“As big as the botanical gardens?” Berta croaks.
The series of domes that surround the Oasis? I’m too tired to ask, but I’ve already worked out that we could be here for days if our bodies don’t give out first.
Our surroundings are more desertlike with acres of sun-bleached earth, and the occasional fluorescent-green pool edged with white salt crystals. My dry throat rasps for me to dip my fingers into the water for a taste, but Berta warns me that the saltwater will worsen my dehydration.
My ears ring from the gun, but the clomp of our boots over the grit breaks up the sound. I can’t keep up with Berta’s longer paces, so she slings Gemini on her back.
Later, Gemini’s headband hisses again and releases green gas.
“No,” I groan.
Berta lowers Gemini to the ground. “What the hell was that?”
A dark mass approaches from the sky. Without a word, I drop the backpack and rush toward the girl on the ground. Berta snatches the bag and sprints ahead with a new burst of energy. I hope she’s getting a head start to find something in the backpack, but based on recent events, she’s probably just saving her own hide.
Not wanting to wait, I gather Gemini in my arms and break into a stumbling jog. My steps crumble salt crystals underfoot, but a sound other than the whirr of camera drones fills my ears.
I’ve heard this sound before in documentaries about creatures that used to plague the earth. It’s the rattle and rustle and roar of tiny wings. Wings of creatures supposed to be extinct. The darkness dissipates into thousands of little blots—locusts—only with bodies as long as my hand encased in sand-colored carapaces.
“Shoo!” I wave an arm, but they keep coming.
The lining of my stomach shudders with trepidation. Locusts eat crops and vegetation, but what happens if they land on someone who smells like food?
The giant locusts surround us. Some of them get caught in the mechanism of the drones, causing them to clatter onto the ground. Any cold satisfaction I might feel from their destruction is wiped out by the sensations of stick-like limbs landing on my face.
I scream through gritted teeth. The sound is guttural and vibrates through my insides. A mix of fear and disgust propels me forward, and I grip Gemini tighter and run through the swarm.
Her headband hisses again, and despair washes through my insides. Tears stream down my cheeks as I run, only to evaporate in the heat. They want me to abandon Gemini, to save myself while those wretched locust things either sting or eat her flesh. I lower my head and stumble forward through the swarm.
A roaring bellow snaps me out of my trance, and I raise my head to find Berta running toward us brandishing some sort of flame-thrower. A scream tears from my lips, the flying fiends scatter into the sky, and Berta doubles over and pants with exhaustion.
“That was fun,” she mutters. “I haven’t played with one of those in years.”
I want to ask her why she helped us, but I’m too tired to speak.
When she rises, Berta takes Gemini off my back, slings the unconscious girl over her shoulder, and marches ahead. “I’ve found shelter.”
Shelter takes the form of a five-foot-tall hollow in the rock slope. It’s open but shaded from the sun with the air a little more humid than outside. There’s enough space to stretch out my legs if I sit with my back against the rock wall, and the break from the oppressive heat and attacking creatures makes every muscle in my body relax.
Berta props Gemini against the wall, but the smaller girl soon rolls over to my side.
“Thanks for coming back for us.” I murmur as she sits on the far side of the shelter.
“Don’t say that like I’m a heartless monster.”
My shoulders slump. Everything with Berta is either an attack or a defense. I don’t know what her life was like before, but I’m getting the impression she isn’t good at making friends.
“I wasn’t executing Pixel, for your information,” she mutters.
“Alright.” I lean forward to shake the dust and grime out of my hair.
Berta doesn’t say anything for a while, and I’m too busy trying to examine Gemini for injuries to check on the larger girl. These past hours have been horrific, and I don’t know how team-building exercises in hostile conditions can be entertaining.
Even though the locust attacks destroyed the drones, I’m sure the metal bands on our heads contain cameras. The membranes in my throat stick together, and I wish that awful cassowary hadn’t trampled over our last source of water.
“My grandmother was executed,” Berta says.
“What?” My head snaps up.
Berta’s lips thin. “Miranda Swab, a woman who performed surgery on Foundling babies to make them eligible for Genetic Acceptability Tests.”
That’s what Mom had to undergo to qualify to become a Harvester. “I thought all Foundlings could take the test if they wanted.”
“Not if they possess features that make them look less than perfect.”
I tilt my head to the side and picture the jawless man I saw in Carolina’s underground hideout.
Berta rolls her eyes. “A genetically perfect child with the tiniest of defects won’t get a chance. Instead of fixing wrinkles and straightening the noses of her benefactors at the Oasis, Miranda Swab used valuable resources to undermine the very system that makes Phangloria great.”
Her words sound rehearsed, as though she’s said them over and over to separate herself from the actions of her grandmother. I wrap my arms around my bent legs and rest my chin on my knees. “What happened to her?”
“A televised execution by firing squad. It’s now part of the medical ethics curriculum.” Berta shakes her head. “My cousins still get asked about their traitor grandmother, and few want to associate with a tainted name. Mother was a Swab, but she’s lucky to be so pretty.”
My brows draw together as I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“You know what men are like.” Berta raises her brows and gives me
