Catalyst (37 page)

We rush as fast as we can down the slippery spiral hallway. I glance up to see the dark gray diamond of the hoverpod still there. I don’t know how we can possibly escape with that thing out there, waiting for us.

The hangar is lit with blue lights everywhere, and the door to the hoverpod is open. We see Hex and Vera just inside it. Their faces relax with relief when they see us galloping in our soaked clothes, heavily burdened, and they run out to help carry the bodies aboard.

We all scramble inside and lay Micah and Élodie gently on the floor.

“Go sit down, quickly,” Kria says, hitting a button to secure the hatch closed. I squelch wetly down on a seat between Cy and Dyl. Wilbert’s already in the pilot seat and Kria runs past me to strap into the copilot seat.

The entire hoverpod begins to hum and there’s a telltale lurch when we launch off the ground. All around us, the windows only show the hangar’s lights. The huge front wall of the hangar begins to rise, and blue quarry water rushes in to flood the space.

“Uh, this thing is waterproof, right?” I ask nervously.

“It better be,” Dyl whispers as the water level rises over the windows. This is too similar to our near-drowning in the room, so I stop watching the windows. I glance over to Marka.

“Where are we going?”

“I spoke to Kria. I don’t think we have a choice. We’re going to land in Canada and see if we can get refugee status there.”

Dyl, Cy, and the others around us nod. At first, I’m relieved. Having protected status sounds like a great idea. But then I think of the thirty other kids on the list. If we’re out of the country, how on earth can I help keep them safe?

“Wait. We can’t go to Canada,” I blurt out to Marka, and she stares back at me like I’m nuts.

“Zelia, we don’t have a choice.”

“If we leave the States, we’ve lost the war. Don’t you see?”

Tegg leans over and gives me a rude look. “If we stay, we’re dead. I vote for ‘not-dead.’”

“We can’t argue about this. Not now.” There’s a hard edge to Marka’s words that nips at my heart. I don’t like fighting with her, but I can’t help it. Leaving the States is the wrong choice.

The hanger is now completely flooded and open to the quarry. The hoverpod glides through the blue water. As it rises and breaks the surface with sheets of water pouring down the windows, Wilbert steers away from the other gray pod hovering above Wingfield.

“There’s a transmission coming in,” Kria announces. “Hold your hats.”

“We don’t have any hats,” Wilbert says.

“Shhh!” Caliga says. “Listen.”

“PLEASE LAND YOUR CRAFT IMMEDIATELY. ANY ATTEMPT TO FLEE WILL BE CONSIDERED AN OFFENSIVE MANEUVER AND YOU
WILL
BE FIRED UPON.”

Wilbert’s hands are squeezing the steering mechanism so hard, his hands are half-white, half-pink.

“Kria, what do I do?”

She’s gripping the dash of the hovercraft and not moving. We’re all twisted in our seats to watch her. The other Wingfield kids are all murmuring among themselves.
Flee. Give up. It’s over. Just make a run for it. Oh god
and
Oh my god. It’s over.

Her chin drops and she rests a hand on Wilbert’s shoulder.

“Land it.”

“What?” Wilbert croaks.

“Are we going to fight them?” Tegg asks, flexing beneath his armored skin.

“We can’t. We’ll certainly die if we fight. We need to be far more clever than that.”

• • •

O
UR HOVERPOD SINKS THROUGH THE AIR AND
approaches the swath of wild grass by the edge of the quarry. There’s a crunch as the landing gear gets a foothold on the firm ground. The other gray hoverpod floats close by and lands right in front of us.

For a moment, we all sit there. I memorize the faces of everyone around me.

So this is what surrender feels like,
Cy says in my head.

CHAPTER 34

C
OME WITH ME,
C
Y SAYS IN MY HEAD.
We can’t let Kria and Marka do this part alone.

I nod and unbuckle myself. Dyl gives me a questioning look of worry and panic.

“Stay here,” I tell her. “Watch Ana, okay? Make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone. She could get us in more trouble if she’s spooked.”

Dyl nods.

Kria and Marka head to the shuttle hatch with grim expressions. When they see Cy and me, they begin to protest, but Cy tells them firmly, “You’re not doing this alone.”

He threads his fingers into Marka’s, and I marvel at how beautiful he is. This is what I fell in love with. In times like this, the strength of his love overshadows anything on this marble of a planet.

Kria turns to all the kids. “Everyone stay in here. Please don’t fight. I don’t want anyone hurt or killed. There’s already been enough death today,” she says.

Kria punches the button to open the hatch. The bright light gradually fills our space as it lowers. The other hoverpod has already opened and spilled its contents—fifteen armed police in an arc around us. They wear gray uniforms and helmets that obscure their faces. Shiny, narrow black neural guns are pointed at us.

“Raise your hands,” one of the officers barks at us. We comply, and for a second I’m irritated that Cy’s no longer able to hold Marka’s hand. “How many are in your hoverpod?”

“Twenty. Two are dead,” Kria responds. “We need medical care for a few others. There was an accident in our home.”

“Cy. Do you think your trait will work through their uniforms?” I whisper through my teeth. “You might be able to do something.”

I don’t think so. That would be a disaster.
He’s staring straight at the officers with zero expression, but his voice is impatient, nervous.

“We already are a disaster,” I growl.

“Lie facedown, with your hands on your heads,” the officer commands. Cy, Marka, and I carefully drop to our knees, but Kria hesitates.

“Please, may I have a word? We only want to—” she starts, when the nearest officer makes a tiny movement of his arm. A hissing zing sounds and the neural bullet strikes Kria straight in the chest. There’s an eternity in a second, when her body hovers between control and oblivion, before succumbing to the shot and hitting the grassy soil.

“Kria!” I cry out, but immediately regret my word when the same officer pivots to aim at me. “Never mind!” I yelp, hastily flattening myself to the ground and slapping my hands on my head.

“You’re a smart girl,” the officer says. “Let’s restrain these four. Don’t touch them,” he warns.

My arms are twisted hard behind my back, and my wrists and hands are gummed together with something that feels hot and gooey, then cools immediately to a hard but rubbery material. Plasticizer cuffs. Nearly unbreakable and form-fitting.

“Hmm. Look, these are Inky bracelets,” an officer comments. “You two are escapees, huh? Impressive. Hard to get out of there. They’ll claim you, of course, if you ever get out of prison. Alive, that is,” the gruff voice says.

“May I go to prison too?” a man’s voice calls playfully from far away, beyond the clearing where our hoverpods are.

I twist my neck around to find the source of the brash voice. I barely make out a tiny blur of yellowish white beyond the brush. Someone tall, with blond hair.

“It’s Endall!” I whisper to Cy.

The lead officer points to the woods. “I see him in my scanner. It’s just one guy. Unarmed, and skinny too. You three, go get him.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see the trio march toward the forest edge, holding their neural guns carefully in front of them. They disappear into the shadows of the looming trees. There’s a telltale zing sound, followed by two others. A faint thump sounds, like a body hitting the ground.

That was quick.

“All right, let’s get the rest rounded up,” the lead officer says as they walk toward the hoverpod. But they don’t get far. All the kids from Wingfield slowly exit the hoverpod with their hands in the air, like they’ve already been trained on how to surrender properly. Dyl and Ana are in the front, and Dyl blinks her eyes innocently.

“Can we go to prison too?”

What are they doing?
Cy wonders. I have no answer for him. I suppose they’re making it easier for the police, but still.

“All right. Everyone in a line. Facedown on the ground.”

Everyone complies to form a long line behind us, keeping their hands over their heads. When they see Hex’s four arms and Vera’s green face, some of the officers shift their weight with discomfort. Wilbert isn’t with them.

The police notice too. “There’s another one inside. Go.” Two officers obey their commander, and go around the line to enter the hoverpod. I count the remaining officers. Only ten now. Why haven’t the three returned with Endall’s body?

“I said facedown on the ground,” the main officer yells, holding his neural gun higher.

The air is ripe with tension as none of the kids move. Slowly, they drop their arms.

And then, it’s chaos.

Five kids drop to the ground, as if they’d been hit by guns. Another six scatter, screaming. The officers start shooting their neural guns and the air crackles with bullets. I shriek when Hex tackles an officer and they land with a crunching thud only inches from my face. The officer’s neural gun skitters over the grass.

“Caliga!” Hex yells, and they continue to wrestle. Hex won’t punch him, just takes blow after blow to his abdomen as he wrestles with the officer’s head. A well-placed boot kicks Hex hard and he rolls away, huffing in pain, but the officer’s helmet is tucked away in Hex’s arms. The sandy-haired policeman stands up, preparing to fire another weapon, when Caliga bear-hugs him.

“Hey! Sleepy time!” she says, breathing hard after running over. The officer falls to his knees. Caliga keeps her hands on his face for another ten seconds.

“Cal, don’t kill him. If we kill anyone, we’ll really be criminals,” Cy urges her. Caliga lets go and nods, before searching his pocket. She pulls out a small lipstick-sized instrument.

“Aha! I saw this on a holo show once,” she says. She twists the tube and presses it into the solid plasticizer around my hands and wrists. The material liquefies with the pulse from the device and falls to the ground in a wet glob. My hands are free. She helps Cy and Marka, before running after Hex, who’s wrestling with another officer.

It’s crazy. Some of the kids have been shot and are immobile on the ground. Others are trying to fight. Some, who faked being shot, are popping up and fighting. Vera lands a powerful roundhouse kick to an officer’s head, and Tegg is disarming another one nearby. Three other officers surround the fighting pair. They keep shooting at Tegg, but the neural bullets ping uselessly off his hardened skin. Realizing their mistake, they take out knife-tipped batons and close in.

“Tegg!” I screech, but it’s too late. He turns only to get a knife straight into his shoulder, where his armor is weakest. Tegg cries out and another officer dives forward to stab him in the neck. The brightest crimson sprays into the air as I shriek again.

“This is crazy!” Cy yells, checking the pulse of Caliga’s downed officer.

“Tell everyone not to fight to kill! We’ve got to bring the police down without seriously injuring them.” I look over my shoulder to where Hex and Vera have immobilized another officer, but Hex’s face is a bloody mess now. “We’re not going to win this one by one.”

Cy kneels down and concentrates hard, shutting his eyes.

Listen, everyone. Do not kill any officers. It will only hurt us. Just disarm, or knock them out. And someone figure out how to open up their helmet visors.

Marka nods at us from across the field, where she’s tending to the fallen. One of the kids is shocking one of the guards, who convulses and falls backward. He must have Micah’s trait. Ana and Dyl aren’t anywhere to be seen, but bodies of the fallen lie everywhere. We’re losing.

A voice booms across us from the police hoverpod.

“Reinforcements are arriving shortly. We will be shooting to kill. You will not be hurt if you lie down with your hands on your head.”

Everyone stops fighting. Marka looks around to the few left standing, and shouts, “Stop fighting! Everyone! Please, stop. It’s over.”

Hex wipes his bloody face and his shoulders fall, exhausted. Caliga takes her hands off an officer and drops to her knees, ready to surrender.

“It’s really over, isn’t it?” I whisper to Cy.

Cy closes his eyes, then covers his face. We both fall to our knees. Someone runs out of the doorway of the police hoverpod, face smeared in dirt and blood. He’s wearing body armor, but doesn’t look like an officer. He’s holding a helmet in his arms, with wires sticking out the edges of the visor. Only his dandelion-yellow hair tells me who it is.

“Endall!” I gasp. I thought he was shot in the woods. What was he doing inside the police craft? He smiles over at me and Cy, before hollering, “I owe you for the watch, Zelia. Here you go.” His hand digs into the helmet, and suddenly the face visor of every officer slides open with simultaneous clicks. Their expressions show surprise and shock at losing their face protection.