though it isn’t my fault, I’m ashamed for needing so much air. I look into my plate. “Silas and I lived in the pod and smuggled out plant clippings. They still pump at thirty-five percent, so we need a bit longer to adjust,” I say.
Vanya sips a glass of water and eyes me mistrustfully. But I’m eyeing her, too. Where are the trees? And why has no one mentioned there’s a girl here giving birth as we speak? Isn’t it something to celebrate? I have a horrible feeling there’s more to Sequoia than Vanya wants us to know. “And what percentage are you at now?” she asks.
“Twelve,” Silas says.
I look at my gauge, which is at fourteen percent. “Twelve,” I say.
Vanya tuts. “Reduce it to ten. If you feel dizzy, use the oxyboxes. You’ve seen them?”
“How do they work?” Song asks.
“We didn’t have them at The Grove, you see,” Dorian adds.
“I’m fully aware of what you had and didn’t have at The Grove,” Vanya says, and sits back in her chair. “Don’t pretend you don’t recognize me, Dorian, because I recognize you. You were infatuated with Petra back then—thought she was some kind of deity. And all she was doing was making love to trees. Pathetic.”
Anger burns in me. Growing trees wasn’t some hobby; it was the key to freedom—to survival. I am about to tell Vanya as much, when I sense Silas’s eyes on me. He shakes his head so slightly you’d have to be watching for a sign to even notice. I keep my mouth shut.
Dorian sets down his knife and fork and wipes his hands on his pants. “We thought you died, Vanya,” he says.
“Do I look dead?” she purrs.
“No.”
“So, tell me, was Petra still prohibiting relationships?” Silas nods. “What a drag!” Vanya raises her glass in the air and laughs. “How will the human race endure if we do that?” She is chuckling, her mouth a wide grin, but there’s something quite serious in her tone.
“Why did you leave us?” Song asks.
“It’s complicated. Families always are,” she says. “And I’d tell you everything except I have no guarantee you’re not here as spies. There’s a chance The Grove is still standing and my sister has sent you here to steal my people. Or maybe you’re here to kill me.”
Silas lowers his head. “I assure you, The Grove is gone,” he says slowly.
“Well, I’d like to check. Can you do that for me, Maks?”
Maks pours himself a drink and waves it at us, almost spilling it. “And what will we do with them in the meantime?”
Vanya rubs her temples as though overcome by tiredness. “Start by giving them iron, immunity pills, and a boost of rockets.”
“Rockets?” Song asks.
“Oh, Petra would never have approved. Rockets will increase the number of red blood cells and reduce your need for so much oxygen,” Vanya explains.
“EPOs,” Song says.
Silas glances at me for less than a second, but it is long enough for Maks to notice. “They aren’t optional,” he says.
Vanya stands up and steps away from the table. “Okay, take them to the clinic for testing,” she says, her back to us.
“What are the tests for?” Silas asks.
“Membership tests,” Maks says. He grins, but it is shallow. He stands up. “Ready?” he asks.
We aren’t, but it isn’t a question.
13
BEA
Three pebbles, a bottle cap, a metal badge, and a hair clip. Each makes a hollow clink as I drop it back into the fountain. Six things, but I’m sure we’ve been here longer than six days. Did I forget to count off a day? Did I sleep through a couple?
All Jazz wants to do is doze, and she’s stopped eating.
I return to her side, where I kneel and touch her forehead. She’s burning up worse than ever, and I’ve no way to keep her temperature down apart from pressing cold clothes against her skin. I can’t bear to examine her leg. Last time I checked it was swelling. If the infection gets into her bloodstream, there’ll be nothing I can do. How long does that take to happen? A week? Longer? Or has it already happened?
Her lips part. “Is Quinn back?” she asks.
I stroke her cheek with the back of my fingers and keep my voice sunny. “Quinn’s always late, but he’ll be here. You concentrate on resting.” She stares up at me and twists her mouth—she’s a child, not a fool. “Can I do anything for you?” I ask.
“Some of that medicine,” she says, and points to the bottle of alcohol I’ve been using to sedate her.
“I have this,” I say, and break off a piece of a nutrition bar, which I try to press between her lips. She shakes her head, so I reach for the bottle. She takes a mouthful and grimaces. It doesn’t taste nice, but it’s keeping her calm.
I look across at the fountain. If I missed a few days, maybe we’ll be rescued soon.
Please God or Earth, or whatever else is out there, let us be rescued soon.
14
QUINN
After sleeping for a few restless hours, we get up with the dawn and head for Sequoia. Jo and I row one boat while Abel rows the other. We’re fighting against the current and the wind and after only an hour my arms burn like hell, not to mention the hand I cut on the stack of cars yesterday. My pants are soaked from the rain and slosh of river water coming into the boat, and I’m barely resisting the temptation to ask how much farther we have to go, when Abel calls out, “Over there!” He points to a dock and Jo waves to show she’s heard.
Abel ties up his own boat then pulls us in. Jo steps ashore first and arches her back and groans. “I’m so sore,” she says.
“Thought I was the only one flagging,” I say, climbing out of the boat.
“The wind’s too strong. It’ll be easier to walk,” Abel says.
The city is shrinking and fewer of the buildings here have been bombed by the Ministry’s rampage over the past few weeks.
“I remember where we are,” Jo says. Her face clearly betrays the fact that we’re nowhere near Sequoia, and I’m no closer to getting help for Jazz and Bea.
Abel jumps back into his boat and throws his supplies onto the dock.
“Why are you both so far from home?” It’s the first thing I’ve asked, and considering the questions whirring in my head, it’s a pretty timid one.
“I was on a mission,” Abel admits matter-of-factly. “A spy. Didn’t turn out quite as planned.”
“You were spying on the pod?” I ask.
“The Resistance, but I was in the pod. I was hoping to get into The Grove, but got caught and almost beaten to death by the Ministry.” He touches his bruised face and glances at the tattoo on my earlobe without changing his expression. “If it hadn’t been for the rioting I probably would’ve died. The place was chaos, so some big shot threw me out a back door expecting I’d suffocate.” He looks at Jo, and she smiles. It feels good to know
