Variant (25 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

S
now had finally come.

Becky was beside me, shivering and pale. My arm was around her, holding her tight against me, trying to share body warmth as we huddled in the forest.

I’d tried everything I’d seen on TV to help us survive. When Becky couldn’t walk any farther I’d found a hiding place in a cluster of junipers and laid down pine branches beneath us as insulation from the ground. I’d tried to cover us with leaves, but there weren’t many to be found, so I made due with more pine. After a few hours of sitting there, freezing, I had to wonder if it was doing any good at all. I didn’t dare make a fire.

She wasn’t sleeping. Her breathing was heavy and uneven, and she winced frequently, balling her hands into tight, pained fists.

We’d made it past the wall, past the androids. We were out in the forest—we’d escaped. And she might die anyway.

As the light of dawn began to fill the sky, I inspected her wound more closely. There was dried blood everywhere—and some that was still wet and oozing. Her skin was as white as the snowflakes.

“How is it?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Oh, you’re fine,” I said, trying to joke. “I don’t know what the big fuss is.”

She smiled. If Becky had learned anything in the last year and a half, it was how to fake a smile.

“It hurts,” she said, almost gasping the words.

“You’ll be okay.”

It was a lie. We both knew it. She’d lost too much blood, suffered too much trauma.

“Can you walk?” I asked. With light was sure to come more searches for us. So far we seemed to have avoided the guards, but I doubted that would last much longer.

“No choice,” she said. Her eyes were closed, like she was trying to concentrate on something.

I sat up, trying not to bump her or dislodge our flimsy covering. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and bit her lip.

Trying to move silently, I climbed the hill slope. From the top, I couldn’t see much more than endless forest, but I knew the mountains on the horizon—I’d seen them out the school’s windows for weeks—and they gave me a good idea of where I was. We’d probably only traveled a few miles—maybe three or four—before stopping.

We’d never make it to the highway.

I turned my sights to the south. I couldn’t see anything that way, either, but I knew something was there. The guards’ camp, or whatever it was. It had to be close.

Scrambling back down the slope, I found Becky, eyes still shut. She looked dead. The only sign of life was her labored breathing.

“We need to go,” I said.

She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

The going was difficult, but Becky kept moving, one foot in front of the other through the uneven terrain.

She didn’t ask where I was leading her, and I didn’t tell her. She wouldn’t have agreed.

I held her hand while we walked, but even after half an hour of exercise it wasn’t warming up. And now that the sky was even lighter, I could tell she wasn’t pale but gray. I wondered if infection was setting in. Was it too soon for that?

And then I caught something, a scent in the air.

Becky noticed it, too, and her head turned quickly, suddenly alert. “What is that?”

“Wood smoke,” I said.

“Is it the school?” she asked. She was looking at the sky, looking for smoke.

“I don’t think so. We’re close to the—whatever it is. The place you could see from the dorms.”

There was fear in her eyes. “We can’t turn ourselves in. Don’t do this.”

“I’m not. I’m just going to see if I can get some supplies—bandages or medicine or something. I’m guessing they’ll all be out looking for us. No one will even be there.”

Becky looked like she wanted to argue but was too exhausted. Instead, she just stood and stared into the woods.

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely audible.

We hiked on for another mile, maybe. We were going slow and not in a straight line, so it was hard to judge the distance. Eventually, Becky couldn’t go on. I helped her down into a sandy ravine and packed leaves and debris around her to keep her warm. It wouldn’t do much good.

She took my hand. “Don’t be gone long.”

“I won’t.” I might have expected her to cry but was surprised to find tears forming in my eyes.

Before I left, I kissed her.

I almost ran through the woods now, still trying to be quiet, but knowing that taking my time could mean Becky dying alone.

The woods leveled out, the hills and valleys fading into a flat, sparse forest. There were no tracks—no footpaths or tire marks. No animals, either. I was all alone.

The scent of wood smoke was growing now, and I could see the haze between the trees. I had to be getting close.

And then the woods ended, and there was a town. Small farms and a few dozen buildings. Smoke was rising from four or five chimneys.

This wasn’t a guard camp.

I ran to an empty garden that had been cleared for the winter, to the closest building. It looked like a barn.

I wanted to scream for help, to yell for the police, but my time in the school had made me paranoid. Maybe these people knew about the school. Maybe they ran the school.

Peering in the barn window, I didn’t see anyone. But there were a few tarps. I could use those.

I carefully opened the door. It was warmer inside. There were animals there—half a dozen cows.

I ignored them and went for the tarps. They were large and sturdy and canvas—not soft, but they looked waterproof. There was a cabinet on the far wall, and I ran to it.

“Who are you?”

My heart dropped.

But it wasn’t a guard’s voice. It was a voice I recognized. A girl’s voice.

I turned.

She was standing with the cows. She’d been milking them.

She didn’t look the same, but I knew her. Her fair skin was darker and freckled—and she was taller. Older. But I knew her.

“Jane?”

She brushed a strand of red hair away from her face.

“We didn’t think anyone survived,” she said, her words slow and worried. “They’re going to be looking for you.”

I was frozen to the ground, unable to move, unable to speak.

Jane stepped out from behind the cows. Her clothes were old and worn. She stared back at me.

“I know you,” she said, her words barely audible. Suddenly her eyes went wide. “I thought you died. I thought we both did.”

Acknowledgments

T
his book would not have been written if my brother, Dan Wells, had not issued me an impossible challenge. It also wouldn’t have been written if he hadn’t invited me to his writing group ten years ago and, slowly and painfully, taught me to write. Whatever success I have in writing is due in large part to Dan, and I am in his debt.

I also owe a lot to my writer friends who have read, edited, and critiqued my manuscript. But more importantly, I’m grateful for their constant support and friendship. There are so many people to mention here that I probably shouldn’t even try, but I particularly want to thank my amazing writing group: Annette Lyon, J. Scott Savage, Sarah Eden, Heather Moore, LuAnn Staheli, and Michele Holmes. Also, many thanks to my beta readers: Patty Wells, Ally Condie, Micah Bruner, Krista Jensen, Sheila Staley, Shauna Black, Stephanie Black, Bryan Hickman, Autumn Bruner, Christina Pettit, Joel Hiller, and Cameron Ruesch. (And, if I forgot you, it’s only because I value your contribution far too much to trivialize it with a simple acknowledgment. Or whatever.)

Thanks to my wonderful agent, Sara Crowe, who worked tirelessly on this project and guided me through three major revisions.

And I can’t thank my editor, Erica Sussman, and the awesome people at HarperTeen enough. This book is definitely a team effort, and I’m continually amazed by the miracles they produce.

About the Author

ROBISON WELLS
lives in Holladay, UT, with his wife and three kids. He recently finished graduate school, during which he read and wrote novels when he should have been studying finance. You can visit him onlin and read his blog at www.robisonwells.com.

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Credits

Jacket art © 2011 by Mark Tucker/ MergeLeft Reps, Inc.
Jacket design by Alison Klapthor

Copyright

Variant

Copyright © 2011 by Robison Wells

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Wells, Robison E.
    Variant / Robison Wells. — 1st ed.
        p.   cm.
   Summary: After years in foster homes, seventeen-year-old Benson Fisher applies to New Mexico’s Maxfield Academy in hopes of securing a brighter future, but instead he finds that the school is a prison and no one is what he or she seems.
   ISBN 978-0-06-202608-8 (trade bdg.)
   ISBN 978-0-06-211421-1 (int. ed.)

[1. Boarding schools—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 4. Science fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.W468413Var   2011

[Fic]—dc22

2010042661
CIP
AC

EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2011 ISBN: 9780062093516

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CG/RRDB
    10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

FIRST EDITION