“Lydia?” Dr. Bentley shakes my arm. “You look like you’re going into shock.” All I want is to curl up in a ball like my grandfather did in his cell, rocking back and forth and trying to forget what just happened. But I can’t. I won’t let Wes’s sacrifice be for nothing. We came here to stop the Project, and it’s not over yet.
“The children.” I lift my face, tear-stained and covered in soot, to look up at Dr. Bentley. “We have to get the children out.”
“What are you talking about, Lydia?” he asks. “Let me fix your arm.”
“The navy. Call the navy and ask for help. Not the army. I don’t know how much they know. We have to get people in there before they cover everything up.”
“Lydia—”
“Just do it!” I scream. A few more soldiers in black tumble out of the bunker. One is clutching his shoulder, another has blood dripping from his forehead. They melt into the crowd, ignoring the doctors who hover around them.
Dr. Bentley releases my arm and stands up again, his face creased with worry. “Please, Lydia, let me look at your arm, and then I’ll do what you want.”
“No.” I force myself to stand too. My legs feel like water, but I have to do this for Wes. There will be time to fall apart later. “If I stop now I won’t start again. My arm can wait. We have to save the children.”
I go with Dr. Bentley while he radios the naval base. The blue jeeps arrive in ten minutes, bringing dozens of soldiers. A fire truck emerges from the trees, cutting a path through the dense woods. Men climb down off it, dressed in thick suits, carrying a large hose. They disappear into the smoke.
Dr. Bentley and the other doctors organize a makeshift hospital near the edge of the woods, and I help them set up cots and lay out sterile bandages, though most of the Project’s guards and soldiers dissolve into the crowd instead of visit. A few scientists sit on the ground nearby, coughing and pressing their hands to their foreheads. I see Dr. Bentley eyeing my arm, my face, the low, defeated set of my shoulders, with concern. But I ignore him. Wes is gone, and I do not have the time to stop and think about it. I don’t want to think. I want to keep going, to never stop, to never acknowledge what happened in that room filled with flames, the TM as gnarled and broken as Wes’s body must be.
The sky has turned hazy from the smoke that seeps out of the ground in black waves. The Facility is large, and these explosions have only wiped out the TM chamber. There are still so many corridors down there, crawling with scientists and soldiers.
Some of the soldiers from the navy follow the firemen down into the smoking bunker. But they need to find the children, and I’m the only one who knows how to get there. I approach a group of soldiers and say, “I know another way in. We have to hurry.”
One of the soldiers looks at me skeptically. “You’re just a girl. And you’re hurt.”
“I said, I know another way in. There are children in there, and they need our help. Follow me.” My voice is stern enough, cutting enough that a few of them exchange glances. An officer steps forward, his expression dark.
“Show us where,” he says.
I lead them to one of the nearby bunkers. It is deeper in the woods, more hidden in the trees, but the concrete doors are wide-open. When we get closer, I see that the secret door in the back is open too, left askew as soldiers and scientists fought to escape the blasts.
“It’s down there.” I point into the darkness. “Follow the corridor, then take a right, a left, a right—”
The officer holds up his hands. “You said you were going to show us, and that there’s not much time. We’ll follow you. Lead the way.”
I hesitate at the top of the stairs. Wes died down there, and now I have to go in again, smelling smoke on top of the bleach and the battery acid. But I can’t give up now, not when the children are still inside.
I lead the navy men down the dark staircase, ignoring their gasps as they see the white corridors for the first time. It is darker than normal down here, the black smoke thick, but I do not falter, keeping my head low as I bring them directly to where the children are kept. A few guards from the Facility run past, ignoring us as they speed toward the exits.
The firemen have already found the room, thankfully, and they are carrying the children out one by one. A tall man passes me, and the girl in his arms blinks as our eyes meet. Her head is shaved, her arms are limp, but her mouth is curved up the smallest bit, making me think she’s not completely lost.
Wes was like her once, though no one ever came to save him. I shove the thought away. Being in the Facility is like being inside his tomb.
The navy men are silent and grim as they wade into the group of children. They each carefully pick up a child. Only about ten remain in this large room, and already more firemen are coming back for them. These small recruits are like dolls, expressionless as they are lifted into different arms.
I lead the soldiers out again, knowing that I do not have the strength to carry one of the kids. I barely have the strength to carry myself, but I will keep going until this is over.
Outside I take a long, slow breath. The soldiers and kids around me are coughing in the fresh air. We were being suffocated by smoke in there, but I didn’t even notice.
I follow the soldiers back to the nearby
