I should have said that, but Birdman was looking at me over her shoulder, derision in his eyes. All I wanted to do was fight.
I took a step to get around Becky, and Birdman shoved her toward me.
She screamed, first from fear and then from pain as I caught her, and her injured arm slammed into my chest.
“You can go to hell,” I shouted over her shoulder, cradling her shaking body. She gasped, gulping at the air as she fought the pain.
He turned away. “Back to business.”
Birdman slumped down into his chair and gestured toward the door. Harvard hurried away.
“Mouse,” Birdman ordered, tossing her a roll of cloth that had been lying beside his chair. “Tell the man what he’s won.”
Isaiah stood alone against the wall. Jane was gone—slipped out of the room when I wasn’t watching. Shelly was gone, too.
Mouse smiled and took a long breath. Whatever she was about to say, she took great pleasure in it. The cloth was laid out on her lap, but she wasn’t reading from it. She knew what was there without looking.
“Isaiah. You ran the Society for a year. Before that, you led the most brutal gang at the school.”
“I—”
“Shut up and listen,” Birdman whispered, sharp and cold.
“We know about four murders,” Mouse continued. “Three during the war, and Jane.”
“Jane didn’t die,” Isaiah said. “She was a robot.”
Birdman leaned forward, but his voice was steady and controlled. “Shut your damn mouth or I’m going to rip your tongue out.”
“She didn’t …” Isaiah’s voice trailed off.
Mouse continued, tapping the cloth. “Four that we know of, but several murders weren’t accounted for. There are also those you sent to detention.”
She paused, like she was waiting for him to protest, but he didn’t. He could feel what was coming.
I was worried that I knew what was coming. They couldn’t do this.
Mouse smiled at him—a twisted, evil smile, like she was slowly pulling the wings off a fly. “Do you need me to give you that number, or do you remember them?”
Isaiah’s face was totally white now, and he looked younger than he was, and thin and fragile. He wasn’t arguing; he was pleading. “What was I supposed to do? We had the security contract.”
Birdman laughed.
“Eight,” Mouse said. “You sent eight to detention.”
“But they got sent here, right? They didn’t die in detention.”
Harvard reappeared at the door. “They don’t all die, no,” he said. “Only two of them did. They must have fought back, or the implant didn’t take, or—”
Mouse sneered. “You didn’t have any idea what happened in detention, and you didn’t care—death, torture, whatever. You just did what Maxfield told you to do.”
Birdman motioned for them both to be quiet, and then he stood.
“Isaiah,” he said. “I’m not you. I don’t lead a gang. I’m not working for the school, and I don’t have any contracts to fill. Instead, I run this fort, and I keep my people safe.”
Tears began to flow down Isaiah’s face. “Just let me go.”
Mouse laughed again, and Birdman smiled. “That’s actually exactly what I had in mind.”
Becky shuddered. We couldn’t do anything but watch.
“So,” Birdman said, motioning to Harvard. “You can live down at the Greens, and I’ll see you in the commissary, and we can tell stories about the good old days.”
Isaiah almost looked like he believed it.
“Even better,” Birdman said, looking toward the door. “I have a peace offering.” A few more people started filing into the room. I knew two of them. Walnut and Jelly.
Oh, no.
Isaiah began to convulse, sobbing loudly and falling to his knees.
“I’ve arranged an escort for you,” Birdman said.
Walnut and Jelly had been sent to detention. I’d watched Walnut dragged on his back down the floor of the school, Isaiah leading the procession of attackers. The six of them standing in the room looked like they were eager for payback.
“You can’t do this,” I said.
“Do what?” Birdman asked innocently.
People at the windows began shouting, some calling for Isaiah’s blood and others screaming for mercy.
“Mouse,” I said. “Aren’t you better than this?”
She smiled and raised her hands. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Come on,” I protested. “Walnut—you can’t.”
He stared back at me from across the room. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.
“Isaiah,” Becky said, tears on her face. “I’m sorry.”
He looked at her. There was no snide comment. No “I hope you’re happy.” No accusations of hypocrisy. Only fear.
Walnut stepped forward, one of the hammers from the work site tight in his fist. He stared down at Isaiah.
“You gonna walk, or do we need to carry you?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Becky and I were the only ones left in the room, and neither of us spoke. Screams and laughter echoed around the heavy adobe walls, and arms reached through the narrow windows as those outside fought to get in. Mouse and Harvard had taken the lanterns with them when they’d gone, leaving the two of us in darkness.
I didn’t want to go outside. I couldn’t stop them, and I didn’t want to watch anyone—even Isaiah—being beaten to death.
Becky’s jaw was clamped shut, her teeth gritted against the pain in her arm.
Someone called from a window, “Open the fort! They’re killing him.”
“There’s nothing I can do,” I said, too quiet for them to hear. There were too many of them. They were armed.
“Benson!” another voice shouted. “Help him!”
“I can’t!” I shouted, standing up now. “There’s nothing I can do.”
Something clattered across the floor. It was too dark to see what.
Becky grabbed my leg, and I crouched back down next to her. Blood was oozing through her shirt. Her arm had been healing rapidly, but her fall had reinjured the muscle.
She fought against the pain. “We have to try.”
“No.”
Something else was flung into the room, smacking into the far adobe wall and knocking plaster to the floor.
I put my arm around her shoulders to coax her up, but Becky didn’t budge. It wasn’t stubbornness—it was pain.
“Come on,” I said.
“I’m okay,” she said, more to herself than to me. “I’ll be okay.”
The noise at the windows subsided for a moment, and then I heard the yells and grunts of a fight. The entire town had exploded. Those still loyal to the Society were fighting to save Isaiah, while those who had hated him were eager to see justice done. And some, it seemed, were just going crazy—settling old scores and letting the madness of the mob sweep over them.
Something crashed into the fort wall, shattering.
“We have to go,” I said, pulling Becky’s good arm over my shoulders and lifting her to her feet. She didn’t fight it this time. I helped her put her oversize coat back on.