“Best split-S you’ve ever seen, I bet,” Kaede says with a laugh. It sounds more strained than usual.
Not far from us now are the looming towers of Denver and its forbidding Armor, shrouded in a permanent sea of smog and haze. Behind us, I hear the first sounds of gunfire as Republic jets start tailing us in an attempt to shoot us down.
“How are we going to get inside?” Day shouts as Kaede spins the jet, sends a missile backward, and pushes us to go faster.
“I’ll get us in,” she shouts back.
“We can’t make it if we go overhead,” I reply. “The Armor has missiles lining every side of that wall. They’ll shoot us down before we ever get across into the city.”
“No city’s impenetrable.” Kaede sends the jet lower even as the Republic jets continue to pursue us. “I know what I’m doing.”
We’re closing in fast on Denver. I can see the looming gray walls of the Armor rising up before us, a barricade like nothing else in the Republic, and the heavy gray pillars (each a hundred feet apart from the next) lining its sides. I close my eyes. No way—no way—Kaede can get us over that. A squadron of jets could get over, maybe, and even then it’ll be a long shot. I picture a missile hitting us and our seats ejecting us out over the city’s skies, the shots they’ll fire up at our parachutes, our bodies plummeting to the ground. The Armor is close now. They must’ve seen us approaching for a while, and their weapons will be trained on us. I bet they’ve never seen a rogue Colonies jet before.
Then Kaede dives. Not just any dive—she’s headed down at almost ninety degrees, ready to send us smashing into the earth. Behind me, Day sucks in his breath. The buildings below rush up at us. She’s lost control of the jet. I know it. We’ve been hit.
At the last second, Kaede pulls up. We skim above the buildings at mach speed, so close that the roofs seem like they’re going to rip the bottom right off our jet. Immediately Kaede starts slowing down the jet, until we’re cruising at a speed barely fast enough to keep us airborne. Suddenly I realize what she’s going to do. It’s completely stupid. She’s not taking us over the Armor at all—she’s going to try to squeeze the jet through the opening that the trains use to pass in and out of Denver. The same tunnels I’d seen when I’d taken that train ride with the Elector. Of course. The surface-to-air missile systems mounted along the Armor’s wall aren’t designed to take down anything like us from the ground, because they can’t shoot at such a low angle. And machine guns on the wall aren’t powerful enough. But if Kaede doesn’t aim exactly right, we’ll explode against the wall and burst into flames. We’re close enough for me to see soldiers running back and forth on top of the wall of the Armor. Their communications must be flying fast.
But it doesn’t matter at this rate. One second the Armor’s several hundred feet in front of us, and the next, we’re hurtling toward the dark entrance of an open train tunnel.
“Hold on!” Kaede shouts. She pushes the jet lower, as if that were possible. The entrance yawns at us with its gaping mouth.
We’re not going to make it. The tunnel is way too small.
Then we’re inside, and for an instant the tunnel’s pitch-black. Bright sparks burst from each end of the jet as the wings tear through the entrance’s sides. A rumbling sound comes from above us. They’re rushing to shut the entrance, I realize, but they’re too late.
Another second. We zoom out of the entrance and into Denver. Kaede slams the jet’s lever the opposite way in an attempt to slow us down even more.
“Pull up, pull up!” Day yells. Buildings zip past us. We’re too low to the ground—and heading straight for the side of a tall barrack.
Kaede veers sharply to one side. We miss the building by a hair. Then we’re down, really down. The jet slams into the ground and skids, flinging our bodies forward hard against our seat belts. I feel like my limbs are ripping off. Civilians and soldiers alike run out of the way on either side of the street. A few sparks crack the cockpit; it’s random gunfire, I realize, from shocked soldiers. Crowds line the roads several blocks away from us—they gape at the jet careening across the pavement.
We finally come to a halt when one of the wings catches the side of a building, sending us crashing sideways into an alley. I jerk roughly back against my seat. Our canopy pops open before I can even catch my breath. I manage to undo my seat belt and leap dizzily up onto the edge of the cockpit. “Kaede.” I’m squinting to see her and Day through the smoke. “We have to—”
My words die on my tongue. Kaede’s slumped against the pilot seat, her buckle still wrapped around her. Her pilot goggles sit on top of her head—I guess she never even bothered to put them on. Her eyes point vacantly at the buttons on her control panel. A small bloodstain soaks the front of her shirt, not far from the wound she’d received when we first got into the jet. One of the stray bullets had gone straight through the canopy and into her when we crash-landed. Kaede, who just minutes ago had seemed invincible.
For a moment, I’m frozen. The sounds of chaos around me dull, and the smoke covers everything except me and Kaede’s body strapped into the pilot seat. A small voice manages to echo through my mind, penetrating the black-and-white fog of numbness, a familiar, pulsing light that gets me going again.
Move, it tells me. Now.
I tear my eyes away, then search frantically for Day. He’s not sitting in the jet anymore. I scramble onto the edge of the wing and slide down blindly through the smoke and wreckage until I hit the ground on my hands and knees. I can’t see a thing.
Then, through the smoke, Day rushes up to me. He pulls me to my feet. I’m suddenly reminded of the first time I’d ever seen him, materializing out of nothingness with his blue eyes and dust-streaked face, holding out his hand to me. His face is slashed with agony. He must’ve seen Kaede too.
“There you are—I thought you’d already gotten out,” he whispers as we stumble through the jet’s wreckage. “Make for the crowd.” My legs ache. Our crash landing must have given me head-to-toe bruises.
We pause underneath one of the wrecked wings just as the first soldiers rush to the jet. Half of them form a makeshift barrier to keep civilians out, their backs turned to us. Other soldiers shine lights across the smoke and twisted metal, scanning for survivors. One of them must’ve spotted Kaede because he shouts something at the others and motions them over. “It’s a Colonies jet,” he shouts, sounding incredulous. “A jet made it past the Armor and right into Denver.” We’re temporarily hidden from view under this wing, but they’ll see us any second now. The makeshift soldier barricade separates us from the crowds.
All around us and throughout the city are the sounds of breaking glass, roaring fires, screaming, chanting people—only those closest to our jet’s wreckage seem to realize that a Colonies jet crashed at all. I glance at where the Capitol Tower looms. Anden’s voice is ringing from every city block and from every speaker—a live feed of his image must be broadcasting to every JumboTron in the city . . . and in the nation. I look on as several furious rioters fling Molotov cocktails at the soldiers. The people have no idea that Congress is sitting back, waiting for their anger to spill enough to put Razor in Anden’s place. There’s no way Anden will be able to calm this crowd. I imagine the same protests sparking up across the country, in every street and city. If the Patriots had succeeded in publicly broadcasting the Elector’s death from the Capitol Tower’s speakers, there would already have been a revolution.
“Now,” Day says.
We rush out from under the wing, taking the soldier barricade completely off guard. Before any of them can grab or shoot at us, we’re through, ducking into the crowd and melting in with the people. Instantly Day lowers his head and pulls us through the thick pockets of arms and legs. His hand is clenched fiercely around mine. My breath comes out ragged and forced, but I refuse to slow us down now. I push on. People shout in surprise as we barrel through.
Behind us, the soldiers raise the alarm. “There!” one yells. A few shots ring out. They’re after us.
We barrel ahead through the crowd. Now and then I hear people exclaim, “Is that Day?” “Did Day come back in a Colonies jet?” When I glance behind us, I can tell that half the soldiers are heading the wrong way, unable to tell which direction we took. A couple of others are still hot on our trail. We’re only a block away from the Capitol Tower now, but to me it seems like miles. Occasionally, I get a glimpse of it through all the bodies pushing and shoving around. The JumboTrons show Anden standing on a balcony, a tiny, lone figure dressed in black and red, holding his hands out in a gesture of appeal.
He needs Day’s help.
Behind us, four soldiers are gradually catching up. The chase saps away the last of my strength. I’m panting, struggling to breathe. Day is already slowing down to keep pace with me, but I can tell we’ll never make it at this rate. I squeeze his hand and shake my head.
“You have to go ahead,” I tell Day firmly.
“You’re cracked.” He purses his lips and pulls us forward faster. “We’re almost there.”
“No.” I lean closer to him as we continue to make our way through the people. “This is our one shot. Neither of us will make it if I keep slowing us down.”
Day hesitates, torn. We’ve already been separated once before—now he’s wondering if letting me go means he’ll never see me again. But we don’t have time for him to dwell on this. “I can’t run fast, but I can hide in the crowd. Trust me.”
Without warning, he grabs my waist, pulls me into a tight embrace, and kisses me hard on the lips. They’re burning hot. I kiss him back fiercely and run my hands along his back. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he breathes. “Hide, stay safe. See you soon.” Then he squeezes my hand and vanishes. I suck in a breath of icy cold air. Move it, June. No time to waste.
I stop where I am, turn around, and crouch down right as the soldiers reach me. The first one doesn’t even see me coming. One second he’s running—the next I’ve tripped him and he’s flat on his back. I don’t dare stop to look—instead, I stagger back into the furious crowd, weaving my way through people with my head down until the soldiers have fallen far behind. I can’t believe how many people are here. Fights between civilians and street police are breaking out everywhere. Above it all, the JumboTrons display live feeds of Anden’s face, his expression grave; he’s pleading from behind the protective glass.
Six minutes pass. I’m only a dozen yards from the base of the Capitol Tower when I notice that the people around me are slowly falling silent. They’re no longer focused on Anden.
“Up there!” one person shouts.
They’re pointing at a boy with torch-bright hair, who’s perched on a Tower balcony on the opposite side of the same floor as Anden. The balcony’s protective glass catches some of the street’s light, and from here, the boy is glowing. I catch my breath and pause. It’s Day.
