The blasts outside have covered the pod in a film of dust, so it’s pretty much impossible to see what’s going on. And Zone One is a mess. Alarms are ringing in every Premium building as auxiliaries loot them. There are bodies everywhere. No one’s safe, and the Ministry is visibly absent.
You’ve got to wonder if this is a bit like The Switch—people so hungry for air they’d do anything to hang on a bit longer. And in the end, they all died anyway.
I have Jazz on my back, and Bea is holding Lennon and Keane’s hands. We are on our way to the border. A figure rushes at me, and I hold tightly to my tank. I’m about to lash out, when I realize it’s Gideon. And he’s carrying a massive backpack. “I broke into the biosphere. Got bulbs, seeds, and a few cuttings: everything we need,” he says. He eyes Lennon and Keane.
“My brothers,” I say. “Where’s everyone else?”
“They went on ahead.”
We turn into Border Boulevard and stop short. A group of men with airtanks and broken bottles sees us and charges. “Keep back!” Gideon says, waving a kitchen knife. The men come to an abrupt halt a few feet from us.
“We could leave via the trash chutes?” Bea says, backing away from the men.
One of them points at me. “You’re the Premium who spoke at the press conference. They said you were dead.”
“I’m not.”
“You said we could breathe outside,” the man continues. The rest of the gang listens. A larger group—kids my age wearing balaclavas—stop and watch.
“It’s that guy from the screen,” one of them says. “Oi, everyone, it’s that Premium guy!” Within seconds we’re surrounded.
“So can we breathe out there?” the man repeats. Looking at their faces—afraid and guarded—I realize that they don’t want to attack us; they want to be shown the way out of their miserable lives.
“It’s complicated,” I say.
The crowd presses in. “What do we do?” someone demands. “You’re the one who started this.” A couple of months ago I didn’t believe I could start anything, and even now I’m not sure I can lead.
“Tell them what to do,” Jazz murmurs in my ear.
“It takes dedication,” I say. “But you can train your body to exist outside. And we can help you do it.”
“Stuff that. I’m getting out of here and joining the Resistance. They’ll know what to do,” someone says.
“We’re all that’s left,” Bea says. “The Ministry killed the others.”
“You think we’ve been growing avocadoes and beets just in case you ever found the guts to leave? Get real. You need air but you need food, too. Nonperishable food. Everything you can find. We’ll wait for you at The Cenotaph,” Gideon says.
“And be ready for it to get tough out there,” I warn them.
“Right,” the man says, and the crowd disperses. They’ll probably loot for food, but if anyone can afford to have some stuff nicked, it’s the Premiums. It’s no use worrying about them, when the poor can’t even breathe.
Harriet, Old Watson, and the rest of the Resistance are at the border waiting for us. They’re loaded down with tanks, food, and weapons. No one’s guarding the border. “It’s a war out there,” Harriet says, as we trudge down the glass tunnel. She opens her backpack and hands out a slew of guns.
“And in a couple months when we’re out of air and food?” Bea asks, speaking to me from the side of her mouth so no one else hears.
I point at the bag of clippings and seeds Gideon’s carrying. “We’ll grow it,” I say, pushing on the revolving doors at the end of the tunnel and leading everyone out into the war zone.
A solider is standing by the exit. When he sees me he gawps. “Quinn Caffrey? General Caffrey’s son?” He lets the empty stretcher he’s holding on his back fall to the ground and pulls up the visor on his helmet, so he can look me in the eye. “Your father’s been shot.” I am silent. Bea seizes my hand. “I was about to bring the stretcher. Come with me,” the soldier says.
Surely I should stay with Bea and help the Resistance escape. But when I look at her, she shakes her head. “Go,” she says.
I grab one end of the stretcher and follow the solider into the battlefield. I have to find my dad.