“There’s a gun under Prince Kevon’s seat,” I say. “It rolled there when they told him to drop it.”
Berta’s brows draw together. “So?”
“I’m going to get it.”
She shakes her head. “It won’t work.”
“Because I’m a bumpkin who can’t handle a gun?” I snap.
“Don’t you think that rabble knew the prince dropped his weapon?” Berta snaps back. “Unless your prints are authorized, no automatic weapons will work for you.”
My heart sinks, and my shoulders droop. “Oh.”
“Any other bright ideas?” she snarls. “I can’t wait for the little Harvester girl to save the day.”
Irritation bristles across my skin. It’s partially because of Berta’s misplaced anger and partly because she’s right. Despite all the training I did with the Red Runners, I didn’t even manage to land a single blow. I turn to the front, where the vehicle moves up a slight gradient. It feels like we might soon resurface.
One of the Noble girls sitting across from Ingrid and Constance turns around at the same time. Tears streak her face, and the sleeve of her dress hangs in tatters. She dips her head and sniffles. A glance around to the back of the bus tells me that the other girls are faring about the same.
The only person not silently weeping is Ingrid, who sits in the front and folds her arms. I rub my chin. Is she just calm under pressure, or did Mouse say something to her as well? I shake off those thoughts. If she knew about the attack, she would never have gotten on the bus.
My gaze lands on the lights flashing on the women’s collars. If they’re linked to a device like a health monitor, maybe we have a chance. I twist around to face Berta, who rests her head against the window with her eyes closed.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“What?” she whispers back.
“Are there any sources of electricity on this bus?”
She glares at me out of the corner of her eye. “This isn’t a cross-country luxury stagecoach.”
“Answer the question,” I snap.
Berta blows out a long, weary breath, turns from the window, and her shoulders slump forward in the bored posture the twins make whenever they have to tidy up after themselves. She places her large hand on the armrest between our seats and flips up the cushion, revealing an electronic console. “These are for charging our portable Netfaces.”
“Do you have one?” I ask.
“Mine got confiscated before they press-ganged me onto the Princess Trials.” She leans down and frowns. “If you’re trying to send a message—”
“I need enough power to electrocute those women.”
Something flashes in her pale eyes. I hope it’s an idea and not a new way to tell me that nothing I suggest will work.
She taps a socket and whispers, “Gadget chargers aren’t like the refrigerators. They always use kinetic batteries that run on the engine’s movement. That way, it doesn’t drain any of the power that should go to the vehicle.”
“Can I take it out?”
Her brows lower into a deep V. “Tell me your plan first.”
I whisper an idea based on the assassination of Rafaela van Eyck. If I can overload whatever’s behind those flashing lights on our captives’ collars, I can disable them for long enough for us to run and get help.
Berta nods throughout my explanation. “Wait until they resurface the vehicle.”
“Why?” I whisper.
She points at the window into the darkness streaked by the occasional electric light. “Access to these underground passages are restricted. If we attack now, we’d never get through to the surface by ourselves. Once we’re out in the streets, we can make a run for it on foot.”
Berta raises her unadorned wrist, and I give her a sharp nod. Without the cuffs, it won’t be so easy to track us through the Oasis.
While Berta eases open the workings of the console with a hairpin, I tap my fingernails on the plastic armrest to disguise the sound of scratching. The slope we’re driving through becomes steeper, making me lean back into the seat. A clang of metal rings through my ears, and Berta curses under her breath. I lean forward and cough.
“Do you mind?” snaps the Noble girl from across the aisle. “No one wants your Foundling germs.”
The woman at the front twists around and fires a shot into the ceiling. “No talking!”
Screams fill the air, and the gun-woman yells at everyone to be quiet. I duck, expecting bits of debris to rain down on our heads, but the plastic remains intact. When I glance over my shoulder at Berta, the plastic casing from the console rests on her lap, and she pulls out a thick wire attached to a metal box.
“Is that it?” I lean close so I can hear her reply over the screams and shouts.
“One minute,” she hooks her fingernails under a plastic connector and yanks it off the cable, revealing two wires.
“How do I use the electricity?”
Berta flips a switch. “It’s live now, but the voltage is low. You won’t disable her unless you combine your attack with a few sucker punches.”
Light streams through the windows and fills the vehicle’s interior. We’re on a floodlit highway that stretches across what appears to be the foot of a mountain. I turn around to find a tall wall of electrical masts linked with tight rows of barbed wire.
“This isn’t the Oasis,” I mutter.
“We’ve just passed the wall that separates the Harvester region from the Barrens,” Berta moans. “This is the road that leads to the Great Wall’s north gate. They’re taking us out of Phangloria.”
Panic spasms through my chest. There’s toxic wasteland on the outside, wild men, and creatures mutated by radiation. The Great Wall filters the worst of the sandstorms, and its filters remove pollution from the air. We
