Independent Study
Page 32

But I don’t. Because Zeen is using a different name, which tells me he doesn’t trust these people, whoever they are. No matter how much I want to, I cannot go to him. Not without more information.
I glance at the watch on my bag. The time I set aside for this expedition has elapsed. To return to the residence without discovery, we have to leave now. We need to be in our beds when Damone is found missing. Otherwise, questions will be asked. Questions we do not want to answer. Only, I can’t leave without knowing what Zeen is doing here—I have to stay. Raffe and Tomas don’t, though. I will not risk their futures at the University or their lives just because I’m risking my own.
Leaning toward them, I whisper, “It’s getting late. If you go back to the University now, you’ll make it before dawn. There’s something I have to do first.”
Tomas shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“I’m staying if he does,” Raffe whispers.
“This has nothing to do with you.” Tomas’s voice is quiet but firm. “Besides, Cia and I can move faster and more quietly if you’re not with us. The last thing we need is for your heavy footsteps to get us all shot.”
When Raffe looks to me, I nod. “Tomas is right. Head back to the fence. Look for the marker. I promise we’ll be right behind you.”
“You’d better,” he whispers. I watch him retreat into the darkness. Leaves rustle. A branch snaps. Then quiet. I feel a stab of guilt knowing Raffe has to navigate his way back on his own, but I am glad Tomas is with me. He cares about Zeen too.
Tomas and I circle to our left, careful to stay low. My blood races as one woman picks up a shotgun and rests it on her lap, but she doesn’t turn in our direction. When we get closer, I tell Tomas to stay where he is. I am smaller and faster and will be safer on my own. Tomas looks unhappy, but he nods understanding. I dart behind a partially collapsed wall twenty feet away from where my brother sits, and listen.
The conversation drifts from subject to subject. The way game is being stolen from snares. The new housing they’ve been promised will be finished soon. Someone snores. A woman says she’s glad their shift is almost over. One of the men snorts and says she’s just happy to be sliding into bed with her new husband. There is laughter. A few jokes. The minutes pass. My heart jumps when I hear Zeen ask about some kind of schedule. Someone says it will be decided in the next couple of days. The conversation shifts to breakfast and whether they can convince the cooks to make pancakes. I hear Zeen say he’ll mention it to them. He’s going inside to work on boosting the radio signal. There’s some good-natured teasing about him doing extra work to please Symon as all but one of the sentries follow Zeen into the building in search of food. Other than the one dozing by the fire, everything is quiet. But I’ve got the information I sought.
This is Symon’s rebel camp.
That fact alone should make me feel safe. But if Zeen thinks it’s important to keep his identity a secret, there’s a good reason. Until I know what that reason is or why Zeen has come here in the first place, I cannot hope to be reunited with my brother. Luckily for me, there is one person I am certain knows the answer to both of those questions.
I move quickly back to Tomas. Together, we hurry past the twisted vehicle and toward the warped trees I remember passing. When we are far enough away from the rebel campsite for it to be safe, I pull out my penlight. Our feet fly across the ground as the sky lightens. As we run, Tomas uses the Transit Communicator to guide our way.
Dawn is breaking as we reach the chain-link fence. Tomas spots the marker to our left, and we race toward it. I grab the shirt as I climb up and over and hit the ground running on the other side.
“Are you okay?” Tomas asks. “What is Zeen doing here with the rebels?”
“I don’t know,” I say as I reach for my bike. “But, I—” I stop cold as I realize all three bikes are still hidden in the bushes.
“What’s wrong?”
I turn and scan the fence, looking for movement behind the chain link, and answer, “Raffe never made it back.”
Wind blows the leaves on trees. A rabbit races through the underbrush. Otherwise, I see and hear nothing, but I know Raffe is out there. Where? Even without the Communicator to guide him, he should have found the fence and followed it to this location long ago. Something must have happened. Could one of the rebels keeping guard have caught him? Did Griffin or someone else from the University track us to this place?
Fear pricks the back of my neck. I turn toward the fence and Tomas grabs my arm. “What are you doing? We have to get to the University before people know we’re missing.”
“I can’t leave Raffe.” I can’t be responsible for another death. “You’re a fast rider. You can get back before breakfast if you go now.”
“I’m not going without you.”
“You have to,” I insist. “If anyone wonders why I wasn’t around this morning, I can tell them I was working at the president’s office. A Biological Engineering student doesn’t have that kind of excuse. It’s the only way you’ll be safe.”
“I don’t care if I’m safe.”
“But I do. I love you.” Tears tighten my bruised throat. One falls down my cheek, but I keep the others back and say, “You have to go. If something happens to me, I need to know you’ll get word to my father that Zeen is here and that you’ll help get him out of harm’s way. Please.” I stand on tiptoe and press my lips against his. In the kiss I put all my love, hope, and fears. Tomas pulls me close and deepens the kiss. I feel the heat of passion mixed with despair and know he will do as I ask.
Stepping back, I say, “I’ll signal when I get back to campus.”
With one last kiss, he places the Transit Communicator into my hands. “I’ll be waiting.”
“I know.” I race toward the fence and once more begin to climb. As I jump to the ground, I catch sight of Tomas heading toward the road. Back to the University and the dangers that lie there. I hope he stays safe.
Alone, I retrace the path we took toward the rebel camp, looking for signs of Raffe. I can hear laughter far in the distance. The rest of the camp must be waking up. Without the cover of darkness, I don’t dare venture closer. Instead, I turn and search to the east.
Thirty feet from the path we originally traveled, I see a freshly broken branch hanging from a bush. Several feet to the north, I spot patches of recently trampled grass. I follow the trail past a pile of rusted metal that must have once been part of a small airplane and stop dead in my tracks. Twenty feet ahead is a five-foot-wide fissure in the earth. The trail I’ve been following leads right to it.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. With small, trembling steps, I cross the barren earth and look down into the gaping hole. I am prepared for the worst. Instead, I find two wide, very blue eyes looking up at me. Standing on a thin ledge about nine feet below is a dirt-streaked Raffe.
“What are you doing here?” Raffe asks. “Where’s Tomas?”
Relief makes my knees go weak, and the bafflement in his voice makes me laugh. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m rescuing you. I sent Tomas back to the University so no one would realize he or the bike he borrowed was missing.” I realize helping Raffe out of the hole would be much easier had I let Tomas stay. Frowning, I add, “Give me a minute to decide how I’m going to get you out of there.”
I take the bag off my shoulder and study the contents. Nothing I brought with me will help Raffe reach the surface. I shield my eyes from the early morning light and spot a weeping willow tree. The branches are both flexible and strong. When my brothers and I were younger, we used to weave them into ropes and swing from the trees in our backyard. They were helpful then. Maybe they will work just as well for me now.
Climbing the tree, I use the pocketknife my father gave me to cut a dozen long branches. The branches are less pliable than the ones back home. Still, after pulling on them to test their strength, I’m pretty sure they’ll do the job.
I tell Raffe to hang on and begin weaving the branches together. In no time, I have a makeshift rope of twelve feet. I loop one end to a squat but sturdy-looking brown bush just above where Raffe waits. I tug on the rope several times to make sure the knots will hold and then throw the rope down.
Lying on my stomach, I peer over the edge. “Grab the rope and climb up.”
“You want me to use that?”
“Do you have a better idea?” I ask.
Raffe’s answering smile is grim. “If I did, I’d already be out of here.” He grabs the rope, wraps it around his right hand, and tugs. “Okay. Here goes.”
I glance back at the bush as Raffe lets the rope take his weight. The bush shudders. The knot shifts, but holds. For now. How long the little bush can withstand the force of Raffe’s weight is questionable.
Determination colors Raffe’s face as he pulls himself up inch by agonizingly slow inch. Below him, the dark, deep hole threatens. His feet search the hard dirt wall for leverage, but the dirt crumbles under his boots, making it almost impossible for him to gain a foothold.
Leaves rustle. Something snaps. A gasp rips from my throat as the rope shifts. The bush bends, and the roots begin to pull free of the ground. I grab the rope to alleviate some of the pressure, but the bush shifts again. Half the roots are showing. A glance over the edge tells me Raffe is still several inches from the surface.
“You might want to hurry,” I say.
Raffe grunts and pulls himself up another inch. The edge is just above him. One more pull, maybe two, and he will be close enough to reach the top. If the rope holds.
Raffe’s hand crests the edge. Instinctively, I scramble to my feet and grip his wrist with both of my hands and then lean back and pull. Raffe’s head appears. I feel a surge of triumph that is quickly replaced by terror as my boots start to slide across the dry earth toward the ravine. Raffe outweighs me by at least sixty pounds. While years of physical activity back home have made me stronger than most of the University candidates, I cannot hope to support Raffe’s weight much longer.
Sweat runs down my back. I fight to dig into the ground with the front of my boot. Raffe’s shoulders appear. His left hand grabs hold of a seedling as the bush holding the rope gives way. He lurches downward a fraction of an inch, sending me pitching forward. I hit the ground inches from the edge and scramble back as Raffe heaves himself up and over.
Raffe and I lie on our backs, breathing hard. We are dirty, covered with sweat, and safe.
Raffe speaks first. “You helped me again. Why?”
“Because it was the right thing to do.” I dig through my bag, pull out a bottle of water, and take a drink. Handing the bottle to Raffe, I say, “As soon as you feel up to it, we need to get going. There’s someone I need to talk to.”
“Tomas?” he asks.
“No. We’re not going back to the University yet.”
“Then where are we going?”
“President Collindar’s office.”
I wash Damone’s blood off my hands and coat with some of the water and change my blood-streaked pants for the extra ones in my bag before setting off for Tosu City. There are fewer skimmers in evidence on the streets today, probably because the government is shut down on weekends in order to give officials time to spend with their families and to tackle personal revitalization projects at home. Even the president isn’t in residence, which is why there is only one guard at the entrance and no staff wandering around when I arrive.
The guard checks my identification bracelet and allows me to enter. Raffe is denied entrance. He has to wait outside. I tell him I’ll be back in a minute and climb the stairs.
I spot Michal hunched over a small desk in the corner of his office, and feel a stab of betrayal. Since hearing the recording on the Transit Communicator, the only person I’ve felt I could trust was Michal. He confirmed that the recorder’s stored memories were real. He helped me communicate with my family and directed my fear and anger into assisting the rebellion to remove Dr. Barnes and bring an end to The Testing. I thought I could count on him for honesty. I was wrong. If Zeen is here with the rebels, Michal must know about it. Most likely, he facilitated an introduction and helped put the gun on my brother’s hip, shoving him into the path of danger.
Michal looks up and smiles. “Hi. I wondered if you’d drop by. Do you need a desk to work at?”
In case someone is listening, I reach into my bag and pull out the short analysis of the communication system I wrote for the president. “I’m just dropping off my work. Where should I leave it? I don’t want the president to think I neglected to do my assignment.”
Michal glances at the papers in my hand and stands. “Follow me.” He leads me back downstairs, through a couple of offices, to a small room I don’t remember seeing on our tour. “You can put your report in this box.”
Closing the door, he lowers his voice. “The president and her officials plan on announcing the debate about control of the University and The Testing on Monday morning. Per protocol, there will be three days of discussion. A vote will take place the day after the debate ends. If that measure is voted down, the other faction will be ready to begin their attack as soon as the vote of confidence is taken. If the president loses the vote, the members of the rebellion will be positioned throughout Tosu, ready to take out Dr. Barnes and his team. People in unrevitalized areas are being armed with weapons and instructions.”
I think about Zeen and feel panic bubble inside me.
“Why won’t the president wait?” It would give the rebels more time to find a peaceful solution. And more time for me to convince my brother to get out of harm’s way.