“Careful.” Ryce wraps an arm around my back. “I should have warned you about the uneven floor.”
My nose grazes his neck, and I can almost taste the salt on his skin. Heat flares across my cheeks, and my throat dries. Right now, I’m glad there’s no source of light in the tree.
“What is this place?” I whisper.
“The entrance to the Red Runner headquarters.”
Ryce takes my hand, and every knot of tension that has formed on my muscles unwinds. He guides me a few feet forward, then down a ladder and down an underground hallway, warning me that the passage is fraught with traps. I stay close for safety, but his steady presence at my side is intoxicating.
I’m not sure if we’re traveling away from Rugosa or toward it but eventually, lights flood the passageway, making me blink.
Ryce places a hand on a door screen that scans his print. The technology is alarmingly similar to the ignition used in solar jeeps. “She’s waiting for you in here.”
The door clicks open. A whirr of fans fill my ears, and the scent of stale coffee invades my nostrils. Ryce steps into what I can only describe as a monitoring station, a hexagonal room with two massive screens on each wall displaying footage from all sixteen towns within the Harvester region.
Six people wearing black clothes sit in the middle of the room at work stations that contain four monitors. My gaze lands on the screen flashing images from Rugosa Square, our street, and the cornfields, and of a truck arriving into our town. The young man observing them raises his head, and his entire lower jaw appears missing.
Shock flashes through my insides like lightning, and I clamp my lips together to hold back a gasp. Swallowing hard, I blank my reaction.
What is a Foundling doing in the Harvester region? I’m not complaining—I’m not, but the Guardians would never let someone who looked like him into Phangloria.
My throat dries, and I drop my gaze to the ground. There’s a special group of Guardians called midwives that don’t help women give birth. They assess babies’ viability based on a range of unexplained tests and criteria.
Three years ago, a young Harvester woman with a healthy child birthed a baby that required two midwife visits. Nobody knows what was wrong with the baby, but the entire family disappeared overnight.
“Zea-Mays Calico.” Carolina steps out from a doorway on my right.
Her features have hardened over the years. The unfairness of having a husband brutally killed and his murder dismissed can do that to a person.
As usual, guilt tightens my chest at the sight of Carolina. I hadn’t seen the guard’s face. I hadn’t been able to identify the monster who had slammed the butt of his rifle into Mr. Wintergreen’s head until it split open like a watermelon. Because I had been paralyzed with terror, there had been no justice.
Carolina places her hands on her hips, and her assessing gaze roves my form. “What did you do to that guard this afternoon?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the people watching the monitors turn, but my gaze fixes on Carolina. Pride straightens my posture, pulls my shoulders back, and lightens my chest.
I’m about to answer when Ryce rushes forward and tells his mother about the mandragon berries. My insides deflate a little at losing my chance to shine in front of the Red Runners’ leader, but it makes my heart swell that Ryce has listened so carefully to my account of today’s events.
Carolina nods throughout Ryce’s explanation, and I step back and watch. She paces up and down the room, firing questions at him, and seeming more like a general than a mother. It’s a stark contrast to how they interact in public.
In Red Runner meetings, Carolina is our fearless leader, the aggrieved widow. She wants to free Phangloria for the benefit of the Harvesters, the Foundlings, and those downtrodden by the Nobles. She always pauses to smile at Ryce, which softens the sharp edges to her personality, but today, she’s all business.
Finally, she turns to me, flicks her head to a doorway and strides in its direction. “Walk with me.”
I glance at Ryce, who sweeps his arm out in a gesture for me to follow his mother. Carolina disappears into another hexagonal room, which is larger than the floor space of my entire house. Floor-to-ceiling racks line the walls, each laden with rifles, handguns, grenades, and metallic disc-like weapons I can’t begin to describe.
My mouth drops open. “Where did you get these?”
Carolina doesn’t answer but stands with her hands behind her back and rocks forward on her heels. My shoulders deflate at the obvious question. Most members of the Red Runners already know that this armory is the culmination of over half a century of pilfering weapons.
My gaze fixes on a short-barreled machine gun positioned lengthwise mounted along one wall. With thick, twelve-inch-long magazines, it looks nothing like border guard rifles. I want to ask Carolina how she obtained such sophisticated firearms, but she wouldn’t answer.
“We have enough weapons here and in our other stores to arm a thousand Harvesters,” she says.
I suck in a breath through my teeth and nod, flattered that Carolina has brought me into her confidence. It’s hard to picture so many armed rebels, but there are easily that many people in Rugosa Square every day.
“Can the revolution happen soon?” I ask.
Ryce stands at my side and places a hand on my arm. The strobe light harshens his earnest features. “There are fifty thousand Guardians in Phangloria, and five-thousand of them operate within the Oasis.”
My spirits deflate. It would take an eternity for any kind of revolution that doesn’t result in massive Harvester deaths.
