The Watch (The Red Series Book 1) (23 page)

Her hands were shaking. The mist swirled around her like a
living thing. She held the gun in front of her, pointed down at the ground, and
it wobbled in her grasp. Her face, always so cheerful and calm, was agonized.

I couldn’t just stand there and watch this.

Ignoring
Ezzie’s
protest, I
started around the curve of the tower base, toward the circle, toward Farrell
Dean. I would die, I knew I would die, but at least my death would be a
protest—

Someone grabbed my arm, hard, and spun me around, knocking
my shoulder roughly against the prison wall so that pain ran through me like an
electric shock. It was Cline. His expression was grim and freckles stood out
sharply against the unnatural pallor of his face. He started to say something
but the Voice drowned out his words.

“And now the countdown will begin,” it said.

Cline bent and pressed his mouth against my ear. “
Meritt’s
going to create a diversion,” he said. “Get to
Farrell Dean, get him away. He won’t want to go but he might do it for you.”

His mother. He wouldn’t want to leave his mother.

The Voice was counting. Five. Four.

“I’ll get her,” Cline said. “Tell him that. Tell him I’ll
get Alice.”

Three. Two.

As the Voice said one, the lights went out.

We sprang into action. I rushed straight to Farrell Dean,
thankful I’d been focused on him, could find him even in the dark. As I reached
him I felt
Ezzie
and Cline shove past, sensed them
begin to struggle—with wardens, with the other victims, I didn’t know.
All around us people were shoving, yelling. A woman screamed.

“This way,” I said to Farrell Dean, pressing my mouth to his
ear to be heard over the uproar, pulling at him frantically. My eyes were
adjusting to the darkness but that meant other people’s eyes were adjusting as
well, meant wardens, the snipers, might begin firing at any second. But Farrell
Dean was immovable as stone, too heavy for me to budge.

“They’ll kill her!” he said, pulling roughly away from my
grasp. Over his shoulder the mass of bodies separated briefly, shifted.

“Cline has her,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Farrell Dean looked at me once, intently, and then it was as
if he suddenly saw me and knew me. “I promise,” I said. “Cline has her. He’ll
take care of her.” And then Farrell Dean was helping me fight our way
through the panicked crowd.

Miraculously we made it out of the chaos and past the
watchtower, into the silent streets. Even the electric blue lights were out,
and it was very dark. Behind us the uproar continued unabated.

Cautiously we made it past the cafeteria, past the girls’
dormitories, running blind in the darkness,
moving as
swiftly as we dared, holding to each other’s sleeves, hands, stumbling now and
then but never falling. I
was glad I knew the streets so well, glad I
had explored them with
Meritt
so many nights.

We had made it to the edge of the meadow where the beehives
stood when behind us the blue streetlights flickered, came on. I risked a
backwards glance; the watchtower spotlight was back as well, stretching its
white probing finger north, sweeping counterclockwise, towards us.

“Hurry,” I said, pulling at Farrell Dean’s sleeve, but there
was nowhere to hide. In a heartbeat the spotlight was washing us in its
relentless white light, illuminating every inch of the meadow, every hive,
every stone. I hoped no one was watching—surely their attention would be
on the circle, on the chaos there.

As the light passed on, leaving the darkness blacker than
before, Farrell Dean staggered. I caught his arm to keep him from falling, and
as he regained his balance I felt him take a deep wincing breath.

“It’s not much further,” I said. “We just have
to make it to the woods.”

The heavy clouds parted, showing bright stars,
and in their light he turned a startled face toward me.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve been there, I’ve met
someone—the head Guardian—and he’s going to help us.”

Farrell Dean shut his eyes briefly. When he
opened them he looked at me, not like Cline had done, as if I might be crazy or
lying, but as if I’d said something perfectly sensible.

“Let’s go,” he said.

We had to go more
slowly through the meadow, avoiding the hives, feeling for each step in the
darkness that felt darker every time the stars shone and then vanished again.

Farrell Dean was breathing shallowly,
cautiously, as if every inhalation hurt. I could only guess at the extent of
his injuries. Broken ribs? Weakness from loss of blood? I couldn’t imagine what
it must have taken for him to move as fast as he had through the city streets.

What would I do if he fell? He must outweigh me by sixty or
seventy pounds. I wasn’t strong enough to carry him, probably couldn’t even get
him back on his feet if he went down. I found myself
talking
in my mind to the First Star—yes, I know, stars are burning balls of gas.
But I talked to the First Star anyway, telling it I knew it was back there
somewhere behind the clouds, begging it to keep Farrell Dean going, to keep him
on his feet until we reached safety.

In the orchard the trees were twisted shadows, hardly
visible through
the darkness and shroud of mist. Even
the spotlight couldn’t reach cleanly through their tangled forms
. Eventually
the waning moon would show, unless the clouds covered it, and walking would be
easier, but we’d also be more exposed. By then, I hoped, we’d be safely with
Sir Tom.

When we neared the gap in the wall I stopped. “We’ll wait
for the others here,” I said, not wanting to leave the camouflaging shadows of
the
apples trees. If Sir Tom wasn’t out there yet, I
didn’t want to cross the wasteland vulnerable and exposed and with an injured
man to protect.

“Try to rest,” I said, and Farrell Dean
carefully lowered himself to the ground and sat, unsupported, because his back
couldn’t bear leaning against a tree
.

I wanted to ask him about what had happened to him in the
prison—I wanted to know how many times they’d lashed him, and whether his
wounds had been treated in any way, and what questions they’d asked him, but
all of that would only make him focus on the pain.

“How long have you known about Alice?” I said instead.

Beside me, in the darkness, Farrell Dean shifted. “A long
time,” he said. “She told me as soon as I was old enough to keep a secret.”

“Cline knew, too.” It came out sounding petulant, which
surprised me, but come to think of it, I was a little peeved. Apparently lots
of people had been keeping secrets from me.

“He figured it out,” Farrell Dean said.

A muffled noise made us both go very still. “That must be
the others,” I whispered. Surely it was, but it wouldn’t do to get careless
now.

Farrell Dean began, slowly and painfully, to get to his
feet.

I put a hand on his arm. “Stay here,” I whispered. “I’ll go
check it out.”

After a heartbeat he made a resigned gesture.

“I’ll be careful,” I said, before he could tell me to, and I
began picking my way through the twisted trees toward the sound, but veering to
the left of it, flanking it. As I drew closer and slowed to a walk I could tell
that someone was moving through the orchard—more than one someone.

I crept closer, until I saw movement among the shadowy
trunks of the apple trees. Whoever it was came carefully, trying to be quiet,
but the darkness and the trees made it hard. As they drew nearer I heard a
murmur—a female voice.

Only when they were almost to me did I see that their
clothes were gray, not the black of wardens. Then, finally, I recognized them.
It was Joe and Harding—the ones Cline had chosen—and with them,
Shawna and Liza.

Trying not to startle them, I called out softly.

Shawna and Liza hurried to me, exclaiming quietly, asking
questions; Joe and Harding hung back. A look passed between them that I
couldn’t read, but guessed it had to do with the presence of the girls.

Sure enough, Joe—dark haired and slight, not tall, but
known for being tough and quick with his fists—tilted his head
apologetically. “Followed us,” he said shortly. “Our fault.”

Harding nodded grimly. He was a big sandy-haired guy—not
as big as Cline, but in that range, and strong. “We started to send them back,”
he said. “But then we figured, the city’s gotten as bad as the woods these
days.” He glanced at Shawna, who smiled sheepishly at me, and suddenly I
understood.

Liza shook her frizzy hair out of her face and spoke, her
voice, as ever, practical and brisk. “You need us. You know you do,” she said.
“Listen, we’d best not hang around here. It’s pretty chaotic back there but
someone still could have seen us go.”

And so I led them to where Farrell Dean waited. When we
reached him Harding and Joe huddled in close, muttering under their breath, and
he nodded and replied equally quietly. Shawna and Liza stayed with me.

I glanced at Shawna out of the corner of my eye; I’d been so
busy being glad she was keeping my secret that it hadn’t even occurred to me to
wonder whether she had a secret of her own. Had she slipped out at night, after
I did? Was she that sly? The thought made me nervous for a moment, but then I
decided that in this situation, slyness was all for the best. More power to
her.

Something about the way Liza held herself told me she and
Joe were not a couple; she was self-contained, somehow, while Shawna kept
glancing Harding’s way. And when Joe left Farrell Dean and came over to me, she
didn’t seem gravitationally drawn to him, the way I knew I was with
Meritt
.

“Where’s this friendly Guardian?” Joe asked.

I nodded toward the woods.

“Does he have a place, a house or something? Someplace safe?
Because Farrell Dean’s in no fit state to go much further.”

I’d been trying not to think about that. The place I knew
about—the cave by the sea—was a long way away. I didn’t think
Farrell Dean could make it that far. But maybe Sir Tom had someplace else,
someplace closer.

Before I could explain all this to Joe, we heard a
shout—not close, but closer than anyone should have been. Joe and Harding
glanced at each other.

“You girls stay here,” Harding said, and they were off.

Liza rolled her eyes. “Oh, please!” she said. “We’d be
quieter than they are.”

Another yell split the silence, and though I couldn’t make
out the words I knew the voice. Without a word or a thought I started running,
ignoring the questions Liza flung after me.

How many times had I crossed this orchard today? The trees still
did not seem familiar; they reached out of the mist and grabbed at my hair with
small branches, their shadows mingling with solid trunks until I couldn’t tell
which was which and was constantly dodging, clipping my shoulder, unsteady on
my feet. It felt as if it took forever to reach the voices.

They were at the edge of the orchard, almost to the city
proper.

Harding and Joe had stayed back, ten or twelve yards away
from them, hiding in the shadows and the trees; I stopped there too, trying to
make sense of the scene. There was so little light, so many twisted shadowy
forms between us and them.

First I saw a light-haired boy whose back was to me; it had
to be Judd, whose shout I’d heard.

He was facing off with someone—an adult—someone
wearing black, and whose bald head gleamed in the darkness. Warden Karl?

Warden Karl—if it was indeed he—was talking in a
low voice, a voice meant to be soothing. His hands were up soothingly as well,
showing that he held nothing. Then everything happened very quickly.

The warden moved, lurched sideways, and at the same moment
Judd raised his arm.

“Judd has a gun,” Harding said, and I leapt forward,
shouting.

“No!” I cried. “He’s your father!” A gunshot drowned my
words and the warden fell—surely not Karl, surely not—didn’t Judd
know? Everyone talked about it, when we played our guessing games. Surely Judd
knew.

Sick at heart I kept moving, hurrying to Judd, who now was
running forward, away from me, straight to the fallen warden.

The warden wasn’t dead. He was getting to his feet and
turning, looking behind him on the ground, where another body lay. He bent over
the body for a moment, then stood upright.

“That’s torn it,” he said to Judd, putting his arm around
the boy’s shoulders and glancing at me over the boy’s head. He didn’t seem
surprised that I was there.

“Is he dead?” Judd’s voice was too high.

“Yes,” Warden Karl said. “He’s dead.”

“He was going to shoot me,” Judd said. He was shaking. “He
raised his gun and he shoved you out of his way and I had to, he was going
to—”

Warden Karl was shushing him. “You did fine,” he said. “You
did great. But now we’ll have to hide you somehow.” I could tell from his face
that he couldn’t think how to do that. Wardens who weren’t in the breeding
program didn’t have houses of their own; they lived in the barracks together.

“He wasn’t the only one who saw you take that gun from
Alice,
” Warden Karl said to his son. “
There
were at least three more who went other directions, trying to cut you off. You
gave them quite a run—I was proud of you, boy—but now that we’ve
stopped they’ll find us soon enough. We need to get moving again.” He was
talking to Judd but his mind was elsewhere, searching for a way to save his
son.

Judd was crying now, tears running down his cheeks. “I
killed him,” he said. “I just wanted him to go away, but he wouldn’t. He
wouldn’t leave.”

Warden Karl nodded, his face grim. I looked toward the form
lying awkwardly on the ground, but couldn’t tell who it was. The scarred
warden’s face came into my mind, the one who had threatened me. Was it him?

“And I used up the only bullet,” Judd said plaintively.

“What were you planning to do with it?” Warden Karl asked.

Judd looked at me, then at the gun in his hands. “I was
going to give it to Red,” he said. “I thought she could use a gun.”

Warden Karl nodded again. “Because she’s in trouble. Because
she’s your friend. She’s always been your friend, hasn’t she? Since she was
back at school with you. She helped you with your sums.”

Judd nodded and they both gazed fixedly at me. I knew Warden
Karl was trying to distract Judd, and I tried wildly to think of something
helpful to say, but I couldn’t think—ridiculously, I felt paralyzed with
embarrassment. Here we were, on this horrible city meeting night, with a dead
man lying on the ground a few feet away—a man
that
Judd, a twelve-year-old boy, had killed—and Judd and his father
were standing there silently, staring at me.

The back of my neck prickled. Somewhere out in the darkness
Harding and Joe were staring at me, too.

Then Judd broke the silence. “At the city meeting you went
to Farrell Dean,” he said, and before his eyes dropped I saw a flash of
something.

“He was hurt,” I whispered.

Judd nodded. “I know,” he said, but his eyes were still
lowered. “He needed help and I didn’t, and so you helped him—and I saw
the gun, and I took it away from the cook, and I wanted to help you so I
followed the way you’d gone.”

“You did great, Judd,” I said, drawing closer.

“I followed, only they were following me, so I had to weave
around to lose them, and I wasn’t sure exactly where you’d gone and then they
were too close  . . .”

Behind me Joe stepped into the meadow, out of the shelter of
the trees, and cleared his throat. “Best be off,” he said to me. “It’s not safe
here.”

Warden Karl eyed him sharply, then turned to me. “You’ve got
someplace to go?”

I nodded. “Outside the city.” I didn’t know what else to
say, how much to trust him. And even if I did trust him, as
Meritt
had said, even the best man could be broken.

Warden Karl seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he
flung up his hand. “I don’t need to hear any more,” he said.

Beside me Judd sniffed, then faked a cough, trying to hide
that he was crying, now that Joe was there.

I came to a decision. “Judd should come with us.”

Joe glanced over sharply.

“It’s not like it’s safer for him in the city,” I said.

Warden Karl’s face was inscrutable. He stood looking at me,
running his hand absently along the top of his stunner. Then he gave one
decisive nod. “Off with you, Judd,” he said, putting a hand on his son’s
shoulder. “Take care.”

Judd hesitated, looking up at Warden Karl. Joe reached out
and took the boy by the elbow. “Let’s go,” he said, and with one last glance at
his father Judd melted into the darkness.

I couldn’t see Harding but I was sure he was still there,
waiting for me in the trees. I couldn’t tell whether Warden Karl knew he was
there or not. He stared at the darkness where Judd had vanished, then sighed
and looked at me. “If you protect him half as well as you protect
Meritt
, he’ll be okay,” he said.

I kept my face a careful blank. “I’ll take good care of
him,” I said.