HOPE DIDN’T WANT TO leave Book behind. It’s just that she knows him . . . and she knows he will try to stop her.
By the time he frees himself—she tied the knots in such a way that he will eventually be able to free himself, just not right away—her mission will be complete. Chancellor Maddox and Dr. Gallingham will be no more.
She parks the Humvee behind an abandoned home on the far side of town. She spends the day foraging for food and clothing, slipping on a black T-shirt, a black hoodie, a pair of black pants. She charcoals her face so she will blend in with the night.
Darkness falls and she waits. Finally, when it nears midnight, Hope races through the deserted streets. Her breath frosts before her, puffs of white in an otherwise inky universe.
The town is eerily silent. Even the makeshift saloons and restaurants are all closed up, as though everyone’s at the Conclave. Or up at the Eagle’s Nest, getting ready to fire their missiles at the Conclave.
Hope’s gaze lands on the highest tip of the mountain, where there’s a yellow glow. She can imagine the swarm of activity as soldiers ready weapons and prepare to attack the Republic of the True America. In just under ten hours, Chancellor Maddox will unleash a barrage of chemical weapons on New Washington, wiping out the capital and every high-ranking official in the land.
By this time tomorrow, the country might very well be called “Maddox America” or “The Republic of Maddox” or even “The United States of Cynthia.” Who’s going to stop her?
From shadows, Hope spies a lone soldier guarding the tram. For a long time she studies his movements. She sneaks up on him just as he’s switching his automatic rifle from one shoulder to the other. Her knife against his neck persuades him to drop it.
Less than sixty seconds after she’s stowed the gagged and bound soldier, the tram jerks to life. Hope runs from the booth and leaps in through the open door. The tram swings drunkenly from side to side, but she’s in, ascending the mountain, hovering above a forest of snow-covered spruces.
One step closer.
The downward-heading tram is in sight, and she cowers beneath the window. The two trams slide by each other, and she waits for the other tram to be well below her before she unfolds herself.
A glance up the mountain shows her the yellow glow is brighter now. It looks like every light is on. She can just make out the tram stop now, and as she nears it, she sees the Brown Shirts. There must be a dozen of them, facing the tram, their guns pointing in her direction like a firing squad.
She can’t jump to the rocky mountainside like she did before, not in the middle of the night. She’s got to find some other way to avoid the soldiers. But what that is, she doesn’t yet know.