Resist (17 page)

And I should probably look afraid, too.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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33

ALINA

I wake in a sweat, sure someone has his hands around my throat. Silas is sitting on my bunk. “It was a dream,” he says.

I push my hair out of my face. “What time is it?” I ask. Everyone else is up and dressed.

“Six in the evening. We’re getting ready for this stupid Pairing Ceremony,” he says.

“I’ve been asleep all day?”

“I told Vanya you had an iffy stomach,” he says.

I think of Crab’s foaming mouth as he tried to kill me and I am breathless again. “Did you tell them?” I whisper. I can’t remember anything that happened after we snuck back into Sequoia. Silas had to half carry me to the cabin.

Silas slides closer. “They know we saw a body being buried. We’ll tell them what we did, if we have to.” He holds me by the chin and looks at me directly. “Keep it together, Alina. You’ve killed before.” I shake my head to contradict him. “At The Grove. You think none of your bullets hit those soldiers?”

But it was easier then—the troops were far away; I couldn’t see their faces, and I didn’t have to bury them.

Silas turns to the others. “Seeing the body last night leaves us in no doubt. . . . We need to get out of here. Our main concern is oxygen. Song?”

Song bites his lips. “I can find a way to store oxygen and pump it into an airtight space, but we need trees to produce it or the formula for manufactured air . . . plus the chemicals.”

“Well, that’s impossible,” Silas says. We’re all silent. Our options are meager. “I have the map that Inger was putting together, which has the locations of solar respirators on it. We can survive on those and wait for Song to design something better.” He looks at each of us in turn. I want to have a better idea, but I don’t.

“We was fine on solar respirators before you lot showed up,” Maude lies. If it was fine, she wouldn’t have tried to kill me for my air tank the first time she saw me.

Dorian puts his hands on his hips. “We buried people at The Grove, you know. I don’t know why this dead body should change anything.”

“This wasn’t a one-off, Dorian. There were dozens of graves,” I say.

Dorian pulls his red robe over his head and faces us, defiant. “I don’t agree with pairings any more than you, but I’m not spending the rest of my life drifting and barely clinging to life,” he says.

We all watch Silas and wait, willing him to find a solution to Dorian’s fears. Fears that are ours, too. But he has no answer for this. “We have to leave Sequoia now,” is all he says.

“We won’t make it a mile before they’re on top of us,” I say. I don’t mean to contradict Silas, who is glaring at me, but we have to bide our time, run when they least expect it. Besides, if we run now, they’ll know we were the ones who killed Crab. “We found a way out. It’s a narrow tunnel under the wall at the back, about fifty feet from a steel door. Anything heavy goes down, we leave that way and wait for each another on the other side. There are only a few places back there to hide,” I say.

Song goes to the door, takes the rest of the robes from the hook, and hands them out. The sleeves are too long, eating up our hands.

Silas goes to the wall and punches it. Dorian pulls up his hood and it covers his entire forehead, right down to his eyes. “Red ain’t my color,” Maude says. She tries to struggle out of the robe, but Bruce stops her.

“It’s just for an hour or so, Maddie.”

Somewhere beyond the cabin a shrill whistle sounds.

“Pairings,” I say.

Before being led into the orangery where the pairings will be performed, we’re held in a waiting room with narrow benches running the length of it. Silas is on my one side, Dorian on my other. Apart from those of us from The Grove, around ten people are with us. Abel sits opposite me. When he smiles, I smile back. He’s always been able to make me do this, even when things were dire.

I scan the bench and the faces of the other boys. They don’t look particularly menacing; I’d be willing to fend off any one of them.

A door opens and another candidate is pushed into the room. “Quinn!” I say, and go to him. “We were worried,” I whisper.

“I’ve just had a three-hour test followed by the most humiliating physical exam of my life,” Quinn says.

“Where are Bea and Jazz?”

He edges closer. In the past I might have moved away, but he isn’t flirting. “They’re alive,” he says, and suddenly hope fizzles through me. If Bea’s alive, and Jazz too, there’s no excuse for any of us to give up. “Bea was with Ronan Knavery. They’re planning a new rebellion in the pod. They have my father on our side this time and think they can take control of the army. But we need you.”

“Cain Knavery’s son?” I ask. He nods. It’s a lot to take in, and I have a hundred questions, but I haven’t time to ask any more because a bell rings, and Maks enters from the opposite end of the room wearing a skintight red shirt.

“Excited?” he asks. He rubs his hands together. I don’t like the gesture, or his leering expression. After what I saw in the stairwell, I pity poor Jo and her life with him. “Let’s do this,” he says. My gut tightens and I pull back the lower half of my face mask, so I can bite my nails.

“So the first civil war in the pod didn’t achieve anything?” I ask, taking Quinn by the arm.

“Well, it was enough to make my father and Ronan turn against the Ministry. Will you come back with me?” he asks.

“Yes,” I tell him. “Of course, I will.”

The orangery is an enormous conservatory attached to the east wing of the main house. Along three sides are rows of Sequoians gawking at us, and on the remaining fourth side is a stage decorated with a red banner that reads
For Air, We Pair
. It doesn’t even make sense: the only way to re-oxygenate the planet is to grow trees.

Vanya is standing under the banner wearing a red robe, although hers has no hood and plunges at the neckline where it’s held in place with a metal pin. Maks steers us to some empty chairs, then steps up onto the stage and stands next to Vanya.

We sit.

“A Pairing Ceremony is our most valued celebration,” Vanya says. “Through pairings, we preserve the human race from extinction. Along with pairings, these candidates will also learn their vocations. They will become troopers, responsible for the group’s physical needs; academics, responsible for the group’s mental needs; or benefactors, responsible for the group’s spiritual needs.” I look around the room. I haven’t met anyone here who seems particularly spiritually enlightened, and she must have forgotten that humans and overpopulation was the reason for The Switch in the first place. Cut down the trees to feed the people—what a good plan that turned out to be.

“I marvel at what we have achieved,” Vanya continues. “We’ve made mistakes and sacrifices along the way, but we are stronger for it, and unlike other groups who have fallen, we prevail.” Vanya looks down at our group and I nearly give her the finger. It isn’t our fault The Grove perished. “Many of the candidates are refugees. Sequoia is the last stronghold against the Ministry and we defend our right, not only to breathe, but to
breed
a new people invincible to the elements.” The audience cheers. I look along at Silas, but he’s focused on the floor, his cheeks burning, his hands curled into fists. I wouldn’t put it past him to start something right now, but we can’t win if we try to battle these people. There are too many of them. When we leave, we should simply sneak away.

Vanya calls forward a set of candidates. “Song Jackson, Dorian Chasm, Juno McIntire, Martha Spencer, Quinn Caffrey, and Clarice Bird, please come onto the stage,” Vanya says. Dorian is the only person to stand. “All of you,” Vanya says.

“Here goes nothing,” Quinn says, and files onto the stage with the others. Most of them seem petrified, or at least nervous, but not Dorian. Since when did he decide that this was what he wanted?

“I present to you . . . our academics,” Vanya announces. There are cheers, presumably from other academics. “Please cover your heads,” Vanya directs. The hoods completely shroud the top halves of their faces. “Each pairing has been scientifically chosen to ensure each person in Sequoia has a mate who is a true fit.” Vanya consults a list. “Please hold out your hands.” Vanya takes Song and another person’s hand and guides them to the front of the stage. “Presenting Song Jackson and Martha Spencer,” she says. They are made to kneel, then Vanya places a hand on each of their heads and closes her eyes. “Future generations will mark these days. May your union assist humanity. And may you strive for the greater good.”

“For the greater good,” the room chants. Vanya bows as though she’s performed a magic trick and pushes back the hoods on their robes. Song and Martha look at each other for the first time. Is he trembling? Vanya forces them to hold hands, and Song stumbles as they stand. Martha holds him up. After what happened to Holly, I’m surprised he’s been so composed about the process until now.

Vanya chooses another pair: Quinn and the girl called Clarice. Quinn’s the only one on stage wearing a mask, and I can sense the audience staring at him. He and Clarice kneel before Vanya who gives her speech and unites them.

Dorian is next, and once he has been paired, he leads his other, Juno, to the side where he immediately lets go of her hand. Now he’s seen his partner, a round-faced, plain-looking girl with mild acne, he doesn’t look as keen on conforming. He leans as far away from Juno as he can.

Maks directs them to a set of seats at the back of the stage. There’s nothing funny about the pairings and nothing funny about Sequoia either, but seeing Dorian disappointed, his illusions shattered, makes me smile.

Vanya announces that there will be another group of academics. She calls out names I don’t recognize, and more robed candidates mount the stage. I blot out her voice and gaze through the glass ceiling at the black sky dotted with blinking stars. It looks just like the night I slept in the trees at The Grove—before the whole world came crashing to the ground. The peace I felt in those moments was like nothing else, curling up in the thick silence of space.

It isn’t long until my name is called. “Alina Moon, Silas Moon, Wren Darson, Sugar Collins, and Abel Boone, please come up.” And I am facing a hundred Sequoians shifting impatiently in their seats. Those who are paying attention are peering at Silas and me peculiarly, because, like Quinn, we’re wearing face masks. But they can go screw themselves—they know nothing about who we are or what we’ve sacrificed to be here.

Apart from Silas, who
can’t
be my other, the only other male is Abel. It shouldn’t make me happy—none of this is right—but I’m glad for the face mask and hood, so no one will see my relief.

“Let me present the troopers,” Vanya says, and then Silas’s name is announced along with Wren’s. I can’t imagine what he must be thinking or feeling. Losing Inger is bad enough, but now this. Now
her
.

And Vanya speaks again. “Presenting Abel Boone and Sugar Collins,” she says. My chest tightens. I pull back the hood a few inches and watch Abel and Sugar hold hands and awkwardly step aside. Senseless jealousy ripples through me. There is a murmuring in the audience because I am the last candidate. Does this mean I won’t be paired? It feels like a blessing not to be, and yet. . . . My stomach knots.

Vanya forces me to kneel and places a hand on my head as she did with the others. All I can see from under my hood are the feet of the audience. Vanya clears her throat and this is enough to silence the murmuring crowd. “A person gets paired once. This has always been our rule. But what if a pairing goes wrong? What if, when we check the test results, we discover an error? Jo Rose fled Sequoia and returned to us a few days ago. Why did she flee? She knew she was wrongly stationed, and as a result we have retested her and discovered that she should never have been made a trooper nor paired. Jo has been reevaluated and will become a benefactor, and like all benefactors, she will be our conscience. She will spend her days in a meditative state and attract good energy to Sequoia. This is a role only a select few are cut out for, and it is a role many find difficult to understand. Jo is desperately needed.” The audience is silent, soaking in the news. “Jo’s other will be re-paired today.”

No . . .

I bite on my tongue, and the floor creaks as he kneels. The blood pumping through my ears thrums. Silas and I should have escaped last night when we had the chance, or this morning like he suggested.

We’d seen enough.

My hood is removed and Maks is smiling at me using only one side of his mouth. He offers me his hand. I have no choice but to take it and join the others at the side of the stage.

Maks puts an arm around my waist and tries to pull me close. “Don’t!” I say, but he leaves his hand resting on my hip. So I pinch it—hard.

All he does is laughs and moves his hand to the back of my neck, where he pulls on the straps of my face mask. “Careful,” he whispers.

Vanya is speaking again, inviting Maude and Bruce onto the stage. They are pronounced benefactors. “That’s about right. Always been generous, me,” Maude says, which gets a laugh.

The ceremony comes to an end and we’re escorted out. The audience is on its feet applauding, but I can’t help noticing that some of the faces look irredeemably sad.

Someone stands on the hem of my robe, and when I turn, Abel is shuffling after me holding Sugar’s hand. He has the same terrified stare he had when we were stealing from the biosphere. “I’m sorry for asking you to stay. I had no idea you’d get him,” he whispers. Thankfully, Maks is several paces ahead and can’t hear.

“It’s too late for apologies,” I say, though this isn’t really his fault.

Abel lets go of Sugar, who squints when he presses his mouth close to my ear. “Maude and Bruce are in trouble. And so is Jo,” he says.

“What?” I stop walking.

“They could die. We have to—” He stops as Maks pushes back through the crowd to get to me.