Resist

we’re dangerously low.

Silas points to a spot on the map. “Another day at most,” he says. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s where we’ll find solar respirators. We can leave everyone there and head for the pod.”

“Great, Silas, but you said that yesterday.” He continues to study the map. “Silas?” I say, and prod him. He looks up. His eyes are deep in their sockets and he has a glazed expression, like he can’t really see me properly. I’ve always looked up to him; he’s older than me and tougher, but sometimes I forget Silas is just as breakable as any of us. “Have you slept since we left Sequoia?” I ask.

He turns to Song, who’s sitting against one of the boulders, a toddler asleep in his arms. A girl of around eight, who’s been helping Maude carry supplies, is asleep with her head on his shoulder. “Do you think there might be a way to transfer the air from the solar respirators to airtanks?” he says.

“It’s possible,” Song says wearily. Being on the run is hard enough, but doing it and carrying kids is backbreaking. Song checks the gauge on the toddler’s airtank and puts a hand to his chest to make sure he’s breathing.

Bruce has taken over stirring their formula, and Maude is busy feeding the babies. I go to him. “Bruce . . . How did you survive when you were drifting? What did you eat?”

He clanks the spoon against the bowl. “Well, it’s too cold for berries, but if we can make it back to the city, we can find us some houses that ain’t been ransacked. Plenty of supplies in houses,” he says. He pulls me toward him. “But listen . . . Maude and me were talking about it. We’ve had a good go of things. If it gets bad, and I mean stinking terrible bad, I’m happy for you to chew on my old bones.” He smiles, and when I try to pull away, he clings to my arm. “I’m serious, Alina.” With his other hand, he makes the motion of slicing his own throat.

I put my hand to my mouth, and try not to heave. Bruce pats me and laughs, but how is what he’s saying or how I feel or any of this mess funny? “Get off me.” I push him. “And if you ever say anything like that again, I’ll break your nose.”

I stomp off.

I want to be alone.

The children have been fed and most are sleeping along with the benefactors. The rest of us are huddled in a circle to stay warm. Quinn sidles up to me. I surprise myself by being pleased to have him close. He puts the opening of his blowoff valve to my ear. “We have to tell them what Vanya’s planning,” he says. I nod. He’s waited a couple of days to bring it up, but with the city in sight, he’s worrying about Bea. And if Clarice was right, we should all be worried—the pod will soon be a graveyard. “If we want to save anyone, we have to split up. The children are slowing us down,” he says. He isn’t being callous; if he were, he would have left a long time ago. And he’s right: Vanya has a zip and could be at the pod already. Then what use will a revolt be?

I drag myself off the ground. “We have to ask the group,” I say.

“I’m heading for the pod in the morning, Alina. I hope I’ll have company, but I’ll go alone if I have to.”

“You’ll have company,” I tell him. “Listen up,” I say loudly, and briefly tell everyone what we know about the brewing coup in the pod and Vanya’s demented plan to cut off its air supply.

“You kept this from me?” Silas exclaims angrily. But at least he knew half the truth. Song, Dorian, Maude, and Bruce have been kept in the dark about everything. I just figured they all had enough on their plates. Anyway, it’s too late for Silas to be upset.

“You can have a go at her another time. Tonight, let’s talk about what we’re going to do,” Quinn says, sounding nothing like the person I met only weeks ago. He’s grown a backbone. And a purpose.

Dorian snickers. “Oh sure, let’s think . . . How can we save ourselves and a load of children, join up with rebelling Resistance members, and then stop Vanya’s armed troops from irreparably damaging the pod and killing everyone in it?” I pick up a pebble and hurl it at him. The last thing we need is his sarcasm. Lives are at stake. “Who threw that?” he says, putting his hand to his forehead.

“I wish I had. Keep your trap shut for once, you dozy twit,” Maude says. “Me and Bruce know how to take care of the little ’uns and survive out here. And we got a map to help us find air. You go and save the world. Save Bea,” she says.

Song raises his hand. “We have no food, our air is low, and we have one gun between us. I’m not sure we’re in a position to be saving anyone.”

“All we have to do is warn them. Let’s try not to forget that there are thousands of lives at stake,” I say.

“And most of those people are auxiliaries. They’re your people,” Quinn adds.

“How can we warn the Ministry without getting killed?” Abel asks quietly, pretending this is the first he’s heard of Vanya’s plan. If I had time, I’d call him out on it because if Jo knew about it, so did he. But it isn’t worth wasting my breath.

“I’ll speak to my father,” Quinn says. “He’s on our side.”

“What if he isn’t? You saw what he did to The Grove. What if Bea’s wrong about him and Ronan Knavery?” Dorian asks.

“So maybe I’ll be arrested. But by then my father will know, and he has nothing to lose by being prepared.”

“I’ll go with Quinn,” I say. A baby lying in Maude’s arms squeals. She puts her knuckle in its mouth and it settles.

“I’ll go, too,” Silas says. “The rest of you help Maude and Bruce find the respirators and keep the others alive. You’ll have to carry two kids apiece.”

“Not a problem,” Song says.

“Then it’s settled,” Silas says. “Now let’s get some sleep. We’ll leave at first light.”

I drift toward the group of benefactors, looking for Lily, when Abel stops me. “The Ministry won’t welcome you. And what if Maks catches you before you get to the border?” I look deep into Abel’s eyes, wondering what it was I ever saw in him. He’s dangerously close to being a coward.

“Maks will make you pay,” Jo says. She has been quiet for most of the trip, but if there’s one thing she can speak to, it’s Maks’s vindictiveness.

“Not if I make him pay first,” I say. It’s bravado; I’m terrified. Taking a risk is all very well, but not when the odds are stacked so high against us. The rate things are going, we’ll all be dead in weeks.

And I can’t help feeling that I’m going to have a notable part to play in everyone’s destruction.

45 RONAN

After spending my second day helping Jude drill the soldiers at the gymnasium, I’m exhausted. I want to have some dinner and go and see Bea, but when I get home, Niamh is pacing the kitchen. Wendy, who is cooking dinner on the stove, shoots me a look I can’t translate as Niamh storms toward me. “Everything okay?” I ask.

“No, it is not.” Niamh has my pad in her hands, which she thrusts at me.

“Were you trying to contact me? I forgot it.” I look down. She’s managed to get into it. But what did she see? I haven’t been sending any incriminating messages or pinging anyone I shouldn’t. I’ve been very careful. “How did you open it?”

“Your password has been the same for years, Ronan. Picasso. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, why do you have a picture of Bea Whitcraft on your pad?”

I freeze. She’s right. At the station I took a photo of Bea, and she told me to delete it. Why didn’t I?

Wendy is stirring the pot furiously. “Anyone hungry?” she asks.

“Well?” Niamh says, prodding me.

I step back and open the photo application on the pad, then scroll through trying to look as nonchalant as possible. “That’s weird. Probably from school or something.”

Niamh snatches the pad from me and pulls up the picture. Bea’s fretful face is vaguely distinguishable—an orange sunset and ramshackle buildings behind her. “I checked the date and location. You took it when you were in The Outlands. Don’t bother lying. You met Bea?” I stare at Bea’s picture, not saying anything. If I look suitably