HOPE WORKS IN A kind of trance the rest of that day.
A chill air raises goose bumps on her arms, and her feet radiate pain from standing so long. Despite that—despite all of it—she thinks about Book.
She questions her decision to send him away. But she’s afraid of getting hurt. Afraid to put her faith in a total stranger, only to have him break that trust . . . and her heart. No, it’s better this way, she tells herself. It’s better.
She doesn’t really know if she believes it or not.
They’ve just settled into bed when two Brown Shirts undo the lock, blue moonlight catching them in silhouette. Who have they come for now? Hope wonders. It’s what they all wonder.
When the Brown Shirts know every eye is on them, they throw something to the floor. It lands with a skidding thud. The guards turn and exit, chaining the door shut.
Hope sits up and looks. What she sees takes her breath away.
It isn’t something that was tossed to the floor, but someone. Helen. Frail, little Helen. She is shivering uncontrollably, and Hope’s first thought is that they dunked her in the tank of freezing water. But a closer inspection reveals a series of burn marks up and down her arm, her neck, the side of her face. Helen isn’t shaking from cold; it’s from shock.
“Give me a hand!” Hope calls out. They take Helen to her bed, covering her with blankets, grabbing extras from their own beds to warm her up.
“You’re okay,” Hope says, placing a soothing hand atop Helen’s forehead. “Everything’s okay.” But even as she says it her eyes catch sight of Athena’s bed. Empty. A single strand of red hair coiled atop her pillow.
Gallingham took both twins after morning roll call . . . and only one returned. Hope realizes there are no more sets of twins in Barracks B.
Helen isn’t the first girl to lose her sister, of course. Nor the first to be tortured. Dr. Gallingham’s experiments have become more barbaric in recent weeks. There’s no longer a pretense at science; it’s pure sadism. He wants to see just how much pain the human body can endure.
White light breaks through the window and splashes the wall. Not guard towers’ searchlights—something else entirely.
Hope slides forward and peers above the windowsill. The front gates shriek open and a small convoy of military vehicles streams in, thick tires crunching gravel. As Hope watches them circle the infield, she notices the .50 caliber machine guns mounted in the Humvees’ turrets.
Her throat goes dry as she pieces it together. The letter. Thorason’s words. Eliminate. Leave no trace. The Brown Shirts mean to finish them off—sooner rather than later. Their days are numbered . . . unless they do something right away.
Hope turns to Diana. “How long till the tunnel’s done?”
Diana’s surprised. “The water’s still high—”
“I know.”
“. . . and filling up again—”
“So how long?”
“I don’t know. Five, six weeks.”
Hope takes this in. “How about five or six hours?”
Diana nearly chokes. “That’s not possible,” she stammers. “There’s too much water. And if we dig up too fast we’re liable to cause another cave-in and you know what that’s like.”
Hope does know. But it doesn’t lessen her determination. “We leave tonight,” she says, looking at the other Sisters.
They can’t believe what they’re hearing. “But the gear’s not gathered,” they say. “We only have a portion of the food.”
Hope goes on as if they hadn’t spoken. “Could we reach the surface tonight?” she asks Scylla. “If we dig straight up?”
Scylla answers with a vague shrug.
“Could we?” Hope asks again.
Scylla casts a glance at Diana, then looks back at Hope. She nods yes.
Hope sighs gratefully. “Then let’s do it.”
At first, no one moves. They’re paralyzed—not only by this sudden change of plans but by this sudden change in Hope. It’s like she’s a different person. A new leader, stepping in for a departed one.
They’re about to head to the tunnel when a frail, quavering voice calls out from beneath the blankets.
“Why, Hope?” It’s Helen. Her first words since returning.
Hope walks to Helen’s cot and sits by her side, eyeing the burn marks that spot her body. “Because we can’t wait a minute longer,” she says.
They divide into groups. Some chip away at the damp ceiling. Others form a bucket brigade, passing water up from the tunnel. Still, the water continues to rise, the black surface glinting yellow from candlelight. For every bucket they empty, two buckets seem to dribble in.
But whenever Hope doubts—whenever she thinks the task is too big—she remembers Faith. And Athena. And the weapons the Brown Shirts just drove in. This tunnel is the Sisters’ only chance of salvation.
Something else as well. Unless they manage to escape, she’ll never see Book again. Never curl her body into his and share her innermost thoughts. Never find out his favorite memory.
She’s suddenly convinced only Book can release those haunting demons that dance around her head. Only he can help her get past her guilt of losing Faith. Oh, Faith, my sister, Faith, I tried to take care of you but it wasn’t enough.
It matters that she sees Book again. She hopes it’s not too late.
Scylla’s knife slices up through grass, and dirt rains down on her. She takes a quick peek at the stars, scurries back down, and eases into the water.
Hope pats Scylla on the back and scales the wall of earth herself. Her head pokes through the narrow opening like some forest rodent. The nearest trees are still ten yards away; the barbed wire fence is twenty yards behind them. Not ideal, but not terrible either.
Hope descends and faces the girls of Barracks B, their heads bobbing above the surface of the water.
“Okay,” she says. They know what to do.
One by one, the Sisters hoist themselves to the top of the opening, look around, and then scuttle to the woods. It takes far longer than Hope would like, but so far the searchlight hasn’t caught a Sister midrun.
Finally, it’s down to Hope. All the others have gone. She’s ready to make a run for it when she realizes: There’s no Helen. She’s not here.
Where is she? Hope wonders. Is it possible she’s still back in the barracks?
The Sisters wait impatiently in the woods, pointing toward the east. The sky is beginning to gray. Hope motions that she won’t be long and pops back down the hole.
The water is at the ceiling now. It is cold and black and swirling. The only way to reach the other end is to swim. Assuming Hope can hold her breath that long.
She bobs once, twice, inhales deeply, and plunges beneath the surface.
It takes her longer than expected and halfway there her lungs begin to tighten—like a giant fist squeezing her abdomen. When she finally reaches the other end, she’s never been so grateful for breath. Even though the air is stale and musty, she gulps it greedily.
A lone candle sputters by the ladder, allowing her to see the moisture eating away the sides. Great jags of earth separate themselves and splash into the water. There’s precious little time to find Helen and get out of there.
Hope pulls herself up into the closet and tiptoes to the barracks, water pooling beneath her feet. There’s a vague shape on a far bunk. Helen. Sitting hunched over, face buried in her hands. Hope hurries to her side.
“What’s going on?” Hope asks. “Why’re you still here?”
Helen hiccups through her tears. “You came back,” she says, not answering Hope’s question. Her fingers absently tap the burn marks on her arm.
“Of course. We’re family. I’m your Sister.” The words just come out. Not a denial of Faith, but rather an acknowledgment. Hope needs Helen just as much as Helen needs Hope.
A fresh batch of tears makes their way down Helen’s cheeks. Through the front window, Hope sees an orange glow. Sunrise.
“But we need to get going if we’re going to swim out of here in time,” Hope says. She attempts to pull Helen to her feet; Helen resists.
“I can’t,” the frail girl says.
“Of course you can. What’s stopping you?”
“I don’t know how to swim.”
Helen’s chin begins to tremble all over again. “Does that mean I can’t go?”
“Of course not,” Hope says. “It doesn’t mean that at all.” Even as she speaks, her mind scrambles. How can Helen possibly make it from one end of the tunnel to the other without swimming?
“I have just the thing for you,” Hope says. She reaches in her dress pocket and fishes out a small object: the gold locket on the tarnished chain. She undoes the clasp and slips it around Helen’s neck. “A good luck charm.”
Helen’s expression is doubtful. “And this’ll work?”
“It’s kept me alive all these years. Come on, I have a plan.” As Hope eases Helen to her feet and they make their way to the back of the barracks, Hope wonders if she’s really up for this.
They’re about to step into the back closet when Hope takes a final glance at the barracks. She sees a small mound atop a cot. Faith’s shawl. Hope doesn’t let herself look at it for long. She swivels back around and she and Helen lower themselves into the tunnel.
The water has continued to rise, extinguishing the last candle and putting them in darkness. Hope feels Helen’s hand stiffen in hers.
“It’s okay,” Hope says. “We don’t need light to swim.”
The surface of the water is black and impenetrable, and Hope suddenly realizes the tunnel isn’t wide enough to allow the two of them to swim side by side. She needs a new plan.
A large kerplunk sounds behind them.
“What was that?” Helen asks, afraid.
“Just dirt,” Hope says. The tunnel is collapsing in on itself. Support beams bend with the strain. No time to waste.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Hope says, looking Helen in the eyes. “I’m going first, you’re going to grab my ankle, and I’ll pull us along.”
“But what if I let go? What if I lose you?” Hysteria rises in Helen’s throat.
“You’re not going to lose me, because I’m not going to move that leg,” Hope reassures her. “And if we do get separated, I’ll just turn around and come get you.”
“That’s not possible! I don’t think—”
Hope leans forward until their foreheads are touching. “Hope and Helen together. All right?”
“All right,” Helen murmurs, chin quivering.
Another shard of earth collapses into the water. Time is running out. Hope gets horizontal in the water and lifts her right foot above the surface. “Now grab hold.”
Helen lets go of the rungs and flings herself forward—paddling like a panicked dog. Her tiny hands encircle Hope’s ankle.
“Ready?” Hope asks, and counts aloud, “One . . . two . . . three!”
They each take a big gulp of air and plunge beneath the black surface.
Silence. Muffled, murky silence.
Hope puts everything she has into that first stroke . . . and realizes how difficult this is going to be. It was hard enough the first time, swimming from one end of the tunnel to the other without taking a breath—but this time she’s pulling Helen.
Live today, tears tomorrow.
She flings her arms forward and snaps them back. Her left foot kicks at the water, fluttering in inky blackness. She finds a rhythm and it begins to happen. They’re moving through the narrow tunnel. Slowly. Slowly.
But just when Hope thinks it’s working, her legs cramp and her lungs begin to tighten—a twisting, clenching pain that seems to engulf her entire body. Her head aches. Stars dance in her periphery.
The end has gotta be here, she tells herself.
But it isn’t.
She starts tugging at support beams. It’s slower than swimming, but it’s still forward movement. All she can ask for at the moment.
The pain spreads from chest to head. Muscles become slack. Her legs grow heavy as if ankle weights are dragging them down. Like the weights in the freezing tank.
Oh, Faith. I didn’t leave you. I came back for you, even though it meant our capture.
Hope grows dizzy. The water seems to be wringing every last ounce of air from her lungs. She’s no longer aware if she and Helen are moving or not. She honestly doesn’t know.
Nightmare images flash through her mind. Dr. Gallingham and his piggish smile. The blond woman with her ruthless expression. The bullies from Barracks D, the ones who taunted Helen, now taunting her.
Give up yet? they ask. You’ll never make it. You never should’ve come back in the first place. Not for Faith. Not for Helen.
Hope wants to scream, but when she opens her mouth there is only water there.
Without her knowing, she comes to a dead drift, her body floating lifelessly to the surface, arms outstretched, her spine and the back of her head bumping against the tunnel ceiling.
And then she sees her father.
There he is now, returning from a hunt, skinned carcasses hanging from his belt. And her mom spying him out the window and ordering the girls to get washed up and they squeal with excitement as they go running off. And after dinner, Hope hanging on her dad’s every word and wanting the evening to last forever, never wanting him to leave again, who cares if they have meat or not, and then the soldiers come and shoot Mom and blood—blood more purple than red—spilling from her forehead like a turned-over bottle and her lifeless eyes staring into the porch. Their father finding them in the log and hustling them away and living off the land until infection—caused by a stupid little nail—brings her father down and he utters words Hope can’t forget—You have a choice to make—and why? Why did she and Faith have to end up here in Camp Freedom? And there’s Book and their eyes are locked and their hands are touching and it’s just the two of them, surrounded by warm barn smells and a shaft of pure sunlight. And standing in her way is Dr. Gallingham with an enormous syringe in his hand, and she pushes him away, but of course there is no pushing him away, and the more she realizes that the more she senses his pudgy, sausage fingers coming at her, grabbing her, groping her face, her hair, her wrists.
“No!” she screams. “You can’t have me! I won’t go back! I won’t!”
And the voice answers back, “But I want you to.”
“I won’t!”
“But I’m here to save you.”
“You’re not here to save me. You’re here to kill me.”
“No! Look at me. Look at me!”
Forcing Hope to open her eyes and see what’s in front of her. There in the gloom, water to his chin, is Book—Book the Less Than—arms outstretched, reaching for her, grabbing her, pulling her and Helen from the flooded tunnel as they catch their breath.
“What happened?” Hope asks at last.
“Book saved us,” Helen says breathlessly. “He appeared out of nowhere and saved us.”
Hope eyes the locket around Helen’s neck and nods. Then she turns to Book, and when she speaks, her voice is soft, muffled, disbelieving. “You came back.”
“I said I would,” Book answers her.
Their eyes lock, and without a second thought, Hope leans forward and presses her lips against his. The kiss is hasty and clumsy and awkward and brief . . . and still it takes all her willpower to pull away. She is once more out of breath.
“Well,” she says.
“Well,” he says back.
There is more she could say—wants to say—but not with Helen there. As she studies Book’s face and notices the color in his cheeks, she suffers a jolt of panic. How is she able to see so clearly?
Her head tilts back, catching an oval of warming sky. Dawn, appearing in the tunnel opening.
“Come on,” she says. “We better hurry.”
One at a time, the three go dashing across the final ten yards to the woods. The Sisters smother them with hugs and do all they can to warm them. A couple girls rush back with pine boughs and cover the exit hole.
They look at each other—twenty Sisters and one Less Than who have somehow managed to escape from Barracks B and Camp Freedom and the nightmare of the infirmary.
But Hope knows they’re far from safe.
“Let’s get out of here,” she says.
As they scurry through the woods, the morning sun begins to chase away the night.
Live today, tears tomorrow.