I felt like I’d been hit in the stomach. She was hallucinating. We didn’t have much time.
I tried to speak, but my words came out shaky. “Becky, we have to run.”
She nodded her head, her tears flowing again. “Don’t let him get me. I’m not a traitor.”
“I won’t.”
We stumbled forward through the forest. My tracks from earlier were completely obscured by the heavy snowfall, but I could smell the wood smoke, and in the growing light I could see the haze from chimneys in the distance.
“He’ll kill me,” Becky mumbled. “He was always worst to us. He said we knew better.”
“Isaiah’s not coming,” I told her. “Isaiah’s not in charge anymore.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“We left him back at the school, tied to a radiator.”
Becky stopped. “You did what?”
Her eyes were different now; her whole face was different. It was like I was looking at a different person.
Jane had promised they could help Becky. I had to trust them. I had no other choice.
Becky’s eyes were drooping, and I was carrying more of her weight now. “Can’t you hear Isaiah?”
I peered into the forest. “We’re almost there,” I said. I still couldn’t see the town, but it had to be close. She stumbled, and I tightened my grip around her waist.
I’d done this to her.
I’d done it to everyone. Isaiah had been right. He’d told me that I was playing a numbers game—that I didn’t care how many died, as long as I was one of the lucky ones who got out. I’d told him he was wrong. That we would all make it out. That if we left as a group they couldn’t stop us.
More than fifty had tried to escape, but only Becky and I made it. Some had died right there at the fence—I could still see the images of Oakland being shot in the chest, of Gabby lying on the ground in a pool of blood.
And they’d all gone to the fence because I talked them into it.
“Stop,” Becky said, and pulled away from me. “Stop it. Stop.” Her words were slurred, but for a moment her eyes focused on mine.
“We have to—”
She put her hand up. It looked like it took all the effort she could muster. “Listen.”
I could hear my own breathing, steady and low, and hers, rapid and shallow. I almost thought I could hear my own heartbeat, but that had to be in my head.
Her eyes popped open and she pointed, but I heard it now, too. The engine of a four-wheeler, somewhere in the distance, behind us.
“Damn it.” I dropped the tarp and picked Becky up in my arms. She buried her face in my chest as I hurried forward. I didn’t bother trying to hide my tracks. The only thing that could help us was to get as far away from that four-wheeler as possible, to hope that our path was covered by the storm.
The moment Becky lost consciousness was obvious. Her body went limp, one of her arms falling off my shoulder and hanging loosely down.
There was a flash of red up ahead, the faded paint of an old chicken coop.
“We’re almost there,” I whispered.
CHAPTER THREE
I stopped at the tree line, gasping for air. The town lay before us, silent and still in the rising light.
Jane stood in the doorway of the barn, just where I’d left her. It didn’t look like she’d seen us yet.
The Jane at the school had been pretty, with soft, creamy skin and perfect makeup. This Jane—the real, human Jane—was harder and stronger. If it was possible, she was thinner now, the softness of her arms replaced with the muscle of years of daily manual labor.
She was still beautiful. More so, maybe.
Two more people appeared at the barn door. The first was a stocky guy with a rough goatee and a shaved head. He couldn’t have been much older than me. He was arguing with Jane, gesturing fiercely.
The second, standing quietly beside them, was someone I couldn’t forget. Unlike Jane, Mouse looked exactly like her robot version. Tall, tan, brown hair. Gorgeous and dangerous. She stood quietly with arms folded, ignoring the others and staring out at the forest. The last time I’d seen Mouse she was lying on the ground, her robot chest impaled by a machete.
They didn’t seem to have any kind of uniform here. All three wore jeans and heavy work boots, but Jane had an apron on that fell to her knees and a thin cotton coat. Mouse was bundled in a leather jacket that was too big—her fingers didn’t reach the end of the sleeves. The guy didn’t even have a coat—just a thick long-sleeved shirt.
Mouse reached over and touched the guy’s arm, and then pointed to me.
I took another gulp of air, and jogged out of the trees toward them.
As I approached, Jane put a finger to her lips.
“Let’s get inside.”
I nodded.
Jane’s smile faded as she looked back at Becky. “Is she alive?”
“Yeah.”
Jane walked in front of me, trying to inspect Becky’s bandage while we moved.
“How bad is it?”
“I don’t know. She landed on a broken log, and a branch tore her arm up pretty bad. Lost a lot of blood. And I think it’s infected.”
I expected the guy to help me with Becky, but he didn’t even look at her.
“Are they following you?” he snapped.
“They’re out there,” I said, breathing heavily. “We could hear the four-wheelers. I don’t think they’ve found our trail, or they’d be here already.”
He swore and turned to Mouse. “Get the cows out and see if you can coax them into the woods to mess up the tracks.”
Mouse nodded and jogged back to the barn.
I watched Jane’s face as she fiddled with Becky, taking her pulse and feeling her head. She was acting like a paramedic, but I knew it was mostly an act. The robot Jane had been sixteen—this Jane looked maybe a year or two older. She wasn’t a doctor.
“How long has she been unconscious?” Jane said, looking up at me. Everything about her was different except those eyes—bright, vibrant green. I looked away.
“Just a few minutes,” I said. I felt a tear roll slowly down my cheek. With Becky in my arms, there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t even know what caused it—was it Becky? Jane? Was it that I’d accomplished nothing?
The guy pointed to my arm, his face cold and stern. “Roll up your sleeve.”
I paused for a minute, confused.
“Put her down,” he said, talking to me like I was an idiot.
I didn’t respond. We were in six inches of snow, and Becky was unconscious. I wasn’t going to lay her down.
“Do it,” he said, taking a step toward me.
“Let’s get inside.”
His voice was steady and firm. “Those four-wheelers are coming.”
Jane glanced up at me, and then at the guy. She didn’t say anything.
Carefully I knelt down, wishing I hadn’t left the tarp back in the woods. Jane’s eyes met mine, and she sat in the cold, wet snow, cradling Becky’s head.
When I stood back up, the guy was holding a box cutter. “Roll up your sleeve.”
I nodded. I’d expected this—he was going to cut me just like Jane had done to herself. They needed to make sure that we were real, too, and not some infiltrators from the school.