves is to have to lie awake at night remembering and regretting the loss of his brother.

Merick is easy to pass by, as he snores away wildly on the couch in the living room. I've been so frustrated with Merick since yesterday, but he is a good man. I wish I had written that in someone's letter. It's too late to make any changes now. 2:00 AM is nearing.

I'm out of the house without so much as a creak. Clouds overhang the moon in the sky above, making it difficult to see where I am headed. This wouldn't be an issue in Miles. There, streetlights blaze all through the night.

I sprint toward the lot at the station. I want the window of time from my departure from Crewe's home to my arrival at what was supposed to be Evvie's and my home to be minimal. I want the smallest opportunity possible for someone to notice that I'm missing.

I think I arrive at The Lot in a shorter amount of time than yesterday. Even in the darkness, the disaster I run into is clear. The red truck is gone.

Flustered, I sprint across to the convenience store. I tug hard at the wide, silver handle but the door doesn't budge. It's locked. Since when has anything been locked in Sheridan?

I guess the best I can do is try to find the vehicle with the fullest tank of gas. That means that I'm going to have to start many of them. Turning the ignition is the action I dread most as it is what will make the most noise. Now I'm going to have to do it multiple times.

I open the door to a wooden cabinet mounted on one of the supports that used to run fuel into vehicles. It's evident that this portion of my excursion was severely under planned. The names written on the matching keys that Sheridan forged mean nothing to me. I can't waste time like this. I pull a random key from a hook and try to place it in the ignition of the car closest to me. It doesn't fit. The same key goes about halfway into the ignition of a small van, and then jams up. Luckily, the key fits smoothly into the third vehicle that I try. I turn the ignition and see that the tank only holds a fourth of a tank of gas.

I can't afford to play this game. I open the center console of the low-riding car and find a heavy flashlight. Perfect. Leaving the car door ajar, I sprint over to the convenience store door and shatter the glass with a swift blow of the flashlight. I knock some sharp shards out of my path, and reach in to unlock the door. I knock something over on my way in, and trip over it as I struggle to carry a loaded jerrican out to the car.

After dumping some gasoline into the tank, I return the cap and haul the can to the passenger door. I open the door and lug it onto the passenger seat. Finally, I sit down in the driver's seat, pull the car door closed, and turn the key in the ignition. I have only filled the tank a little over halfway, but that will have to do for now. I can always make a pit stop in route if I need to.

I hope driving this car won't be as difficult as it was to get it ready. I've never driven anything before. I take hold of gearshift and put the car into drive. I feel like I lifted my foot off the brake slowly, but the car hiccups forward until I slam the brake back down. Driving is going to be more treacherous than I had estimated, especially in the deepest dark of night without headlights. Headlights might wake someone.

I do the best that I can to use the moon's low light to maneuver myself calmly down Main Street. Before I head toward the cluster of homes south of the hospital, I brake and search inside the car for the button that will roll down the window. I don't find it, and don't want to accidentally turn on the headlights, so I decide to put the car in park and crack the door open just far enough for the dome lights to come on. I use them to quickly find and press the button. I pinch my eyes shut as if squeezing them together will make the clash of closing the car door quieter.

I can see better looking out of this window than looking out of the smudgy windshield. I can also listen for how much noise the car makes against the pavement. The sounds of the tires are actually quite hushed. This will do.

The clock on the dash of the car is the only light inside when I pull up to the place that I had scoped out to leave the truck, which has now turned into a car. There is a man's shadow, which stops my heart until I realize it's Rico.

There is a thick, dark strap that cuts across Rico's chest. He swings the weapon to his side. Rico nods with purpose to make me understand that he's still all in, like Cy would be. I'm glad that he remains at a distance. I need these last few moments to myself.

I look at the clock one final time before I turn the car off. 1:58 AM. Two minutes. I will have two minutes before county BOTs arrive on scene, and place my sleeping sister in the home that I can see a glimpse of from here. Or I have two minutes until they reveal their bluff, and take me out anyway. Either way, I have two minutes until the end of my life begins.

# Chapter Thirty-Seven

I get out of the car and close the door enough to kill the dome lights. I lean against the back door of the driver's side, and wipe away the cold sweat that forms on my forehead. Where are they? How precise do they have to be? There can only be a minute left. I suppose it's all part of the mental game.

I hear a whisper in the air, but only because I'm watching and listening for the slightest nuance. Is it the whistle of a bullet or a missile that's been pinned to my back? The sound doesn't appear to be moving, but hovering over the house. I peer into the atmosphere, and finally I'm able to see a hole that appears to open up in the sky. From the open doorway, my keen eyesight allows me to trace the outline of a stealthy chopper. I'm astonished by how remarkably silent it is.

Then, in the doorway, I see my sister's blonde hair flowing from a limp head that's not being supported by the BOT who lowers her to the ground. My instincts tell me to run to her, but I almost got myself killed the last time I did that. If I make the same mistake now, the trained BOTs' bullets won't miss me. I'll be dead, and they'll take Evvie back with them.

It takes everything in me to hold myself back from running to her. I focus my energy on inspecting what I can see inside the cargo bay. I've hardly begun inspecting it when the BOT member is retracted from the ground and helped into the chopper. The door seems to re-form from thin air, closing the gap. The chopper and its hum disappear from my sight.

Now I sprint through the yards of two vacant houses toward where Evvie was lain down. I hear Rico moving more slowly behind me, and I wish his steps were quieter. I run around to the back of the house where the drop occurred. The windowpane rests up against the wood, probably never returned to its rightful place after she was abducted.

I see Evvie's dark silhouette against the white sheets that she neatly spread over the bed that was to be ours. I rushed over here to finally see and hold her, but suddenly I feel paralyzed to take another step toward her. It frightens me that all the pieces of my plan have come together. When I get close enough to be able to tell, will Evvie's chest rise and fall? I'm terrified that I'll go to her and find her not breathing and I'll learn that she's been dead all along.

Rico joins me a few feet away from the window. He holds a flashlight out to me. I take it from him, but I let the hand that holds it drop lifelessly to my side. "What if she's not alive, Rico?"

Rico responds to my question by doing what I can't do. He walks over to the window and pulls himself into the interior of the house. I click the flashlight on and face it toward her uncertain form.

"She's breathing. She's alive," Rico exclaims. I'm given an insurmountable reason to smile. Rico comes to the window and helps me inside. He takes the flashlight from me and shines it on Evvie. I watch the motions of her chest and feel the warm breath that she exhales.

This moment is stolen from me abruptly when I notice a small slip of paper resting on her upturned hand. I take it from her palm, and readjust her arm to be more comfortable. I look up at Rico and open the slip of paper.

"What does it say?"

"I have three hours." The note was scratched in writing and accompanied by a small doodle of a clock timer. A ghastly fear comes over me. "What if she's a bomb or if she's been poisoned and it's seeping into her?" I can suddenly think of a million ways that the county could still kill my sister the moment I cross Miles' barrier.

"Calm down, Sydney," Rico tells me. He examines my sister's wrists with the flashlights. "It's hard to tell if anything has been implanted with the old scars and the county's technology to do it so delicately." Rico releases his eyes from his worry over her and lifts them to me. "I'll do everything I can to keep her safe. You have my word on that."

"Rico, would you know if Sheridan has any running helicopters, personal airplanes, or jets or if there are any somewhere nearby?"

"Idaho has a small collection. Why?"

"None here?" I try to confirm.

"Not that I know of," he replies.

"Then take her to the hospital in two hours. Leave her hidden outside and send for someone to get Della. Help Della sneak her in to examine her without Galvesten knowing. Take her sooner if anything seems wrong. If Galvesten or anyone else finds out, by that time neither he nor anyone else he tells will be able to stop me."

I unclasp my pack and reach for the letters that are tucked safely inside. "Make anyone who tries to come after me read their letter. Convince them to let me go." Rico nods dutifully. I place the three letters underneath Evvie's pillow. This is it. This is the last time I see my sister.

I slide my arm under her shoulders and lift her enough to move the covers underneath her. Rico comes over to help tuck her in. He rests the flashlight on the end of the bed, and leaves the bedroom to give me privacy with my comatose sister.

I tuck the covers tightly under Evvie's left arm. She always sleeps with this arm out. I rest it comfortably across her. I pull the twisted turquoise headband out of my hair and wrap it around her wrist. We had to leave everything behind in Miles, so this is the only token I can give her by which to remember me.

I wish I could stay to protect her. I wish I could laugh with her one more time. I'll have to settle with an unreciprocated hug. I lean down and pull her lifeless body into mine and hold her and cry with her in my arms.

"I'm so sorry that I have to leave you, Ev. I'm so, so sorry." My arms release her and let her lie against the bed again, but my heart is not ready to part with hers. I don't think it ever could be. "I love you," I tell her as I kiss her forehead and smooth her hair back. "I love you so much, Evvie."

I knock on the bedroom door to signal to Rico that I'm ready to go. "Thank you," I say, throwing a hug on him as he reenters the room. He isn't able to hug me back or say anything in return as I'm already walking away. I glide from the window and put speed into my jog away from the house. I can't look back. If I do, I'll turn around. I have to keep running. I have to force my feet to reach the car.

When they do, I pull the door closed, not caring much now about the sound it makes. It needs to be closed to cover the wailing sounds stemming from my devastated heart—the kind of sound the human ear is trained to hear and react to.

I only allow myself seconds to cry this way before I find the power to turn the ignition and shift the car into gear. _I'm saving my sister's life_ , I tell myself over and over again as I pass by the homes of the people who make Sheridan what it is—the heart of humanity.

I turn left to head north on Main Street toward the Miles County BOTs, toward the tragic end that awaits me, no matter how fast or how slow.

As I drive, I remind myself of everything that I know to be true. My father died when I was a tiny child. My mother had a beautiful baby, and then fell deeper into psychosis. My grandma tried to help us, but a wicked law took her away. We were alone. Even our mother left us by taking her own life. I tried to protect my sister, but sometimes I failed. Sometimes she felt the same pain that I did.

My vacant soul was saved one day. Two brothers rescued me from the hell that I would have been confined to for the rest of my life. They became my friends, and as friends, they risked their lives to seek my sister. They succeeded, and brought the two of us to the home we never had. They lightened our hearts and freed our spirits. They showed us that our story was still to be written.

But the moment that hope was returned to my future, my sister was stolen from it. A world that Evvie had departed from could not give me anything for which to live. So I chose to exchange our places to bring her certain freedom and the ability to pursue happiness.

I know that I cannot expect the same for myself. Though I drive toward this dreadful fate, I am content knowing that the world will be blessed with the richness that my sister's life will offer. She will be able to go to a real school, drive a car, have a job, fall in love, get married, have a family, and grow wonderfully old. Evelette Harter will be able to live a full life—a story worth telling.

# Acknowledgments

My first thank you belongs to God, who guides and blesses me.

A world of gratitude is owed to my mother, Tracie. I could not have shared this story or accomplished so many of my life's goals without her loving support.

Infinite thanks to the members of Clean Teen Publishing: Rebecca Gober, who believed in the story and has an amazing ambition to bring it to others. Marya Heiman, who designed creative and powerful images for the novel–namely the cover! Cynthia Shepp, who graced the manuscript with her editing prowess. Courtney Nuckels, who formatted the novel and works tirelessly for its sake. Dyan Brown, who manages so much behind the scenes.

Thank you to my grandmother, Nancy, and my cousin, Mary, who provided early suggestions and encouragement.

To my talented brother, Thaddeus, my cousin, Reiley, and my father, Berry, who offered their time and resources to help me design, create, and promote the first edition.

And finally to all my family, friends, and teachers who were passionate early readers. I am so grateful for the influence and support of those close to me.

# About the Author

Photo used with permission by: Devyn Lempke

Gabrielle Arrowsmith enjoyed writing her debut novel, _Concealed in the Shadows_ , during a lovely Minnesota summer that she had off from her primary profession, teaching. Acting, playing and coaching soccer, reading, playing piano, and spending time with family and friends are among her other interests. Please visit her website at:

www.GabrielleArrowsmith.com

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**You don't have to wait to find out what happens next in Sydney's life. Turn the page to read the first chapter of Released from the Darkness—book #2 in The Concealed in the Shadows Series.Released from the Darkness is available for purchase today!**

Darkness surrounds me. I know better than to run from it, as anything could lurk in its shadows. Instead, I wait in the stillness, as if I'm under the surface of the holding pond beyond Miles' barrier, counting the seconds for the camera to pass.

I become aware of a steady, dripping noise. Though its echoes try to fool me, I sense that the source of the drip is close. Strangely, it is my nose—not my ears—that is responsible for determining the rhythm's nearness.

I've come to recognize this odor. I smelled it first at the age of twelve when I discovered my mother's suicide at the institution. The distinguishing scent invaded my nostrils again at the makeshift hospital in Lame Deer where faithful Decklin lied dying, doubly wounded by bullet and flame. I endured the smell as we drove back to Sheridan in a van that carried the caskets of two noble-hearted young men. I buried my face in my lap and covered my head with my arms, not only to guard myself from the sickening stench, but also to keep secret the stream of sorrow that ran from my eyes.

This is the smell of blood. Death.

I try to hold my breath, but I'm quickly choked for air. I don't have the strength to fight my hunger for oxygen.

A rush of cold air fights its way through my obstructed, sticky throat. I relax my lungs, but I'm unable to do the same for my mind, which is increasingly leery of my dark, mysterious surroundings.

Dim light begins to seep into the obscurity. A shape takes form beside me. I can tell that it's human, but its edges are blurred and its face deeply shadowed. Where did this person come from? Were my eyes not open before? Are they now? I can't find the light source.

"Welcome to Neo-Necropolis." Female. From the voice's smooth texture and deep tone, I'd guess that the woman is older than I am. I warily raise my eyes toward the head of the form, sending a shooting sensation deep into my head. It's dark, but something is also wrong with my eyes. I can't make out any features of the person's face.

"Necropolis is Greek. It means _city of the dead_. Neo is Greek for _new_."

_New city of the dead_?

I remember. I was halfway to Miles. I should have been driving a truck, but my panic and fate from above had changed that.

The first hour passed too rapidly. I was begging for more time as I still struggled to convince myself that I had made the right decision when I contacted Miles' inner circle to trade places with my sister. I had seriously considered turning the car around not five minutes before a crash that turned the compact car into my steely grave.

I spotted the buck before his hooves hit the pavement, but my perceptiveness didn't matter. There was nothing I could do to change the course of the deer, or the car, at the speed that each was traveling.

I heard that a person's life is supposed to flash before their eyes during a moment like that. Time is supposed to slow so the departing soul can calmly express their final words to their maker. As if the intolerable government ruled it too, time did not alter itself for me. I gasped in terror, pounded the brake, and shut my eyes. That was it. No thought squeezed its way into my mind, not of Evvie, my dad, or Sheridan.

There is time for worries now, though, especially those regarding Evvie's safety. They flood my heart and mind with full force, and my body acts accordingly.

"Relax." The woman gently places a wet cloth on my forehead and guides me to lie back down. "The name of this place is just another way they taunt us. You're not dead; you're going to be just fine."

Fully alert, I find the reflection of low light in the woman's eyes. They're dark, darker than her ebony skin, but kind. I can only focus on them for a second before the splitting headache returns. Of course, I'm not dead—I feel too much pain. I can't imagine the head can sustain this many blows in quick succession without the tissues swelling dangerously to protect the beaten brain.

"You need to rest," urges the unfamiliar woman. I can feel that she's right, but something important is gnawing at my mind like a misplaced itch. What _is_ it?

Oh no, the collateral that was forced upon me to make sure that I upheld my end of the agreement with the county. "You don't understand," I stress to the woman. "Miles County BOTs are going to bomb everyone if I don't get there before dawn!"

"Everyone?" she questions. "Who are they going to bomb? No! Don't tell me," she blurts, just as the answer forms on my lips. She's right. This moment is filled with desperation, but I still need to think before releasing my secrets to a complete stranger. I could jeopardize the safety of Evvie, my father, Crewe, and all other Sheridans with such carelessness.

"I received notice of my new roommate the day before yesterday. Just what day do you think it is?"

She received notice _two days_ ago? That's not possible. It was only yesterday that I made contact with Miles. She couldn't have known about my arrival before then. Wait... _roommate_?

The keen woman beside me can tell that my head swells with questions and worries. She bends closer to me, making it easier for me to focus on her eyes as she speaks. "You're _in_ Miles County. You've been here at least two days. Today is Wednesday, but I'd rather you not start this day yet. Get a few more hours of sleep while you can."

I've been here _three_ days then. That's a long time, considering that I can't remember anything since the accident. I don't even know how I got here. I have many questions that need answering. "I need to know some things," I tell the woman beside me. "I don't sleep much, anyway."

"Well, look at that," she says casually. "I'd already nicknamed you Thrasher. Your nightmarish stirrings have been enough to keep me awake tonight, and I'm usually a rock through all sorts of horrors." The nickname Rock would seem appropriate for her. She certainly has the build for it.

"I wish I could ease your mind, but nothing we say goes unheard." Her eyes flash from wall to wall of the small room. "Do you understand?"

I nod. I understand this well.

The woman removes the wet cloth from my forehead and slaps it into my hand. "Wipe your face."

I sit up slowly, bringing on a rush of dizziness, nausea, and a sharp pain in my left thumb. I set the cloth on my knee for a minute, to feel a sleek contraption housing my presumably broken thumb. Something warm and wet then touches my upper lip. Blood. I wipe as instructed, first below my nose. The bridge of my nose is unnaturally wide, and I can feel that one side of my face is equally as swollen. There's some tenderness to the touch, but not as much as it seems there should be.

"That's why I stopped you from telling me about the _everyone_ whose lives you feared were in danger," the woman continues. "I don't want to know a thing about that."

"They know the name and location of the people they threatened," I say, discarding the wet cloth on the floor with a plop. "I doubt it would be news to anyone listening."

"Yet you still don't name it? It must be me that you don't trust then." She stands, picks up the wet cloth, and disappears around a partial wall at the foot of the bed across from the one on which I sit. I hear a squeak and then interrupted splashes of water as she rinses the cloth. "I don't blame you one bit for that," she calls over the flow of water. "Caution is smart _and_ necessary." Water continues to leak from the faucet after it squeaks off, but the woman has presumably left the cloth in the sink to absorb the irritating pings.

Before I opened my eyes, I imagined that blood was the dripping medium. I understand how that morphed into my nightmare, having now learned that I had a nosebleed during my sleep. I heard the leaky faucet, but smelled blood. The bleed also explains the immediate choking I experienced when I attempted to hold my breath. A thin layer of my anxiety has been relieved now that the dripping has lessened.

"What's your name?" I ask as the woman sits on a bed much too small for her frame.

"Edyn with a Y. And you're Sydney. With a Y too," she adds. "Your name is the only thing they told me about you, but I don't see any need to get to know each other this morning. We have our whole lives for that," she says as she slides under the covers and turns toward the wall.

"Our whole lives?" I can't help asking.

"That's right. Once you're a resident here, your days of sunshine are over. I get the feeling you didn't have much sunshine to live for anyway."

"Where _are_ we?" If we're truly locked up somewhere, then Edyn will have the rest of her life to sleep. I need answers tonight, and she's the only person who can give them to me. "I lived in Miles my whole life; I've never heard of Neo-Necropolis."

I've gained Edyn's attention. She spins around and props her head up. "That's because no one knows about this place unless they're in it. Most of us call it Neocropolis for short. Actually, a lot of residents call it Neo _crap_ olis, even the guards."

"Residents?"

"Prisoners. We're buried below EPA 12-1 on Miles' northernmost border. Citizens have no idea that there is a fully loaded penitentiary right under the county seat."

Another lie fed to Miles' inhabitants. I bet the EduWeb instruction monitors don't even know. As told, they direct their pupils to courses that rave about how well chips deter criminals, so well that Miles County doesn't even need a jail.

"Don't answer this without caution," Edyn warns. "You said that you needed to _arrive_ in Miles to prevent a bombing, so I can only assume that you were outside the county. I won't ask where, but I'd like to know how long you've lived beyond Miles' border."

Suddenly, I realize there is something I need to look into before I can answer Edyn's question. Do the monitors that I need to be aware of exist in the room or directly within us? Before I could be taken from Miles to Sheridan, Galvesten cut into each of my wrists to find and remove my chip, which also served as a tracking device. The wounds had healed enough before I left Sheridan that I would notice had they been reopened. I feel the smoothness of each scar. However, I accidentally notice a fresh incision on my left forearm. There's also the high-tech splint around my thumb that I cannot undo. Both of those injuries could easily occur by impact or debris from the crash, but they could also conveniently cover up a fresh implant.

"I was only outside a week," I answer Edyn. "I lived in Miles until my eighteenth birthday."

"Well, happy belated," Edyn wishes. "I imagine the start to adulthood hasn't been too good for you, seeing as you've incurred enough damage in a week to land yourself in level three."

"Level three of what?" I have to ask.

"Of Neocropolis," she says. "There are five levels here. The depth they hide you in the ground is based on the severity of the crime you committed or the _threat_ that you pose. The fifth level is solitary confinement. Very few have been down there, though residents spread rumors like they know the place. Level Fours have a bunkmate, but they don't receive any of the freedoms that we do. Twos above us have committed minor offenses, or they were innocents that put up a fuss. We call Level Ones _Innocents_. They never committed a crime. They were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. They caught wind of some top-secret information or what have you, and the county couldn't risk that they be among citizens, where they could repeat what they saw or heard. There are even a couple of kids that are Innocents," Edyn sighs.

"Their parents think they're dead, except for one little girl whose momma is in three with us. She was pregnant when they put her down here. Wouldn't make sense for the child of a dead, pregnant lady to be alive. You can change the kid's identity and put her into an orphanage in another county, but they feared her DNA could one day reveal who she really was, and they couldn't have that."

"Couldn't they change her parents' DNA information in the system?" I ask. "Don't they change things like that all the time?" Edyn has been around for a while, and has probably heard many conspiracies through the other residents. I want to affirm that other situations, like when my sister saw a listing of our dead mother's foster children at the courthouse, occur sometimes.

"Without a doubt," Edyn answers. "But there were too many eyes watching this case. The child had to die. Negotiators promised her mother that she'd live in this death as long as she kept providing them the information and services they sought. The little girl gets to come down and visit her mother, and they've promised to take her out to see the sun on her tenth birthday. It's not too far away now. All of us are living for that event—living through that sweet child."

"How long has it been since you've seen the sun, Edyn?"

"Altogether, it's been seven years."

Altogether? There must have been a break between Edyn's time in Neocropolis. Maybe she was generalizing or exaggerating when she explained that imprisonment here is permanent. "Were you out for some time after you'd been in?"

"No." Edyn removes the covers from her side and sits up on the edge of her bed. "That doesn't happen," she says with heavy weight. "It's going to take you some time to accept it, but you will die here, Sydney. You should also understand that you'll never again speak to anyone out there that you care about. It's truth for every one of us, no matter what level we are sentenced to. We are the abandoned dead."

Maybe Edyn is trying to prepare me for the worst-case scenario. I can't accept that this is the beginning of the end for me. Evvie was here, and permanent captivity wasn't true for her. She woke to the sun almost three days ago, and for that, I am glad.

When I contacted Miles, I decided that I was willing to die for my sister, but this isn't the death that I imagined. I didn't expect it to come true, but I held a sliver of hope that I could reason or fight my way out of whatever evil I would encounter. What I did expect is that I would die fighting for the freedom and a better future for the ones I love. I could accept a noble death like the ones fate handed to Cy and Decklin. A slow, passive, unrewarding death buried deep below the enemy's feet is impossible for me to come to terms with.

"It's not right, but it's not all bad here if you keep your head down and try to enjoy the amenities of level three. Don't make the mistake that I made. I started as an Innocent, but you can see I'm not there anymore."

"Why did they move you?" I ask.

"I didn't last four days on One. I couldn't control my anger. I had a loving husband and two beautiful children who needed me. I couldn't give up on getting back to them. Reason got me nowhere, but the riot I brought did. It got me transferred to Two."

So this is what Edyn meant when she said she's been here seven years altogether. She's been moved between different levels.

"I never was an aggressive woman, but anger about the injustices in here built and built in me until one day, I snapped. It was no small thing I did, Sydney." Edyn pauses for a moment to reflect on the incident or to prepare her next words. "It takes a lot longer to be moved up than to be moved down. I can tell you that much. So as mad as you may be, don't do anything that will have you locked up below."

I can't promise that I won't react and get myself into trouble, so I don't respond to Edyn's advice.

I wonder what crime she committed that had her moved down the second time? They've started me on Three, so whatever she did must be considered worse than breaching and living on the outside.

Sometime, I want to hear how Edyn ended up in Neocropolis as an Innocent, but I figure it is both too soon and too odd of an hour to ask. There is just one more thing I have to know before I can allow Edyn to sleep. I have to know if those deemed dead are ever really killed down here. I'm not sure I can ask this outright since our conversation is being recorded, so I'll begin to flush out my answer in a roundabout manner.

"What happened to your last roommate?" I ask.

"She got moved up to Two. She promised to come down and visit sometime, but I imagine it will take her a while to earn enough to do that."

"She wasn't a young girl, was she?"

"Young is a relative term, but no. She was between your age and mine." That makes it clear that her previous roommate wasn't who I was hoping her to be. It's dark, so I can't really approximate Edyn's age, but her old roommate might have been as much as fifteen years older than Evvie. "What are you getting at?" she asks me, apparently reading the additional questions stemming from her answer.

"The girl I'm wondering about is fourteen. She has long, ashen hair with a feathered, neon-green streak." Edyn looks up as she sifts through the young faces she knows. "She would have arrived only a week ago," I add.

"No," she answers quickly. "You were the only recent admittance."

"She may have been on another level, like One or Two," I offer.

"No," Edyn confirms. "Word travels fast around here, even between levels. Unless this girl was in solitary."

Edyn meant nothing by this comment. She may have even been trying to make a joke. She probably couldn't imagine that someone who I thought could have been placed in an upper level could also as easily been locked up in solitary for their association with me. Imagining Evvie being admitted here, and learning her fate from a fellow Neocropolis resident as I have tonight, hurts me enough. It tears me apart to think that she may have spent five days locked up among the worst of sorts, a place about which the prisoners only know rumors. And who knows what the people who run this place can get away with down there?

"Does this girl mean something to you?" Edyn asks.

"Everything," I answer, looking at my lap. "She's my sister." I look up and find the reflection of light in Edyn's eyes. She takes a moment to focus on me, and then shakes her head in sorrow.

"I'm sorry that she's lost to you," she says, "but believe me, it's better for her than being in here."

"I believe that," I answer. Lying down, I turn myself away from Edyn. I pull the covers around me and close my eyes. My eyelids feel swollen, but not enough to lock in the tears that slide to the corners of my eyes at the thought of never speaking to Evvie again.

"Get some sleep, Thrasher," Edyn says. I can't reply without revealing my emotional state. After a pause, I hear her tuck back in.

I will away my pain with each of Edyn's increasingly steady breaths. After a few minutes of this, she is sound asleep, and I'm alone in my hollowness.

* * *

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