Prodigy (20 page)

What a perfectly rhetorical question. Behind Anden’s words is a certain loneliness.
I hadn’t thought about it before, but now I realize that I might be one of the only
people he’s ever talked freely with. I lean forward, nod, and wait for him to continue.

“The Republic was originally formed in the middle of the worst crisis North America—and
the world, for that matter—had ever seen,” he begins. “Floodwaters had destroyed America’s
eastern coastline, and millions of people from the east were pouring into the west.
There were far too many people for our states to take in. No jobs. No food, no shelter.
The country had lost its mind to fear and panic. Rioting was out of control. Protesters
were dragging soldiers, policemen, and peacekeepers out of their cars, then beating
them to death or setting them on fire. Every shop was looted, every window broken.”
He takes a deep breath. “The federal government tried their best to maintain order,
but one disaster after another made it impossible. They had no money to handle all
these crises. It became absolute anarchy.”

A time when the Republic had no control over its people? Impossible. I have a hard
time picturing it, until I realize that Anden might instead be referring to the government
of the old United States.

“Then our first Elector seized power. He was a young officer in the military, just
a few years older than I am now, and ambitious enough to win the support of unhappy
troops in the west. He declared the Republic a separate country, seceded from the
Union, and placed the west under martial law. Soldiers could fire at will, and after
seeing their comrades tortured and killed in the streets, they took every advantage
of their newfound power. It became
us versus them
—the military versus the people.” Anden looks down at his shiny loafers, as if ashamed.
“Many people were killed before the soldiers were able to win control of the Republic.”

I can’t help wondering what Metias would’ve thought of this. Or my parents. Would
they have approved? Would they have forced order out of chaos like that? “What about
the Colonies?” I ask. “Did they take advantage of all this?”

“The eastern half of North America was even worse off at the time. Half their land
was underwater. When the Republic’s first Elector sealed the borders, their people
had no place to go. So they declared war on us.” Anden straightens. “After all this,
the Elector vowed never to let the Republic fall that way again, so he and the Senate
gave the military an unprecedented level of power, which has lasted to this day. My
father and the Electors before him have made sure it stays that way.”

He shakes his head and rubs his face with his hands before continuing. “The Trials
were supposed to encourage hard work and athleticism, to produce more military-quality
people—and they did. But they were also used to weed out the weak—and the defiant.
And gradually, they were also used to control overpopulation.”

The weak and the defiant. I shiver. Day had fallen into the latter category. “So,
you know what happens to the children who fail the Trial?” I say. “It was done to
control the population?”

“Yes.” Anden winces even as he tries to explain it. “The Trials made sense in the
beginning. They were meant to entice the best and fittest to join the military. Over
time, they shifted to being offered in all schools. That wasn’t enough for my father,
though . . . he wanted only the best to survive. Anyone else was, frankly, considered
a waste of space and resources. My father always told me that the Trials were absolutely
necessary for the Republic to flourish. And he won a lot of support in the Senate
for making the examinations mandatory, especially after we started winning more battles
because of it.”

My hands are clasped so tightly in my lap that they’re starting to feel numb. “Well,
do you think your father’s policies worked?” I ask quietly.

Anden lowers his head. He searches for the right words. “How can I answer that? His
policies
did
work. The Trials
did
make our armies stronger. Does that make what he did
right,
though? I think about it all the time.”

I bite my lip, suddenly understanding the confusion Anden must feel, his love for
his father warring with his vision for the Republic. “What’s right is relative, isn’t
it?” I ask.

Anden nods. “In some ways, it doesn’t matter why it all started, or if it was ever
right. The thing is—over time, the laws evolved and twisted. Things changed. At first
the Trials weren’t given to children, and they didn’t favor the wealthy. The plagues . . .”
He hesitates at this, then shies away from the subject altogether. “The public is
angry, but the Senate is afraid to change things that might lead to them losing control
again. And to them, the Trials are a way to reinforce the Republic’s power.”

There’s a profound sadness in Anden’s face. I can sense the shame he feels for belonging
to such a legacy. “I’m sorry,” I say in a low voice. I feel a sudden urge to touch
his hand, to find a way to comfort him.

Anden’s lips tug upward into a hesitant smile. I can clearly see his desire, his dangerous
weakness, the way he longs for me. If I ever doubted it before, I know for certain
now. I quickly turn away, half hoping that gazing at a snowy landscape might bring
some of its coolness to my cheeks.

“Tell me,” he murmurs. “What would you do if you were me? What would your first action
be as the Elector of the Republic?”

I answer without hesitation. “Win over the people,” I say. “The Senate would have
no power over you if the public could threaten them with revolution. You need the
people at your back, and they need a leader.”

Anden leans back in his chair; some of the railcar’s warm lamplight catches against
his coat and outlines him in gold. Something in our conversation has inspired an idea
in him; maybe it’s an idea he had all along. “You’d make a good Senator, June,” he
says. “You’d be a good ally to your Elector—and the public loves you.”

My mind starts spinning. I
could
stay here in the Republic and help Anden. Become a Senator when I’m old enough. Get
my life back. Leave Day behind with the Patriots. I know how selfish this thinking
is, but I can’t stop myself.
What’s so wrong with being selfish, anyway?
I think bitterly. I could just tell Anden everything about the Patriots’ plans right
now—without caring whether word will get back to the Patriots or whether they’ll hurt
Day because of it—and return to living a wealthy, secure life as an elite government
worker. I could honor my brother’s memory by slowly changing the country from the
inside. Couldn’t I?

Horrible. I release this dark fantasy. The thought of leaving Day behind in such a
way, of betraying him so completely, of never wrapping my arms around him again, of
never ever seeing him again,
makes me clench my teeth in pain. I close my eyes for a second and remember his gentle,
calloused hands, his passionate ferocity. No, I could never do it. I know this with
such blinding certainty that it frightens me. After everything we’ve both sacrificed,
surely we deserve a life—or
something
—together after this is all over? Escaping to the Colonies, or rebuilding the Republic?
Anden wants Day’s help; we can all work together. How could I bear to turn away from
that light at the end of the tunnel?
I need to get back to him. I need to tell Day everything.

First things first. I try to formulate the best way to warn Anden now that we’re finally
alone. There’s not much I can safely say. Tell him too much and he might do something
that tips off the Patriots. Still, I decide to try my best. At the very least, I need
him to trust me without question. I need him behind me when I sabotage the Patriots’
detour.

“Do you believe in me?” This time I do brush his hand with my own.

Anden stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. His eyes search my face, perhaps wondering
what had gone through my mind when I closed my eyes. “Perhaps I should ask you the
same question,” he replies, a hesitant smile on his lips.

Both of us are speaking on two levels, referring to secrets shared. I nod at him,
hoping he’ll take my words seriously. “Then do what I say when we get to Pierra. Promise?
Everything I say.”

He tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement, then shrugs and nods yes.
He seems to understand that I’m trying to tell him something without saying it aloud.
When the time comes for the Patriots to act, I hope Anden remembers his promise.

ME, PASCAO, AND THE OTHER RUNNERS SPEND A full half day aboveground after the train
job, huddled in alleys or on top of abandoned roofs, dodging the soldiers that comb
the streets near the station. Not until the sun begins to set do we finally get a
chance to return, one by one, to the Patriots’ underground quarters. Neither Pascao
nor I bring up what happened by the train. Jordan, the shy Runner with the copper
braids, asks me twice if I’m okay. I just shrug her off.

Yeah, something’s wrong. Isn’t
that
the understatement of the year.

By the time we make our way back, everyone is getting ready to leave for Pierra—some
are destroying documents, while others are wiping the comps clean of data. Pascao’s
voice is a welcome distraction.

“Well done, Day,” he says. He’s sitting at a table against the shelter’s back wall.
He opens the side of his jacket, where he’s stashed dozens of packed grenades stolen
from the train. He carefully packs each one into a box stacked with empty egg crates.
He gestures up at a monitor on the far right of the back wall. It’s showing footage
from a large city square, where a group of people have crowded around something spray-painted
against the side of a building. “Check it out.”

I read what the people have painted on the wall.
Day lives!
is scrawled across the building at least three or four times. The onlookers are cheering—some
are even holding handmade signs with the same phrase written on them.

If my thoughts weren’t on Eden’s whereabouts or June’s cryptic signal or Tess, I would
be excited to see what I’ve stirred up.

“Thanks,” I reply, maybe a little too sharply. “Glad they liked our stunt.”

Pascao hums cheerfully under his breath, oblivious to my tone. “Go see if you can
help Jordan.”

As I make my way to the hall, I pass Tess. Baxter is walking beside her—it takes me
a second to realize that he’s trying to put an arm around her neck and murmur something
in her ear. Tess brushes him away when she sees me. I’m about to say something to
her when Baxter bumps me hard in the shoulder, hard enough to knock me back a couple
of steps and send the cap flying off my head. My hair tumbles down.

Baxter smirks at me, the black soldier stripe still obscuring most of his face. “Make
some room,” he snaps. “Think you own this place?”

I clench my teeth, but Tess’s wide eyes make me hold back.
He’s harmless,
I tell myself. “Just get the hell out of my way,” I reply stiffly, turning away.

Behind me I hear Baxter mutter something under his breath. It’s enough to make me
stop and face him again. My eyes narrow. “Say that again.”

He grins, shoves his hands into his pockets, and lifts his chin. “I
said,
jealous that your girl’s whoring around with the Elector?”

I’m almost able to swallow that. Almost. But at that moment, Tess breaks her silence
and shoves Baxter with both hands. “Hey,” she says. “Leave him alone, all right? He’s
had a rough night.”

Baxter grunts something in irritation. Then he shoves Tess unceremoniously back. “
You’re
an idiot for believing in this Republic lover, little girl.”

My rage explodes. I’ve never been fond of fistfights—I always tried to steer clear
of them on the streets of Lake. But all the anger that’s been building inside me floods
my veins when I see Baxter lay hands on Tess.

I lunge forward and punch him in the jaw as hard as I can.

He crashes into one of the tables and onto the ground. Instantly the others nearby
burst into whoops and hollers, forming a makeshift circle around the two of us. Before
Baxter can get to his feet, I leap on him. My fist connects twice with his face.

He lets out a snarl. Suddenly his weight advantage takes over. He pushes me hard enough
to send me flying into the side of a comp desk, then pulls me up, grabs my jacket,
and slams me against the wall. He lifts me clear off my feet, then drops me and smashes
his fist into my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. “You ain’t one of us. You’re
one of
them,
” he hisses. “Did you detour from our train mission on purpose?” I feel a knee ram
into my side. “Well, I’m gonna kill you, you dirty damn trot. I’m gonna skin you alive.”

I’m too furious to feel the pain. I manage to tuck one of my legs up, then kick him
in the chest as hard as I can. From the corner of my eye I notice some Patriots quickly
exchanging bets. An improvised Skiz duel. For an instant Baxter reminds me of Thomas,
and suddenly all I see is my old street in Lake, with Thomas pointing his gun at my
mother and soldiers dragging John away into a waiting jeep. Strapping Eden into that
lab gurney. Arresting June. Hurting Tess. The edges of my vision turn scarlet. I lunge
for him again and swing at his face.

But Baxter’s ready for me. He knocks my arm out of the way and throws his full weight
against me. My back slams down hard on the ground. Baxter grins, then grabs my neck
and gets ready to shove his fist into the side of my face.

Abruptly he lets go. I suck in a deep breath as his weight leaves my chest, then clutch
my head as one of my headaches erupts in full-scale agony. Somewhere above me I can
hear Tess, then Pascao shouting at Baxter to back off. Everyone’s talking at once.
One . . . Two . . . Three . . .
I count off numbers in my head, hoping this little exercise distracts me from the
pain. It used to be so much easier to ward off these headaches. Maybe Baxter had hit
me in the head and I don’t even know it.

“Are you okay?” Now Tess’s hands are on my arm and pulling me to my feet.

I’m still dizzy with pain from my headache, but the rage has passed. Abruptly I’m
aware of the burning soreness in my side. “Fine,” I reply hoarsely, inspecting her
face. “Did he hurt you?” Baxter is glaring at me from where Pascao’s trying to talk
him down. Already the others around us have returned to their business, probably disappointed
that the fight didn’t last longer. I wonder who they’ve decided the winner is.

“I’m okay,” Tess says. She runs a hand hurriedly through her bobbed hair. “Don’t worry.”

“Tess!” Pascao calls out to us. “See if Day needs any patching up. We’re on a schedule
here.”

Tess leads me down the hall and away from the common room. We walk into one of the
bunker rooms that’s been turned into a makeshift hospital, then shut the door. We’re
surrounded by shelves piled high with an assortment of pill bottles and boxes of bandages.
A table sits in the middle of the room, leaving only a narrow space to walk around.
Now I lean against the table as Tess rolls up her sleeves. “Do you hurt anywhere?”
she asks.

“I’m fine,” I repeat. But the moment I say that, I wince and clutch at my side. “Okay,
maybe a little banged up.”

“Let me see,” Tess says firmly. She bats my hand aside, then unbuttons my shirt. It’s
not like Tess has never seen me shirtless (I’ve lost count of how many times she’s
had to patch me up), but now there’s an awkwardness that hangs heavily between us.
Her cheeks burn bright pink as she runs her hand across my chest, along my stomach,
then presses her fingers against my sides.

I inhale sharply when she touches a sensitive spot. “Yeah, that’s where his knee got
me.”

Tess studies my face. “Feel nauseous?”

“No.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says as she works. “Say ‘ah.’” I open my mouth
for her. She touches a tissue to my nose, inspects both my ears, and then hurries
out for a moment. She comes back with an ice pack. “Here. Hold this on the spot.”

I do what she tells me. “You’ve become very professional.”

“I’ve learned a lot from the Patriots,” Tess replies. When she stops inspecting my
chest long enough to face me, she holds my gaze with her own. “Baxter just doesn’t
like your . . . attraction to a former Republic soldier,” she mutters. “But don’t
let him get to you like that, okay? No point in getting yourself killed.”

I remember Baxter’s arm around Tess’s neck; my temper flares again, and suddenly I
feel a need to guard Tess the way I did back on the streets. “Hey, cousin,” I say
softly. “I’m really sorry about what I said to you. About . . . you know.”

Tess’s blush deepens.

I struggle to find the right words. “You don’t need me to take care of you,” I say
with an embarrassed laugh, then tap her nose once. “I mean, you’ve probably fussed
over me a thousand times. I’ve always needed your help more than you’ve needed mine.”

Tess draws closer and lowers her eyes shyly, a gesture that helps me forget my troubles.
Sometimes I forget how nice Tess’s steady devotion is, a rock I could always lean
on during the worst of times. Even though our days in Lake were a struggle, right
now they seem so much simpler. I catch myself wishing we could go back to that, sharing
scraps of food and whatever else we could scrounge up. If June were here, what would’ve
happened? She probably would’ve attacked Baxter herself. And she probably would’ve
done a hell of a better job than I did, just like everything else. She wouldn’t have
needed me at all.

Tess’s hand lingers on my chest, but she’s not checking for bruises anymore. I become
aware of how close she is. Her eyes wander back up to mine, large and liquid brown . . .
and unlike June’s, so easy to read. The image of June kissing the Elector pops into
my mind again, a recollection that twists in my stomach like a knife. Before I can
think about anything else, Tess leans forward and presses her lips against mine. My
mind is blank, completely taken aback. A brief tingle runs through me.

In my numbness, I let her linger.

Then I wrench away. My palms break out in a cold sweat. What was
that
? I should have seen this coming and stopped myself right away. I put my hands on
her shoulders. When I see the hurt pass across her eyes, I realize just how big of
a mistake I’ve made.

“I can’t, Tess.”

Tess blows out an irritated breath. “What, are you married to June now?”

“No. I just . . .” My words flitter away, sad and powerless. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t
have done that—at least, not now.”

“What about the fact that
June
is kissing
the Elector
? What about that? Are you really going to be so loyal to someone you don’t even have?”

June, always June. I hate her for a moment, and wonder if everything would’ve been
better if we’d never met. “This isn’t about June,” I say. “June is playing a role,
Tess.” I edge away from Tess until we’re separated by a good foot. “I’m not ready
for this to happen between us. You’re my best friend—I don’t want to mislead you when
I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

Tess throws up her hands in indignation. “You kiss random girls on the street without
a second thought. But you won’t even—”

“You’re not a random girl on the street,” I snap. “You’re
Tess.
”

Her eyes flash at me and she takes her frustration out on her lip, biting it so hard
that she draws blood. “I don’t understand you, Day.” Each word hits me with measured
force. “I don’t understand you at all, but I’m going to try to help you anyway. Can
you really not see how your precious June has changed your life?”

I shut my eyes and press both hands against my temples. “Stop.”

“You think you’re in love with a girl you’ve known for less than a month, a girl who—who’s
responsible for
your mother’s death
? For
John’s
?”

Echoes of what she’d said to me in the bunker room. “Damn it, Tess. It wasn’t her
fault—”

“Wasn’t it?”
Tess spits out. “Day,
they shot your mother because of June
! But you act like you love
her
? I’ve done nothing but
help
you—I have been at your side ever since the day we met. You think I’m being childish?
Well, I don’t care. I’ve never said a word about the other girls you’ve been with,
but I can’t bear to watch you choose a girl who has done nothing but
hurt
you. Has June even apologized to you for what happened, has she had to work for your
forgiveness? What’s the matter with you?” At my silence, she puts her hand on my arm.
“Well, do you love her?” she says more quietly. “Does she love
you
?”

Love
her? I’d told her so in that Vegas bathroom, and I’d meant it.
But she didn’t say it back, yeah?
Maybe she never felt the same way—maybe I’m just deluding myself. “I don’t know,
okay?” I reply. My words sound angrier than I actually am.

Tess is trembling. Now she nods, silently takes the ice pack from my side, and buttons
my shirt back up. The chasm between us widens. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to reach
the other side again. “You should be fine,” she says in a monotone as she turns her
back on me. She stops in front of the door, her back to me. “Trust me, Day. I’m saying
this for your sake. June
will
break your heart. I can see it already. She’ll shatter you into a million pieces.”