The Testing Guide
Author: Joelle Charbonneau
Date: 2013-05-01 04:44:12+00:00
Keywords: General; Young Adult Fiction; Action; Novella; Romance; Action & Adventure; Fantasy; Post Apocalyptic; Survival Stories; Teen; Fiction; Short Stories; Dystopian; Young Adult; Science Fiction; Dystopia
Description: In the scarred and war-battered United Commonwealth, ten-year-old Cia Vale watches her older brother Zeen dream about being chosen for The Testing. He’s graduated at the top of his class, and being chosen, like his father was before him, means a chance to attend The University and help lead the effort to revitalize postwar civilization. Cia is conflicted—she hopes Zeen is chosen, but dreads him leaving home. She also realizes that one day she too must set her mind on being chosen. But does she realize the deadly path she will have to take? THE TESTING GUIDE is the short story prequel to The Te
Publisher: HarperCollins

Contents

Title Page

Contents

Copyright

The Testing

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Independent Study

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Graduation Day

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

*Digital Bonus* The Testing Guide

Sample Chapter from NEED

Buy the Book

About the Author

The Testing copyright © 2013 by Joelle Charbonneau

The Testing Guide copyright © 2013 by Joelle Charbonneau

Independent Study copyright © 2014 by Joelle Charbonneau

Graduation Day copyright © 2014 by Joelle Charbonneau

Compilation copyright © 2014 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to trade.permissions@hmhco.com or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

www.hmhco.com

eISBN 978-0-544-55522-8
v3.1015

For Stacia Decker, for so many reasons.

Chapter 1

GRADUATION DAY.

I can hardly stand still as my mother straightens my celebratory red tunic and tucks a strand of light brown hair behind my ear. Finally she turns me and I look in the reflector on our living area wall. Red. I’m wearing red. No more pink. I am an adult. Seeing evidence of that tickles my stomach.

“Are you ready, Cia?” my mother asks. She too is wearing red, although her dress is made of a gossamer fabric that drapes to the floor in soft swirls. Next to her, my sleeveless dress and leather boots look childish, but that’s okay. I have time to grow into my adult status. I’m young for it at sixteen. The youngest by far in my class.

I take one last look in the reflector and hope that today is not the end of my education, but I have no control over that. Only a dream that my name will be called for The Testing. Swallowing hard, I nod. “Let’s go.”

Graduation is held in the colony square among the stalls filled with baked goods and fresh milk because the school isn’t large enough to hold all the people who will attend. The entire colony attends graduation, which only makes sense since everyone in the colony is related to at least one of the students crossing over to adulthood or celebrating their promotion to the next grade. This year is the largest graduating class the Five Lakes Colony has had. Eight boys, six girls. A clear sign the colony is thriving.

My father and four brothers, all dressed in ceremonial adult purple, are waiting for us outside our dwelling. My oldest brother, Zeen, shoots me a smile and ruffles my hair. “Are you ready to be done with school and get out into the real world with the rest of us slobs?”

My mother frowns.

I laugh.

Zeen and my other brothers are definitely not slobs. In fact, girls practically throw themselves at them. But while my brothers aren’t immune to flirting, none of them seems interested in settling down. They’re more interested in creating the next hybrid tomato plant than starting a family. Zeen most of all. He’s tall, blond, and smart. Very, very smart. And yet he never got chosen for The Testing. The thought takes away the shine from the day. Perhaps that’s the first rule I will learn as an adult—that you can’t always get what you want. Zeen must have wanted to continue on to the University—to follow in Dad’s footsteps. He must know what I’m feeling. For a moment, I wish I could talk to him. Ask him how he got through the disappointment that most likely is awaiting me. Our colony will be lucky to have one student chosen for The Testing—if any at all. It has been ten years since the last student from Five Lakes was chosen. I’m good at school, but there are those who are better. Much better. What chance do I have?

With a forced smile, I say, “You bet. I can’t stay in school if I plan on running the colony by the time all of you are married.”

Hart and Win blush. They are two years older than me and the idea of marriage and dating makes them run for cover. The two of them are happy working side by side in the nursery, growing the flowers and trees Dad has created to withstand the corrupted earth at the outskirts of the colony.

“No one will be doing much of anything if we don’t get moving.” Mother’s voice is sharp as she heads off down the path. My brothers and father quickly follow. Zeen’s and Hamin’s lack of marriage prospects is a sore spot for our mother.

Because of Dad’s job, our house is farther from the center of the colony than most. My brothers and father have made the ground around our small house bloom green with plants and trees, but a hundred feet past our front door the earth is cracked and brittle. Though some grass and a few scraggly trees do grow. Dad tells me the earth to our west is far worse, which is why our leaders decided to place the Five Lakes Colony here.

Usually, I ride my bicycle to town. A couple of citizens own cars, but fuel and solar cells big enough to run them are too precious for everyday use. Today, I trail behind my family as we walk the almost five miles to the colony’s community square.

Square is really the wrong word, but we use it anyway. It’s shaped more like a turtle with an oval center and some appendages to the sides. There is a beautiful fountain in the middle that sprays clear, sparkling water into the air. The fountain is a luxury since clean water is not always easy to come by. But we are allowed the waste and the beauty in order to honor the man who discovered how to remove the contamination from the lakes and ponds after Stage Seven. What is left of the oceans is harder to clean.

The ground becomes greener and birds sing the closer we get to the center of the colony. Mom doesn’t talk much on the way. Zeen teases her that she doesn’t want me to grow up, but I don’t think that’s the case.

Or maybe it is.

Mom and I get along fine, but the past couple of years she has seemed distant. Less willing to help me with my homework. More interested in getting the boys married and talking about where I will apprentice when I finish school. Any discussion of me being selected for The Testing is not welcome. So, I talk to her less and less and to my father more and more. He doesn’t change the subject when I speak about going further in my education, although he doesn’t actively encourage me. He doesn’t want to see me disappointed, I guess.

The sun is hot and sweat drips down my back as we trek up the final hill. The sounds of music and laughter from just out of sight have me quickening my step. Just before we reach the top, Dad puts his arm around me and asks me to wait while the others go on ahead.

The excitement over the hill pulls at me, but I stay put and ask, “Is something wrong?” His eyes are filled with shadows even though his smile is bright.

“Nothing is wrong,” he says. “I just wanted a moment with my little girl before things get too crazy. Everything changes the minute we go over that hill.”

“I know.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Kind of.” Excitement, fear, and other emotions swirl inside me, making it hard to tell what I’m really feeling. “It’s weird not knowing what I’m going to do when I get up tomorrow.” Most of my classmates have made choices about their future. They know where they will apprentice or if they will move to another colony to find work. Some even know who they are going to marry. I know none of these things, although my father has made it clear I can work with him and my brothers if I choose. The option seems bleak at best since my thumb is anything but green. The last time I helped my father I almost destroyed the sunflower seedling he’d spent months creating. Mechanical things I fix. Plants I kill.

“You’re going to get up and face whatever comes. I’ll be proud of you no matter what today brings.”

“Even if I don’t get accepted for The Testing?”

“Especially if you don’t get accepted for The Testing.” He smiles and gently pokes me in the belly. When I was little, that never failed to send me into fits of laughter. Today it still makes me grin. It’s nice to know some things never change, even though I doubt my father’s teasing words.

Dad went to the University. That’s where he learned to genetically alter plants and trees to survive in the blighted soil. He doesn’t talk about it much, or the colony he grew up in, probably because he doesn’t want us to feel pressured by his success. But I do.

“You think I won’t get accepted.”

My father frowns. “I think you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. You never know who the search committee might pick or why. Five of us from my grade were selected and tested. The other four always did better in class, but I was the only one who made it to the University. The Testing isn’t always fair, and it isn’t always right.”

“But you’re not sorry you went. Look at the amazing things you do every day because of it.” The trees next to us are filled with blooms promising apples in the months to come. Bushes of wild blackberries grow next to daisies and other flowers I never learned the names of but know Dad was a part of creating. When I was small, these things didn’t exist. At least not the healthy versions dotting the hills today. Even now I can remember the empty ache of going to bed hungry. Food had been scarce as Dad worked with farmers to make things grow. And they had. In Five Lakes Colony, we are careful not to waste, but hunger is no longer our primary concern. My father is the reason why.

“I can’t be sorry about something I had no choice in.” His eyes go far away as the birds chirp around us. Finally, he smiles, although his eyes never clear of whatever memories are capturing his attention. “Besides, I wouldn’t have moved here and met your mother if I hadn’t gone to the University. Then where would I be?”

“Probably living at home with your parents and making your mother worry that you’ll never get serious about your future.”

The clouds disappear from their depths and his eyes twinkle as he ruffles my hair. “Sounds like a fate worse than death.” Which is what my mother makes it sound like every time she tells Zeen that life is passing him by. “Come on. Your mother is going to sound the alarm if we don’t get moving. I just want you to remember one thing. I believe in you. No matter what.”

Arm in arm we start up and over the hill to join the festivities. I smile, but deep in my heart I worry that Dad has always expected me to fall short of his achievements. That I will disappoint—no matter what.

Because the colony is spread out over many miles, this is the one guaranteed occasion every year when the entire population of Five Lakes gathers together. Once in a while we all congregate when there is a message from our country’s leaders that needs to be delivered to everyone, but those occasions are rare. At just over nine hundred citizens, our colony is one of the smallest and farthest from Tosu City, where the United Commonwealth government is based. We don’t rank much attention, which is fine by most of us. We do well on our own. Outsiders aren’t shunned, but they aren’t exactly embraced with open arms. They have to convince us they belong.

The square is quite large, but the space feels small with so many people dressed in their ceremonial finery. Shops for candles, baked goods, shoes, and all sorts of household items line the outside edge of the square. The shops will close when graduation begins, but now they are doing a brisk business as citizens who don’t often get into town purchase or trade for necessary items. The United Commonwealth coin is rare in our colony, but the few people on the government payroll, like Dad, use it.

“Cia!” The waving hand catches my attention as my best friend Daileen comes barreling toward me. Her blond hair and pink dress flutter as she dodges groups of chatting citizens to reach me. She clutches a cone with rapidly melting pink ice cream in her hand. Squeezing me in a tight hug, she says, “Can you believe you’re graduating? This is so exciting. They’re even giving away free ice cream.”

I hug her back, careful to avoid the melting cone. My mother will have a fit if I get a stain on my new dress before graduation begins. “Exciting and scary. Don’t forget the scary part.”

Daileen is the only one I’ve talked to about my fears of the future if I don’t get chosen for The Testing. She looks around to make sure no one is listening and says, “My father heard there’s a special guest who’s supposed to speak today.”

Graduation Day has a lot of speakers. Our teachers will speak, as will the magistrate and a number of other Five Lakes leaders. When the entire colony gets together there is never a lack of things to talk about. So the special guest doesn’t sound all that special until Daileen adds, “My father says the guest is from Tosu City.”

That gets my attention. “Someone from Tosu is here?” The last time an official from Tosu came to Five Lakes Colony was three years ago when our old magistrate died. Two men and a woman came to the colony to select the new colony leader. Mostly Tosu City communicates with us through proclamations or radio communications with our magistrate.

“That’s what my father heard.” Daileen licks the melted ice cream streaking the back of her hand. “Dad thinks he’s here to escort a candidate for The Testing. That could be you.” For a minute her smile falters. “I’ll really miss you.”

Daileen and I are only two weeks apart in age and have been best friends since the age of three. Her parents enrolled her in school at the mandatory age of six. My parents decided to send me at five, which is why we are not in the same class. She is the shyer, smarter, and gentler of the two of us. She is also the one less likely to make new friends unless someone else is there to get the conversation going. Without me pushing her to engage others in conversation during lunch and hang out after classes, she will probably eat alone and go home to an empty, sad house long before everyone else leaves the school grounds. Her mother died two years ago in an accident and her father, while nice, isn’t home much, leaving Daileen alone to deal with the chores and the memories. I try to keep her in good spirits while we’re at school, but some days the shadows overwhelm her. I worry one day those shadows will swallow her whole without someone to chase them away.

I give her another quick hug and say, “Every year there’s a rumor about a Tosu official coming to graduation.” Although a small part of me can’t help yearning for this year’s rumor to be true. To distract myself as much as Daileen, I add, “Now, I want to get some of that ice cream before it’s gone. Okay?”

I enlist other friends, many of them going into their final year of school, in our search for strawberry ice cream, hoping that one of them will take Daileen under their wing when classes begin again in a few weeks. If not, I will find a way to make things easier for Daileen.

My mother waves at me and frowns, so I leave a smiling Daileen with the other students and cross the square to the fountain where she waits. Almost everyone I pass waves or says hello. Our family moves to new dwellings almost every year—to whatever section of the colony the magistrate thinks needs Dad’s skill the most. All the moving makes it hard to feel attached to a home, but unlike most citizens, who know only their neighbors and former schoolmates, I know the majority of the people in our colony by sight.

Kids still too young for school, dressed in pale yellows and greens, dance around the twelve-foot-wide circular fountain, occasionally splashing each other with the water. But they avoid the area where my mother is seated. Her expression says that getting her wet will bring a scolding. Something I’m probably going to get no matter what.

My mother studies me. “Your hair is a mess. What have you been doing?”

My hair is always a mess between the curls and the frizz. I’ve suggested cutting it short, but my mother insists that long, cascading hair is a necessary asset for an unmarried young woman. If my hair came even close to cascading I might agree with her.

The sound of drums and trumpets compels my mother to stop her assault on my hair. My insides do a flip. Then another. It is time to take my place among the students. Graduation is about to begin.

My father and brothers appear out of the crowd and give me hugs before I head for the raised platform where my fellow graduates and I are expected to stand throughout the ceremony. It’s often said that getting through eleven years of school is easier than standing through the two or more hours it takes to leave it. I am hoping whoever said that was just joking.

We line up as directed across the back of the stage. Boys in back. Girls in front. Which I am thankful for, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see anything. My brothers inherited my mother’s and father’s height, whereas I am a throwback to another generation. At five feet, two inches, I am the shortest girl in my class.

Ms. Jorghen, our teacher, fusses with our positioning and reminds us at least a dozen times to smile, stand straight, and pay attention. This is her first Graduation Day in Five Lakes Colony so she is no doubt nervous. Once she is happy with our arrangement on the stage, she takes her place in the middle of the platform and the trumpets and drums sound again. Magistrate Owens appears in the doorway of her house—the only three-story structure on the square—and walks stiffly through the crowd. She is a robust, gray-haired woman with deep lines on her face. Her red dress is a darker color than most, more of a rust tone. The minute she reaches the podium at the front of the stage, she leans into the microphone that is set to amplify her voice across the square and announces, “Happy Graduation Day.”

We all say the words back to her and several citizens applaud. Magistrate Owens waits for the square to grow quiet again before saying, “Graduation Day is an exciting time for us all, but especially for the students behind me. After today, they will become a very welcome addition to our colony’s workforce. Twenty-five years ago, the United Commonwealth government decided to send 150 men, women, and children to this area. They created Five Lakes Colony in the hopes that our hard work could make the scarred earth that was once rich with farmland and forests thrive. The five lakes that we are named after were once called the Great Lakes. With the aid of our citizens, we are helping restore them to their original name. We have needed every member of our community to make this happen. Graduation Day adds fourteen of you to our cause and for that we are fortunate. Each step we take forward creates the need for more hands to help cultivate progress. Trust me when I say we can never have enough hands. I know many of you have not yet decided what careers you will embark upon, but all of us are grateful for whatever work you will do here in the years to come.”

The crowd applauds. My heart swoops with nerves and excitement as Magistrate Owens announces, “Let the Graduation Day parade begin.”

I bite my lip to keep it from trembling as the trumpets and drums take up a marching melody. My eyes blur with unshed tears, blinding me for a moment to the entrance of my soon-to-be former schoolmates. Every year the students from the school parade into the square one class at a time to great applause. Each class makes a banner that two students carry at the front to announce what lessons were learned this year. After the ceremony, the banners will be displayed in the square and the favorite one will be voted on. There is often friendly betting among the adults as to which class will win. For the first time, I am not among those parading, and it hits me that I never will be again.

The youngest class leads the parade, followed by the next oldest and so on. They march around the fountain to the beat of the drums and over to an area left of the stage that is roped off for them. When all ten classes are standing near the stage, Magistrate Owens talks about the new train system that has been developed between Tosu City and ten of the other colonies and the plans to continue construction until all colonies are reachable by rail. From my place on the stage I can see the crowd’s excitement at the news. When she is done relating news from the United Commonwealth, Magistrate Owens invites the citizens in charge of water, power, agriculture, and other revitalization projects to make announcements. These take more than an hour and range from reminders about proper water usage to requests for volunteers to help build dwellings for newly married couples. Even my father makes an announcement about a new, heartier breed of potato that his team developed.

I blink and try not to show my surprise. Not at the new potato. That I knew about. The old strain of potato had a half-inch hard skin that turned black when exposed to air. Something to do with whatever genetic enhancement Dad gave it to survive in the blighted soil in the first place. For the most part no one cared about the black skin. Once you cut away the outside, the potato was safe to eat. But Zeen decided to try his hand at a new version and succeeded brilliantly. So, no, it is not the potatoes that have caught me off-guard, but the words Dad uses to announce them. Last week he told us that Zeen was going to get full credit for the project.

But he doesn’t. Zeen’s name is never mentioned.

I crane my neck, trying to see Zeen in the crowd. Does he look disappointed? This was supposed to be a moment of triumph for him. Is he as confused as I am? I find him leaning against a tree in the middle of the applauding crowd. Several people are slapping him on the back because he is a member of Dad’s team. But his smile doesn’t fool me. The set of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes tell me better than words that he has felt the slight.

Dad leaves the stage to more applause and our teacher takes his place. My stomach clenches and my breathing quickens. This is it. I am about to graduate.

Ms. Jorghen smiles back at us. Then she says into the microphone, “I am very proud to read the roster of graduates who today pass from their studies into adulthood.”

One by one she announces the names of our graduating class. One by one my classmates walk to the center of the stage, shake Magistrate Owens’s hand, and then take their place back in line. The names are read in alphabetical order, so mine isn’t called until the end.

“Malencia Vale.”

My legs are unsteady from nerves and stiff from standing. I walk over to the podium and shake both Ms. Jorghen’s and the magistrate’s hands while the crowd applauds. Daileen’s cheers can be heard above all others, and her smile makes me respond with one of my own. My heart soars. I’m officially an adult. I did it.

Still grinning, I return to my place with my class as Magistrate Owens takes the podium. The crowd goes silent. A ripple of anticipation makes my stomach churn. My hands clench and unclench in anticipation. If any students have been selected for The Testing, this is when it will be announced. I crane my neck, trying to spot an unknown face in the crowd—the rumored Tosu City official.

Only there is no Tosu City official. Magistrate Owens gives us all a big smile and says, “Congratulations to all of this year’s students and especially to our graduates. I can’t wait to see what your futures hold.”

The crowd cheers again and my lips curl into an automatic smile even as disappointment and tears lodge in my throat. I have been preparing for this day for years and now it is over. As are my dreams for the future. No matter how hard I worked, I wasn’t good enough to be chosen for The Testing.

As I leave the stage and am given hugs of congratulations by my friends, I can only wonder, What will I do now?

Chapter 2

“HIDING?”

I startle at my brother’s voice. Zeen’s knowing smile makes the denial I was about to give die on my lips. Instead, I shrug. “Things have been kind of crazy today. I just needed a few minutes to catch my breath.”

Guitars, drums, and several horns play music in front of the bakery while dozens of people dance and clap their hands to the beat. On the other side of the square, roasted meats continue to be sliced and carved. A combination of torchlight and electricity illuminates the rest of the square where people laugh, sing, and play games. But the light doesn’t reach me in the shadows where I stand. For the past few hours, I’ve been dancing and singing because it is expected. To do anything less would be to show my disappointment, which would also reveal my arrogance in thinking I was smart enough to be chosen.

“Here.” Zeen hands me a cup with an understanding nod. “You could use this.”

The drink is sweet, but underneath there is the distinct flavor of something sharp and bitter. Alcohol. Since most fruits and grains that can be turned into alcohol are needed to feed Five Lakes Colony citizens, very little of the crop is turned into liquor. But a small amount is set aside every year for special occasions—like graduation night. Only adults are allowed to consume the special drinks, but my brothers have allowed me to sip from their cups in the past. The flavor isn’t to my liking, so I only take a quick sip and pass the cup back to Zeen.

“Feel better, kiddo?”

I look down to avoid his eyes. “Not exactly.”

“Yeah.” He leans back against a large oak tree and drains the rest of the liquid from the cup. “Things don’t always work out the way we hope. You just have to pick yourself up and find a new direction to go in.”

The edge to his voice makes me ask, “Is that what you’re going to do then?” In the past couple years Zeen had toyed with seeing what opportunities existed outside of Five Lakes. I would hate it if he did it now. Having him leave our colony would be sad. Knowing he’d be leaving mad would break my heart.

His hand tightens around the cup, but his words are mild when he answers, “I’m not sending an application to Tosu City, if that’s what you mean. The magistrate asked Dad to change his announcement today, so he did. You know me. I’ll be pissed for a few days and then I’ll get over it.” He shrugs, and his eyes shift to the party in the square. It’s getting late. While some will dance and sing until morning, many are already starting to make the journey home. Graduation Day is coming to an end.

After several minutes, Zeen says, “You could do it, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Talk to the magistrate. Send an application to Tosu City.”

The thought is both terrifying and tempting. Any colonist interested in working in Tosu City or another colony can fill out an application and file it with the magistrate’s office. The United Commonwealth government will then contact the applicant with an appropriate job assignment if one is available. In my sixteen years, I’ve known of only two applicants who were contacted and offered positions. After the disappointment of today, I’m not sure I’m ready to face another.

My uncertainty must show on my face, because Zeen throws an arm around my shoulders and gives me a quick hug. “Don’t worry, kiddo. You have lots of time to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of your life.”

Too bad Mom doesn’t agree.

We all sleep late the next morning, but I’ve barely had a chance to get dressed before my mother says, “If you are determined not to work with your father, Kip Drysten has an opening on his team. You should talk to him before one of the other graduates takes the position.”

Kip Drysten’s team repairs farming equipment. While I like working with mechanical things, the idea of repairing broken-down tractors for the rest of my life is depressing. “I’ll think about it,” I say.

My mother’s frown speaks volumes, which is why I find myself climbing on my bicycle and slowly riding toward town in search of Mr. Drysten.

The Drystens live in a small, pretty cottage on the other side of the colony. Knocking on the front door, I swallow hard. I can’t help the swell of relief I feel when Mr. Drysten’s wife tells me that Kip left early this morning for the Endress farm. He isn’t expected back for several days. I’ve been granted a reprieve.

The day after graduation is a day of rest. Most businesses are closed. Families stay home to hold more private celebrations. My mother is planning a large meal later and even has invited a few of my friends over to share. I should probably go home and help with the preparations. Instead, I get off my bicycle when I reach the town square.

I lean my bicycle against a tree and sit next to the fountain. One or two citizens wave, but they are busy and don’t stop to talk. Which I prefer. Resting my head on my hands, I watch the water gurgle in the fountain and try to ignore the hollowness that has taken root since yesterday’s ceremony. I am an adult. Ever since I was little I watched my parents and the other adults and wished for the day I would be one of them—confident and strong. Never have I felt so unsure of myself.

The clock above the magistrate’s house gongs. Three o’clock. Time to get home before my mother starts to worry. I’m over halfway there when I spot my brother Hart speeding down the dirt path toward me. Crap. If Mom sent him to find me, I’m really in trouble.

But it isn’t my mother looking for me. “Magistrate Owens sent a pulse radio message to Dad just after you left the house. You’re supposed to report to her house at four o’clock to talk about your future plans. When you didn’t come home right away, Mom sent us all out to look for you.” Hart gives me a wicked grin. “You’d better hurry if you’re going to make it.”

He’s right. By the time I arrive back in the square, sweat is dripping down my face, my hair is a wreck, and my stomach is tied in knots. While my father and brothers have had occasion to be summoned to the magistrate’s house to talk about their various projects, this is a first for me. My future plans? I can’t help but wonder if this summons was prompted by my mother’s concern. Did she contact Magistrate Owens and enlist her help or has my lack of career path been obvious to others? The idea that my disappointment has been noticed by those outside my family makes my stomach roil with shame.

Preparing for a lecture, I run my hands through my hair and straighten my white short-sleeved tunic and gray pants before knocking on the magistrate’s front door.

“Good. You made it.” Magistrate Owens gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Please come in, Cia. Everyone else is already here.”

Everyone else?

Magistrate Owens leads me into a large, carpeted sitting room and four faces turn to look at me. The three people who are seated are familiar. Gray-eyed, handsome Tomas Endress. Shy but sweet Malachi Rourke. Beautiful, artistic Zandri Hicks. They are fellow graduates. People I have known almost my entire life. The other is not.

Tomas motions for me to take a seat next to him and gives me a dimpled smile that makes it impossible not to smile in return. Magistrate Owens crosses the room, stands next to the stranger, and says, “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I apologize for pulling you away from your family celebrations, but it was unavoidable.” Her eyes sweep the room, looking at each one of us. “This is Tosu City official Michal Gallen. He intended on arriving yesterday for graduation, but was unavoidably delayed due to a mechanical problem.”

Tosu City.

My heart tilts as Tosu City official Gallen takes a step forward and pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He’s older than us, but not by much. Around Zeen’s age, with shaggy brown hair and a lanky awkwardness that belies the authority he must bring with him from Tosu.

His dark eyes are serious as he looks down at the paper and reads, “Every year the United Commonwealth reviews the achievements of the graduates in all eighteen colonies. The top students from that pool of graduates are brought to Tosu City for Testing to attend the University. Being chosen is an honor. The graduates of the University are our great hope—the ones we are all counting on to help regenerate the earth and improve our quality of life. They are the future scientists, doctors, teachers, and government officials.” The paper lowers, and he gives us a smile. “You four have been selected to participate in The Testing.”

A wave of excitement washes over me. I look around to see if I have heard correctly. Tomas’s face is lit with a smile. He is the smartest in our class, so it is no wonder he has been chosen. According to this Tosu City official, I have too. Four of us have. This is real. I won’t have to work with tractors. I have been chosen for The Testing. I did it.

“You will leave for The Testing tomorrow.”

The glow of happiness fades as the reality of the Tosu City official’s words slam into my chest. We leave tomorrow.

“Why tomorrow?” Magistrate Owens asks. “I remember there being more time in between selection and The Testing.”

“Things have changed since your colony last had a Testing candidate,” the Tosu City official answers. His voice is deep with a hint of impatience. “The candidates will begin the Testing process this week. I think you’ll agree they stand a better chance of passing if they arrive on time.”

“What if we don’t want to go?”

We all turn to look at Zandri. Her face is almost the same crimson shade as her tunic. At first I think it is from embarrassment. Then she lifts her chin. By the way her blue eyes glitter, it is clear she is angry. The fact that four of us were chosen for The Testing is astonishing, but Zandri being one of the four is perhaps the bigger surprise. Not that Zandri isn’t smart. She is, although many of us would think of her as an artist first and a scholar second. Zandri only excels at science when it helps her create new paints. And while she has never indicated a desire to continue her education, I am still surprised at her question. Who would turn down the honor of being chosen for The Testing?

The Tosu City official smiles, and I shiver. It is a smile devoid of warmth. “You don’t have a choice. The law states that every United Commonwealth citizen chosen must present him or herself for The Testing by the appointed date or face punishment.”

“What kind of punishment?” Zandri looks to Magistrate Owens, who glances at the Tosu City official.

The two lock eyes before Magistrate Owens says, “According to the law, not presenting oneself for The Testing is a form of treason.”

And the most common punishment for treason is death.

Someone, perhaps Malachi, whispers a protest. My chest feels as though someone has wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tight. All my excitement about being chosen is gone—replaced with an icy fear. Only, there is no reason to fear. I want to be tested. Punishment will not be required for me.

Or for any of my fellow candidates. At the word treason, the fight goes out of Zandri.

Seeing our shock, Magistrate Owens explains that the law that governs the punishment for not accepting our place in The Testing goes back to the very early days of the United Commonwealth. There were lawless factions that wished to tear apart the new government and tried to convince Testing candidates to rebel. There is talk of the law being changed, but these things take time.

I feel a bit better knowing the law hasn’t been invoked in decades, and the excitement that had been extinguished begins to resurface as the magistrate discusses the basics we will need to bring with us to Tosu City. Testing candidates are allowed to bring two changes of everyday clothing. Two sets of undergarments. One set of nightclothes. Two pairs of shoes. Two personal items. No books. No papers. Nothing that might give one candidate an advantage over another. Everything must fit in the bags we will be given when we leave the meeting. We are expected to be in the square tomorrow at first light, with our bags. Tosu City official Michal Gallen will be waiting to escort us to the Testing Center.

She then tells us how proud she is of our achievements and says she is certain we will all be successful in our Testing. But I know she’s lying. My mother has the same forced, overly bright smile when she’s upset. Magistrate Owens does not think we will all pass. Does she worry that our failure will reflect poorly on Five Lakes Colony?

I’m still wondering as we are escorted toward the front entrance.

Bright sunshine greets us as the door swings open. I am the last of the four to take a dark brown bag with the red and purple United Commonwealth logo on the front from Magistrate Owens. As I sling the thick strap over my shoulder, I realize the dinner party my mother has painstakingly planned will have to be cut short. Otherwise, I will not have enough time to pack and prepare for whatever tomorrow brings.

Zandri is already gone when I step outside, but Tomas and Malachi are waiting. For a moment the three of us stare at one another, uncertain what to say. I’m not surprised when Tomas is the first to find his voice. With one of his wide, heart-stopping smiles, he looks into my eyes and says, “I guess we should go home. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

And I know he’s right. It’s time to go home and tell my family that tomorrow I will leave the house in the morning and I won’t return.

Chapter 3

THE SOUND OF my family’s laughter greets me as I open the front door. A congratulatory banner hangs on the far wall. The kitchen table is covered with plates stacked high with bread, meats, and sweets for my graduation celebration. Now it will also be a party of farewell.

“There she is,” Zeen yells as he spots me in the doorway. “I told you she wouldn’t be late for her own party. Not when cinnamon bread is involved.”

My father turns with a smile. The minute he spots the bag hanging from my shoulder, the smile fades and recognition blooms in his eyes. “You’ve been chosen for The Testing.”

The laughter disappears. Smiles falter as all eyes turn to me for confirmation. For all my happiness at being chosen, my throat tightens when I nod. University graduates go where United Commonwealth officials send them—where their skills are most needed. If I succeed in passing The Testing, the chances of my returning home are almost none.

The twins recover first. Before I know what hits me, the boys have me squeezed between them in one of their sandwich hugs, yelling congratulations. Hamin hugs me next. His excitement is less boisterous, but no less genuine. Then my mother is there. Her hands shake when she embraces me, but her smile is filled with pride as she asks what I’m allowed to bring and when I’m supposed to leave. I barely have time to answer or notice Zeen slipping out of the room before there is knocking at the door signaling the arrival of my friends.

I am so happy to see them, especially Daileen. So happy I get the chance to say goodbye in person. There are more shouts of happiness and far more tears as I explain about The Testing and the others who were selected. Daileen’s happiness and sorrow are greatest of all. She tries to hide the sadness behind wide smiles, but as the party continues, I notice she slips more and more into the background, away from me, away from the others who she has always considered more my friends than hers. And I’m scared. While my family will feel the loss of my presence, they still have one another. Daileen will have no one.

Which is why, when my mother tells everyone the party has to end early, the first person I search out for farewell is Lyane Maddows. She isn’t bouncing with excitement or yelling to get my attention. Instead, she stands quietly near the door, waiting for my brothers to escort her home. Lyane and I aren’t the best of friends. We always say hello when we see each other, but rarely do we sit together at lunchtime or chat after school. But Lyane and I have a connection, which is why I invited her today. One I know she hasn’t forgotten. I hope that memory means I can count on her help.

As the girls still squeal and chatter behind me, I wrap my arms around Lyane and give her a hug. Her shoulders tense with surprise, but she doesn’t pull back. In her ear, I whisper, “Daileen needs a friend when I leave tomorrow. Will you watch out for her and keep her from being alone? Please.”

Lyane’s arms hug me tighter. I can almost feel her weighing my request. Her return whisper makes tears prick the back of my eyes from relief and gratitude. Daileen will not be alone.

Lyane walks out of the house without a backwards glance as I turn to say goodbye to the others. Daileen waits to be last. I can tell how hard she fights to hold back tears as she promises to see me next year in Tosu City. “I’m going to study harder than ever. They’ll have no choice but to choose me.”

It is only the sound of Lyane’s voice from outside calling, “Daileen, will you walk next to me?” that keeps my heart from breaking as I watch Daileen slip out of view. Lyane knows what the darkness of too much solitude can do to a person. I helped pull her out of that black place four years before when I found her at the end of the colony limits, looking over the edge of the ravine, preparing to jump. Only, I wouldn’t let her. Instead, I made her talk. About her father who was a government official in Tosu City and her mother who hated living in Five Lakes and took out her frustration and anger on her daughter. As far as I know, Lyane has never shown anyone else but me the scars she received at the hands of her mother. With my father’s and the magistrate’s help, Lyane’s mother joined her husband in Tosu City while Lyane was taken in by another Five Lakes family and found reasons to smile. I trust Lyane to help Daileen find those reasons, too.

With my brothers acting as escorts for my friends, the house feels larger than usual as I help my parents clear dishes and tidy up the main room. Our current house is large by most standards. In addition to the central living space, we have two other rooms in the back of the house. The one on the right belongs to my parents. My brothers and I sleep in the one on the left, although Zeen and Hamin snore so loudly that I have taken to sleeping on a pile of blankets in front of the fireplace in the main room. I smile. Going to Tosu City for The Testing means I might sleep in a bed again.

While we work, Mom chatters about what I should take with me and how I should behave while in the city. More than once she stops what she is doing and tears up at the idea of me being the first of her children to leave home. My father says nothing during these moments, although I can tell he wants to.

When all the dishes have been washed and stored away, my father says, “Why don’t we take a walk?” When my mother opens her mouth to protest, he says, “I know Cia needs to pack, but before the boys get back and things get crazy, I’d like to spend a bit of quiet time with my little girl.”

My mom sniffles and my heart squeezes as I head into the darkening night with my father.

My father takes my hand, and together we stroll around the house to the back gardens. A hazy moon and stars are starting to shine above us. They say at one time the sky was clear and on a cloudless night the stars looked like diamonds. Perhaps that was true. It’s hard to imagine.

Near the back of the house, Dad hits a switch. First there is a humming sound, then one by one lights flicker around the backyard, illuminating the beautiful daisies, roses, and vegetable plants behind our house. While the plants belong to Dad and my brothers, the lights belong to me. The colony has strict laws governing electricity usage. Production and storage of electricity in our area is limited. Most personal dwellings don’t use electricity at all unless the citizens can create their own. Not many bother to try since candles and firelight work perfectly well. A few years ago, I decided to take up the challenge and talked Dad into letting me experiment with some leftover irrigation tubes, scrap copper plating, and wire. I conned Mom into giving me some glass jars, a little of our precious salt, and a bunch of other odds and ends, and got to work. The result is a network of fifteen lights all powered by the energy my solar panels harvest during the day. While I could create a much more sophisticated system now, Dad insists on using this one. This is the third backyard it has illuminated. For a moment, I wonder how long it will be before we have to move it again. Then I realize that I won’t be here to help when the time comes.

Dad leads me over to the oak bench Hamin made Mom for her birthday and takes a seat. I sit next to him and wait for him to speak.

Crickets chirp. Wind rustles the tree branches above us. From somewhere deep in the lengthening shadows come the faint sounds of wolves and other animals prowling in the night.

After what seems like forever, Dad takes my hand and holds it tight. When he speaks, I have to lean close to hear him. “There are things I’ve never told you. I had hoped to never tell you. Even now I’m not certain I should.”

I sit up straighter. “Is it about The Testing?”

Dad has never talked about his Testing or much about his days spent at the University no matter how many questions I’ve asked. For a moment I feel closer to him, knowing we’ll share this experience. Then the moment is shattered.

“You should never have been chosen.”

The words slap me across the face. I try to pull my hand free, but my father holds on tight. His eyes are staring into the darkness, but the expression on his face says he is not seeing anything. The glint of fear in his expression makes me forget my hurt. A knot of worry grows in my chest as my father’s eyes meet mine.

“My parents and I dreamed of me being chosen for The Testing. Our family was barely surviving. Omaha Colony was one of the largest colonies in the Commonwealth. There were too many people. Not enough resources. There was never enough food for everyone. We all knew someone who had died from starvation. My parents believed I could help fix that. Restore balance to the earth. I wanted them to have the money the government gives Testing candidate families to compensate them for the loss of the student. And I admit that part of me believed my parents. I believed I could help. I wanted to try.”

That the government compensates Testing candidate families is news to me. I want to ask if he and Mother will be compensated when I leave, but I withhold my question as Dad continues talking.

“There were only fourteen colonies then. Seventy-one of us assembled in the Testing Center. They tell me The Testing for my class took four weeks. I don’t remember a single day. Sixteen of us were chosen to move on. The head of the Testing committee said Testing memories are wiped clean after the process is complete to ensure confidentiality.”

“So you can’t tell me what the tests will be like?” Disappointment churns inside me. I had hoped my father’s experience would help me prepare—give me an edge. No doubt this was exactly what the Commonwealth government was preventing by removing my father’s memories.

“I remember arriving at the Testing Center. I remember being assigned a roommate, Geoff Billings. I remember us toasting our bright futures with full glasses of fresh milk and eating cake. There was lots of food and excitement. We could barely sleep that first night knowing our dreams could end the next day if we didn’t perform well on the tests. The next thing I remember is sitting in a room filled with chairs being told The Testing was complete. I started attending University classes three weeks later. Geoff wasn’t there. Neither were the two girls from my colony who traveled with me.”

Somewhere in the night an owl screeches, but Dad doesn’t seem to hear it. “The University was challenging. I enjoyed my classes. I liked knowing I was doing something important. My parents were able to send word that they were safe and well and proud. I was happy. I never gave a thought to Geoff or the other Testing candidates who didn’t pass.”

He closes his eyes and I sit beside him, wondering what it would feel like to lose the memories of my friends. To only remember the day I met Daileen. To not remember the giggles and the adventures we’ve had. The idea makes me want to cry, and I lace my fingers through my father’s to make us both feel better.

“I went to Lenox Colony after I graduated. There was a botanist who was close to a breakthrough, and the Commonwealth thought my ideas might help. I worked there a year before I ran into a boy who reminded me of Geoff. That night I started having dreams. I’d wake up sweating, heart racing, not knowing why. Not a night would pass uninterrupted. My work began to suffer, and the government medics gave me pills to help with sleep. The pills didn’t stop the dreams. They just made it harder for me to escape them. In the light of day I began to remember the dreams. Just flashes at first. Geoff giving me a thumbs-up from across a white room with black desks. A large red-numbered clock counting down the time as my fingers manipulated three blue wires. A girl screaming.”

My father lets go of my hand and stands. I feel a flicker of fear as he runs a hand through his hair and then begins to pace.

“The flashes stopped. In their place was one recurring dream. Geoff, a girl named Mina, and me walking down a street lined with burned-out steel buildings. Broken glass covers the street. We’re looking for water and a place to sleep for the night. The buildings are so badly damaged that we’re nervous about using them for shelter, but we might have to because of the predators we’ve seen at night. Mina is limping. I spot a large branch and offer to make her a walking stick. While I’m working, Geoff scouts down the block. Mina tells him not to go too far. He promises he won’t. A few minutes later he yells he’s found something. Then the world explodes.”

Dad goes still. My heart pounds loud in my chest. Dad’s voice has gotten so quiet I have to lean forward to hear him say, “I find Mina first—half buried under a slab of concrete, blood running down her face.”

Dad swallows hard. His breathing is rough. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. I can tell he wants to stop talking. I want him to stop. This feels too real. I can see the blood. I can feel my father’s fear.

“I find one of Geoff’s boots ten feet away from Mina’s body. It takes me a minute to realize his foot is still in the boot and I start to scream. That’s where the dream ends.”

For a moment the night goes silent. No more sound of owls. No bugs flutter. Just the image of a boy not much older than me in pieces on an abandoned street. A boy who went to be tested . . .

“It was just a dream.” That’s what Dad used to tell me when I had nightmares. I always believed it. I want to believe it now.

“Maybe.” My father raises his eyes. The haunted despair in their depths makes me catch my breath. “For years I told myself it was just a dream. I consoled myself with the knowledge that I didn’t have a single waking memory of a girl named Mina. We made breakthroughs in our experiments. New plants I helped create began to thrive. I never told a soul about the dreams. Then the Commonwealth assigned me to work in Five Lakes. God, I was angry. Being assigned to Five Lakes was like an insult. Only a handful of University graduates were stationed here. I didn’t even have my own house when I first arrived. I had to sleep in Flint Carro’s living room.”

This part of the story is familiar. Normally, he tells it with a smile. Becoming friends with the colony’s doctor. Being dragged into the tailor’s shop by Flint. Seeing my mother sitting at a loom, weaving. Falling in love with her grace and kindness.

But that isn’t the story this time. And my father isn’t smiling.

“Flint’s house is small. There was no hiding the nightmares. Flint waited a week before he asked about them. I tried to brush him off. That’s when he told me about his own dreams. Not as scary. But disturbing. Faces of people he didn’t remember. Waiting for friends to return from an exam, but they never come. Over the next year, Flint and I talked to the other University graduates. There were seven of us then. We had to be careful because every Commonwealth employee is in contact with the officials in Tosu City. We didn’t want to jeopardize our jobs. I’m certain four of the others never lost a night’s sleep, but one, the head of the school, had a haunted look that I understood. She denied she had nightmares, but she must have.”

“You can’t know that.” I stand up and cross my arms over my chest, waiting for him to agree with me. I need him to agree.

His eyes meet mine. “No, but not a single student who graduated from Five Lakes was chosen for The Testing while she was in charge of the school. I don’t believe it was a coincidence. Do you?”

A shiver snakes up my spine. I don’t know what to believe. To believe my father’s dreams are something more than dreams is unthinkable. Tomorrow I leave for Tosu City. At the end of the week I will begin my Testing. To refuse is treason and all that implies. I want to scream and shout, but all I can do is stand there and shiver.

My father puts his arm around me and leads me back to the bench. I lean my head on his shoulder like I used to do when I was small. For a moment, I feel safe, but it doesn’t last.

“Flint says whatever process they used to wipe our memories could have caused the dreams. Our brains might be creating false memories to replace the ones that were taken.”

“But you don’t believe that.”

He shakes his head. “I was grateful when your brothers graduated and no one from Tosu City came to take them to be tested. Yesterday, I upset your brother by not publicly giving him the credit due to him because the magistrate received word a Tosu official was on his way. I didn’t want anyone questioning whether students should have been chosen before and whether past graduates should be reevaluated.”

He pulls me tight against him and rests his chin on top of my head. A tear falls on my cheek, but it isn’t mine. My father, who has always been so strong and smart and sure, is crying.

“So now what?” I squirm out of his arms and jump to my feet, angry. Angry that never once in all of our walks or conversations did he tell me these things. Never once when I was studying late into the night so I would do well on a test did he tell me what the consequences might be. “I leave in the morning. Why tell me this now? What good does it do?”

My father doesn’t raise his voice to meet mine. “Maybe none. Maybe Flint is right and our dreams are just hallucinations. But if there’s a chance they aren’t, it is better you know. Better that you go to Tosu City prepared to question everything you see and everyone you meet. That might be the difference between success or failure.” He crosses to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. I start to pull away, but then I notice the light reflecting off the tears pooling in his eyes. The fight goes out of me.

“Does Mom know?” I think she must, but at this point I’m not sure of anything.

“Your mother knows about the memory wipe and that I have nightmares, but not what they contain.”

I roll the words over in my head, testing them for the truth. “So, is that why Mom didn’t want me to be chosen?”

My father lays a hand on my face and rubs his thumb against my cheek. “Cia, I haven’t seen my parents since the day I left to be tested. To have a child chosen is an honor, but it also means loss. Your mother didn’t want to lose you.”

I don’t know how long we sit in silence. Long enough to hear my brothers’ voices announcing their return and my mother’s shouts chastising them for sneaking sweets. It all sounds so normal.

When my face is dry of tears, my father takes my hand and walks me back inside. We don’t mention Dad’s dreams or my new fears as Hamin teases the twins about my friends flirting with them. Mom puts out a platter of small cakes and sweetened mint tea as the boys pull out a deck of cards so we can all play one last game as a family. Even as I enjoy the laughter and warmth around the table, it feels incomplete without Zeen, who has yet to return. More than once I find myself watching the front door. I love all my brothers, but Zeen’s the one I go to when I have a problem I need to talk about. Zeen is always patient and insightful. He asks questions, and without fail I feel better after any discussion. Tonight I have a problem, but Zeen isn’t here.

When the game is over, my mother gently reminds me of the hour and of the task still in front of me. Excusing myself, I take the Commonwealth bag and slip into the bedroom I share with my brothers.

Knowing I may never see the room again makes me look at it with fresh eyes. A fire glows in the hearth nestled into the back wall. A square, worn brown rug sits in the middle of the room. Two sets of bunk beds are arranged on either side of the rug. Only mine, the bottom bed closest to the fireplace, has the sheets tucked in and the quilt smoothed. As soon as the boys graduated from school, Mom declared them old enough to tidy up their own beds. And they decided they were old enough not to care whether they slept in tightly tucked sheets.

We each have a wooden chest for our everyday clothes and shoes. The special clothes are hung in the large wooden armoire in the corner. Mother always talks about first impressions. I gnaw on my bottom lip and weigh the merits of all my clothes. Feeling confident is always easier when dressed in something special, but I hear my father’s voice replay in my head. I imagine the abandoned city street he walked in his dream. The two dresses I own won’t help me there. And even if the dreams aren’t real, I know in my heart pretty clothes won’t help once The Testing begins.

Ignoring the special attire, I walk to the wooden chest I’ve used since I was a little girl. I select two pairs of strong, comfortable pants and two sturdy shirts and my most comfortable boots. They are all hand-me-downs from my brothers. Knowing I have a piece of them coming with me helps ease the loneliness I already feel. I grab sleepwear and undergarments and carefully stow the selections in my bag. There is still plenty of room for the two personal items I am allowed to bring with me.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I look around the room. Had my father not shared his dreams, I might have taken my flute or the silver necklace my mother gave me on my sixteenth birthday. Instead, I consider what might help me if The Testing is more than paper and pencil examinations.

After several minutes I slide off the bed and pull a small pocket hunting knife out of my chest. Each of my brothers has a similar knife—a gift from Dad. The knife also has a screwdriver and a few other gadgets attached. That’s one. Now for number two. There is only one other thing I can think of that might help, but it doesn’t belong to me. And Zeen isn’t here to ask permission.

Last year, Dad began letting Zeen experiment at work with his own projects. Some of those projects take him outside the colony boundaries. The boundaries were designed not so much to keep people or animals out, but to remind Five Colony citizens that the land beyond is potentially unsafe. Poisonous plants and meat-seeking animals are only part of the danger. During the last three stages of war, violent earthquakes ripped the fabric of the land. A lone traveler who falls into one of the earthquake-made fissures can easily find death waiting at the bottom from a broken neck, exposure, or hunger. To prevent the latter two, Dad gave Zeen a small handheld device called a Transit Communicator sent to him by the Commonwealth government. The device has a compass, a calculator, and a communication system that allows Zeen to contact a matching device in Dad’s office if ever there is a problem. I don’t know how it works, but I’m betting if necessary I can figure it out.

When Zeen isn’t working beyond the border, he keeps the device on a shelf next to his bed. Sure enough. My heart aches as my fingers close over the device. I wish Zeen were here to give me permission—to tell me he forgives me for being chosen when he was not. I want to tell Zeen that our father was trying to protect him when the announcement about the potato was made yesterday. That it wasn’t motivated by ego, but by love.

I wrap the Transit Communicator in a pair of socks to keep it safe and slide it into my bag, hoping Zeen returns in time for me to tell him I’ve taken a piece of him with me to Tosu City. Even though I know he will not. Zeen is the smartest of my brothers, but he is also the most emotional. While Win, Hart, and Hamin are loving and kind, they possess a carefree attitude about life that frustrates our mother. Zeen, however, is fiercely passionate. His temper is quick to flare, but his love is all encompassing. Which makes the loss of one he loves almost unbearable. He barely spoke for a month when our grandfather died.

Sitting on Zeen’s bed, I write a note that will serve as a request for his device and a reminder of my love. Not the farewell I hope for, but the only one I am certain I will have.

Now that my selections are made, panic sets in. Tomorrow I will be walking away from everything I know into something strange and potentially dangerous. What I want most in the world is to climb into bed and pull the covers over my head. Instead, I snap the bag shut, sling it onto my shoulder, and walk back out to my family, hoping to enjoy the last hours I have left with them.

Chapter 4

MY BROTHERS ARE still sleeping in their room when my father wakes me from a fitful sleep. I slip on a pair of tan leggings and a light blue cap-sleeve tunic, pull on my boots, and grab my bag. My mother holds a cup of milk for me to drink. Her eyes are red, but she isn’t crying now. She tells me she’s proud of me. I do my best not to cling to her as we hug goodbye. Suddenly, I am sorry for all the times I was angry at her for not encouraging my dreams of attending the University. Now I understand why she was scared for me to succeed. Now it is too late.

Fighting back tears, I drink my milk, take the apple Mom has waiting for me on the counter, and promise to write when I get to the city. My father waits at the door, and I give my mother one last hug before walking out into the moist morning air. The sky is still dark as we follow the same path we took yesterday. We walk about a mile before Dad breaks the silence.

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Some.” Interspersed with anxious dreams.

“More than likely, Flint is right. The dreams are just dreams.”

“I hope so.”

“So do I.” He laces his fingers through mine as we trek uphill. “You’re smart. You’re strong. I have every faith you’ll pass whatever test they give you. Just don’t let the other candidates psych you out. Some of the kids from my colony were vicious. They’d do anything to be number one.”

“Like what?” Staying up all night to study was common in my class. I’d done it a few times myself.

“Poison was a favorite tactic of a couple of the girls in my class.”

I stop walking. “Poison?”

“Not enough to kill. Just enough to make someone too sick to sit for a test. By my final year, I was careful to eat only what I brought with me to school.”

“Were they punished?”

My father gives me a sad smile. “They were smart enough not to get caught. But even if they had been, I doubt they would have gotten more than a reprimand. It’s hard to punish kids for trying to pull their family out of poverty.”

We walk the next few miles without talking as I consider the implications of my father’s words. I can tell myself there’s no proof my father’s dreams are real. But this . . . I can’t think of a single student in the Five Lakes Colony school who would sabotage a fellow student in order to get a better grade. None of us are rich, but no one I know is starving, either. Not anymore. If a family is struggling in Five Lakes, the rest of the community pitches in to help. A world where you might poison the competition in order to feed your family is inconceivable to me.

Slashes of pink and purple light the sky as we approach the outskirts of town. Dad puts his arm around my shoulders and holds me close. “Make sure you eat right and get enough sleep. That’s going to help you stay strong and think clearly.”

I nod at the familiar words.

Just before we finish climbing the last hill he adds, “Be careful who you trust, Cia. You do that and everything will be okay.”

Hand in hand, we walk into the square.

In front of the magistrate’s house is an enormous black skimmer with the seal of the Commonwealth stamped on the side. Tomas, Malachi, and members of their families are standing near the back of it. Malachi is wearing his best clothes—stiffly pressed pants, polished black shoes, and a jacket over a collared shirt. The bright white of Malachi’s shirt is in vivid contrast with his dark skin, and from the hunch of his shoulders I can tell he is fighting back tears. Tomas’s clothing choice is more like mine. Faded gray pants and a white V-neck shirt make Tomas look like he is preparing to work on his father’s farm instead of traveling to Tosu City. His handsome face is unreadable as his mother fusses over his unruly hair.

Magistrate Owens and the Tosu official are standing near the front of the skimmer and wave as Dad and I approach. Today, official Michal Gallen is wearing a fitted purple jumpsuit, also stamped with the Commonwealth logo. His shaggy hair is slicked back into a ponytail, giving the angles of his face more definition.

Magistrate Owens pulls my father to the side, leaving me alone with official Gallen. He smiles at me, and I’m surprised to see warmth for the first time in his deep green eyes.

“Are you nervous about the trip, Malencia?”

For some reason I don’t expect him to remember my name. That he does pleases me. “I’m more nervous that I’ll disappoint the colony by not doing well on the tests, Mr. Gallen.”

He laughs. “Call me Michal. And don’t worry. That’ll pass.”

My nerves or caring about the colony? I don’t get the chance to ask because he pushes off the vehicle and holds out his hand. “Can I stow your bag? You won’t need it until we get to Tosu City.” In his other hand is a transparent bag containing two thick silver bands—one larger than the other. “This is your identification bracelet. Each Testing candidate is assigned an identifying symbol that is engraved on the bracelet. You’ll wear this one and the smaller band will wrap around the strap on your bag. That way no one can confuse their bag with yours.”

He snaps the clasp of the identification band onto my left wrist and affixes the other to my bag. Once he disappears into the skimmer, I study the bracelet. It is about an inch wide and woven of thick metal segments. I know the bracelet has a clasp, but the fastening is impossible to distinguish. Turning my wrist, I study the large silver disk attached to the top of the bracelet. Etched in black on the disk is an eight-pointed star. In the center of the star is a stylized lightning bolt.

“The star represents your Testing group.” I jump at Michal’s voice. I hadn’t realized he’d returned. “You’ll find other kids with the same symbol on their bracelet, but yours will be the only one with a lightning bolt.”

“Do the symbols mean something specific?” The words slip past my lips before I can take them back. Maybe kids from other colonies who always have Testing candidates know what the symbols mean.

If he thinks the question is silly, Michal doesn’t show it. “The eight-pointed star is the symbol for rejuvenation. The kids in that group show aptitude in a lot of different areas. It’s a pretty good group to be in.” His smile is warm and encouraging, and I find myself smiling back and wondering what group he was in.

A small beeping sound prompts Michal to look down at his watch. He looks around the square, and his smile fades. Zandri still isn’t here, and I wonder if this is just her casual attention to time or if she has chosen to challenge the laws and refuse her place at The Testing. Does she believe laws so long untested will not be enforced?

Michal excuses himself and huddles with Magistrate Owens and my father. From the way Michal is pointing to his watch, he believes the time for Zandri to arrive has come and gone. My father and Magistrate Owens argue with Michal over giving Zandri more time. I turn away and hold my breath, knowing what the punishment might be. And I see her. I squint into the sunlight to be certain before yelling, “She’s here.”

“Thank God,” I hear someone whisper.

The wind teases Zandri’s gauzy multicolored skirt and peasant blouse as she strolls unhurried through the square. Her long blond hair glistens in the sunlight. A small smile tugs at her lips as she reaches us. She offers no apologies. And I know. She’s planned this entrance. She’s showing that while she can be required to perform, she cannot be controlled. While I admire her guts, the annoyed look in Michal’s eyes makes me worry for her.

My father puts his arm around me as Michal gives Zandri her identification bracelets, and stows her bag in the skimmer. Gone is his warm manner as he instructs us all to get into the vehicle. It is time to go.

The swirl of emotions I’ve been holding at bay hits me full force as my father pulls me into a tight embrace. Tears threaten to choke me as I tell him I love him. I push aside the hurt that Zeen didn’t say goodbye and ask my father to give Zeen my note and the entire family my love. My father tells me he loves me, too, and reminds me in one last whisper, “Cia, trust no one.”

I am the last one to climb into the sleek skimmer. The door closes behind me. I hear the locks engage as the engine roars to life. My father puts his hand on the porthole glass, and I lift mine to mirror it. Our eyes meet for a moment, and one tear escapes my resolve as the skimmer begins to rise. Dad steps back from the skimmer, and a moment later we are moving forward—out of the square, toward Tosu City—away from anything familiar.

My heart races with excitement even as it is torn in two. I can see the same conflicting emotions on the faces of the other Five Lakes Testing candidates. Our graduation ceremony changed our status from adolescent to adult, but this journey makes it official. We are on our own.

I stare out the window until the last familiar sights fade into the horizon. I store up the memories of the fields and the hills for the days and maybe years to come. Then I turn and take in my new surroundings. My father and his staff have a couple of skimmers they use for work, so I’ve ridden in one before. But my father’s vehicles are not as sophisticated or as fast as this. In fact, aside from the name and the fact that they hover several feet over the earth, the vehicles are nothing alike. Where the greenhouse skimmers are small and seat between one and four people, and only that if you squeeze, this one could seat twelve passengers in comfort. The couchlike seats that line the front of the passenger compartment are gray and soft. In the back of the vehicle is a small kitchen and a door that leads to another compartment. The roof of the skimmer is tall enough that I can walk around the cabin with room to spare.

I don’t see our bags and consider asking Michal where he stowed them, but he is seated in a separate driver’s compartment up front. From the set of his shoulders I’d say he’s busy concentrating on driving. Which is good. While skimmers are designed to hover up to fifteen feet above the ground, the propulsion mechanism that makes the vehicle run requires there actually be ground somewhere underneath. If a skimmer travels over a large hole, it will stop gliding. Skimmers also have trouble over water, which is why someone adapted them to float if necessary.

“I’ve never ridden in anything like this before,” Malachi says from across the cabin. His wide eyes are filled with anxiety. His father is an irrigation worker. His mother makes quilts. No, Malachi never would have had cause to ride on anything more sophisticated than a bicycle. Until now. I cock my head to the side to get a better view of the symbol on his bracelet. A triangle with an arrow in the middle. We are not in the same group.

“I think it’s safe to say none of us have ridden in anything quite like this.” Tomas gets up from his seat in the back and crosses over to sit next to Malachi. “At the rate we’re going, we’ll be in Tosu City before dark.”

“You think so?” Some of the fear fades from Malachi’s eyes. “Do you think they’ll let us look around the city?”

“Probably not until after we’re done with Testing. It sounds like they’re going to have us on a pretty tight schedule.” Tomas flashes a smile and claps Malachi on the back. “But once we’re University students we’ll have the run of the place and the girls. Right?”

Malachi smiles back. “Right.”

“Some of us don’t find University pedigrees attractive.” Zandri tosses her blond mane and gives them both a look of disgust. Malachi shrinks back into the cushions. Tomas just laughs. After a bit of encouragement, he gets Malachi to talk about pictures they’ve seen of Tosu City, where some buildings are more than ten stories high. Eventually Zandri stops sulking and discusses the sculptures she’s hoping to see.

I listen to the three of them chat, not surprised that it is Tomas who puts everyone at ease. As always, I’m very aware of being the youngest—and the least experienced. In class, I made sure to raise my hand only if I was certain of the answer so I would never look as though I didn’t belong. Now, like in class, I hold back and listen. Tall, blond, and beautiful, Zandri exudes a prickly confidence, but her defensive posture softens when she talks art with Malachi. I’m surprised at the extent of his knowledge of artists long dead.

Now that Malachi and Zandri are filling the silence, Tomas sits back and only adds the occasional comment. He too is observing—weighing their laughter and their silences. Tomas notices me watching. Quickly, I look away as my cheeks burn. Not that Tomas isn’t used to being looked at. Most girls in our class would spend the entire school day watching him instead of the blackboard. Since his assigned seat was directly behind mine, I never had the distraction. But I’d have to be blind not to notice the way laughter and the single dimple in his left cheek transform his angular face. More than once my fingers have itched to brush back the lock of hair that always falls across his forehead. Not that I’d ever have the courage to try. Which is okay. Boys and dating haven’t been on my priority list. And they certainly can’t be now.

The trio across the way laughs at something. Shrugging off feelings of being left out, I smile at the group and try to look interested in their chatter. After a while, Zandri and Malachi admit they didn’t sleep well the night before. They stretch out on the cushioned benches in the front of the passenger compartment and are out almost immediately.

“Let’s move to the back so we don’t disturb them,” Tomas whispers. My heart skips a little as I follow his lead. Tomas’s first order of business is to explore the back of the cabin. I’m happy to open cabinet doors—which contain nuts, dried fruit, cheese, and crackers—and poke into the closet, which turns out to be a bathroom.

We grab a bag of dried fruit and some water and stretch out in the back. Tomas turns an apple chip over in his strong, calloused hands and says, “It’s hard to believe they selected four of us this year.”

I notice his bracelet design—an eight-pointed star with three wavy horizontal lines. My group. My surprise and worry must show because Tomas asks what’s wrong. I explain about the identification symbols. Then, since Malachi and Zandri are both snoring, I decide to be completely honest. “You’re going to blow everyone in our group away. Me included.”

“Are you kidding?” Tomas’s clear gray eyes sweep over my face. After a minute he laughs and shakes his head. “You really aren’t joking.”

“Everyone knows you were first in our class.”

“Only because the teacher wasn’t around last year. She doesn’t know you built the wind and solar generators we use at school.”

“My brothers helped.” The achievement wasn’t mine alone. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without them. “My father says the irrigation system you designed is going to help revitalize areas outside our borders. That’s huge.”

He shrugs. “My father had been working on it for years. I just helped brainstorm a few ideas and set the thing up. I’m not saying I wasn’t important, but I wasn’t the genius Ms. Jorghen made me out to be. I got the impression she thought Five Lakes students were simple-minded. You know, since no one had been chosen for The Testing in years. My report on the new irrigation system during the first week of class made an impression.”

Tomas is right about our teacher’s preconceived ideas of Five Lakes Colony. For the first few days of the new school year every word she spoke was slow and deliberate. She sounded like she was talking to a group of four-year-olds. Then she gave us a “How I spent my break” assignment and everything changed. Ms. Jorghen’s face never showed surprise, but the assignments got harder and she stopped talking in one-syllable words. Thinking about it now makes me wonder if my dad was right. If our old teacher misdirected the Commonwealth into thinking we weren’t bright enough to be leaders. And if so, why would she do such a thing? Because she hated to see families separated or because she truly believed something sinister would be lurking for us on the other end of our journey?

“What’s wrong?”

I blink. “What do you mean?” His raised eyebrow says my innocent act isn’t fooling him. So I ask, “Don’t you think it’s strange that Five Lakes didn’t have a Testing candidate for ten years?”

He pops a raisin into his mouth and considers the question. “The only thing I can figure is the Commonwealth government must have thought our population was too small to justify removing citizens. Five Lakes has grown a lot in the past ten years.”

About 350 citizens have moved into Five Lakes in the last decade. That doesn’t seem like a lot considering other colonies have tens of thousands of citizens.

“You think there’s another reason?”

I want to tell him what my father suspected—share the burden. Know that another pair of eyes will be on the watch for signs of danger. But my father’s parting words ring loud in my head. If it were just Tomas and me, I might ignore the warning, but we aren’t alone. So instead I say, “Seems like there should be. Don’t you think?”

“If you figure out what it is, please let me know so I can tell my brother. He’s feeling put out that I made it and he never did.”

“I know the feeling. Zeen is upset too.”

He smiles at me, flashing the dimple. For the next hour we talk about our friends. Our families. The things we’ll miss in Five Lakes. The things we hope to accomplish if we make it to the University. I’m surprised to hear he wants to go into land revitalization like my father. I thought he would look for something more glamorous. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Despite his good looks and outgoing personality, Tomas has always been a quiet leader. He is always happy to help a neighbor or one of the younger students, and he does it in a way that does not ask for praise or payment in return. He’s someone my father would be proud to have on his team.

We finish the bag of dried fruit and are both still hungry. Tomas grabs a box of crackers and starts to open them when Michal yells back, “We’re going to stop for lunch in a few minutes. You might want to wake up your friends.”

No need. Michal’s voice is loud enough to do it for us.

As Zandri and Malachi stretch and try to get their bearings, I wonder how Michal knew Tomas had grabbed the crackers. The timing was too perfect for it to be coincidence. Tomas doesn’t seem concerned. He just stows the box back in a cabinet and walks through the cabin to chat with the others. But his back had been toward the driver’s compartment. He probably assumed Michal had looked back and saw him take the crackers. Only, I know Michal hadn’t. His head never turned. So how did he know?

There. In the corner of the cabin is a round glint of glass. A camera lens? I scan the rest of the passenger cabin. There aren’t any others, which makes me certain I am right.

We are being watched. By Michal or does this camera broadcast farther? Has The Testing already begun? I shiver at the thought of my face being seen on some unknown television. We don’t have much use for televisions in Five Lakes. The magistrate has one. So does my father’s work and a few other select locations. Rarely are they used. Clearly they are not used so sparingly outside of my colony.

I move to the front of the cabin, feeling the camera following my every move. Does it also hear my words? If I had a chance to inspect the camera, I’d be able to tell. But I don’t dare. I decide it’s safer to assume it does and stare out the window in an effort to keep my discovery secret from whoever is watching.

The brown and cracked landscape we’ve been traveling over is transitioning to healthier, greener terrain. From several feet above, I can see the soil is also richer. Blacker. The signs of revitalization. The work of another colony. I move forward in the cabin to stand behind the driver’s compartment. Sure enough. Far on the horizon are buildings. Some of them are tall. Much taller than those at home. I wonder what colony is ahead and realize I must have asked the question aloud when Michal answers, “That’s Ames Colony. We’ll stop at the outskirts and have lunch. The Testing committee arranged for it to be delivered to an outpost for us.”

“We won’t get to see the colony?”

He shoots me a smile. “You’ll see it someday. Right now the Testing committee is keeping you contained so you aren’t influenced by outside sources. Now you’d better sit down so you don’t fall over when I stop this thing.”

I return to the passenger cabin, take a seat, and relate Michal’s words to the others—all while feeling eyes watching from somewhere behind a screen. The camera and the knowledge that my movements are being restricted makes my head throb and my shoulder muscles tense. The passing of scenery slows. After a few minutes the skimmer lowers and jolts to a stop, pitching Malachi to the floor.

“Sorry about that,” Michal says, climbing from the driver’s compartment. “I’m still getting the hang of landing this beast. They had to put new brakes on a couple of days ago, which makes it a little temperamental.” He holds out a hand to help Malachi scramble to his feet. Then he hits a button and the skimmer door opens.

Warm air and the smell of fresh greenery beckon as Michal climbs out, followed by the rest of us. A small, squat log cabin sits about fifty feet in front of us. Surrounding the building are evergreen trees, hearty bushes, and lots of tall, flowering grasses. It’s hard to believe dry, decayed earth is just over the horizon. Whoever cared for the land here did their job well.

We follow Michal down a concrete path to the wooden building. Inside is a small kitchen equipped with a table and five chairs. A small bathroom sits off the kitchen. The entire space is probably fourteen square feet and smells of roasting meat, garlic, and vegetables. There is also a large loaf of bread and a block of cheese sitting under a large glass dome on the counter. The air inside is chilly, and Michal warns us not to leave the windows or doors open or we’ll upset the controlled temperature.

One by one we use the bathroom and wash our hands and faces. I opt to go last and wander around the room, pretending to admire the curtains at the windows. I spot the first camera in the light hanging over the large wooden table. The second is in the upper right corner of the kitchen. If there are more, I can’t find them. Seeing the two is enough to take the pleasure from the meal. Still, knowing my every moment is most likely being judged, I eat the stew. I smile. I do my best to laugh. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Michal watching me with an eyebrow raised. He glances up at the camera, then back at me, and smiles.

He knows that I know.

I shove a large piece of bread into my mouth so I have to chew instead of talk, which gives me time to think. Michal’s smile was pleased. Proud. As though I had been given a difficult assignment and aced it.

He wants me to know.

I’m certain of it. That’s why he told us about stopping for lunch when Tomas grabbed the crackers. Sure, it could be chalked up to a mistake. Michal is younger than any other Tosu officials I’ve seen. Still, he wouldn’t have passed The Testing, graduated from the University, or been given this job if he made those kinds of careless errors. Is picking up on Michal’s behavior and what it implies part of the test, or is Michal offering me an edge?    Michal opens a cabinet and returns with a heaping plate of cookies. They look like the cookies my mother made for my graduation celebration. Seeing the reminder of home tugs at my heart. The others grab for the unexpected treat. I push back my chair and ask if I can take a walk. “I promise I’ll stay in sight. I just want to stretch my legs for a little while before getting back inside the skimmer.”

“I don’t see why not.” He glances at his watch. “We have thirty minutes before we’re scheduled to leave. Does anyone else want to go?”

When no one hops to their feet, I snag a cookie off the table, head for the door, and step into the sunlight. The air is warm and wonderful. Better yet is the feeling of being free. No cameras. No judging. No worrying about saying or doing the wrong thing that might result in my failure. Knowing what I’m headed for, I vow to enjoy this one last moment of freedom. To store up the sweetness of it to keep me calm and steady through the weeks ahead.

I spot a grove of evergreen trees off to my right and head toward them. The tall grass brushes against my hips as I trek across the thriving ground. I enjoy the crumbly sweetness of the cookie as the trees grow closer.

“Cia, wait up.”

Turning, I squint into the bright sunlight and hold my hand above my eyes. I’m surprised to see how far I’ve come in such a short time. The building that played host to lunch is at least one hundred yards away. Much closer is Tomas, who is moving fast through the tall grass. The idea of sharing my last few minutes of unobserved freedom makes me want to yell for him to turn back. And yet—these are his last uninhibited moments, too, even if he doesn’t know it. I cannot bring myself to take them away.

I wait for him to reach me before turning to finish my trek.

“Where are we going?” His question is a bit breathless.

“Just to those trees.” We walk the next few minutes in silence and have a seat on the shaded, cool ground. “You’d better be careful or Zandri is going to get jealous. She has her eye on you.” I’m teasing, but there is truth behind my words. Every flip of her golden blond hair and bat of her eyelashes is designed to make Tomas notice her. So far, he doesn’t appear to be cooperating. I’m not sure how I’ll feel if he does.

“I’m not worried about her. I am worried about you.” His hand brushes my arm, sending a shiver up my back.

“Why?”

“The set of your mouth, the worry in your eyes. I know your face, Cia. I can tell when something is wrong.”

I shrug and try to deflect. “We just left our families and friends behind and might never see them again.”

“I’ve seen you worry about your friends and family. I’ve seen you stress over getting an answer to a question just right. This is different.” His hand settles over mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I know I wasn’t your best friend back home, but you can trust me.”

Can I?

My heart skips a beat and I look away from his intense gaze back at the skimmer—the cabin—where the cameras are waiting. I have known Tomas my entire life. We’ve worked on school projects together, played games, and even danced in each other’s arms for one memorable hour at last year’s graduation party. We haven’t talked as much this year. My fault. More than once Tomas has asked me to take a walk or work with him on some assignment, but I’ve always found a reason to say no. My brothers’ teasing after that party, the other girls’ angry looks, my uncertainty over what those dances meant made me take a step back. Now I have to choose whether to step back again or take a chance and reach out to him. Technically Tomas is my competition, which should make me shut him out.

Soon the others will emerge from the building. Cameras will once again be watching and capturing our every move, possibly our every word. I know that here in the shade of the trees, where I am almost positive the cameras have not followed, is the last opportunity to share my concerns without being heard. My father said to trust no one. But looking back into Tomas’s serious gray eyes, I decide to ignore that advice this one time. If it is a mistake, it is my mistake. The consequences will be mine to live with.

“There’s a camera hidden in the skimmer. I spotted two more in the cabin.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

A lock of hair falls over his forehead as he looks toward the skimmer. “I don’t understand. Why would someone be watching us now?”

“Because,” I say. “The Testing has already begun.”

Chapter 5

NOW THAT I’VE started, the words rush out of me. My father’s missing memories. His fragmented nightmares. The belief that our former teacher shared the same nightmares and used her authority to prevent Five Lakes students from being selected for The Testing. I hold my breath and wait for Tomas to condemn my father’s ideas. To tell me that we will be safe. This is only a test like all the others we’ve taken in our lives.

Instead, he says, “It’s a good thing we’re in the same group. We’ll be able to look out for each other.”

“You think my father’s nightmares are real memories?”

“I think it’s a good idea to be prepared for whatever might be coming. If they aren’t real, then we won’t be any worse off for keeping alert. If they are . . .” His fingers lace with mine, and we sit there as the unfinished words hang between us.

A whistle makes us jump. Michal is waving. He’s ready to leave.

Tomas scrambles to his feet and helps me up. He doesn’t let go of my hand as we trek back through the tall grass. Halfway to the skimmer, he stops and pulls something wrapped in a white cotton handkerchief out of his pocket. Cookies. He takes one and offers me the other. “Since we’re partners.”

The word makes me smile. Partners. As we have been so many times before. Every time we worked together, we scored the highest marks in the class. I find myself hoping this time will be the same.

“Well, partner,” I say, taking the cookie, “make sure you turn down any cookies offered to you by our competition. Just in case.”

As expected, Zandri looks annoyed when she sees Tomas and me climb into the skimmer together. While Tomas might not be concerned with Zandri, it is clear by the daggers she’s shooting me that she doesn’t feel the same. In fact, my partnership with Tomas might have just netted me a new adversary. Perhaps not as dangerous as those who would poison my food to get ahead, but still worrisome considering the length of her fingernails.

Tomas heads to the back of the skimmer to sit with the other two. A hand touches my arm as I start to join them. “Everything okay?”

Michal’s eyes are filled with concern. I smile and am fully aware of the camera as I say, “Everything’s great. It was nice to see the revitalization work up close. My father would be impressed.”

He glances back toward the camera; then he returns my smile. The concern in his face is gone, replaced by pleasure. Yes. For some reason, out of the four of us from Five Lakes Colony, Michal has decided to help me. And clearly he believes I have performed well.

Telling me to take a seat, Michal climbs into the driver’s compartment. Zandri is busy talking to Tomas about some party they both attended a few weeks ago as I sink into one of the couches and feel the skimmer begin to move. She fingers her bracelet, a square with a stylized flower in the middle, as she leans forward drawing attention to the loose neckline of her blouse. I don’t know if the people watching us are annoyed by Zandri’s flirting, but I am. And worse, I’m certain her antics don’t reflect well on her academic standing. Considering her reluctance to attend in the first place . . .

I wait for an opening and ask Zandri about the new windmill she had a hand in designing. While her primary passion is painting, Zandri has a wonderful eye for symmetry and balance that our town’s architect has been happy to utilize. I’m betting her bracelet design has something to do with this skill.

Zandri gives me a curious glance, probably because I was also involved in the project, but doesn’t dismiss the opportunity to talk about herself. Tomas asks her questions about the windmill and pulls Malachi into talking about the things he’s been working on. For the next hour, Tomas and I trade off interviewing our fellow candidates, helping them look good in front of the invisible Testing committee. They are my competition, but because they are from home, I will do what I can to keep us all safe.

The conversation tapers off, and I find myself fighting to keep my eyes open after such a long day. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” Tomas slides into the seat next to me and gives me a warm smile. “I’ll wake you if anything exciting happens.”

I follow his advice and stretch out on the cushions near the front of the cabin. I’m not sure how well I’ll sleep knowing Tomas might see me drool, but I close my eyes and give it a try. The last thing I hear before the real world fades is Tomas telling Zandri and Malachi to speak softly.

My father talks to me in my dreams. The Dad I knew before I was selected. He patiently shows me how to splice flora genes. Holds my hands while I attempt to mimic his movements. Tells me the biggest failures typically come before the biggest breakthroughs. That no matter what, I should never get discouraged. Learn from my mistakes and all will be well.

“Cia. Wake up.” My father’s hands shake me. No. Not my father. Tomas. I am no longer home. Tomas smiles as I open my eyes. “Get up. Michal says you don’t want to miss this.”

Michal’s right. Out the window I can see a shimmering, impossibly clear body of water. The dimming light cannot detract from its obvious purity. The five great lakes our colony is named after have been cleansed, but not like this. Not yet. The sight takes my breath away.

And then I see it. What the others are watching with shining eyes and open mouths. Up ahead—beyond the water. Silver buildings. Lights bright enough to be seen for miles and miles. These can only mean one thing—Tosu City. We’re here.

In school we’ve been taught that ninety-nine years ago, Tosu City was created as the first tangible sign that we as a people had survived the Seven Stages of War—the Four Stages of destruction that humans wrought on one another and then the following Three Stages in which the earth fought back. This spot was chosen because its predecessor was deemed an unimportant military target by the wagers of war. While it could not escape the corruption of the earth or the earthquakes, tornadoes, and floods, much of the city still stood when the earth quieted, and those left alive began to rebuild.

As we move closer, the buildings seem to grow taller. How thrilling and scary it must be to view the world from the top. Some buildings aren’t as tall, but the squat, perfectly cylindrical shapes constructed of steel and glass are no less impressive. Building after building after building. I cannot tell how many of them are new or which survived the wars. The buildings begin to blur together and everywhere there are people. Walking. Running. Laughing. Hurrying. Skimmers and bicycles crowd the streets. Old-fashioned cars and glide scooters. Most streets we pass look neat, clean, and new. Exactly what I expect from the city that serves as the center of our country’s hope for the future. But as we travel, I catch a glimpse of other streets that are dirtier and in disrepair. The people walking to and from those areas look worn out and tired. Some appear hungry. Others look as though they haven’t bathed in weeks, and I wonder why. From school I know the greatest concentration of our population is here—in this city. At least a hundred thousand people. Until this moment I never fully understood what that number meant. Now that I do, I am overwhelmed. I feel Tomas’s hand slip into mine and hold on tight. His face is pale. His eyes are wide. I think I’m not alone in my feelings of insignificance and confusion.

Michal tells us we’ll go immediately to the Testing facilities—no sightseeing will be allowed. But I notice he takes us past the towering capitol building and the cold, stone department of justice, both places Malachi expressed interest in seeing, before steering the skimmer through a large arching gate. A wrought-iron sign next to the arch reads THE UNIVERSITY OF THE UNITED COMMONWEALTH.

My heart skips. We are at the University. Here I can tell the buildings are old. Red brick. White trim. A clock tower. Some buildings made of glass. Others of stone. All speak of age and of wisdom. I see a large sculpture of two hands clasping each other—in prayer? In hope? Zandri might know, but I don’t want to ask her. I just want to take it all in.

We pass a large stadium, and moments later the skimmer slows. It comes to a stop in front of a massive, sleek building made of black steel and black glass. The grounds around it are lush and green and filled with flowers, but they in no way soften the stark, imposing exterior. A small bronze sign in front of the entrance reads TESTING CENTER.

The skimmer door opens, and the four of us hop out. I look up at the tall structure and then at the heavy steel front door and my stomach clenches. I feel a large warm hand touch my shoulder. Tomas. Just knowing he is beside me helps keep the gnawing panic at bay.

“Here.” Michal hands me the bag marked with my symbol. “Make sure you don’t let it out of your sight.” He says this in a low, quiet voice. His gaze locks with mine. There is no smile or amusement in his eyes. He is serious. I am to keep my few possessions with me no matter what.

Then the moment is gone. Michal turns back and his voice booms out, “Once we get inside, you’ll be assigned your sleeping quarters and your roommates. Most of the other candidates are already here since their skimmers didn’t have mechanical problems. The last few will arrive sometime tonight.” He gives us a big smile and asks, “Are you ready to go inside?”

There is only one acceptable answer. “Yes.” We all give it.

Michal nods and presses six buttons on a small keypad next to the door. There is the click. The door swings open, and we follow Michal inside. Tomas is the last to cross the threshold. The minute he does, the door swings shut behind him. The sound of locks being engaged accompanies our first glimpse of the Testing Center. Which, to be completely honest, is kind of a letdown. The lobby area is dimly lit—white walls with a scuffed, gray floor. Two gray, wooden chairs are arranged in a corner to suggest a conversational gathering place, but the chairs look as though they’ve never been used. We don’t get to use them now because Michal is leading us down a long white and gray hallway to a bank of elevators. I’ve never been in one, but I’ve read about them, studied how they work.

The doors open the minute Michal presses a button, and we all step in. Whoosh. In a matter of seconds the numbers over the doors have gone from one to five. The elevator dings and the doors slide open to reveal a large, electrically lit lobby with shiny white tile floors. The side walls are painted blue, but the back wall is all glass, giving us a view of a large room beyond filled with tables, chairs, and people. People our age. My heart lurches. Dozens and dozens of other Testing candidates.

The sound of a throat clearing brings my attention to an overly large woman with long curly white hair and round, gold-rimmed glasses seated behind a large wooden desk. She gives us a smile and stands.

The woman begins to speak, and I relax. Her voice is warm and friendly as she welcomes us to Tosu City and congratulates us on being chosen for The Testing. “Most of the other candidates arrived yesterday or earlier today. Dinner is being served in the hall behind me. You can freshen up and leave your things in your rooms or you can just go straight in.”

“I’d like to go straight in,” I say. If I am shown to my room, I might never have the courage to come out. Zandri looks like she wants to fight about it, but Tomas agrees with me and that settles the issue. Michal gives me a subtle nod and leads us down the corridor, through a door, and into the large hall we saw through the glass. I don’t think I’m imagining it when I hear the room go silent. All eyes dart to us. Take in our faces. Size us up as competition. Then the talking and eating resume.

On the left side of the hall is a buffet table piled with food. Three servers stand behind the table as though ready to explain the choices. Several types of bread. Apples, oranges, and grapes. A red stew made with lots of vegetables and beef. Carrots and tiny onions in a light sauce, and thick steaks of some kind of fish I’ve never seen before. Michal tells me the fish is called salmon. There is a separate table filled with cakes and other sweets.

“Grab a plate. Eat as much as you want.” As if to demonstrate, he follows his own advice.

The four of us grab our own plates and make our selections. I take a roll filled with raisins and nuts, a small piece of salmon, an apple, and some of the carrots. Just what I can eat. But I can see other candidates do not follow that same rule. Many have more than one plate in front of them piled with food. Some are taking a taste of one thing then pushing it away in favor of something better. My father taught me to respect the food we grow and the neighbors we share our food sources with. The idea of blatantly wasting what has taken years to make, grow, and thrive makes me lose my appetite.

The tables closest to us are all filled with candidates. They eye us as we walk down the aisle to an empty table in the back. I put my plate down and turn in time to see a large, scruffy boy with mean eyes stick his leg out in front of Malachi. Malachi loses hold of his plate, which crashes to the ground. Were it not for Tomas’s quick reflexes, Malachi would be face-first in stew.

Despite Malachi’s dark skin, I can see embarrassment burning on his cheeks. He mumbles an apology and starts to clean up the mess, but Michal stops him. “This wasn’t your fault.” His eyes flick to the scruffy boy, who is busy shoving cake in his smirking mouth. “Why don’t you take my plate while I find someone to clean this up?”

Malachi takes the plate and slides into a chair with his eyes cast down. His shame at causing an undignified scene is almost palpable, and I find my hands curling into fists. Rage, white and hot, burns in my blood. My family is close and encourages discussion to resolve differences. But I have four older brothers. When pushed, I know how to fight. I’m ready to do so now.

“Cia, your food is getting cold.” Tomas’s voice reaches me through the rage. The mild words hold a warning. We are being watched. Every move counts. Save my fight for later.

I feel my emotions deflate as I uncurl my hands, sit with my companions, and pick up my fork. Tomas nudges Malachi and whispers in his ear. Whatever he says knocks Malachi out of his stupor. He picks up his fork and starts shoveling in food. Michal returns with another plate and keeps a steady stream of conversation going while we eat. In the silences, I hear people from other tables talking about us. Wondering what colony we are. Someone speculates we are from Five Lakes, but that gets shot down with lots of laughter. Five Lakes Colony is a joke to them. The knot of worry in my stomach grows.

I finish everything but the apple. The salmon must have tasted good, but I wasn’t paying attention to the flavors. Another group of six candidates arrives and takes a table in the back. They hurry to eat as the rest of our plates are cleared away by women in white jumpsuits. Then a voice begins to talk.

“Welcome to Tosu City and congratulations on being chosen for The Testing.”

It takes me a minute to find who is speaking since the sound is being broadcast from speakers positioned in every corner of the room. Through the glass window I can see the woman who greeted us holding a microphone in her hand.

“One hundred and eight of you have assembled to be tested. At most, twenty will pass through to attend the University. I wish you all luck in being one of those who will pass.”

Less than a one-in-five chance. Voices murmur around us. Some confident and cocky. Others surprised at the number, but trying hard not to sound worried.

The voice over the speaker continues, “Since everyone has arrived, tomorrow morning will mark the beginning of the Testing process. In ten minutes you will report to your designated sleeping quarters. If you haven’t been assigned a room, please ask your travel escort, and he or she will get the assignment for you. I advise you to get as much rest as you can to help you in the days and weeks ahead. Good night and best of luck.”

Michal presses a slip of paper with my room assignment into my hand and holds his there for several seconds longer than necessary. In his eyes, in the squeeze of his hands, I know he is wishing me luck. Then he is gone.

We head out of the dining hall and split up. Girls to the right. Boys to the left.

Zandri and I watch Malachi and Tomas disappear down the hall. Then together we look for our rooms. I’m in room 34. Zandri is in room 28. As she’s about to go inside, I give her a hug. Who knows what tomorrow might hold. I want her to do well. Surprisingly, she tightens her arms around me, and we stand like that for a moment. Bonded by years of shared experiences and the fear of what is to come. When we step back from each other, she smiles. “Give ’em hell tomorrow. You hear?”

I nod. “You, too.” She disappears into her room, and I go in search of number 34. I find it a few doors down. Someone is moving around inside. Taking a deep breath, I turn the handle on the heavy wooden door and push.

“Hi.” The room is large, filled with two big beds, two desks, and some chairs. It takes me a minute to spot the source of the wispy voice. When I do, I’m surprised to see it belongs to a tall, beautiful girl with broad shoulders and long blond hair. She gives me a shy smile. “I’m Ryme from Dixon Colony. I guess we’re rooming together.”

I nod and take several steps into the room. The door clicks shut behind me. “I’m Cia from Five Lakes.”

Her lips spread into a delighted smile. “That’s amazing. Everyone at dinner was talking about Five Lakes and saying how no one from there has been tested in years. They thought it meant the colony died or failed or something.”

“Five Lakes is still around. We’re just small compared to other colonies.”

“Dixon is small too.” She sits on the bed against the far wall and curls her legs up under her. “We only have about fifteen thousand people. So it was really exciting when eight of us were chosen this year.”

Her smile is warm, and I find myself smiling back. Taking a seat on the other bed, I say, “Fifteen thousand is big to me. Five Lakes is just under a thousand.”

“How many of you are here?”

“Four. A quarter of our class.”

She asks about Five Lakes. Where we are located. What kinds of foods we grow. What kinds of animals frequent the area. From what she says about her own colony, it sounds like Dixon is about three hundred miles southwest of Five Lakes. While her colony is larger, its resources aren’t as developed. Maybe with so many people it’s just harder to stretch the resources they have, or maybe it’s because a large part of their adult population works on creating batteries and electrical supplies instead of developing the land. Since Ryme’s family runs a farm they aren’t hungry, but many in the nearby town are. Ryme says the compensation money her parents will receive is going to be used for more farming and food-storage equipment. Both will add to the food resources for her family and those around them.

Ryme sounds proud to have a hand in providing those things to her community. Even though I planned on keeping my distance from candidates from outside my colony, I find myself liking her.

We talk on and off for the next hour. Ryme shows me the design on her bracelet. A triangle with a decorative-looking A in the middle. Not my group. She offers to help me unpack, but I tell her I am keeping everything in my bag. Who knows when The Testing might come to an end for any of us? She smiles and agrees, although I can see two billowy dresses hanging in the closet in front of her bed. My mother would approve of the impression Ryme’s clothes will make. We both use the small bathroom adjoining our sleeping quarters, change into our pajamas, and climb into our beds. Ryme asks if we can keep the lights on for a while. She is sitting cross-legged, flipping through a photo album she brought from home. The tears in her eyes tug at my heart, reminding me that I, too, left my family behind. That if this was any other night my mother would be sitting in front of the fire, asking about my day. My father would brainstorm ideas with my brothers while we played cards around the kitchen table. Swallowing down the wave of homesickness, I tell Ryme to leave the lights on as long as she wants before I curl up under the covers.

She thanks me. I’m about to close my eyes when she adds, “If you get hungry, I brought some corncakes from home. I made them myself. Help yourself.”

I sleep with my bag tucked in beside me.

My dreams are troubled, although I can’t remember them when I awake to a voice over a loudspeaker telling us that we have an hour to get dressed and eat before the first phase of Testing begins. I pull on a pair of dark brown pants, an off-white tunic, and my boots. Then I fold my nightclothes and the pants and top I wore yesterday and shove them in my bag. Ryme raises an eyebrow at my repacking, but doesn’t say anything. She is wearing a flowing buttercup yellow dress and shiny white slippers. She’s even added touches of lip stain and eye makeup.

Across the room, I can hear her stomach growling, but I notice she doesn’t touch the corncakes. Maybe I’m paranoid, but I do a quick count. There are nine of them. If there are still nine after today, I’ll know for certain not to trust Ryme with my possessions or my secrets.

I twist the bracelet around my wrist. Then check my bag one last time and hoist it over my shoulder. Ryme walks with me down to the dining hall, ignoring invitations from others to join them. I’m not sure why she wants to stick with me, but I’m guessing she’s curious about the rest of the Five Lakes Colony candidates. From the way she was talking last night, it sounds like the other colonies have some communication with one another. Five Lakes is truly the unknown.

I fill a plate with strawberries, orange melon, a roll that smells spicy and sweet, and two strips of crisp bacon. Ryme kids me about nerves zapping my appetite while she piles a plate high with pancakes, waffles, eggs, sausage, and fried potatoes. We each grab a glass of milk, and I look around for my Five Lakes compatriots. They are at the same table we occupied yesterday, along with a few unfamiliar faces. I am not the only one who has picked up a passenger.

Malachi and Zandri introduce us to their roommates— Boyd and Nicolette. Both have dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin. I am not surprised to learn they are from the same colony to the east and south, Pine Bluff. Boyd is in Zandri’s group. I can’t see Nicolette’s bracelet very well. Her dress has long, flimsy sleeves that keep fluttering over it. Something with a heart, I think. I slide in next to Tomas, who is the only other Five Lakes candidate with his bag in tow. Although I notice that at least a third of the candidates, including the two additions to our table, have theirs with them.

Letting the chatter swirl around me, I take small bites of the sweet fruit and try not to think about what is coming. If what I have learned thus far isn’t enough, there is nothing I can do to change that. By the time I’ve finished my breakfast, I’ve learned that Nicolette and Boyd are cousins. Their two families operate a rice farm and have been struggling with their water management system. Rice is a crop I have never eaten and know next to nothing about. Tomas is unfamiliar with it as well, but hearing them talk about irrigation issues is enough to start a lively discussion. I even have a few ideas to add to the mix that Boyd thinks are of use.

We are having such an interesting conversation that I forget my anxiety until a voice announces, “Testing candidates, please report to the elevator banks, where officials will direct you to your first round of tests. Best of luck.”

My heart swoops into my stomach, unsettling my breakfast. A hand takes mine and holds fast. I turn and look into Tomas’s eyes. Is he nervous? I can’t tell. But I am glad for the warmth and steadiness of his hand as I rise to my feet. Almost every girl is wearing her prettiest dress and her most polished and scuff-free shoes. I would feel out of place in my wardrobe if not for Tomas standing next to me. His black boots are worn. His cotton shirt and brown pants are faded. Regardless of what tests they throw at us, I can almost guarantee that Tomas and I will be the only comfortable ones taking them.

Testing officials in dark purple and deep red jumpsuits herd us into the two elevator cars and direct us to the third floor. Tomas tightens his grip on my hand as we stand in the back of the small silver room and descend two floors. Some of the other candidates give Tomas’s and my joined hands a knowing look, and I start to pull away. But Tomas won’t let me. I don’t know why he has singled me out for his attention and support, but a small, terrified part of me is glad for it. Partners he called us. A word that doesn’t begin to account for the bubbles of anxiety that have nothing to do with the tests and everything to do with the way my hand feels in his.

The elevator door opens, and we are greeted by more officials. It occurs to me that they are dressed in formal colors that announce their status. They are making it clear that they are adults. They are in charge.

We are directed into a large room filled with seats and a stage. The lights on the stage are bright, illuminating a gray-haired, bearded man wearing a purple jumpsuit. He holds a microphone in his hand and is clearly waiting for us all to be seated.

Hands linked, Tomas and I slide into seats in the back. We look for Zandri and Malachi, but don’t see them. The last students sit. The Testing officials from the hallway come into the room and assume standing positions in the aisles. Finally, the man up front begins to speak.

“Welcome to Tosu City. My name is Dr. Jedidiah Barnes. I speak for myself and all of my colleagues when I say we are honored to have you here.” His smile and voice are warm. “You are here because you are the best and the brightest. On your shoulders rest the hopes of everyone in the United Commonwealth. Here among you are the future leaders of our country. All leaders must be tested, which is the process that you will begin today.”

People fidget in their seats. Nerves? Excitement? I admit I feel a combination of both.

The man smiles again. “The Testing process consists of four parts. Over the next two days, you will sit for the written exams. These will test your knowledge of history, science, mathematics, and reading as well as give us an idea of your logic and problem-solving skills. After these tests are evaluated, we will make our first cuts.”

The tension in the room ratchets up a couple notches. I tighten my hold on Tomas’s hand, which has to be uncomfortable for him, but he doesn’t complain.

“Part two is a series of hands-on examinations that will allow you to demonstrate your ability to transfer intellectual knowledge into practical use. Those who pass will be asked to participate in part three—an examination that will test your ability to work in teams and assess your teammates’ strengths and weaknesses. Finally, part four will test your decision-making and leadership abilities. Those who get high marks in all four sections of The Testing will then have a one-on-one evaluation with the selection committee. This final personality and psychological evaluation will help us determine who will move on to the University, where you will join with other outstanding minds to help restore the land and our country both to their former glory. This is a lofty goal, but from what I’m hearing about this class of candidates—especially those from colonies we haven’t seen in years—I’m certain you can achieve it.”

I see students in the rows in front of us looking around. For Malachi and Zandri. For me and Tomas. My roommate said everyone was interested in us because it was speculated that Five Lakes Colony was long dead. She would have mentioned if other colonies had been absent from The Testing. By singling us out, Dr. Barnes has most likely painted targets on our backs. Was it intentional? The polished quality of his speech tells me it was. Does he want to encourage the other students to trip us, or is he leveling the field so the others will not overlook us as teammates later?

Dr. Barnes hands the microphone off to a willowy woman whose red jumpsuit clashes with her bright orange hair. She introduces herself as Professor Verna Holt and says, “You will now be taken to your Testing rooms. All candidates have been assigned to groups based on your previous academic successes. The group you belong to is represented by the large symbol on your identification bracelet. When you see the symbol of your group on the screen behind me, please join the other members by the elevator banks. A Testing official will meet and escort you to your Testing room. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors and look forward to working with you in the days and weeks ahead.”

There is the hum of a motor and a large white screen unfurls above the stage. A black heart symbol flashes. You can hear people murmur as the symbol registers. Their time has come. I see Nicolette tromp up the aisle and disappear out the door with the twenty or so members of her group. Several minutes pass. A few people whisper. I hold my breath, waiting for the next group to be called.

A triangle. Malachi and Ryme.

I spot Malachi’s small, slight body rise from a seat to our far left. His mouth is pursed in concentration or fear as he walks up the aisle. I give him a thumbs-up, but his eyes are plastered on the back of the girl in front of him and he doesn’t notice.

There are fewer whispers. More fidgeting as we wait. My heart keeps pace with the seconds ticking by. The screen flickers. Another symbol.

Mine.

Tomas sucks in air, and I remember. Ours. Though I am certain he will outdistance all of us on the tests, I am so glad he is coming with me. He is a touchstone from home. I will do better knowing he is near.

We rise and join the others in our group. I can’t help but notice that our group is much smaller than the others. Once we are in the hallway, I count. Ten. Half the size. Is this good or bad? The two Testing officials in their red and purple do not allow me the time to worry further. The blonde asks us to follow her. She heads down the hallway to the left and we follow. A dark-haired man brings up the rear.

The woman at the door instructs us to step inside and take a seat at one of the desks. The door is narrow. Tomas goes first. I enter next. Two steps inside and I stop walking. My feet are planted to the floor as bile climbs up my throat.

I know this room.

White walls.

White floors.

Black desks.

This is the Testing room from my father’s nightmares.

Chapter 6

I TAKE DEEP breaths. I force my legs to move. All the while I am wondering, If this room from my father’s subconscious is real, what else is? If my answers today don’t make the grade . . .

No. I yank my thoughts back to the here and now. Worrying about what comes next will not help me excel on this test. Breathing, focusing, relaxing—those are the things that allow my mind to work best. I start with the first. Deep and low. In and out. I finger the yellow pencil sitting on the desk and out of the corner of my eye see Tomas watching me with concern. Shaking my head, I smile to tell him not to worry. I’m fine. I will be fine.

While I wait for the test to begin, I take in the other members of my group. There is only one other girl in the room. She has long red hair and the fabric of her black dress is in perfect contrast with her pale skin. Her back is rigid, her eyes forward. The boys are no less focused. Two blonds. One redhead. Four with varying shades of brown. And Tomas. Several are of slight build, but the redhead in particular has muscles that speak of a life filled with activity. As I wonder briefly what colony he is from, a tall, bald man in purple walks into the room carrying a large stack of bound papers.

The tests.

Paper is precious in our community since so many trees were destroyed in the Seven Stages. All paper usage is carefully monitored in school. Once the paper has been used and is no longer needed, it is sent to Omaha Colony for recycling.

Silently, the Testing official circulates in the room, stopping at each desk, never once meeting any of the candidates’ eyes. The large booklet lands on the shiny black surface in front of me. The cover reads History. In the right corner is the design from my bracelet—the eight-pointed star with a lightning bolt. My fingers itch to open the cover and see what lies beneath, but none of the other candidates opens theirs. Heart pounding, I wait.

The Testing official reaches the front of the room. He does not introduce himself but says, “Complete the pages in front of you to the best of your ability. If you need a drink of water, raise your hand and water will be brought to you. If you need to relieve yourself, raise your hand and an official will escort you to the facilities and back. You have four hours starting now.”

He pushes a button on the front wall, which causes a small screen to descend from the ceiling. A timer. And the numbers are running backwards.

Our time has begun.

Fingers trembling, I open the booklet to the first page.

Question: Explain the First Stage of the War of the Nations.

Answer: The assassination of Prime Minister Chae, which fractured the Asian Alliance, sparked a power struggle among the other nations and a civil war. During the civil war, bombs were dropped on the Korean States, destroying most of the population and causing the meltdown of two nuclear reactors.

Question: Name the first two North American cities destroyed by the Mideastern Coalition.

Answer: Washington, D.C., and Boston.

Question: What group was the first to declare war on the North American Alliance?

Answer: The South American Coalition.

Question after question, I scribble answers. Hoping I’m correct. Hoping the details I provide are what the Testing committee is looking for. Questions about the bombs dropped, cities destroyed, people dead. More questions about the earthquakes, floods, windstorms filled with radioactive air. Events that cut the world’s population to a fraction of what it was. It still amazes me that anyone survived the horrors I write about let alone had the strength and conviction to turn things around. I answer questions about the man from Five Lakes who created the process to purify the rivers. More about the woman who genetically crafted grass hardy enough to thrive in the earth. Questions about a people and a world struggling to find their way back from the brink of destruction.

I look up at the clock. Three hours have passed. I roll out my neck, trying to free the knots. Flexing my fingers that have been clutching the pencil so tight, I contemplate asking for a glass of water and decide against it. While water sounds good, I don’t want to risk losing precious minutes visiting the bathroom. Not while there are questions still to be answered.

Names. Dates. Foods created. Technology lost. Failures and deaths. All the happenings that contributed to me sitting in this chair. Taking this test. My eyes are tired and fuzzy, but I force myself to focus. To answer as many questions as possible. I flip to the last page when a loud buzzer sounds.

“Time is up. Please close your booklets and put down your pencils. The officials at the door will escort you upstairs to lunch.”

My leg muscles are stiff. I stand and bend my knees a couple times before I brave moving toward the exit. By the time we get up to the dining hall, my muscles are feeling more limber, but the idea of sitting down again has zero appeal. Since I know I need fuel, I fill my plate with roast beef, fresh spring greens, and slices of grilled tomatoes, and take a seat at what I now think of as our table.

If I thought the tension was bad in the Testing room, I am in no way prepared for the level of anxiety that permeates lunch. All around is chatter about the questions, the answers. Did President Dalton order the first bomb dropped on London? Did the first Stage Five earthquake plunge the state of California under water or was it the second? Tears when a candidate realizes the answers she gave were incorrect. Elation over the smallest victory. I try to ignore the emotion swirling around the room and do my best to direct my table’s conversation to something other than the questions we’ve been asked.

Zandri is delighted to change the subject. With little prompting she talks about our brief glimpse of Tosu City and the artwork it has inspired her to create. Soon everyone in the group is talking about the interesting things they’ve seen since being away from home. All but Tomas. He smiles and pretends to listen, but I can see by his eyes that his focus is elsewhere. Did he blank under pressure and fail the first test? I try to catch his attention to ask in silence what I cannot ask aloud, but his gaze is firmly fixed on the lemon cake in front of him.

We are all allowed to go back to our rooms to use the bathroom. I count the corncakes again. Still nine. Then it is time for the next written test. There are freshly sharpened pencils on all of the desks. The tests are passed out. This time the title of the booklet reads Mathematics. Word for word the Testing official gives us the pre-test speech about water, bathrooms, and the time we have to take the test. The clock once again descends, and everyone opens their booklet. The sounds of pencils scratching on paper and frantic erasing accompany my work.

If I finish a question too quickly, I check and recheck my work in case the question is not as simple as it seems. If a problem takes more time, I feel each second ticking by—stealing time from the other problems that are yet to come. I refuse to look around the room for fear someone is sitting quietly at his desk with his hands folded in front of him—done. I still have three pages to go when the buzzer sounds. My heart sinks in my chest. With so many questions left unanswered, I am certain I have failed.

The Testing official directs us to our escorts. I grab my bag and resist the urge to beg for more time. Ms. Jorghen at home probably would have given it. She loved when we showed dedication and determination. Here, they just want results.

We are allowed thirty minutes to freshen up in our assigned quarters before we report for dinner. I’d rather crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head than have to eat and face the others. It’s bad enough I have to confront Ryme, who’s looking as fresh-faced as she did this morning. One glance in the reflector tells me what I already know. I am a wreck.

“How did it go?” Ryme asks with a sweet smile. “I thought the history section was a bit simplistic. Didn’t you?”

I think of the final page sitting blank and shrug. “I think it covered the high points.”

“And the math section was long, but really—if someone doesn’t know differentiation, they shouldn’t be here.”

The calculus section was in the middle. At least she’s talking about a section that I completed.

Ryme picks up the plate of corncakes and offers them to me. I just shake my head as she puts the plate back down and continues to chatter. “I would have thought the tests would have been more challenging. How else will they weed out the people who clearly don’t belong here?”

The pitying smile she gives me makes my stomach roll. There is no question who she thinks should be the first to go.

I’m relieved when the announcement for dinner is made. I barely pay attention to what I’m putting on my plate before taking my seat next to Tomas. Our other colony-mates have yet to put in an appearance. Tomas gives me a half smile. He looks tired. The same tiredness I saw in the reflector a few minutes ago.

“How’d it go?” he asks.

Silverware clanks against china. People are laughing and talking louder and louder to be heard above the din. Everyone is either bragging about their intellectual prowess or steeped in misery. No one is listening to us. I decide to be honest. “I didn’t answer all the questions. I ran out of time.”

His smile grows wider as he runs a hand through his hair. “I thought I was the only one. I don’t know how they expect anyone to answer that many questions in four hours. I thought my brain was going to melt out of my head by the end of the math test.”

I laugh and feel some of the tension leach out of my body. If someone as smart as Tomas didn’t complete the tests, I doubt many did. Tomas is that smart.

Malachi, Zandri, and their roommates arrive. Worry and fatigue color their eyes, and I wonder if they too left pages blank. I think of how relieved Tomas was to know someone else didn’t finish the exams and weigh the reaction of those listening behind the cameras that no doubt are lurking nearby. After a moment, I come to a decision. “Well, I don’t know about all of you, but I didn’t finish either test.”

They all look at me with wide eyes, forks halfway to their mouths. After several beats, Nicolette admits, “Neither did I.”

“Me neither.” This from Malachi. He looks at his roommate Boyd. “Did you?”

Boyd frowns at his mashed potatoes. “No. I left five pages of math unanswered.”

“I still had five and a half.” This from Zandri.

Two slender, fair-skinned male candidates sitting at the table behind Zandri turn to face us. Identical green eyes study our faces. Only their hair length distinguishes one from the other. One with long. The other with short. The one with hair pulled back at his nape asks, “Did you say you didn’t finish the test?”

I see the others around the table stiffen, and I sigh. So much for thinking the noise covered our conversation. Lifting my chin, I answer, “There were just too many questions for me to finish them all. I got close on history, but I probably took too much time checking my work on math.”

The green-eyed twins look at each other. Without a word they rise, gather their plates, and move to the empty seats at our table. The longhaired one says, “You have no idea how good it is to hear someone finally admit they didn’t finish the damn tests.” He sticks his hand out. “I’m Will. My brother Gill and I are from Madison Colony.”

Madison. Only a few hours from Five Lakes. My father has traveled there a few times over the past two or three years. Something in the earth has been killing their crops. From the way the twins have piled their plates and the unhealthy cast to their skin, I’d guess there still isn’t enough food to go around. I’m glad they have food now because I can’t help but like them as they tease that they should have been allowed to take the tests together. They point out that everyone always says they share one brain. Gill excels in math and science. Will is strongest at history, English, and languages.

Once we are done comparing thoughts on today’s tests, Will and Gill plow their way through three plates of food as they describe Madison Colony and their family. They live in the city the colony is named for. Their father works in the paper mill while their mother is employed at a dairy farm. Life is clearly difficult for some in Madison Colony, but the twins are optimistic and upbeat. They regale us with hilarious stories of their attempts to milk a cow and their own family’s difficulty in telling the two of them apart until Gill took pity and cut his hair. The rest of us share our own stories from home, and I can see more than one envious face turned toward our table as we laugh. The laughter feels so good. It brightens our moods, eases the tension in our bodies, and replenishes our spirits. When dinner ends, most of the other candidates disappear into their assigned rooms, but we ask if we can remain in the dining hall for a while longer. None of us wants to leave the comfort of friends.

We sing favorite songs. Tomas and I perform a duet that we learned in school. The words speak of the hope of springtime and the world being born anew. Our two voices entwine and echo in the hall. The officials cleaning up after the meal stop and listen to us. When we go back to our rooms we all walk lighter. The lightness stays with me even as Ryme expresses relief that tomorrow’s exam will send people packing. And when I sleep with my bag tucked tight to my chest I spend the night free of dreams.

We all gather again at breakfast looking rested but feeling tense. No amount of talk can take away the anxiety as we mentally prepare for our next test. Science.

Periodic tables. Balancing chemical formulas. Physics equations. Those questions are first and easy compared to the ones that ask for scientific explanations for the mutated insects and animals that now populate the world. But the section on genetically altered plants is easy considering my hands-on experience. While my thumbs aren’t green, I understand the concepts behind creating hybrids and the factors that influence their success.

Too soon time is up. Two pages left unanswered. Lunchtime, then part four: Reading and Language Skills. My eyes are sore and my body numb with fatigue when I finish and realize the clock is still ticking. Ten minutes remain in the testing period.

Panic floods me. Did I answer the questions too fast? Did my hurrying cause me to give incorrect or incomplete answers? My fingers itch to open the cover so I can fix the mistakes I must have made. And yet, I hear my parents’ voices inside my head. The advice they gave me when sitting beside me at the kitchen table, quizzing me for a test. Take my time. Never second-guess myself. Almost always my first instinct will be the correct one.

I put my pencil down. Fold my hands in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tomas do the same. He’s finished. Glancing over, he gives me one of his single-dimpled smiles.

Five minutes remain. Four. Three. Two. Pencils scribble. Eyes flick up at the clock and back to the paper in front of them, the candidates desperate to finish one last answer. The buzzer sounds. Round one of The Testing is complete.

We are escorted to the elevators. A few kids give one another high-fives and celebrate. I just feel tired and relieved. I did the best I could. Whatever happens now is out of my hands. Tomas gives my hand a quick squeeze as the elevator doors open. Then he disappears down the hall with the other guys. I head in the opposite direction and am disappointed to see Ryme has once again made it back to the room before me. She’s seated at the desk, bent over a silver figurine she must have brought from home. There are still nine corncakes on the plate. Her smile is bright, if a little manic, when she sees me walk in.

“How did it go?”

I shrug my bag off my shoulder and decide to give an honest answer. “I didn’t complete the science section.”

Ryme’s eyes narrow. She bites her bottom lip and studies me for several moments. I guess she’s trying to determine whether I’m telling the truth. She’ll probably decide I’m attempting to get inside her head since it’s something she would do. Face it: anyone who brings a stack of corncakes with her and doesn’t eat a single one isn’t above screwing with someone’s mind.

Finally she gives me a smug smile. “I guess Five Lakes Colony schools aren’t as good as the ones in Dixon. Too bad. One of us won’t be around much longer.”

A flash of heat streaks through me. My nails bite into my palms as I fight for control of my anger. I can’t help myself from saying, “Our teachers did well enough. Tomas and I finished the reading section with time to spare. Did you?” I can see by the surprise on Ryme’s face that she didn’t, and I flash a mean smile. “I guess you’re right about one of us going home. Too bad. Don’t forget to pack your corncakes when you leave.” My tone is snotty—the kind I use when my brothers are ganging up on me and I decide to get in a low blow. A different heat fills me. Embarrassment. I wait for Ryme to take another verbal shot. I deserve it. But she doesn’t. She just looks down at her hands.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Her eyes come back up to meet mine. Her lips spread in a wide smile. “Whatever for?” she asks sweetly. “You were just trying to make yourself feel better after admitting you didn’t do well today. A lot of the inferior students at my school used to do the same thing, so I totally understand.”

Ugh. The girl is asking to get slapped. To prevent myself from doing something else I’d just feel guilty about, I flop onto my bed, close my eyes, and keep my back to Ryme until dinner is announced. Before the announcement is complete, I am out the door.

Dinner is an exuberant affair. Everyone is tired, but the stress of performing under pressure is lifted for the evening. The food also contributes to the happy atmosphere. Pizza. Warm and gooey and better than anything I’ve tasted before. I eat six slices. Zandri gets the twins telling jokes, and we are all laughing as the loudspeaker hisses and crackles to life.

“Malencia Vale. Please report to the hallway. Thank you.”

The dining hall goes silent. My heart slams in my chest. Have the Testing officials already decided I failed? Everyone at my table looks at me with questioning eyes. I must look freaked because Tomas takes my hand and says, “I bet they want to ask you to teach classes instead of taking them. Make sure they offer you a lot of money before saying yes.”

Sure. I give him a weak smile and stand. All eyes are on me as I stiffly walk up the aisle, past all the other tables, and through the side door. Everyone in the hall is probably jockeying for position so they can get a good view through the glass wall. I clutch my bag and stand in the hallway, waiting for whatever comes next.

“Malencia Vale?”

I spin to my right at the sound of the familiar voice. The kindly gray-haired man from yesterday morning’s assembly— Dr. Jedidiah Barnes. There are two officials behind him. All are in their ceremonial purple. “Everyone calls me Cia,” I say.

He smiles. “Both are lovely.” I try to come up with a response, but fail. Thankfully, a response isn’t required because he says, “Please forgive me for pulling you out of dinner, but Ryme Reynald’s friends have expressed concern over her whereabouts. When was the last time you saw her?”

I blink. This is about Ryme. Not me. Not my Testing scores. Relief fills me. Confusion follows. “Ryme was sitting at her desk when I left for dinner.”

“And she was well?”

Arrogant. Irritating. Irrationally confrontational. “I think she was stressed after finishing today’s tests.”

“Eight hours of tests for two days straight is enough to stress anyone out.” Dr. Barnes’s smile is apologetic. “We debate every year about spreading out the tests over the first week, but we feel it is best to get the first section of Testing over with quickly. Too much time to think about the tests also causes stress.” He sighs. “Would you mind letting us take a look in your room? Ms. Reynald probably decided to skip dinner, but we would like to make sure.”

“Sure.” I mean, it isn’t really my room. “Go ahead.”

He smiles again. “You’ll have to come with us. The law states that Testing officials are not allowed into any candidate’s room unless the candidate is present or there is an obvious emergency.”

I guess I’m glad they didn’t test us on the United Commonwealth laws or I would have failed for sure. Irritated that Ryme has stirred up such drama and sucked me in for the ride, I head down the hall. Dr. Barnes’s tread is soft, but the other two officials’ boots clomp down the corridor. If Ryme is inside, she has certainly heard us coming.

Turning the knob, I push the door open and take a step inside. The smell, urine mixed with corncakes, hits me first. Then I see her. Dangling on a colorful rope. Hanging from the ceiling. Face red and blotchy. Eyes wide with horror. Neck gouged and bleeding where she fought from instinct or because she changed her mind.

I scream as the reality of what I see hits me. Hard.

Ryme is dead.

Chapter 7

HANDS HELP ME stand. Lead me into the hall. Someone asks me to wait and other people in jumpsuits come running from every direction. I clutch my bag to my chest like a security blanket as activity swirls around me. Ryme is cut down from the ceiling. A gurney appears. When she is whisked past me, I recognize the rope still around her neck: her dress, the one she looked so lovely in yesterday, tied to a bed sheet.

I can’t help my stomach from emptying or the tears that flow hot and fast—for her, for me, for not seeing the desperation and depression under the arrogant façade. Did my taunting her with finishing the final written test push her over the edge? Could a kind word have saved her?

“Cia?”

I blink and realize Dr. Barnes is holding my shoulders. Looking into my eyes. I blink twice and swallow the bile building in the back of my throat. Mutely, I nod that I hear him.

“They are going to assign you a different room.” He leans against the wall next to me. “Would you like to talk about it?”

No. But I will. I have to. Softly, I tell him about Ryme’s arrogance and her taunts today. My reaction and the apology I eventually gave. Even the corncakes and what I suspected they might contain. He’s a good listener. His deep brown eyes meet mine without censorship. His head nods, encouraging me to say more—never once letting his eyes travel to the officials walking in and out of the room, cleaning the floor next to me, talking in hushed tones about removing her belongings.

When I am done, I feel empty, which is better in a way than feeling smothered by guilt. Dr. Barnes assures me Ryme’s death is not my fault. As we discussed earlier, stress is difficult. Some students handle stress better than others. Some can’t eat. Some never sleep. Ryme took her own life. While this is a tragedy, it is better for the entire Commonwealth population to learn now that she is not capable of dealing with the kinds of pressure she would be forced to deal with in the future. This event is unfortunate, but The Testing served its purpose. He hopes Ryme’s choice to end her candidacy will not impact the results of mine.

End her candidacy? Inside I am icy cold. An official in purple informs us my room is ready, and Dr. Barnes gives my shoulders a squeeze. I smile and tell him I’ll be fine and that talking to him made me feel better. I hope he can’t see the lie. Because while his tone was kind, I heard the indifference in his words. To him, this was just another test. One Ryme failed. If I am not careful, I will fail too.

I am shown my new room at the very end of the hall. The walls are painted yellow. They remind me of the dress Ryme was wearing when I first met her. The official asks me if I’m okay not having a roommate. If I don’t want to be alone he is certain a female official would be happy to sleep in the spare bed.

No, I do not want to be alone. Awake, I am having trouble keeping Ryme’s lifeless eyes out of my head. Asleep, I will be defenseless to stop her from haunting me. Knowing I will be alone through the ordeal makes me want to curl up in a ball.

But Dr. Barnes’s words ring loud in my head. The Testing is about more than what happens in the classrooms. Asking for help through the night will be seen as a weakness. Leaders are not weak. The Testing is looking for leaders.

So I thank the official and tell him, “I’m fine being alone.” He tells me to let the official at the desk know if I change my mind. They can even give me drugs if I need help sleeping. Then he shuts the door behind him.

I look around the room. Aside from the color it is an exact replica of the one I previously occupied. I hear muted voices and the sound of footsteps. Other candidates returning to their rooms from dinner. For a moment, I consider opening my door and going in search of my friends. A smile from Zandri, a hand squeeze from Tomas, or even one of Malachi’s quiet looks would help ease the sadness. But I don’t open the door because that, too, could be considered a weakness. Instead I shower, change into my nightclothes, wash the daytime ones, and hang them to dry.

Lying on the bed, I stare up at the ceiling, trying to conjure happy memories. Anything to ward off images of Ryme hanging from the light fixture. I can’t help but wonder whether my father witnessed something similar. Whether his brain had made up an even worse memory of The Testing to compensate for the horrific one he used to have. At this very moment, I believe it is more than possible.

Everything is quiet. The others have taken to their beds and are sleeping in preparation for whatever is to come tomorrow. I am still awake. I keep the lights blazing bright and fight against the heaviness of my eyes. I am losing the battle when something catches my eye. A small circular glint in the ceiling. One that matches the one I saw in the skimmer.

A camera.

It is all I can do to keep the discovery off my face. I don’t know why it should surprise me that there is a camera watching even when we are doing the most mundane chores like sleeping and getting dressed. But it does. Is this room alone being watched? Because I found Ryme? Immediately, I reject the idea. If they are watching one room, I am certain they are watching them all. The implication of that sucks the air out of my lungs. If there are cameras in every room, someone watched Ryme as she stripped her bed of the sheet. Tied it to her dress. Reasoned out the best place to affix it to the light fixture on the ceiling. They watched as she stepped off the chair. Saw her struggle against the rope, claw her throat in an attempt to free herself, and go limp as her body shut down.

They could have saved her. Instead, they let her die.

I force myself to appear calm as I walk over to the light switch and cast the room into shadows. Whoever is watching, I don’t want them to see the horror I feel. I bury my head under the covers and out of habit clutch my bag to my chest. I wonder if the people behind the screen are reliving Ryme’s death while they sleep tonight. It is mean of me, but I hope they are because I am even before sleep pulls me under.

Ryme’s blotchy red face and her glassy, blood-streaked eyes follow me into my dreams. Her voice taunts me with my inadequacies. She offers me corncakes and this time I take one and eat it. Each time I wake, I force myself to go still. Not to call out or thrash about. I keep my head under the covers just in case the camera can see more than I believe, and do my best to wipe my mind clean of the horrors before dropping into sleep again.

When the morning announcement comes, I am grateful to climb out from under the sheets. I go into the bathroom and study myself in the reflector. I look tired, but no more so than I did yesterday morning. Taking this as a good sign, I pull on my clothes and brush out my hair while scanning the bathroom for prying eyes. No cameras. At least none that I can see. The Testing officials must not be interested in our hygiene habits. I leave my hair loose around my shoulders, hoping it will pull focus from the fatigue in my eyes, grab my bag, and head down to breakfast.

Tomas and the twins are already seated when I arrive. Tomas’s face is filled with relief and he wraps me in a tight hug before I have a chance to sit down. As I sit, Tomas gives my plate a long look. In my effort to appear normal, I have piled it with bacon, eggs, sliced potatoes, fruit, and sweet rolls. I immediately shove a piece of bacon into my mouth to discourage questions about yesterday. It works until Zandri, Malachi, and their roommates arrive. Once everyone is seated, Tomas asks, “Is everything okay? We kept waiting for you to come back last night.”

They wait for me to reply. I replay Dr. Barnes’s words in my head. Did he mean for me to keep silent? I don’t think so, so I quietly say, “Ryme is dead. She killed herself last night.”

The Five Lakes candidates show various degrees of surprise. The twins sigh and give each other knowing looks. After a moment, Will says, “We figured it might be something like that. Our teacher warned us about the pressure. He was a Testing official for a couple of years and said there were at least two or three suicides in every Testing class.”

Ryme was one. I can’t help wondering who might be next. Judging by their silence, I’m guessing my friends are doing the same.

We talk about it a bit then concentrate on eating. I give some of my extra food to Malachi, who has definitely added on pounds since coming here three days ago, and shove a sweet roll into my bag. I don’t know if we are supposed to take food from the dining hall, but I figure if someone on the other side of the cameras objects, they’ll stop me. No one does.

Another announcement is made. We tromp to the elevators and are whisked back to the lecture hall. Dr. Barnes is once again up front. He smiles at everyone as they take their seats and congratulates us on finishing the first phase of The Testing. “The tests are currently being evaluated by the Testing staff. Because we are aware of your unique skills, each group has its own set of requirements to achieve a passing score. After lunch we will meet with the Testing candidates and inform them whether they have been passed on or whether their Testing has come to an end. Until then, you will have time to spend as you like—either in your rooms, the dining hall, or the designated area outside.”

Outside. The idea of fresh air lifts my spirits. Dr. Barnes tells us that all candidates going outdoors must stay within the fence surrounding the Testing Center. Breaking the rule is grounds for automatic dismissal from further Testing.

Candidates shift in their seats, getting ready to bolt for the door, when Dr. Barnes’s expression changes. There is sadness. And though I am prepared for his words, my breath still catches and my eyes mist with tears. “I am sorry to announce that Testing candidate Ryme Reynald took her own life last night.”

Some students gasp and cry out, but I notice more than one sly smile that says, One down. I try to remember the faces that go with those smiles just in case.

Dr. Barnes continues. “We know that this is a difficult process, but I hope that those of you who remain will talk to me or one of the other officials if the pressure becomes too much. We are here to help. Please enjoy your morning of relaxation. I wish you the best of luck this afternoon.”

Based on where we want to spend our morning, candidates are directed into one of the two elevators. The left goes up to our rooms on the fifth floor. All of us from Five Lakes Colony head to the right.

The sun is shining, the grass is green and sweet, and a light breeze is blowing as we step outside. Two officials in purple are stationed at the front door, but otherwise we have the large fenced-in area surrounding the Testing Center to ourselves. We can see the University buildings shining in the sun—some only steps away from the fence. The buildings and the knowledge they hold remind me why I am here.

Only about three dozen candidates opted to make the trip outside. Since most are finding spots in the grass in front, the four of us from Five Lakes head around the building to the back. There, we find several tall flowering trees and three benches next to a small pond. The ripples of clean, clear water and the sun shining down have a rejuvenating effect on me. While the others sit on the benches, I take off my boots and socks, roll up my pants, and wade in. That’s when I notice the metal piping in the middle of the water.

A fountain? I wade closer. Yes. I am certain of it. I wade around to the other side of the pond and find the power box nestled discreetly in a pile of rocks. The switch on the box says the fountain is on. So why isn’t it working? Could this be another test?

I drop my bag onto the ground and pull out the small hunting knife I brought as one of my two personal items. Flipping out the screwdriver, I take the cover off the box and look inside. None of the wires or connections appears to be severed. There are no black marks indicating an overload or a burnout. The switch is connected properly. The trouble must be the pump.

Back at the center of the pond, I lean down and peer through the clear water at the pump. It’s compact and looks undamaged. I consider removing it, but realize there is someone better equipped for the job. Someone who installed an entire irrigation system at his parents’ farm.

Tomas is more than willing to leave his bench and take a look. Zandri and Malachi laugh at us as we poke around the pump, but after a while they fall into quiet conversation, leaving Tomas and me to our own devices.

Tomas thinks the problem might be the impeller. I guess the motor. We decide to remove the pump to find out who’s right. Tomas uses my knife to unscrew the pump from its base, and we head to the shore. A few minutes later, we have the cover off and I give a shout of victory. The impeller is perfect. The motor has a loose connection. I tinker with it for a while and think I have the problem licked. Tomas puts the cover back on and installs the pump back in the pond. Minutes later, water shoots into the air, soaking us both.

Problem solved.

We lie on the grass, letting the sun dry our clothes, and I try to hang on to the happiness I feel whenever I make something work. I twist the bracelet on my wrist and use my fingernail to probe for the clasp as the four of us talk about our families and what might be happening in Five Lakes Colony right now. Zandri gets a faraway look in her eyes. She is missing home. I am too, and I can’t help but wonder if all four of us will still be here to talk of home tomorrow.

I think I have found where my bracelet fastens when they call us to lunch. As I poke one of the metal segments with my knife, I hear a click that tells me I am right. I consider mentioning it to the others, but they have already started toward the building. Carefully, I refasten the bracelet as I walk to the other side of the pond and hit the switch. The fountain gurgles and stops. They might have power to spare here, though I can’t help but heed the training I’ve had all my life. Waste is unnecessary. Tomas is waiting for me as I hurry to catch up. The warm approval in his eyes makes my heart skip several beats.

While the last two meals have been filled with chatter, the atmosphere at lunch is subdued. You can see the tension in everyone’s eyes as they stare at the clock hanging on the wall behind the buffet. No one knows exactly when the results interviews will begin, but we know they will start soon. Everyone leaves food on their plates. I shove an apple into my bag as the twins try to keep the mood light by telling jokes. Everyone pretends to laugh.

The loudspeaker crackles. “Please return to your sleeping quarters. When your name is called, quickly exit your quarters with your belongings. An official will escort you to your designated results room. Best of luck.”

Chairs scrape against the floor as candidates head for their rooms. Our table is the last to rise. I look from face to face. Tomas. Malachi. Zandri. Nicolette. Boyd. Will and Gill. The chances of us all making it to the next round are small. We say nothing. Wishing each other luck will not change the work we have already done—the results that have already been determined. So we squeeze hands and say we’ll see each other later, knowing full well the words are a lie.

I wait in my quarters as names are announced over the loudspeaker, trying not to think about my father’s words. I can’t help but wonder why no one has ever mentioned what happens to past Testing candidates who didn’t succeed. What became of them? What will become of us?

Unfamiliar names are called. But then I hear Malachi’s name quickly followed by Tomas’s. Time stands still although the clock says otherwise. Finally, my breath catches as my name is called. I enter the hallway. A woman in red silently escorts me down to the elevators. She pushes number two, and the doors close. When they open, a male Testing official nods and asks me to follow him down a long white hallway to a set of dark wood doors. He opens the door on the left and steps to the side. I enter the room alone.

The room is small with only a shiny black desk and two black chairs. The walls are white. The dark-haired woman behind the desk asks me to sit. I follow her command and wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment she says nothing. My heart slams against my rib cage. I swallow hard and try not to fidget.

Finally, she smiles. “Congratulations. You have passed the first round of Testing.”

Relief fills me. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in as she tells me I should get plenty of rest before the next round. An official walks me back to the elevators. The doors open on the third floor. I walk into the lecture hall and strong arms immediately swoop me close.

Tomas’s voice whispers, “Congratulations, partner. I knew you could do it.”

Then Malachi is giving me a shy hug. Of those at our dining hall table, the three of us are the first to arrive. Boyd arrives next, looking pleased. He high-fives Malachi, almost knocking him over. The room begins to fill up. Nicolette arrives, looking flushed with pride. We watch the door from our place in the back of the room, waiting for the next of our party. Will strolls in with a cocky smile. We wave to him. He breaks into a large grin and starts walking over. The grin fades as his eyes move from face to face. By the time he reaches us the smile is back, but I can tell something is wrong. I remember the way I could hear the names of candidates over the loudspeaker as they were called for their results before me. Will must have heard a name called. A name of someone not returning. Of our group only two have not returned. Dread coats my stomach.

Five minutes pass before the last two candidates arrive, followed by Dr. Barnes. One of them looks around the room, spots us, and breaks into a large smile. Zandri crosses to us and gives Malachi the first hug. Most of our group congratulates her, but I walk toward Will, who is still watching the door—waiting. Realizing his other half won’t be returning.

Dr. Barnes asks us to take our seats and congratulates the Testing candidates who remain. I have to lead Will to a chair. Force him into the seat. Tomas and I sit on either side of Will as he begins to tremble. From their stories, I know Will and Gill have never been apart for more than a couple of hours. I’ve watched them complete each other’s sentences. I wonder how one half will survive without the other.

Will holds my hand like a lifeline as we are told the second round of tests will begin tomorrow morning after breakfast—the first of a series of hands-on examinations that will allow us to demonstrate our intellect, unique skills, and problem-solving techniques. Dr. Barnes then warns, “If there is a part of the test you do not understand or do not know how to complete, please do not guess. Raise your hand and let the Testing official in your designated room know you cannot finish. Leaving a problem unsolved is better than giving an incorrect answer. Wrong answers will be penalized.” He lets the words settle on us and dismisses us with one last round of congratulations.

Tomas helps me get Will up and moving. By the time we get to the dining hall, Will is telling us his brother probably failed on purpose so he could go home to his girlfriend. He tells more jokes at dinner. Every once in a while I see him glance to his left as though waiting for his brother to finish his thought before realizing he isn’t there.

We go to our quarters early to get ready for whatever will come with the morning. I dream of Ryme with a makeshift noose tight around her neck, offering corncakes to Gill. She smiles at me as he takes one and falls to the floor dead.

In the morning I scrub with cold water to wash the grainy feel from my eyes and then head to breakfast. I’m the last of our table to arrive. Spirits are high. Especially Will’s as he flirts mercilessly with Nicolette. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears are tinged with pink as she sips her glass of apple juice. Judging by the way she smiles back at him, I don’t think his attention is unwelcome. I hope he isn’t just using her as a way of coping with his brother’s absence. Things are stressful enough.

The announcement is made and we all head to the elevators, back to the third-floor lecture hall. Dr. Barnes, with his smile bright against his graying beard, watches us as we take our seats. He tells us that there are eighty-seven of us left. He reminds us the second phase of Testing begins today and asks us all to remember that in this phase wrong answers are penalized.

We are called in groups of six. I am surprised when Malachi and Will are called with me, and we trail down the hall after a testing official. The Testing room holds six waist-high worktables in two rows—three in front, three in back—each with a small stool seated directly behind it. On the left-hand corner of each station is a small sign depicting a candidate symbol. In the center of every table is a large wooden box.

A silver-haired female official asks us to find the table marked with our symbol. My workstation is the back center one. Malachi’s is at the front to my right. Will is next to me on my left. He catches me looking at him and winks.

The official tells us to raise our hands when we complete the test in front of us. The box will be removed. When all candidates have finished the current box, a new test will be brought out. We are to complete as many tests as we can in the allotted time. This test will not break for lunch, she warns. Then she repeats Dr. Barnes’s instructions about raising our hands if we don’t know how to complete the test, stressing that we are not to guess at answers we are uncertain of. She tells us to solve the puzzle of opening the box and then follow the instructions for the test we find inside.

Seems easy, which is enough to make me nervous. The Testing is not designed to be easy. I study the box while out of the corner of my eye I can see several of my fellow candidates tapping and tugging at theirs. My mother has a puzzle box at home that her grandfather created for her. It requires the opener to slide pieces of the box to the side in a specific order—otherwise, the box will not open.

Slowly, I turn the box on the table so I can view every side. The wood is rich and smooth and has a swirling etched design that makes it quite beautiful. I’m sure Zandri would be able to identify the technique used to create the pattern, but I’m not interested in admiring it. I want to open the thing.

Ah. There in the bottom corner I see a small knot in the pattern. Nowhere else on the box is there that tiny circular shape. A button? I dig the tip of my index finger into the small spot and feel something give way. Sure enough—the side of the box is now able to slide up and off. I set that piece to the side and pull out the instruction sheet.

Test the plants inside the box for edibility. Separate those that are edible from those that are poisonous.

Again there is a warning: If you do not know an answer, do not guess. Set the unknown plant to the side.

I smile. This test was designed for me.

There are eight plants in the box. I recognize six immediately. The white flowers arranged in an umbrella-looking shape are water hemlock. My father says they were deadly even before the lakes were corrupted by biochemical warfare. The deep green leaf with the threads of red veins I believe is also poisonous. At least the rhubarb leaves that grow by us are not to be eaten. The branch of deep green oval leaves with brown nestlike shapes hanging from the branch has to be a beech nut. I’m also positive I recognize sassafras, wild onion, and nettle, which are often eaten by the bugs in our colony.

The last two species give me pause.

I sniff the first—a large, jaggedly shaped green leaf. There is a faint hint of a floral scent. I can see on the stem where a flower might have been connected recently. The leaf is soft and reminds me of a flower that my father pointed out to me a few years ago—not one he created, because it is poisonous and his work is to create things that will sustain life. Still, he thought the plant had value because of its fragrant beauty. Is this the same plant? If not, I believe it to be related. I put it in the poisonous pile and move on to the last—a dark hairy root with white flowerlike leaves attached to the top. I scrape away the outside of the root with my fingernail and sniff it. It smells sweet. Not like a beet or a carrot. Those are very different. But something about this seems familiar. I can hear Dad’s voice as he talks about a variety of roots that have had luck growing in southern colonies. One called chicory that Zeen wanted a sample of to study in case it would help with the new version of potato. This is chicory or something near to it. I feel confident enough to place it in the edible pile and raise my hand.

The other candidates look at me as the official checks my work. She asks if I am confident in my answers. Wiping my palms on my pants, I look over the plants once more. Yes. I am as certain as I am going to get. She smiles and scribbles something in a notebook. Then she removes the nonedible plants and tells me to take a seat until the other candidates are finished.

Ten minutes later, everyone’s work has been checked. The Testing official has removed the plants the candidates separated as not edible and has recorded those in her notebook. Back up front, she asks us one last time if we want to change our answers. She calls each of our names and waits for us to answer yes or no. None of us takes her up on her offer.

“Well, then,” she says cheerfully, “you should have no problem ingesting a sample of each plant you have deemed edible.”

The room goes silent. Finally, I understand.

Yes—a wrong answer will be penalized. Dizziness. Vomiting. Hallucinations. Maybe even death.

I glance around at the tables in the room and see each Testing candidate has a different sampling of plants. There is no way to compare answers. Did I make a mistake? The boy in front of me seems confident he did not. He quickly samples each of his plants. Next to me, Will samples his four. I take a deep breath and eat the beech nut, a small piece of the sugary root I hope is chicory, and the other three plants. None of the plants I deemed poisonous would be fast-acting. We will have to wait to learn whether any of us has made a mistake.

There is no time to worry about whatever might be happening inside my body as Testing officials carry in the next box. This one has a complicated sliding pattern to remove the top and all four sides. Inside is a large pulse radio and a set of small hand tools. The instructions say to restore the pulse radio to working order.

We are told that before the Seven Stages of War, the world was able to communicate through devices that bounced signals to satellites in space. I don’t know what happened to those satellites. Maybe they are still floating somewhere above us or maybe they have crashed into the earth without any of us knowing. And with the earthquakes that pulled apart the earth, all underground wires for communication were severed. After the war, scientists decided to use the much higher concentration of electromagnetic radiation to restore communication. Pulse radios were born, although they can broadcast more than just voices. With the right receiver on the other side, pulse radios can broadcast images as well as sound. They record large chunks of communication and then create a pulselike signal that propels out to receivers. My father has a pulse radio to communicate with other colonies and Tosu City, so I have seen one before. My father even let me take a look inside it. Which means it is easy for me to find the wires that are mistakenly crossed, fix the solar-powered motor, and make a few tweaks to the transmitter. In between each adjustment, I pause and check my heart rate to determine whether the plants I consumed are making me sick. At any sign of illness, I plan on purging the other plants from my stomach. It won’t impact the poison already in my bloodstream, but I have to try something.

While working, I notice a few wires that clearly don’t belong in a pulse radio and some small metal hinged boxes that don’t look familiar. If I were at home, I would poke around to see what they contained. But this isn’t home. I will do only what I am certain of.

I screw the top back on the pulse radio and am about to raise my hand when I notice Malachi swaying on his feet. Fatigue or one of the plants he consumed? I think of the plants that I received and try to decide if one of them would cause this kind of reaction. Sweat pours down his face. His hands begin to shake as he starts work on an area of the radio that I ignored. One that contained an unfamiliar metal box. I know we are not supposed to help our fellow candidates, but Malachi’s shoulders are twitching and I am worried the plants he ingested no longer allow him to think rationally. I open my mouth to call out—to tell him not to touch the metal box.

But he already has. A moment later a nail imbeds itself in Malachi’s eye, and he drops to the floor like a stone.

Chapter 8

WHEN I WAS a child, I once cut my finger to the bone. My mother tells me I didn’t scream or cry out. I just froze as though staying still would stop the blood from flowing. The blood pooling on the white floor next to Malachi’s head has the same effect. A scream builds inside me, fights to get past my clenched throat, but I make no sound. Someone else’s shouts, maybe Will’s, wake me from stillness, and I race from my station to where Malachi lies twitching on the floor. A pair of purple-clad arms grab me and pull me back. In my struggle to get free I barely hear the head Testing official talking to me. Asking me if I have completed my test. If not, I must return to my station. Otherwise, there is a risk I will receive assistance from observing another candidate’s work.

I want to scream that the test doesn’t matter. Not when life is draining drop by drop onto the tile floor. But I choke out a yes, and I am released. The Testing officials make no move toward Malachi as I take his hand and hold tight. From their posture I can tell they will offer no aid. This is the penalty for an incorrect answer. To them he has earned whatever comes next.

The twitching is getting worse. While Malachi’s uninjured eye is open, I am uncertain if he can see or if the plant he ingested has caused some kind of coma as it wages war on his body. Still, I shift my position on the cold tile just in case. If he can see, he will recognize something of home. A girl who sang songs with him on the grass and asked him for help when she struggled with her homework. A girl who is his friend. Someone who can’t imagine what will happen when he is gone.

Only, I no longer need to imagine. The twitching stops. His muscles go slack as his chest stops its rise and fall. Malachi is dead.

Do I cry? I must. Because when they tell me to go back to my station, I touch my face and find my cheeks are wet. How long they let me sit next to Malachi’s unmoving body is uncertain to me. A while. Long enough for two of the other candidates to finish their tests—or perhaps, after what happened to Malachi, they chose to stop instead of taking their chances.

Giving Malachi’s hand one last squeeze, I brush a lock of dark curly hair from his forehead and kiss his cheek. The room swoops and spins as I stand. After a moment, I am able to walk stiffly to my station. I balance on my stool and wait for the officials to move Malachi’s body, but they don’t. Not yet. Not until everyone has completed this phase of the test.

I wait for the other candidates to protest. To say this is wrong. But I know why they don’t. It’s the same reason I don’t yell out. The reason is Malachi and his too-still body. We all want to live.

Several minutes later, Will raises his hand to indicate he has finished and then closes his eyes so he won’t have to see the shell of a boy he shared meals with. The girl to my right finishes. The Testing official checks our work. When she is done, she signals the other officials to remove Malachi from the floor. My fellow candidates look at the tops of their desks or up at the ceiling. I don’t. Malachi deserves someone who cares to bear witness. I force myself to watch every second—picking him up, carrying him by his arms and legs across the room, out the door. Away.

There is no time to grieve as the next boxes are brought in and placed on our tables. We are given permission to start.

My hands tremble as I smell the blood still staining the floor. I force myself to take deep breaths. Push myself to continue when I only want to run screaming from the room—leave the building—find my way back home. But I know that isn’t possible so I rub my hands on my pants, swallow my tears, and examine the box. I need several tries to figure out how to open it. Inside are soil samples and several capped beakers of solutions. We are to identify any soil samples that contain radiation.

I use only the solutions I can identify by smell and color. Out of the ten soil samples, there are four I am certain contain radiation, three that do not, and three on which I will not risk wagering a guess. Had this been the first test, before the plants, before Malachi’s twitching, bloody body, I might have been arrogant enough to feign confidence. No more. Malachi made a mistake, and he paid for it. The price he paid would be worthless if I didn’t learn from his actions.

Four more test boxes appear in succession. There is a keypad to enter our answers to complex mathematical equations. I only answer half and am glad I didn’t guess on the last when the boy in front of me starts to shake. Electrocution. The punishment isn’t as severe as Malachi’s, but the boy can barely balance on his stool to work on the next three boxes.

I identify about three-quarters of the slides they ask us to view under what I suspect is a rigged microscope. Thankfully, we never learn what the penalty for mistakes would be. There is a solar power converter that I easily build—though the girl next to me ends up losing the tip of her finger—and six samples of water that we must purify using the chemicals provided. The purification test takes two hours, and we are instructed to drink the ones we think have been done correctly. I drink two. The electrocuted boy and the girl next to me drink none.

With that, the second round of tests is over. We are free to leave the room.

Will can barely walk. From the stress, the water he drank, or one of the slower-acting plants he might have ingested? I don’t know. But his legs tremble as he takes small, halting steps. I put my arm around his waist to lend my strength as we exit the Testing room. In the doorway, I stop walking and take one last look back at where Malachi fell—where his blood has dried on the floor. A tear falls. I say a whispered goodbye. Then, with a steadying breath, I lead Will away, wondering who else will be missing when we reach our table.

Boyd.

According to an ashen-faced Nicolette, he collapsed during the third exam and was taken for treatment. He never returned. They all look at me and Will, who is now seated but needs help staying upright. Tears prick the backs of my eyes and Tomas takes my hand and holds it. I am grateful to him for his support. For his survival. I share the story of our Testing room as quickly as possible, telling myself it is like pulling off a bandage. The quicker you pull, the less agonizing the pain. But I am wrong. Fast or slow, relating Malachi’s death digs a knife deep into my heart. Watching Tomas’s jaw clench and Zandri’s eyes fill with tears twists the knife until I don’t know if I can keep breathing.

The last of the Testing candidates straggle into the hall and an announcement is made. “All candidates who feel they are in need of medical attention, please report to the elevators.”

At least one candidate at every table gets up and heads back into the hallway. Nicolette tells Will he should go. He starts to rise, but I push him back into his seat and tell him not to. I study his face. His pupils are dilated, but his breathing has become easier. While his skin is still clammy, color is returning to his face. My gut tells me whatever caused this reaction is leaving his system. Do I think the right medicine would help him get better faster? Of that I have no doubt. But I remember Dr. Barnes’s words spoken in the hallway as Ryme was being cut down from the ceiling. About the Testing demonstrating the pressures a candidate can handle. About finding those who can deal with the pressures and still perform as leaders. I doubt those seeking medical attention will be deemed strong enough leaders to return.

Nicolette pleads with me, but I will not let Will go. I can’t. Dinner is served. I tell Tomas to get Will food and something to drink. That will help. I hope I’m right.

Will does improve after drinking two glasses of juice and eating small bits of bread and fruit. Now that he can sit unassisted, I get food of my own—more than I can ever possibly eat despite the fact that I’m not hungry. I eat some vegetables. A few bites of chicken. Drink some juice. The two apples, the orange, the bags of raisins, and the rolls disappear into my bag one by one. I wait for my friends to finish eating and stow away anything they have left. Why? I’m not sure. At this point I’m not sure of anything. I just know that being prepared for whatever comes is better than not being prepared at all.

I notice most of the candidates stay in the dining hall until we are instructed to leave. The celebration of last night is a memory. Tonight we are just glad to be alive.

We return to our sleeping quarters. I sleep with the lights on, hoping Malachi and Boyd will not join Ryme and Gill in my dreams. But Malachi comes. They all come. Only this time the terror in their eyes is for me. They warn me to be careful. Ryme reminds me to trust no one while Malachi sings me a song from home.

The anxiety of the night mounts with the morning announcement. When it is time to report for breakfast, I tell myself I am as ready for the day and what it might bring as I will ever be.

Will gives me a smile as I reach our table. His eyes are sad, but no longer look sickly. Whatever strange plant he consumed has worked its way out of his system. He whispers a soft thank-you and says Tomas’s roommate sought medical treatment. He has yet to return.

I force myself to eat, and this time I notice someone else slipping food into his bag. Tomas sees me watching and nods as the loudspeaker crackles to life.

“Congratulations, candidates, for reaching the team Testing phase. For this exam you will be placed in groups of five. Due to the number of candidates who remain, one group will comprise only four. When you hear your name called, please walk to the hallway to join your testing group. Best of luck to you all.”

There are five of us at our table. I don’t even have the chance to hope we will be called together when Tomas’s name is announced along with those of four other candidates I don’t recognize. Tomas touches my arm as he slings his bag over his shoulder and walks out. Several minutes pass before the next group is called. Both Will and Zandri promise to see us later and disappear out the door.

Nicolette and I stare at each other as group after group leaves the room. Finally, Nicolette’s name is called along with four others. She and I will not be testing together. Dread churns my breakfast as I scan the room and see the scruffy boy who tripped Malachi on our first day still seated at a table. He, along with a tall, muscular blond boy and a red-haired girl I remember from my written exams, will be in my group for this test. The only group of four.

“Do we wait for our names to be called or save them the trouble?” This from the redhead.

I smile at her and stand. “If we haven’t figured out our group by now, we probably don’t belong here, right?”

The two boys stay seated, but the redhead rises. She joins me in the hall and holds out her hand. On her wrist I see a half circle surrounded by the eight-pointed star symbol we share. “Annalise Walker. Grand Forks Colony.”

“Cia Vale. Five Lakes.”

She gives me a wide grin. “I know. Five Lakes candidates are all anyone from my colony has been interested in talking about.”

I wince. “What have they been saying?”

“Most figure you’re easy competition. They equate small colonies with simple-mindedness.”

The self-satisfied smile on her face makes me ask, “And you?”

“One of the guys from my colony has the same eight-pointed star symbol. He’s the only person who scored higher than me in class. I used to study for weeks in order to beat him, but I never could.” She shrugs as though to show coming in second didn’t bother her at all, but the glint in her eyes tells a different story. Smiling, she adds, “If two of you from Five Lakes made it into the same Testing group as the two of us, I’d say the rest of the candidates are pretty stupid to overlook you.”

The loudspeaker announces, “Malencia Vale, Brick Barron, Roman Fry, and Annalise Walker—report to the hallway.”

Brick. Roman. I try to decide which name belongs to which boy as they stride toward us. Before I can ask, a Testing official in red leads us into the elevator and pushes the button for the fourth floor.

We are led to a white room with a table surrounded by four chairs. On the far left side of the room is a large wooden door with a green light blinking above it. In the center of the table are four pencils and four booklets marked with our symbols. The knots of worry loosen as I see the paper. While I have no idea what the pages contain, I am certain of one thing—a written test contains no immediate threat. None of my friends will die from a test today.

Once we take our seats the Testing official explains, “Today’s test will evaluate your ability to work as a team. On the table in front of you are booklets filled with five sample questions. Each sample problem requires specific skills to solve. As a group, you must decide which team member has the skills best suited to solve which sample problem or problems. Those same skills will be required to solve a corresponding problem in one of the five individual examination rooms. Once you have determined who the best person to solve each problem is, the person you have selected for the first problem will go through this door.” She points to the door with the green light. “Once you have walked through this door, the light above it will turn red. Follow the hallway to the end. There you will find five doors marked with a number. The numbers correspond to the sample problems in your booklet. There is also a door marked EXIT for when you have completed your portion of the exam. Open the door marked with the number of the question your team selected you to answer. Inside, solve the problem as best you can. When you have completed your portion of the exam, indicate you are finished by going through the exit door. The light above this door will then turn green. This will signal it is time for the next candidate to begin. Everyone in the group will be given credit for all the correct solutions on the exam that are not only your own.”

The idea of being scored based on someone else’s work makes me uncomfortable, but Annalise’s confident smile banishes some of the doubt.

The Testing official isn’t done. “Because there are only four of you in the group, one candidate will be responsible for solving at least two of the problems. Once a problem has been answered, the door to that problem cannot be opened again. Any attempt to resolve an already completed problem will result in a penalty for the student making the second attempt to solve that problem. You have one hour to discuss your strategy.” The official pushes a button and the green light is replaced by red. “Once the green light is turned on, you can begin the test. There is no time limit to the exam. Take as much time as you need to get to know one another’s strengths and weaknesses. Good luck.”

The sound of locks being engaged accompanies the Testing official’s exit. The only way out of this room is through the Testing exam doors.

The four of us look at one another for a moment. I am the first to grab the booklet marked with my symbol. The tall, muscular blond boy grabs one with what I think is an anchor surrounded by a heart. The X surrounded by a circle belongs to the scruffy kid.

Something about this test makes me apprehensive. Maybe it is the simplicity of the instructions or the idea that someone else will get credit for my work and me for theirs. Whatever it is, my gut tells me there is more to this test than meets the eye.

I don’t have to think about what that might be as Annalise takes charge. “How about we solve the sample problems one at a time? Once everyone is done with a problem we can compare notes. That should help us figure out who should do which problem. Right?”

Since none of us has a better idea, we take her suggestion and get to work. The first problem is mathematical—a one-dimensional heat equation to determine the flow of heat in a rod where everything but the ends are insulated. These are equations I have used often and make me smile as I get to work.

I’m surprised when the scruffy boy, whose name turns out to be Roman, finishes before me and has the same answer as mine. Annalise’s answer also matches. Brick’s does not.

One by one we work through the problems in the book. A history section that requires dates, names, and population sizes for the colonization of the United Commonwealth. A biology question that asks for the DNA mapping of a rock wolverine that resembles a wolf but is actually a mutated version of a Nebelung cat. While I’m answering the question about solar power, the red light turns green. Our Testing can begin at any time. Maybe the pressure of the light distracts me from fully concentrating on the last problem that details the principles of nuclear weaponry. I’m the last one in the group to complete the final question. Brick is first to finish. His answer agrees with the other two. My answer matches no one’s.

Out of five questions, my answers match at least one of the others four times. Annalise also gets four matches. Brick matches answers on two. Roman’s first answer is his only correct one.

“Guess that means I go first, right?” he says.

Of the members of the group, I am by far the youngest. At home my natural inclination would be to hear everyone else’s opinions before offering mine, but something about his enthusiasm rubs me the wrong way. So instead of waiting, I say, “The Testing official didn’t say the problems have to be completed in order. We just have to determine the order the members of our group go in to solve the problems.”

Roman folds his arms across his chest and scowls. “That’s not what I heard.”

I look at Annalise. She chews her bottom lip and closes her eyes as though trying to recall the exact words. When her eyes open, they’re filled with apology. “I think Roman could be right. We could try it another way, but if we do we could fail. That’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

Roman smiles. Brick shrugs and nods. Three against one. Just like that the discussion is over.

Annalise leads the decision making. Roman will answer the first problem. She will answer the second and third. I will answer the fourth, Brick the fifth. I suggest that I might be better suited to the third question since my father’s work has given me a strong understanding of genetics, but Roman and Annalise disagree. Brick refuses to give an opinion. Part of me wonders why as Roman gets up and says, “See you all after the test.” He turns the handle on the green-lit door and walks out without a backwards glance.

The light turns red, and we wait.

At first, we try to chat. Annalise asks Brick about his home, and we learn he’s from Roswell Colony. His parents are both University graduates. They work at a former military facility where together they develop weapons and security methods for colonies plagued by animal attacks. No wonder he excelled at the nuclear science question.

As the minutes tick by, though, our conversation becomes more stilted. There is more time in between questions. Shorter answers. Until we no longer talk. We just wait for the light to change.

There is no clock. No windows to measure the movement of the sun. No way to know if the time that passes is as long as it feels. My shoulder muscles tighten. I see Annalise roll out the tension in her neck. Brick is the only one who appears unfazed by the long wait.

He closes his eyes.

Annalise gnaws on her thumbnail.

I stretch my muscles.

Every minute feels like ten. Never do I lose sight of the light.

Finally, it changes. Annalise stands and smiles. “My turn. I bet I can do both my problems in less time than it took for Roman to do his.”

“Don’t rush,” I warn, and I feel my face flush as I realize my words could imply criticism. “We’re okay waiting,” I say. “Take as long as you need.”

Annalise’s smile fades as her eyes meet mine. In their depths I see nerves and a touch of fear lurking behind the bravado that I have in this short time come to admire. Then the smile is back as she nods. “I promise to kick butt on questions two and three. The rest is up to the two of you.”

The door closes. The red light returns. So does the silence.

Brick sits unmoving. His calm, silent demeanor has the opposite effect on me. I stand and pace the room as my stomach begins to growl. I am certain it is far past lunchtime. It is obvious that no meals will be provided until this test is complete. And maybe that’s part of the test—to see if candidates will stay focused despite the desire for food.

My mother always insisted I eat everything on my plate on mornings before important tests. She said the brain and body need fuel to operate at the highest level. I dig through my bag for my stash of food and find myself deciding between a roll filled with raisins and nuts, and an apple. Since the roll is easier to split with Brick, I start to pull it out when I realize they are two of the items I selected for dinner the first night of The Testing. I count back the days. Less than a week has passed, but everything has changed since that night when the four of us from Five Lakes arrived and took our table. Now Malachi is gone and I am working in a group with the boy who tripped him. Did Roman stick out his leg for spite? For fun? Did he think it would intimidate Malachi into doing less well on the exams, thereby giving Roman a better chance of passing? Maybe. Roman only got one answer correct today. How smart can he be? The work he did on the final problem was so illogical I found it hard to believe he had made it through the first two tests.

Wait.

I reach for the booklet marked with the X and the circle. Roman’s handwriting is neater than I would have suspected based on his appearance. Hearing my mother’s voice warn not to let appearances deceive me, I read through the pages of numbers and formulas for the first problem. The work impresses me. While I also got the correct answer, Roman was able to calculate several steps in his head, which is why he finished first. His work makes it clear why he was chosen for The Testing. He’s smart. Very smart.

Which is why his answers to the other questions make no sense. Gibberish fills those pages. We had all been so concerned with who gave the correct answers to the problems we never bothered to check the pages that preceded the final solution. Roman’s scribbles made one thing obvious. He wasn’t concerned with coming up with the right solutions. He was just wasting time. Why?

“Cia.”

I jump as Brick’s voice breaks the silence and follow his gaze to the light above the door. Green. If I were to make a guess, less than a half hour has passed since Annalise walked through the door. Could she have finished her problems in so little time? Hands shaking, I grab the booklet marked with the other eight-pointed star and start flipping the pages.

Yes. Her writing is clear. Concise. Confident. Her logic shows no flaws that I can see. If anyone could whiz through two tests in far less time than it took another candidate to do one, it would be Annalise. Still . . .

“Are you going to go in?” Brick asks.

“In a minute,” I say. Going through the door is my only option. The only way to get past this test. It’s what happens once I am through that door that is in doubt. I think back to the Testing official’s instructions. Roman’s insistence that he go first. One answer allowed per question. The scores to the answers provided count for all. Any attempt to resolve a question will be punished.

Annalise’s testing booklet falls from my fingers and my legs go weak as the pieces click into place. Roman’s lack of effort on the other problems. The length of time it took for the red light to turn green during his turn. Dr. Barnes told us the third test would evaluate our ability not only to work well with others, but to evaluate their strengths and weaknesses. If I am correct, Roman evaluated our group perfectly and has set the rest of us up to walk into a trap.

A trap Annalise must have already sprung.

I sit hard on the chair behind me and take deep breaths trying to stave off the panic. If I am right, I cannot attempt to answer the problem my team assigned me. If I am wrong, not answering the problem could result in my failure. I have to decide what I believe.

My heart pounds as I look at Brick. His calm demeanor and poor performance on the practice problems take on a sinister tone. Does he know about Roman’s plan? Did they plot this together? Brick’s practice book might present me with the answers, but the booklet is currently resting under his elbow on the table in front of him. To get the booklet, I have to explain my concerns. If he isn’t involved in Roman’s trap, Brick will learn about it from me and gain the opportunity to pass when he doesn’t deserve to.

Shame. Hot. Deep. Oily, stomach-churning embarrassment fills me. My thoughts make me no better than the person I believe Roman to be. I will not stoop so low as to trick others in order to eliminate the competition. While I am horrified at the methods employed with The Testing, I seriously doubt the Testing officials who rate us at the end will approve of trickery either. What kind of leader would that type of person make?

Mimicking Brick’s calm demeanor, I carefully explain what I believe Roman’s plan is. What I think happened to Annalise. What could possibly happen to us if we attempt to solve the problems we have been assigned. Brick listens without interruption, and when I fall silent, considers me for a long time before saying, “We said we would answer the agreed-upon questions.”

Does he not believe me? No. His expression is not one of disbelief, but of resignation. “Roman agreed to work as a team, but I don’t think he is. If we answer an already answered question, we’ll be penalized.”

I can see the nail enter Malachi’s eye. The blood. The trembling body crumpled on the floor. Knowing what could happen makes me want to shake Brick’s stoic shoulders as his head moves side to side while once again saying he gave his word. His parents taught him to respect a promise. End of story.

Desperation claws at my heart even as I wonder if he’s right. If I’m wrong. If Roman answered only his question. If not answering ours will be the biggest mistake we could make.

Hitching my bag onto my shoulder, I walk slowly across the room. I have done all I can to help Brick survive the day. If he doesn’t . . .

“Please.” Turning, I walk back to Brick and take his hand in mine. “You don’t know me. There’s no reason you should trust what I say. I can’t tell you what to do. I can only ask that you look at Roman’s booklet and think about who has the most to gain by betraying the others. If he solved all five problems, anyone who attempts to solve them again will be penalized. I don’t know what the penalty is . . .” I see the nail enter Malachi’s eye again and swallow the bile that rises in my throat. “But if I’m right, three of us could be eliminated from The Testing because we trusted our teammate.”

For a moment the composed expression disappears, replaced by confusion. “I’m not from your colony. Why do you care what I do?”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to die.”

Brick looks over my shoulder at the door behind me. The green light telling me it is time for me to make my choice.

Letting go of his hand, I open the door, give one last look at my teammate, and walk through hoping I did enough to save Brick’s life. Hoping I am confident enough in my own deductions to save my own.

The hallway is dimly lit. The shadows fill me with unease as I follow the corridor to the end. As promised, another hallway lined with six illuminated doors greets me. To my right is the door marked with the number four. The door I promised to walk through. To my left are doors one through three. I cross to door two—looking for signs of what? Blood? Hair? Something to prove my theory right. The silver doorknob gleams in the light. There are no smudges on it to bear witness that it had been handled. I check the other doorknobs. All perfectly polished.

I walk back to door number four and trace the black number on the snow-white door. Do I keep my word and turn the handle, or go with my gut and walk away?

How long do I stand in front of the door? I don’t know. But when I finally make my choice my knees protest as I shift my weight. Touching the doorknob, I take a deep breath and step away from the door. Turn to the right. Walk two doors down to the one marked EXIT and turn the gleaming knob, hoping the choice I have made is not my last.

Chapter 9

A TESTING OFFICIAL is waiting inside a small room containing a dark wooden table, a chair, and a control panel of some kind. It’s probably what makes the light we watched go from red to green. The official’s expression is pleasant as she leads me through a back door, down well-lit hallways to the bank of elevators. The Testing official stays on the elevator as I exit onto the fifth floor wondering how and when I will learn my fate.

I hear the sounds of conversation from the dining hall and realize that I might not need to wait. The person with the answer to whether I made the correct choice is right through those doors. My heart leaps as I see Tomas, Will, and Zandri sitting at our table, but I do not join them. Not yet. Instead, I scan the room.

I spot Roman before he sees me. Laughing with friends. At a joke or at those of us who might have been eliminated because we believed him?

Tomas calls my name, but I don’t move from my position in the doorway. The girl next to Roman jabs him with her elbow. His eyes turn and meet mine. And I know. The disbelief and anger in his eyes tell me I was right not to trust him. I just wish I had figured out the truth sooner. If I had, Annalise might be seated at one of these tables. There is no sign of her red hair and confident smile. A small part of me hopes she is relaxing in her room, though if she is, I am almost guaranteed a failing grade.

I feel Roman’s eyes follow me as I grab a bag of crackers from the snacks on the table and walk across the room to sit with my friends. Tomas, Will, and Zandri tell me about the problems they solved. From the way they talk, I begin to understand that while we all had the same types of problems to complete, every group solved them in a different order. Tomas answered the third question for his team—the math question Roman was supposed to answer for ours. Zandri went first for her team and answered the history problem. Will went second and was assigned genetics. Everyone from Tomas’s group has returned from the exam. Zandri and Will are still waiting for the rest of their teammates to arrive.

As I watch the door, they ask which question I was assigned. In a quiet voice I tell them about my belief in my teammate’s betrayal. My decision not to open the door. To leave before answering my question. My friends stare at me. A knot forms in my chest. Will recovers first and says he’s impressed I trusted my instincts. That he was glad he never had to make a choice about trusting his teammates since Zandri was the only one who went before him. And, of course, he trusted her. Tomas looks at Will for several long moments before saying he’s proud that I alerted Brick to my suspicions. Will tells a joke to make me feel better, but I don’t. Zandri’s wide eyes and trembling lips and the way Tomas frowns when he doesn’t think I’m looking remind me that the verdict to this test is still in doubt. There is still a chance that I made a mistake. That I failed. And when Brick appears in the doorway, I am certain I did. My heart drops. Brick had been adamant about following through with his promise. And when he passes my table without a glance, I’m positive he did exactly what he swore to do. Brick solved his question. He knows I was planning on not answering mine. Now I am forced to wonder—did I ruin the chance for all of us to pass this test and continue on?

Nicolette arrives full of stories about her teammates. Some were nice. One was pushy and arrogant. Her group made the arrogant boy go last—just in case he got any ideas about messing up the test for the others. I turn a cracker over in my hands and listen to everyone talk about the personalities of the candidates they were grouped with. Zandri shoots looks at the door as she watches for her other test teammates to arrive. I realize Tomas has fallen silent. He’s watching our friends closely. Out of the corner of my eye I see him looking at me. Does he think I’m paranoid? Maybe I am.

Time passes slowly as more candidates arrive looking triumphant or tired. Sometimes both. Eventually, dinner is served. I force myself to eat. With every bite, I cast a look at Brick, willing him to make eye contact. To give me a sign of the choice he made.

As we finish with our meal, a voice over the loudspeaker says, “Phase three of Testing is now complete. Failing results will be delivered to candidates’ rooms within the hour. For those who pass, I wish you a good night’s sleep. Preparation for the final phase of Testing will begin tomorrow.”

My friends rise and head for the exit. I pretend to adjust my bag’s strap and remain seated until Brick walks past. He never looks in my direction.

For the next hour I watch the clock in my room as the minutes tick past. I hear the sound of someone crying. I flinch as footsteps come near, but no one knocks or opens my door. After the allotted time passes, the hallway grows silent. I know I have passed. I should feel joy, but as I climb into bed there is only numb fatigue and the hope that I am up to the challenge of whatever tomorrow will bring.

The morning announcement comes with the dawn. We are to bring all our belongings with us when we report for breakfast. I dress quickly and lace up my worn leather boots as a sense of dread grips my stomach. My friends are all at breakfast the next morning. We have made it to phase three, although Zandri’s red-rimmed, tired eyes and withdrawn demeanor show that success has not come without a price. I look around the room and spot Brick sitting at the back table. This time his eyes make contact. For a moment we just stare at each other. When he nods, I recognize his gratitude.

An hour passes before the loudspeaker invites us downstairs. Around the room I see people suck in air. Some, like Zandri, let out low whimpers. Others, like Tomas, look concerned but resigned. Even the cockiest like Roman show signs of fear. Yes. The Testing has exacted a price from us all and that payment isn’t over. There is still one test to go.

Dr. Barnes once again waits for us in the third-floor lecture hall. Today he is wearing a serious expression that makes everyone in the room fall silent.

“Congratulations to all of you for making it to the fourth round of Testing. There were one hundred and eight candidates in this year’s Testing class. Fifty-nine of you remain. Tomorrow will begin the longest phase of our Testing—the practical examination. University students are the future leaders of the United Commonwealth. Because some of you in this room will soon be designated as among those leaders, we believe it is necessary for you to understand fully the challenges you will face. You will travel to a nonrevitalized part of the country and be placed in a designated starting location. When the test begins, you must then find your way from that location back to Tosu City. Those who return will be given a passing grade and will qualify for the final evaluation. That evaluation will determine the candidates who will attend the University.”

Terror. That’s the only word I can think of to describe what I feel. Alone in an unfamiliar part of the country. Or not alone. Not really. Animals. War-fallout mutations of animals that were once harmless but are no longer. And drifters—those who have chosen not to join the United Commonwealth. People who believed structured governments led to the Seven Stages of War and abandoned those who sought organization. Those people might be out there, too. And just me, by myself, to face them.

“Each candidate will begin the test independent of each other. That does not mean you have to remain alone. You may choose to team up with other candidates. You may also choose to impair the progress of your fellow candidates in order to ensure that you obtain a passing grade before them. What choices you make during the test will be considered in your final evaluations.”

Tomas takes my hand and holds it tight. The pressure of his fingers and the implied support calm me enough to focus. If I am going to pass this test, I need to focus.

A screen descends behind Dr. Barnes. A map flickers on the screen. At the bottom left corner of the map is a silver star. Next to the star are the words Tosu City. On the top right is a large black star next to a blue body of water. The black star is labeled Start. Aside from the stars, the one body of water, and the name of Tosu City, the only detail provided on the map are two lines—one red and one blue. The red runs on a diagonal from just about the starting point to a few inches above the silver star. The blue line starts several inches below the starred location and runs to just south of Tosu City.

“All candidates will travel from your designated starting position through the area in between the blue and red boundaries to Tosu City. Both lines indicate fences that have been erected by Testing officials to help you understand and stay within the boundaries of the Testing area. Any candidate who leaves the Testing area at any time will be given a failing grade.

“Please do not make us enforce this rule.”

Malachi’s bloody face flashes in front of me. Ryme’s bulging, bloodshot eyes. Annalise’s now empty chair. Judging by Dr. Barnes’s serious expression and the tone of his voice, there is no doubt what penalty a failing grade will bring.

“As soon as you are dismissed, each of you will meet with a Testing official who will give you further instructions.” Dr. Barnes sighs and slowly looks around the room, letting his gaze settle on each and every candidate. “Please be safe and smart. It is my dearest hope that each and every one of you returns to Tosu City.” He straightens his shoulders and tells us to watch the screen behind him. When our symbol flashes on the screen, we are to stand and join our assigned Testing official in the hallway. He wishes us luck and then leaves the stage, walking down the aisle and out the door without a backwards glance.

The first symbol flashes on the screen and a boy down in front rises. Still holding my hand, Tomas leans over and whispers, “The starting point is Chicago.”

I think back to the map that flashed on the screen, consider the water and the distance between it and Tosu City, and nod. I’d been too stunned to recognize it from the maps we’d studied in school. Even without any additional identifying landmarks, I’m certain Tomas is right and wonder how we can use that knowledge to our advantage.

Tomas is one step ahead of me. Talking quietly in my ear, he tells me to find the tallest building still standing. Go there. He’ll meet me. If we don’t find each other in the first twenty-four hours, I’m to travel due west until I reach the fencing that is the northern boundary of the test. We’ll find each other there. Partners. We will do this together.

Two plans. Two hopes that I will not have to travel hundreds of miles on my own. I nod and squeeze his hand to show him that I agree, that I will do my best to find him, as a symbol of an eight-pointed star with a lightning bolt flashes on the screen. My mouth goes dry. I don’t want to let go of Tomas’s hand, but I convince each finger to uncurl. I move away from the strength Tomas’s presence has lent me, and I stand. Hoisting my bag onto my shoulder, I touch each one of my friends—Tomas, Zandri, Will, Nicolette—on the cheek as I pass.

When I walk into the hallway, I can’t help feeling a small burst of relief at the face waiting for me. Michal. His expression is stern, but I can see a spark of pride that I am still here. Or maybe I am just imagining that because, when he asks me to follow, his tone is formal. As though we have never met.

We take the elevator to the first floor and exit left down a long gray hallway. At the end of the hall, we stop in front of a large gray door. “This is the Testing storeroom,” Michal says. “Each Testing candidate is allowed ten minutes inside this room. During that time you will select three additional items to help you successfully complete this test. I will log your choices as you make them. At this time, I am supposed to remind you to choose carefully. Your choices can mean the difference between success and failure. Of course, I doubt you would have made it this far if you hadn’t already figured that out.”

This time I am certain I don’t imagine the glint of pride in his eyes. He tells me my ten minutes start when I open the door. I take a deep breath and turn the handle.

Outdoor clothing. Sensible shoes. Food. Compasses. First-aid bags. Travel gear. Fire-making kits. Fishing poles. Knives. Guns. And more. Everything you could need to stay alive. And I am allowed to take only three.

I feel Michal’s presence behind me as I walk slowly past tables, racks, and shelves stacked with life-sustaining items. Once again, I am grateful for my broken-in boots. Most girls will need to exchange their fashionable footwear for something they can hike in. My thievery in the dining hall also has paid off. While a half dozen apples, rolls, and bags of dried fruit won’t get me all the way to Tosu City, I know I have enough to get me by—for now. So I ignore those options and study the rest. All of it seems necessary. I feel the time I am allotted for my selection ticking away as I try to decide what I really, truly need.

Tucked in the corner is a deep green bag with a small stamp that reads H_2O. My hands pull the bag from the pile and investigate. Inside are two canteens filled with water and a small kit of the chemicals we used during the second test.

I think back to the map. The testing zone is large. I am certain the area must be filled with lakes, streams, and creeks, though they hadn’t been marked on the map. Between conversations with my father and Dr. Barnes’s words, I know most if not all of the designated Testing area has yet to be revitalized. That means the water within the boundaries is most likely contaminated in some way. Not all contaminations will kill, but many cause illness—especially in the tired and malnourished. I will risk both during this phase of The Testing. I will not risk dehydration as well.

One choice made.

Sliding the green bag onto my shoulder, I consider my other options. The tent with its rainproof fabric and insulated floor is oh so tempting. But just lifting the case makes the decision for me. While it doesn’t feel heavy now, there are more than seven hundred miles to travel. After the first ten the tent will feel more burden than blessing. Comfort must take a back seat to survival.

I skip by the compass since I have one on the Transit Communicator I borrowed from Zeen. I also skip past the knives and the fire-starting kits. I have the pocketknife I brought from home. I will make do. As for fire, it will take me a while to build one without the assistance of matches or flint, but I can do it. It is one of the first skills they teach new students in Five Lakes Colony. For the fire kits to be included here among the survival gear, I have to wonder if our small size and remote location made this a lesson unique to us.

The stash of crossbows, guns, and explosives catches my attention. If an animal attacks, I do not want to be caught unprepared. I’ve never fired a crossbow and immediately scratch that off my list. The explosives are unfamiliar and scare the crap out of me. I have fired my father’s shotgun, and Daileen’s dad taught us to fire his pistol. Daileen is a much better shot, but I can hit the center of the target at least 75 percent of the time. I finger the shotgun, which I am more comfortable with, but it only comes with a box of ten shells. My fingers shift and close over a small black handgun that comes with two boxes of ammunition. Lightweight. Easy to carry. Enough bullets that I can take a few practice shots without worrying about running out.

Second choice complete.

The gun and the two boxes of ammunition disappear into my bag as Michal warns there are two minutes remaining. My heart skips as panic sets in. Two minutes and I have no idea what else to take. Signal flares to help Tomas find me? A sleeping bag? A raincoat? A manual on hot-wiring old-fashioned cars? Will there be cars? I don’t think so—but how can I know?

Closing my eyes, I take two deep breaths and make a list of what I do have. Food. Water. Clothes. A knife and small tools. A Transit Communicator complete with compass. A gun for self-defense. But what if I get injured?

I open my eyes and head for the medical kits. Each one contains bandages, a needle and thread, and antibacterial ointments along with some radiation tablets, mild pain/fever medication, and other bottles I don’t have time to examine now. I shove the medical kit into my bag and sling it onto my shoulder as Michal announces, “Time’s up.”

Turning my back on the supplies, I follow Michal out the door trying to ignore the nagging worry that I have made a mistake. But there is no going back. My three choices have been made. Whatever else I need I’ll just have to find as I go.

Michal checks his watch and leads me down the hallway to a room marked with my symbol. He opens the door. Inside is a small sleeping chamber and an adjoining bathroom.

“You have an hour to repack your belongings or change clothes.” He looks at me and smiles. He knows I won’t be changing into anything, but his words and expression let me know this is a script he must follow. It also tells me something else—if Michal is being this careful, there are people listening to what is being said. “If you need anything during the hour, please let me know. I’ll be right outside.”

The door closes, and I sit on the small twin-sized bed. Everything in the room is decorated in shades of gray. Not exactly the most uplifting place I’ve ever been in, but it could be worse. In fact, I am certain it very soon will be.

I strip off my clothes, shower, and wash my hair. Once I’m clean, I contemplate myself in the reflector before pulling my hair back at the nape of my neck and twisting it into a tight knot. I have no idea what I will be facing when the test begins, but I cannot afford to let my cascading hair get in the way. If during the test I have to cut it off, I will. Vanity has no place here.

Boots laced up, I empty my bag on the floor and repack. I remove one canteen of water to keep handy and store the rest of the kit on the bottom of the bag along with my clothes. The medical kit goes in next. Then the food I took from the dining hall gets wrapped in a towel from the bathroom (no one said we couldn’t take them) and stowed. Last the final canteen, Zeen’s Transit Communicator, and the gun. The knife I put in my pocket. I lift the bag. It isn’t as light as it used to be, but I’ve distributed the weight well. I can run with it if I need to.

The end of my hour is signaled by a knock on the door. Michal is waiting. He takes in my hair, my unchanged clothes, the single bag hanging from my shoulder, and nods. “Follow me.”

He leads me through a series of hallways until we come to an elevator. This time he pushes a button for a floor I’ve never seen before. UG. When the doors open it is very clear by the mildew scent what UG stands for: Underground. According to Michal, we will travel by an underground moving walkway system to the outskirts of the city. A skimmer will then transport us to my designated starting area.

The tension and worry I’ve been carrying diminish when I spot the underground walkway. It is a large conveyor belt that hums along the floor, and I can’t help but ask Michal dozens of questions about how it works, how large the network is, and how it is powered. He smiles and tells me he’ll answer what he can while we travel. I stumble as I step onto the belt, but Michal catches me before I end up on the ground.

The walkway ride lasts the better part of an hour, much of it traveling through dimly lit tunnels. Several times we have to step off one walkway and climb onto a new one. I’m grateful for Michal’s presence as he continues a steady stream of conversation. Concentrating on his voice helps me ignore the anxiety blooming in my stomach.

We arrive at our destination and step off the walkway. An elevator zooms us to the surface, where Michal says our lunch awaits. The elevator lets us off into a large room bustling with Testing officials. One official in purple holding a clipboard spots us and hurries over. He makes note of my identification bracelet symbol, scribbles something on his board, and tells Michal to take me to number 14.

Number 14 turns out to be a well-lit but airless skimmer docking bay. In the corner is a small table holding a large picnic lunch. Michal will stay with me here in this room until I’ve gone through the next step of Testing preparation—whatever that might be. A tiny window next to the table looks out onto a green field of grass. Beyond the grass is sparkling water. After being inside for most of the last few days and not knowing whether I will ever see healthy land like this again, I ask Michal if we can eat lunch outside. He is about to say no, but I must look pretty desperate because he tells me to wait here while he asks one of the upper-level officials.

I take one look at Michal’s face when he returns and give a whoop of joy. Michal grabs the basket of food and tells me we have exactly one hour to spend outside. He presses a small button on the wall, and the docking bay door rises. A moment later we stroll into the fresh air.

Picking a spot near a large tree, I admit, “I’m surprised they let us come outside.”

“As long as I’m with you and you aren’t able to communicate with other Testing candidates, there’s no reason to say no.” He hands me an apple from the basket and smiles. “To tell you the truth, most Testing candidates are happy to follow instructions. The Testing committee is always interested to see which candidates show a bit more initiative.”

Even now, before we are thrown into the wreckage of our country, we are being tested. It shouldn’t surprise me. But it does. My eyes run up and down the length of the tree, looking for signs that our words are being recorded, that we are being watched.

Michal smiles. “Don’t worry. Our conversation isn’t being recorded out here. The Testing committee is too busy to monitor everything leading up to the fourth test. That’s what I’m here for, and I don’t plan on reporting this conversation. If you want to talk, this is as safe as it gets.”

Do I want to talk? Yes. But do I trust Michal or is this just one more test to be graded? My father would instruct me not to trust him. As much as I want to be, I have proven over and over again since leaving home that I am not my father.

Michal hands me a sandwich from the basket and asks, “How are you holding up?”

My insides are churning, but I make myself take a bite of the sandwich—beef, cheese, and a hearty wheat bread. It probably tastes wonderful. Swallowing, I say, “Malachi is dead. I watched him die.”

“I heard.” His eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry.”

I believe he is. The sympathy I feel radiating off him makes me want to cry. “Why? Why is he dead?” A poisonous leaf. A nail to the eye. Those are the causes. But the reason . . .

Michal looks over his shoulder and then tells me to eat, to pretend to laugh and enjoy myself. Otherwise someone watching at a distance might wonder what we are saying. As I eat, he tells me that the Testing process was designed years ago by Dr. Barnes’s father, who believed that the Seven Stages of War occurred because world leaders did not have the correct combination of intelligence, ability to perform under pressure, and strength of leadership to lead us out of confrontations. That the only way to ensure the United Commonwealth did not repeat past mistakes was to test the future leaders of our country and make sure they had the breadth of qualities that would not only help our country flourish but keep our people safe. Over the years, several Commonwealth officials have questioned the necessity of such strong penalties for failing The Testing. Some even say that the Testers rig the outcome of the tests so that those who are too smart, too strong, and too dedicated are weeded out. For those are the ones who feel not only compelled to rebuild the Commonwealth but also to question its laws and its choices. Anyone who voices negative opinions about The Testing either is relocated to an outpost or disappears.

Michal laughs as though he has said something funny. I laugh too, though nothing has ever seemed less amusing. What constitutes too smart and too strong? Does asking to go outside mark me a rebel? My head spins, but I continue to smile as though my life depends on it.

And it might.

I eat the entire sandwich, then another because it won’t keep in my bag and I know I need to be well fueled when I start the next test. Michal leans back in the grass and watches. When the sandwiches are gone, Michal glances at his watch. Ten minutes of freedom remain.

“Are you scared?” he asks, handing me a bottle of water.

I take a sip and feel emotions crash against the carefree wall that I had erected. I nod. Yes, I am terrified. Trying not to lose my composure, I slide the uneaten apples, oranges, and rolls into my bag. My fingers tremble as I try to close the fasteners. Michal helps me and whispers, “Don’t worry about being the first to arrive back. Every year candidates think the order you return in matters. It doesn’t. Be smart. Be safe. Trust your friends from Five Lakes if you can, but no one else. Every year there are Testing candidates who think taking out their competition is the best way to ensure their entrance to the University. More often than not they are right. Don’t let them be this time.”

The bag closes. I sit down as the world around me starts to spin and then fades to black. The last thing I remember is feeling strong arms lifting me while a soft, warm voice says, “You’re smart, Cia. You’re strong. There are people like me on your side who know you can make it. Please, prove I’m right.”

Then everything fades away.

The next thing I hear is water dripping. My eyes fly open. I am lying on a cot in what can only be described as a metal box. The whole thing is probably six feet by six feet. I try to squelch the panic I feel at being in such a small, confined space and take in the rest of my surroundings. There are electric lights illuminating the space. A small basket of food sits on the floor next to me. A toilet and tiny sink occupy the corner at the end of my bed. On the wall across from me is a countdown clock with a sign that reads: TESTING BEGINS IN THIRTY MINUTES. No. Strike that. Twenty-nine minutes.

I use the toilet. Flush the grogginess from my eyes and the metallic taste from my mouth that are clear signs I was drugged. I think back to the water Michal handed me and feel a stab of betrayal. Then it is gone as I remember the whispered words. The drugs were part of Testing protocol. His words and the care they contained were not. For whatever reason, Michal genuinely believes I will make it through this test. He even claims others I don’t know are offering their support. I will not prove them wrong.

As the clock counts down, I strip the bed of its sheet and stuff it into the bottom of my bag. Who knows when I might need the warmth. I then check the food basket. More sandwiches. Dried fruit. A bottle of water. A small box of crackers and three perfectly ripe strawberries. I eat the sandwiches, sniff the water for traces of drugs, and then sip at it while storing the crackers and the dried fruit in my bulging bag. If nothing else, I’ll have enough food to see me through a week. More if I’m careful. One by one I eat the juicy strawberries as I watch the clock tick down. When it reaches five minutes, I wash my hands, dig Zeen’s Transit Communicator out of my bag, and turn on the compass. The compass swings wildly, searching for direction, and finds none. I can only guess the metal box is confusing the signal and hope the situation remedies itself when I am able to leave.

Two minutes left to go.

I take one last sip of water and store the bottle in my bag.

One minute.

I realize anything could be outside that door. After putting Zeen’s Communicator in the side pocket of my bag, I reach into it one last time. When the clock hits zero, I stand with my bag on my shoulder and the small black gun in my hand.

The side of the metal box swings open as a recorded voice says, “The fourth round of Testing has now begun.”

Chapter 10

THEY DIDN’T WISH us luck. Perhaps that is a strange thought to be having at this moment, but my mind can’t seem to focus on anything else as I step from my tiny Testing candidate cell onto a patch of brown grass growing up through concrete. I can barely breathe as I look at the decaying devastation around me. Steel and rock. Glass and wood. Buildings broken and collapsed. Cars completely rusted and overturned. A layer of sooty grime covers it all. Here and there heartier plants are fighting to get beyond the rubble—yearning toward the sun. Vines cover the wreckage of broken cars and buildings. Trees that have been corrupted by the tainted earth but are determined to survive twist through the pieces of the broken city on their way to the sky. Not too far away from where my metal box sits is what looks like a collapsed brick arch that is partially covered by dark, prickly vines. In the rising sunlight, I think I can see words etched on the brick, and I cautiously take a few steps toward it.

I squint to make out the letters: CHICA O STOC EXCH E B

Even with one letter unreadable, I now know for certain where I am. Chicago. The third city destroyed during the Fourth Stage of War. The first two cities had some warning—announced evacuations. Hundreds of thousands of people died, but it could have been worse. Like it was here. Books tell us the attack was fast. Undetected until the first bombs had been dropped. Who the enemy was who breached the country’s defenses and destroyed a city unprepared has never been confirmed, although the president and his advisers believed they knew. They struck back, and the world collapsed.

Wind whistles through the abandoned streets. But they aren’t abandoned—not now. Fifty-eight other Testing candidates are here. Some are my friends, but according to Michal, others will happily cut me down with the weapons provided for our defense just to ensure their spot in the University class. How do I find one without risking running into the others? Or the weapons they might have selected? Being forced to use the gun in my bag?

Tomas said to meet him at the tallest building, but from my current vantage point, it is hard to tell what that might be. I walk back to my box and hoist myself up to the roof to get a better look. More broken concrete and twisted steel. Mountains of rubble that form the graves of the people who used to call this city home. The enormity of the destruction pulls at my heart, but I don’t have time to grieve for the people who died here. I have to find Tomas.

As I prepare to climb down, I spot something that catches the light above the rest of the destruction. It doesn’t look like a building, but it’s the tallest thing I can see from my location. Distance is hard to judge, but I’m guessing it isn’t too far away. I don’t know if Tomas will head there, but I have to take a shot.

The Transit Communicator’s compass is working now. So is the mapping tool that determines longitude and latitude. At least I know my coordinates. I can find my way back if I need to.

Jumping down, I set off with my compass directing me north to my destination. I scramble over piles of broken rock and avoid large gaping holes in the ground, stopping every few feet to listen. Do I hear other footsteps? Is anyone else nearby? All I hear is the wind rustling the dried, clawlike leaves on a nearby tree.

While my goal didn’t appear to be all that far from my metal perch, the sun is much higher in the sky when I approach what I can now see is a grayish-looking spire shooting up from what used to be a building. How the spire survived destruction is a mystery. I wonder if Tomas can see it from his designated starting point.

I sit on a fallen piece of stone and take several sips from my water bottle. The sun is hot. Sweat is dripping down my back. I need to keep hydrated if I am going to survive this test. My stomach growls, and I break off a small piece of raisin bread while I try to decide how long to wait here for Tomas. He might not see the spire. He might have decided that the tall-building plan is a bust and is now trekking his way west to the fence line that was our second rendezvous point.

Checking the position of the sun, I decide it must be sometime after noon. Hours have passed since I first stepped onto the city streets. While I would like to wait as long as it takes to find Tomas, I also need to find shelter when night comes. The idea of sleeping out in the open with Testing candidates and whatever unknown dangers are lurking freaks me out. One hour. That’s how long I decide I can give Tomas before I leave this spot. Then I will move on.

I finish my sparse lunch and decide to explore my surroundings a bit until it is time to leave. Hoisting the bag onto my shoulder, I scramble over debris. I almost trip on a tree root and end up directly on the other side of the spire, looking at a large metal box sitting on a broken street.

A Testing candidate box.

My heart picks up speed as I tread slowly toward the box, careful not to make any noise as I walk. It is too much to hope for that Tomas’s box would be the first one I come across after leaving my own, or that he would still be in it hours after the test began. Still, I have to look.

The clock inside is no longer lit. The basket of food contains only a discarded apple core and the container the crackers came in. This is definitely not Tomas’s box. He wouldn’t have been reckless enough to eat food that could be stored for later. And he would have stripped the cot of its sheet like I did. I’m considering adding the sheet to my inventory when I hear a stone skitter over the ground.

Someone or something is outside.

I freeze and hold my breath, trying to decide my next move as I hear fragments of cement crunch under a shoe. Not an animal. Definitely a person. My heartbeats count off the seconds as I listen for sounds of advance or retreat. The minutes pass. I hear nothing. I tighten and retighten my grip on the gun in my right hand and count to one hundred. Still nothing.

Being trapped in this windowless box has me at a distinct disadvantage. Not only can I not see who is out there, but I have no method of escape if someone comes through the door. It is time to leave. Now.

I peer out of the entrance of the box. The opening faces an area that at one time must have housed a building but is now home to a few partially standing walls. A few of the walls are only three or four feet high, but one or two are taller than me. The tallest wall is probably fifty or sixty feet away. The walls could provide a place to hide from whoever is nearby. At least until I can determine whether the person means harm or not. The ground between the box and the wall is cracked but mostly flat. If someone is waiting for me outside the box, taking them by surprise is my best chance. I position my bag’s strap over my head so it is more secure, shift the weight, take a deep breath, and run.

My boots pound against the hard stone ground. Somewhere, off to my right I think, I hear someone swear. My flight or my identity has taken them by surprise. If it is a friend, they would call out. When they don’t, I run faster. I am about ten feet away from my destination when I hear a high-pitched, almost musical vibrating sound. Then a thunk. Embedded in the scraggly tree trunk to my left is a crossbow quarrel.

The vibrating whine sounds again. This time I flatten myself against the concrete. Seconds later a metal quarrel hits the wall five feet in front of me and clatters to the ground. More swearing. Definitely to my right. Whoever is shooting the quarrels either has amazing luck with the weapon or has had training with it in the past. I need to get to a safe place—fast. Scrambling to my feet, bag banging against my hip, I speed forward and duck behind the wall as another crossbow quarrel connects with stone.

There is no doubt: someone is trying to kill me.

Another Testing candidate? I have to believe so. A crossbow was one of the weapons in the selection room. And while I understand feeling scared and alone in this wasted city, I do not believe those are the feelings propelling this attack. Like Roman’s sabotage of our group on the third exam, this attack is calculated. It is cold. It is an attempt to better the odds of making it to the University.

Anger and indignation cut through my fear. Whoever this person is, isn’t relying on their own smarts to pass this test. Michal said that killing someone isn’t against the rules, but in my mind it’s a form of cheating. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a cheater win.

I remember the gun in my hand, get into a crouching position, and slowly move to the right, careful to keep behind the crumbling stone. When I reach the end of the wall, I calculate my best guess as to where the quarrels were shot from, peer around the wall, and fire.

The kick of the gun jolts my entire body as the sound tears through the silent city. Someone curses loudly—a male voice. I find it hard to believe my blind attack hit him. That wasn’t my goal. I don’t plan on surviving this test by killing the others. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to go down without a fight. I shoot three more bullets out into the city and crouch behind the wall, listening for sounds of my attacker. The sound of feet connecting with rocks makes me hold my breath.

Rocks skittering across pavement.

The clang of something metal.

Silence.

Then the sound of heavy footsteps running. Not toward my position, but away. I am safe. For now.

My body shakes as anger seeps out, leaving behind hollow fear. I just shot a gun at someone. No, I wasn’t trying to kill the shooter. But I could have. I could have killed someone. The fact that the person was trying to kill me can justify my behavior, but shame and horror still fill me.

I realize that I am huddled up against the wall, no longer listening to the sounds of the city, and tell myself to snap out of it. There will be time enough later to worry about what I have just learned about myself. First, I need to put distance between me and this place. The gunshots will have attracted attention from anyone in the vicinity. If there are other Testing candidates out there interested in taking out the competition, they might come looking for the source of the gunshots. I don’t want to be here when they arrive.

Listening carefully for signs of life, I peer around the wall and scan the wreckage of the city. I see no one. Not near the candidate box. Not on the piles of broken buildings or hiding among the branches of diseased trees. As far as I can tell, at this very moment I am alone. While I would like nothing better than to have Tomas walking out of the city with me, I will have to make it out of here on my own.

Keeping low to the ground, I check my compass and slowly head west, careful to stop every ten or fifteen feet to scan the area around me. So far I see no one, but I know the crossbow shooter is out there somewhere. Climbing over rocks and pieces of steel makes travel slow. Eventually, I find a street that is mostly cleared of debris and pick up my pace.

The street leads to a wide river of dark, swirling water. There is no need for tests. This water is not drinkable. No amount of basic purification chemicals will make it so. The street I am following arches up and over the river. There are cracks and gaping holes in the bridge. Do I try to cross here or find another way to the other side?

I stow my gun in the side pocket on my bag and climb a tree on the riverbank for a better view. The river curves to the northeast. It’s hard to see what lies in that direction. To the south there is another bridge, but it too appears to be in disrepair. And who knows how long it will take me to get there or what I will encounter when I do. Scrambling back down to the ground, I decide to try to cross here. I need to put as much distance as possible between me and any unfriendly candidates. If I start to cross and find the bridge is too unsafe, I will head south and try my luck there.

As I cross, I see evidence of a meager attempt to repair the bridge. Perhaps past Testing candidates placed the large planks of wood and slabs of rock over gaping holes when they, too, needed to cross to the other side. Pieces of rock crumble under my boots as I pick my way to the middle of the bridge. From this vantage point, I can tell the far side of the bridge is in even worse condition. Entire sections of asphalt are gone, leaving only small strips here and there that can be navigated. Whoever attempted to patch the bridge behind me must not have wanted to go back to land for materials to repair this side.

I contemplate my options: return back the way I came to try the south bridge or keep going and hope for the best. My current position on the bridge has me exposed. No doubt I am in view of any nearby candidate. If one has spotted me, going back will leave me open to attack. Either option holds risk.

Fear of the crossbow shooter keeps my feet moving forward. I shift the bag on my shoulder as the patch of pavement I walk narrows to a mere foot in width. The dark water rushes underneath me, waiting for one misplaced footstep to carry me away. I am twenty feet from safety when I hear the now familiar vibrating sound that signals danger. There is no choice but to run as what I can only guess is a quarrel whizzes past. There is a plunk in the water below as it is swallowed up by the current.

Five feet from safety the piece of road I have been traveling vanishes. The vibrating sound sings again. I don’t have time to think as I leap up and over the gaping hole, hoping to make it to the other side. But only the top part of me makes it onto land. The rest of me dangles in the emptiness between the ledge and the river. Between the weight of my body and my bag, I feel myself sliding backwards. I claw at the concrete and dig my fingers into a fissure in the stone, bringing my backwards movement to a halt.

My arm muscles begin to tremble as I attempt to pull myself onto land. Only, after several tries, I have barely moved a fraction of an inch and my fingers are starting to lose their hold. There is nothing I can do to stop it. In a minute, I will be plunging downward toward the water. I’m bracing myself for the fall and hoping that the bank next to the river is scalable when something clamps onto my arm and pulls my fingers loose from their tenuous grip on safety. With all the dangers around me I know I should stay quiet, but I can’t help it. I scream.

Chapter 11

“IT’S OKAY. CIA. It’s okay.”

It takes a minute for the voice to penetrate the fear. For the realization that I am being pulled up and not pushed away to bloom into understanding. I stop fighting and allow myself to be hoisted up—up—up to the safety of land.

My heart is pounding. I can hardly breathe, but I manage to croak out, “Thanks,” as Tomas’s face swims in front of me. His eyes are wary and filled with concern, but his tone is light when he says, “When we get back to Tosu City, we’re going to have to work on your long jump.”

It’s a weak joke, but it makes me smile and helps me briefly forget where I am. Why I’m here. For a moment I am safe. Then the moment disappears. Scrambling to my feet, I peer back toward the bridge, looking for signs of the crossbow shooter. “We have to get out of here. There’s someone with a crossbow looking to thin out the competition. He attacked me while I was looking for you. He must have followed me to the bridge.”

Tomas’s eyes narrow as he looks beyond me to the bridge. Is he looking for proof there was a shooter? Does he not trust my word? If not for my father’s dreams, Roman’s betrayal, and Michal’s warning, I would not have believed another candidate would approach this test in such a way. Can I blame Tomas for doubting?

“Well, whoever it was must be trying to find a safer way across the river. It’s amazing you made it at all. I almost lost it when I saw you jump.” He shifts the bag on his shoulder and holds out his hand. I’m about to take it when I realize mine are bleeding. Tomas notices the cuts and says, “We’d better get those cleaned. The last thing you need is an infection. Come on. Let’s get out of the sun and fix you up.”

We travel west for over a mile before I’m willing to stop at a waist-high pile of broken metal and rocks. They will offer some concealment while I patch up my hands and get something to eat. Now that fear no longer gnaws at my stomach, I am starved.

Tomas sits next to me and says, “I can rip my sheet into bandages if you need me to.”

“Not necessary.” Although I’m glad to know I was right—Tomas did strip the sheet off his bed. “I have a medical kit in here.”

Since I don’t want to get blood all over everything in my bag, I ask Tomas to retrieve the kit and the half-full bottle of water. I wet a cotton bandage and dab at my wounds, grateful to learn that under the blood there are just a couple of scrapes. A smear of anti-infection ointment and a few bandages later, I am ready to eat. I stow the kit back in my bag, take out an apple, and offer one to Tomas. It’s the least I can do after he saved my life.

He grins. “The medical kit was one of your three items, right?” When I nod, his smile grows wider. “I almost took one, but I figured you’d think of that. I didn’t want to duplicate anything you had just in case we hooked up.”

It was a risky choice. One that might not have paid off had we not found each other. But we did. Knowing he was thinking of us as a team while making his choices makes me inexplicably happy considering the circumstances.

As we eat our apples and the two cinnamon rolls Tomas pulls out of his bag, we compare equipment. I show him the water and purification chemicals, which he also figured I would take, but he did not guess my last choice. He’d been certain I would take a compass, since it was the one item almost every candidate would need on this journey. So his eyebrows rise in surprise as I pull the gun from the side pocket of my bag and admit that I already have had cause to use it.

“That was you?”

The shame I felt earlier at my actions resurfaces, and I drop my eyes so I don’t see the censure that must be in Tomas’s eyes. But he won’t let me look away. Fingers lift my chin so I have to meet his gaze. In it I see understanding, caring, and pride.

“You did the right thing. It takes courage to defend yourself, and I’m glad you did. I can’t imagine what I would do if something happened to you.” He gives me a soft smile. Then he says, “Do you want to see my three items?”

A tool kit that Tomas was pleased to find also contains matches. A late-twenty-first-century map book of all fifty of the former United States containing detailed maps of the ground we will be treading. Last is a very large, very deadly-looking knife that Tomas slides out of a leather scabbard. I don’t remember seeing that kind of knife, if you can call it that, among the weapons we were allowed to select, but it must have been there. Two hands can easily grasp the handle. The blade itself is at least two feet long. One edge is serrated on the bottom. The rest of it gleams with deadly sharpness.

“I thought it would be useful in case we need to cut our way through overgrown bushes.” He slides the knife back in its scabbard and attaches it to something on his belt. As far as weapons go, it was a good choice even if it makes me cringe.

I store my belongings back in my bag and then show Tomas my brother’s Transit Communicator and the pocket hunting knife I brought from home. Knowing we must be much better stocked for survival than most of the candidates makes me feel more confident as we set off through the wasted city to whatever lies to the west. Tomas thinks we should continue in this direction for a while before turning south, which surprises me.

“Aren’t we traveling all the way to the fence?” I ask.

“Why?”

“To meet up with the others. You told Zandri and the others about meeting at the fence, right?”

Tomas stops walking. “You’re the only one I told.”

“But . . .” I’m about to ask why, but then I think about the crossbow shooter, Ryme’s offer of corncakes, the way Malachi was tripped by Roman when we first walked into the dining hall. And Roman’s trick. It comes down to trust. Tomas trusts me, and the kindness I have seen him demonstrate over and over again since we were children makes me certain I am correct in trusting him. Still, I cannot help but ask, “What happens if we run into Zandri or the others along the way?” Will we leave them to fend for themselves? Do we allow them to join us? Can we just walk away from people we call our friends?

I see Tomas wrestling with the question as we once again begin to travel west. After a long time, he speaks. “They say we’re going to be evaluated on the choices we make. I guess that’s going to have to be one of them.”

We walk for several more miles, rarely talking as the landscape on the horizon becomes more barren. History says that town after town once fanned out from the outer reaches of the city. That hundreds of thousands of people lived and worked in close proximity to Chicago and thrived because of the city’s heartbeat. There is little evidence of that now. Whoever destroyed the city also decimated the towns surrounding it. At least the ones we might be able to see from our location. All that is left are scraps of metal, broken walls, pieces of glass, and a lot of cracked, decayed earth—signs of the destruction man can cause against his fellow man.

The sun fades from the horizon and darkness begins to fall as we spot a small structure that stands amid a tall patch of weeds. A survivor of the war or something built after by one of those who escaped the destruction? Whatever the structure is, it appears to be intact. We look at each other and in that glance agree to head for the building. We could walk a little farther, but who knows if we will find another structure to camp in. The idea of staying outside, unprotected, with Testing candidates and animals prowling for victims is not appealing.

We are both hot and sweaty when we reach the building. The last vestiges of light are fading from the sky. The building is small and square—about eight feet by eight feet—with a hard concrete floor. All four walls still stand, but much of the roof is gone, leaving us with a view of the hazy sky. I’m glad there is no sign of rain. A charred area in the corner of the building suggests someone—probably a Testing candidate from a previous year—lit a fire there.

Tomas decides the walls provide enough cover if we would like to build a small fire. But while a fire would be comforting, neither of us wants to take the risk. In the blackness of night, any light will be seen for miles. We eat dried fruit and some bread for dinner. By the time we are finished with our meal, the light is completely gone, and though the moon is bright, I can see only the outline of the building’s door. Nothing else. While I am used to the dark nights of Five Lakes Colony, this blackness feels different. Menacing. Filled with the monsters I used to think hid under my bed. And there are monsters out there. At least one Testing candidate is intent on killing. Tomas’s hand finds mine in the dark, and I blink back tears of gratitude that I am not facing this blackness and fear alone.

“Why don’t you go to sleep, Cia? I’ll keep watch to make sure nothing happens.”

I need to sleep. My body is trembling from exhaustion, but I know nightmares are waiting for me when I close my eyes so I opt for conversation instead. “How long do you think it will take to get back to Tosu City?” I used the Transit Communicator to track the coordinates of this shack. Compared them to the ones where my candidate Testing box was located. Walking all day, we had traveled just under eighteen miles. The enormity of the miles between us and our goal is overwhelming.

“Three or four weeks. The farther we get from the city the easier travel will be. If we find some kind of transportation, it’ll go even faster. Just remember one thing. Your dad made it back when he was tested, Cia. We will, too.”

I use that thought to push worries about food and water and the actions of other candidates out of my head. With a picture of my father’s smile in my mind and Tomas’s fingers curled tight around mine, I slip into sleep.

I wake with a start and blink up at a sky tinged with a hazy purple and pink, uncertain where I am. Then I remember. Slowly, I glance to where Tomas lies next to me. His head is cushioned on his Testing bag. His breathing is slow and even. He must have fallen asleep before waking me for my watch. He did not hear whatever it was that woke me from my sleep.

The sound of a twig cracking makes my heart thunder. The wind? An animal or something more deadly? I squeeze Tomas’s hand and put a finger over his lips as his eyes slowly open. His eyes widen as I point to the open door and mouth, “I heard something.” Another snap, some leaves rustle, and my hand slides into the side pocket of my bag for my gun. Tomas reaches next to him for his knife. We wait in silence. If a Testing candidate is nearby, they will see the building. Will they feel compelled to look inside for anything that might be useful during the test? I would. My fingers tighten their grip on the gun as I wait for a face to appear.

None does.

Tomas and I sit and wait. The minutes pass, and I am reminded of yesterday when I was trapped in the candidate box with someone lurking outside. At least this time I am not alone.

How long do we wait? It feels like forever, although it is probably only fifteen minutes. We have heard no other sounds. Tomas slowly gets to his feet and makes a motion to the door. He wants to take a look. I nod and quietly get to my feet. If someone is out there, they aren’t expecting two of us.

Step by cautious step, Tomas crosses to the door. He adjusts his grip on his knife, takes a deep breath, and walks outside. I quickly follow behind him.

Nothing.

We circle the small building, looking for signs someone has been here, but find only our tracks and those made by small animals. Now that I am not terrified, I find myself smiling as I study the animal prints. Fox and maybe a rabbit. We are going to need a food source beyond the fruit and bread we have stored in our bags. I make a note to look for wires and other supplies to create traps and follow Tomas back inside the little building to gather our things. If we are going to make it to Tosu City, we need to get moving.

We eat cinnamon rolls with raisins for breakfast, and I open the first canteen of water for us to wash it down. With two of us drinking from my supply, the water will go fast. Especially in this heat. While yesterday I was concerned with putting distance between us and the wrecked city, today I am focused on finding the tools we need to survive the weeks to come. We need to find water that is uncontaminated enough for my purification chemicals to make drinkable, and we need to find it soon.

As we eat breakfast, we study the Illinois page of Tomas’s map book. Though most of the cities, towns, and roads have been eaten away by war and time, we are hoping that at least a few of the lakes and rivers have remained constant. We decide to head toward a river that looks like the best option and punch the coordinates into the Transit Communicator. According to the device, the river is fifteen miles to the southwest. Bags on our shoulders, we start walking, using the compass as our guide.

All around us is flat, brittle land. A casualty of the biological weapons used on the city and the nearby towns. So different from the hilly part of the country I grew up in. As we walk, we take sips of water, trying to replace the liquid the sun is leaching out of us, and talk of unimportant things—our favorite childhood games, the songs our mothers sang us to sleep with, our favorite foods. Tomas is fond of honey-glazed carrots. I love fresh raspberries. We talk about celebrating our Testing success with both.

After several hours of walking, we find a grove of squat trees in which to rest. Just as Tomas dumps his bag, I give a shout of joy. Growing near the trunks of the trees are dozens of small white flowers with spiky petals reaching up to the sky. Clover. My father says it is one of the few plants that never had trouble growing no matter the condition of the soil. When I was little my mother often served clover salad when other foods were scarce. Funny how some things never change.

Tomas and I strip the ground bare of the small white plants, divide them into two piles, and sit in the shade, eating the fresh flowers and green stems with our bread and fruit. We leave the roots so the flowers will grow again—perhaps for the Testing candidates who come this way next year.

The afternoon sun is brutal as it bakes the ground beneath my feet. Sweat pours from our bodies. The dirt that swirls in the air adheres to our wet, sticky skin. Between us, we have emptied the first canteen and have opened the second. We need to find a water supply. The device in my hand tells me we still have two miles until we arrive at what we hope is a river.

It is late afternoon when we reach our destination. A dry riverbed. We check the map twice to make sure this is the right location. There is no doubt. An event, probably an earthquake, shifted the land and emptied the river between the time the map was created and now. And while it isn’t surprising, I can’t help the surge of disappointment that is rapidly followed by fear. I shove the fear aside and concentrate on solving the problem. Because isn’t that what The Testing is about? Finding those who can solve the problem even when put under great stress? The Testing officials want candidates to succeed. There will be water somewhere. We just have to be smart enough and patient enough to find it.

I see a small hill to our southwest and say, “Well, the water from the river had to go somewhere. Why don’t we see if we can spot it from up there?”

Tomas stows the map book into his bag and nods. “Sounds good to me.”

The hill is farther and taller than it looks. The sun is starting to lose its luster when we reach the top. One look at the landscape below us makes me want to cry. More cracked grayish brown earth. More scraggly, diseased-looking trees with dry, parched leaves. More emptiness. Except off in the distance. I squint into the setting sun. Yes. There, far to our right, is a patch of green. Green that can only be created by thriving plants. And for plants to thrive they have to have water.

With a wide smile, Tomas takes my hand and we set off at a quick pace toward the greenery. It occurs to me as we walk that while our view from the top of the hill was helpful, it might have also put us in danger. Anyone in the vicinity looking our way will have seen us. I mention my worries to Tomas, but there isn’t much we can do now. There is no place to take cover in this empty landscape. We have to keep moving forward and hope for the best.

The closer Tomas and I get to the greenery, the edgier I feel. The proximity of the hill to the greenery and the possible water source we spotted start to feel too much like coincidence. Because this part of the country has not been officially revitalized, there is the impression it’s been left untouched by the United Commonwealth’s government staff. But that isn’t necessarily the case. Dr. Barnes and his Testing officials want to see how we think, how we identify and deal with problems. It only makes sense that they would set up smaller tests within the larger one, that they would not be willing to leave the obstacles we face up to chance.

As we approach the green patch, I begin to feel certain that this oasis is another kind of test. The perfect oval the grass grows in. The shimmer of a clear, clean, uncontaminated pond that rests in the center. Two trees filled with healthy leaves stand guard on either side. The entire area is only about twenty feet wide and half as long. There is no doubt. This small patch of paradise is man-made.

Tomas picks up his pace at the sight of the water, but stops when he notices I am no longer beside him. “What’s wrong, Cia?”

I explain my suspicions, and his forehead wrinkles in thought. He looks at the pond with longing and says, “They know we need water. It only makes sense that they’ve added some water sources out here in order to keep us alive. Otherwise none of us would pass the damn test. Then where would they be?”

Tomas has a good point. But he wasn’t the one who listened as Dr. Barnes rationalized Ryme’s death. He didn’t see Malachi die. If I hadn’t, maybe I would believe this spot is a gift from the Testers. Instead, I see it as a trap.

“Let’s walk around the grass line and take a look just to be sure.”

Tomas wants to argue. I can see it in the set of his jaw. It’s the same reaction he had in class when a fellow student or our teacher was wrong. Instead of arguing with him, I walk up to the vibrant green grass, careful not to disturb it with my foot. Flowers grow near the edge of the pond, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. The trees are tall and straight and provide shelter from the sunshine. It’s a perfect spot to rest and be restored from travel. In this place where nothing is perfect, is it a wonder that I refuse to trust it?

“It looks okay to me,” Tomas says from the other side of the oasis.

“Just a few more minutes. Please,” I yell. I turn my back on him, hoping this will end the discussion. My gut tells me to get the hell away from this place, but I have to convince Tomas. He has always been so good, so kind to others—especially those who are sad or in distress. It is no wonder he expects the government that brought us here to be helpful, too. With this being the only water source we’ve seen since the contaminated river yesterday, I don’t blame him for being tempted. If only there was another water source nearby. There’s another hill not too far away. Maybe I will see something if I take a look . . .

“I’ll be right back. Stay there,” I say, and I set off for the hill. My legs are tired, but I move fast. I’m at the top of the hill in less than five minutes and, though I am breathless, laugh when I see it. Not too far away—maybe another hundred yards or so—is a small river. The water doesn’t gleam and the plant life surrounding it isn’t lush, but I know by the path it sculpts through the ground that it is natural. Water. Contaminated? Probably, but I have my kit to deal with that. For the first time today, I feel a sense of relief.

Then the world explodes.

Chapter 12

SURPRISE AND THE force of the blast knock me off-balance. I hit the ground and roll, then scramble up to my feet, trying to understand what just happened. The ringing in my ears. The gaping hole where the oasis used to stand. Tomas nearby on the hard, cracked earth lying completely still.

Choking back a sob, I fly down the hill to where Tomas is sprawled on his back, eyes closed. I fear the worst. That once again I will hold the hand of someone from home as he slips from the world, leaving me behind. Then I see the steady rise and fall of his chest and sag with relief. He’s alive. However the trap was sprung, Tomas was not in the middle of it when it happened. Otherwise he—like the trees, flowers, and water—would be gone. Just thinking of a world without his strong, steady presence is enough to bring me to my knees.

Still, he is not conscious, which isn’t good. I sit on the ground next to him and gently check the back of his head for swelling that would indicate a concussion or something worse. I am relieved to find nothing. Then I notice the blood pooling on the ground next to his right hip and the inch-thick branch protruding from his body.

I stamp down my tears. Crying won’t help Tomas, so I have to decide what will. Dr. Flint always says you aren’t supposed to move someone with a head wound, but I don’t have a choice. I have to stop the blood seeping into the cracked soil. Carefully, I shift Tomas onto his side. The jagged wood is buried deep in Tomas’s backside. The explosion and the impact against the ground must have created enough force for the branch to impale him.

Taking a deep breath, I get a good grip on the tree branch and pull. The edges of the wood catch on Tomas’s flesh. He starts to groan and wince as I work the wood back and forth in the wound to remove it. The flow of blood increases as the wood slides free from Tomas’s body. I rip a strip of fabric off my cot sheet, press it against the wound, and hold it there with one hand while my other searches for the medical kit. The disinfecting ointment will come in handy. The needle and thread might, too, if I can get up the nerve to use them. I’m starting to roll Tomas onto his belly when he moans again.

His gray eyes blink open. “What happened?”

Hearing his voice, seeing him awake, makes me smile even as it unlocks a flood of tears. “The oasis blew up,” I tell him, wiping tears with the back of my dirt-streaked hand. “You got impaled by a tree branch. I removed it, but the wound is bleeding pretty bad. Don’t worry,” I say, feigning more confidence than I feel. “I’ll have you fixed in no time. Only . . .”

His eyes narrow. “Only what?”

I feel the blush heating my cheeks even before I say, “You’re going to have to remove your pants for me to do it.”

The grin he gives me is wicked and more than a little sexy, but quickly turns to a frown as he struggles to unfasten his pants and push them down. The wound is still bleeding, but not near as bad as it was. The puncture is over an inch in diameter and judging by the blood on the stick at least three inches deep. The area around the wound is a mangled mess of blood and tissue. An injury like this has to hurt like hell. And I have no idea how to fix it. Over the years, Dr. Flint closed several of my brothers’ cuts, but those didn’t look like this. Those had been tears in the flesh, which could only be brought together using a needle and thread. This is a gaping hole.

Still, I have to do something.

I dig several pain tablets out of the bag and prop Tomas up so he can swallow them. Then I clean the wound as best I can with water. Wiped free of blood and dirt, the injury looks even worse. I was right—there is no way I can sew this wound shut. Which leaves me with only one idea. Just thinking about it makes me want to scream, but I have no choice. Blood is still flowing from the gap in his flesh. If it doesn’t stop soon, Tomas won’t be able to travel. He won’t finish the test and neither will I since I could never leave knowing he’d most likely die out here injured and alone.

Gathering bits of dried grass and pieces of wood into a pile, I light them with one of Tomas’s matches. Once the fire is started, I pull the hunting knife out of my pocket. In addition to the knife and screwdriver, there is a nail file, a wood saw, a hook, and several other metal gadgets I’ve never found a use for. Until now.

I select the tool that is about an inch and a half long, less than a half inch wide, and flat on top. There is a hooked thing near the middle my father said he used as a child to open bottles, but we don’t have those kinds of bottles in Five Lakes so I can only imagine how that works. It isn’t the bottle opener I’m interested in, but the flat, unsharpened surface near the top. Now I just need to muster the courage to go through with my plan.

As the small fire crackles, I do something I’ve seen Dr. Flint do when the patient is conscious during a particularly unpleasant treatment. I hand Tomas his cot sheet to bite down on, then hold the bottle opener over the flames and wait for it to turn red. When it does, I ask Tomas to look away. Before I can lose my nerve, I pull the hot metal out of the flame and apply it to the wound.

Tomas screams into the sheet and bucks in pain. The sounds of his agony are muffled and my eyes fill with tears. But I have to keep working. I put the tool back into the flames with one hand while I wipe the blood from the wound and hold Tomas’s legs down with the other. When the metal is once again hot, I place it against his flesh. A coppery, sulfurous odor makes me gag. The smell of burning skin.

Tears run down my face. My chest tightens so I can barely breathe. Tomas’s muted screams rip through my heart as I heat the metal and apply it to the wound again and again. Until, finally, the burned tissue fuses together and the bleeding is stopped.

My hands shake as I use our precious water to dab clean the wound. Then I spread ointment on the area, bandage it, and help Tomas struggle into his pants. I fervently hope the bleeding is stopped for good because I don’t think I can do that again.

Tomas’s eyes are glazed and his forehead coated with sweat as he gives me a weak smile. “I barely felt a thing,” he lies.

I go to place a kiss on his cheek, only he turns his head and the kiss lands on the corner of his mouth. Time stops as we stare at each other. Then, very slowly, Tomas leans forward and kisses me again. The kiss is light as a feather, but I feel it all the way down in my stomach. I’ve been kissed by boys before—I’m young for my class, but I’m not that young. None of those kisses made me feel the way this one does. Maybe because of the fear and adrenaline I’ve been operating under or because I don’t understand why Tomas kissed me. Gratitude? Or something more? Something I have felt building since we danced last year and have been too scared to believe is real.

Confused by emotions I don’t want to analyze, I turn away and start jamming supplies back in my bag. “It’s going to get dark soon. When I was on top of the hill, I saw a stream. It’s not too far away. Do you think you can walk or should we set up camp here? There’s probably enough light for me to make it to the stream, fill up our canteens, and come back.” I know I’m rambling, but can’t seem to stop myself.

He shakes his head and slowly gets to his knees. “If your crossbow friend heard the explosion, he might come looking for us. We should put some distance between us and here before we lose light.”

With everything else going on, I’d forgotten about the other Testing candidates. The explosion will have drawn attention. If the crossbow shooter heard the explosion, he might assume whoever was caught in it is dead. Unless he heard Tomas’s screams during my treatment. Either way, Tomas is right. We need to clear out.

I help Tomas to his feet and loop his arm around my shoulders so I can lend him support. He is almost a head taller than me, but we manage to make it work. It’s slow going up the hill, though, and both of us are panting hard when we reach the top.

Finally the pain medication is starting to take hold and Tomas is able to walk a little faster as we go down the other side. In the graying light, I spot a clump of shoulder-high bushes thick with gray leaves and head toward them. The cluster of bushes is dense, but after breaking off a few lower branches I wriggle underneath the bush closest to the stream and find a small area that we can camp in. I ask Tomas for his scary-looking knife and use it to clear a bit more space for us. Then I spread Tomas’s sheet on the ground and hold branches out of the way for him as he climbs inside. Tomas is asleep almost before I can tell him I’m going to get water. Which is going to be tricky since the sun is setting fast. I grab the three empty water containers and my bag of purification chemicals, and scoot through the underbrush to the stream.

Testing water for drinkability isn’t difficult, but it does require time and light. With the last canteen of water almost at empty and the sun fading, I’m short on both. But I have to try. If Tomas develops an infection in the middle of the night, the last thing I want to be is short of water.

The tests for most contaminants are pretty basic. You fill a cup with water and then add drops of a variety of liquid chemicals that react to contamination. The small sample of water will turn either red, blue, yellow, or green to indicate a specific contaminant. Sometimes the color can be very faint. You have to be able to spot the subtle shifts in color in order to add the correct counteracting chemicals to make the water drinkable. The trick is to add only the chemicals necessary to counteract the contamination. If you add anything that doesn’t belong, you could end up poisoning the water. It won’t kill you, but it can make you really sick. Something I really would like to avoid.

After setting out my chemicals, I use one of the clear plastic water containers from our Testing box baskets and fill it with a half inch of water. I put a drop of the first chemical in and swirl the water around. If the water contains the bioengineered version of cyanide used in many of the Stage Four bombings, the liquid will turn red. After several minutes of swirling, I am certain the water is free of that contaminant and move on to the next. I make it through the first three tests without a color change. But the fourth, for a chemical cooked up by the Asian Alliance that causes the cardiovascular system to overload, turns the water a vibrant purple unmistakable even in the last vestiges of sunlight. I empty out the test bottle, refill the three containers, and then add the counteracting chemicals to them. It will take at least an hour for the chemicals to counteract the contamination. In the morning, I will retest a capful of the water to verify its purity before we drink. For now, I crawl back through the underbrush with my water containers, eat a few pieces of dried apple, and curl up next to Tomas on the sheet. While I try hard to stay awake, I can’t help the exhaustion of the day pulling me into sleep.

The sound of a bird singing greets me in the morning. For a moment, snuggled warm in the sheet, I think I am sleeping in front of the hearth at home after being chased from my room by my brothers’ snoring. Then I realize that something behind me is moving and remember where I am. My eyes fly open to find Tomas’s clear gray ones staring down at me.

“Good morning,” he says with a soft smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep.” And I’m annoyed with myself because I did. So much for keeping watch for the crossbow shooter. If he had come across us in the night, we would both be dead. Stupid. Only luck kept us alive.

Tomas doesn’t seem concerned, but he keeps his voice low as he says, “We’re pretty well hidden here. I woke up a while ago and took a look around. If our fellow candidates have come by, I haven’t seen any sign of them.”

“Don’t you think that’s strange?” I ask. “That we haven’t seen any of the other candidates?”

“I don’t think so. The map they showed us at the Testing Center made it look like the fence lines around here were at least twenty miles apart. That means there’s room for us all to spread out. At least at first.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out his map book and flips to the page for Kansas. “If I remember correctly, the fence lines narrow near the end—around here.” He points to a spot a fair distance from the city that was once called Wichita. “I’m guessing the Testing officials want to draw us together at that point—to see how we respond.”

“Another test within a test. Like yesterday.”

“Yeah, and look how well that turned out.” Tomas’s eyes flash with anger, an emotion I have never seen from him. He’s normally so calm and logical. But his voice is loud and tight as he says, “I almost got us blown to pieces on that one because I couldn’t believe you might be right. That the one hopeful thing we’d seen since starting this test was something designed to kill us. I kept telling myself you were wrong and I was right. I mean, why the hell would the Testing officials bring us all here just to kill us? It doesn’t make any sense.”

His fists are clenched, and I can see confusion and anger in his eyes as he demands an answer. Only I don’t have one. Not really. So I take Tomas’s dirt-streaked hand and hold it because I feel as lost as he does.

We sit hand in hand for several minutes before Tomas smiles at me, flashing the familiar dimple. “Well, you were wrong about one thing. I’m definitely not the smartest kid from our class, Cia. Although I guess I was pretty smart about teaming up with you. What other girl would have been willing to fix my ass after I got myself blown up?”

“Are you kidding?” I turn away and busy myself with pulling the sack of dried fruit out of my bag so he can’t see the heat flooding my cheeks. “Almost every unmarried girl in Five Lakes Colony would have volunteered to patch you up. Especially if you thanked her with a kiss.”

“Cia.” I turn, and Tomas’s eyes find mine. The humor in them is gone, leaving something more compelling in its place. “If another girl had helped me, I wouldn’t have kissed her.” The words hang between us. Deep inside I feel something shift and click into place. Then the humor is back as he says, “Come on. We should start walking. Tosu City is still a long ways off.”

Before we leave, I test the water I treated yesterday, grateful to have something purposeful to do instead of obsessing about Tomas’s words. Was he saying I was special to him or just flattering me? Considering all the girls back home who practically threw themselves in his path, I find it hard to believe he ever really thought of me in that way. And yet, I think back to that dance and to the moments last year when I caught him watching me across the classroom. Perhaps there has been something between us all along.

The water test comes back clean. Tomas and I take the opportunity to drink our fill and even wash the grime of travel from our hands and faces before refilling the containers from the stream and treating them. We eat a breakfast of crackers, apples, and some red clover we find growing next to our grove of bushes. Then, after I check Tomas’s wound and apply more ointment to it, we set off to the southwest.

The day is cooler. I think storms might be on the way, but the lack of extreme heat makes travel easier. Our progress is marked not only by the change of our coordinates on the Transit Communicator, but also by the changing of the scenery. The flat, cracked earth with only small patches of plant life and angry-looking trees starts to give way to more hills, trees that are not quite healthy-looking but not as black and twisted, and far more plants. More than once I make Tomas stop as I spot wild carrots, hollyhock, and milkweed. We’ll have to light a fire to boil the milkweed, which I’m not sure we’ll have time for, but I gather it just in case. Our current food supply will last only another two or three days. We’ll need all the food we can find.

We also begin to see more signs of birds, like the one that awakened me this morning with its singing, and other game. Tomas spots deer, fox, and rabbit tracks along with larger prints of animals we cannot put names to. We’ll have to start hunting if we hope to stay strong enough to make it to the end of the test. But for now we walk. While the miles pass, we comment on the buildings we are now seeing. There aren’t many, but a few here and there. Some with only partially standing walls. Others that look more intact. As night starts to descend, we decide to head toward a group of one-story structures that look like they might be in decent repair. Perhaps whoever once lived in these houses has left behind something we can use to travel faster. If not, we might find other things, like wire for animal traps, that will help us survive.

An animal family had taken up residence in the first house. There are tracks, claw marks, and droppings left behind that look fresh enough to make us rethink entering. The next house looks on the verge of collapse, but a small storage building behind it appears to be sound so we venture inside. The last streams of sunlight shine through a window long devoid of its glass, which helps us to see. The dust and moldy smell make me sneeze. There’s a rotting bench on one side of the small, rectangular room. On the other side is what could have once been a tractor. The rust and the lack of wheels or a motor make it hard to tell for sure. I shift a large sheet of decaying wood that is propped against the back wall and smile. Behind the wood is an old wagonlike cart. The wooden cart itself is rotted and has a chunk of wood missing from one side, but there are two wheels at the bottom and both appear to be salvageable. Tomas gets out his tool kit and helps me detach the wheels. They are heavy, coated with a thick layer of cobwebs and grime, but they give me hope. If I can find more materials, I might be able to build something to help us travel faster.

Several more houses yield us a small pot, a skillet, and some nuts and bolts that were attached to some rotting cupboards. Not a lot, but more than we had when we started. We make camp for the night, eat two of our apples and the last of our bread, and fall asleep hopeful that we will find more treasures tomorrow.

The next day, a few miles away, we find a cluster of several dozen buildings—these made of mostly bricks and mortar—that have stood the test of time and weather. The way they are situated I can only guess they once formed the center of a town, much like Five Lakes’ square. We search building by building. Bits of wire disappear into our bags. A wrench. Not much else.

We are about to enter the last building when Tomas points to the ground nearby. A partial boot print. My heart catches. Another Testing candidate? We have to assume so. My first instinct is to flee. To run as far and as fast as we can.

But Tomas wants to enter. “If there is another candidate nearby, it would be best to know who it is and what their intentions are. We don’t want them catching us off-guard.”

It’s hard to deny Tomas’s logic. The idea of an unknown person lurking nearby, waiting for us to let down our guard, gives me a chill. Swallowing hard, I slide the gun out of my bag and follow Tomas inside and into chaos. Several small, furry animals jump off a rickety table and go racing across the room toward a hole in the wall. With my nerves taut and fear pulsing through my veins, I don’t think. I just react. Bang. Bang. Bang. Two of the white animals drop before the rest make it to safety.

Then I come to my senses and realize that if someone is nearby, I have just alerted them to our presence. I start to apologize, but Tomas just laughs. “Don’t apologize. If someone is around, they’re probably running as far as they can away from whoever has the gun. And if they knew you could shoot like that they would run even faster.”

He tells me to guard the front door while he checks the rest of the building. After a few minutes, I hear him let out a loud shout. At first, I think he’s encountered whoever made the footprint. But then I hear the happiness in his voice as he yells for me to join him. He’s got a surprise.

And what a surprise. In what must have once been a vehicle storage unit are two bicycles. Tomas says he found them lying under a sheet of plastic in the back corner. The room is dark. One bicycle is missing the back tire. The other’s chain and pedals have seen better days. Both have a fair amount of rust and dirt on them. But I can’t help smiling from ear to ear. They might be old, damaged, and rickety, but these bikes are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

Tomas and I carry the bikes back to the front of the building, and I laugh as I remember the animals I shot. Opossum. The fur is darker and rattier than on the ones we have around Five Lakes Colony, but the cone-shaped face, the rows of tiny sharp teeth, and the furless, scaly tail are unmistakable. And I know from experience, their flesh is edible. Between the bikes and the fresh meat, I am incredibly happy as we set up camp near a group of trees in the center of the buildings.

Tomas volunteers to take care of dinner and scout around for a water source while I assess the bicycles and their usability. Using a strip of cot sheet, I clean off the dirt, rust, and grease. One chain has a faulty link, but with a bit of tinkering, I’m able to remove the broken link and get the rest in working order. The three remaining tires of the bikes are deflated, but that’s okay. I remove the rubber from the wheels of the first bike, and work for the next three hours to realign the gears, attach the chain, and get the brake unstuck. The seat cushion has been gnawed by mice or some other rodents, but after stuffing some of the holes with bits of dry grass and sewing a new cover made from the cot sheet, I deem it usable. By the time the sun is starting to descend on the horizon, I am coated with grease and dirt, but one bike is ridable. It might not last very long, but I’m pretty sure, even without the rubber tires, the wheels will cover a bunch of miles before giving out.

While I’ve been fixing the first bicycle, the problem of the second one and its lack of a hind wheel has been rolling in the back of my mind. There is no way two of us can ride on one bike like Daileen and I sometimes did at home. Not for the distance we need to travel. We need two. Which means I have to fix the second bike. I think I might have a solution when Tomas calls that dinner is ready. I do my best to wipe the grease from my hands before heading to Tomas and our campsite. When I get there, I’m in for another surprise. While I’ve been working on the bicycles, Tomas has also been busy. He’s not only started a fire, but skinned and roasted both opossum, and boiled the greens and wild carrots with some pine bark. Perhaps the best surprise is the small, fresh, sweet strawberries he found growing wild near the side of one of the buildings. The warm, filling meal feeds the growing sense of hope I’ve been feeling all day.

During dinner, I tell Tomas about the bicycles and my idea to repair the second one using the two cart wheels we found yesterday. We talk about the best way to reconstruct the bicycle and decide to spend the next day here instead of traveling, which we hope will pay off in the end.

The next morning, we eat cold opossum and strawberries for breakfast and get to work restructuring the gear assembly on the second bicycle to accommodate the two medium-sized cart wheels I found. It takes most of the day and a lot of scavenging for parts in the town’s buildings, but by the time the sun is low in the sky I am riding the second bicycle around the town square. We eat more strawberries and opossum, drink water Tomas found at a stream about a mile away, and attach scraps of metal behind the seats of our bicycles to create shelves for our bags to rest on while we pedal. When darkness falls, we settle onto the ground and watch the stars appear in the sky. With Tomas’s arm around my shoulders, I can almost imagine we are sitting in the square back home, watching the heavens with our families somewhere nearby. I turn to say as much to Tomas when his lips find mine in a gentle kiss. My heartbeat quickens. I can’t see his face in the darkness, but I know Tomas is giving me the chance to pull away. But I don’t. I lean in and feel Tomas’s mouth smile against mine before the kiss deepens. I snake a hand around his neck and hold tight as a thrilling shiver travels through me. Despite our tenuous situation, nothing has ever felt this perfect.

A distant scream streaks through the night. A human female scream. The sound jolts us apart and into action. I hear Tomas slide his knife out of its leather scabbard as I find my gun. Side by side in the darkness we wait for the scream to come again.

It doesn’t. Neither does sleep.

Chapter 13

AT THE FIRST hint of light we are up, packing our bags, storing them on our new bicycles, and slowly riding off to the southwest. Arms wrapped tight around each other last night with our weapons a breath away, we whispered assurances that the screamer was far in the distance. That we were safe from whatever caused the outburst.

While Tomas’s wound appears to be better, I can tell he is having a hard time finding a comfortable spot on his bicycle. Without the rubber tires to absorb some of the friction caused by riding over stones, twigs, and other debris, the ride is a bumpy one. There are also more trees, bushes, and intact houses the farther we get from Chicago. So we decide to head due south, where Tomas’s map claims a large roadway used to exist. Even a road in disrepair will be easier to navigate than the terrain we’re currently riding on. The other reason for our decision remains unspoken. Last night’s scream seemed to come from this direction. We are looking for the girl whose scream kept us alert through the night. If she is injured, we have to help. I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t at least try.

A flock of crows circling something from above makes my throat tighten. Without a word, we turn and pedal through the patchwork brown grass to whatever has attracted the birds. When we find it, there is no question about helping the screamer or what we would do if she asked to join our team. The body sprawled on the ground is past asking for anything. I think I remember the girl marching in front of Malachi and out the lecture hall door to take the first round of tests. Long white-blond hair that is currently matted with dirt and streaks of blood. Eyes that might have once been blue now bloody sockets as the birds feast. And there in her stomach, a sight that turns my nausea and pity to icy-cold fear.

A crossbow quarrel.

Her Testing bag is empty. Either she lost the contents, which I doubt, or the crossbow shooter took them after bringing down his prey. Which means he is out there somewhere, hunting.

“We should clear out of here.” Tomas gives my hand a squeeze as I stare down at the girl. “The road can’t be too far away now.”

“You’re right. We should go. The crossbow shooter might be nearby.” And yet I do not move. I cannot leave this girl to be pecked away piece by piece. While she is beyond caring, I am not. She has family. Friends. People who love her somewhere—who think she is safely ensconced in Tosu City, showing off her skills in math and science. Those people might never know her fate, but their love for her and hers for them demand respect. This is what my mother and father taught me. It’s the Five Lakes Colony way of life.

Tomas finds a crack in the earth large enough for this slight girl’s body. Together, we chase away the carrion crows and carry her to what will be her final resting place. I fumble with her identification bracelet until I find the right place to press. The clasp opens and the bracelet with its symbol—a triangle with a small eight-spoked wheel—falls into my hand. We then set her body into the fissure. An hour of daylight is lost as we stack rocks over her to keep the birds and other scavengers from claiming the rest of her remains.

I mark the grave with a large reddish rock and wish I knew the girl’s name so I could at least bid her a proper goodbye. Instead, I clutch her bracelet to my chest and offer my silent promise that no matter the pressures or fears that come, I will not put aside the beliefs I grew up with in order to pass. Nor will I forget this girl’s fate.

Tomas’s jaw clenches as he gives the grave a final look before we mount our bicycles. Silently, we travel through the rest of the day toward the road we hope to find somewhere over the horizon. We stop only to test and purify water, gather dandelions and wild carrots, and eat more of the opossum and our final apples. My legs are trembling with exhaustion, but the memory of the dead girl and her sightless eyes keeps me pushing the pedals over rocks and underbrush until darkness falls.

By late morning on the following day, we find the road. It’s a wide paved path that travels far beyond what we can see, which should make me happy. Instead, the condition of the road fills me with dread. There are no holes. No breaks in the asphalt. Other than recent patches here and there, I see no signs of disrepair. This time Tomas doesn’t question me as I dismount my bicycle.

“Do you think this is another trap?” I ask.

“After the pond, anything’s possible.” He cocks his head to one side. “But I don’t think so. Look down there.”

I squint in the direction he’s pointing toward and see it. Far in the distance is a line of bright blue cutting across the countryside. The southern Testing fence line. The one we are not supposed to cross beyond.

“I bet they fixed this road in order to install the fence.” Tomas digs into his bag and pulls out his book. “According to the map, this road goes all the way to the southwestern side of the old state and connects with another road that leads right to Tosu City. The officials have to have an easy way of getting back and forth from Tosu City to the start of the test. I’m betting this is it.”

The reasoning is sound. But it isn’t Tomas’s logic that sways me. It’s the map itself, which tells me this road leads through several major cities on the way to Tosu City. My father’s most vivid nightmare took place in a city where the buildings still stood. If the Testing officials are going to lay traps for us, those cities are the most logical places to set them.

“Let’s throw a few rocks onto the road,” I say. “If it doesn’t explode, we should try it.”

Tomas laughs and looks around for some ammunition. His arm is better than mine, but between the two of us we land about a dozen rocks onto the pavement without incident, and we decide to trust it. After riding over twigs, rocks, and tree roots, pedaling over the smooth surface is like heaven. After the horror of burying the unnamed girl, I am glad for the wind and sun on my face. The freedom of riding fast. No matter the daunting number of miles that we still have to cross, I am glad to be alive.

After the initial joy of riding on the pavement passes, I realize taking the road has not only improved our speed. It has also increased our visibility to whoever might be watching from the thickets of trees and abandoned buildings along the way. I hope the crossbow shooter and any others intent on removing the competition have not yet found speedy transportation.

We ride over a long bridge that spans a wide, opaque river, and I suggest we camp near the water for the night. It’s earlier than we normally make camp, but I am dirty, my hair is matted with grime and sweat, and my legs are starting to cramp. The abundance of water means an opportunity to feel clean for the first time in days. It’s also a good place to forage for food and maybe even trap game.

Tomas is more than willing to stop, especially when he checks Zeen’s device and sees we’ve traveled just over forty-five miles in a single day. We are now a seventh of the way to Tosu City. While it’s still far, the bicycles and the road we travel give us both a more optimistic view of this test.

The river—like all untreated water sources—is tainted. But one look into the swirling waters tells us that at least some species of fish have adapted to the contaminants. While the contaminants make it dangerous to eat the fish raw, a pan and a fire will make them more than edible. I roam the banks of the river, gathering plants for dinner, while Tomas attaches a hook from his tool kit to a braided strip of sheet. He goes fishing using the last bits of our opossum as bait. By the time I return with a pot filled with wild onions, pickerelweed, and cattail roots, Tomas has caught and cleaned three medium-sized fish—two catfish and one that looks similar to the wide-mouth bass we catch near home. We boil the cattail roots and pickerelweed, fry the wild onion and fish, and have a feast.

With the sun still an hour or two from setting, I decide to wash. Our tests have determined the water contaminant is mild and won’t affect skin on contact so I strip down to my undergarments and wade into the cool water. The current is surprisingly strong. I don’t venture far from the bank as I scrub the mud, dust, and sweat from my body and the clothes I’ve been wearing for the past few days. When I climb out, I give myself a few minutes to air-dry before pulling on my second set of clothing and hanging the wet ones over a branch to dry.

I’m about to call to Tomas that I’m finished with my bath when I see him still and quiet, positioned behind a clump of bushes on the hill that leads to the road. His muscles are taut. His hand clutches the hilt of his knife. He has spotted something.

Gripping my handgun, I am careful to step softly—avoiding the rocks and branches, keeping to the grassy patches that will deaden my tread. Tomas jumps as I touch his shoulder, but then he points far down the road in the direction we have already traveled.

People. Three of them. At this distance, it is hard to tell whether they are male or female. But their feet drag on the ground, telling us they are tired, hungry, and possibly dehydrated. Even with the slow pace the three will be here before the sun sets.

“Do you want to pack up and move farther away from the road or should we stay put and see if they notice us?” Tomas asks.

“What do you think?”

Tomas frowns. “They look pretty tired to me. If I didn’t know about our crossbow friend, I’d say flag them down and see if we can help. They won’t expect us to travel with them since they’re on foot and we’re on bicycles. Still . . .”

I can finish his thoughts. There are candidates out there willing to shoot. To kill. To get a passing grade on this test no matter the cost. But we are not like them. As if to prove it, I say, “Why don’t you catch a few more fish in case they make it this far before nightfall. They’re going to be hungry.”

Tomas’s eyes narrow as he studies the trio. After a moment, he agrees.

There are five fish roasting over coals when the three candidates step off the bridge onto our side of the river. All three look vaguely familiar. One gangly, freckled red-haired boy. Two girls. One is tall with olive skin and short dark hair. The other has long ash-blond hair and is several inches shorter. All three look as though they are ready to drop from exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, stepping out from my hiding place.

Tomas is still behind the bushes with the knife poised in his hand. We agreed that the trio might be more inclined toward aggression if they saw both of us. I hope a single, smallish girl will inspire them to think before they react. The three don’t look surprised at my appearance. I suppose the smell of food cooking alerted them to the presence of another human being. But their eyes gleam with terror as they notice the gun in my hand. I feel bad, but I don’t lower it. I’m not that naïve. “You look like you’re hungry and tired. I have fish cooking and some water down by the river if you’d like to make camp here tonight.”

The tall redheaded boy speaks first. “Why would you want to help us?”

I give them the only answer I have. “It’s what I was raised to do.”

Whether they believe the honesty of my words or they are just so hungry they can’t resist the smell of the cooking fish, the trio follows me off the road. I warn them I’m not traveling alone, and while the shorter of the girls looks terrified at the sight of Tomas and his knife, the others don’t appear concerned. Especially not when they spot the food and water waiting for them. They keep their bags close at hand as they sit on the ground. The tall girl starts to cry when I say, “Help yourself to the food.”

In between mouthfuls of fish, the tall girl tells us her name is Tracelyn. The other two are Stacia and Vic. All three are from Tulsa Colony. They were sitting together in the lecture hall when Dr. Barnes showed the map of the fourth test and, like us, they set up a meeting point. For them it was the fence line directly south of the starting location. It took them two days to find one another and they’ve been traveling near the road ever since, only leaving it to look for food and water. Food has been scarce, and they haven’t wanted to venture far from the road to find more familiar plant life. The road has been their greatest source of safety since they can see people coming and hide if necessary.

“We were hiding in an abandoned building when you rode past,” Vic admits, taking another helping of fish. “I thought you were miles and miles ahead, so it never occurred to me to look for bicycle tracks on the side of the road. I should have been more careful, but the smell of food distracted me. You guys seem to be playing things straight, but not everyone is.”

“We know.” Tomas meets Vic’s eyes. The two seem to size each other up.

Vic looks at the knife in the scabbard on Tomas’s belt, at the gun resting in my lap, and nods. “Someone took a couple potshots at me while I was getting out of the city,” he says.

“With a gun or a crossbow?” I ask.

Tracelyn’s eyes widen. “Someone’s shooting at people with a crossbow? I just don’t understand how anyone can do that kind of thing. I mean, the Testing committee said they’re going to evaluate us on the choices we make. They can’t possibly give someone a passing grade for shooting the competition. What kind of leader would that person be?”

“A strong one.” This from Stacia, who until now has sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes firmly fixed on her food. “The Fourth Stage of War would never have happened if the president of the United States had attacked the Asian Alliance. Instead, he tried to broker a worldwide coalition even when his own advisers said it was useless. He was a pacifist when the country needed aggression.”

Tomas shakes his head. “Striking first would have guaranteed a strike by the Asian Alliance. He knew the damage the first Three Stages of War had caused. He had to try and head off what he was certain would be the destruction of the world.”

“Fat lot of good it did.” Stacia laughs. “Isn’t that the point the Testing committee was making when they dropped us in one of the destroyed cities? They’re looking for candidates with a killer instinct.”

“I don’t believe that,” I say. “My father passed The Testing, and he’s a pacifist. He believes in creating, not destroying.”

Stacia shrugs. “Well, maybe he lied in his evaluation and told the committee he took a few of the candidates out while making his way back to civilization. I mean, how are they going to know he lied? It’s not like they can see what we’re doing out here.”

Or can they? I remember the camera in the skimmer. The ones in the log cabin we lunched in. The cameras in our sleeping quarters back at the Testing Center. The most direct route to Tosu City from Chicago stretches seven hundred miles. Tomas figures there is a twenty- or thirty-mile stretch of land in between the fence lines. There is no way the Testers have planted enough cameras in the landscape to cover every inch of ground. But what if they don’t need to? What if there is another way to keep track of our actions?

The conversation shifts from The Testing to talk of home. Tomas, Vic, and Tracelyn share information about our two colonies. Tulsa Colony has more than seventy thousand people living in the southern half of what used to be Tulsa, Oklahoma, and the countryside that stretches beyond the city limits. There is an oil refinery still active in Tulsa that Vic’s father works at. Tracelyn’s parents both work at the power plant—the largest operational plant in any of the colonies. Stacia doesn’t seem interested in sharing information about her family. She just lies back on the ground and stares at the sky as the stars begin to shine through the haze. I wonder what she is thinking as the boys compare weapons. Both girls have knives. Vic has a handgun like mine. I’m glad they’ve been honest about their protection, but I have to wonder if I will sleep knowing candidates I don’t fully trust are armed.

We leave the fire burning as we assign pairs to keep watch as the others sleep—Vic and Tomas, me and Tracelyn. Stacia doesn’t even question not being assigned watch duty as she curls up in a ball and falls asleep. I give my gun to Tomas, since he has first watch, and close my eyes while wondering if these people are worthy of the little trust we have given them. If not, I doubt I will live to see the morning.

But I do.

Tracelyn and I are awakened after several blissful hours of sleep and together watch the sun rise on a new day. In the peacefulness, I learn that if she makes it to the University, Tracelyn wants to be a teacher. She is also in love with a boy back home and was planning on marrying him. He wasn’t chosen for The Testing, which means they will most likely never see each other again.

“You’re lucky both you and your boyfriend were chosen,” she says with quiet sincerity.

“Tomas isn’t my boyfriend.” I feel the blush on my cheeks.

“You could have fooled me.” She gives me a wide smile. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“He’s just watching out for me. You know, since we’re from the same colony,” I say, but I can’t help the thrill I feel at her words. Deep down I hope she’s right, because with every day that passes I am more certain that I am falling in love with him.

She changes the subject and we talk about our families, the tests we’ve taken thus far, and the distance we still have to travel in order to pass this test. She seems so genuinely sweet and a touch too trusting, which coming from me is saying something. I share our experience with the clean pond of water and the perfectly green glade of grass that ultimately exploded. Whether or not she believes me, I know I’ve tried to help make her aware of the dangers out here.

As the sun rises, so do our companions. Stacia sits far away from us as we eat breakfast. Tomas and I barely rate a glance as we say goodbye and head out before the others can follow. We find the thicket where we hid our bikes, carry them to the road, and begin to pedal. As the miles pass, I cannot help but think of the candidates we left behind and wonder if they will cross the finish line. There is a quiet determination about Stacia that makes me think she’ll make it, but something about her fierce smile and the logic she ascribes to the Testing committee gives me concern for her companions.

As our bicycles eat up the miles, I think again about how the Testing committee will evaluate us when we arrive back in Tosu City. From everything I have seen thus far, I cannot believe Dr. Barnes and the other officials would be content with candidate reports on what occurred during the test. Which means somehow we are being monitored. If not all the time, then off and on. Enough for them to make their decisions.

By the time we pull off the road and find an abandoned farm to make camp at, I am certain I know how the Testers are keeping track of us. But I’ll have to wait to check my theory until we have settled in for the night. If I’m right, the Testers will know if I deviate from the routine Tomas and I have set since starting our journey.

There are clouds gathering to the west that indicate a storm is coming, and neither Tomas nor I have any interest in sleeping in a downpour. A faded, gray wooden barn that tilts to the left catches our eye. Despite the leaning walls, the structure appears to be sound.

We step into the barn and startle a group of wild chickens. Four gunshots later we have three of them ready to be plucked and roasted. Their nests yield four light brown eggs, which we save for breakfast tomorrow. I try hard to act normal as we make and eat dinner, although Tomas shoots me more than one questioning look as we work. Finally, dinner is over. As I store leftovers in my bag, I use the opportunity to dig for something else. The minute my fingers close over it, my heart skips in anticipation and I pull it out into the light.

The identification bracelet I took from the girl we buried.

Every Testing candidate has one—two, actually, since a smaller band with our symbol is attached to our bags. We’ve all been instructed to wear them at all times. Since the clasps are hard to detect, I am certain most Testing candidates have heeded this rule. The bracelets are our identification. Could they also be an invisible leash designed to tell the Testers where we are and what we are doing?

The bracelet is a quarter of an inch thick and made of a silver metal. The disk affixed to the top contains an etching of the Testing candidate’s design and the back . . .

There. In the middle of the area directly behind the etched Testing symbol are three small holes. Pinpricks, really. So small, I would never have noticed them if I hadn’t been looking for something specific. But they tell me what I need to know.

Someone is listening.

Chapter 14

A SURGE OF satisfaction streaks through me, the kind I always feel when I ace a test. This time the pleasure is gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the slick, acrid taste of dread.

Have the Testers been recording every word we have spoken? Did they listen in on my conversations before I reached Tosu City or would they have not thought to bother since almost every move I made was recorded by their tiny cameras? I cannot help but pray for the latter to be true. Otherwise, they know. They know about my father. His nightmares. The warnings he gave me. He told me to trust no one, but I didn’t listen. I decided I knew best. I trusted Tomas. I told him everything, and in doing so, I might have jeopardized my father’s life. Because any government that is willing to stand by and watch as candidates commit suicide or ingest poisonous plants because they gave a wrong answer won’t shrink from eliminating a man they might see as a threat. And Magistrate Owens. Dr. Flint. Our old teacher. Everyone who worked hard to keep Five Lakes Colony graduates safe from The Testing is at risk. Because of me.

“Cia, are you okay?”

I whip around and see Tomas staring at me. I must look pretty awful to warrant the concern in his eyes. Forcing a wide smile, I say, “Yeah, I’m just worried about Tracelyn and the others. I hope they find shelter tonight. It looks like a big storm is coming.” Then I put my finger to my lips, point to the bracelet in my hand, and show him the almost imperceptible holes on the inside. With unsteady fingers, I probe for the clasp on my bracelet, work the fastening free, and set it on top of my bag. I then take Tomas’s hand and remove his before heading out the door into the swirling wind.

“They’ve been spying on us,” Tomas says. “I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise after the exploding pond. Listening to private conversations is minor compared to that.”

“But how long do you think they’ve been listening? Just this test or since the beginning?”

I watch him consider the question and see the moment he remembers our conversation under the tree—away from the cameras. “Maybe they weren’t listening then. I mean, at that point, there were one hundred and eight of us. Most likely they were just using the cameras so they could observe us all at once. Listening to over a hundred different microphones would take a lot of time and people.”

I can only hope he is right. I don’t know if I can live with the alternative.

“Cia, I know this is hard, but you can’t worry about what might be happening to everyone back home.” His hand brushes over my cheek. I catch it and hold it like a lifeline. “The only way for us to help anyone at home is to survive this test.”

My throat tightens as desperation takes hold. “If we pass, they’ll remove all our Testing memories. We won’t remember there’s anything we need to help with.”

“Not if we figure out how they do it.” He gives my hand a squeeze and brushes the stray tears that have slipped down my cheek. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I have a few ideas. Now that we know about the bugs, we can make sure they won’t always know what we’re planning. You’ve given us an advantage. We just have to be smart enough to use it.”

The doubts I have threaten to consume me. Are we smart enough? Can we out-think a system that has been in place for decades? That has controlled the lives of hundreds of the brightest minds since the world began to rebuild? That is currently controlling us?

Straightening my shoulders, I say, “Well, then we’ll just have to be smart enough. Right?”

“Right.” Tomas smiles. “With the two of us working together, how can we go wrong? And you know what? I’m glad you figured out someone was listening in for another reason.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the first time I tell you that I’m in love with you, I’d rather not share the moment with Dr. Barnes and his friends.”

The words and the way his lips touch mine make my heart shimmer. I know this is the wrong time to be thinking about love. The stress of the test—knowing our lives are in danger—means I can’t trust my emotions. But the warmth in my veins and the strength I feel just being near Tomas are real. So when his lips leave mine, I’m able to say, “I think I love you, too.”

“You think?” He laughs and hugs me tight against his chest. “Well, I guess it’s good I have a couple hundred miles of road left to convince you.” He drops a kiss on the top of my head and sighs. “We should probably go back and entertain our listening audience before they start wondering if we’ve passed out from eating too much chicken.” He takes my hand, and we start back toward the barn. “You do realize I’m going to have to declare my love again for our audience. Otherwise, they might start wondering why I’m telling you how beautiful you are.”

I can’t help smiling as we walk back into the building and snap the bracelets back onto our wrists. But now that I know people are listening, I can’t seem to come up with anything to say. Thankfully, Tomas doesn’t have the same problem. “I thought I heard a noise outside, but I guess I was wrong. No one was there. Guess with the storm coming, the wind kicked up some debris.”

For a second, I’m confused. Then I realize he’s explaining the silence to whoever was listening. “Good,” I say. “We could both use the rest after last night. I’m not sorry we invited the others to camp with us, but it was hard to sleep with them there.”

“I know.” Tomas lowers himself to the ground and pats the spot next to him, which I take. “I didn’t get much sleep either.”

“Then how do you explain your snoring?” I tease even though Tomas doesn’t snore. Our audience will no doubt find it amusing. We talk about the other three candidates for a while, and then speculate on how our friends might be doing—whether they’ve teamed up with others or are traveling alone. The wind howls in earnest and raindrops begin to pound against the roof.

Once the barn is completely draped in shadows, we get ready for sleep. Settling into the back-corner spot we thought was best protected from the weather, we listen as rain pours from the sky. Water drips from holes in the roof, but the area we have chosen stays blissfully dry.

Tomas puts his arm around me and says, “You know, I really did lie awake for most of last night. I don’t know if this is the right time to say this, but Tracelyn is right. I am in love with you.”

Hearing it for the second time, even if he’s saying it for Dr. Barnes, still makes my breath catch. Like last time, Tomas kisses me, but this kiss is longer, deeper, and stirs my blood. When he pulls away, it takes me longer to recover. Smiling in the dark, I snuggle up against him and whisper, “I think I love you, too.”

His answering chuckle chases me into sleep.

Something’s wrong.

Tomas’s arm is still wrapped around me. His breathing is even and steady. A pale gray light streams through the barn. The rain has stopped.

I put my head back down and close my eyes, trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep. And that’s when I hear it.

Panting. Something is here.

My eyes fly open, and I raise my head and look around the dim interior of the barn. Nothing. At least, not that I can see. The panting sound is nearby. I close my eyes to pinpoint the sound. It’s coming from behind me.

Heart pounding, I slide out from under Tomas’s arm, slowly sit up, and turn my head to look at the wall behind us. There’s nothing there. But I can still hear the rapid inhale and exhale of air. There’s a long crack in the corner of the wall where sunlight is streaming in. Being careful not to disturb Tomas, I quietly get to my feet, peer through it, and bite back a scream.

The animal is massive. Standing on its haunches it is as tall as I am, with black and gray fur covering most of its body. In places here and there, leathery pink skin peeks through. What captures my attention most, though, are the hooked claws and the teeth. Several rows of them. Yellow and sharp in a wide, protruding mouth.

Is it a kind of bear or a wolf? If it’s either, this version is unlike any of the species I’ve ever seen. My father has shown me pictures that he took on the outskirts of one of the colonies he worked in. Pictures of animals twisted by the same chemicals and radiation that laid waste to the earth. Some of the animals developed extra limbs or lost their tails. Others lost their fur or gained skin almost impenetrable to weapons. Regardless of the change, every mutated animal became vicious. The smallest rodents with their hairless bodies and oversized ears would attack a human no matter their size. This animal—whatever it might be—outside the barn isn’t small. It’s huge. If it attacks, we will be in serious trouble.

And it is not alone. The large black head swings to the right, and I can see another grayer but equally scary animal standing behind it. It sniffs the air. Has it caught our scent? I think so. Which means we need to get out of here now.

I’m grateful we kept our things packed because we have to move fast. Kneeling, careful not to make a sound, I gently shake Tomas awake. His gray eyes open. His mouth smiles as he sees me, but the warmth and happiness leave his face as he notices the fear on mine. His eyes narrow as I lean close to his ear and whisper, “There are mutated animals outside. We have to get moving.”

He nods and is on his feet, bag in hand, in seconds. Together we cross to the other side of the barn. Every scuff of our shoes or rustle of dry grass under our feet makes my heart jump. Once we are at the door, Tomas whispers, “We’ll run with our bicycles until we get to the road. Then we’ll ride. Okay?”

The barn is about 150 yards from the road. There are rocks, trees, and underbrush between us and the pavement. Not to mention the way back to the road slants uphill. I have no idea how the hook-clawed wolves move or how fast they can run. Perhaps they won’t notice us. Or even if they do, maybe we will be far enough away for them not to give chase. If they do . . . well, I hope they lumber like bears. That might give us a chance. If they are swifter . . .

I clutch my gun, take a deep breath, and say, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

My feet pound the hard-packed earth, my hands hold tight to the handlebars as I keep my eyes focused on the road. The bicycle wheels bang and jump as they roll over the harsh terrain, but I don’t look back to see if we have been noticed. That will only slow me down. If the animals and their vicious-looking teeth are in pursuit, I cannot afford the delay.

But Tomas does look back. I can tell by the way he sucks in air. The way he wills himself to go even faster as he yells, “Run, Cia. Run.”

I do. I run as fast as I am able. My calf and thigh muscles burn as I propel myself and the bicycle up the hill that leads to the road. To our hope for escape that lies at least another fifty yards in the distance.

With his longer legs and superior strength, Tomas pulls ahead of me. He yells for me to keep running, and I am, but I can only go so fast. And then I hear it. Panting. Branches cracking. Yips and whines. They’re close. Too close. And getting closer.

Fear, swift and fierce, helps move my legs faster. I climb the incline. Twice I almost lose hold on my bicycle as my feet catch in the underbrush, but I manage to keep climbing. Somewhere behind me the yips become growls. The sounds are closer. They are catching up, and I still have at least ten yards until I reach the road. A bicycle pedal catches on a bush, and I tumble to the ground. I look up and see Tomas at the top of the hill. He’s already seated on his bicycle, poised to take flight.

“Come on, Cia. Hurry.”

He doesn’t say it, but I know the animals are moments behind me. There is nothing he can do to help me unless I make it to the top. So I scramble to my feet, pick the bicycle off the ground to keep it from catching on branches and grass, and force myself up the last incline. My feet hit smooth pavement and I want to cry with relief, but I can’t. Out of the corner of my eye, I see them. A pack of them. Six or more. They are fast. Large, bulky shapes of gray and black matted fur. Ten or fifteen feet behind me. Jaws open. Ready to attack.

One leaps out in front of the others. Its wide, yellow eyes are focused on me as it closes the gap between us. I aim and fire. The thing growls in anger as the bullet hits it square in the chest. But it doesn’t stop. The bullet doesn’t even slow it down.

“We can’t take them out. Get on! We gotta go.”

Tomas’s voice snaps me into action. I throw my leg over the bicycle frame. My feet hit the pedals and push. The sound of claws on pavement and the snarls of our pursuers get my legs pumping faster. The rickety metal beneath me protests as it picks up speed. I pray my handiwork won’t give out on me now. Tomas is right. These creatures, whatever they are, are too strong for us to kill with a handgun or a knife. If we cannot outrace them . . .

Tomas yells encouragement back to me as the road slants downward. My wheels pick up speed. There are howls behind me, but they sound like they are dropping back. I keep pedaling. Willing the animals to give up the chase. To find a different, less speedy prey for their morning meal.

And they do.

The yips and growls grow fainter. When I no longer hear the sounds of the animals in pursuit, I brave a look behind and see in the distance that the pack is leaving the road. Heading north. Away from us.

Still we keep riding in case the creatures think to circle around and come at us from the other side. That kind of thinking takes higher reasoning and calculated determination. More than most animals are capable of, but there are stories told around campfires to scare children. Stories as well about humans who survived the radiation and the chemicals but were horribly changed. Never did I believe those stories were true, but I would never have believed the United Commonwealth capable of killing Testing candidates to aid in their selection process. So while the animals we are escaping showed no signs of human characteristics, we ride another fifteen miles before we stop and catch our breath.

I lay my bicycle on the ground and walk into Tomas’s waiting arms. Pressing my head against his chest, I hear his heart hammering hard and know mine is pounding equally fast. We are alive. Since being shot at hours after the test began, I have been focused on the dangers my competition might bring or the ones the Testing officials have put in place. I had almost forgotten to worry about the animals roaming the damaged plains. Although, now that I think about it, I have to wonder if they are out here by accident or design. The Testers erected fences. If they are high enough to keep us in, wouldn’t it stand to reason they would keep animals not welcomed by the Testers out?

Pulling away from the comfort of Tomas’s arms, I dig out a water bottle and swallow the bitter taste of fear and fatigue. I hand Tomas the bottle and unwrap the food we intended to prepare for our morning’s breakfast. Miraculously, the eggs, wrapped carefully in my clothing, have survived unbroken. Tomas suggests we make a fire and cook them since we need to rest for a while anyway. Our race to safety has left us both exhausted.

At least, that’s what I think when we first gather twigs and sticks for the fire. As Tomas kneels down to light a match, I notice the blood seeping through the back of his pants. The sight stops me cold, and I realize how bloodless his face has gotten now that the color of exertion has disappeared. The match trembles in his hand as he lights the twigs and coaxes them into a crackling fire.

I pull my medical kit out and order Tomas to lie on the ground.

He flashes me a pained grin. “Tell a girl you love her and she automatically gets bossy. Well, I guess I can’t complain since you’re asking me to take off my pants.”

I laugh, but a tear in the cauterized wound puts an end to my amusement. And once I wash away the blood, I can see a slight redness that speaks of infection. The infection isn’t bad—yet. But it could be if we aren’t careful. Seeing the possible contagion makes me decide to change treatment options. Not that this one will be any easier.

I make Tomas take several pain tablets and drink a lot of water before I sterilize a needle, thread it, and begin work. Tomas flinches as the needle slides into his flesh. Or maybe it was me who flinched. My heart thuds, my stomach clenches, and I grit my teeth as I push the needle back through tissue, pull the thread taut, and do it again. The tear is less than a half inch long, but each stitch is so small that it takes a dozen of them to complete the job. Tomas doesn’t make a sound, but every wince on his face makes my heart ache. Dr. Flint told me once that it’s hard for doctors to work on people they love, and that he hoped he’d never have to perform surgery on Dad or any of us kids for fear that love would get in the way of his training. Working the needle in and out of Tomas’s flesh, I understand Dr. Flint’s words. My fingers are slick with red when I make the last stitch and tie and cut the knot.

I am shaking and queasy as I slather the anti-infection ointment on the wound and place another bandage over it. Tomas is in worse shape. Traveling now isn’t an option. I wash the blood from my hands and tell Tomas to sleep while I get food ready. His eyes are closed before I can dig out the pan.

I decide to postpone cooking for a while. After all that blood, the idea of handling or eating food doesn’t appeal. Gun in hand, I do a search of the area for something to cook with the eggs and score some wild onion. I also find a patch of ripe wild raspberries.

I let Tomas sleep for more than two hours—as long as I dare. When his eyes open, I’m thrilled to see they are bright and clear and filled with annoyance at being left to sleep the day away. Although, when we finish eating, it’s obvious that no matter how much he might want to travel, riding isn’t a good idea. Tomas is weakened from the blood loss, and the injury is too tender. So we walk, wheeling our bicycles beside us for hours and taking short breaks for Tomas to rest. We find a river, but the water is poisonous and cannot be purified. At least, not with the chemicals in my bag. Our progress isn’t fast, but it is constant. And by the end of the day, we can see buildings in the distance.

An abandoned city. And the road we are traveling runs right through it.

Chapter 15

THE SIGHT OF the buildings makes me shiver. The streets in between the buildings could house anything—wild animals, other candidates, or worse. From here the city looks to go on for miles. Even without the threat of danger lurking around every corner, I do not relish entering its depths. Tomas and I have been foraging for plants and treating water from the ponds and brooks we have encountered along the way. I doubt we will be able to do the same in a world comprising decaying stone and steel.

With the threat of the city looming in the distance, I set out dinner and say, “The city would be the perfect location for the officials to add some additional tests. Most candidates will probably pass through the city instead of going around because it looks like the faster route.” I think of my father and his nightmare. Whatever happened to his friends took place in a city like the one sprawled out before us.

Tomas meets my eyes and nods. He understands what I am thinking and what I am careful not to say with the Testers listening in. “Or they could place traps on the roads leading around the city to make sure candidates have to travel through it. They’re going to want to see how we react when we come across other people. Look.” He points to the south, and I squint into the setting sun. “The southern fence line bumps right up against the city. I can’t see the northern boundary, but I’m betting it’s closer than we think.”

Weapons tight in our hands, we let sleep claim us and are up and ready to travel with the dawn. A survey of our supplies has us looking for water as the city looms closer. We find a small, murky pond coated with a black oily substance about a hundred yards from the road. Three of the purification chemicals are needed to treat the water, and even still I am concerned about its safety. Storing the water, I hope we find another source before we are forced to drink it. If not—well, we’ll have to take our chances. While I don’t relish being poisoned, I like the idea of dehydration even less.

Tomas insists he is okay to ride and grits his teeth as he takes his seat. His obvious pain makes me reevaluate my plan to go around the city. If Tomas’s injury does not improve, we will need a better mode of transportation. A city with all of its abandoned stores and buildings could be the best place to find a vehicle.

The road we are traveling forks. The section that swings to the right and travels on the outskirts of the city is in serious disrepair. I doubt our bicycles would last more than a few minutes navigating the broken pavement. The fork that leads into the center of the city is perfectly smooth. The obvious sign of direction from our Testers makes my muscles clench. But there really isn’t much of a choice. We will follow the road and get to the other side as fast as we can.

The road narrows, and we begin to pass the occasional building. Most of them are only two or three stories tall. None are in good repair. In fact, considering the number of holes in the roofs and walls, I’m amazed the structures are standing at all. We make a point to stay in the middle of the road in case the Testers have rigged the dilapidated buildings to collapse as we pass.

As the buildings grow taller and are spaced closer together, we see ones that have collapsed. In each instance, the building wreckage blocks a road leading off from the one on which we’re traveling. At first I think I am imagining it, but when we pass the fifth different building collapsed over a fork in the road, I know I’m right. The Testing officials are herding us in a straight line. Toward whatever they have planned.

I yell to Tomas and stop in the middle of the road. He puts his feet down and turns to me. “What’s wrong?”

I explain about the collapsed buildings and my worry about what might lie ahead.

“Do you want to go back and travel around the city?”

By his annoyed expression, I know Tomas does not. And to be honest, I’m not sure if I do. Going around might be equally dangerous. And we’ve already spent the morning coming this far. If we go back to where we started, we’ll have wasted the entire day.

“No. Not really. I just want us to be careful.”

He gives me a quick kiss and grins. “I promise not to throw rocks at any ponds unless I clear it with you. Okay?”

His smile makes my heart turn over, and despite my lingering worries, I find myself smiling back. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

We set off at a slower pace, watching the buildings and pavement in front of us for signs of danger. Anything could be hidden ten or twelve stories up—cameras, traps. Anything. After pedaling almost four more miles we come to an intersection of roads. This time there are no piles of stone and metal to block our way. Instead, there are three unblocked paths. One that stretches in front of us and two that jut off to either side.

“What do you think?” Tomas places his feet on the pavement.

“I think now is a good time to start chucking rocks.”

Tomas laughs but then climbs off his bicycle, grabs a large rock, and lobs it down the center path. It hits the ground and skips another ten feet across the pavement. He does the same for the other two. The rocks hit the ground and skid to a halt without incident.

“Now what?”

I don’t know. We look down each path, trying to envision what it might hold. The path ahead and the one to the left are surrounded by buildings all similar in structure to the ones we’ve passed on our way to this point. Far to our right is a building that catches our attention. The gray structure is long. The center of the building stands several stories taller than the rest and is capped by a large dome. If for no better reason than we are curious to get a better look, we set off to the right.

And come to a dead end.

The domed building that once must have been magnificent is now crumbling. It and two collapsed buildings on either side block our way. Is part of the test figuring out how to get beyond these barriers or something else? While I consider the implications, Tomas picks up a rock and lobs it onto a set of broken stairs.

Nothing happens.

The two of us smile at each other, but before Tomas starts forward I say, “Try another rock. Just to be sure.”

Tomas picks up another rock and hurls it toward the rubble to our left. For a moment there is silence before a faint ticking sound fills the air. A moment later the patch of ground where the rock landed explodes. There is no going around or over. Leaving the road is the wrong answer. A decision that will be punished.

Wordlessly, we follow the road back to the fork and choose the path that leads straight ahead. Another dead end. We don’t bother to test this one for traps. We know they are there.

The left path takes us past several buildings that once might have been shops. A faded but partially legible sign boasts hardware. Part of me itches to stop and explore whatever inventory might still be usable, but I do not. The road that once terrified me is now a source of safety. The road zigzags around the crumbling gray buildings and eventually comes to another fork. Once again we have three choices. We take the middle one, pass more decaying structures, and come to a dead end that shows signs of a recent explosion. We turn around. And I realize what this reminds me of.

A maze. We are in a maze.

When I was growing up, my father used to draw me and my brothers complicated mazes and then ask us to solve them. Kind of like a race. All of us would be given the same maze and Dad would wait until we were all ready before telling us to start. Once we touched the tip of our pencil to the paper, we were not allowed to pick it back up. If we ran into a dead end, we were out of the race. Dad was teaching us to think and plan ahead. Not to rush into any decision too quickly without considering what the outcome would be.

Perhaps somewhere in his fragmented memory, he remembered this part of the test. Or maybe he was just giving us a game to pass the cold, snowy nights. Whatever the reason, I need to use the lesson it taught and think ahead. Already it is late in the day. If we aren’t careful, we could be trapped in this maze longer than our supply of food and water will hold out.

I tell Tomas we should break for an early dinner. He’s frustrated and hot enough to agree, so we sit down in the middle of the road and pull out the chicken since it will be the first to spoil in this heat. While we eat, I ask to see Tomas’s book of maps. Together we pore over the pages. According to the book, the road we want to take out of the city is on the southwest side. That means we should choose paths in directions that should ultimately lead us to that road. The more straight- and south-traveling paths we can take the better.

Well, it isn’t much information, but it is more than we had when we sat down. We hop back on our bicycles and start pedaling. Another fork. We take the left road. More undistinguishable buildings. A dead end. Back to the fork and straight ahead. Our shirts are soaked with sweat as we continue to search for the right roads. Even with the compass as a guide, the twists and turns are confusing my sense of direction. At nightfall, we have no choice but to make camp. Without light, we risk stepping off the road and tripping a trap. We opt to camp in the center of the road near a dead end. The three booby-trapped sides will at least limit the direction from which new dangers can arrive.

We eat the remainder of the chicken and save the greens and the last bag of dried fruit for morning. We will have to think our way out of this maze before hunger takes hold. In the heat of the day, we tried to ration our water intake but now our lips are cracking from a combination of heat and dehydration. We have no choice but to open the bottles that might contain contaminants. The taste is a little off, but neither Tomas nor I detect the metallic or bitter flavors that mean certain death. The one bright spot is that Tomas’s wound seems better as I change the bandage and apply more ointment.

“That’s because I’m being treated by the best,” he says, and gives me a kiss. The hope of the healing wound and the warmth of his lips help me fall into a fast sleep.

Frustration returns with the light. Often we think we are on the right path only to find several turns later that we have to backtrack. More worrisome are the voices we begin to hear somewhere in the distance. Some voices sound as though they are just on the other side of a barrier or building. It is impossible to tell. But one thing is certain. We are not alone in this maze. There are other rats scampering after the seemingly illusive exit.

An explosion rattles the buildings next to us. A scream scrapes the air. Then another. Then silence. We pedal faster. Away from the explosion. Down one road. Dead end. Backtrack. Choose another path.

We try to make jokes when we come to the inevitable barriers that make us turn back. But hour after hour of searching and the jokes come less easily. Our laughter is more forced. Until there is nothing left to laugh at. My scalp itches from the dirt and sweat. My body aches from the constant exertion that seems to be getting us nowhere. We eat the last of the dried fruit. Tomas finds a stale roll in his bag, and we split it to curb the hunger gnawing inside us. The only good news is that we are not yet feeling the effects of the marginally tainted water. And even that news feels grim when we realize that the water will not hold out for much longer. Not a single cloud dots the sky to offer the hope of rain.

My tired leg muscles protest when we choose a path that slants uphill. I force my feet to move the pedals. The higher up the incline we go, the better our view of the city. We aren’t that high, but here and there, where buildings have collapsed from age, we can see beyond our patch of road. And when I squint into the distance, I think I can see the long, domed building that we encountered when we first entered the maze. It is far, far away.

I point it out to Tomas, who gives me the first genuine smile of the day. “Well, the end can’t be that far away, right? Let’s go find it.”

The lure of freedom rejuvenates us. When we hit the next dead end, Tomas says, “Well, that’s one less dead end until we find the exit.” And we backtrack again.

And then we hear it. The sound of boots pounding on pavement. Someone is running close by. We move faster. Turn. Pedal.

Dead end.

The running feet are coming nearer. I look to Tomas. Fear and determination are bright in his eyes as he nods. We both step off our bicycles, lay them down on the ground, and draw our weapons. The pounding of leather on stone is more distinctive. Right around the bend. I raise my gun, hold my breath, and force my hand to steady.

I see the shadow first: the outline of a person. The outline of the gun in the person’s hand. My arm muscles are taut. My finger poised over the trigger as the shadow comes closer. I know my weapon has the farthest reach. The runner could fire the minute he sees us, which means I will have to shoot first. Without knowing the person’s intentions. Without knowing whether he or she means us any harm.

I will my finger to press the trigger as the shadow looms larger and a figure bursts around the corner. And I fail. I can’t take a life. I barely register that the person is male. All I know is that if Tomas and I die, it is my fault.

Only, instead of a gunshot, I hear, “Cia! Tomas? Is it really you?” Before I can understand that we aren’t going to die, I am swept up by a dirty pair of arms into Will’s laughing embrace. His laughter is contagious, and I cling to him. My nose wrinkles at the scent of him—dirt and body odor combined with blood and whatever else he’s run into since this test began. But I don’t care. Face it: I’m not smelling like a rose these days, and holding him gives me hope that Zandri and Nicolette might also be alive.

“It’s great that you and Tomas managed to hook up with each other out here. I never thought I’d find either of you.”

His raised eyebrow asks to hear the story of how Tomas and I came to find each other. So I step back and say, “I had some trouble getting out of the drop-off city. Tomas arrived in time to rescue me from a swim in that river or worse.” There’s no point in telling Will that Tomas and I conspired to meet. It would only highlight the fact that we didn’t include our other friends in the plan. Trust is hard enough in this environment. Now that my shock has worn off, I notice a bandage on Will’s shoulder caked with dried blood. “What happened to you? Are you okay?” I ask.

Will flashes me a roguish smile. “I’m fine. Just a misunderstanding with a tree branch. No big deal.”

“Infection can be a big deal,” I say, reaching into my bag. “Why don’t you let me take a look?”

Will shakes his head. “It’s fine. Honest. Our time would be better spent getting out of this stupid maze. We have to be getting close to the end of this thing. I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to run low on food and water.”

I’m about to insist on stopping everything to treat Will’s shoulder, but Tomas speaks. “Will’s right. We need to get out of here. We can deal with the rest once we find the exit. Let’s hit the road.”

Tomas and I pick up our bicycles off the ground. We wheel them along as we walk next to Will, who is curious how we came by them. Tomas seems content to let me do the talking, so I give Will a rundown on finding the wheels and the bicycles and how we repaired them. It turns out Will found a nonmotorized scooter in a garage. One of the wheels wouldn’t turn, but he managed to loosen it up and rode it on the same road we traveled into this maze.

“I kept hitting dead ends, and I was so frustrated that I forgot to be careful. I was going down a slope a little too fast, lost control, and fell off the scooter. The next thing I knew, the scooter hit the barrier at the end of the road and blew sky high. Guess I’ll have to look for another set of wheels once we’re out of this place. Especially if I plan on keeping up with the two of you.”

As we search for the exit route, Will tells us about his travels, which sound uneventful compared to ours. The water he drank from the first source made him a little queasy, but thus far he’s been able to find supplies and food along the way. When he shows me a spool of wire he found, I’m ready to kiss him. It’s thin and flexible and perfect for setting snares. If we ever get out of here, we might have an easier time catching food. I’m so delighted with the wire that he gives it to me to carry in my bag.

As much as I want it, I shake my head. “You found the wire. You should have control of it.”

“Think of it as a thank-you gift. If you hadn’t stopped me from going for medical attention after the second round of tests, I wouldn’t even be here. None of the candidates who went came back.” Then Will leans down and whispers, “Besides, I don’t know if we’ll be traveling together after we get out of this city. Tomas looks pretty intent on keeping you to himself.”

I start to deny it, but Tomas has not had much to add to the conversation since Will arrived. And when he does, there is a wary quality to his tone that makes me wonder what he is thinking. At the moment, Tomas is walking in front of us. Close enough to hear the conversation, but far enough away to avoid participating. I have to wonder if Will isn’t correct. Not about keeping me to himself. Tomas knows this isn’t the time or place for romantic drama. Survival—passing this test—has to take precedence. But maybe the fact that Will doesn’t have a method of travel other than his own feet is making Tomas wary. Teaming up with Will means a much slower pace of travel than what we have set thus far. Although I don’t know how well Tomas can ride with his injury. He has been limping more and more as the day goes on. If we get out of this maze, I’m hoping we can find a cool stream for him to soak in to help reduce the swelling.

There’s no point in worrying about Will and Tomas now. Not with another dead end looming. We backtrack, take another path. At the next fork there are only two options. Left or right. The compass says the road leading out of the city is somewhere to our right. We head in that direction.

We follow the compass’s direction and keep walking. It is Tomas who points out the size of the buildings that we pass. They are becoming smaller, similar to the ones we rode by when entering the city. The end of this maze must be near. I desperately want to jump on my bicycle and race down the road to see if he’s right. Instead, we walk. A mile passes without a fork, without a choice to make. Two miles. Our smiles become more confident. There are fewer and fewer buildings. Finally, there is just hard, caked earth, the plants that have been able to survive in this landscape, and the road looming long in front of us.

When the city is several miles behind us, Will asks, “Do you mind if I camp with you guys tonight? I don’t want to slow you down tomorrow, but it would be nice to have company for a little while longer.”

“Of course you can camp with us tonight.” Tomas beats me to agreement. But I notice he is careful to promise only to stay with Will for the night.

While I know it might annoy Tomas, I add, “Our food stores are low. We’re going to need to search for food and water tomorrow on foot. Maybe we’ll find some wheels along the way. Then we can travel together to the end.”

“Sounds good to me.” Will smiles. “But if we don’t find wheels tomorrow, I don’t want you and Tomas hanging back on my account. The quicker you get to the end the better. You know?”

Tomas seems to relax after that. We walk until the sun is low on the horizon. The southernmost fence line that marks the boundary of the Testing area is visible from the road. Beyond it I can see the glistening of water, clean and bright. I can’t help but wonder if the sight of water is another test designed by the officials to see if we remember and follow instructions to not leave the designated Testing area.

We pick a spot behind a pile of large rocks to make camp. While Tomas and Will start a fire, I head off to look for food. The ground here is harder and more water-starved than on the other side of the city. But near the fence line there are signs of healthy plant life. On the other side of the fence I can see a lake. No doubt the reason for the health of the plants at my feet. Despite my frustration at being unable to reach the water, I’m happy to come away with several handfuls of dandelion greens, some wild onion, and a pot filled with white clover. I also put Will’s wire to good use. Two hundred yards from our camp I set several snares, trying to remember everything my brothers taught me about trapping animals. If I’m lucky, a wayward animal or two will cross my snares. I can only hope because my stomach is already hollow with hunger.

Will’s water bottle is empty. Tomas and I share our water with him during the meal. When night falls there are just a few swallows at the bottom of one of the canteens. Finding a water source will have to be our first order of business tomorrow. Otherwise we won’t need to discuss who will travel with us.

Tomas insists on setting up a watch rotation for the night. “With three of us, we can each get a decent night’s sleep and still have someone standing guard. Cia and I had a close call with some wild animals recently. I’d rather not repeat that experience if we don’t have to.”

We leave the fire burning and Tomas gives me a long kiss before climbing on top of the rocks to watch over us while we sleep. I’ll take last watch.

In almost no time at all, Will shakes me awake and quickly sinks into sleep as I take my place on the rocks. The fire has burned down low, but it still casts enough light on my friends that I can see Tomas’s shoulder muscles relax as Will begins to snore. Did Tomas stay awake during Will’s watch? He must have. I am torn between frustration at Tomas’s lack of trust and guilt that I trust so easily. Seeing Tomas’s uneasiness, I am forced to reconsider my plans to have Will travel with us.

Birds singing signal the arrival of dawn. I promised Tomas to wake them at first light, but I decide to forage for breakfast in order to give Tomas a few more precious minutes of sleep. The sight of a skinny but very edible rabbit caught in one of my snares makes me grin.

I walk along the fence line on my way back to camp, on the lookout for other food. A handful of clover and a few wild carrots end up in my bag. I would like it to be more, but these will have to do. I turn my back on the fence and start to hike back to Tomas and Will when I hear a twig snap. Whipping around, I draw my gun and take aim, expecting to find an animal. Instead, on the other side of the fence, I see a gray-haired man. And he’s smiling at me.

Chapter 16

BEFORE I CAN say a word, the man throws a small bag over the fence and disappears into the brush. I stare at the bag, trying to decide if this is another test. Do I look in the bag and risk something exploding or leave it and walk away?

The sack is small and made of a coarse brown material. Not anything like the fabrics used to make our Commonwealth Testing bags or any of the bags I saw in the Testing supply room. I think about the man who threw it. His clothes were faded but in good repair. His skin was sunbaked and weathered, but his muscles looked strong from hard use. More like my father. Less like the Testing officials I’ve come in contact with.

So who is the man? One of the rebels Michal mentioned in Magistrate Owens’s house? History tells us there were differing opinions about how to revitalize the country after the Seventh Stage of War ended. Those who survived struggled with how best to proceed: to band all the survivors together under another centralized government or to allow each group of survivors the freedom to choose their own way forward. Those who disagreed with the choice of the majority struck out on their own. Could the man I saw be one of the survivors who live outside the United Commonwealth authority? If so, why is he throwing a bag over the fence marked as United Commonwealth territory for me?

After several minutes, curiosity wins out. I pick up the bag, hoping to find some clue to the man’s identity inside. Instead, there is a loaf of bread, a small hunk of white cheese, a bag of raisins, and a bottle of water. I open the cap to the water and sniff it. The scent is clean and pure. A few drops of my chemicals confirm it.

I contemplate the items in my hands. The almost magical appearance of water when we are running so low is a blessing. So are the other supplies. But there is no way I can share them with my companions. Not without provoking questions about where the food and water came from. If it was just Tomas, I could have him remove his identification bracelet. Will doesn’t know about the listening devices implanted in the bracelets, and we haven’t known each other long enough for me to guess how he will react when he finds out about them. He might tip off the listeners and give away the only advantage we have—not to mention letting the Testers know we have received help from outside the fence. I can’t help but wonder what the penalty for that kind of assistance might be and if other Testing candidates will be subjected to that punishment if they, too, run into the gray-haired man.

Not sure what else to do, I pour some of the fresh, clean water into the canteen. Then I store the bottle and the sack of food in my bag until I can best work out how to share them with my friends. Back at our camp, I stoke the fire and skin the rabbit while thinking about the gray-haired man and the sack of food he gave to me. Who is he? From my fellow candidates I’ve learned that Five Lakes Colony is far better stocked with provisions than many other colonies. So why is the gray-haired man sharing his food and water with an unknown girl? Does he know why I am on this side of the fence? Does he know there are others out here on the corrupted plains? Does he understand this is a test that some of us will not survive? By the time I get the rabbit roasting and wake my companions, I still have no answers.

Will is giddy at the sight of the cooking meat, dancing back and forth on the balls of his feet. He reminds me of my brother Hamin on Christmas Day. It makes me wonder if it is that similarity that causes me to trust him.

No one questions the amount of water in the canteen as we eat breakfast, pack up, and walk back to the road. With everyone’s stomach full, I feel less guilty about the food hidden deep in my Testing bag. But I find myself walking behind them, watching the fence line for signs of the man who gave me the food.

After ten miles, we have yet to spot water although we do find a tree bearing small, hard apples. We fill our bags with the apples and some wild carrots I find growing nearby, and then we set off again. After another five miles I begin to suspect that any nearby water sources will not be close enough to the road for us to spot. The Testers aren’t making it that easy.

The ground around the road is packed flat, which makes me say, “I think one of us should take a bicycle and scout for water off the road. Whoever goes can cover more territory and get back before it’s time to camp for the night.”

“I’ll go,” Will volunteers.

Tomas immediately rejects the offer. “No offense, Will, but once you have one of the bicycles, who’s to say you won’t ditch us and speed your way to the finish line.”

“You’re right. I could do that.” Will smiles. His tone is affable, but I can see in his eyes something flat, dark, and angry. “I wouldn’t, but I can understand how you might not trust my word given the circumstances. Even if your girlfriend here does. I’m also guessing you won’t trust me to stay with her while you go scouting.”

“You guessed right.” Tomas’s mouth curls into an answering smile. I can’t help but notice the way his hands are clenching at his sides. “There’s no way I’m leaving Cia alone with anyone. Not even you.”

Will stops in his tracks. His eyes are cold. His hands ball into fists. “So, where does that leave us, Tomas?”

Before Tomas can respond, I say, “It leaves the two of you idiots here sweating out our last drops of water while I go in search of more.” If the words come out harsher than I intended, I’m not sorry. Will and Tomas look ready to fight, and while I’m grateful that Tomas wants to keep me safe, this whole macho thing is out of place considering our circumstances. Even with the hidden bottle of water, our chances of survival decrease every mile that we don’t find another water source.

Taking out the near-empty canteen, I throw it at Tomas and say, “I’m going to bike about ten miles ahead, set a couple of snares, and then go off the road to look for water. I’ll leave a marker by the side of the road near the snares in case you get there first. Try to act like the adults you’re supposed to be while I’m busy keeping us all alive. If you can’t handle that, you both deserve to fail this test and we all know what punishment that brings.”

I throw my leg over the bicycle and start pedaling. Tomas shouts for me to wait, but I don’t turn back. The two of them will have to work out their differences on their own. The fact that they both have weapons concerns me for a brief moment, but I shove the worry aside and keep pedaling. My anger fades as my wheels propel me farther from my friends. This test is designed to help us learn about the land we need to restore to health, but it also gives us and the Testing officials a strong look into our character. Yes, the boys were out of line, but I overreacted. While I’m not proud of it, I have just learned not only that I have a temper, but that I would happily run headfirst into whatever danger I might find alone just to prove a point. Perhaps I have a bit of growing up to do, too.

When the Transit Communicator says I’ve traveled ten miles, I tie a piece of sheet to a bush near the side of the road, walk fifty feet beyond it, and set several snares. With that task done, I start pedaling over dirt, grass, and rocks to the northwest in search of water.

The sun is hot as I canvass the landscape. The air is thick with moisture. If we’re lucky, it will rain. I’m grateful for the secret bottle of water as I zigzag across the cracked earth, and I’m still annoyed enough with both boys that I eat the hunk of cheese and part of the bread for lunch without any guilt.

I get off the bicycle and walk while studying the ground for signs of animal tracks. While my fellow Testing candidates and I are only passing through, the animals live year-round in this barren stretch of land. They must have a source of water in order to survive. I find what looks like raccoon tracks and follow them west. After about three miles I am ready to give up when I see a small dip in the terrain nearly two hundred yards to the north. The grass around the dip looks marginally healthier than the brown, crackly stuff I’ve been traveling over, making my hopes rise as I ride to check it out. And I’m glad I did. The dip I saw is the bank of a shallow stream. A couple of tests, the additions of the right chemicals, and I’m able to fill my water containers. I’m tired but triumphant as I return to my bicycle, consult my compass, and begin the trek back to the road.

I am so pleased with my efforts that I don’t register the sound of something moving behind me. When I do, I barely have time to pull my gun free of my bag’s side pocket before my bicycle is hit from the side, sending me careening to the ground.

Scrambling out from under the bicycle, I see an animal leap and I roll to the right. Whatever the thing is, it hits the ground with a snarl. Before I can blink, it is up and launching another attack. This time I don’t move fast enough. I scream as the creature’s claws slash deep into my left arm. Whatever this thing is, I know I cannot outrun it. Even if I could get back on my bicycle, it’s doubtful I’d be able to outdistance something with such speed. The animal snarls as I roll out of its grasp, push to my feet, and race to put distance between us. I turn and extend the gun in front of me as it barrels toward me. As I aim, I finally get a look at it. Long legs matted in a tangle of brownish hair. Long arms that are extended toward me with three-inch claws I already know are razor sharp. A hunched back. Curled lips revealing blackish teeth. More brownish hair on the torso and back. And the eyes . . .

My finger pulls hard on the trigger, and I barely keep my footing as the gun jolts. The eyes of my attacker go wide. There is anger and fear as the wound in its chest blossoms with bright red blood. My enemy sinks to the ground and with its last breath lets out a cry that sounds like a call for help. Which it might be. Because now that I have looked into the dark blue eyes of my attacker I know this isn’t an animal. The eyes are too intelligent. Too much like the ones I see looking back at me in a reflector. The body was twisted and deformed, but there is no doubt. I just killed a human being.

There is no time to deal with the swell of emotions I feel as an answering call sounds from somewhere to my right. Near the water I collected. Which only makes sense. If I had to pick a spot to make my home in this wasteland, that would be a logical place. My arm is on fire. Blood streams down it, but I don’t have time to tend to the injury. Not with the guttural sounds of other mutated humans coming closer.

Racing to where my bicycle fell, I yank it upright and straddle the seat as three more clawed humans appear over the rise. My feet push hard to gain momentum, and I can tell the minute the one I killed is spotted. There is a cry so filled with pain and loss that it makes me blink back tears. Then the cry is replaced by a snarl, and I know they see me and have begun their chase.

They are much faster than I am. Whatever chemical reaction warped their bodies and twisted their fingers into claws has also given them incredible speed. They run with their bodies bent at the waist. Their arms hang low to the ground. Their all too intelligent eyes are fixated on me. The sight of my three attackers closing the space between us is terrifying. Sweat pours down my body, stinging the wound on my arm, as I force my legs to pump up the incline. Years of playing games with my older and faster brothers has taught me that the top of the hill will give me the best vantage point from which to defend myself.

The closer they come, the louder their snarls. And something else. Something more human—words. None that I understand, but the sounds are too clear and purposeful for them to be anything else. The three are communicating with language and using it to plot their attack even as I am plotting mine.

The heat, the loss of blood, the exertion to make it up the steep hill all make me dizzy. The world swims in and out of focus as my heart pounds loud and hard in my chest. I know that if I slow up for even a moment I will die. That alone keeps me pushing the pedals around and around. I rise up off the seat for the last stretch of hill, using my whole body to propel the bicycle up, up, up. The minute I hit the top, I jump off, let the bicycle clatter to the ground, and spin to take aim.

For a moment my finger stills over the trigger as I watch the three travel up the hill toward me. My throat tightens as I hear them shout guttural words back and forth. I straighten my shoulders and set my aim on the one on the left. The trio is getting closer. Only twenty yards away. But still I don’t shoot. I don’t want to kill them. They are human. Maybe not the same version of human that I am, but we come from the same ancestry. Everything I’ve been taught makes me want to find a way to communicate with them. To help them.

Instead, I pull the trigger.

The one on the left clutches its leg and hits the ground with a yelp. The middle one turns back to look at its fallen comrade, and I fire again. This time I hit the torso and the second attacker goes down in a heap. The last lets out an anguished cry and lunges up the hill with its teeth bared. I spot the wetness of tears streaming down its face as my bullet enters its skull.

The last is dead. The other two have been injured enough to keep them on the ground, but for how long I do not know. Part of me wants to bury the dead one, like I did the Testing candidate we found, but there isn’t time for that. I need to get away before the other two rise or more take their place. Stumbling, I remount the bicycle and pedal away, barely noticing the tears that threaten to blind me.

Traveling downhill is easier, but I am aware of the blood streaming from my wound. I do not look at it, for fear of what I will see. I just keep pedaling and coasting until I spot the road. When I reach it, I can barely stand, let alone pedal. Sitting on the hard, hot surface, I finally fish out the medical kit and strip off my top to assess the damage. The five parallel cuts on my upper arm are jagged but shallow and at least seven inches long. It’s bad, but not as bad as I feared. While the injury hurts, I can still move my arm. None of the muscles or tendons has been cut, and my stomach churns with relief.

Some animal scratches can fester if not treated properly. While my attacker was human, I’m careful to clean every inch of the wound and apply lots of anti-infection ointment. The ointment hitting the wound sends blazing pain up and down my arm. My eyes water. My nose runs. I can’t wipe either because my one good hand is working at securing a clean bandage around the injury. Once that is done, I struggle into my other shirt. The fabric catches on my identification bracelet and I vaguely wonder if the people listening were excited to hear the gunshots. Do they think I killed another candidate? Does that raise their opinion of me as a leader? Do they understand that I am injured? Do they even care?

My entire body wants nothing more than to stay seated, but I slowly rise to my feet, store my Testing bag on the bicycle, and check my Transit Communicator. I’ve traveled more than forty-five miles today. Will and Tomas are somewhere on the road to the east. And they need the water I’ve found. Knowing their survival depends on me makes me move the pedals round and round. And if I am totally honest with myself, my reasons for backtracking are much less noble. I’m scared to be alone. Scared to face the things that might come in the dark. Scared to face my own conscience after taking human life.

But I might not have a choice. My legs are sluggish as the sunlight fades. I eat the rest of the bread and some of the raisins, sip water, and check the Transit Communicator again, trying to decide how long it will take to reach Will and Tomas. If they stopped to search for water or food, they might be miles away. Too far for me to reach before the sky turns black.

My muscles are heavy as I scan the sides of the road, looking for a place to camp. Something that is defensible, but still has a good view of the road just in case Tomas and Will keep walking after dark. After another two miles I see a clump of trees, oak or maybe elm, near the fence line about seventy yards off the road. I tie a piece of the white sheet from the cot to a branch and stick it into the ground as a marker. If Tomas and Will see it, they will know I am nearby.

The leaves on the trees are a yellowish brown, but the trunks and branches look sound. While I might sleep more comfortably on the ground, I decide to climb the sturdiest-looking of the trees and hope to find a place to camp in the branches. Of course, much depends on whether my left arm is strong enough. I stash my bicycle in some tall brown grass and decide to try. As I jump to catch a low-hanging limb, my left arm sings with pain. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but I don’t let go. Instead, I grit my teeth, pull myself up, and climb the way my brothers taught me.

The tree I’ve chosen is thick with heavy branches. I find a spot where several limbs are close together and perch with my back up against the trunk. Not the most comfortable bed I’ve ever had, but one I’m fairly certain I won’t fall out of if I manage to sleep tonight. The moon comes out. I yearn for my mother’s hands stroking my hair through the night the way she did whenever I was sick. Thinking of home, I keep my eyes fastened to the road in case Tomas and Will are still traveling, but somewhere during the course of my watch I fall fast asleep.

Hands reach for me. Slash my arm. Instead of screaming unintelligible words, the person I shoot calls me by name. Tears stream from its intelligent eyes as it begs me to take pity. But I don’t. I shoot and kill again and again.

I jolt awake, my face wet with tears. My heart slows as I realize I am not on the hill. There are no eyes filled with pain accusing me with their dying stares. I am alone.

The moon is still shining, but I can tell by the haze of gray in the sky that daylight will not be far behind. Squinting toward the road, I see my makeshift flag still standing on the sidelines. Tomas and Will are nowhere in sight.

My injured arm protests as I shift around on my branch, preparing to descend. It screams the minute my boots make contact with the ground. I swallow several more pills before once more cleaning the cuts. The wounds don’t look any worse than yesterday, which makes me feel a bit better as I apply more ointment and struggle to rewrap the bandage. A thud on the ground behind me makes my heart stop, and I leap to my feet with my gun held firm in my hand. I turn my head back and forth, looking for the source of the noise, and find it. On the ground near the fence is another coarse brown bag identical to the one given to me yesterday. This time I don’t hesitate before opening it. Water. Two apples. Another loaf of bread and cheese. And what looks like a piece of roasted chicken. No note. No sign of my benefactor. Just the food and the water and the hope they provide.

Breakfast consists of chicken and an apple. I feel better after the meal, and after shoving the rest into the bottom of my bag, I break camp. The pain pills take the edge off the agony of the wound. My arm is still sore, but the pain is manageable. Pulling my marker from the side of the road, I climb onto my bicycle and set off to the east in search of my friends.

I find them two miles down the road looking tired, but alive. I can tell the minute Tomas spots me. Even at this distance I see his face light up. My heart swells with love as I race down the road, dismount my bicycle, and throw myself into his waiting arms. His mouth finds mine, and for a minute I forget that Will is standing next to us. I abandon myself to feeling alive and in love. When I do remember, I walk over to Will, give him a kiss on the cheek, and hand him a canteen filled with water.

“See, Tomas. I told you that she was fine and that she’d find water.” He takes several swallows from the canteen and flashes a smile. “Your snares also worked like a charm. Two squirrels and some kind of mutated fox. Too bad your snares couldn’t land me some wheels, but those are the breaks, right?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I say as Tomas notices the bandage peeping out from under my shirt.

“What happened?” Gently he takes my arm and pulls the shirtsleeve up to reveal the entire length of bandage. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “Turns out I wasn’t the only one who was interested in using the water source I found.” Without going into a lot of detail, I give them a rundown on my injury and escape from the stream. Tomas asks a couple of questions, which I answer as briefly as I can. At no time do I mention the attack was perpetrated by another kind of human. And I completely eliminate the trio of humans who lay chase after I killed their friend. To do so would open myself up to questions I don’t want to answer, especially not with Testing officials listening in.

Once I’m done, I ask them about their travel. From the look Tomas and Will exchange, it is clear something went wrong. “What? Did you run into trouble, too? I was worried you wouldn’t have enough water to get you through the day.”

Tomas looks away as Will says, “The two of us shouted a lot after you left. We might have even thrown a punch or two. Then we decided to put aside our differences and get moving. About lunchtime we ran out of water. We also ran into another Testing candidate.”

“Who?” I ask, looking down the road. My heart quickens. “Anyone we know?”

Will shakes his head. “A guy from Colorado Springs Colony. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to see us, but he wasn’t all bad—right, Tomas? He did share his water.”

Tomas just shrugs.

“Where did he go?” I’m not surprised that Tomas wasn’t willing to let another Testing candidate travel with them, but now there is someone trailing behind us who knows we are here. Not having met the person or sized up his intentions, I can’t help my anxiety.

Will takes another slug of water and frowns. “I tried to get Tomas here to agree to let the kid join us, but he wasn’t inclined to trust anyone else. We left him about fifteen miles back. He was looking pretty tired. I think he planned on resting for a while. I don’t think he’ll catch up to us anytime soon.”

The strain in Will’s smile. The way Tomas won’t meet my eyes. Both speak to what my gut has already told me. Something is very wrong. My next questions are met with short, vague answers and I am left wondering what secrets Tomas’s and Will’s silences are hiding.

I hand a water bottle to Tomas and store the empty canteen Will gives me in my bag. Then we set off down the road. Will tells us he’ll understand if we want to ride, but I suggest we stick together for a while longer. After my run-in with the local inhabitants yesterday, I’m glad for the protection both Tomas and Will provide. Late in the afternoon we spot a cluster of buildings in the distance to our right. Possibly what is left of a small town.

“Well, that’s my cue,” Will says with a quick grin. “If I can find something with wheels, I’ll catch up to you guys by tomorrow night. If not—well, I’ll see you at the finish line. Okay?”

Tomas tells Will to be careful and mounts his bicycle. His smile gives no doubt as to his feelings. Tomas is happy to see Will go. Will hands me half of the roasted meat from last night and then gives me a hug goodbye. While his arms are wrapped tight around me, he whispers, “Watch your back, Cia. Your boyfriend isn’t the nice guy he’s pretending to be. I’ll try to join you soon. Until then be very careful.”

I want to ask what he means. What he saw. What he and Tomas did that has put shadows in both their eyes. But I can’t because Will is loping away from the road toward the buildings far in the distance. Whatever secrets are being kept I’ll have to figure out for myself.

Tomas isn’t in the mood to talk as we glide to the southwest. The fast pace he sets tells me he is attempting to put as much distance between us and Will as he can. Or maybe he is trying to put distance between himself and whatever happened when the two were alone. I have to work hard to keep up with Tomas and often lag behind. My arm is throbbing and my entire body cries out for rest, but I don’t stop until the sky turns from bright blue to gray.

As I unpack the roasted meat, Tomas says, “The moon’s been brighter the last couple of nights. We probably can ride a little farther if you’re up to it.”

“Why? I mean, I want to get to the end of this test as fast as we can, but you’re acting like something is chasing us.” A flash of twisted claws enters my mind. I shake it free and ask, “What happened while I was gone?”

“Nothing.” Tomas shrugs. “Look, we lost a lot of time in that city maze, and who knows what other things the Testers have arranged to slow us down. I figure we should travel fast while we can.”

The point is valid, but his light tone is contradicted by the tightness of his jaw and the hands clenching and unclenching at his side. And that’s when I see it. A smear of brown on the hilt of his knife.

Dried blood.

My insides churn as I think about the Testing candidate they ran into. The questions Tomas won’t answer. Will’s warning about Tomas not being exactly what he seems. I shake loose the rising fear, telling myself I’ve known Tomas for years. He’s kind and caring. The blood is probably from cleaning the snared animals. And even if it isn’t, there are other justifiable reasons for the stain. I should know after what I have done. I should just ask Tomas and set the worry aside.

But I don’t. I eat my meat and clover, drink some water, and remount my bicycle so we can pedal another five miles before we rest.

When we do make camp, Tomas insists on one of us keeping watch. After what I have seen roaming the plain, I don’t object. He takes first watch and stands next to a tree. In the moonlight, I can see him brushing aside tears. While my first instinct is to go to him, I know he thinks that I’m asleep—that his grief is his own. My heart aches that he won’t share his pain and the source of it with me. Although, how can I object? I have secrets too. Secrets that make me fight sleep. And when sleep pulls me under, those secrets chase me in my dreams.

Tomas shakes me awake from a dream filled with gunshots and bloody knives. He gives me a kiss and asks if I’m okay. I’m not, but I smile and tell him my dream was no big deal. More secrets. Since I’m awake, I tell him to get some rest while I keep watch. I sit next to the same tree he chose, but instead of watching the road, I set my eyes firmly on the fence line as I wait to see if anyone appears. No one does. The day dawns. We mount our bicycles and begin to pedal.

Despite Tomas getting several hours of sleep, his eyes look red and tired. He brushes my attempts at conversation aside, and when he does speak it is only to worry about our lack of food and water. I do my best to stay optimistic as a bridge comes into sight. Beyond the high-arching road lies another city. My mouth goes dry with fear. Another test?

The bridge climbs over land for several miles before stretching over a wide river. From far above the water looks cleaner than any we have seen in the Testing area. This river must have been purified by a colony north of here. Unfortunately, the bridge we take to cross the river keeps the water tantalizingly out of reach. The only way to reach the water safely is to travel back several miles to where the bridge began. Perhaps that is part of this test. To see if we will recognize that getting the water takes more effort than finding another source. Then again, a desperate candidate might not care. I’m thankful we are not that desperate.

We are rewarded at the end of the bridge with a less than sparkling but, according to my tests, drinkable pond. In the distance, perhaps two or three miles, looms the city. After the last trek through city streets, we are acutely aware of our diminished supplies. Even with my secret stash of food, we could not survive for more than a few days.

As much as Tomas wants to race away from whatever he left behind, he says, “Why don’t we camp here for the night? We can wash and maybe catch some game before we start into the city.”

I am quick to agree. Leaving Tomas to fill and treat the water bottles, I head off to the southwest to set snares and look for other fresh foods. There is a small wooded spot several hundred yards away where I set my snares and begin my search for roots and greens. I am digging up some wild carrots when I spot movement in the wooded area beyond the Testing fence. The man with gray hair appears from behind a tall bush. He approaches the fence and beckons me. Without a second thought, I dump my bag on a tree stump and remove my identification bracelet. I place it on top of the bag, and then walk the fifty yards to the fence to meet whatever fate has in store.

Chapter 17

I DON’T BOTHER to take my weapon. If this person wanted me dead, he could have killed me days ago. The man’s gray hair gives the appearance of age, but his eyes and the lack of lines on his face tell me he is years younger than I first guessed. He’s wearing a gray sleeveless shirt, which shows off strong arms, and brown loose-fitting pants. In his hand is a bag much like the ones that he has tossed over the fence to me.

Pushing my hair out of my face, I say, “Thanks for the food.”

The man smiles. “You’re more than welcome.” I wait for him to continue, but the silence stretches between us.

Jamming my hands in my pockets, I ask, “Who are you?”

“I’m a friend who wants to see you survive this journey. My name isn’t all that important.”

Maybe not to him. His unwillingness to share it with me sets me on edge. “Well, thanks again for the food.”

I turn on my heel to leave and hear, “If you wait, I’ll explain why I can’t tell you my name and why I want to help you.”

My feet stand still. I look at him and wait.

“My name will mean nothing to you, but it might mean something to those who evaluate your performance when this test is complete. And while I trust you would not willingly share my name with the Testing officials, you might not have a choice.”

“Why?”

“They told you about the interview after the fourth test?” He waits for me to nod. “Before the interview begins, they will give you a drug to encourage you to answer the questions honestly, without holding back anything you wish to keep secret.”

While there are things I’ve done during this test I would rather not talk about, nothing I’ve experienced thus far would cause me difficulty if I’m forced to speak. My ability to remove the bracelets might cause the Testers concern, but wouldn’t they see that as a sign of my resourcefulness? Even this strange man and his gifts of food are not dangerous to me. Dr. Barnes stated we could not leave the testing grounds. Nowhere in the rules did he mention not accepting food thrown over the fence.

Straightening my shoulders, I say, “I have nothing to hide.”

“Are you sure of that, Cia?”

The sound of my name on this unknown man’s lips makes my heart clench. I had assumed my encounters with this man were random. The fact that he knows who I am suggests something entirely different. “How do you know who I am? Are you a Testing official?”

He laughs. “Far from it. I’m someone who believes the Testing process is wrong and wants to help you survive—not just to the end of this test, but through the challenges the University will bring.”

Up until now my goal has been to survive the Testing in order to make it to the safety of the University. The idea that the University might be filled with more tests sends a chill straight to my heart. But while questions about the potential dangers of the University spring to my lips, I know this isn’t the time to ask them. I will worry about that if and when the time comes.

Instead, I ask something equally if not more important. “If you are against The Testing, why are you throwing us food and water? Why not help us escape?”

“As I believe the esteemed Dr. Barnes explained, Testing candidates cannot leave the Testing ground. The fences are harmless enough until a Testing candidate goes over them.” The man reaches into his pants pocket and pulls a silver identification bracelet from his pocket. The symbol is a triangle with what looks like a drawing of a human eye at the center. A memory nags at me from after the third test. Tomas pointing out the students in his group. A boy with a shock of untamed brown hair and a sweet smile. “The boy scaled the fence about a hundred miles back. He was dead by the time he hit the ground. The only thing we could do was bury him the way you and your friend buried the girl candidate you found.”

My muscles go still. “Only a Testing official could know Tomas and I did that.”

“Not all Testing officials agree with the current procedures. One even disabled several skimmers in an effort to keep officials from arriving at their designated colonies in time to pick up candidates for The Testing. Unfortunately, the part we had him disable was not as difficult to repair as intelligence led us to believe. Otherwise you would still be in Five Lakes Colony and I would be having this discussion with a different candidate.”

Was he talking about Michal? Is he the one who told this gray-haired man about me? Something tells me asking will not get me the answer. This man is here for a purpose. I have already been away from the Testing officials’ listening device for too long. Too much longer and they might question my stillness. It is time to learn what this man’s purpose is.

“Why are we having this discussion?”

For the first time he smiles. “Because, Cia, we know your family has secrets you don’t want the Commonwealth to know.” The bag he has been holding comes sailing over the fence. “Inside that bag is a small vial. It contains a liquid that we believe will counteract the interview drug. Take it the morning of the interview if you want to keep you and your family safe.”

The tacit threat to my family scares me to the core. But fear won’t help me. I tamp it down. I look at the bag in my hand and then back at him. “How do I know this isn’t another test?” If it is, the liquid in the vial will probably kill me. Punishment for a wrong answer.

“You don’t.” There’s sadness in his voice. “You have only my word that I am not part of the United Commonwealth.” He takes a step back from the fence. “Hide the vial in your spare clothing before you cross the finish line. One of my friends will make sure it isn’t discovered by the Testing officials and is safely hidden in your possessions again before the interview begins. Good luck, Malencia. I hope we meet again.”

Without another word, he turns and walks away. I watch until he disappears into the tall grass before retrieving my identification bracelet and my Testing bag. The sun is starting to set. I need to get back to Tomas, but I take a moment to think over everything I heard as I empty the brown bag. Yes, there is a small, unmarked vial corked with a black stopper. Carefully, I unwork the stopper and take a sniff. It smells faintly of roses.

I shove the vial deep into my pants pocket and look at the other items. More water. Instead of bread and cheese, I find a small container of raspberries, a heaping bundle of wild carrots, and several small yellowish fruits that I think are pears. The wild carrots and raspberries are plants I might find here in this area. I wonder if the pears are as well. I move away from the fence, and after a fifteen-minute search, I find not only a pear tree but also a thick bush ripe with raspberries along with several spots where an abundance of wild carrots grow. The bag isn’t food just for me. It’s food to be shared. The man beyond the fence must also know I never told Tomas about the bread and cheese. The man knows a great deal.

He implied he also knows my family’s secrets. Was he talking about my father’s nightmares? Or that Zeen is smarter than all of us and that knowledge was hidden from Dr. Barnes and his Testing officials? That leaders of Five Lakes conspired to keep their graduating students safe? Knowing there is a chance I might be asked about those things in my interview makes me break out in a cold sweat. Or maybe this is all just another test. Maybe the man is trying to scare me into drinking the liquid in the vial and failing.

This is a problem I will have to address at some point. But not now.

Arms filled with supplies, I trek back to camp and wait for Tomas’s reaction to the bounty. I’m not disappointed as he helps me put the food on the ground and then picks me up and swings me around. The shadows of the past two days disappear, and it feels like we are back home in Five Lakes—safe and happy and whole.

We eat the last of the roasted meat and fill our stomachs with juicy raspberries and pears. We plan to collect more tomorrow before heading into the city. I check Tomas’s backside, which seems much improved, and my own arm, which doesn’t look so good and hurts like hell. I wash the wound clean in the pond, swallow a couple of pain pills to ward off the worst of the sting, and slather on more ointment knowing deep down that it will not do much good. But I have to try. Right? Tomas helps me rewrap my bandage, teases me about the berry stains on my mouth, and kisses them away. He is so like his old self that I find myself yearning to tell him my secrets. But I can’t. Not yet. First I need to know. “What happened with you and Will after I left?”

“Will told you what happened.”

“A lot more happened than either of you mentioned.”

I feel Tomas stiffen. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“No,” I assure him. “But I know you and Will weren’t exactly getting along when I rode off.” Tomas moves his arm from around my shoulders, gets to his feet, and stares into the distance, doing his best to shut me out. Which hurts. I scramble to my feet and touch his shoulder. “Look, I know it’s hard to trust someone under these circumstances, but I trust Will.”

“You shouldn’t.” Tomas’s eyes meet mine with blazing passion. “Didn’t your father warn you not to trust anyone?”

Tomas’s words stop my heart. He knows that someone is listening and that if by luck they hadn’t been paying attention to our conversation before we reached Tosu City, then not taking care with his words now might put my father—my whole family—in jeopardy.

Swallowing hard, I say, “I trust you. And my father warned me that competition might blind some people, but that doesn’t mean Will is one of them.”

“How can you be so sure? Because he makes jokes and was upset when his brother didn’t make it through the first round? So what? You don’t know what he’s capable of. When we found your snares, he unpacked his bag to look for his knife. In the bag he also had a purification kit, a medical bag, a pair of binoculars, and a map book like mine.”

“And?”

“The numbers don’t add up. We were allowed to choose three items. Three that we could add to two personal items. The knife. The gun. Add them to the others.”

I do the math. “Maybe he found the knife or binoculars along the way.”

“They both have Testing logos etched into them. Just like your gun. My knife. Which means he ran into at least one Testing candidate.”

The girl we buried flashes in front of me. I shake the image away. “Maybe a candidate lost their bag or he saw one asleep and decided to take their things.” Not exactly an admirable choice, but one I can almost live with. “Look, people do strange things under pressure. Just because he had a few extra possessions doesn’t mean he hurt whoever he came across. The two of you met a candidate while I was gone and nothing happened to him, right?”

“Yeah.” Tomas drops his gaze and says, “Right.”

With all my heart I want to believe him. But I’m not sure I do. Tomas, who from my earliest memories has always been calm and collected, is filled with tension and anger and despair.

Trying to sound upbeat, I add, “I know you don’t trust Will, but I want you to consider that there might be another explanation. The United Commonwealth is looking for a new generation of leaders. Even leaders have to trust sometime.” My tone, if not my words, seems to calm Tomas, and we settle back onto the ground to prepare for sleep—Tomas’s arm wrapped around me, my head resting against his chest. But there is one question I have to ask before closing my eyes. One test I need Tomas to pass. “What was the other candidate’s name?”

I feel Tomas’s heart quicken under my cheek. His muscles tense. After a few moments, he whispers, “I don’t think he said. If he did, I don’t remember.”

He is lying. He would have asked for a name. He would have given his own in return. Habit. Common decency. The Five Lakes way. My stomach clenches with disappointment, and I fight the urge to retreat from his arms.

It is not surprising that both of us only pretend to sleep.

The snares are successful. Two rabbits and an opossum. While Tomas cleans and sets the game over a fire to roast, I gather more fruit and greens for our journey into the city. There are no morning kisses or gentle looks. Tomas is withdrawn as we pack up camp and begin to ride, which gives me lots of time to think.

The sky is overcast. My eyes drift more than once to the fence line as I look for signs of my mysterious benefactor. I’m not surprised when I don’t see him. But I do believe he or someone he knows is watching. Rebels? He spoke of not being a member of the United Commonwealth. Of not agreeing with its methods of Testing. And yet he chose only to offer food and a vial of an unknown drug. Other than the friend who will keep the drug hidden, there is no offer of further assistance. No offer of escape. If he and the people like him could sabotage United Commonwealth skimmers, surely they could find a way to circumvent the penalty for escaping the test. Of course, according to the man my presence here is proof of their inability to beat the Testing officials. Still, even knowing the odds were against success, I believe there are candidates who are sufficiently scared, hungry, or ill and would leap at the chance to flee.

Or would they? We all left families back home. Families bound by the laws of the United Commonwealth. The government compensates our families when we leave for The Testing. I wonder if the law states what would happen to a family whose Testing candidate chose to escape.

A large metal arch towers over us as we follow the main road that travels around the outer rim of the city. The buildings stand taller than those in the city we passed through days ago, but these look to be in far worse shape. The scorched nature of some of the wreckage tells the story. This city was bombed.

According to Tomas’s map book, the name of the city was St. Louis. Neither of us remembers if our history books say what kind of bomb was used here. Some bombs destroyed what was in their path. Others laid waste to water and soil. The worst contained poisons with potencies that, unless physically counteracted, do not fade over time. It is the last option that keeps our bicycles pointed to the west and our eyes fastened on the road that veers around the city. With a sufficient amount of water and food, we do not need to risk whatever tests this city contains.

The next few days we settle into a pattern of foraging for food, traveling, and camping. We find several small streams that help us wash away the stains of travel, and while we do not go hungry, our clothes begin to hang from our bodies. I wrap a long piece of cot sheet around the top of my pants to keep them from slipping onto my hips. Tomas is forced to do the same. We talk of only the most superficial things. Every once in a while I catch Tomas staring at me as though longing to say something. But he doesn’t. And neither do I.

I jump at every sound even though there are no more animal attacks or strange humans—although twice we spot what look like other Testing candidates on the northern horizon. We pedal faster to avoid confrontation. The man from the other side of the fence does not appear again. Just day after day of travel. The shadows beneath Tomas’s eyes get heavier. While he laughs and smiles, I can see the strain under everything.

My nightmares get worse. Friends, family, and foes find me in my dreams, but I am learning to bite back the screams that come with waking. I find myself touching the vial of liquid in my pocket to calm myself. More disturbing are the cuts on my arm. For the first few days I tell myself I am imagining the difference, but after a week passes, no amount of wishful thinking can change what is undeniable. The cuts have gotten worse. The scabs growing over them turn green and ooze a yellowish liquid. Whatever chemicals twisted the humans in this area have now infected me. I take more pain pills, drink more water, and hope I can make it to the end of this test without the infection doing permanent damage.

After more than a week of riding, we spot another large collection of buildings on the horizon. Here both the northern and southern fence lines are visible. The Testers are limiting the amount of space during these last two hundred miles. If there are other Testing candidates nearby, we are almost certain to come in contact with them.

Footprints and what look like tire tracks on the side of the road tell us at least two, maybe three, candidates have passed through this area. While we have moved fast, they have been faster. Now they could be lurking somewhere in this city’s streets.

We wait until dawn before following their lead through the first streets. The city looks decayed, but the buildings are in moderately good repair. Until we turn a corner and the buildings come to an end. In their place is a deep crater that stretches as far as we can see. Ringing the edge of the crater are buildings like the ones we just passed through. Several streets deep. All that is left of a place where people once lived and worked and thrived.

We stare into the emptiness with our fingers clutching our handlebars. Miles and miles of scorched emptiness. While the land behind us is corrupted, there are still plants that have adapted. Things live. In front of me there is not a speck of plant life. Nothing lives here. I try to imagine what once stood in this space. How any leader could order a bombing that results in this—the kind of destruction that cannot be fixed with the right chemistry equation or a new breed of plant. The earth is resilient, but it’s hard to imagine a time when this place will be anything but a terrible reminder of what we as a people can do.

With the crater stretching for miles, we have no choice but to take one of the roads that travel around it. This means going through the maze of streets filled with buildings. For no real reason, we choose to go to the right, walking our bicycles instead of riding. I am glad for the decision to walk. My arm is aching more. So is the rest of my body. The pain pills push back the chill for hours at a time, but it always returns. Maybe walking will help my body rest enough to fight the infection inside me.

After we zigzag through several blocks, I ask, “Do you think the people who bombed this city really understood the damage they were causing? Do you think they realized winning might mean killing everyone and everything—even themselves?”

Tomas shrugs. “Does the answer really matter?”

“Maybe,” I say. During the past week, I’ve thought a lot about that question. Perhaps because the closer we come to the end of the test, the closer we are to becoming the next leaders of our generation. Many of my fellow candidates had demonstrated their belief that the end justifies the means. I have a hard time understanding that, but one thing is certain. The past cannot be changed. My nightly dreams are a testament to that. And sometime during the wakeful nights, I have realized that the length of this test is not arbitrary. The third test helped them learn what they needed to know about our ability to trust, strategize, and cooperate with others. From our behavior during that exam, I have no doubt the Testing officials could predict which candidates would use the provided weapons for survival and which would turn them on their fellow man during this test. While the fourth test measures many of the same areas as its predecessor, it’s also designed to gauge not only the choices we make, but also how we live with those choices once we’ve made them. Do we learn from our mistakes and use that information to carry us successfully to the end of this exam, or will they swallow us under? From the shadows under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders, I know Tomas is being swallowed whole.

The image of Ryme’s lifeless body flashes in front of me and I feel a stab of fear. Ryme was swallowed by whatever doubts plagued her. While I am not sure what memory is haunting Tomas, I am certain by the despair in his eyes that it has the power. I don’t know what he has done, but whatever it is, he does not deserve to end up a victim of The Testing.

Taking a deep breath, I explain, “The whole point of this test was for us to see what terrible things were done and for us to learn from those mistakes. Right?” Tomas cocks his head to the side, and I forge ahead. “The best leaders make mistakes and then learn from them. The best leaders never make the same mistakes again. The only way you can learn is if you understand the mistakes that were made.”

Tomas looks down a street that ends at the crater and considers my words for a long while. When he looks back at me, I see some of the tension is gone. “I think the leaders knew they’d destroy the buildings and kill the people. The rest . . .” He sighs. “I can’t believe they intended to completely destroy a world they wanted to live in. They had to realize they were making a mistake. They just didn’t know how to stop.”

I look around at the buildings and nod. “Maybe that’s the mark of a real leader. Admitting a mistake has been made and finding a way to stop it at all costs.”

We’ve traveled over halfway around our side of the circle when a shiver travels up my spine. I reach for the fever pills in my medical kit and shiver again. This isn’t the fever. This is something very different. When I was little, my brothers made a game of talking me into doing things our mother wouldn’t approve of—like sneaking bread from the pantry or taking her best sheet and turning it into a pirate’s costume. I could always tell when Mom caught me by the tiny shiver I felt as her eyes settled on my back. The same shiver I feel now. Someone is watching.

Gaping windows, open doorways, cracks in the walls surround us. I see nothing in the ones we pass, but I slide my gun out of my bag anyway. The wind picks up. The sky turns gray. A storm is coming. Perhaps that is what is making the hair on my neck stand on end.

The wind whips a strand of hair free from the knot I’ve been wearing it in. I push the hair off my face, and that’s when I see it. A face framed by a doorway. Large, intelligent eyes sunk in a wrinkled, sunbaked face. Tufts of dark brown hair on the head, the neck, the arm I see. My blood churns as I see the familiar razor-sharp claws at the end of the hand. Several inches long. Sharp. Poisonous.

The wind howls. No. Not just the wind. The wind has merely masked what I refused to hear as we walked. The low murmur of voices. Guttural sounds carried on the wind that tell me there is more than just this one. Slowly, I turn and study the shadows, counting the faces I see. Five. Ten. Two more in a second-story window. Too many for us to survive if they attack. But they haven’t yet. They are waiting for something.

Tomas has yet to notice the faces. His eyes are fixed on the road, looking for danger ahead of us—not in the windows three stories up. I hold my breath as a light rain begins to fall. Tomas swears and suggests we climb on our bicycles so we can move faster. But I don’t dare. Thus far the occupants of the buildings have done nothing more than watch. Perhaps walking seems unthreatening. But riding? I was riding when one attacked. If riding triggers their aggression, I will not repeat the offense.

“Cia, did you hear me? I think we should ride.”

I give a small shake of my head, put my hand on his arm, and whisper, “Look in the windows.” He stops walking. The quick intake of breath tells me he has spotted someone. Leaning closer, I say, “There are dozens of them.”

“They look almost human.” Tomas’s hand fingers the hilt of his knife, and I see the watcher in the window shift.

“They are human.”

“How can you be sure?”

The rain falls harder, plastering the clothes to our bodies, making it more difficult to see the eyes following our every move. A watcher steps away from his spot in a doorway. His movements are fast and smooth. Tomas reaches again for his knife, but I put a hand on his arm and shake my head as the watcher comes to a stop ten feet behind us. His eyes are unblinking as he waits for our next move. My chest tightens and it’s impossible to catch my breath as step by agonizingly slow step we begin to walk again. Thunder rumbles. The cuts on my arm burn. Two more watchers join the first in the street. They slowly follow behind us.

The rain falls harder still. Lightning streaks across the sky and reflects in the watchers’ wide, never-blinking eyes. Another falls in behind us. Then another. Soon there are more than a dozen. Never moving faster than us. Walking with their strange hunched but fluid gait. They keep their distance, at least ten yards behind, but are ever present with their claws and their overwhelming numbers.

It is Tomas who first notices the distance between the watchers and us is growing wider. They do not leave the street, but their gait slows until it comes to a stop. Dozens of them stand in the street as we pick up our pace. Perhaps this too was a test. Maybe the Testers were curious to see whether we would attack these people without provocation—out of fear of the unknown instead of a real threat.

I see one more watcher in the doorway of a building twenty feet in front of us. Thunder rattles the windows as the watcher stares at us with unblinking eyes. I barely register the rattle of gunfire until the person’s face is torn to shreds.

Chapter 18

STRONG ARMS PULL me to the ground. Tomas drapes himself over me, acting as a human shield, as the sound of gunfire continues. From the asphalt, I see the watcher’s sightless, bloody body hit the ground. Then I hear the cries behind us. I do not know the words. But I understand. Outrage. Anger. The need for vengeance. The group is no longer dozens of yards behind us. They are moving forward. Fast.

Tomas scrambles to his feet first and holds out his hand. I take it as another rattle of bullets sparks the pavement and sends wounded watchers to their knees. The bullets chew apart limbs, torsos, heads—creating a gore unlike any I have ever imagined. The mutated humans shriek as bullets cut their comrades off at the knees. I catch a glimpse of blond hair, a tall, muscular build, and the dark metal machine gun atop a three-story building as Tomas pushes my bicycle toward me and yells to ride.

But I can’t. I know the boy wielding the gun. It’s Brick.

“Stop shooting,” I scream, waving my arms to get his attention.

Cries of anguish come from windows and doors that line the streets and mix with my screams as more watchers arrive. Dozens and dozens of them. And while I should be scared of their vengeance, all I can do is scream for Brick to stop firing and stare at the horror he has wrought. It is impossible to tell that the tissue and flesh on the ground were just moments before standing in front of us. The smell of blood makes my stomach rebel. From the retching I hear next to me, I can tell Tomas is not in much better condition. Doubled over, I see the rainwater streaming down the road toward us swirling with red blood. Red. The same as ours. Human. All human. All dead.

Amid the thunder and the guttural cries, it takes me a minute to realize Brick is shouting down at us. “I have you covered, Cia. Run! Hurry. Get out of here before they attack you. Go!”

“Stop,” I scream. Tears clog my throat. Revulsion threatens to choke me. All these people dead. Killed by a boy I helped to survive. “You’re killing people. They weren’t hurting us. They’re just people.”

But Brick isn’t listening. He has opened fire again, farther down the street, at people who despite this horrific provocation are not attacking. All the living want to do is care for the dead. And now they, too, are among the fallen.

Tomas grabs my arm. I lose my grip on my bicycle, and it clatters to the ground.

“Pick it up. We can’t help them, Cia. We have to go.”

I barely keep my balance as I cast looks behind me, willing Brick to stop. But he doesn’t. Rattles of gunfire echo through the air. How many more dead? Because of me. Because I saved Brick’s life and he in turn believes he is saving mine.

More than once I stop pedaling as the enormity of the massacre I witnessed overwhelms me. Tomas’s patient voice is the only thing that keeps me moving forward. All I want to do is curl into a ball and weep.

And I do. On the outskirts of the city, Tomas spots a small building that looks sound and insists we stay there for the night. The downpour has ended, but our clothing, hair, and shoes are soaked through. He finds enough wood to build a fire on the stone floor near a window and encourages me to change out of my wet clothes. I follow his request even though my other shirt is stained from my first encounter with those people—when I too killed.

My body isn’t up for food, so I pull my legs tight against my chest and stare at the fire, trying to imagine my family safe and warm in front of theirs. Tomas insists on treating my arm. He digs out some pain pills and makes me take them. Maybe the pills will stop my body from shaking. Thunder still echoes in the city streets as Tomas tells me how much he loves me and holds me as I cry myself to sleep.

My dreams are filled with gunfire and rivers of blood. When I wake, I remember the dreams were real and nausea rolls through me. I know I need to eat, but my stomach curdles at the thought of meat. I force myself to eat a pear and drink some water. Our boots are still damp, but we put them on, store the rest of our belongings, and step outside. The sky is a brilliant shade of blue. The wind is cool and refreshing. There are even a few flowers blooming under the brilliant sun. A perfect day that mocks the horror of the night before.

Out of habit we consult the map, wheel our bicycles to the road, and begin to pedal. According to the Transit Communicator, we have just under two hundred miles before reaching the end of the test. We pedal hard, as much to reach the end as to get away from the death behind us. As we ride up hills, we can see the fence line to the north moving closer. Perhaps as little as a mile separates the two boundaries. Yes. Our Testers want us to face each other. I wonder whether the Testers will have to make a choice when this is over. With what I have seen, it will be a miracle if twenty of us cross the finish line alive.

We travel throughout the day with only minimal stops. My arm is worse. I am sweating more as we ride, and my fingers on my left hand grip the handlebars with less assurance. But I force my legs to move around and around. I will our wheels to go faster and faster to the end. We meet no other candidates during the day, and there are 150 miles left to travel when we stop. Tomas holds me close again at night, kisses me gently, and whispers that if we keep up this pace we can make it to the end in three days. Just three days. I tell myself I can make it and hope I am right.

The sky is gray when we once again set out. My legs feel weaker, my arm more inflamed. I take more pain pills. Use more ointment. Know that both are useless against the poison festering inside me. Will they know how to treat the wounds when I get to Tosu City? Tomas says they will, but he will say almost anything to keep me from giving up. Funny, but giving up is the last thing I will do. Not after everything we have witnessed and the things we have been forced to do. Giving up would be like admitting none of it mattered. And it needs to matter. It needs to be remembered. But, now that we are so close to the end, I worry about the memory wipe my father said is coming. As we ride, I recall everything I’ve learned about the workings of the brain from our teachers and from Dr. Flint and when we break for lunch, I tell Tomas I’m tired and need a nap. Instead of lying down, I take off my bracelet and walk fifty yards away. After a few minutes, Tomas does the same.

“What’s up? Is your arm worse? We can slow our pace a little if you need a break.”

I ignore the pain that has moved from my arm to my shoulder and down my torso and say, “We’re almost to the end.”

His face breaks out into a wide smile. That familiar single dimple makes me want to cry. “I know. Another day. Maybe two and we should be there.” He feels my forehead and frowns, which only tells me what I already know. I’m burning up. “They’ll fix up your arm as soon as we get there, Cia. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

I might be. But I can’t worry about that now. “According to Dad, they’re also going to fix our memories so we don’t remember any of this.”

“Maybe taking away these memories isn’t as insidious as we first thought. Maybe they’re trying to help us survive. Do you really want to live remembering Malachi die or watching Brick with the machine gun?”

“No,” I say honestly. A lifetime of nightmares isn’t my idea of a good time. But neither is being reprogrammed to forget what I lived through. What Malachi died for . . . What Brick did for me . . . “But I need to remember. Forgetting that it happened doesn’t change anything. Nothing can change the past. My father’s nightmares prove the memory wipe isn’t complete. Now instead of being haunted by what he did and didn’t see and do, he can only guess and wonder. Isn’t that worse?”

Tomas kicks at the ground in front of him. I can see him struggling with my words and I can understand why. The idea of forgetting is seductive.

Looking up, he says, “Your father’s and Dr. Flint’s nightmares make me think the memory wipe isn’t being done with surgery.”

I tend to agree. Dr. Flint says that the long-term and short-term memory centers of the brain are easy to find, but that every brain is slightly different. Trying to alter a specific path in the brain that only affects three or four weeks of memory would be tricky on one patient, let alone the hundreds who have graduated from the University.

“Drugs? An audio pulse? Hypnosis?” Counteracting all the options seems impossible, especially out here.

“My bet is drugs.”

So is mine, especially after talking to the man on the other side of the fence. I consider telling Tomas about the man, the vial he gave me and the truth serum the Testers will dispense to us. Withholding the information feels like a betrayal. Only, I don’t know how to explain why I have not shared this information with Tomas up until now. I had good reasons, but Tomas might not understand. The last thing we need right now is hurt feelings or recriminations. I will have to find another time to tell him.

Instead of sharing my secrets, I ask, “How can we fight a drug we don’t know or understand?”

“I don’t know if we can. I guess once we get back to the Testing Center we’ll have to figure out how they plan on administering it. Maybe one of the staff will tell us if we ask in the right way. If they put the drug in water or something, we’ll have to act like we drank it. Then pretend we don’t remember anything from before our arrival at The Testing.” He takes a step toward me and runs a hand over my cheek. “I’ve done and seen things out here I don’t want to relive the rest of my life, but I can’t imagine not remembering the first time I kissed you.”

His lips find mine with a passion that takes my breath away. Maybe it’s the fever that causes me to shiver as he kisses my cheek, my neck, my lips. But I don’t think so. I wrap my arms tight around his neck and return his kisses with my own—hot, urgent, needy. A deep yearning fills me as I struggle to get closer, although we are wrapped together so tight, I doubt air could pass between us. But it doesn’t feel like enough. And when Tomas steps away, we are both left panting and wanting more.

But more will have to wait. We’ve been away from our microphones for long enough. Any longer and the Testing officials will wonder about our silence. Tomas places one last, incredibly sweet kiss on my lips, takes my hand, and walks me back to our camp.

When we arrive, I pretend to wake up, ask questions about what happened while I was asleep, and listen with a smile as Tomas weaves a tale about a squirrel he tried to capture. I don’t know if those listening are amused, but I am.

We eat lunch and mount our bicycles, hoping to travel another thirty miles before dark. Only, I’m not sure I’m going to make it that far. The pills are no longer controlling the sizzling pain in my arm. Or if they are having an impact, my arm is worse than I imagined. Ten miles along, I find my body slowing down. Tomas encourages me to keep pedaling, and I do try. But my pace doesn’t pick up. It is all I can do just to stay balanced and moving forward.

Another ten miles along the road, it is Tomas who stops and points out a shape running along the northern fence line. I squint into the sunshine, trying to make out the details of who it might be. Certainly another Testing candidate. By the gait I believe the candidate is male. Tomas then points behind us. Far in the distance is another figure stumbling along the road. Friend or foe? We keep moving forward, hoping to avoid answering the question.

Two more miles and I can no longer pedal. My head is spinning. My throat is dry. The wounds on my arm scream so loud it is hard to focus on anything else. I tell Tomas I have to stop.

Unwrapping the bandage, I prepare for the worst and find it. The wounds are swollen and hot to the touch. When I was a kid, I fell and opened a large gash on my leg. Dr. Flint was away from the colony, so Mom patched up the wound and made me stay in bed. Several days later, my leg looked a lot like my arm currently does. Luckily, Dr. Flint had returned and knew what to do. He gave me a small dose of something for the pain, broke open the scab, and squeezed yellow and white pus out of the wound along with a small piece of metal. The contaminated metal was the source of the problem.

I’m certain the scabs on my arm now trap whatever poison is infecting me. And there is no Dr. Flint. Only Tomas, me, and my need to survive.

Tomas starts a fire. He boils water and pieces of the towel I took from the Testing Center to use for bandages since I have used all the ones in the medical kit. Meanwhile, I sit down, take several more pain pills, and ask Tomas for the scabbard to his knife. He gives me a strange look, but slides the knife out, unstraps the case, and hands it over. Before I can question what I’m about to do, I bite down on the thick leather, grab the top of my left arm, and squeeze.

Had I not been seated, the pain would have brought me to my knees. As it is, my stomach heaves, my eyes tear, and my lungs gasp for air as my fingers dig into my flesh. Bit by bit the scabs break free of the skin and pus—yellow and green and swirling with milky-looking blood—streams out. I gag at the stench of meat left too long in the sun. I realize the meat smell is coming from my arm and begin to cry. But I don’t stop squeezing. Pus runs down my arm. Tomas takes the bandage I removed earlier, dips it in water, and begins to dab away the infection as it oozes out. But no matter how quickly he works, there is more to take its place.

The world swims in and out of focus. I double over from the pain. And still I squeeze. My fingers move alongside the middle of the wounds and squeeze again. Then lower still.

Tomas talks to me, but his voice sounds miles away. I can’t make out his words. Time loses meaning as I force the infection from my body drop by putrid yellow drop. I only stop when the wounds stream blood red. No yellow. No green or white. No infection—for now.

I free my fingers from their viselike grip and let Tomas clean the stinging open cuts with hot water. He uses the last of the ointment and wraps my arm in sterile wet cloths. He rocks me back and forth and whispers that everything will be okay. That I should sleep. He’ll make sure I stay safe.

My dreams are filled with equal combinations of horror and happiness. Ryme and Malachi help me bury the girl without eyes. Zeen forgives me for stealing from him and reminds me to call home with the Transit Communicator when I get the chance. Roman grins as he walks through a door and abandons me to a group of watchers who scratch me over and over with their claws and then explode before my eyes. My father’s arms rock me for hours the way he did when I was little. The rocking stops. He cocks his head to the side and tells me I have to get up. Someone is here.

My eyes snap open.

I can feel Tomas breathing in the dark beside me—slow, steady breaths that speak of a deep, restoring sleep. Taking care with my arm, I push my body to a seated position. I flex my fingers on my injured hand. They move easier than yesterday. The rest of the arm and shoulder doesn’t feel as swollen, and either the medication has finally kicked in or the worst of the pain is gone. I blink back tears of relief, and out of the corner of my eye see something shift in the shadows. Holding my breath, I wait for it to move again. I catch a glimpse of its size in the fading moonlight. Big. Human. One of the mutated inhabitants of this area or a fellow Testing candidate? From the way the shadow moves, I think it’s a candidate.

Our fire has burned out and we are camped in a ditch behind a set of bushes, which probably makes it hard to spot us. But daylight isn’t far away, and the candidate doesn’t look like he’s in a hurry. He’s slowly picking his way across the ground about fifty yards away and is coming in our direction.

Slowly, I reach out my arm, trying to find my Testing bag. I am panicked when I realize it’s not nearby. Tomas must have moved it after I’d fallen asleep. And with it, my gun.

I squint into the darkness, trying to locate the bag, but its dark color camouflages it from sight. Without knowing our new neighbor’s intentions, I don’t dare move around. Lying back on the ground, I nudge Tomas and whisper in his ear, “Another candidate is out there.” His eyes spring open, alert and fearful. Then he nods to let me know he understands. Together we hold our breath and wait.

The snap of twigs and the rustle of leaves tell us our fellow candidate is closer. The first gray rays of dawn chase the darkness as I peer under the bushes. No one is there.

Tomas raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. He doesn’t see him either. The other candidate must have already passed us by and is traveling toward Tosu City.

“I think we’re safe,” Tomas whispers. A branch snaps under him as he sits up.

I hear the whistling of the knife flying through the air a moment before I see it in the pale light. That extra second saves my life as I dive to the side and watch the blade sail into the bushes behind me. Our attacker gives an angry shout as I scramble to my feet and look around for my Testing bag. Tomas draws his knife and races forward as I spot the bag sitting on the ground next to my bicycle over fifteen feet away. The sound of metal on metal tells me our attacker has another weapon and Tomas and he are now engaged in battle.

Tomas cries out as the attacker’s long, wide knife bites into his side. And that’s when I get a look at the other candidate. His face is thinner and his cheeks hollow, but I would recognize that sneer anywhere. Roman. And now he is pulling his knife back and preparing to strike Tomas again.

My fingers fumble with the fastenings of my bag as blade sings against blade. I frantically dig through my belongings and hear another shout. This time Roman is the one bleeding, but he doesn’t grip his wounded arm or flee. Letting out an angry growl, Roman lowers his head, charges, and tackles Tomas to the ground. A scream rips from my throat as a knife barely misses Tomas’s neck. For a moment I am paralyzed, watching the two wrestle in an effort to gain the upper hand. And Roman does. He pins Tomas to the ground and raises his knife just as I pull my gun from my bag and take aim.

A shot rings out. Blood blooms on the right temple of Roman’s forehead. The sneer is gone, replaced by surprise and then emptiness as the knife drops from his hand and he pitches forward—dead.

Holding his side, Tomas crawls out from under the dead boy and lets out a sigh of relief at being safe. But we aren’t safe. Tomas doesn’t know what I know. I didn’t take aim in time. I was not the one who fired the gun.

Chapter 19

“GET DOWN,” I yell as I look from side to side, my entire body humming with tension and fear. “I didn’t fire. There’s someone else out there with a gun.”

“That would be me.”

Spinning, I aim and tighten my finger on the trigger before the familiarity of the voice hits me square in the chest. The cocky tone that could only belong to one person out here.

Will.

I lower my weapon and see him strutting toward us, twirling a pistol around his finger. And while I know Tomas doesn’t want me to like or trust Will, I can’t help wrapping my arms around him. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” I say. “I’m not sure I would have been able to save Tomas. Thank you.”

Although I’m not sure whether I’m thanking him for saving Tomas or for sparing me the need to take someone’s life. Probably both.

Will steps back and slides the gun into his pocket. “I’m sure you would have managed without me. In a strange way, it’s a good thing this idiot was stupid enough to attack you guys. I would never have found you without all the noise. I’ve been looking for days and figured the two of you had already gotten to the end of the test.”

“No such luck,” Tomas says, holding his side.

“Yeah.” Will gives Tomas a nasty smile. “I know you hoped you’d seen the last of me. Guess I just proved you can trust me after all.”

For a minute, Will and Tomas look at each other. Tomas is the first to look away as he says, “I guess so.”

“Good.” Will laughs. “Then why don’t we let Cia here take a look at that cut before you bleed to death. If you die, I won’t be able to lord my heroics over you. What fun would that be?”

At the mention of Tomas’s injury, I rush to examine it, doing my best to ignore Roman’s lifeless body crumpled on the ground. Tomas’s cut is long but shallow and won’t need stitches. Which is good, because after the past couple days I don’t know if my fingers would be steady enough to perform the job. Will offers me the use of his medical kit, and I quickly clean, medicate, and bandage the wound.

Once I’m done, I hand the supplies back to Will and say, “You caught up to us. That must mean you found wheels. Right?”

“No wheels.” Will gives me a big smile. “I found something even better. Want to take a look?”

Not too far from the road sits a small, single-passenger open-cabin skimmer. Kind of like a hovering version of a scooter. My father has three of them at his lab for light field use. They are good over short distances, but long distances make them overheat and they can’t hold much more than 160 pounds, which limits their usefulness. My father and two of my four brothers are too heavy. They can’t even get off the ground. But Will and his lanky frame are perfect for the design.

“Where did you find it?”

I hear the suspicion in Tomas’s voice, but Will doesn’t seem to notice as he explains, “Two days after I left you guys, I ran across a big stone building with a huge metal door. It took me a while to get the door open, but it was worth it. There were four of these babies inside. None of them were in working order, but I was able to use parts from the other three to fix this one. Looks like the Commonwealth stashed a lot of vehicles and other things in the second half of this test. I’ve seen a couple Testing candidates riding these, and one of the guys I ran into found a bunch of automatic weapons in a cabin just before the last city. I guess the first part of the test was about survival. The second is testing how fast we get to the end and how many competitors we’ll take out along the way.”

“How many candidates do you plan on taking out before the end, Will?” Tomas asks the question so quietly, I almost miss it.

But Will doesn’t. With a serious expression, he answers, “The only competitors I plan on eliminating are ones who pose direct threats. Kind of like our friend over there.” He hooks his thumb toward the body on the ground. “Or do you think he deserved to live?”

Will gives Tomas a smug, almost challenging smile. So much for hoping Will’s heroics would put the two on the same side. I step in between the two and say, “Look, according to the Transit Communicator we have about eighty-eight miles left to go. Instead of sniping at each other, our time would be better spent eating breakfast, packing up, and getting the hell out of here.”

“Fair point, Cia.” Will flashes an easy smile. “I’m willing to put our differences behind us if Tomas is.”

Silently, Tomas nods, and I let out a sigh of relief. I’m not naïve enough to think the two won’t find opportunities to fight along the way, but I’m hoping they’ll keep it to a minimum.

While I set out breakfast, Will rummages through Roman’s Testing bag and finds clothes, two bottles of water, a compass, a fishing kit, several tools, and a bow with a quiver of arrows. All marked as Testing candidate supplies. Evidence the boy attacked and at least wounded one other candidate. We dine on pears and rabbit and divide the new supplies among our own bags. I keep the knife and bow and arrows if for no other reason than I don’t want my two adversarial companions to have additional weapons to use if their sniping gets out of control. Then, while Tomas and Will aren’t looking, I remove Roman’s identification bracelet and slip it into my bag alongside the one that belonged to the girl Tomas and I buried. Roman was untrustworthy. He came into The Testing intent on winning at any cost. And while I hate what he did to reach his goal, I realize I hate the Testing officials more. Roman didn’t deserve to be a future leader, but death seems an extreme penalty to pay. For good or ill, his life should be remembered.

Tomas and I put our bags on our bicycle racks, Will heads for his skimmer, and the three of us meet up on the road. There are two shadows on the horizon behind us. Other Testing candidates? If Will is right, they could have vehicles that will overtake us soon. We have to get moving.

Will’s solar-powered skimmer is faster than our bicycles, but he keeps pace as we pedal. I can’t help but wonder why. Knowing how fast my father’s open-cabin skimmers travel, I’m pretty sure Will could be at the finish line in a matter of hours. While he might feel some kind of responsibility to me for my part in keeping him in The Testing, saving Tomas this morning has more than paid the debt. Although maybe Will doesn’t see it that way since, technically, he didn’t save my life. I don’t know. Whatever his reasoning, I’m grateful to have another pair of eyes watching the horizon for signs of danger. And it’s good he’s watching because Will is the first to spot a glint on the road ahead. A tripwire that our wheels would have triggered.

We get off our bicycles and wheel them off the road, around the trap, and then back onto the smooth surface. Will’s skimmer hovers over the trap, and we continue along. We pedal a bit slower as we watch for signs of other dangers. Tomas hates the delay. So do I, but adding a few hours to our journey is nothing compared to the alternative.

The plants and leaves become greener, the trees less twisted, the grass and water more plentiful as we get closer to our destination. Markers of revitalization. My arm aches, but the signs of our goal being so near help me ignore the pain and fatigue.

An explosion from somewhere far behind us shakes the trees. Gunfire and shouts echo across the landscape from the northwest. Reminders that we are not alone in our quest and the danger is not yet past. We keep watch during the night and rise early, hoping today will be the day we finish this exam. I check the Transit Communicator frequently to mark our progress.

Forty-five miles left.

Thirty-five.

Twenty-five. We drink water as we ride, ignoring our hunger. We can get food after we have passed this test.

Fifteen miles remain, and the sun starts its decent. The sky is streaked with purple and pink. We keep going, squinting into the setting sun, on the lookout for anything that poses a threat.

Ten miles.

It is only by chance that I see the flash of metal next to the wide trunk of an oak tree. I scream to Tomas and Will as cracks of gunfire split the air. Sparks fly on the road in front of us, and I pull my handlebars to the right to avoid running into their path. The quick change in direction is too much for my repaired bicycle. The front wheel wobbles and cracks. I land flat on my back and gasp for air as the wind is knocked from my lungs. My left arm screams from the impact. Tomas shouts my name as gunfire begins again. Louder. Closer. More terrifying than before because I can barely breathe, let alone move.

But I do move because I don’t want to die. Tomas and Will shout from somewhere nearby, but I don’t look for them. I can’t. I roll onto my injured arm, ignoring the wave of dizziness and pain as I reach for my Testing bag. My fingers find the gun. I come up to my knees and look for the shooter on the other side of the road.

There. The barrel of the gun peaks out from behind the tree as the shooter prepares to fire again. I aim at the arm holding the gun and pull the trigger. A female cry of pain tells me my aim is true. I can’t help the surge of triumph that streaks through me as the gun and the girl’s arm disappear behind the tree. I keep my arm extended and my finger ready to pull the trigger as I watch the tree, waiting for signs of our attacker.

“She’s making a run for it,” Will yells.

I blink—then understand. While I have been waiting for more gunfire, the candidate has faded into the trees and mounted a skimmer similar to the one Will is driving. She must have stashed it there before taking her spot behind the tree. I pull the trigger and fire shot after shot as the skimmer fades into the setting sun. The candidate and her skimmer are gone. Unless another candidate eliminates her in the next couple miles, she will finish the test and pass on to the next one. This girl who stopped and hid here, specifically for a chance to kill her competition, might become a University candidate—a future leader of the United Commonwealth. I fight back a scream and realize the only way to keep her from being a University student is for more than twenty of us to pass this test. Then I can only hope the Testing committee will choose those who have not resorted to deadly tactics. For us to be included in that number, we have to get to the end. Which means we’d better get moving.

I climb to my feet before remembering the wreckage of my bicycle. A quick glance makes my heart sink. The fading light cannot hide the damage. The entire front wheel assembly has broken free. There is no fixing it. “I guess I’ll be walking the rest of the way,” I say, trying not to sound as discouraged as I feel. According to the Transit Communicator, there are only eight and a half miles left to travel. The distance is minor compared to the miles I have already crossed.

“Don’t worry, Cia.” Tomas appears next to me and takes my hand. “You won’t be alone. I’ll walk with you.”

“You don’t have to,” I say, but I am glad he volunteered. The idea of walking by myself in the darkness, not knowing what lurks in the shadows, is terrifying.

He gives me a light kiss and says, “Yes. I do.” Then he turns to Will. “I guess this is where we part company again. Cia and I wouldn’t want to hold you back.”

Will smiles. “Funny, but I was just going to say the same thing.”

It’s the smile that alerts me to the danger. Cold. Calculating. So unlike anything I’ve seen from him before. I shove Tomas to the side just as Will raises his gun and fires. But I’m not fast enough. I feel Tomas flinch as the bullet enters his abdomen. His eyes are wide with surprise and pain as he doubles over and sinks down to his knees.

My gun is up and targeted as Will shifts his attention to me.

“What the hell are you doing, Will?”

He smiles behind his gun. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting rid of my competition. I didn’t lose my brother and come all this way just to be told I’m not good enough to make it into the University. I made that choice early on. Only you wouldn’t die. Thankfully, a couple of the others were easier to kill before I ran out of quarrels. Both Gill and I are championship crossbow marksmen. He always takes first, but I give him a run for his money.”

Chicago. The crossbow shooter. The wound in Will’s shoulder. A gunshot where I hit him. The pieces fall together with terrible clarity.

“And you think I’m just going to let you shoot me now?” My voice is remarkably steady considering the rage churning in my veins. I finger the trigger of my gun, trying to channel that anger into killing a boy I thought was my friend. “I’ve already proven I won’t go down without a fight.”

Will’s smile widens. His white teeth gleam in the growing darkness. “You’re smart, Cia, but you don’t have the killer instinct. I could walk away right now and you wouldn’t fire at me.”

“You wanna bet?” I yell. “Go ahead and try me.” The trembling of my hand belies my bravado. And for a moment, I’m certain Will is right. I cannot kill him. I am going to die out here on the Testing grounds.

“Cia.”

It’s the whisper of my name by the boy I love that stops the trembling. Tomas is still alive.

Will straightens his shoulders and takes aim. My finger tightens. The gun in my hand kicks a second before Will fires. My bullet punches into his right side, sending him staggering backwards as his shot whizzes by my ear into the darkness. Will screams and starts running toward his skimmer as I fire again. His stagger tells me I’ve once again connected with my target, and I hear his gun clatter as it hits the ground. I shoot again and again as the skimmer lifts off the ground and zips forward. Two more shots and he is out of range, streaking toward the finish line.

The last of the gray light is fading as I kneel next to Tomas. The adrenaline coursing through my body fades, leaving me weak and tired and scared.

“Is he gone?” he asks.

Feigning more confidence than I feel, I say, “With any luck he’ll black out from blood loss and crash his skimmer before he gets to the end. Where did he shoot you?” A pointless question since I can see where Tomas’s red-streaked hands clutch his right side. I roll him over and find a bloody wound on his back. The bullet passed right through. One less thing to worry about, I tell myself as I pull the rest of the towel I took from the Testing Center out of my bag, rip it into pieces, and hold one against the wound. With the flow of blood stanched, I rack my brain for everything I learned from Dr. Flint about human anatomy. An ear pressed to Tomas’s chest tells me his heartbeat is quick but steady. His breathing sounds strained but there are no gurgling noises to indicate his lungs are filling with blood. Both are good signs. But neither will matter if I can’t get him back to Tosu City.

There are other Testing candidates traveling this way. With the fence lines so close together, there are few if any places we can hide that will ensure our safety. The only answer is to get him across the finish line as soon as possible.

Folding several strips of fabric, I create pads to absorb the blood and press them to Tomas’s wounds. While he helps hold the pads in place, I dig out his other shirt, wrap it around his torso, and tie it tight. Handing him a bottle of water to sip, I say, “We have to get you to Tosu City. Can you walk?”

“I can try.”

But it’s clear after a few stumbling steps that walking is not an option.

Tomas sinks back to the ground and shakes his head. “It’s no use. I’m not going to make it.”

“You just need time to rest,” I say, but I know that isn’t true. Time is our enemy. Every second that ticks away means more blood loss. More chance of infection. Fellow Testing candidates approaching with weapons in hand. A greater chance of dying.

He takes my hand and pulls me closer. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re going to have to leave me here. Once I get some rest, I might be able to walk the rest of the way—”

“I’m not leaving you.” I try to pull back my hand, but Tomas isn’t letting go.

“Yes, you are. You’re going to finish this test for both of us. I want you to go. Please. Before another Testing candidate comes along.”

Tears bubble close to the surface, but I choke them back because I won’t give in. “I can’t. This is my fault. I told you to trust Will. I have to make this right.” I kiss him firmly on the lips to quiet whatever argument he wants to make and give him the last three pain pills so he can rest easier while I think. He closes his eyes, and I start to pace.

Tomas can’t walk.

If he doesn’t get to the end of this test soon, he won’t make it at all.

Even though one bicycle is broken, the wheels still function. There has to be a way to use them. Tomas can’t operate a bicycle. Not in his condition. But maybe, if I work it right, he can sit behind me while my feet do the work.

With the possibility of other Testing candidates nearby, I hate the idea of lighting a fire, but the night is cold. Tomas needs the warmth, and if I’m going to turn our bicycles into something that can transport him, I need the light. Tomas is asleep on the ground as I dig through his bag for matches. I find the matchbox at the bottom of the bag along with something metallic. From the feel of it I’m guessing it’s a Testing identification bracelet. Briefly, I wonder if Tomas took the bracelet off the bag of the girl we buried. Perhaps, like me, he wanted something tangible to remember her. To keep the bracelet from getting lost, I shove it deep into my pocket. Then I turn my attention to the fire. My brothers showed me how to bank a fire to minimize the amount of light it produces. I try my best to replicate the process, but I’m not sure how effective it will be. Keeping my gun within reach, I drag the two bicycles close to the light and get to work.

I jump at each snap of a stick. Every howl of the wind sends me reaching for the gun. But no one disturbs us as I assess my supplies and decide on a solution. A cart for Tomas to sit in would be ideal, but the metal and tools I have at my disposal make it hard to create one, especially if I want to do it fast. The most likely option would be to modify the one working bicycle into something that the two of us can ride. And I have an idea.

My eyes are grainy and my hands caked with grease when I finish. The moon has shifted, telling me dawn is near. The bicycle seat has been wrapped with Tomas’s extra pants to give him a slightly wider and more comfortable perch to ride on behind me. To accommodate the extra weight on the back of the bicycle, I have salvaged the two back wheels from my broken bicycle and screwed their assembly slightly behind and to either side of the back wheel. The training wheels I used as a kid inspired the plan, but it took hours and a lot of wire, screws, and bolts and six test rides to get it to work. Of course, the real test will be the ride to the finish line. I only hope my handiwork will help us get there.

Tomas’s forehead is feverish, but not scarily so as I rouse him from his sleep. I cut up some pears and leftover meat and make him eat as I explain what I’ve been working on. “All you have to do is put your arms around my waist and hang on. I’m going to do the rest.”

I don’t give him a chance to protest as I empty out all but the essential items from our bags. When I’m done, there is a pile that includes a pot, a pan, the bow and arrows, several empty water bottles, the book of maps, the gray-haired man’s burlap sacks, and the now empty medical kit. I wince as I put Tomas’s tool kit in the pile, but I have my pocketknife if I need basic tools and, really, if the bicycle breaks down, I’m not certain any tool would help fix it. At this point, I just have to hope for the best. Putting my hand in my pocket, I remember one final chore and shove the vial with its unknown drug into my spare pair of socks. I don’t know what will await us at the end of this road. Whatever it might be, I know it is best to be prepared.

With everything ready, I help Tomas to the bicycle. I don’t bother to douse the fire. If someone finds our camp and the supplies there, so be it. The two new wheels help keep the bicycle upright as I maneuver Tomas onto the seat. I get on in front of him and have him wrap his arms around my waist. As an extra precaution, I’ve cut my other shirt into strips and braided them into a rope, which I now loop around the two of us. If we go down, we’ll go down together.

The gears groan as I push my feet forward. The extra weight makes it hard to gain momentum. Tomas leans his head against my back as I shove my right foot forward. Then my left. Inch by inch we move. I am not discouraged. Moving at all is a victory. Right foot. Left foot. I push with all my might, and we begin to teeter forward. After several more pushes, we start to coast. The road slants downward, and we gain momentum. Not as fast as we traveled before, but faster than I dared hope as I worked through the night.

Zeen’s Transit Communicator is strapped with wire to the handlebars.

Seven miles left.

Six.

Five.

The sun is high in the sky. Sweat drips off my forehead as I push forward. Tomas’s grip around my waist slips, and I stop the bicycle to check on him. He’s shivering, and hot to the touch. I make him drink half of our last bottle of water before starting back up. Somewhere behind us there are gunshots. I use the fear they bring to keep my feet moving.

Four miles left.

The fence lines have narrowed so that there is only about ten yards of space on either side of the road between them. There is no sign of Will or his skimmer. I know I injured him, but it must not have been enough to stop him. Unless . . . Could he be well enough to lurk near the completion mark, waiting to finish what he started?

Three miles.

I ask Tomas if he can balance on the bicycle without hanging on to my waist. When he agrees to try, I unfasten the rope and stand to apply more force with each push.

Two miles.

Tomas starts to lose his balance, and I sit back down. I reattach the rope and keep pedaling.

One mile.

I see purple and red in the distance. Testing officials are waiting for us. The end. They have to be standing at the end. Behind the people the buildings of Tosu City sparkle and shimmer as they climb into the sky. Tomas’s head slumps against my back. I feel his weight pull against the rope, but I can’t stop. If I do, I might never get him back onto the bicycle. I doubt he could survive me dragging him to the end.

With one hand, I balance Tomas’s unconscious body as I use my other to steer. My arm, my muscles, every part of me is on fire. But I won’t give in to the pain or the fatigue. My feet keep moving. The people in the distance come into focus. I see smiles. A few concerned expressions. They all stand behind a white line. The finish line.

I ignore the people and focus on the line. I will it to come closer as I push my feet over and over again. We are so close when I feel Tomas slide to the left. My injured arm doesn’t have the strength to catch him and pull him upright. Because we are strapped together, his momentum pulls me off the seat and we crash together to the ground. I hear gasps. A few cries of worry. I see Dr. Barnes standing at the front of the group, wearing an expression of mild interest. Not one person comes to our aid. The white line is less than fifty feet away, and from their place behind it the Testing officials stand and watch.

I know I am tired and scared and in pain, but at this moment all I can feel is rage. It is white and hot and powerful. I look at each face and vow to make them pay for Ryme and Malachi and all the others. For the girl whose name I don’t know but whose body I buried. For the watchers who were gunned down without provocation. And for Tomas and these fifty lousy feet that are so damn important to the Testing officials that they would watch him die after all he has survived.

I untie the rope and push myself off the ground. Carefully, I unstrap the bags from the rack, sling them both over my shoulder, and on shaking legs walk over to Tomas. I refuse to look at our audience as I roll him onto his back. He moans as I slide my hands under him. The sound tells me he is alive. I plan to keep him that way as I grab his arms and pull. I lean backwards to use my weight as leverage. Inch by impossibly slow inch I slide him, my eyes fixed on the hard black pavement. Twice I have to put him down to catch my breath. When I look up, I see another Testing candidate appear on the distant horizon. The sight urges me on.

And then I see it. A solid snow-white line slashing across the black of the asphalt. The finish line. One last pull. I watch Tomas’s feet cross the threshold and sink to the ground next to him as Dr. Barnes’s smooth voice says, “Congratulations, Malencia Vale. You and Tomas Endress have passed the fourth test.”

Chapter 20

ONE HUNDRED AND eight candidates entered the Testing Center in hopes of attending the University. Today twenty-nine of us sit in the dining room, although the whispers we hear in the halls tell us there is still a chance more will arrive.

Testing officials tell me it has been nine days since I crossed the white line and passed the fourth test. I’ve been unconscious for most of those days. Turns out, the poison in my arm put me in far more danger than I realized. Had I not squeezed most of the toxin out of the wound, I would be dead now. As it was, it took the doctors several hours to determine whether the medications they pumped into me would clear the remaining poison from my system. An accelerated healing tool helped close the wound, but the damage the contamination caused to the tissue prevented the tool from also removing the scars. I will be forever marked by The Testing, as if that was ever in doubt.

Tomas fared better with his wounds. Whatever medical advancements they used left him free from scars. Although, from the way he and Will look at each other, I wonder if more scars aren’t inevitable. I’m thankful Testing protocol dictates that all weapons be removed from the candidates’ possession immediately after the completion of the fourth test. This rule is the only reason I can close my eyes at night.

I see Will’s eyes following me from across the room. When he notices me watching him, he gives me a smile and winks. He’s seated with a group of candidates, most of whom I’ve never spoken to. One is Brick. He has yet to speak to me and I am glad because I am not sure I could speak without seeing the massacre he wrought in my name. I wonder if he understands that the lives he took were human and if their bloody faces haunt his dreams the way they do mine.

On the other side of the room is Stacia. Her face is just as unreadable as it was during the test. She doesn’t sit with her travel companion, Vic, but instead is seated alone. Redheaded Vic is seated far across the room. Tracelyn, the girl who missed her boyfriend and so badly wanted to be a teacher, is nowhere to be found. I can only guess that whatever happened to her is the reason for the haunted look in Vic’s eyes and the knowing smile on Stacia’s lips.

Tomas and I do not talk to the others as we wait for the fourth test to end and the final interviews to begin. We spend mealtimes together and, when allowed, walk the grounds outside. In between talk of home, Tomas whispers in my ear that he might have found a way to retain our memories. While he was in the hospital, he overheard his doctors talking to a Testing official about the medication he and some of the other wounded candidates were taking. The Testing official was concerned because the medication had been known to interfere with the upcoming Testing procedures. He insisted Tomas and the others be strictly monitored so their systems will be clear of the drugs by the time the final University selections are made.

“They thought I was sleeping. The next time the nurses brought my medication, I pretended to take it. I managed to save one of my pills. I’m going to try to get a few more during the next couple medical checks. Some of the nurses are more easily distracted than others. It’ll depend on which ones I get.”

I’m not surprised that Tomas’s dimpled smile and clear gray eyes could distract the nurses from their duties. His kisses are certainly a distraction to me. Over the next two days, Tomas adds one more pill to his stash and five more candidates cross the white finish line. Each time one walks in, I feel my heart lift—hoping the last of the Five Lakes candidates has made it back. But it is never Zandri’s face in the doorway. And when an announcement comes during dinner, telling us interviews will begin tomorrow, I know she won’t be returning.

That night Zandri joins the cast of my nightmares. Her blond hair is spread out on the cracked brown earth. Her mouth open with surprise as birds peck away pieces of her eyes.

My eyes snap open as I bite back a scream. It takes me several minutes to realize I’m in the Testing Center. No longer on the plains. No longer in danger. Then I remember.

The interviews are today. The danger is far from over.

I stare at the ceiling, holding my Testing bag until dawn breaks. Without a roommate, I don’t need to sleep with the bag, but old habits die hard. When light streams through the window, I slide my legs over the edge of the bed and head to the bathroom. I take a shower and then dig through the pocket of the pants I wore yesterday. My fingers close over the vial containing the liquid I was instructed to drink before my interview. As promised, it was among my possessions when I was released from the medical facility.

Sitting on the floor, I roll the vial between my fingers and think back to the gray-haired man’s words.

Before the interview begins, they will give you a drug to encourage you to answer the questions honestly, without holding back anything you wish to keep secret.

I said then that I had nothing to hide, but I was wrong. While I personally might not be in danger from my answers, others could be. If Testing officials ask about my father, Zeen, or our former teacher there is a chance my answers could betray or condemn. If this vial offers a chance at keeping them safe, I have to take it. Unless, of course, I believe Dr. Barnes and his Testing officials planted this drug in my hands as one more test? Will consuming it be punishable by illness or death? I wouldn’t put it past them. I have a choice to make. Do I drink the liquid or leave it untouched?

By the time the loudspeaker announces breakfast, I have yet to make a decision. But one will be required of me and fast. Soon they will wonder why I haven’t left my room and ask questions I can ill afford to answer. I have to decide what I believe.

I unstop the vial, then drink the contents. My family’s safety comes first. If this is the wrong answer, I will know soon enough. Grabbing my bag, I climb to my feet and head toward whatever the day will bring. For good or for ill, The Testing will end today.

Breakfast is a rowdy affair. Most candidates sit together in the middle of the dining hall as though proving they have nothing to fear from the evaluations. Will is in the center of the group, cracking jokes. He stops to watch as I walk by, take a table in the back, and wait for Tomas.

Nibbling on a piece of bread, I wait to feel the effects of the drug. I don’t notice Will until I hear a chair scraping the floor across from me and see him drop into it.

He takes a bite of an apple and considers me across the table. “I thought you’d like to know I almost died. The last shot you fired burst my appendix. Good thing I don’t really need it to live. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.” When I don’t respond, his smile disappears. “Okay, I know this probably sounds stupid, but I’m glad I didn’t end up killing you like I planned.”

“You’re right. It does sound stupid.” And because I can’t help myself, I say, “I trusted you.”

“Yeah. That’s your Achilles’ heel. Leaders are supposed to inspire trust. They’re not supposed to actually believe in it.”

“You trusted Gill.”

Pain flashes deep in his eyes. Then it is gone, replaced by a nasty grin. “My Achilles’ heel. After he left, I couldn’t focus on the second round of tests. They’ll call me out on that in my interview, but I think I demonstrated in the third and fourth rounds that I have an ability to focus on the goal.”

“Zandri didn’t mention you doing anything in the third round.”

Will laughed. “That’s because she went first. It wasn’t until you came out and mentioned Roman’s trick with your group that she started to put the pieces together. When the third test ended and none of the other members of our group returned, Zandri realized what I’d done.”

I stare at Will as his confession sinks in. Will made the same choice Roman did—to betray his teammates and eliminate the competition. I should have realized this, but I had been so distracted waiting for Brick to return that I hadn’t paid enough attention to my friends. If I had, Tomas would never have been shot. Then again, without Will, Tomas and I might never have survived our encounter with Roman.

“I thought you were a nice guy, Will.”

“I am a nice guy.” He laughs.

“Nice guys don’t kill.”

“Killing was the easy part. Kind of like killing a wolf back home. You just aim and fire and your problem is solved.”

“You think it’s that easy?” Bile rises fast and hot in my throat. “The blond girl you killed with your crossbow wasn’t an animal. She had a family. Friends. People who loved her. She was trying to survive the test as best she could. Just like you.”

I wait for him to defend his actions. Tell me how it was all necessary. His choice to get a spot at the University.

Instead, Will lowers his voice and says, “Her name was Nina. She was from Pierre Colony. One of the girls who made it to the end went to school with her.”

“Nina.” I think about her bracelet in my bag and am happy to have this piece of information. Knowing her name doesn’t make her any less dead, but it matters to me.

Will nods. “And no. You’re right. It’s not that easy. The act of killing is simple. Living with it . . .” He looks off beyond me and sighs. “Well, maybe that’s what the whole test is really about. Leaders are forced to kill all the time. Then they have to learn to live with the decisions they make. Just like I’m going to learn to live with mine.”

“You really think that was the point of the fourth test? To learn if you could kill and live with it?”

He shrugs. “I guess we’re going to find out. Right?”

I think about Stacia’s words that so closely echoed Will’s and then of Dr. Barnes, who watched Ryme’s body being cut down while believing it was for the best that she died. And I’m scared Will’s right. That killing and learning to live with it was the point. Since I, too, have killed I do not have to worry about meeting the criteria. But I am no longer certain I want to be a leader. Not if my country values murder above compassion.

I see movement near the dining hall entrance, glance up, and, for the first time today, smile. Tomas. His jaw clenches as he spots Will, but he doesn’t come right over. Instead, he grabs a plate and fills it. If Will is smart, he’ll get lost before Tomas arrives.

Will follows my glance and groans. “I should have known you’d find a way to save him like you saved me. For the record, I’m not so happy to see him alive. No offense.” He leans forward and adds, “I hate to say it, but he still doesn’t deserve your trust, Cia. Or your love. Hell . . .” He looks around the room before his eyes settle back on me. “None of us does.”

Before Tomas can reach the table, Will gets up, gives me another one of his winks, and heads off to rejoin the group.

Tomas sets his plate next to mine, but his eyes are focused on Will. “What did he want?”

Good question. One I’m not sure I can answer. But I try. “To tell me he’s glad I’m alive. He’s not so happy to see you, though.”

A smile crosses Tomas’s lips. “Well, isn’t that too bad? Because I plan on staying here for a really long time.”

“I for one am happy to hear that.”

“I kind of hoped you would be.” He looks around the room at the kids laughing and asks, “Are you ready for the interview?”

I hear Will’s laughter ring through the hall and wonder if he was right about what the Testers are looking for. Shaking off the worry, I say, “It’s just answering a few questions. After everything else, how hard can that be?”

“Good morning.” Dr. Barnes smiles at us from the lecture hall stage. “Congratulations on passing all four tests. I cannot tell you how impressed we are by your intelligence, your resourcefulness, and your dedication. During the fourth exam you had a chance to see beyond the borders of your revitalized colonies and witness firsthand the challenges our leaders face. The tests we put before you were challenging and the consequences for failure high, but the challenges and consequences that our leaders face are higher still. We know what we have asked of you, and we are delighted so many more of you than expected have made it this far.”

I think of how small a group we are compared to when we started. It makes me wonder how few must have survived in years past for Dr. Barnes to expect less.

“Of course, you are all wondering about today’s interview. I’m happy to tell you that the interviews will be short and relatively simple. Thus far you have demonstrated your intellect and your ability to strategize. You’ve shown us your ability to survive under strenuous conditions and problem-solve when things have gone awry. We know you are smart. Now we would like to know more about you the person. We are going to ask questions about you, your family, and your colony as well as the decisions you’ve made during your time here at The Testing. Please be honest and open. In essence, we are asking you to just be yourself. Nothing you say will be wrong, unless, of course, it is a lie. As members of the United Commonwealth, we ask that our leaders be honest and forthright. Today, we ask the same courtesy of you.”

I can’t help but wonder how they will enforce this rule and what punishment will occur if we are not completely honest.

Dr. Barnes, however, has moved from that point on to the rest of the instructions. “Each of you will be interviewed by a panel of five Testing officials. Each evaluation can last as long as forty-five minutes. Please do not read anything into the time we take to question you. When your evaluation is over, you will be escorted back to your designated sleeping quarters to wait for the results. I warn you—our decision making might take a great deal of time. We ask that you be patient as we work to select those we feel are the very best candidates for the University. Some of us are known to be stubborn.”

He gives us one last warm smile. “The best of luck to each one of you. I look forward to working with many of you when you attend the University next year. I know we are going to do great things together.”

Dr. Barnes exits the hall and a gray-haired woman in a blood-red jumpsuit takes the stage. “When your name is called, please stand and exit into the hallway. From there, a Testing official will escort you to your evaluation room.”

“Victor Josslim.”

Red-haired Vic climbs to his feet. He keeps his head down as he walks out. I can’t help but notice how thin and pale he looks compared to the boy I met a week into the fourth test. He’s changed. We all have. And as more names are called, I hold tight to Tomas’s hand and wonder if that isn’t why the Testers remove our memories. To turn back the clock. To turn us back into the kids who optimistically came here believing they could change the world.

I feel Tomas stiffen as his name is spoken. My lips brush his cheek for luck and then he is gone and I am left to wait for my name to be called. And that’s when I remember. Tomas has the pills. Both of them. Our one chance at keeping our memories of The Testing alive if we make it through the interview. I can only hope the Testing officials will allow us to see each other again before our memories are altered. If not, I hope Tomas will take them and remember for both of us.

One by one the room empties. I try to sit still, but I can’t help fidgeting as I think about the questions the Testers will ask and wonder what kinds of answers they’re looking for. Dr. Barnes said no answer we give will be wrong, but I know that isn’t true. Fourteen more candidates will be eliminated during this phase. The Testing committee has to be looking for something specific. I just wish I knew what it is.

“Malencia Vale.”

My legs are uncertain as I stand and walk to the hallway. My heart thunders in my chest. I repeat Dr. Barnes’s words “just be yourself” in my head as I follow a Testing official to a doorway at the end of the hallway. He asks me to wait for a moment and slips through the door. Inside is the murmur of voices. I bite the edge of my thumbnail and stifle the urge to pace off the nervous energy building inside me.

After several minutes, the door swings open and a voice says, “Please come in.”

Just be yourself, I think as I take a step across the threshold. But instead of calming me, the words make my heart pound harder. Because I’m not sure I know how to do that. I’m no longer the girl who left Five Lakes Colony, who believed that Graduation Day actually made a child into an adult. I certainly wasn’t an adult then, and now . . .

After everything I have seen and done, I’m forced to admit I don’t know exactly who I am. But I know I need to find out fast because this final interview requires that I show them. And that test has just begun.

Chapter 21

THE ROOM IS small and white. White walls. White floors. No windows. A long black table sits along one side of the room with five Testing officials seated behind it. Two in red. Two in purple. And Dr. Barnes beckoning me farther inside.

“Please, come on in, Cia. Take a seat.”

In the middle of the room is a single black chair that faces the Testing officials. Next to it is a small black table and a glass of clear liquid.

“Please have a drink.”

All eyes follow me as I cross the room and take my seat. Dr. Barnes nods as I pick up the glass, making it clear the polite request is an order. There is no choice but to drink whatever the glass contains.

Water. Perhaps something else. There is a metallic aftertaste along with something slightly bitter. Almost immediately I notice the tension leaching out of my muscles. After being on my guard for so long, the relaxation in my limbs feels wonderful. I find myself smiling and decide there is more than just a muscle relaxant in the mix. Whatever else they gave me must cause euphoria and an overwhelming sense of well-being.

“Truth serum.” The words are out of my mouth the moment I think them.

Dr. Barnes nods. “So far today, you’re the first candidate to pick up on that without my telling them.”

“Or maybe they were too scared to mention they noticed.” Again, the words are gone before I think to control them.

Dr. Barnes laughs. “That is certainly a possibility. That’s why we give you the drug. It is designed to help your mind and your body relax. We know how stressful this process is. We don’t want the tension to interfere in our getting to know the real you.”

The haze of euphoria clears, and this time I think before admitting, “I’m not sure I know who the real me is.”

“That’s what we are here to find out. Tell us about your family, Cia.”

My family. I take a deep breath and carefully consider my answer. That I can stop and think before speaking makes me believe the liquid in the vial has counteracted the worst of the truth serum. Now I need to give them the answer they’re looking for. They must already know about my parents and my brothers. So what do they want to hear?

I decide to keep it simple. I list my family members. The other Testing officials ask a couple of questions about Five Lakes Colony, and I answer them as best I can. Their questions focus mostly around my father—what he taught me, what he told me about his Testing experience. I admit that he told me he remembered very little. “But he did warn me some of the other candidates would be very competitive.”

They ask follow-up questions, and though my muscles are loosened, my mind stays alert enough for me to avoid answers that could put my family in jeopardy. When Dr. Barnes mentions he has heard that my oldest brother has spearheaded several projects for my father and asks me whether I think he should have been tested for the University, I do not hesitate. I lie.

“My father tries to give all of his workers credit for projects they work on whether they deserve it or not. I love Zeen a lot, but his work is sloppy and doesn’t merit the credit it receives.”

I am relieved to navigate this pitfall when the next opens up in front of me. This time they ask about my father. Did he want his children to follow in his footsteps? Was he excited I was chosen? I keep my answers simple and upbeat. No mention of my father’s dreams or his unhappiness at my candidacy. Nothing to cause Tosu officials to think twice about my father’s memories of his time in The Testing.

The questions shift to The Testing itself.

Why did I alert Brick to what I believed was Roman’s deception?

To do less would make me a poor teammate.

What was my reasoning behind burying the unknown testing candidate?

My parents taught me to treat life with respect.

Did I come in contact with people from outside the Testing barriers?

No.

How do I feel about my decision to trust Will?

Trusting Will was a poor choice. I will choose more wisely in the future.

As I answer, I am constantly aware of Dr. Barnes’s eyes studying me, weighing every word.

When he finally speaks again he asks, “Tell us about your relationship with Tomas Endress.”

The question surprises me. Carefully, I answer, “The two of us are close friends. He says he loves me, but I think that’s because I remind him of home.”

“Surely you feel more than friendship for Mr. Endress. Why else would you have risked your life by taking the time to save his?”

I bite my lip and try to decide what Dr. Barnes wants to hear. Finally, I say, “My family taught me to help others at all costs. It’s the Five Lakes Colony way.”

Dr. Barnes leans forward. “Do you think taking time to rework your bicycle in order to save his life was a smart decision?”

“It worked,” I answer. “We’re both alive.”

“Yes. You are.” He smiles. “But I’m concerned you might be too emotionally attached to candidate Endress.”

The benign tone cannot mask the menace behind the words. Even the Testing officials flanking Dr. Barnes shift uncomfortably in their seats. The silence stretches between us, making it hard to breathe. It must be my turn to say something, but no question has been asked—and without knowing what he is asking, I cannot hope to answer correctly. And something tells me this answer is the most important of them all.

Finally, when the silence becomes unbearable, I admit, “I don’t understand.”

“Emotional entanglements can be challenging in these kinds of situations. For instance, what will happen if you are accepted to the University and he is not?”

My heart thunders. “I will be pleased for myself and disappointed the Testing committee didn’t recognize Tomas’s potential. He’s smart and resourceful. The United Commonwealth would benefit from having him attend the University.”

“Should we be concerned that your disappointment could impact your performance at the University?”

How to answer the question? My mind races. Whatever I say will not only impact my life, but affect Tomas, too. To say I am going to be indifferent will be a lie they can easily identify. After all, as Dr. Barnes pointed out, I did save Tomas’s life at the risk of my own. The truth serum they gave me is supposed to render lies impossible. If I answer with an obvious lie now they will know something has gone amiss and wonder why. I resist the urge to wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and force my mind to focus.

There is only one answer I can come up with. “All leaders have to live with disappointment at some point or another. If I have to learn that lesson early, I won’t enjoy it, but I will do my best not to let you down.”

The other Testing officials look at one another as I wait for whatever else Dr. Barnes has in store. He rolls a pencil back and forth on the table in front of him as he studies me. I remain still and meet his stare with one of my own. Someone in the room coughs. Another clears her throat. Those are the only sounds as the minutes tick away.

Finally, Dr. Barnes says, “I think we’ve gotten all the information we need. Unless any of my colleagues have something to ask?”

Every head behind the table shakes from side to side, flooding me with confusion. Dr. Barnes told us the evaluations could take forty-five minutes. I doubt twenty minutes have passed since I walked into this room. They never asked about my performance in the first two tests and only asked a handful of questions about test number four. Does their disinterest mean I’ve failed? It must, because they are pushing back their chairs. I want to ask them to wait. To explain that people who elicit trust only to betray should not be leaders. To tell them that while I am no longer the same girl who dreamed of coming to Tosu City, I am someone who should be selected for the University. Not because I want to be a part of this system. I don’t think I do. Not anymore. But because I want the chance to live.

Before I can speak, Dr. Barnes says, “Before you go, I should ask if you have any questions for us.”

This is my chance to impress them. This is the time to ask something that will show the depth of my observational skills or demonstrate my ability to think on my feet. But while I know that this is my chance to shine, the temptation to fill one important blank is too great. Maybe it was talking about Five Lakes Colony and our tight-knit community or maybe it was learning Will took the time to discover the name of the girl he killed. While the chances are slim, someday I might go home. If the pills Tomas has sneaked from the hospital help me retain my memory, I will be able to tell Malachi’s family about his time at The Testing. I will be able to tell them how he died. Zandri deserves no less.

So instead of discussing the fields of study or questioning what my life will be like while attending the University, I ask, “What happened to Zandri Hicks during the last test? How did she die?”

A ghost of a smile plays on Dr. Barnes’s lips, and he lets out a small laugh. “And here I thought you had that figured out. Perhaps the answer will come to you after this interview is over. After all, you do have her identification bracelet in your bag.” He checks his watch and sighs. “And with that, this interview is at an end. Congratulations on making it this far in the process, Cia. It has been a pleasure to watch you perform.”

I’m escorted out of the room before I can ask what he means about Zandri and her bracelet. My legs threaten to buckle as the official leads me down the hall. This must be a typical response either to the drug or the stress, because the Testing official puts an arm around my waist as he leads me back to my designated sleeping quarters. And then he is gone, leaving me alone with my worry of failure and Dr. Barnes’s parting words to keep me company.

Zandri.

Dr. Barnes thought I already knew what happened to her. How could I? I never once saw her on the Testing plains. There is no way I could have ended up with her identification bracelet.

Upending my bag on the bed, I search for clues to what I’m supposed to have learned already. There are my clothes, the Transit Communicator, my pocketknife. There is a fragment of white sheet lodged in the corner of my bag. But all other evidence that the fourth test ever took place is gone. Except for three small identification bracelets that rest in the side pocket.

My fingers outline the design on the first. The triangle with an eight-spoked wheel I took from the girl we buried. The girl Will killed with his crossbow. The girl I now have a name for—Nina. A girl from Pierre Colony who came here to take a test and was murdered by the United Commonwealth. Will might have pulled the trigger, but the Testing officials allowed it to happen. Over the years, how many other candidates have murdered to keep themselves alive? And how many more have died to help the Testers pass judgment on the merits of the candidates?

The thought makes me angry. So much so that it takes me a while to remember the two other bracelets in my bag. One of which Dr. Barnes claims is the answer to my question. I put Nina’s bracelet to the side and study the other two. The first displays Roman’s symbol—an X surrounded by a circle. On the other, smaller bracelet is a triangle with a stylized flower. I think back to our ride to Tosu City. Zandri was flirting with Tomas while her fingers toyed with her bracelet. A bracelet with this design. A bracelet I don’t remember picking up. Where did it come from?

I think through the events of the fourth test day by day. The run through the wreckage that was once Chicago. The beautiful, booby-trapped oasis. Nina’s sightless corpse. The hulking, wolflike animals giving chase. Meeting Stacia, Vic, and Tracelyn. The city with its domed building and mazelike streets. The stream where I was forced to kill. Will. Brick’s bullets tearing the mutated humans to shreds. Roman’s attack. The girl firing at us so near the end. Will shooting Tomas. My desperate attempt to alter the bicycle to get him back to Tosu City. The ride.

Wait. My fingers worry away at the sides of Zandri’s bracelet as a memory hits. A memory so unimportant next to Will’s betrayal or Tomas’s wound emptying his blood onto the soil. I needed matches, so I searched Tomas’s bag in the dark and found a metal object. An object I believed to be Nina’s other bracelet that Tomas must have taken as a remembrance just as I had done.

Only, I was wrong. The bracelet belonged to Zandri.

How did it end up in Tomas’s bag?

Of the three and a half weeks it took to complete the fourth test, Tomas and I were together for all but a day and a half. Could he have picked up the bracelet while wandering the streets of Chicago? If so, why didn’t he tell me? Did he not want me to know that Zandri had failed the test so soon after it began? Did he fear that I would believe failure was inevitable?

Maybe. Tomas would have worried for me. He would have wanted to keep me focused and safe. But I am not sure this is the answer. There was one other time Tomas and I were separated. And I know.

The bracelet.

The dried blood on Tomas’s knife.

The haunted look in his eyes.

Will’s words that Tomas is not who I think he is.

The candidate that Will and Tomas met while I was gone. Not some unnamed male from Colorado Springs Colony.

Zandri.

The pieces click together with a force that knocks the air from my lungs. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can only clutch the bracelet that belonged to the beautiful girl whose talent everyone from Five Lakes Colony admired. The girl who flirted with Tomas. The girl he must have killed.

No. My heart doesn’t want to believe it. Tomas wouldn’t kill anyone. Not unless he didn’t have a choice. I left Will and Tomas together. Isn’t it more likely that Will, a proven killer, was the one to murder Zandri? Maybe there was some kind of altercation. Maybe . . .

The possibilities jumble. The combination of drugs in my system is making it hard for me to think clearly. I get up and walk the length of the room, staring at the bracelet in my hand, trying to uncover the truth behind it. As much as my heart wants to think Tomas had nothing to do with Zandri’s murder, his unwillingness to share what happened on that day makes it hard to believe otherwise.

Betrayal and fear, anger and heartbreak. The emotions hit hard and fast, buckling my knees, sending me to the floor. But I refuse to cry. The camera is still in the ceiling, and I will not give Dr. Barnes and the officials behind the screen the satisfaction of seeing me break. And, really, aren’t they the ones to blame for Zandri’s death? They put us in their game and asked us to survive. Whatever Tomas did, I am certain he didn’t do it to win a place on the University roster. He must have thought his life was in jeopardy.

I jump at a knock on the door. When I open it, I am handed a large tray of food and told the committee is still deliberating. The Testing official leaves, and I hear the sound of the lock sliding into place. And I wait.

The meal is extravagant. A large steak charred on the outside but pink and oozing with juices in the middle. There are slices of potato—the version Zeen created—with the skin still on, fried to a golden brown. Cold shrimp is served with tiny slices of lime and a small dish of melted butter. A salad of fresh vegetables and walnuts is tossed with something tangy and sweet. A frosty glass is filled with something clear and bubbly. There is also a clear bottle of water and a piece of cake.

This is a meal meant to celebrate making it this far in The Testing. Never have I felt less like celebrating.

The camera above makes me cut the steak. I’m certain it is delicious, but it is all I can do to chew and swallow without gagging. I take a drink of the bubbly liquid and immediately put the glass down. Alcohol. The same drink Zeen brought to cheer me on graduation night. Then the drink tasted bitter with disappointment. Today it tastes of home.

I drink the water and take tiny sips of the alcohol to keep Zeen close. I eat bits of the salad, but ignore the cake. The idea of celebrating while Zandri’s identification bracelet sits in my hand is enough to make me ill. The passage of time is marked by the setting of the sun. I watch as the last rays disappear and wonder if the decision will be made before tomorrow’s sunset.

An official collects the dinner tray. Once again I hear the loud turn of the lock. With nothing but the moon to keep me company, the minutes drag by. I think about Zandri and Malachi. I analyze every moment of my interview, turning each word over for some clue as to whether I have passed or failed. I fall asleep curled around my Testing bag.

The dawn brings a new tray. No decision has been made. The Testing official tells me to be patient before leaving me alone to pace the floor.

Trays come. Trays are taken away. No news.

I relive my days in The Testing, looking for clues as to what could have propelled Tomas to take Zandri’s life, and find nothing. While Zandri was brash and headstrong, I can’t imagine her attacking Will or Tomas. She was friends with Tomas. She might have even loved him a little. And now she’s dead. Tortured by my waking thoughts, I try to lose myself in sleep, but find Dr. Barnes and the Testing officials waiting for me there, too. One by one they evaluate the performance of the dead candidates.

Ryme. Nina. Malachi. Boyd. Gill. Annalise. Nicolette. Roman. Zandri.

A pile of bodies lies in the corner when the evaluators turn to me. Dr. Barnes shakes his head. He tells me I showed great promise. It’s too bad I trusted the wrong people. Leaders cannot afford that mistake. He tells me I failed as another Testing official pulls out a crossbow, takes aim, and fires. The quarrel punches through my stomach, and I scream myself awake before I hit the floor.

Locked in a room with no human contact other than the official who brings my meals, I feel the tension gnawing at me. I pace for hours and then sit for hours more and stare at the walls, willing a decision to be made. But no decision is forthcoming, and a small part of me wonders if this waiting is also a test. Are Dr. Barnes and his friends sitting behind their screens, watching to see how we handle it? Do other candidates pace as I do? Are my nightmares a strike against me or does uninterrupted sleep show an undesirable streak of indifference?

I stare at the camera above, not caring if the officials see that I know it is there. Or maybe I want them to know. To see I am smart enough to figure out that they are watching. As sleep eludes me, I think about the candidates who have died, and the memory wipe that is coming if we cannot outsmart it, and wonder for the first time if the candidates who failed the first two rounds of Testing were eliminated or if the Commonwealth simply erased any memory of this experience. Over the past one hundred years, the United Commonwealth population has grown, but has it grown enough to eliminate dozens of its most promising citizens every year? And if those candidates aren’t eliminated, where do they go?

After the morning tray has come and gone, I tire of the eyes that follow me and the ears listening to my awakening screams. Giving my audience behind the camera a small smile, I probe my bracelet, find the clasp and watch it fall from my wrist onto the bed alongside those that belonged to Zandri and Nina. I remove the second bracelet from my bag, place it with the others, then I take my bag and lock myself in the bathroom.

The feeling of being alone—really alone—eases some of the tension from my shoulders. I take a shower. I curl up on the floor and nap. With nothing else to do, I go through the items in my Testing bag. These are things I brought from home. Things my mother sewed. My father touched. My brothers worked with. Things that helped define who I used to be. No longer afraid of being judged by the cameras, I allow my tears to fall as I touch each one and hold it to my cheek, trying to recapture the person who first packed this bag. I miss the hope she felt. The optimism. The brightness of the future in front of her. If Tomas’s pills don’t work, will taking away the memories of The Testing bring her back? Can losing my memories truly wipe the shadow from my heart?

Maybe, and for a moment I allow myself to yearn for that blissful ignorance. Dreams filled with peace. A future free of too much knowledge.

I jump at the sound of a male voice and turn to see where it is coming from. It takes me a minute to realize the voice is speaking from the device clutched tight in my hands.

“The soil in sector four is showing signs of sustaining life, and the radiation levels are almost nonexistent. The new formula appears to be working.”

Zeen. His voice is strong and healthy and so wonderfully familiar. I ache, hearing the sound of it. I must have hit a button that started a playback of Zeen’s voice. The Transit Communicator is also a recorder.

“Tell Dad there are sick animals in sector seven. Might be from the new berries we cultivated there. We should run tests.”

I remember hearing about that problem over dinner—a week or maybe two before my graduation. They argued, laughed, and debated the problem long into the night, even allowing me to add a few thoughts of my own. I felt so grown-up to be included. So ready to take on the world. How silly that seems now.

For a while I am content to listen to Zeen’s voice as he records his thoughts on the sections outside of Five Lakes that my father and his team are working to revitalize. A disgruntled word makes me laugh. Mentions of Dad or my other brothers cause tears. And I wonder—how does the recorder work? I know the device can communicate with the one Dad has in his office, but I’ve never heard Dad mention that it doubles as a recorder.

It takes me a while to find the button. A small area in the back that looks to be a part of the casing but has been turned into something more. Something not originally designed to be a part of the device. Something created by Zeen.

The screwdriver on my pocketknife helps me reveal the rest of his handiwork. I can’t help smiling as I admire my brother’s ingenuity. A tiny black box has been nestled among the other wires and chips. By the way he spliced and connected the wires, I can see how he rigged the communication microphone to record voices and the earpiece to act as the playback speaker. All of it is done with seamless precision. Had I not squeezed so hard and mistakenly triggered the playback button on the back, I would never have recognized the recording device was there.

A knock startles me. Carefully, I slide the items into my Testing bag, go into the darkened bedroom, and open the door. The woman on the other side is holding a tray and wears a concerned expression. “Is everything okay in here?” she asks.

I guess my disappearance into the bathroom has not gone unnoticed.

“I’m fine,” I assure her, but from the commotion coming from down the hall, I fear someone else is not. Has one of the candidates ended the tension like Ryme did? Though I should no longer care, I worry for Tomas. I can’t help it. No matter how The Testing has changed him, he will always be the boy from home who was kind to everyone. I want him to live.

The Testing official hands me the lunch tray, tells me no decision has been made, and locks the door. For the first time, I don’t mind the solitude. I eat the chicken swimming in a delicate tomato sauce and the fresh vegetables before once again closing myself off in the bathroom.

For a while I take comfort in my brother’s voice as he lists the day-to-day tasks that need addressing. But the reality that another candidate may have died soon has me pacing the floor. Perhaps I should see it as one less candidate standing in my way to the ultimate goal. But I can’t. To me it is one more promising mind whose fate will soon be forgotten. Like the others who will be forgotten. Unless someone remembers. If the United Commonwealth and the Testing officials have their way, no one will. At least no one who cares.

I look at the device in my hands and have an idea. It takes me a few minutes to figure out which series of buttons starts the recording device. Once I do, I begin to talk. In a quiet and often unsteady voice I remember Malachi. His smile. His shy demeanor. His sweet singing voice and his death. Ryme. Her corncakes. Her cocky attitude. Finding her hanging from the ceiling in our room. The first of the Testing murders. I tell of waking up in the box. Walking out onto the broken streets of Chicago. The crossbow quarrel aimed at me. My terror. How the gun kicked in my hand.

I find the recording device can only record so much. I have to pick and choose what I tell. I agonize over which memories to preserve. It breaks my heart when I have to rewind and erase a story to preserve a different one. They all deserve to be remembered, but only a few can. More than once my tears force me to stop the recording. My heart stings. My lungs burn and my throat is raw when the recorder is full. But the memories are there. As much as the machine will hold. For someone to learn and remember.

Will they send the device back to my parents if my candidacy is unsuccessful? I doubt it. But maybe I can ask Michal to get it to them if I’m gone.

With my pocketknife, I etch a small design in the back of the device before shoving it in my bag. I then pile my clothes and other belongings on top and wash the evidence of my efforts from my face. When the Testing official brings dinner, she again asks after my welfare. I assure her I am fine and take the tray. Before she closes the door she says, “A decision has been made. The next class of University students will be announced after breakfast.”

Pass or fail, this will all end tomorrow.

Chapter 22

FOR THE FIRST time in weeks, there are no nightmares. Just dreams of home and a sense of peace and relief that this all will end soon. The knock at the door wakes me. A new tray with a request that I be dressed and packed in an hour. Someone will come for me.

I pick at the meal. Fresh strawberries. A thick, hot grain sweetened with raisins and walnuts. Tangy orange juice. Rolls thick with cinnamon icing. I try to enjoy it all, but a nervous tension begins to push aside my newfound well-being and I can eat only a few bites.

I fasten the clasp of my identification bracelet around my wrist. The second bracelet I place back on the strap of my bag. I think of my father and how he must have felt while preparing for his verdict. And I wait wondering if I will see Tomas before the officials remove our memories. Will he be able to pass me one of the pills? Will he see my newfound suspicions in my eyes?

When the knock comes, I am ready. Bag over my shoulder, I follow the dark-haired woman down the hallway. The small meal I consumed rolls in my stomach as we enter the elevator and ride in silence to the second floor. My escort’s expression stays neutral. No smile. No look of warning. Nothing to give away the fate that has been determined for me.

The door at the end of the brightly lit hallway is open and my Testing official tells me to go inside. They are waiting.

I shove my hands in my pockets to keep them from trembling and walk inside the large room with my escort trailing behind me. There are at least a dozen Testing officials seated behind a large table. Dr. Barnes sits at the center. A small white envelope is on the table in front of him. His expression is unreadable as I walk to a solitary chair placed in front of the table.

As I sit, Dr. Barnes gives me a warm smile. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long for us to make a decision, but we wanted to get it right.” Slowly, he takes the envelope, walks around the table, and comes to a stop in front of me. My heart thunders as he says, “I’m sure you’re anxious to receive the results of your Testing, so I won’t delay any further.”

He lifts the envelope flap and pulls out a white sheet of paper. He stares at it for a moment as though weighing the judgment before handing it to me. My fingers fumble with the paper. It takes me several tries before I can read the single word printed in bold black print in the center.

Pass

I did it.

A smile crosses my face, and my heart skips. I hear murmurs of congratulations from the officials in the room. Dr. Barnes tells me how proud he is and shakes my hand. Then something pinches my neck and the world goes black.

I failed.

My fingers trace the five lines etched in my left arm as I study them in the reflector of my University student quarters. Three rooms—bedroom, living space, and bathroom—that have been assigned to me for the first phase of my studies. Signs that I passed my Testing. The most important achievement of my life. And yet, I remember none of it.

I must have tried to avoid the memory loss. And still I failed. All I remember is the trip to Tosu City in the black skimmer. A scruffy, mean-eyed boy tripping Malachi. My roommate and her corncakes. And then nothing until the moment when I find myself in a room sitting among what I can only assume are other Testing candidates. My eyes fly around the room, looking for familiar faces, as a gray-haired, bearded man in a purple jumpsuit climbs onto a lit stage. He gives us all a warm, delighted smile and says, “Congratulations. I am happy to say you are the twenty candidates who have been chosen to attend the University next year.”

Surprise. Delight. Confusion. And then understanding. The Testing is over. I passed. Dr. Barnes tells us we will be moved from the Testing Center into our new living quarters as soon as the meeting is over. There will be a celebration afterward so we can get to know one another. But I already know one of the candidates. My heart leaps with joy as a pair of gray eyes meets mine. And when he holds out his arms, I fly into them—happy that a familiar face is here. I will not embark on this adventure alone. Tomas is with me.

That was almost three weeks ago. Tomas and I have spent part of every day together, exploring the city and learning about each other. Just thinking about seeing him again today makes my insides flutter.

A knock on my door makes me jump. I roll down my sleeve, hiding the five jagged scars, and answer the door.

“Hey, you’re not ready.” Stacia’s dark eyes narrow as she takes in my white tunic and brown pants. “You can’t go to the party looking like that. What will everyone think?”

“The party isn’t for another hour.” I laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll be appropriately dressed.”

“You’d better be.” She frowns before stalking off, but I see the smile lurking under the serious demeanor. Stacia’s frown has kept most of the other candidates, including Tomas, at bay. But for some reason, I decided to talk to her and we seem to get along. I can’t help thinking that we must have met during the six-week Testing period. Maybe our friendship began then and we are just continuing it now.

Closing the door, I decide Stacia’s right. I should probably get ready for the party. After all, it is for me.

Between meeting University instructors, taking tours of the facilities, and moving into our apartments, none of us has had time to shop for new clothing. We’ve been given a few spare items from other University students, and Dr. Barnes has said we will be able to purchase new garments during the next few weeks. So I dress as usual in pants, but change into a borrowed blue shirt that covers my scars. I leave my hair down because Tomas mentioned that he likes it loose. As the only two Five Lakes Colony students who passed, we’re naturally drawn to each other. But there is something more than just the talk of home. Something warmer and richer and more exciting than friendship. Perhaps it’s silly for me to think our feelings might be love. But they might be. And now that The Testing is over, there’s nothing to prevent me and Tomas from finding out.

The next time Stacia knocks, I have clasped the silver identification bracelet etched with a single star, the symbol of a first-year University student, onto my wrist and am ready to go. The chatter of voices greets us as we step outside, and when we turn the corner I can’t help grinning. I see a banner wishing me Happy Birthday, a large cake filled with candles, and people smiling. Tomas. Dr. Barnes. Our entire University class and a number of the Testing officials are here to celebrate my birthday.

Someone spots us. Everyone turns, and together they begin to sing. I don’t know if all colonies sing this song to mark the occasion of one’s birth or if Tomas has taught it to them, but the song evokes memories of home. I can’t help but cry.

When the song is over, a gentle finger wipes the tear that falls down my cheek. “Hey, this is supposed to be a happy occasion. Maybe the song wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

“No.” I smile up at Tomas. “It was perfect. Honest.”

“Really?”

He brushes his lips against mine, and I smile. “Really.”

“Hey,” a teasing voice calls. “Other guys want to give the birthday girl a kiss too.”

Tomas frowns as Will walks up, plants a kiss on my cheek, and swings his arm around my shoulders. Will’s long hair is pulled back at his nape and his eyes flash with humor, which is good to see. As soon as Dr. Barnes finished congratulating us on our acceptance, Will raised his hand and asked about his brother, Gill, who came to The Testing with him. When Dr. Barnes explained that only Will had been accepted and, like all unsuccessful candidates, his brother had been assigned to a new colony, Will went nuts. It took four Testing officials to remove him from the lecture hall and several days before they considered him calm enough to move into his University quarters. Some of the students whispered that the officials were planning on calling back one of the unsuccessful candidates to replace him. But Will returned, and I’m glad he did.

Will gives me a second kiss on the cheek, and when Tomas protests he laughs. “Your boyfriend here is just jealous that the two of us are paired together for city orientation. Personally, I think you’re too good for any of us, Cia. But what do I know?”

Will’s words feel familiar. I find myself, not for the first time, cocking my head to the side, trying to recall something that hovers just out of reach.

Tomas tells Will he has no need to be jealous. Other candidates join us. A large, quiet boy named Brick hands me flowers. Then the conversation switches to our upcoming orientation. Before classes begin, all students spend four weeks meeting with Tosu City officials and representatives from every colony. We will also travel the city, learning about the place we are to call home for the next several years. The students are paired up for their assigned meetings and tours. That Will is my partner doesn’t sit well with Tomas. Not because he thinks there is anything romantic between us. Tomas gets along with most of the other students in our class, but Will seems to rub him the wrong way. I hope the two of them will work out their differences over the next weeks and months ahead.

Someone pulls out a solar radio, and the dancing starts. Even Dr. Barnes gets into the swing of things and twists and twirls with another Testing official who before they leave is introduced as his wife.

By the time the sun threatens to set, my feet are sore from dancing and I’ve eaten far too much birthday cake. I’m thinking about going back to my rooms when I see a familiar face lounging against a tree. I tell Tomas I’ll be back in a few minutes and walk across the courtyard to where Tosu City official Michal Gallen is standing.

“Happy birthday.”

“Have you been here all along?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I figured it would be best if I waited until some of the guests had gone home. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have time to talk. Congratulations on passing The Testing. Not that I’m surprised. You’re smart. You’re strong. I knew you could make it.”

The sense of déjà vu hits me again. But as I try to grab on to the memories, they scatter like the wind.

“What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. Just, I could swear I’ve heard you say those words before. Funny, right?”

He smiles, but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he says, “I brought you something.” He pulls a package from behind his back and hands it to me. When I start to unwrap it, he shakes his head. “Why don’t you wait until you’re alone or we’ll both end up in trouble. University policy states students will have minimal contact with their families, but I couldn’t see the harm in bringing you this.”

My family. I turn the present over in my hands with wonder. “How? Did my family contact you?”

“There was something I had to take care of in Madison Colony last week. I heard your father was going to be meeting with some people there, too, and decided to give him a call. He asked me to bring your family’s gift to you.”

The words are benign. A nice guy doing a nice thing for a girl far from home. But just a few minutes ago he didn’t deny that there are things he’s said to me that I no longer remember. I feel the gift in my hands and know there is more being said here than what it seems.

For a moment our eyes lock. I search his face for answers as someone shouts my name. I turn to see Tomas and some of the others waving their desire for me to return. “I’ll be there in a minute,” I yell. But when I turn back, Michal is gone.

A few of the other students tease me about a Tosu official bringing me a gift. I explain that he was our escort to The Testing, but that just makes the girls giggle harder. Even Tomas raises an eyebrow, but I give him a look that says I’ll explain everything later and keep the origin of the gift to myself. Michal has broken the rules to get this gift to me. I don’t want him to get in trouble for his efforts.

The sky darkens, and the party breaks up. Tomas walks me to my door, gives me a tender kiss, and then gives me something even better—his love. When I tell him I think I might love him back, time feels like it stands still as Tomas stares deep into my eyes as if searching to see if I am telling the truth. After one last kiss and a promise to see me in the morning, Tomas leaves. And, finally, I am alone with my gift. A gift from home. While I have forgotten the passing of the days that led to my birthday, my family did not. I open the box and find two cards and a bouquet of dried roses in a small cast-iron pot. Flowers my father and brothers created in the pot that my mother says was handed down from her mother. I couldn’t ask for a better gift.

Setting the flowers on the table next to my bed, I read the cards. One from Daileen telling me how much she misses me but promising to see me here next year. Then one from my family. Three of my brothers have scribbled a line telling me they miss me or wishing me a happy day. Zeen’s inscription says he’s proud of my achievements and sorry for his behavior on the night I left. He also wants his Transit Communicator back.

Laughing, I grab the device out of my Testing candidate bag and turn it over in my hand. No doubt Dad has already gotten a new device for Zeen. But sure, I’ll send it back. Just not before teasing Zeen a bit first. After all, what are younger sisters for?

I dump the device back into my bag and shove it under my bed. As I head to the closet to grab my nightclothes, I hear a clicking sound.

Drat. I must have turned the Transit Communicator on when I pushed the bag.

Sure enough, I managed to switch on the two-way radio feature that is too far out of range to communicate with the one my father has in his office. I know because I tried. Who knows, maybe after a year or two at the University, I’ll figure out a way to boost the signal so I can talk to my family whenever I want.

I’m about to put the device away again when something catches my eye. A scratch on the back of the device. Something I don’t remember seeing there when I took it from home. The scratch is only a centimeter long, but its jagged shape reminds me of something. The lightning bolt on my candidate identification bracelet. As my finger runs over the scratch, I feel a slight give in the metal. A button? Sure enough. It’s disguised well, but there is definitely a button hidden on the back of the device. No wonder Zeen wants this one back, I think. Because he turned it into something else. I must have figured that out during The Testing and left a mark as a reminder.

Grinning, I plop down on the bed, push the button, and wait for something unbelievable to happen. Because with Zeen, it’s always something unbelievable.

And it is unbelievable.

I blink as the small room fills with a voice that sounds like my own and listen as the voice speaks words I don’t want to believe.

For Casey and Michael

Chapter 1

EXAMINATION DAY.

I slide the cool material of my shirt over the five long, jagged scars on my arm and examine myself in the reflector. Blue, long-sleeved tunic. Gray pants. Silver bracelet with a single star. The star and the smudges of fatigue under my eyes mark me as an entry-level University student. My fellow classmates show similar signs of having studied late into the night for today. After six months of taking the same preliminary classes, all twenty of us will be tested and sorted into the fields of study that will serve as the focus for the rest of our lives.

My chest tightens. I used to enjoy taking tests. I liked proving that I had learned. That I had worked hard. That I was smart. But now I am not sure what is real or what the consequences of a wrong answer will be. While my classmates are concerned about the test affecting the years ahead, I worry I will not survive the day.

Normally, I pull my hair back into a thick dark knot in order to keep it out of my way. Today, I decide to leave it down. Perhaps the long waves will hide the evidence of months of restless nights. If not, maybe the cold compresses my mother taught me to apply to my eyes will help.

A wave of longing crashes over me at the thought of my mother. While contact between University students and their families is not expressly forbidden, neither is it encouraged. Most students I know have not heard a word from their loved ones back home. I have been fortunate. A Tosu official has been willing to pass along small bits of communication from my parents and four older brothers. They are well. My father and my oldest brother, Zeen, are creating a new fertilizer to help plants grow faster. My second oldest brother, Hamin, is engaged. He and his soon-to-be wife will be married next spring. His decision to marry has prompted our mother to look for wives for Zeen and my twin brothers, Hart and Win. So far, her efforts have been in vain.

Aside from my family, one other person has managed to get news to me. My best friend, Daileen, assures me she’s studying hard and is currently first in her class. Her teacher has hinted Daileen might be chosen for The Testing this year. She is keeping her fingers crossed that she will join me in Tosu City. I am hoping she will fail. I want her to stay in a place where the answers to questions make sense. Where I know she will be safe.

A knock at the door makes me jump. “Hey, Cia. Are you ready? We don’t want to be late.” Stacia’s right. Those who arrive late will not be allowed to take the exam. What that means for the future is unclear, but none of us wants to find out.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” I yell as I kneel next to the foot of the bed and slide my hand between the bed frame and the mattress. My fingers search until they find the lump that makes me sigh with relief. My brother Zeen’s Transit Communicator is still safe, as are the secrets it holds.

Months ago, I discovered the symbol I carved into the device to help lead me to the recorder and the confidences stored inside. When I finished listening to words I had no recollection of speaking, I cut open the mattress and hid the Communicator inside. Week after week, month after month, I tried to pretend that what the device revealed isn’t real. After all, haven’t I seen evidence every day that my fellow students are good people? That the professors and administrators working to prepare us for our futures want us to succeed? Some of them are standoffish. Others arrogant. None of the students or educators is perfect, but who is? No matter their flaws, I don’t want to believe any are capable of the whispered, sometimes hard to make out words inside the recorder.

“Cia.” Stacia’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “We have to get going.”

“Right. Sorry.” I slip into my coat, hoist my University bag onto my shoulder, and turn my back on my questions about the past. Those will have to wait. For now, I need to concentrate on my future.

Stacia frowns as I step into the hall. Her dark blond hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, making her angular features look sharper than usual. “What took you so long? We’re going to be the last ones to arrive.”

“Which will make everyone nervous,” I quip. “They’ll wonder why we didn’t feel the need to get there early and compare notes with everyone else.”

Stacia’s eyes narrow as she nods. “You’re right. I love psyching out the competition.”

I hate it. My parents taught me to value fair play over all else.

Stacia doesn’t notice my discomfort as we trek past healthy trees, thriving grass, and numerous academic structures. Not that she would say anything if she did. Stacia isn’t one for girl talk or idle chatter. At first her silences challenged me to bring her out of her shell, as I used to do for my best friend from Five Lakes. Now, with so many questions on my mind, I am grateful for the quiet company.

I wave at a couple of older students as they walk by. As always, they ignore us. After today, the upperclassmen assigned to the same field of study will act as our guides. Until then, they pretend we don’t exist. Most of my classmates have taken to ignoring them back, but I can’t. My upbringing is too strong not to be polite.

“Ha. I should have known he’d be waiting for us.” Stacia rolls her eyes and then laughs. “I’d bet my family’s compensation money that he hovered around you during The Testing, too. Too bad I’ll never know if I’d win that bet.”

My heart skips as I spot Tomas Endress standing near the front door of the four-story red and white brick Early Studies building. His dark hair blows in the late-winter breeze. A University bag is slung carelessly over his shoulder. His gray eyes and dimpled smile are focused squarely on me as he waves and comes bounding down the steps. Tomas and I have known each other all our lives, but in the last couple months, we’ve grown closer than I dreamed possible back home. When Tomas is with me, I feel smarter. More confident. And terrified that everything I think I know and admire about him is a lie.

Stacia rolls her eyes as Tomas kisses my cheek and entwines his fingers with mine. “I was starting to get worried about you. The test starts in ten minutes.”

“Cia and I didn’t feel the need to get here early and cram like everyone else. We’re totally prepared. Right, Cia?” Stacia tosses her blond ponytail and shoots me one of her rare smiles.

“Right,” I say with more conviction than I feel. Yes, I have studied hard for this test, but the whispered words on the Transit Communicator make me doubt I could ever fully prepare for what is to come.

Not for the first time, I wish my father were here to talk to me. Almost three decades ago, he attended the University. Growing up, I asked hundreds of questions about his time here. Rarely did he answer them. Back then, I assumed his silence was to keep my brothers and me from feeling pressure to follow in his footsteps. Now I’m forced to wonder if something more sinister lay behind his secrecy.

There is only one way to find out.

The three of us climb the steps. When we reach the front door, Tomas stops and asks for a moment alone with me. Stacia sighs, warns me not to be late, and stalks inside. When she’s out of sight, Tomas brushes a hair off my forehead and peers into my eyes. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Some.” Although with sleep comes the nightmares that hover just out of reach when I wake. “Don’t worry. Being your study partner means I can answer questions no matter how tired I am.”

While other students used their free time to relax or explore the United Commonwealth capital, Tosu City, Tomas and I spent all our spare moments with our books under a tree or in the library when the cold weather drove us inside. Most of our classmates assumed Tomas and I pretended to study in order to be alone. They don’t understand my fear of what might happen if I do not pass this exam.

Tomas gives my hand a squeeze. “Things will get easier once we’ve been given our designated areas of study. You’re a shoo-in for Mechanical Engineering.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” I smile. “While I’d love to work with you, the idea of being assigned Biological Engineering scares the hell out of me.” My father and brothers are geniuses at coaxing plants to thrive in the war-scarred earth. Revitalizing the earth is an important job. One I admire. I might even be happy to consider it, if I didn’t kill every plant I touched.

“Come on.” Tomas brushes a light kiss on my lips and tugs me toward the steps. “Let’s show them how smart students from Five Lakes are.”

The hallway of the Early Studies building is dim. Only the sunshine that creeps in from the glass panes in the front door lights our way. Tosu City has strict laws governing electricity usage. While the production and storage of electricity are more robust than in Five Lakes, conservation is encouraged. During the daytime, the University only directs electricity to labs or classrooms that require extra light for the day’s lesson. At night, however, the University has a much higher allotment of power than the rest of the city.

The second-floor examination room is well illuminated in honor of today’s test. The lights make it easy to see the tension etched in my classmates’ faces as they sit behind black desks, poring over their notes, hoping to cram one last fact that could make the difference between the futures they want and whatever else our professors might decide.

One final student arrives. I take a seat at an empty desk in the back. Tomas slides into the desk to the right of mine. I put my bag on the floor and glance around the room. Twenty of us. Thirteen boys. Seven girls. The future leaders of the United Commonwealth.

I am about to wish Tomas luck when Professor Lee arrives. For the past several months, Professor Lee has served as our history instructor. While most of the University teachers wear sober expressions, Professor Lee has kind eyes and a warm smile, which is why he’s my favorite. Today, instead of the faded brown jacket he favors, our instructor is wearing a ceremonial purple United Commonwealth jumpsuit. The room goes silent as Professor Lee walks up and down the rows of desks. On each desk he drops a booklet of paper and a yellow pencil. I run my hand over the image in the corner of the booklet’s cover. A lightning bolt. My symbol. Given to me in The Testing.

Professor Lee asks us not to open the booklet until further instruction is given. The booklet is thick. Back at Five Lakes, paper is harder to come by, so we use it sparingly and make sure to recycle every page when we are done. Here in Tosu City, learning takes priority over rationing.

My fingers toy with the pencil, rolling it back and forth across the black desk surface. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tomas watching me with a concerned expression. Suddenly, I’m in a different room. Eight students. A different male official dressed in ceremonial male purple. Eight black desks. Bright white walls instead of gray. Six boys. Only two girls in the room, one of whom is me. Tomas gives me the same worried look as I finger a pencil. The booklet in front of me is marked with the same lightning bolt, only this time, it is surrounded by an eight-pointed star. My symbol surrounded by the symbol of my group for The Testing.

The room in my memory disappears as Professor Lee’s deep voice announces, “Congratulations on completing the basic studies required for all University students. Today’s test, combined with evaluations from your professors, will determine which field of study your skills are best suited for. Tomorrow, a list will be posted with your test results, as well as which field of study you have been directed into: Education, Biological Engineering, Mechanical Engineering, Medicine, or Government. All five fields of study are necessary to continue the revitalization of our land, our technology, and our citizens. While each of you has a preferred choice, we ask you to trust us to slot you into the career path that best suits the needs of the country. Do not attempt to guess which questions on the examination affect direction into a specific field of study. Any students with questionable test results will be given a failing grade and Redirected from the University student roster.”

Professor Lee scans the room to make sure the impact of his words is felt. I can hear my heart hammer in the silence.

Finally, he continues. “Answer each question to the best of your ability. Do not give answers beyond the scope of the question. We are interested in learning not only how much you know but how well you comprehend the question being asked. Answers that go beyond the confines of the question will negatively affect your test results.”

I swallow hard and wonder what the negative effect might be. A lowered score or something more?

“You will have eight hours to complete this examination. If you need a break for food, water, or to relieve yourself, please raise your hand. A University official will escort you to the break room. If at any time you exit this room, you are not to leave the building or speak to anyone other than your escort. Either action will result in a failing grade and Redirection from the University. When you have completed the examination, raise the test booklet. I will collect the booklet and escort you to the door. What you do after that is up to you.” He gives us a knowing smile before pushing a button on the wall behind him.

A small screen descends from the ceiling. Red numbers are displayed on the screen. Professor Lee pushes another button and says, “The eight-hour testing period starts now.”

The numbers begin running backward, telling us how much time we have remaining to complete the examination. Paper rustles as test booklets are opened. Pencils are picked up. The examination to determine the direction of the rest of our lives has begun.

The first question makes me smile. What is the Means Value Theorem? Please provide the formal statement and a proof in your explanation.

Calculus. Something I’m good at. I answer the question quickly, give the formal equation for the theorem, and provide a proof as to how it works. Briefly I wonder if I should also explain how the theorem applies to vector-valued functions or how it is used for integration. But then I remember Professor Lee’s instructions. We are only supposed to provide the information requested. Nothing more. Nothing less. For a moment I wonder why, but then I decide it is because leaders must choose their words with care. In order to prevent conflicts, they must be certain their exact meaning is understood by the people who follow them. With that kind of responsibility facing those of us who make it to graduation, it is not surprising University officials wish to test that ability.

I reread the question, decide my answer is complete and within the scope, and then move on to the next. My pencil flies across the page as I explain the Four Stages of War various governments inflicted upon one another and on the earth. I describe the next Three Stages, in which the earth fought back against the chemicals and other destructive forces unleashed upon it. Earthquakes, windstorms, floods, hurricanes, and tornadoes swept across the globe, destroying in a matter of years what took humans centuries to create. The damage that for the past one hundred years the United Commonwealth has worked hard to repair.

My writing fills the pages. Chemistry. Geography. Physics. History. Music. Art. Reading comprehension. Biology. Each question brings a new subject. A different skill set. Most I can answer. My breath catches as I leave one blank. I am not certain what the question is asking for or what the answer might be. I hope I will have time to revisit it when I complete the rest. If not . . . My mind starts to drift to the words spoken on the Transit Communicator recording. The fate suffered by candidates of The Testing who dared answer a question wrong.

No. I pull my thoughts back. Worrying about the past won’t help. I can only deal with the present.

According to the clock, I have just shy of four hours to finish my test. I roll out my shoulders and realize how stiff I am. Between tension and inactivity, my muscles are beginning to protest. My empty stomach is adding its complaints. While fear of failure urges me to press on, I can hear my mother’s voice saying a brain and body need fuel to function at peak performance. I don’t want to run out of time, but running out of energy and focus would be even worse.

I glance around the room. Every desk is occupied. No one else has taken a break. Will leaving the room to refuel be considered a sign of weakness by University officials? I scan the room for signs of cameras and find none. But just because I can’t spot them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

My stomach growls again. My throat is dry, and my eyes feel grainy. Regardless of how my actions might be perceived, I need a break. If I don’t take a moment to recharge, the rest of my answers will suffer for it.

Swallowing hard, I close my booklet, place my pencil next to the papers, and raise my hand. Professor Lee doesn’t notice me right away, but some of the other students do. Several give me smug looks, as though proud their stamina is greater than mine. Others, like Stacia, shake their heads. For a moment, I consider putting down my hand, but Tomas’s encouraging nod makes me raise it higher in the air.

Professor Lee spots me, smiles, and signals permission to leave my desk. My joints are stiff as I walk to the front of the class. A female official in ceremonial red is waiting for me outside the classroom door. She escorts me down the stairs to a room on the first floor where a table with food and water awaits. I fill a plate with chicken, slices of a sharp-smelling cheese, and salad made of fruits, greens, and nuts—all foods my parents encouraged my brothers and me to eat before important exams—and dig in.

I barely register the taste as I chew and swallow. This is not food to be savored. It is fuel to get me through the next four hours. I finish my meal quickly and then use the bathroom and splash water on my face. Less than fifteen minutes has elapsed when I slide into my desk feeling far more alert than when I left. Picking up my pencil, I open the booklet and once again begin to write.

Questions on genetic code, historical figures, important breakthroughs in medicine and solar power collection are asked. My fingers cramp. The pages fill. I get to the last question and blink. Please tell us your preferred focus of study and why you feel you are best suited to be selected for that career path. This is my chance to convince the University administrators of my passion and ability to help develop our country’s technology.

Taking a deep breath, I begin to write. All my hopes pour onto the page. My desire to help upgrade the communications system from our country’s limited use of pulse radios to a sophisticated network that would be available to every citizen. My excitement about new energy sources that would better power our lights and other devices. My absolute belief that I can make a difference in the technological future of the United Commonwealth.

Time slips away as I write and rewrite my answer, worried that one wrong word will change the focus of my career. One by one, my fellow students raise their booklets over their heads, wait for them to be collected, and leave the room, until there are only five of us left. I am satisfied with my final answer and look up at the clock. Three minutes remain.

My mouth goes dry as I remember. I skipped four questions with the intent of going back later. Only, I spent so much time constructing my final answer there isn’t enough time. My heart races as I flip back, hoping to answer just one of them. But I don’t. The clock expires as I finish reading the first unanswered question again. Pencils down. The examination is over. And I have not finished.

None of the questions I failed to answer are math- or science-related—the subjects I believe are most important to Mechanical Engineering. I try to take solace in that as I hand my booklet to Professor Lee. But my failure to complete the exam makes it hard for me to hold my head up as I walk out of the room. All I can do now is hope for the best.

Tomas is waiting for me on the steps outside. The smile on his face disappears as he looks into my eyes. “How did it go?”

“I left four questions unanswered. If I hadn’t taken a break for food, I would have finished.”

Tomas shakes his head. “Taking a break was smart. I wouldn’t have taken one if you hadn’t. I was losing focus. You reminded me that it’s important to step away and clear the mind. When I came back from my break, I reread my last answer and found two errors. I owe you for that.”

The gentle kiss he gives me is more than payment enough.

When Tomas steps back, he flashes a dimpled grin. “I also owe you for the entertainment. The looks on everyone’s faces when you walked out of the room were priceless. They didn’t know whether to be impressed or intimidated by your confidence.”

I blink. Confidence was the last thing I’d been feeling when I left the examination room. But Tomas’s words make me stop and think. How would I have felt if someone else had raised her hand first? Had gone out for a snack while time ticked away on the clock? I would have assumed the student had no concern about finishing the test on time. In fact, the student’s departure would have made me assume she would not only finish the exam but have time to spare. Tomas’s words are a good reminder. Thinking something is true doesn’t make it so. Perception is almost as important as reality.

The light starts to fade as Tomas and I walk hand in hand to the University’s dining facility. Older students tend to avoid the dining hall, since every designated field of study has its own residence and kitchen. Most days, the only people using this hall are a handful of low-ranking University administrators, one or two professors, and me and my fellow Early Studies students. The food provided is usually simple: sandwiches, fruit, rolls, raw vegetables. Nothing that requires great amounts of preparation or effort to keep warm. Despite the major milestone we have just completed, the food remains the same. No celebration for us. Not yet. Not until scores have been determined and fields of study assigned.

During the last six months as University students, we’ve taken a number of tests. After each, the dining hall was filled with chatter comparing answers, lamenting mistakes, and celebrating correct responses. Today there is none of that. Most of my fellow students keep their eyes on their plates as they eat. Some don’t eat at all. They just push the food around, trying to look normal. Everyone feels fatigue from the test and anxiety over the results.

I pick at the bread and fruit. Worry makes it impossible to eat much more than a few mouthfuls. Tomas has no problem cleaning his plate. I guess I don’t have to ask how he did on the exam.

Pushing away the remains of my meal, I ask, “Do you think they’ll give us the results first thing in the morning or make us wait until later in the day?”

Before Tomas can speculate, a tenor voice says, “It’ll happen first thing.”

Tomas stiffens as our fellow Early Studies student Will grins and slides his lanky body into the empty seat next to me. Inside I flinch. Outwardly, I smile. “You sound pretty confident.”

“That’s because I am.” His eyes gleam. “I overheard a couple of administrators talking. Pulling an all-nighter to make sure examination results are ready first thing in the morning wasn’t on their top ten list of favorite things to do.” His smile widens. “They were seriously annoyed. They don’t mind making us lose sleep, but they don’t like doing it themselves. So how did you guys do today?”

Tomas shrugs and looks down at his plate. For some reason Tomas won’t explain, he doesn’t like Will. Not that Tomas is ever rude. He’s not. But the way he gives minimal responses speaks volumes, as does the look in his eyes. There is a wariness. A distrust.

“How about you, Cia?” Will asks. “I’m guessing you aced this like you do everything else. Right?”

I wish. “There were too many questions to ace them all.”

“I know I flunked the questions on art history. I thought they wanted leaders who could help revitalize the country. How is knowing about a sculpture of a naked guy going to help? A naked girl . . .” He grins again. “Now, that’s a different story.”

I can’t help but laugh and half listen as Will jokes about the various test questions and speculates on whether he’ll be assigned his desired field of study—Education.

Will has a quick wit that I enjoy. He also has a great love for his family, especially his twin brother, Gill, who came to Tosu City for The Testing but did not pass through to the University. Not long after we began as University students, Will showed me a picture of him and his brother. Two identical faces with amused grins. Tall, thin bodies and ashen skin that speaks of a lack of healthy food in their home colony. Other than the length of their hair—Will’s to his shoulders, and his brother’s cropped short—the two were carbon copies right down to the love and happiness shining out of their deep green eyes.

It’s the longing and love I see in his eyes that draw me to Will even as the accusations on the Transit Communicator warn me to stay away. I find it hard to believe someone who tried to kill both Tomas and me lurks under the friendly smile. But my recorded voice tells me that this is exactly who Will is. Which is why I keep close to him. I am determined to find out if that voice is right. About Will. About Tomas. About everything.

Chapter 2

WE SIT IN the same classroom we were tested in yesterday. Waiting. Twenty students selected from the eighteen United Commonwealth colonies. Ready to learn how we will help rebuild our country.

I glance around the room. Most of my fellow students I’ve come to know. Will, who wants to teach. Stacia, who hopes to study government and law. Vic, a large redheaded boy from Stacia’s colony, whose ambition lies with healing broken bones. A willowy brunette with waist-length hair, Kit, who flirts relentlessly with Tomas even as she tries to edge him out of the top spot for Biological Engineering. A boy called Brick claims he’s happy to study whatever the United Commonwealth finds he is best suited for. Over half the students in this room are interested in being a part of the government in order to shape our country’s laws. The one thing we have in common is our realization that we control nothing.

I hold my breath as Professor Lee walks to the front of the class holding a clipboard. My heart hammers and I try not to squirm as he says, “In my hand are the test results for your examination. Your name will appear in alphabetical order on this sheet. Next to your name will be an indicator as to whether you have passed and been assigned a field of study or have failed and are therefore Redirected to a field outside the University’s scope. All students who did not receive a passing grade will meet a United Commonwealth official outside their residence at noon. That official will escort you to a location where you will discuss the next step in your career.”

My pulse quickens. Is this part of the script every year, or has someone in our class failed this test?

There isn’t time to ask as Professor Lee continues. “For those who passed, your designated field of study will be listed after your name. Tomorrow, you will be met by your course of study’s academic adviser. You will be assigned to a student guide, who will help you move into your designated field of study’s residence hall. You will have a week to settle into your space and get to know the people sharing your career path before your studies begin. I look forward to seeing many of you in my classes.”

Professor Lee turns, hangs the clipboard on the wall behind him, and walks to the exit. When he reaches the door, he looks back. “I congratulate you all on your achievements thus far. I know you will do great things in the future.” After one last smile, he walks out.

I’m not surprised that Stacia is the first one out of her seat. Chairs are pushed back, several of them overturned, as my classmates rush to the front to see what fate has in store. Someone gives a whoop of excitement. Anticipation laced with fear tingles up my spine. Slowly, I rise and walk toward the list.

At five foot two, I am the shortest girl in the class. Since I was the last to leave my desk, I find myself in the back of the group. Though I stand on tiptoe and crane my neck, the list remains hidden from view. But I can see the other students’ faces clearly. Will getting slapped on the back by a short, dark-skinned boy named Rawson. Kit giving Tomas a big hug and keeping her arms around him even as he tries to pull away. Stacia stalking to the door. The tears glittering in her eyes send cold fear up my spine. Did she not get the area of study she wanted, or did the unthinkable happen?

Weaving in between bodies and finally pushing a grinning Will out of the way, I come face-to-face with the list. It is organized in alphabetical order by last name. I shift my eyes to the bottom, look for my name, and find it.

Vale, Malencia—Pass—Government

I close my eyes, take three deep breaths, and open them again. The words haven’t changed. For some reason I can’t comprehend, I have been assigned to the field of study I least want to pursue.

There must be a mistake. I fight the urge to run after Professor Lee and beg for an explanation. Did I not choose the correct words in my final answer? My skill lies in mathematics and in manipulating metal and wires, not in doublespeak and carefully constructed phrases. Why would the University administrators assign me to the area where I am most certain to fail?

Tears lodge in my throat but go no farther. I will not let them fall. Not here. No one will see my disappointment. Not the administration. Not my fellow students. I refuse to let anyone know how hard I am fighting to keep my breath even and my hands unclenched. They will only see joy that I passed.

Curving my lips into a smile, I read the rest of the results and look for the names of my friends. I find Tomas first and grin for real. Biological Engineering. Pride and happiness shimmer through me. I look for him in the crowd and find him standing two feet away. I throw my arms around him and squeeze tight. The professors have made the correct choice. He will not disappoint.

Holding Tomas’s hand, I find Stacia’s and Will’s names back to back. Medicine for Stacia. Government for Will. Like me, neither received their preferred course of study, which explains Stacia’s unhappiness. But they have both passed. Which is not true for all of my classmates. My personal disappointment fades. Beside Obidiah Martinez’s name is one word: Redirected. I cannot help but wonder what consequences that word will bring.

It’s the first question I ask Tomas after we leave the classroom and go to a spot outside where we are least likely to be disturbed. I can tell Tomas would rather talk about how I feel about my own test results. Once I assure him I’m fine, he says, “I’m guessing he’ll get assigned to a tech team here in the city or sent to one of the colonies to help with construction. Don’t you think?”

I’m not sure what I think. Obidiah isn’t a friend. In fact, I don’t think he could claim that standing with anyone here. A few have tried to engage him in conversation, including me. A week after arriving on campus, I saw him sitting by a tree, looking off into the distance. While his powerful build, fierce expression, and exotic-looking braided hair would normally intimidate me into keeping my distance, the sadness I saw in his eyes had me walking toward him. The moment I said his name, his expression changed. Sadness was replaced by anger. He demanded I leave. I did. The experience was enough to keep me from repeating the overture. Now I wish I had.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tomas asks as we walk back to my residence. He stops and looks down into my eyes. I feel the shield I’ve built against my emotions start to crack, and I bite my lip. Tomas touches my cheek and says, “If it’s any consolation, I think they made the right choice.”

The words punch the air from my lungs. “You don’t think I’m good enough for Mechanical Engineering.”

Tomas’s hand touches my shoulder. I try to shake him off, but he holds fast. “I think there’s no one I’d trust with the direction of our country more. Government isn’t always just, and it isn’t always fair. But it should be. I trust you to try and make ours both.”

His words and kiss chase the doubts into the shadows, but they return when he leaves to pack for tomorrow’s move. Tomas has faith in me, but I am not certain I can return his trust. Not in myself. Not in him. Not in anything.

Standing in my Early Studies quarters, I try to decide what to pack first. Since The Testing, I’ve acquired very little. Barely enough to warrant taking one of the additional bags they provided for the move to our new quarters. Just a few extra clothes, a couple of books, and a small vase of dried flowers. The flowers were a birthday gift from home, although everyone thinks they came from Michal, the Tosu City official who escorted me to The Testing. Not even Tomas knows the truth, since I don’t want to risk trouble for the official or my family.

Today, the vase makes me think of my father. As I hold it, tears begin to fall. What would he think of the field I’ve been assigned? Would he be as confused as I? University administrators directed him into genetically manipulating plants. The evidence that their judgment was correct is cradled in my hands. My father is a genius at making growing things thrive. The passion he feels for his work is one of the qualities I most admire about him. I always assumed he’d made the choice to help revitalize the earth. I hadn’t realized the decision had been made for him, and I have to wonder—if he had been the one doing the choosing, what would his choice have been? Was he, like Tomas, directed into the field of his passion, or was he like me?

Wiping away my tears, I dig into the mattress and pull the Transit Communicator from its hiding place. Bile rises in my throat. The stories recorded on the Communicator speak of a testing process run by the United Commonwealth Government that is far from fair and just. Can I be an active part of a system that encourages Testing candidates to kill and be killed? Does the end result—my father’s amazing work with plants and the hundreds of breakthroughs created by University graduates—justify the means? These are questions I cannot begin to answer until I learn whether the words I recorded are real or imagined.

Since all successful Testing candidates have their memories of The Testing removed, it is impossible for me to determine what really occurred during that time. But if I am clever, I can find a way.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand—11:04 a.m. According to Professor Lee’s instructions, Obidiah will meet a University official outside this building at noon to embark on his new career path. While learning Obidiah’s fate will not tell me if the recorder’s stories are true, it will give me an idea of what the University believes is an appropriate punishment for failure. If it is anything like the stories on the recorder, I will have the answer I’m seeking.

I wrap the Transit Communicator in a towel and shove it in between the folds of clothes I have already packed. Then, grabbing a book, I lock my door and head downstairs. Will, Vic, and a couple of my other classmates are tossing a ball in the open space next to my residence. Will waves me over, but I shake my head, raise the book I’m holding, and keep moving.

Since Will and the other colony students are on the left side of the residence, I walk toward the two-story gray stone structure to the right—the Earth Science building. Tomas and I have often used the bench near the entrance to study, so no one looks twice at me as I sit on the cold metal and pretend to read. From this vantage point, I have a clear view of the walkway that leads from the Early Study residence.

Soon I spot Obidiah’s distinctive braids as he exits and stands on the walkway waiting for his escort. A large black bag weighs down his right shoulder. Carefully cradled in his arms is a battered guitar. I didn’t know Obidiah played. I doubt any of us did. More surprising still is the wide grin that stretches across his face as he peers into the distance. Perhaps he is trying to put on a façade for those nearby, but I don’t think so. For the first time since I met Obidiah, he looks happy. I try to imagine what I would feel after learning I was leaving the University.

Dejection. Failure. Heartbreak.

Obidiah appears to be experiencing none of these emotions. I think back to that moment months ago when he looked so alone. And I wonder. Did he really fail the test? Or was he so unhappy here that he sabotaged his score in the hopes he would find his way back home?

I see two University officials approach. One in ceremonial red. The other in purple. Obidiah nods at whatever they say and falls in step behind them as they lead him down the walkway to the north.

Making sure not to lose sight of them, I close the book in my hand, stand, and slowly walk on a parallel course. Normally, when crossing campus, I take time to admire the structures that have stood for, in many cases, well over two centuries. After the Seven Stages of War came to an end, the surviving population of the former United States had the courage to begin the overwhelming process of rebuilding. Leaders chose the city of Wichita, renamed Tosu City, in what used to be the state of Kansas as the starting point in the revitalization process. While major cities like Chicago, New York, and Denver had been destroyed during the war, Wichita—with its lack of strategic placement—remained intact. The earth’s reaction to man-made warfare destroyed many buildings, but the vast majority could be repaired and used.

Most days, I admire the architecture and think of the hope the buildings represent. Today, I keep my head down in an effort not to be noticed by the students and faculty crossing campus. I cast glances at Obidiah and the officials to make sure they are still in sight. No one has forbidden passing students from walking around campus today, but I am not naïve enough to believe my presence would be welcomed by Obidiah or the administrators.

Sunlight gleams on glass windows as I pass behind buildings. Obidiah and his escorts walk quickly, and I have to move faster to see which direction they travel in. After passing several large structures, the escorts turn down a walkway that heads in my direction.

There are no trees large enough to hide behind. A group of older students stroll across the grass a hundred feet to my left. Too far away for me to look like I am with them. The closest building entrance is at least fifty feet away. If I run, someone will see me and wonder why I am in such a hurry. Despite the quickening of my pulse and the desire to flee before the officials can spot me, I do the only thing I can think of. I take a seat on the cold ground, open my book, and let my hair fall over my face as I feign interest in the history contained on its pages.

I hear footsteps growing closer. Each one makes my nerves jump and my breath catch. The sounds tell me the officials and Obidiah are now passing only ten feet from where I sit. I flip a page and keep my eyes on the words swimming in front of me. I pretend to be absorbed in my reading, even though I am aware of every second that passes. The footsteps grow fainter. I brave a look up from my book and see the officials head north at the next walkway. Obidiah follows, but his gait slows as he turns his head. For a moment, our eyes lock. I see confusion and other emotions I can’t put names to cross his face. Is he happy to see a fellow first-year student? Does he remember that I wanted us to be friends and now regrets not making that connection?

Our gaze meets one last time before Obidiah starts walking again. I scramble to my feet and slowly follow behind. Twice I see Obidiah turn his head. If he sees me hiding behind bushes or walking in the shadows of trees, he doesn’t give any indication. He just follows the officials as they lead him toward a brick building surrounded by a large black fence located at the northeast border of the campus. It sits alone. Far from the residence and the other University buildings designated for student use. Behind the building, the grass looks sicker. The soil poorer. Less revitalized than the rest of campus. This structure was not among the ones we toured on our University orientation, but during the tour, our guide told us the University sits on the northern edge of Tosu City. Until this moment, I didn’t realize how close to the boundary we really were. A plaque on the fence next to the open gate reads TU ADMINISTRATION.

I watch Obidiah and his escorts disappear inside the large white doors and try to decide what to do next. Unlike on the rest of the University campus, there are no people wandering this area. No one sits on benches or debates with fellow students under trees. Whatever this building is, it doesn’t appear to get a lot of visitors. I wait for several minutes to see if anyone else approaches. When no one does, I slip inside the fence and walk confidently to the front door as though I have every right to be here. If someone stops me, I can say I decided to celebrate passing my test by learning more about the University.

Glancing through the front door’s long, narrow window, I look for signs of Obidiah and see no one.

Now what? Do I go inside and risk running into a University official or wait out here for Obidiah to be escorted out? I am about to open the door when I see Dr. Barnes, who is in charge of The Testing, and a petite, dark-haired woman come out of a room and walk to the back of the building. They must be going to meet Obidiah. I watch as they disappear through a room at the very end of the hall, and I hurry around the building to the other side to look for a window to observe the meeting through.

I reach the back of the building and feel a stab of disappointment. In the middle of the wall is a large metal door and a keypad but no windows. Probably because no one wants to look out on the lone vehicle outbuilding that sits thirty yards from the back door or the unrevitalized expanse of grass and cracked roads beyond it. The fence does not enclose this side. Probably to allow for the arrival of vehicles. The rest of the area beyond is barren, albeit cleared of debris. To prepare it for revitalization or to make sure this building stays isolated?

Since I cannot see anything, I start back toward the front of the building. The sounds of grinding gears and a revving engine still my feet. When I turn back, I see a large black skimmer coming out of the outbuilding. I race to the side of the building and flatten myself against the wall behind a scrawny bush to keep out of the skimmer pilot’s sight. The roar of the engine comes closer and then goes quiet, telling me it stopped somewhere nearby. I hear a door open, followed by the sound of a female voice.

“It’s such a waste. He should have been one of the stars of this class. There should be another way.”

“Procedures are in place for a reason, MayLin.” My heart leaps into my throat. That voice belongs to Dr. Jedidiah Barnes. “The country can’t afford to change course now. Not when we are finally beginning to make real progress. You know what to do with him.”

A male voice answers, “Yes, sir.”

I peer around the corner of the building and my knees give way. My fingers dig into the brick wall to keep me from falling as I see two officials carrying Obidiah toward the skimmer. His head lolls back. His braids drag on the ground. When they reach the vehicle, the officials set him on the skimmer’s floor and climb into the pilot’s cabin. I wait for Obidiah to sit up. He doesn’t. I look for the rise and fall of his chest, but there is nothing.

The female official who escorted Obidiah appears with a black bag and Obidiah’s guitar. She throws them both into the skimmer before climbing in. The skimmer lifts off the ground and travels across the barren landscape. Before I can understand what I have just seen, the skimmer and Obidiah are gone.

Chapter 3

TEARS BUILD BEHIND my eyes. My breath comes short and fast as I flatten myself against the cold, hard wall. Obidiah is gone. Redirected. Dead. If I am not careful, I will be too.

Dr. Barnes is still talking. “You know how disappointed I am every time a student with such promise is Redirected, but this is the only option. Revitalization requires unity. Students with Obidiah’s potential cannot be allowed to work outside the framework of the Commonwealth. People could start turning to them for leadership instead of following the course our current leaders have set out for us. That kind of disharmony would undermine everything we have done for the last one hundred years.”

“I know,” MayLin says. “But Redirection may no longer be the answer. The president is becoming more vocal in her concerns about the number of students who fail to make it to graduation.”

“The president can express concern, but unless the law is changed, the testing and education of our leaders are in my hands. It is better for our country to learn early on that a student is not capable of dealing with the kinds of pressure he or she would have to face in the future.”

Something about Dr. Barnes’s words feels familiar. My stomach roils as I see a flash of my Testing roommate, Ryme Reynald. Her blond hair. A yellow dress. I try to hold on to the memory, but it vanishes like smoke as Dr. Barnes’s voice booms, “Removal now is preferable to the damage that could be caused later. If the president doesn’t understand that, she will have to be persuaded. We have come too far—”

The slam of a door cuts off the rest of his words. Taking a deep breath, I look around the corner to make sure he and MayLin are gone. Then I run.

Finally, when I reach the stadium at the far northwest side of campus, I slow my pace, gulp in air, and try to think.

In the distance I see people strolling through the late-winter grass. No one is looking my way. Still, I put a smile on my face and pretend my heart isn’t racing as I pull my jacket tight around me and walk across the lawn, all the while fighting the urge to let the tears burning my eyes fall.

I walk in the direction of my residence even though I can’t go there. Not yet. My friends will be packing. Celebrating. Getting ready for tomorrow, when we move to our new residences and begin the next phase of our studies. Only, after today—after seeing Obidiah’s unmoving body—I am not sure I can. I close my eyes and hear the words on the recorder talk of those who died. My friends from Five Lakes Colony: Malachi Rourke and Zandri Hicks. My roommate, Ryme Reynald. Will’s twin brother, Gill Donovan. I no longer can deny the truth of those whispered words. How can I stay and study, knowing so many have died or disappeared? To do so would be like saying their deaths don’t matter. That Dr. Barnes and his people have the right to select not only who leads but who lives and dies.

He doesn’t.

They don’t.

No one does.

Over a century ago, other leaders felt they had that right. We are still paying the price for their actions. Our current leaders should have learned from those mistakes.

Picking a shaded spot under a tree, I sink to the ground and pull my legs tight against my chest. The ground underneath me is cold, but the green buds on a nearby bush speak of the spring that is on the cusp of bloom. A bird whistles from a branch above my head. All around me are signs of a world on its way back from disaster and decay. Signs the University has chosen people with talent and skill who, with their knowledge, have brought hope to our country. Looking now at the healthy plant life, I have to ask—was it worth it? Yes, lives were saved, but what about the lives taken? History says that progress often requires sacrifice, but what kind of progress can we claim when it is built on the lives of the citizens it is supposed to aid?

I look at the sun’s position in the sky. In a matter of hours, the sun will set. While I have learned much about Tosu City during the past several months, I do not know it well enough to feel secure roaming the streets after dark. If I am to leave and have a chance at escape, I have to do it now.

I push to my feet and walk to the Early Studies residence. Sounds of laughter greet me. Shouts of happiness. I wave at a girl named Naomy as she races by. My hand shakes as I put the key in the lock and open my door. Somewhere deep inside, I must have always known I would run, because when I shut the door behind me, I know exactly what to bring.

Just like for The Testing, I allow myself one bag. Two changes of clothing. Two personal items and my undergarments. Boots that were handed down to me from my brothers. Socks. The pocketknife my father gave to me and my brothers years ago and Zeen’s Transit Communicator. Though they are unnecessary for survival, I ache to bring along the dried flowers. The vase. There is room in the bag for them, but that extra space must be used for food, water, and any items I find along the way that will aid in my survival.

As I slide the pocketknife into the side pocket of my bag, my eyes settle on a small stack of notes from Tomas filled with words of support and love. My fingers brush the top scrap of paper—paper that should have been recycled but that I could not bear the thought of destroying. I ache to talk to Tomas now. To beg him to go with me. To leave the University, our futures, and the shadows of The Testing far behind. Maybe the farther away we go, the easier it will be to bury the memories that threaten everything and to forgive. To rebuild the trust that once was real.

I jump at the sound of the doorknob turning behind me. “Hey, Cia. I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

Stacia.

The minute I turn the lock, she pushes through the door, strides into the room, and flops on my bed next to my opened bag. “Well, today has been interesting. Everyone is either celebrating or wallowing in the depths of despair. You’re smart to have cleared out for a while to avoid the emotional tidal wave. Considering this crowd is supposed to be the best and brightest, I’d have thought they’d have figured out how things work by now.”

The way Stacia is sprawled out with her hands tucked under her head suggests she plans on staying here for some time. Time I don’t have. But I can’t just ask her to leave. We’ve spent enough time together for her to realize such a request isn’t typical, and she’ll wonder why I made it. If I manage to escape, Dr. Barnes and his team might question those who had any knowledge of my plans. I don’t want Stacia to be punished for the choices I alone have made.

Tamping down my anxiety, I ask, “You’re not upset about being assigned to Medicine?”

Stacia shrugs. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t upset at first. Over the past few months, I’d almost convinced myself I could control my future through hard work. I forgot what I learned growing up in Tulsa Colony. Control is an illusion. Only a handful of people have the ability to shape their lives and the lives of those around them. To become one of those people, I have to prove I can do whatever is necessary to succeed.” She laughs. “So I will.”

Her laugh makes me flinch. It’s cold and practical. Hard. Determined. Stacia is smart, but I’ve often wondered if it’s these other traits that helped her survive The Testing. I have to admire her ability to strip aside emotion and find the most direct solution to a situation, even if I don’t agree with her assessment. Guilt tugs at me at the idea of leaving her behind. But while part of me wants to ask Stacia to abandon the University and come with me, the words do not pass my lips. Stacia is not one to run from a challenge, even one that might result in her death.

For the next hour, Stacia speculates on what our class schedules will look like once we start our courses of study and makes me promise to share everything that happens in the Government Studies residence. No doubt she thinks the information will come in handy when she has achieved the control she so desperately seeks. I make Stacia promise the same, even as the lie makes my insides curl. I will not be here to follow through, and if I want to escape without notice, I cannot even say goodbye.

By the time Stacia heads back to her own room, the sun is low in the sky. Danger will be harder to spot as the light fades, but I have no choice. It is time to go. I fasten my coat and slide my bag onto my shoulder. When I reach for the doorknob, I notice the bracelet peeking out from under my sleeve. The one-starred band that defines who the United Commonwealth Government and Dr. Barnes want me to be. I remove the silver bracelet from my arm and place it in the center of the bed. It is time to leave everything it represents behind.

Or it will be if I can find Tomas. When I get to his room, he doesn’t answer my knock. Thinking he must have gone to the dining hall without coming to get me, I leave the building and hurry across the grass. If I can find Tomas, I can convince him to come with me. It will be easier for the two of us to survive outside the city limits. Together we can get home.

So focused am I on finding Tomas that I never notice the person in the shadows of the gray stone Earth Science building until I hear a voice call, “Going somewhere?”

I spin and see Tosu official Michal Gallen standing thirty feet away. His shaggy brown curls have grown longer in the weeks since I last saw him. That, combined with the informal brown pants and billowy white shirt he wears today, makes him look more like a student than a graduate. Michal was the official who escorted me and the other Five Lakes Colony Testing candidates to Tosu City. For some reason, he chose to offer me assistance during that process, and once I was accepted to the University as a student, Michal found ways to bring news of my family. Both made me think he had my best interest at heart. But now that I know about Obidiah, I have to wonder if anything I believe is true.

Nodding, I say, “I need to grab a quick dinner so I can go back to the residence and pack. We’re all getting ready for tomorrow’s move.”

I wait for Michal to congratulate me on passing the examination or on my designated field of study. Instead, he pushes away from the building and takes a step toward me. “I’m surprised you haven’t already finished preparing. Visiting the north side of campus today must have taken time away from packing.”

The set of his jaw. The warning in his eyes. Michal knows what I did.

Before I can come up with a plausible lie, Michal says, “You shouldn’t have gone there today, Cia.”

“I was celebrating passing the examination by touring the campus.”

“You followed Obidiah.” His eyes meet mine. “I saw you go to the Tosu Administration building. I watched you run away.”

“Why?” The single syllable slips out. Given the implications of Michal’s words, I should be worried about bigger things. But I need to know.

“I’ll tell you after you answer one question.” He walks closer and looks up and down the walkways before asking, “Why did you follow Obidiah and his escorts? None of the other students did.”

It’s a harder question to answer than any of the ones on yesterday’s exam. I pause and choose my words carefully. “I wanted to better understand what Redirection meant.”

“A student didn’t pass the examination. He was Redirected to a different area. End of story.” In his eyes is a challenge. One I accept.

“No. It isn’t.”

“You’re right. It isn’t.” He closes his eyes and nods. “You saw Obidiah after his meeting with Dr. Barnes?”

I see the image of Obidiah’s hair dragging against the ground as the officials carried him by his hands and feet. “Yes.”

“And now you are planning to run.”

It isn’t a question, so I don’t bother to answer. Instead, I cross my arms, allowing my unadorned wrist to show, and wait.

He blows a curl of hair off his forehead and sighs. “It’s time for us to talk.”

Warily, I follow him to the shadows of the building. I wrap my arms around myself and try to pretend my heart isn’t slamming in my chest as I notice the temperature has started to drop. Darkness will be here soon, taking with it my best chance to escape. If I even can escape. Michal’s presence has put that plan, not to mention my entire future, in jeopardy.

Michal leans against the cold stone of the building and sighs. “As your Testing escort, I’m tasked with watching for any behavior that suggests the memory-altering procedure used after The Testing didn’t work and reporting that behavior to Dr. Barnes. In order to fulfill my assignment, I’ve been required to follow you.”

Betrayal punches through my heart. I grab the wall before shock sends me to my knees. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“I’ve been verifying that the memory procedure was successfully performed on you and Tomas. I thought it had been. During orientation, you and your friends made the typical jokes we always hear from students who have had those memories removed. However, over the last six months, I’ve noticed little things that make me believe the memories have returned. Your actions today confirmed it. You remember.”

“I don’t.” My voice is low. Breathy. Scared. My eyes scan the walkways, the buildings, the grass, looking for officials coming to Redirect me. “My memories haven’t returned.”

“But you know something about your time at The Testing. Enough to question what Redirection might mean for Obidiah.”

“What does it mean?” I ask, hoping I was mistaken. That Obidiah was still alive when the skimmer drove away.

“You know, Cia.” Michal’s meet mine. In their depths, I see a simmering rage that reflects my own. “Dr. Barnes will not accept failure.”

Obidiah failed. By preserving my Testing memories and searching for the truth, I have become a failure for Dr. Barnes as well. Unless I want to be Redirected too, I have to run. Now. Michal’s hand reaches out and snatches my arm. His fingers clamp onto my flesh like a vise and shove me back against the wall. The contact combined with my fear steals my breath.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

“Anywhere else but here.” I struggle against Michal’s hold, but he’s bigger and stronger.

“Don’t be a fool. You can’t run. They’ll find you. And if they don’t, they know where to find your family. What do you think Dr. Barnes will do when he talks to your father and your brothers? Do you think he’ll believe your brothers weren’t smart enough to be chosen for The Testing? What happens when he starts to wonder why your colony was without candidates for a decade? Who will pay the price for their deception?”

My family. My friends. My colony.

The strength my anger gave me is leached away and replaced by despair. “So now what?”

“Now you tell me what you remember, and I help you figure out how to keep safe from Dr. Barnes.” When I say nothing, he says, “You don’t trust me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m trying to help you.” Michal lowers his voice. “And because I remember my Testing too.”

My eyes find his and look for the truth. He has the same haunted look I see in my own reflector. Can I trust that?

I realize it doesn’t matter what I trust, because, regardless of my choice, Michal Gallen holds my fate in his hands.

“I don’t remember my Testing,” I admit. “Not exactly. I get flashes of images. Things I think I should remember.”

Michal nods and leans back. He doesn’t ask questions. He just waits for me to continue.

After taking a deep breath, I do. “The night before I left for The Testing, my father told me that his memories from that time in his life had been erased. Sometime during The Testing, I must have become determined to keep my memories. So I left myself a message. I found it on my birthday.” I’d been so happy. Tomas had told me he thought he was falling in love with me. I’d gotten a gift from my family. When I found my Testing symbol etched onto the Transit Communicator, I was giddy with delight at uncovering a secret. Then I pushed Play.

“I tried to convince myself it was another kind of test. I didn’t want to believe that The Testing killed candidates who failed or that people I considered my friends could be capable of murder.” My throat tightens, making it hard to speak. But now that I’ve started talking, I have to tell it all. In a way, it is a relief to speak my doubts and my worries after months of shouldering the burden alone. “But the message I left is real. Isn’t it? Will murdered a girl named Nina. He tried to kill me. And Tomas . . .” Words fail. Now that I believe the truth of the recorder, I must accept that Tomas deceived me. That he was involved in Zandri’s death, although I have no idea what part he played. But Michal might. “What did Tomas do to Zandri?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” Sympathy shines in his eyes. “Only top-level officials are permitted to read the detailed examination files.”

Disappointment fills me, although I’m not surprised. “So now what?”

“Now you’re going to pretend that none of this happened.”

“I don’t understand.”

Michal looks off in the distance. “Six years ago, I passed The Testing. Only, when they performed the memory-elimination procedure, something went wrong. Two months after I started classes here at the University, my memories returned. I remembered watching my best friend die during The Testing and that the University student I had a crush on was the one who’d slit his throat. I learned that I too had killed. It was self-defense, but knowing I’d taken a life, even to save mine . . .”

I touch my scars—the five lines made by five fingernails—and hear my voice whisper. I didn’t have a choice. I had to shoot. But when I fired my gun, I saw its eyes and realized it wasn’t an animal I’d killed.

“I started having nightmares. I watched my friend die over and over at night and had to pretend during the day that none of it had happened. One night, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my things and ran. As soon as I stepped off campus, I realized I had nowhere to go. My family would be in danger if I could get back to Boulder Colony, and since I didn’t have enough food or water for the journey, it was doubtful I’d get back there at all. That’s when I saw him.”

“Who?”

“A man I remembered meeting during The Testing. You met him too.”

A shadow of a memory flickers, but just as quickly vanishes like smoke.

“His name is Symon Dean. During the fourth test, he appeared out of nowhere and offered me help when I needed it most. He did the same thing the night I fled the University. He knew why I was running and asked if I’d be interested in working with him to put an end to The Testing once and for all. The only catch was I had to stay at the University in order to do it.” Michal’s smile is grim. “How could I say no?”

“What happened? Why didn’t his plan work?”

“The plan still hasn’t been put into effect. Symon is slowly building a network of people like me to help bring down The Testing. It’s going slower than he’d like, but we have to be careful, even though some have grown tired of waiting and are demanding action now.”

I stand up straighter. “So what’s the plan?”

“Most of Symon’s network lives in a nonsanctioned colony south of Tosu. They’re passionate about changing the system, but they need people on the inside who can collect information and rally support when the time is right.”

“Right for what?”

“A rebellion.” Michal smiles. “That sounds more dramatic than it will be. If things go as Symon has outlined, most of the United Commonwealth will never realize anything has changed. We will remove Dr. Barnes as the head of The Testing. Once that is done, The Testing will once again be the process the founders of the Commonwealth intended.”

“That sounds simple enough.”

“Not as simple as you might think. When The Testing was established, it was argued that the only way to select the country’s leaders objectively was to make the system separate from the central governing body. The founders wanted to ensure that no one, not even the president, could manipulate the process. It was believed this separation of powers would prevent the detrimental politics of the past from intruding on the government of the future. Instead, it gave the head of Testing and his staff autonomy to run The Testing without oversight or retribution from the central government. In short, Dr. Barnes is free to run The Testing as he sees fit, and under the current law, those who challenge him could be arrested for treason.”

And the penalty for treason is death.

“How does Symon plan on removing Dr. Barnes?”

“Symon’s people are trying to convince the president and the members of the Debate Chamber to propose a new law that will empower them to remove Dr. Barnes and his team from power. Once that is done, officials sympathetic to our cause can lobby to appoint someone we approve as the head of The Testing. We’ll then be able to implement a new method of picking University students. One that doesn’t advocate murder.”

Frustration furrows Michal’s handsome face. “Things have moved more slowly than I’d like, but I prefer Symon’s cautious approach to the option the other rebel faction is pushing for.”

Other faction? “I don’t understand. Aren’t all the rebels working for the same goal?”

“Yes, but not everyone is content to wait for The Testing to end peacefully. Some want to employ any method necessary, even if it means the same kind of bloodshed we oppose.”

My parents taught me that life is precious. I should recoil at the second rebel faction’s plot to kill. But I don’t. “If one person’s death will end The Testing before more candidates die—”

“Dr. Barnes’s death alone will not end The Testing. The system has been designed to continue in the event of the leader’s death. The only way the rebel faction can ensure the end of The Testing through violent means is if Dr. Barnes and all his top administrators die.”

How many are involved in planning The Testing? Dozens? Maybe more? Would the ends justify those means? I don’t know.

Neither does Michal. “One death can be kept quiet, but that many could induce panic and upset the balance of this city—perhaps even the country. The last thing we want to do is start a civil war.”

I swallow hard and say, “I’m assuming you aren’t telling every first-year student about this.”

“No and, technically, I’m not authorized to tell you. At least, not at this time.” Michal frowns. “Symon has always planned to approach you about joining him, but not this soon. He doesn’t want to bring any more University students into the rebellion until the divide between his faction and the faction led by Ranetta Janke has been mended. Your actions today gave me no choice but to move up that timeline. Which is something I’d prefer Symon not know about.”

“Why?”

Michal shifts uncomfortably. “Things are tense right now between the two factions. Symon has become more careful about who he can trust. I don’t want him to think he has misplaced his faith in me.”

“You can’t expect me to go back to my room and pretend I don’t know any of this! There has to be something I can do to help.” I see Michal weighing the merits of my request, and I bite my lip and force myself to stay still.

I swallow hard as I wait for Michal to render his verdict.

“Okay.”

My heart leaps at the word.

“But you have to do exactly what I tell you. Deal?” When he holds out his hand, I don’t have to think before I take it.

“What do you need me to do?”

Michal leans forward. “First thing is to move into the Government Studies residence and make friends.” I let out an exasperated sigh, but Michal shakes his head. “You think I’m not giving you a real assignment, but I am. Some of the upper-level students are rebel members. There is concern that many have been won over and armed by Ranetta’s faction. Symon has a person he trusts looking into the matter, but I’d feel better knowing someone else is watching out for us.”

The thought that students living near me might be armed makes me break out in a cold sweat. The words on the Communicator warned me that my fellow students have not shied away from violence. My dreams are filled with their faces behind guns raised to kill. It is not hard to imagine those nightmares turned into reality.

“Also, Government students are required to do both classwork and a practical internship from the start of their studies. Those internships will determine the course of your entire adult life but will also potentially put you in a position to help the rebellion.”

This is the first I’ve heard of the internships. Although, over the past few months, I’ve noticed some students leaving campus more regularly than others. Now I know why.

“In the next couple of weeks, the older students will help Dr. Barnes and the residence advisers assign internships. Those internships allow students to get practical experience that complements their studies. It also gives you a chance to help us find information that might help Symon convince the president and other high-ranking officials to remove Dr. Barnes from power.”

“How hard can getting a good internship be?” I ask. “There are only three of us assigned to Government this year.”

“Only three of you from the colonies. Add in the Tosu City students, and there will be a whole lot more.”

“Tosu City students?” Icy shock is replaced by frustration at my lack of perception. With a hundred thousand people, Tosu City and the surrounding boroughs contain the largest concentration of the United Commonwealth’s population. It only makes sense that the University trains students from that pool. I should have known they would be included, even though they have not been a part of the Early Studies classes my fellow colony students and I just completed. During orientation, our guide pointed out some of the Tosu City schools. The buildings were large and made of glass and steel and wood that gleamed in the sunlight. The kids walking into those buildings were no less polished. Healthy. Strong. And no doubt prepared for whatever a future at the University holds. But one thought stands out above all others, making my blood heat and my emotions flare. “They didn’t report for The Testing.”

They didn’t watch friends die. They are not plagued by nightmares or doubts. They are safe. Whole. Unscarred.

“No. The selection process for Tosu students is different. Most of the students are the sons and daughters of past University graduates. Those who wish to attend the University are required to submit an application and sit for an interview. Fifty applicants take the same examination you took yesterday. Those who pass are welcomed into the University.”

“And those who fail?”

“We’re told that they get reassigned to jobs outside of Tosu, but no one who visits the colonies has seen proof of that. Symon is certain those students are Redirected.”

I feel a stab of satisfaction that is immediately replaced by a wave of shame. Just because a Tosu City candidate’s path to the University is easier doesn’t mean he deserves to be punished in that way. None of us do.

“Of the fifty, how many passed?”

“Forty-two. Including the three from the colonies, sixteen students have been selected for Government. It’s the largest Government class in decades. Which is why they don’t have enough internships for everyone.”

“How many internships do they have?”

“The last I heard, there were twelve.”

If thirteen students have ties to Tosu City, the math doesn’t work in my favor. “What happens if a student doesn’t get assigned to one of those internships? Do they get . . . killed? Redirected?”

“We believe the Tosu City students get shipped to mid-level jobs outside the city.”

“And the colony students?”

Eyes filled with sadness and concern meet mine. “None of them have been heard from since.”

Chapter 4

PANIC BURNS MY throat, but I swallow down the fear and force myself to think. Worrying about an unknown penalty is pointless. The best way to avoid the problem is to make certain there is no need to be penalized. Taking a deep breath, I ask, “How and when are the internships assigned?”

“The faculty member in charge of Government, Professor Holt, will assign internships two weeks after classes begin, once the final-year students give her their assessments of the incoming class. Be careful when dealing with the first years from Tosu. Many of them have the ear of the professors or high-ranking United Commonwealth officials. If they think you are asking questions you shouldn’t or doing something suspicious, they’ll report you. They aren’t above destroying your life or one another’s in order to get ahead.”

Michal glances at his watch and mutters a curse. “I have to make my final report to the University officials. Now that you’ve been placed in your designated field of study, my assignment to watch you is complete. Symon’s asked some of his allies within the Commonwealth Government to shift me to a job that will help influence change, so I might not be around to help, but I’ll get word to someone who can.”

I start to ask who, but Michal starts walking toward my rooms and I have to hurry to catch up.

As we walk, he quietly explains, “During the first couple of days, the upper-year Government students are going to put you through what they call an Induction. They will be watching how you react to certain challenges. They might try to intimidate you or make you feel weak just to see if you are. Some challenges will be mental. Others, more physical. All are intended to see whether you can handle the pressure of leading a country. Remember that the Tosu City students haven’t been through the rigorous Testing process. This is the University’s way of exposing them to the same pressures. Once in a while, a first-year student gets angry and reports the initiation tactics to his head professor. Don’t. As a colony student, you already have one strike against you. They expect you to be weak. They expect you to be less than they are. Show them they’re wrong.”

Fear shivers up my spine. “What if I can’t?”

Michal stops walking and puts his hands on my shoulders. “You can. Everything you did in The Testing proves it. You may not remember what happened then, but I do. You’re smart. You’re fast, and you’re strong.”

“I’m the youngest student here.”

“Use that.” He nods. “The Tosu students are going to look at your size and pretty face and assume you aren’t a threat, but I know different. They have no idea what you are capable of. I, for one, can’t wait for you to show them.”

I tamp down my anxiety and force myself to concentrate as Michal gives me all the information he can. Since the final-year students are the ones who orchestrate and execute the Inductions, no one can predict what exactly will happen—teamwork evaluations, trivia tests, exercises that push the boundaries of physical endurance.

“Memorize every face. Every name. Every detail. Learn where they come from and who they are related to. You never know what information will help you or the rebellion. Most students come from the families of high-ranking officials. But every year, there are a few from the less influential neighborhoods. They can be the most dangerous. They fought hard to get where they are. They won’t be pushed aside without a fight. More important, don’t show anyone if you are afraid. Government professors value students who can push aside their fear. Everyone at some point is afraid of making the wrong choice. The program’s faculty believes the difference between Government students and the rest of the University student body is the ability to rise above that fear.”

Thank goodness Michal doesn’t say I’m not allowed to feel fear. Minutes later, as I replace my bracelet on my wrist and follow the sound of conversation and laughter to the common room, fear consumes me. Fear that I have made the wrong choice. That I should have run far and fast. That my fellow Government students will see the horror of what I know in my eyes. That they will pass judgment. That I will fail.

Only the warmth of Tomas’s hand in mine and the hope that Symon’s plan will put an end to a system that goes against the principles our rebuilt country stands for keep me in this seat, in this room, at this University. Stacia glances at Tomas and me and rolls her eyes. I pretend to laugh as I look around the room at the faces of those who might have killed to get here as they celebrate. As we say our last good nights in this building and head off to our beds, my fellow colony students are unaware that a new test begins tomorrow. They do not know they should be as afraid as I am.

When Tomas walks me to my door, I consider passing along Michal’s warning, but stop. Trust wars with love. The knowledge that the Transit Communicator’s recording is real doesn’t stop my heart from wanting to believe in Tomas’s innate kindness. But something happened. Something he lied about then. Something involving Zandri. Then Tomas’s arms pull me close. His lips touch mine, and all thoughts of the Tosu City students fade. I let myself forget the world around me and revel in this instant when I feel safe.

When Tomas steps back, he whispers that he will see me in the morning. That he loves me and that no matter what our fields of study, we are still a team. We will always be a team. With one last gentle kiss, he disappears down the hall to find sleep. I turn to do the same.

A stunning girl with deep red hair appears out of the darkness. Anger pours from her blue eyes. Anger at me because I wasn’t smart enough. Fast enough. Observant enough. I realized too late that our team was betrayed. She was punished. I was not.

A door appears beside her. I yell for her not to open it, but it’s too late. Just like it was then. Her body goes still. Her skin turns gray. Her eyes roll back in her head. The door swings open just in time for her body to pitch forward into the darkness. The minute the door slams shut, I bolt upright in bed.

“Annalise.” The name passes my lips, and though there is no mention of a girl named Annalise on the recorder, I can close my eyes now and picture her. Not angry as she was in the dream, but flashes of her laughing in the hallway of The Testing building. Confident in her abilities. Friendly.

Real? Imagined? I search inside myself for the truth, but find only the slamming of my heart and the lingering taste of fear.

I turn on the lights, walk to the bath, and use the water to wash the terror from my face and mouth. Through the bedroom window, I can see dawn has yet to break. Hours yet before I start the next phase of my studies. I climb back into bed, hoping to find much-needed rest. Finally, I do.

The sound of doors slamming pulls me out of sleep. Raised voices are filled with excitement. Everyone is up and ready to relocate to the new residences. If I want people to continue to believe I am enthusiastic about being here, I need to get ready too.

I have just finished dressing when I hear a knock on my door. I open it expecting to find Tomas and instead come face-to-face with a tall, imposing woman with a cap of orange hair that matches the frames of her glasses.

“Malencia Vale?” When I nod, she smiles. “I’m Professor Verna Holt. The head professor of Government Studies.”

While her voice is warm, it feels calculated. Practiced. The tone my mother uses when she trades with arrogant Mrs. Pitzler for wool yarn. Professor Holt’s dark, almond-shaped eyes don’t blink as she looks down at me. Had I not talked to Michal, I might have shown surprise. Most likely, I would have assumed I’d missed a meeting time and offered my apologies. Instead, I hear Michal saying I will be tested. As a colony student, I’m expected to be weak. I vow to show Professor Holt and her team that I am strong.

Straightening my shoulders, I give my most confident smile. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m looking forward to moving into the Government Studies residence later today.”

Professor Holt’s eyebrows rise. “If you are packed and ready, I’ll walk you outside, where a final-year student is waiting to show you to your new home.”

I glance at the clock. It’s two hours before the time we were instructed to be ready. Good thing I’m prepared to leave now. I sling two bags containing my clothes, personal possessions, and books over my shoulder and exit through the door without a backward glance.

The sky is overcast. Outside, a male student with close-cropped brown hair and an intense expression is waiting alongside two of my fellow first years, Will and the dark-haired Rawson. I take a step back when Will turns toward me. I know he’s a murderer. Has Rawson also killed? My recorder never mentions him, but so much of what happened is missing. Should I believe that every candidate is capable of taking a life?

“This is Ian,” Professor Holt says. “He will see you to the Government Studies residence. I trust you will be comfortable there.” With a curt nod, she turns on her heel and strides away.

We all look at Ian. In his fitted black pants, shiny black boots, and deep purple shirt, Ian is more than a little imposing. Until he grins. The sternness disappears, replaced by an exuberance that makes me think of my brother Win. In a rich baritone voice, he says, “Congratulations on being selected for Government Studies. Not only are we the smartest students on campus, our house is the largest, which means we all get our own room.”

I see Tomas come out of the building as Ian asks us to follow him. Tomas turns toward us. While I want to run to him and tell him where I’m going and what possibly lies ahead for both of us, I see Ian watching me. Waiting.

Over the years, my father complained several times that University graduates rarely had friends outside their designated fields of study. Part of me always thought he was exaggerating, since none of the graduates in Five Lakes behaved in that manner. But the way Ian’s gaze shifts from me to Tomas makes me pause. If my father is correct, the students in my field of study might not appreciate my relationship with someone outside our career path.

Tomas comes closer. His eyes are bright. Happy. Seeing him warms my heart, but I do not return his grin with one of my own. Instead, I give a tiny shake of my head. I hope he sees the apology, love, and warning in my expression before I turn and walk away.

Ian glances up at the rumbling sky as he leads us across campus. “If we hurry, we should make it to the residence before the rain starts. The one downside to being part of Government Studies is the distance you have to walk to class. Professor Holt says exercise moves the blood in the brain, which helps us think.” Ian laughs. “I’d be more impressed by that reasoning if Professor Holt didn’t use a skimmer to get around campus.”

We laugh. After a moment, Ian asks, “So, did any of you actually want to be chosen for Government Studies?”

Will looks down at the stone walkway. Rawson’s cheeks tinge red. It’s clear none of us want to be taking this walk today. Ian must know that.

Since I have not made any attempt to hide my desired course of study, I confess, “I wanted Mechanical Engineering. Government was the last choice on my list.”

“Cia.” Will nudges me with his elbow. I probably should stay quiet, but instead I smile at Ian and ask, “Was Government Studies your first choice?”

Ian frowns. My shoulders tense until I notice the corners of Ian’s mouth twitch. Finally, he laughs. “I wanted Education and was pretty steamed when they stuck me here. It didn’t take me long to realize very few students who want to be placed in Government Studies actually are.”

“Why is that?” I ask.

Ian stops. “Because sometimes the best leaders are the ones who have no interest in leading. Those are often the ones who are most interested in doing what is right, not what is popular.” He gives an embarrassed shrug and starts walking again. “Sorry about the lecture. The last thing I want to do is sound like one of the professors. But in this case, I think they’re right.”

Ian falls silent. For the next several minutes, thunder is the only accompaniment to our journey. It isn’t until we pass the History building that I realize we are going into a section of campus I have only walked through once, during the University tour after passing The Testing. It’s a section less utilized because it was hit harder than the rest by the earthquakes that shook the country during the Sixth Stage of War.

Here trees are less abundant. The grass has been revitalized, but is a shade yellower. Ian leads us across a bridge that was erected after Tosu City was named. The bridge spans a gap over twenty feet wide and hundreds of feet deep. In the distance, I see a massive, three-story structure constructed of dark gray stone. Atop the structure is a clock tower. As we step off the bridge, I spot a small stone sign engraved with the words GOVERNMENT STUDIES.

“The clock tower is several hundred years old.” Ian’s voice breaks the silence. “The earthquake that caused the fissure we just passed tore apart several buildings, including the one with that tower. While most of the tower’s original building was reduced to rubble, the clock portion survived. When the founders of the University decided to construct the Government Studies residence, they had the architects include the tower as an homage to the past.”

I look at the tower with new appreciation, but can’t help wishing the builders had made the rest of the residence more hospitable. Aside from the lovely tower, the building is all hard lines and massive stone. Tall, narrow windows line the second and third floors. A large black door at the end of the building looks to be the only entrance or exit. A small sign next to the door says WELCOME, which is almost funny, since I feel anything but.

“Don’t worry,” Ian says. “It’s homier than it looks.”

“It would almost have to be.” I laugh as a drop of rain hits me.

The sky rumbles, and rain falls faster as we race for cover. Ian pushes open the heavy wooden door, waits until all of us step inside, and then closes it behind us. Lights blaze in the foyer, giving me a clear view of the framed portraits that line the room. The first president of the United States, George Washington. The last United States president, Nicholas Dalton. The five presidents that have served the United Commonwealth. A few others, whose faces I don’t recognize but whose names I’d probably know from my history lessons. People who ran our country. Did their best to change the world for the better.

“As you can probably guess, the students have no say in decorating the common rooms. Otherwise, the portraits would have been used for firewood years ago.” Ian gives our current president’s face a pat as he passes through the doorway and beckons us to follow him into a wide room filled with cushioned benches, faded armchairs, an enormous fireplace with a burning fire, and people. At least two dozen of them. Whispering. Eyes wide with curiosity as they study us.

I scan the faces. Most appear close to my age, but a handful look like Ian—older, more experienced, watching our every move.

Ian tells us to take a seat. A girl with short curly blond hair and cheeks filled with freckles shifts to the end of her bench, giving Will, Rawson, and me room to sit. Once we do, Ian walks across the room, stands in front of the arched stone fireplace, and says, “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Ian Maass. I’m a final-year Government student. For the next several weeks, I’ll be serving as one of your designated study’s guides. Each first-year student will be assigned to a guide who will show you around, help you figure out where your classes are, and answer whatever questions you might have. This year, there are sixteen of you in the first-year class.”

Will sucks in air. Rawson blinks. Even knowing the Tosu City students would be here, I feel my heart race at the sight of the faces turned toward us. Some look smug. Others are curious. Many snicker, which says that while we did not know of their presence, they have not been unaware of us. I don’t know where they have been studying these past months, but no matter where they have been, they are here now and ready to do what it takes to make top grades.

I see Ian assessing our reactions from across the room. His eyebrows shift upward as he looks at me. Then he continues to speak. “Adjusting to University life and to your new residence is always a challenge. The guides are here to make that easier. Think of us as a big brother or sister and come to us with any questions, concerns, or fears. We can’t help you if we don’t know there’s a problem.”

The older students smile.

“When I announce your name, please stand so your guide can identify you. Once all assignments are complete, your guide will show you to your room and help get you settled in. And since I’m already standing, I’ll announce my little siblings first.” Ian takes a clipboard from a dark-skinned girl who gives him a flirty smile.

“Kaleigh Cline.” The freckled girl at the end of our bench swallows hard and stands. “Raffe Jeffries.” A tall, broad-shouldered boy with bushy eyebrows stands to my left. “Last, but by no means least, Malencia Vale.”

Most eyes in the room swing toward me when I stand, but I can’t help noticing the quizzical look the dark-skinned girl gives Ian. She had the clipboard with the list of first years and the guides they were assigned. Did Ian alter the assignments?

I continue to wonder as Ian announces the rest of the mentoring assignments. Three Tosu City boys are assigned to the dark-skinned girl, whose name turns out to be Himani Biseck. If I was supposed to be placed with her, I’m grateful to Ian for the change. Himani’s smile is bright, but something about the narrowing of her eyes reminds me of a cat stalking a field mouse.

As Michal suggested, I try to memorize names and faces. Will is called next, along with a slightly rounded girl named Olive and a boy with no hair named Griffin. The three are assigned to a big brother with large black-rimmed glasses who I think is named Sam. Rawson’s trio is completed by a sweet-faced boy named Enzo and a girl with sharp features called Juliet. They are assigned to a hulking final year Ian introduces as Lazar. The last four first years, three boys and a girl, are assigned to a tall, brown-haired girl with wide-set eyes. Due to the murmurs in the room, I have a hard time catching their names. I can’t help noticing that first-year girls are outnumbered at least three to one.

Before I can decide whether those odds put me at a disadvantage, Ian lays down the clipboard, grabs something from the girl next to him, and says, “Your guides will now show you to your rooms and help you settle in. Kaleigh, Raffe, Malencia, you’re with me.”

Ian heads through a door to his left. I grab my bags and hurry after him, dodging other students looking for their guides. For once, my height and small build are an advantage as I zigzag under and around and reach the doorway first. Ian is standing in the middle of a dimly lit room filled with shelf after shelf of books. He grins as I cross the threshold, but says nothing until the other two first years arrive. Moments later, Raffe strides through the doorway. He stands at least a foot taller than I and scowls when he is bumped into from behind by the third member of our group.

“First things first,” Ian says with a grin. “I’m going to take you on a quick tour of the place before showing you to your personal quarters. This is one of three library rooms in the building. All the books stored in our libraries can also be found in the main campus library. The main library’s books are in better shape than these, but we’re willing to put up with faded ink, broken bindings, and water-damaged pages, especially when it’s raining outside. Just make sure you put the books back where you found them when you’re done, or your fellow students will get testy. Follow me.”

He leads us through a door in the back of the room that empties out into a large space illuminated by the light trickling in from four square windows. Eight long wooden tables with long benches on either side fill the room. “This is the dining hall. The kitchen is through the doors back there. They turn the lights on during meals. If you come in after the lights have dimmed, it means mealtime is over and you’ll have to make your own dinner.”

We head back through the library to the room with the fireplace. “This is the hangout room. Just about everyone uses it for studying or just kicking back. Almost all the upper years are currently at class. That’s the only reason no one is in here now. On the occasions our faculty adviser, Professor Holt, asks to speak to us all, this is the room we use. It can get kind of crowded during those meetings, so get here early if you want to catch a seat.”

I can hear the sounds of feet tromping above us as the others settle into their rooms. Kaleigh complains that her bags are getting heavy, but Ian isn’t done playing tour guide. He shows us the other two libraries, as well as three labs that we can use if we don’t have time to finish an assignment on campus. Etched on all the doors is the symbol of the balanced scales.

When I ask about the design, Ian explains, “The balanced scales represent all Government Studies students.” He holds out his wrist, and I see he is wearing a thick bracelet engraved with a design that features the same scales. Below the scales is a crescent shape. “The symbol was chosen to remind us that government is supposed to balance humanity and kindness with law and justice. The imbalance of these principles caused the Seven Stages of War. It is our job and the job of all United Commonwealth officials to restore that balance and see that it is never allowed to shift again.” In a teasing tone, he adds, “And, of course, it looks way cooler than the other symbols. So we have that going for us, right?”

The other two first years laugh. I study the symbol again, wondering if anyone realizes that The Testing process has already upset that balance we are supposed to seek. With any luck, the rebellion will restore the balance and I will be a part of it.

“Now, time to see where you’re going to be sleeping. If you get to sleep.” He winks and heads up a wide wooden staircase. The wood is scarred but polished to a shine. “The top two floors are personal quarters. Boys are assigned rooms on the second floor. Girls on the third. Raffe—your room is this way.”

“You have two hours before lunch to unpack,” Ian explains as we stop in front of a door on the second floor marked with the symbol of a coiled spring. “After lunch, Dr. Holt will meet with each of you to talk about your class schedules and answer any questions you have.”

Raffe enters the room, and Kaleigh and I follow Ian to the third floor. There is no one in the hallway as Ian heads to the right and stops in front of a door marked with a key. When Kaleigh opens the door, Ian leads me to the door at the end. A lightning bolt says the room now belongs to me.

I switch on the light and step into a sitting room. A table with two chairs sits against one wall. A small sofa rests against another. Straight ahead is a doorway that leads to sleeping quarters, complete with a bed covered with a dark red quilt, a trunk for personal items, and a small wooden wardrobe for clothes. Under the one narrow window is a scarred wooden desk with several drawers. Off the bedroom is a small bathroom. The rooms are almost identical in style to the ones I left this morning.

“Are the rooms big enough?” Ian asks from the doorway.

“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “I used to share a bedroom not much larger than this with my four brothers.”

He smiles. “I know what you mean. There are six of us in my family. My being selected for The Testing meant my youngest sister’s getting her own bed.”

“You’re not from Tosu City?” I know the answer before he shakes his head. The Testing is only for candidates from the colonies. And in the corner of my heart I find myself wondering—what did Ian have to do to pass The Testing? “Is that why you decided to be my guide instead of taking whoever you were supposed to be assigned?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says, but the gleam in his eyes says different. “Remember, you have just shy of two hours before you need to be downstairs. No matter what happens, don’t be late.”

Before I can ask what could possibly happen, Ian closes the door behind him. By the time I open the door and look down the hall, he’s gone.

Carefully, I unpack the vase with my father’s dried flowers. I place the flowers on the table in the sitting room to remind me of where I came from and what I am fighting for. Bit by bit, I empty my bags. Clothes in the wardrobe. Zeen’s Transit Communicator under the mattress. My few books, pencils, and stray odds and ends get neatly stored in desk drawers. While I unpack, I check the room for signs that someone is observing me. While there weren’t any at the Early Studies residence, I still remember the glint of the camera lens in the skimmer as we traveled to The Testing and am relieved when I don’t find cameras here.

As I place the now-empty bags next to the desk, I hear a loud metallic click from the sitting room. I start toward the sound and hear another click from the bedroom behind me a moment before the lights go out.

Chapter 5

I BLINK, TRYING to clear the inky darkness from my eyes, but to no avail. Whatever light the narrow bedroom window provided is now gone. I can see nothing.

My heart pounds. Michal said the upper-level students would challenge us to assess our skills and our personalities. An Induction he called it. Well, let the Induction begin.

In the darkness, I can hear female voices calling for help. I stretch my hands out in front of me as I creep across the unfamiliar sitting room, looking for the exit. Pain sings up my leg as my shin connects with something hard. Probably the bottom of a chair. My hands rub the injured area, but at least now I know where I am.

Cautiously, I inch my way across the room. The wall greets my fingers, and I slide them across the smooth surface until they find the door. My hand closes around the knob. Locked. I try to flip the deadbolt. It won’t budge. Disappointment is quickly replaced by chagrin. Surely I didn’t expect this test to be that easy.

Leaning against the wall, I think through the goal of this challenge. Ian’s final instructions were that we must be downstairs in time for lunch. So, while I might be able to splice wires and use the Transit Communicator’s solar cells to illuminate the room, creating a light source isn’t the point. Escape is. To escape I need to open the door. To open the door I need . . . what?

Once again, my fingers probe the area around the doorknob as I try to learn what I can about the lock. I’d been too focused on the rooms themselves to notice how the door was constructed. If I make it past this test, I vow, I won’t make that same careless mistake again.

The wood is scarred but smooth. My fingers run over the lock. I think it’s a single-cylinder deadbolt. A key opens the lock from the outside. The latch mechanism opens it from here—only the lock isn’t working. For a moment, I wonder if the deadbolt is the only lock holding this door in place or if something more is keeping it shut. Ian warned me not to be late for lunch. That warning implies the possibility of an on-time arrival. Since the lights went out about an hour before we need to be downstairs, I assume the locking mechanism must be simple in order for me to meet that expectation.

The rumble of thunder makes me jump. Taking a deep breath, I search the other side of the door with my hands and smile into the darkness. The door is hung with old-fashioned pin hinges. The same kind my family uses back in Five Lakes. Five years ago, my brothers locked me into our bedroom. They said I had to tell them all how smart and handsome they were before they let me out. While they made jokes on the other side of the door, I popped the hinge pins and came strolling out with the threat that I’d tell Mom if they didn’t do my chores for seven days. If I have my way, today will be no less triumphant.

Careful to avoid getting another bruise, I inch my way to the bedroom and picture the layout of the space. I walk to where I think the desk should be. There. I yank open the top right drawer and close my fingers over the pocketknife given to me by my father. The knife is complete with a blade, file, screwdriver, and other tools. Several of those should come in handy now.

I make my way back to the door and flip open the pocketknife, feeling for the right tool. The file, with its flat pointed edge, worked when I was twelve, and it does the trick now. I work the tip of the tool under the pin and use the file as a lever to pry up the metal rod. One down. I climb on a chair to get a better angle on the top hinge, and it isn’t long before I am placing the pin in my pocket and hopping down. Wedging the file between the door and the frame, I wince as a splinter lodges into my thumb. But within minutes, I work the door free.

The hallway lights are off, probably to ensure we couldn’t use the sliver of light they’d provide under the door to aid us in our task. However, the dim glow near the staircase, probably light from the first floor, makes it easy to navigate the path to the steps. Aside from my own, no doors are open. Banging and the sounds of muffled cries tell me my fellow female students are still working to pass this Induction.

I stop at the second floor and glance up and down the hall. Two doors open. The rest are closed—although, judging by the sound of cracking wood, one more will be open soon. Not sure how much time remains before the deadline, I make my way to the brightly lit first floor. A fire still crackles in the hearth of the hangout room, but no one is there to enjoy the warmth. Rain pelts the windows, and for an instant, lightning brightens the world outside. A clock over the mantel tells me I have arrived with ten minutes to spare. I take a minute to run my fingers through my hair and smooth down my shirt before straightening my shoulders and walking to the dining room. When my feet hit the threshold, dozens of people applaud.

Near the back, Ian is standing and gesturing me toward him. I weave around tables while looking for familiar faces. Will is not here. Neither is Rawson. But I spot two faces I recognize from the meeting where we were assigned our guides: the first-year student with no hair named Griffin, who watches me with a fierce intensity, and the slight, curly-haired boy named Enzo. His face is thin and narrow. His smile warm and angelic. Trustworthy. Since both he and Griffin finished this test before me, I plan on keeping a close eye on both of them. Just in case.

Ian tells me to take a seat between him and a pretty girl with a sleek braid running down her back. When I’m seated, the room falls quiet and all eyes shift from me to the door as they await the next successful first year.

All eyes but Ian’s. His are stilled fixed on me. Leaning close he whispers, “Thank you.”

“For what?” I whisper back.

“I bet Jenny you’d be the first female student to arrive.” Ian grins over my head at the girl seated beside me. “She’s got to do my laundry for the next two weeks.”

“I suck at laundry,” Jenny says under her breath. “He’ll be lucky if his underwear comes back in one piece.”

“As long as I don’t have to clean them, it doesn’t matter to me.” Ian looks at the clock. “Seven minutes left. I have to think at least one or two more first years will make it downstairs before the limit.”

Jenny smiles. “You want to go double or nothing on that?”

Before Ian can take her up on the offer, a red-faced blond boy appears in the entrance, and the room breaks out in applause. From the hulking girth of the boy and the way sweat pours down his face, I’m guessing he was the one using brute force, not guile, to get through his door. Just before time expires, two more first years make it through the door—one boy, one girl. They come in together, both looking winded and disheveled.

A buzzer goes off as the clock strikes noon. The first challenge is over.

“What happens to the first years who didn’t make it out of their rooms?” Ten are missing, including Will and Rawson. Too many to warrant an extreme punishment. I hope.

“We starve them,” Ian says with a serious expression as the kitchen staff bring out platters of food. The smell of roasted meat fills the air, making my stomach yearn for sustenance even as it swirls with anxiety. The concern I feel must show in my face, because Ian laughs and says, “Don’t worry—it isn’t for very long. As soon as everyone down here is served, the locks on their doors will open.” Ian stabs at a chicken leg and passes the platter to me.

“So, they just have to wait for us to start eating?” Not such a bad punishment, I think as I put a slice of meat in front of me.

“They also have to clean the dishes after everyone is done.” This from Jenny, who takes the plate of chicken. “You should be glad you got here before time was out. When motivated, we can make quite a mess.”

The other students sitting at the table laugh, but the amusement isn’t malicious. They remind me of my brothers, teasing me and my friends whenever they got the chance. Which always seemed to coincide with my mother being out of the room. Aside from the kitchen staff, I don’t see anyone who isn’t a student in the dining hall. While most things here in Tosu City are different from what I grew up with, it’s nice to know that some are the same.

Ian nudges me and hands me a plate filled with some kind of cooked greens. “You’ll also be meeting with Dr. Holt in the order you arrived in the dining hall.” The tone Ian uses is light, but the way he holds my gaze tells me this is an important advantage. One I should not discount.

Aside from Jenny and Ian, four other students are seated at our table—three male, one female. Despite my success with the first Induction test, none of them gives me more than a fleeting glance. I’m starting to ask Ian for an introduction when the rest of the first years arrive.

Some look angry. Others appear nervous as they walk to the seats their guides have reserved for them. Will catches my eye and gives me a wide grin before taking his seat. Of all of the students, he looks the least flustered by the day’s developments. His hair is perfectly slicked back. His shirt is tucked in. Not a hint of strain shows around his bright green eyes. Perhaps it is his ability to mask his true feelings that prompted University administrators to direct Will into Government Studies.

It’s a skill the two first years at my table could learn from. The puffy redness around Kaleigh’s eyes speaks volumes about the distress she experienced during the blackout. Raffe is better at keeping his emotions off his face, but his clenched fists tell their own story. A scan of the room tells me that all unsuccessful Tosu City first years are still working to regain their composure. Though the inequality between the different methods used to choose Tosu City and colony students for the University still grates, I’m forced to admit that those of us from the colonies have an advantage over the others. Our Testing memories might have been erased, but we are still the same people who used our skills, intelligence, and wits to survive.

Conversation gets louder. Older students lament cramming for examinations or difficult assignments. Others quip that they’re thankful they don’t have to do the dishes as they smear the last vestiges of their meals around on their plates. From the mess I see at my table, I’m thankful too. The first years at my table don’t talk. We eat. We watch. We listen.

“Enzo Laznar.”

Conversation ceases, and we all turn toward a young, purple-clad University official who stands in the doorway. Enzo rises. Here and there, I see Tosu City first years whispering to one another. Enzo is stopped by the massive-looking boy next to him, who says something I can’t make out. Whatever he says has Enzo nodding before he heads out the door with the official. A moment later, the dining hall once again buzzes with laughter.

“Was Enzo the first to come downstairs?” I ask Ian. Because of his size and intimidating demeanor, I had assumed Griffin was the first.

“Enzo arrived two minutes ahead of Griffin. You came in five minutes after that. You’ll be called to meet with Professor Holt after Griffin has talked to her.”

Turning toward Raffe and Kaleigh, Ian adds, “The students who didn’t make the time deadline will be called at the end in alphabetical order. Professor Holt will ask all three of you a few questions. Then she’ll hand you your class schedule. No big deal.”

I hope not, because fifteen minutes later, my name is called. I follow the purple-clad official to one of the small libraries. Two gray armchairs face each other. Professor Holt is seated in one. She gestures for me to sit opposite. When the man in purple leaves, she says, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Malencia. Although, I’ve heard people call you Cia. Which do you prefer?”

“My friends call me Cia.”

Professor Holt smiles. “Well, first let me congratulate you on your performance in the final Early Studies examination. Your scores were quite impressive. I hope you do as well in your regular classes when they begin next week.” She takes a sheet of gray recycled paper off the table next to her. “Because of your high examination marks, your class list is more challenging than the others. Please let me, your guide, or one of the other faculty know if you feel overwhelmed by the work you are being given. We are here to teach, but, more important, we are here to help.”

Professor Holt pauses. Since no question has been asked, I simply nod my understanding. Giving me another smile, the professor says, “In addition to your classroom studies, you’ll also be assigned an internship that will, alongside your book learning, teach you how best to achieve success in your future career. Juggling both can be a challenge. Once again, if you have any difficulties handling that challenge, please let us know so we can alter your workload in a manner that will best benefit you, the University, and the United Commonwealth.”

If I hadn’t seen Obidiah after Redirection, if I hadn’t listened to my own recollections of The Testing, I’d feel reassured by her words. I would believe the expression of maternal concern on Professor Holt’s face. But I did see, and the words on the recorder are etched in my memory. No matter what the course load, I will not complain. More, I will not fail.

My resolve almost cracks as Professor Holt hands me my schedule. During our Early Studies semester, every student was assigned five courses. This schedule has me attending nine.

Professor Holt leans forward. “I know the schedule looks intimidating.”

Yes. But I’m not foolish enough to admit my concern. “I’m excited to see science and math classes. I assumed those were courses reserved for Biological and Mechanical Engineering students.”

Professor Holt’s eyes meet mine. “Those who depend fully on another person’s knowledge to decide what is possible are easily manipulated. The most effective leaders utilize experts from all fields, but rely on none when it comes to making a decision. I think you will find your excellence in math and science will be more useful in your selected career path than you might have believed.”

The thought makes me smile.

“Do you have any other questions?” she asks. When I shake my head no, the professor reaches for an ornate gold bell on the small table next to her and gives it a ring. “I hope you enjoy your new residence and class schedule, Ms. Vale. And please remember, I am always here if ever you need assistance.”

The purple-clad official appears at the doorway, signaling more clearly than the bell that the meeting is at an end. After thanking the professor for her time, I head for the door. It isn’t until I’m headed back up the stairs to my rooms that I realize that Professor Holt used only my last name as she said goodbye. Not Cia. Was that a deliberate choice? I believe so. Professor Holt is leaving it to me to determine whether she is a friend or if she is my foe.

The door to my rooms is back on its hinges. Whatever they used to cover my window is gone. The Transit Communicator and the rest of my belongings are where I put them before the lights went out. The only difference is the envelope, stamped with my symbol, lying on the sitting room table. Inside the envelope are two pieces of paper, a small solar watch, and a gold key. One paper is a schedule that tells us what times the dining hall opens and closes for meals. It also says the kitchen has snacks and water available throughout the day for those who cannot make it to mealtimes.

I put the schedule on the table, unfold the second piece of paper, and read:

Government leaders must be prepared for all things at all times. For the next week, your suitability for this field of study will be tested. We hope you are ready to become one of us.—The final year Government Studies students

I try the key on the outside door lock and find it to be a perfect fit. Putting the key in my pocket, I pick up the black solar watch. It is two inches in diameter. Silver solar storage panels around the face of the watch power the glowing hands in the center. A button on the back allows the user to change the time. Another operates an alarm. I compare the time on the watch to the clock in my rooms. They are a perfect match. As long as I keep the solar cells charged, I will have the correct time, no matter what test the final years throw at us.

Turning the watch over in my hands, I try to guess what those tests could be. Michal said they change from year to year, so using his experience will not help me, but thinking of him brings back a memory from just before the start of The Testing, when we first arrived in Tosu City. Michal warned me to keep my things with me at all times. Advice I heeded. Since the note suggests I be prepared for anything at any time, I decide to follow that same advice now.

Walking into the bedroom, I put my class list on the desk and grab my University bag. I attach the watch to the strap of the bag so the solar cells will be more likely to collect power. Inside the bag I place a change of clothes, an extra pair of socks, and Zeen’s Transit Communicator. Then I try to decide what else I might need. My pocketknife. A towel. Finally, a pencil and the note find their way into my bag. Then I hoist the bag onto my shoulder and head downstairs. It is time to do what Ian suggested earlier. If I want to be as prepared as possible, I have to get to know my fellow students. It’s time to make friends.

A dozen students are in the fireplace room. Only a few of them are first years. The rest must still be cleaning up from lunch. Those first years present are holding class schedules in their hands, which makes me think they’ve yet to return to their rooms. I wonder if it is the desire for company or the fear of containment that has them seated here now. Looking around, I spot a solitary figure seated on a faded yellow sofa in the back corner and walk over.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” I ask.

Enzo’s dark eyes rise up to meet mine. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

Not exactly a warm reception, but I sit anyway and notice a bandage on his left thumb. “I’m Cia Vale.”

“I know.” Enzo glances around the room and looks down at his class schedule.

A quick scan of the room tells me why. All the Tosu City first years are watching with narrowed eyes. Maybe making friends isn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped. Still, the fact that Enzo is sitting here in the corner by himself leads me to believe he is not close with his Tosu compatriots. If I can get him alone, he might be willing to chat.

Standing, I lift my bag onto my shoulder and look at the paper in his hand. “The rain has stopped. I’m going to go out for some fresh air.” Lowering my voice, I add, “They left notes in everyone’s room. The message doesn’t give much of a clue as to what they plan on doing with us for the next week, but you might want to check it out.”

Without waiting for a response, I head for the exit, feeling everyone’s eyes on me as I walk out. While I have only been at the Government Studies residence for a few hours, escaping the pressure-filled building makes me sag with relief. The sky is tinged with gray and yellow—signs the storms are not over quite yet. I close my eyes, breathe in the damp air, and smile. The smell of the wet earth and trees helps me imagine that I am home in Five Lakes. In our backyard, sitting on my mother’s wooden bench, listening to the sound of the wind through the trees.

Longing and hopelessness snake through me. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. The desire to be with my family, to return to a time before I was selected for The Testing and still believed that our leaders were kind and fair, is overwhelming.

I walk across the wet grass to a small grove of weeping willows. The trees are tall. Old. The bark under my fingers, rough and brittle. The branches more twisted than those on the trees my father and brothers have planted back home. By their size, I would guess several of these are at least fifty years old, which means they were planted before the new strain of willow was created. The most recent version bettered the tree’s absorption of nutrients from the blighted soil. But even before that improvement, the willows thrived. Of all the trees, they were the most resilient after the Seven Stages of War. Even where the soil was most corrupt, the willow found a way to survive.

After taking the knife out of my bag, I strip part of the bark away from the tree and shove it into the side pocket of my bag. The salicylic acid in the bark can be used to help reduce headaches. After seeing my class list, I have a feeling I am going to need it.

“Why did you tell me about the note?”

I jump and spin around to face a belligerent-looking Enzo. So immersed was I in the memories of home, I missed the sounds of his approach. Or maybe he is just that light on his feet.

“I thought you might want to know it was there.” The suspicion narrowing his eyes makes me add, “It’s not like you weren’t going to find it at some point.” Enzo concedes the idea with a shrug, and I notice the bag hanging from his shoulder. Giving him a smile, I ask, “How did you get out of your locked room so fast today? My guide said you beat me by seven minutes.”

This makes Enzo smile. “I detached the hinges with this.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a thin, sharp knife. Dr. Flint is the only person I’ve ever witnessed using one. A scalpel. Clearly, Government wasn’t Enzo’s first choice either.

“Is that how you cut yourself?”

He looks down at his hand and frowns. “Yeah. I was reaching up to detach the top hinge. I figured moving a chair would take too much time.”

Time I had to take because of my short stature. While Enzo isn’t tall, he stands five inches above me. “Were your friends upset with you for getting through the locked door first? They didn’t seem all that social.”

Enzo stiffens. “Just because we all come from Tosu City doesn’t make us friends. Are you friends with everyone in your colony?”

I laugh. “We might not all be best friends in Five Lakes Colony, but we are cordial. When you only have a thousand people, it’s easier if you all at least act like you get along.” I wait for the surprise I normally see when someone hears what colony I’m from, but it doesn’t come. “You already knew I was from Five Lakes.”

“Part of our Early Studies was to study not only the colonies but the students they sent to Tosu who would be attending the University with us.” His smile is grim. “We may not have set foot onto campus until today, but our instructors have made sure we know about you.”

“Why? And where were you studying?” Were they kept away from campus because we would have wondered why they weren’t part of The Testing? Or did the University officials want us separated for as long as possible to keep us off balance when we finally met?

“We met for test preparation and our entrance exam at a school near the Central Government Building. And we studied you because our instructors wanted us to know our competition.”

“I thought the point of being here was to learn for ourselves, and to learn how best to work together to help our country. Where a person comes from doesn’t matter.”

“If you believe that, you’re not as smart as our instructor thought.” I see anger flash in Enzo’s eyes before he looks off toward the clouds that are darkening once again. And I find myself wondering what part of Tosu City Enzo is from. The clean, repaired section United Commonwealth officials helped us explore during the weeks immediately after The Testing or the side streets filled with shadows that I caught glimpses of. Is he one of the students Michal said is more dangerous because he had to fight harder to get here?

Rain continues throughout the day and evening, which keeps all but those who have to attend class inside where it is dry. While I make attempts to converse with several other Tosu City first years, no one gives me more than monosyllabic answers before turning away. The older students aren’t much friendlier, claiming they don’t have time to talk. Michal’s directives to make friends and identify potential upper-year rebels aren’t going to be as easy to follow as he made them seem.

During dinner, Ian asks Raffe, Kaleigh, and me about our class schedules. Raffe has six classes. Kaleigh five. When I say nine, the conversation at our table stops. The upper-level students give me speculative looks before resuming their dinners. Ian just smiles and tells us all to let him know if we have problems with our class load, but I catch the concern on his face in the glances he casts me throughout dinner. No longer hungry, I push my plate away.

Will finds me in my room after dinner. He too has found conversation difficult among the other first years, but it doesn’t appear to bother him.

“If they want to be jerks about it, so much the better.” He laughs and settles into one of the chairs in my sitting room. “It’ll make it more satisfying when we get better jobs after graduation.”

Will has six classes on his schedule and has sneaked glimpses of several other students’ course loads. Thus far, the highest number he’s seen is seven, which doesn’t do anything to still the growing sense of dread I feel as we wait for whatever task the final years have planned next.

Will also tells me what he’s learned about the other first years assigned to his guide, Sam. “Olive thinks a whole lot of herself. Probably because she’s the daughter of Tosu City’s Power and Efficiency manager. A fact she’s reminded everyone at our table of at least a dozen times.”

Will rolls his eyes, and I can’t help but laugh. In Five Lakes, there isn’t much call for power management.

“Griffin doesn’t say a whole lot,” Will continues. “But I’m guessing his family must be pretty connected. Olive giggles at anything he says, and the upper years make a point to say hello whenever they come near.”

I wonder if Ian knows who Griffin is related to and if he’d be willing to share that information. When Will asks about Ian’s other two first years, I admit I don’t know much. “I think Kaleigh’s mother might be a University administrator.” During dinner Kaleigh complained about her class assignments, but assured everyone that the mistake would be dealt with the minute she could visit her mother’s office. Whoever made the error was going to be sorry. “Raffe’s father works in the Department of Education.” Which I only learned because two of the other students at our table mentioned it. From the way they talked, it was clear they were scared of whatever power Raffe’s father wields.

When Will leaves, I go to sleep without changing clothes and dream of home. My mother bakes my favorite cinnamon bread. My brothers and I play cards at the kitchen table while my father sits nearby, poring over reports. Zeen wins a hand, opens his mouth, and shrieks. I jolt awake to the sound of sirens and a voice yelling down the hall for everyone to get out of bed. We need to be downstairs, ready to go, in five minutes. The next phase of our Induction is about to begin.

Chapter 6

THE CRY OF the siren drills my eardrums as I climb out of bed. I pull on my hand-me-down boots and my warmest jacket before slinging my bag over my shoulder. The watch on my bag reads four in the morning as I lock the door and hurry down the stairs to whatever awaits.

Doors slam. Feet pound the halls above me as I step onto the first floor. Ian and the other guides are standing at the base of the stairs. Two of my fellow first years, Griffin and a boy named Lars, stand beside them. I was quick. They were faster.

Standing beside Ian, I watch other first years race down the stairway. The siren goes silent as the last student arrives. Only five of them have brought their bags, but all have enough wits to have worn coats.

“Good morning,” Ian announces. He climbs three steps, turns, and faces us. “There are two skimmers waiting across the bridge. They will transport you to your next challenge. Once we arrive at our destination, I will explain what is expected of you.”

Ian turns on a flashlight and leads the way out the door. The hazy moon and Ian’s circle of light help us navigate our way down the wet path. I am careful to keep to the center of the bridge as I cross. While there are rails on either side, I do not want to risk a misstep.

As promised, two skimmers like the one that brought me and my fellow Five Lakes Testing candidates to Tosu City are waiting on the other side. They are long and sleek and designed to skim above the earth, making them perfect for traveling across terrain broken and scarred by the Seven Stages of War.

Since most of the first years pile into the front skimmer, I climb into the one in back. Soft lights along the ceiling illuminate the interior, which is tall enough for me to stand upright. Plush gray cushions line both sides of the passenger cabin. Near the back is a cabinet that in the skimmer Michal piloted over a half year ago was filled with snacks. To the left of the cabinet is a door that past experience tells me leads to a small bathroom. The one surprise is the windows. They are fitted with a black, opaque material that prevents anyone in the cabin from seeing out. Wherever the skimmer takes us will be a complete surprise.

With that mystery in mind, I take the opportunity to slip into the small bathroom and close the door. On the other side I hear murmurs as students climb inside. Pulling open my bag, I take out the Transit Communicator and flick on the compass and positioning locator. The small machine hums and two green numbers light up the screen, giving me the precise longitude and latitude of my current location. I hit the Save button, turn off the device, and slip it back into my bag. The note warned me to be prepared. I am doing my best to comply.

Hoisting the bag’s strap onto my shoulder again, I slip back into the passenger compartment and take a seat in the rear next to Will. Across the aisle is Rawson. While his hair looks as though it hasn’t seen a comb in the last twenty-four hours, his eyes are alert. Enzo sits next to him, looking down at the University bag balanced on his lap. He makes eye contact with no one as the skimmer begins to move.

I can almost imagine the outlines of trees and the shapes of the buildings as the skimmer crosses from the University campus into the city. The door to the pilot’s compartment is closed, but the smooth movements of the skimmer tell me the pilot is seasoned at his job. The changes in direction are almost imperceptible. Some speculate on our destination, but despite the bravado, the cabin vibrates with nerves.

I check my solar watch frequently. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. I open the cupboard and find a box of crackers, which we pass around. Forty-five. Just past the hour mark, the skimmer gives a slight bump and the hum of the engine stops. The skimmer door slides open. We have reached our destination.

Wind whips my hair as I step out of the skimmer onto crumbling asphalt. The sky is streaked with gray, announcing the approaching dawn. I step in several puddles, but am grateful no rain is falling from the sky. If nothing else, we will not be forced to battle a downpour as we begin this task.

When we are all out of the vehicles, the skimmers’ engines once again begin to hum. Several first years shout their surprise when the skimmers disappear into the mist of morning.

Once they are gone, Ian yells, “Everyone, please follow me.”

The sky continues to lighten as we pick our way across the broken stone that must once have been a smooth surface intended for automobile travel. Before coming to Tosu City, I’d only seen automobiles pictured in books. Because Five Lakes’ resources are mainly devoted to the earth’s revitalization, little time has been spent working on roadways that would accommodate motorized cars. Walking, bicycling, and riding the occasional tractor or skimmer get us from place to place just fine. However, the main roads in Tosu are repaired enough to allow automobile travel for those important enough to have extra power allotments for a working vehicle.

The condition of the road and the discoloration of the plants and trees growing up through the cracks speak of neglect. If this is still Tosu City, it is not a section that has been touched by the government’s construction and revitalization crews.

Ian stops in front of two wooden bridges. “Since your Government Studies classes don’t begin until next week, my fellow guides and I think this is a wonderful time for you to blow off some steam and get to know your fellow first years better. It’s also a great time for us upper years to have some fun.” His amused expression gives his face a boyish quality.

“You’ll be working in teams of four. Each team will get one of these.” He holds up a large green bag. “In this is food, water, and a list of locations your team needs to find. At each destination is a task you and your fellow team members must finish. Upon completion of the task, your team will receive a marker as proof of your success. Each team must have all four markers in its possession when it returns to the Government Studies residence. Any team that returns without one or more of the markers will be penalized.”

In my head, I hear a voice whisper, “Wrong answers will be penalized.”

Not Ian’s cheerful voice. Dr. Barnes’s. I can see him dressed in purple, wearing a stern expression. If I close my eyes, I can picture Tomas seated on one side of me, looking strong and sure. Will on the other, looking frail and sad. The memory feels real. My heart pounded then the same as it does now. I taste the anxiety I felt and swallow it down as I shake free of the image. The past is important, but if I want to succeed, I have to focus on what is happening now.

“The first team to return with all its markers will win this Induction challenge and impress the rest of us. Those who return to the residence after their team has already arrived will automatically be asked to pack their bags and leave. So try to stay together. Okay?”

I look around and see several of my fellow students grin. Do they think Ian is joking or view this as an opportunity to eliminate the competition?

“To make things fair, I am going to pull four names out of this bag.” Ian takes a small brown sack out of his pocket. “These four will act as captains and select the other members of their teams. Please come forward when your name is called.” Ian reaches into the bag and pulls out a piece of paper. “Griffin Grey.”

Griffin pushes forward with a confident smile. He receives a green bag from Ian and then steps to the left. Though Griffin has already proven to be smart enough to excel at one Induction test, I find myself hoping I do not end up on his team.

“Olive Andreson.”

The dark-haired girl giggles as she walks to the front of the group. Once she has her green bag, the next name is announced.

“Malencia Vale.”

The sound of my name makes me jolt. Straightening my shoulders, I avoid a puddle and walk up to Ian. As he hands me the bag, I feel his hand give mine a quick squeeze of encouragement. I take my place next to the still-giggling Olive, and Ian reaches into the bag and comes out with the name of the final team captain.

“Jacoby Martin.”

A tall, lanky boy with deep brown skin and even darker eyes takes his place beside me. While the rest look to Ian for the next set of instructions, I find myself scanning the faces of my fellow students. Ian said the captains will have to choose their teammates. That means the success or failure of my team rests squarely on my shoulders.

“Captains will choose one team member at a time in the order in which they were announced until all students have been placed on a team. Griffin will start.”

Griffin wastes no time making his choice. Raffe. Not a surprise. I’ve seen the two of them hanging out in between meals. Their team will not lack strength or smarts. The giggle is gone as Olive announces her first team member. A tall blond named Vance. My turn.

I look from face to face. This is a team challenge. To work effectively in a team, trust is essential. If only Tomas were here. No matter what he might or might not have done, I know he is on my side. Now I must decide who else is.

The obvious choices are the colony-born students, Will and Rawson. They are my natural allies. I may not trust them, but I have known them for months. Gone to class and studied with them. They are both smart and resourceful. But I don’t call either name. Not yet. Though Will and Rawson will be more inclined to help me due to our shared colony status, this is also an opportunity to follow Michal’s directive and make allies among the Tosu students. Allies will be essential long after Induction has ended. So, I opt for one my gut says is smarter, has worked harder to get here, and is less inclined to side with the others from his city than the rest.

“Enzo.”

A number of students give Will and Rawson smug looks as Enzo walks toward me. Though the Tosu City students have not appeared friendly toward Enzo, this choice has no doubt confirmed their suspicions about my fellow colony natives’ lack of abilities. Good.

Three Tosu City students are chosen in succession.

“Will,” I announce. Do I trust Will? No. His actions during The Testing make it hard to place my faith in his hands. But he is smart and willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. It’s better to have those qualities on my team than working for another. Otherwise, I would be constantly watching over my shoulder to see what danger he might inflict on me.

“Kaleigh.”

“Drake.”

“Rawson.”

Olive’s choice makes me blink. I had been so certain the other captains would shun the colony students that I hadn’t considered selecting anyone else. Rawson frowns as he takes his place at Olive’s side, and I turn my attention to the two remaining students, whom I know next to nothing about. A girl named Juliet and a boy whose name I’ve never learned. I look from one to the other, hoping something in their expressions will help me decide. Both refuse to make eye contact. Neither has brought a University bag. Nothing I see aids my decision. If I want to avoid an uneducated choice, there is only one other option.

“Enzo will make the last choice for our team.” I ignore the gasps around me and the anxiety that takes hold because of them. Do people think I am indecisive or weak because I passed the choosing to another? I tell myself it doesn’t matter what they believe. This is the smart thing to do. Enzo might not be close friends with these two, but he has attended class with them. He is better suited to pass judgment on their collaboration skills.

Enzo doesn’t hesitate in his selection, and we are joined by Damone, who stands at least a foot taller than me.

“The first location on your team’s list is somewhere behind me,” Ian says. “Waiting inside your bag is a clue to the specific spot where you’ll find your first task. When you are done, return to this location for transportation to the next site. We wish you luck and look forward to seeing all of you back at the residence. Don’t get lost. We’d really hate to have to come find you.” With a wink, he and the other final years stride across the broken ground. A moment later, a skimmer appears and they hop inside.

Before the skimmer can clear the horizon, the other teams are racing across the weathered wood bridges toward a building partially hidden by yellow and brown trees.

“We need to get going,” Will says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Enzo and Damone are anxious to get moving too. My instinct is to go along with the others automatically—after all, I’m the youngest of my team. In Five Lakes Colony, I only raised my hand in class or took the lead in an assignment if I was one hundred percent certain I was correct. But as much as I want to get started, I am not going to run blindly into a situation I know nothing about. A mistake now will cost more than the time it will take to read the clue. So, I sit down on the ground, open the green bag, and search for the information contained inside.

As I rummage through the contents, I do a quick inventory. Four bottles of water. Four bags of dried meat. Raisins. Apples. Not a lot of food or water, which means this Induction will either be quick or require us to find more sustenance along the way. My fingers dig to the bottom of the bag and close over a large gray envelope. Inside is the promised list, although what help it could be is hard to tell: Animals, Plane, Law, Learning.

After handing the list to Enzo, I pull out a second slip of paper and read, “A silver treasure was brought here to eat, mate, and rest. Can you now find what is left of this treasure’s nest?”

“We’re supposed to find a bird’s nest somewhere in that building?” Will asks.

Enzo takes the paper from me and frowns. “That seems like the obvious answer.”

This adventure is being orchestrated by University students. They are the best and brightest of our country, which means anything obvious is most likely incorrect. “Why don’t we head inside and see what’s there?” I suggest. “The clue will probably make more sense once we figure out where we are.”

After sliding both my University bag and the team’s green one onto my shoulder, I head across one of the bridges. The bright rays of the early day make it easy to see where newer slats of wood have replaced old ones. Those repairs are the only signs of improvement. Whatever this place is, the United Commonwealth has not deemed it important enough to revitalize. At least, not yet.

The building peeking out from between overgrown trees and bushes is a dingy grayish green. There are holes in the roof and branches sticking out in places where animals have probably set up their homes. Dozens of sickly yellow- and brown-leafed trees grow around the structure. Though this area was not hit by the bombs that destroyed so many cities, this diseased ground demonstrates that nothing in our world was left untouched.

On the right side of the building is a tunnel strewn with leaves, branches, and broken rock. As we pass through, I notice the ceiling of the tunnel has, like the bridges, undergone recent repairs. We emerge from the tunnel into an area filled with scraggly plants, more unhealthy trees, and lots of buckled and uneven stone walkways jutting up in front of us in different directions. I can see other buildings off in the distance.

“Which way should we go?” Damone asks.

Since we don’t know what kind of place this is, traveling along the stone pathways, as damaged as they might be, is the safest way to start exploring. Unfortunately, none of the walkways goes in a straight line. Instead, they bend and curve around the terrain. If we are not careful, instead of saving time, we could waste it getting lost or turned around.

With that in mind, I pull the Transit Communicator out of my bag and turn on the compass. At least we won’t get lost. Will peers at the device and says, “If no one has a better idea, I say we go left.”

He takes the lead, and we follow the path as it curves around an area to our right. This space must have been vibrant once, with green grass and colorful flowers. The plants that grow now are a sickly brown, although here and there, I see thriving patches of red clover. When the path forks, we follow the sharp turn to the left. The trees lining the path are more plentiful. The bushes fuller. The thicker foliage makes it hard to see what is ahead. The walkway curves again. My steps grow slower, more cautious, as I peer through the trees, trying to see if danger lurks around the next bend.

We come to a large building. The roof is collapsed in a number of places. Weather and animals have eaten away pieces of the dark gray walls. The doors look as though they haven’t been touched in at least a decade. I am trying to decide if we should attempt to open them when a blood-chilling scream rips through the air.

Will.

Instinctively, I run to help. The scream came from somewhere through the foliage. Will must have decided to explore while the rest of us looked at the building. My foot catches on a piece of broken stone. I take the left path, which I hope will lead me to Will. The footsteps at my back tell me my teammates are close behind. And when I burst free of the trees, I am prepared for the worst. Which is why, when I spot Will dangling upside down, looking red-faced and very much alive inside a large metal structure, I begin to laugh.

“Don’t just stand there,” he yells. “Help me get down.”

Will struggles to grab the rope holding his ankles. The movement makes him swing back and forth, making me laugh even harder. Next to me, Enzo and Damone are fighting their own amusement. Finally, when our laughter subsides, I move closer for a better look.

Standing at least twenty feet high, a rusty but still sturdy-looking chain-link fence makes up three sides of a cage. The metal fence is attached to the building, which forms the fourth side. Metal bars spaced two to three feet apart make up a grid that forms the roof. More chain link covers the grid. The rope Will dangles from is attached to a roof support located in the middle of the enclosed space. On the far right side of the cage is an opened door. That must be how Will got inside. On the left of the cage is a door that leads into the attached structure.

“I might be tall enough to reach the rope around his ankle,” Damone offers.

“Maybe,” I say, although I doubt it. When Damone tries to reach, he proves me right. Drat. And from the looks of the knot around Will’s ankle, working the rope free is going to take time. Meanwhile, other teams are getting closer to finding the nest and moving on to the next location. We need to get Will down and get moving—now.

I fish my pocketknife out of my bag, climb through the cage door, and eye Damone’s lanky build with a frown. “Do you think you can lift me onto your shoulders, Damone?”

Damone is tall but slight. And while I’m not very big, my brothers used to say that carting me around was like lifting a cow. But Damone doesn’t think I look too heavy and squats down so I can climb onto his shoulders. Moments later, I am high in the air, sawing the rope. Every time Damone shifts under my weight, I hold my breath and prepare to hit the deck. But Damone is stronger than he looks and doesn’t falter as I run my blade back and forth until finally . . . snap. The last threads of rope break free, and Will tumbles to the hard gray stone ground.

When I am safely standing on my own two feet, I shove the knife into my pants pocket. Then, shrugging both of my bags onto my shoulder, I turn for the door in time to watch it slam closed. The distinctive clank of metal against metal announces loud and clear that the cage has been locked. Will, Damone, and I are trapped inside.

Chapter 7

WILL RACES PAST me to the door and yanks on the handle. Enzo tries opening it from the other side. I’m not surprised when neither is successful. Whoever rigged the rope and door traps did a good job. But we’ve already beaten one of the traps by getting Will free of the rope. Now we have to defeat the second and get out of here.

Damone and Will climb the fence, hoping to escape that way. Enzo tries to unlock the cage door while I walk to the one that leads into the building. The handle is missing, but it only takes a nudge of my foot for the door to creak open. I shove the door wider and wrinkle my nose at the musky smell of animal waste. The final years have created this scenario to test us. No doubt they will have something interesting in store. Hoping that whatever animals made that smell are harmless or gone, I turn back to my team and say, “We have to go this way.”

“I’ll go to the other door and yell into the building from there. You can use my voice as a guide.” Enzo digs through his bag and comes up with a small metal flashlight. “You can use this, too.”

He slips the flashlight through the fence. I take it and realize that while we are trapped inside this cage, Enzo is free to solve this part of the task and leave us behind. Will he be waiting for us when we find the exit? There is only one way to find out.

“Thanks,” I say, turning on the light. “See you on the other side.”

Taking one last breath of fresh air, I duck through the door. The smell of urine and decay makes me gag as I pan the light around the small room. I see rotting cabinets, counters strewn with dust and mouse droppings, and an overturned metal stool. At the back of the room is another door. I push the stool out of the way and cross to the door, making sure Will and Damone are right behind.

I hear the sound of tiny feet scurrying across the cracked tile of a long, narrow hallway. My father and his team have discovered several methods to limit the rat population in our area. I know other colonies and the city of Tosu have done the same. But the glow of dozens of pairs of eyes as they reflect my light tells me the rat population in this area has gone unchecked. Yick.

The smell of stagnant water and animal feces grows stronger as I step into the next room and gasp. Most of the ceiling is gone. Light streams in, giving me a clear view. This room—if it can be called a room—is enormous. The ground grows uneven as I walk deeper into the cavernous space. The floor looks like rock, but when I run my fingers over it, it feels synthetic. Something man-made. The same can be said for some of the plants that appear to be growing out of the room’s floor. Ten feet in front of my position are pieces of what must have once been a safety railing. And it is clear why it was needed. Beyond the railing is a drop of at least forty feet. At the very bottom is a river at least ten feet across. Beyond that is a large expanse of rocklike surfaces and grayish trees that stretches as high as the surface on which I currently stand. A foot placed wrong near the railing could mean a broken bone or worse.

“Don’t step too close to the edge,” I warn, and walk to my left. The floor slants upward and is slick with decayed leaves. A flutter of wings from above makes me jump, and I grab on to a nearby wall to keep myself steady. Looking up, I see a bird soar out of the room into the sky above. Too bad we can’t escape the same way.

“What is this place?” Will’s voice is hushed.

“Don’t ask me,” Damone says. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

None of us has. Now that the silence has been broken, Damone adds, “I bet Enzo is long gone by the time we get out of this place. He’s not stupid. He’s going to try to find the task without us. I would.”

“Remind me never to leave you alone for a minute, unless, of course, I want to get screwed,” Will says.

“Leaders don’t wait around for other people.” Damone kicks a rock and sets it flying over the ledge.

“Cia would,” Will says. “Real leaders do more than work to get ahead of everyone else.”

“No one follows the person who comes in last. Would you?”

I don’t know. Not being sure of my answer to that question makes me walk faster. Damone might be right about Enzo. If so, we need to get out of here as quickly as possible—otherwise, we might not have an opportunity to catch up to him.

Tuning out Damone and Will’s sniping, I focus on the terrain around me and notice faded letters on the wall that spell the word rainforest. Farther down I see the word diet followed by leaves, fruits, and several words that are too marked by time to make out. After a few more steps, I spot another word I recognize from a book my mother read to me when I was a child. The book was old and filled with faded pictures and told the story of children who went on a special trip to a place where they could see different kinds of animals. A place with the same name as the word next to me: ZOO.

When my mother read the book to me, I thought the idea of keeping wild animals in cages was mean. Most Five Lakes families don’t own pets, but those who do allow the animals to come and go as they choose. For the most part, the pets stay close to home, but a few, like my friend Daileen’s cat, disappear and never return.

Of course, from what I learned in that children’s book, the animals put into cages at the zoos weren’t domesticated. Wild animals from around the world were plucked from their homes and brought to places like this one. We have our share of wild animals prowling beyond, and sometimes across, the borders of Five Lakes. Some are small and relatively harmless, but there are breeds that can kill with one snap of their jaws. It’s hard to conceive of a time when someone trapped those types of creatures and forced them into cages for entertainment.

Looking around the vast space, I try to imagine what it was like before the Seven Stages of War. Manufactured trees and rocks. Maybe some real ones mixed in. A river flowing around the rim of the rocks providing both a water source and a barrier between whatever animals were kept in here and the freedom of the path on which I now stand. Even if the animals could climb the trees—and the design of this place suggests they could—the trees are far enough back to prevent escape. The animals that lived inside this place were trapped just as Will, Damone, and I are now.

Monkeys, maybe? Or, considering the size of this place, something larger, like chimpanzees. We studied the histories of other countries last year in school. During our studies, we covered the species that were indigenous to various regions prior to the end of the Seven Stages of War. It’s impossible to say which species survived the wars, since earthquakes and windstorms destroyed previous methods of worldwide communication. I had hoped to be one of the mechanical engineers who would reestablish communication through the United Commonwealth and beyond our borders. Now—

“Cia, don’t move.”

Will’s urgent whisper pulls me from my thoughts, and my foot stills. Have I ventured too close to the drop-off? No. The edge of the path is several feet to my right. The ground in front of me looks solid and secure. I turn to ask Will what the problem is, but the words die on my lips as he shakes his head and points up. My eyes follow the line of his finger to the branches of one of the man-made trees hanging to my right. For a moment, I don’t understand. Then I see it. Black eyes. The shimmer of copper and gold scales wrapping around and around the branch all the way to the tree trunk. A red tongue that tastes the air with quick flicks. A snake. At least a foot wide and more than a dozen feet long. And its head is a mere eight feet away from where I currently stand.

The snake’s tongue flicks in my direction, and I hold my breath. Snakes are common in Five Lakes. For some reason, the chemicals that left so many species disfigured or dead didn’t hurt the reptiles. Instead, the chemicals seemed to strengthen them. Scales that were once as vulnerable as human skin are now thicker. Tougher to penetrate. The bites of a number of species, once relatively harmless, are now fatal. Whatever poison transformed their scales also made them venomous. But since Five Lakes is in an area of the country less affected by the biological and nuclear bombs used in the Four Stages of War, the snakes I encountered there were easy to ignore or kill. The one dangling above me is neither.

Scales ripple as the reptile shifts position. The head drops slowly toward me. I fight to keep my feet firmly in place and force myself to think rationally as the snake’s tongue sips the air just two feet from where I stand. My eyes dart to the path ahead. The rocky surface slants upward and is caked with dirt. About twenty feet from where I stand is a door. I shift my eyes back to the snake, which looks alert but calm. My father once mentioned that certain types of snakes are deaf. Also, that some of the larger snakes he encountered on the outskirts of other colonies were known to telegraph their upset or intent to strike by flattening out the ribs in their necks. Since the snake’s eyes are fixed on me and it hasn’t moved, I assume the snake knows I’m standing here and does not feel threatened or hungry. I can only hope that trend continues.

Clutching the flashlight tight in my hand, I take a small step forward while keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the threat. The snake’s tongue flicks again, but the rest of it stays put. Considering that a good sign, I take another step. Then another.

My heart pounds with each agonizingly slow step. Inch by inch, I cross the uneven path, resisting the urge to look behind me in case that movement will make the creature attack. When I reach the door, I turn back. Both the snake and my teammates are exactly where they were when I saw them last. Slowly, I raise my hand and motion for Will to join me. His green eyes shift toward the snake, then back at me, before he takes his first step. The snake’s scales shine in the sunlight as the head drops lower, until it is at the same level as Will’s forehead. Sweat drips down Will’s face as he creeps forward. The snake’s tongue brushes Will’s hair. I hold my breath, but Will doesn’t flinch as he takes his next step. I watch him cross the floor. When he finally reaches my side, I grab his hand and hold it tight in mine. No matter what happened during The Testing, at this moment, I am glad Will is beside me and alive.

I glance back at the snake, which has once again shifted lower. It still appears unbothered by our presence, so I nod at Damone that it is time for him to start walking.

But he doesn’t.

Slowly, trying not to attract the snake’s attention, I raise my hand and beckon him. His eyes are wide as his gaze shifts from the snake to me and Will and back to the snake. Both his hands are clenched at his sides. His face looks ashen. Even from this distance, I can feel the waves of terror emanating from him, and I wonder if the snake can feel them too. If so, Damone is in more danger than either Will or I had been. But I don’t think he knows it. I doubt he has ever seen an animal that could cause him danger, let alone something like this.

Will tries to beckon Damone forward, but it’s no use. Damone has been rendered immobile by fear. A fear that could drive the snake to attack at any moment. Damone has to get out of there now.

“Here,” I whisper as I pull the two bags off my shoulder and shove them and the flashlight into Will’s hands. Before he can ask what I plan to do, I slide my knife out of my pocket, flip open the blade, and step through the doorway back into the cavernous room. While I doubt the blade will do any good against the scales, it’s the only weapon I have. Someone has to help Damone to safety. Will is resourceful, but I am smaller and more agile.

Fear punches through my chest. Still, I force my feet forward. The distance back seems longer. Harder. More terrifying. Both Damone and the snake turn their heads and blink as I approach. One foot in front of the other. The small knife clutched in one hand. The other extended toward Damone, willing him to close the gap between us.

He doesn’t move.

The snake does.

Its body skims around the tree branch. The head undulates. Damone stumbles backward and the snake’s eyes swing toward him. Its red tongue quivers in the air. It is the sound of scales rubbing against tree bark that urges me to run. I spot a foot-long piece of rotting wood on the ground near me and almost lose my balance as I race forward and pick it up. The snake’s eyes don’t shift from its target—Damone.

I come to a stop four feet from the shovel-sized head that is now at the same level as my forearms. One wrong move and the jaws of the snake will reach out. The fangs will clamp down, shooting poison into my bloodstream. My life will be over before I hit the ground.

Damone’s eyes are glazed. His knees locked. He looks ill prepared to do what I plan, but I don’t allow that to stop me. I throw the block of wood at the trunk of the tree near the end of the snake’s tail. The wood clattering against the tree echoes in the cavernous space.

The snake’s head whips toward the sound vibrations. Its body uncoils. The wood skips off the rail and plunges below. Scales scrape against tree bark as the snake lunges toward the rail, and I act. I dart forward, grab Damone’s arm, and pull. Damone stumbles and kicks a rock across the path. The snake changes course, but I don’t. I dig my fingers into Damone’s wrist and half drag, half pull him as I run. Thank goodness the fear that rendered Damone immobile now propels his legs forward. His feet keep pace with mine as they pound the rocky ground. The path narrows near the door. I let Damone streak by me to what I hope will be safety.

That’s when I hear the hiss. If it can be called a hiss. More a growl like the ones the wolves that lurk outside the Five Lakes borders make. The sound tingles down my spine, raises the hair on the back of my neck, and urges me forward. When my feet cross the threshold, I glance back and see a streak of copper and gold moving fast. Black eyes focused on me. Metallic and black scales flared on either side of the snake’s neck, forming what looks like a hood. The mouth opens. A scream rips from my throat as a thick metal door screeches and slams between us.

I double over and try to catch my breath. The rasp of labored breathing and the muted growl from the other side of the door are the only sounds. Finally, a beam of light cuts through the darkness.

“I’m glad the hinges on that door still work,” Will says.

Hysteria bubbles up and out of my lips. “You’re glad?”

Will grins. Damone looks at us like we’re both crazy, which makes me laugh harder. I can’t help it. I’m happy to be alive.

Still laughing, I take the flashlight from Will, sling the bags onto my shoulder, and say, “How about we find the exit out of here?”

The hallway is long, with a high ceiling, and is wide enough for the three of us to walk side by side. The walls are lined with faded photographs of animals. Chimpanzees. Orangutans. Monkeys. Gorillas. I’m pleased to know I was right about the former inhabitants of this structure, but I can’t help wondering what happened to the animals when the world collapsed.

“Wait. Do you hear that?” I cock my head to the side. There. The sound is louder this time. Someone is yelling my name, and relief streaks through me as I recognize the voice.

“Enzo,” Will says, shooting a grin at Damone. “I guess not everyone at the University believes getting ahead is more important than real leadership.”

Using Enzo’s voice as a guide, we creep down the long hallway. As much as we want to hurry, we force ourselves to go slow. To watch for things that might be lurking in the shadows. We don’t want to face another situation like the one we just escaped. We go through a door on the left. Another large hall. More faded placards and photos of animals. Signs about eating habits. Behavior. Anatomy. Signs of a past society that caged animals for amusement and education.

Enzo’s voice gets louder. Closer. I smell fresh air. The idea of freedom propels us faster. We take another left turn and see an open doorway. Sunlight. And Enzo standing near the threshold, looking relieved to see us. No more cages or synthetic trees. Freedom.

I want to sit on the ground and appreciate the moment, but we’ve already lost a great deal of time. Other teams have probably found the “nest.” We have to get moving if we’re to have a chance at winning. While the others might believe this is only a game created by the final-year students, I know better.

The good news is that our most recent adventure has given me an idea of where we need to go to find the first task. Handing the flashlight back to a curious Enzo, I say, “We’ll fill you in on what happened while we walk. We can’t fall too far behind if we want to come in first.”

As we head down the path, Will gives Enzo a rundown on the events that occurred inside the former monkey house. I let Will tell the story as I walk in front of the group, looking for anything that will give me a clue which direction we should go in. Enzo asks dozens of questions. Especially about the snake. Enzo thinks Will is exaggerating the reptile’s size, which isn’t surprising since Will tends to overdramatize.

I’m about to say that when Damone speaks for the first time since we saw the animal. “Will’s telling the truth. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Damone stops walking. “How could the final years drop us in a place with a thing like that? How could the professors let them? They said this was supposed to be fun, but they could have killed us.”

“I don’t think the final years knew the snake was in that building,” I say. “The snake probably got in through the roof after they set up their trap in the cage.”

Will nods. “We have a lot of snakes in Madison Colony. They’re always sliding into places without anyone seeing them. My mom found a six-foot snake in her closet, curled around a pair of her shoes. No one knows how it got in. Dad used my brother’s crossbow to get it out.”

The mention of the crossbow makes me flinch. Suddenly, I’m somewhere else. A bridge with a crossbow quarrel soaring through the air toward me. Then the image is gone.

Damone folds his arms across his chest. Though his stance is belligerent, I can see the fear lurking in his eyes. Rubbing my temples, I say, “This area hasn’t been revitalized yet, which means we should keep our eyes open for tracks or droppings and steer clear if we can. If we’re lucky, the next location will be somewhere snakes aren’t interested in calling home. Of course, to figure that out, we have to find the location. And I think I might have an idea where we need to go.”

“Where?” Enzo asks as I turn and walk down the path.

I step over a large broken branch. “My father has a lot of books on animal biology. His team uses them when they’re working on genetic modifications in some of our farm stock, but the books include information on all kinds of animals, including their behaviors. Behaviors like nesting.” Even though I never wanted to go into biological engineering, I flipped through each book, devouring the pictures and the words, fascinated with the idea that, somewhere, some of these creatures might still walk the earth.

“We already decided we’re looking for a bird’s nest,” Damone says.

“Birds aren’t the only animals that build nests,” I say. “I don’t think the final years would make the answer to this puzzle so easy. Do you?”

Will smiles. “Not for a minute. Which means the silver treasure is something we normally wouldn’t think of. Something like a lion or a tiger.”

“Or a gorilla.” Enzo looks at me, and I nod.

“Silverback gorillas. I thought of them when I saw the writing on the walls of the building we were in. I don’t know if this place used to house gorillas, but if it did, I’m pretty sure we’ll find whatever it is we’re supposed to be looking for there.”

The path curves to the left. We pass more trees, a couple of rotting benches, and areas that must have once been used to display animals. I spot a faded sign lying in front of one of the areas; it pictures an animal with a long neck. This must have been the section where they kept giraffes. The next pen doesn’t have a sign, but farther down, we find another placard covered in dirt. When Will scrapes away the grime, there’s a picture of an elephant.

We walk by the broken fences and walls, looking at signs. Lions. Baboons. Zebras. Animals we have heard of but never seen. There are also pictures of animals we can’t put names to. The path circles to the right. More animal pens. More less than healthy trees. Decayed buildings that none of us wish to venture near in case more traps are set. Somewhere in the distance, we hear a shout. Of dismay? Triumph? The only thing we can be sure of is that at least one other team is nearby.

We’re about to follow the path to the right when Enzo spots a large sign on a collapsed fence to our left. The picture and words are faded, but despite time and dirt, we can see the letters: D NI GOR   LA FOR ST. No one has a clue what the first word could be, but we all think it’s a good bet the final two are gorilla forest.

The path to the left curves in between the broken walls of two buildings. The single-story stone structure on the right still stands, although the way the walls are slanted makes me think it won’t be upright for long. To our left is a cone-shaped roof sitting atop a pile of splintered wood and broken rock. We pass between them, scramble over a fallen tree that is blocking the path, and come to a long suspension bridge that stretches over a river. On the other side is a mostly intact structure surrounded by a tall stone fence. Unlike the rest of the zoo, the bridge is in good repair. Strong metal cables. Thick wooden planks. Rope railings on either side.

Will looks at the bridge and back at me. “What do you think?”

I put my hand on the rope railing and push down to test its strength. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure we could get to the other side.”

“Probably the same people who set the trap in the monkey cage.” Will cautiously places a foot onto the bridge. “Let’s hope I don’t end up dangling from my ankles this time.”

Will takes several steps and then jumps up and down. When the bridge holds, the rest of us follow. The water below is a murky brown. Contaminated, but probably drinkable if we get desperate. I hope we finish this part of the Induction task and move on before we have to test that out.

We reach the end of the suspension bridge and hear voices. Several of them. Beyond the stone fence. And though I can’t make out the words, I understand the tone. At least one team is still in the zoo, and whoever they are, they aren’t happy.

I scale a tree next to the wall and peer over. The area behind the fence is filled with rocks, leafless trees, and gray dirt. The lack of grass and the condition of the trees speak of more severe contamination. The final years must have picked this location for that reason. Knowing we have to finish this task quickly or risk illness adds to the pressure we’ll be working under. Standing near one of the trees are Griffin, Raffe, and their two other team members. Griffin’s eyes are narrowed and his mouth curled in a snarl as he shouts something at the only girl on their team. He stands at least six inches taller, but the girl doesn’t shrink from the confrontation. Instead, she points to a large wooden chest on the ground and shouts back. The chest is marked with a large white 1. Three more dark brown trunks marked with the numbers 2 through 4 sit nearby.

“This is the place,” I say, and hoist myself up to the top of the wall. Griffin’s team goes silent as my feet hit the ground. They say nothing as, one by one, my teammates jump down. Together, we cross to the chest marked 3. When I nod at Enzo, he flips the lid open. Inside is another, smaller trunk. Sitting on top of that trunk is a gray envelope. Enzo hands me the envelope. I open it, slide out a folded piece of paper, and read. “Complete the puzzle to receive your team’s marker and the clue to the next location.”

Enzo flips the lid on the next trunk and we peer inside. A small metal box. On the side of the box is a keypad. Next to the box is a piece of paper with instructions that read Input the answers to the questions into the keypad to unlock the box. Answer carefully. A wrong answer will result in a sixty-minute time penalty before your team can attempt to answer again. Try not to be wrong twice.

I glance at Griffin’s team, who watch us from the little shade they find under a barren tree. They must have answered the question wrong and are now waiting for their chance to try again. And each second they wait, they increase their exposure to the contaminants that twist the trees and turn even the clover a sickly yellow. I wonder if they realize the danger. Growing up in the revitalized city might have made them less aware of the signs of chemical corruption. I consider warning them, but my team has already begun to work on the task: a physics problem in three parts.

The first part asks the time it takes for a stone thrown horizontally to hit the ground if thrown at a rate of 5 meters per second from a cliff 67.4 meters high. Part two wants to know the distance the stone will land from the base of the cliff. The last question asks us to calculate the stone’s final velocity, both magnitude and direction, when it hits the ground.

We ignore the four sets of eyes staring sullenly at us, and using sticks for pencils and the ground to write on, we get to work. Immediately, it is clear advanced physics is not Will’s or Damone’s strongest subject. Still, they check and double-check Enzo’s and my answers until all four of us agree. While the answers weren’t easy, the trickiest part is how to type them into the keyboard. Should our answers use abbreviations for meters per second, or should we spell out entire words? The wrong choice will mean keeping Griffin and his team company until we are allowed to try again.

Since all of our teachers have always used abbreviations in class, we opt to use them now. Enzo quietly reads the answers aloud, and I punch them in on the keyboard. When all three answers have been given, I hold my breath and press Enter.

There is a click and the box opens. Will and Enzo exchange high-fives. Damone stands off to the side and smiles at Griffin and company as I remove a gray envelope and a red disk marked with the number 3 from the box. Glancing at the other team, I suggest we wait to read the next clue until we are alone. When no one objects, I slide both objects into my University bag and head back to the stone wall.

Will gives Enzo a boost and then scrambles over the wall. As Damone hoists himself up, I hear the sound of a bell. Griffin and his team are hurrying back to their box. Their time penalty must have come to an end.

My fingers cling to rock. My feet propel me upward. I am about to swing my leg over the top of the wall when Griffin shouts. I look over my shoulder in time to see a flash of light. Surprise loosens my grip as something explodes.

Chapter 8

HITTING THE GROUND knocks the air from my lungs. Struggling to breathe, I roll to my side and peer through a haze of smoke toward the screams coming from behind me. Something is on fire.

No. Not something. Someone.

Pushing to my feet, I pull my bags up onto my shoulders and run. My heart pounds with each step. A female shriek for help cuts through the air. As I get closer, I see Raffe batting at flames streaking up his left arm. The girl keeps screaming. Griffin strips off his shirt and uses it to smother the fire as the other boy looks on. Immobile. Frozen by fear.

When I reach him, Raffe is cradling his injured arm close to his body. His jaw is clenched in pain. Griffin’s eyes narrow as I pull a towel and a bottle of water out of my bags and ask him to help me clean and bandage the wound. Despite his suspicion, he takes Raffe’s uninjured arm and helps ease him to the ground. Using my pocketknife, I cut away the singed fabric of Raffe’s sleeve and examine the patch of angry flesh that stretches from just above his wrist to below the elbow. The wound must be painful, but it’s not as bad as it could have been. The loose fit of the shirt helped keep the flame far enough from his flesh to prevent blisters or worse. Tomas’s brother was once burned when a tractor’s engine caught fire. Those burns took months to heal. This will cause Raffe discomfort, but shouldn’t slow him down too badly. Especially if he keeps the injury clean.

I rip the towel into several pieces and wet the first with water. Raffe clenches his teeth as I clean the burn. I start to bandage it when I hear, “You should use this first.”

Enzo holds out a small white tube of anti-infection ointment. He must have packed it in his University bag when they instructed us to be prepared. I’m thankful he did. I spread the cool ointment onto Raffe’s arm and see some of the tension leave his shoulders. When I’m done, I hand the tube back to Enzo, wrap the makeshift bandage around Raffe’s arm, and tie it in place.

Raffe touches his injured arm with his right hand and looks up at me. “Thanks. You didn’t have to come back and help.”

“Yes.” I meet Raffe’s eyes and then glance at the others on his team, who are looking at me with various levels of anxiety, anger, and distrust. “Yes, I did.” To do any less would be against everything my parents taught me. Would dishonor the colony I grew up in. “Keep the burn clean, avoid touching the yellow patches of dirt around here, and you should be fine. We have to get going.”

Raffe nods, and I follow my teammates back to the wall. As I throw my leg over, I hear him yell, “Just so you know, we’re still going to beat you to the end.”

I can’t help but laugh and yell back, “You can try,” before dropping to the other side.

We decide to wait until we reach the exit of the zoo before we open the next clue. When we reach the bridges, we find three small silver skimmers marked with the numbers 1, 2, and 3 waiting for us. Team four must have already left for the next part of this Induction task.

As Will and Damone check out our skimmer, Enzo and I break the seal on the envelope and read aloud.

“Go to the place where armed vehicles once left the ground for the sky. Your next clue and task wait there for your team to try.”

“The old air force base. Right, Damone?” Enzo asks.

“That’d be my guess,” Damone says, opening the front cab of the skimmer. “Let’s get going.”

“Wait,” Will says. “We want to be the first team to finish this team challenge. Right?”

“You just figured that out?” Damone sneers.

Anger flashes across Will’s face, but his voice is calm when he says, “One team is already gone, but the other two haven’t reached their skimmers yet. How fast do you think they’d get to the end of this challenge if they had to walk?”

Damone’s mouth spreads into an unpleasant smile. “Maybe you’re smarter than I gave you credit for. We can start with that one.”

“No.”

All eyes swing to me. Will’s eyes, which normally sparkle with charm, are now filled with calculation.

“No. We don’t need to sabotage other teams to succeed.”

Will frowns. “But if it helps us win—”

“Anyone who has to cheat to win doesn’t deserve to be here. And they don’t belong on my team either. There’s one team ahead of us. I’d rather spend our time catching them than screwing with teams that are already behind. If you don’t agree, you can stay here and do whatever the hell you want.” With that, I climb into our skimmer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my teammates looking at me with varying degrees of concern or disbelief. Enzo takes a step toward the skimmer but Damone yells for him to stop. That I’m bluffing and won’t leave them behind. He might be right, since leaving my team here on their own will only encourage them to steal a skimmer that belongs to one of the other teams. I just have to hope my threat to leave them behind will make them abandon their thoughts of sabotage.

Ignoring the argument taking place outside, I survey the controls. The skimmer is much like the one my father uses in Five Lakes—old, with frayed seats and barely enough room in the cabin to squeeze in four people. I slide behind the controls and hit the Start button. It takes two tries before the engine catches hold. When it does, I pull the hover switch and feel the skimmer vibrate as it lifts off the ground. It isn’t until I pilot the vehicle forward that my teammates race over.

“Wait.” Will is the first to reach the skimmer.

I stop the skimmer, pilot it back to the ground, and open the door to let my teammates inside. Will laughs as he climbs into the seat next to me. “You know how to make a point. We’ll do it your way and win without interfering with the other teams, all right? That will make it all the more fun to celebrate when we mop the floor with them. Now, the real question is whether you know how to pilot this thing well enough to race the other team to the next location.”

While I think I’m capable of piloting the skimmer, I’m glad when Will asks if he can switch positions with me and takes the controls, since I’ve only driven one a handful of times.

“See? I knew you wouldn’t be able to control this thing,” Damone says, sliding into the back seat. “Will and Enzo should have listened to me. Instead, they give in to a girl who doesn’t understand what it takes to win and overreacts to an idea that’s different than her own. When this is over, I’ll have to talk to my father about the lower admittance standards allowed for colony students.”

Will’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, but he says nothing to defend or condemn my actions. Enzo too keeps silent as Will pulls the lever and makes the skimmer hover off the ground. While I don’t believe I was wrong to insist we succeed on our own merits, I can’t help wondering if those in charge will judge me as Damone does: weak, histrionic, and unable to lead.

Damone watches me with a smirk. He is enjoying the doubt he planted in my mind and the minds of my teammates. Determined to prove his words incorrect, I swallow my concern and discuss the location of our next task.

The instruction sheet from the upper years says site number two involves aircraft. The clue says the vehicles that soared in the sky are armed. The old United States had several military forces that helped defend the country—land, sea, and air. While I have never heard of the air force base Enzo and Damone instruct Will to pilot toward, I have no doubt the destination is the right one.

“How far do we have to go to get there?” Will asks as the skimmer lurches forward.

“I’m not sure exactly where we are now, but the base is located outside the southeast border of Tosu City,” Enzo says.

“I can tell you where we are.” I dig through my bag, pull out the Transit Communicator, and flip the switch. I read off our current coordinates. According to Enzo and Damone, we are just past the boundary of Tosu City on the northeast side. After some discussion, I plug in our best guess for the coordinates of the base. The readout claims the airfield is eleven miles away. Our skimmer is slow but as long as it doesn’t break down and we don’t get lost, we should make it there in less than an hour.

Hands tight on the control, Will offers none of his unusual banter as he concentrates on steering the skimmer east.

“Which way?” Will asks when we reach a wide road. We can either follow the road we are currently traveling, which angles to the southwest, or go down the hill to a smaller road that heads southeast. To the southwest, I see grass, shriveled trees, and grayish soil. An area yet to be revitalized. To the southeast are the outlines of buildings and healthier plant life.

According to the readout of the Transit Communicator, the southeast path is the shortest route, but it might not be the smartest, since it appears to go directly through the city. Navigating the skimmer through streets filled with people and other modes of transportation could take more time than traveling around the outskirts.

“What do you think, Will?” I ask.

“Why are you asking him?” Damone crosses his arms across his chest. “Are you scared to make the decision yourself?”

“Will is the one piloting this thing,” I say. “He should get the final say in the direction we take.”

Damone looks like he wants to debate the issue, but Will cuts him off. “The controls aren’t responsive. We can go faster if I’m not worried about crashing into buildings when I have to turn.”

“Okay,” I say before Damone can object. “Let’s go.”

Using the Transit Communicator as a guide, Will steers the skimmer to the southwest. Through the window across from me, I see a river that runs parallel to the road. The water has a green tint but otherwise runs clear. To the left of us, far in the distance, I can see the revitalized center of the city. Closer to the road, perhaps a half mile away, are collapsed buildings. Broken walls. Empty city streets. I scan the horizon for signs of people but find none.

“Do people live out here?” I ask. I am surprised to see an area so close to the city uninhabited after a hundred years of revitalization. In Five Lakes, my father’s team is constantly working to push the boundaries of our revitalized community. With so many people living in Tosu City, I’m surprised they haven’t worked harder to repair the land and spread out.

“Not many,” Enzo says. “Most of the farms and skimmer factories are located to the north, so the Commonwealth encourages those wanting to leave the city to go in that direction. No one wants to move into unrevitalized areas alone. My parents talked about it once, but there are too many dangers outside the current boundaries of the city. It’s safer to stay where we are.”

I look toward the city and its buildings. Over a hundred thousand people live in that area. They have power, clean water, and the comfort of being near one another. Few wild animals venture into the streets. No threat from the chemicals that still corrupt the earth beyond the city’s limits. I can understand why people choose that safety for themselves and their families. There are a few citizens in Five Lakes who prefer living near the square, where there is less chance of animal attacks or being isolated during an emergency. But most of us are spread out. If necessary, we can survive on our own. I wonder how many people in Tosu City could say the same.

It is Enzo who first spots the chain-link fence that announces we have reached our destination. The fence stands at least eight feet high and stretches far into the distance on each side. As we get closer, I can read the dirt-streaked signs posted on it.

DANGER.

THIS AREA HAS NOT BEEN REVITALIZED.

HAZARDOUS MATERIAL INSIDE.

DO NOT ENTER.

“How are we supposed to find the next task?” Damone asks. “This fence goes on for miles.”

“The final years want us to find the task,” I reason. “They must have made the location obvious.” I hope.

Will steers the skimmer east along the fence line while the rest of us look for signs of the next Induction task. There. In the mid-afternoon sunlight, a red flag flutters from the top of the fence a hundred yards away. When we reach the spot and exit the skimmer, four large steel boxes, about three feet wide and six feet long, are sitting on the ground next to the fence. Each has a keypad embedded into the top. None of the boxes appears to be disturbed. We are the first team to arrive.

While Damone pumps his fist into the air, Will throws open the lid to our box. Inside there is a note that reads:

The planes of the past used Newton’s laws of motion to reach the skies. Now it is your turn. Choose a team member to climb into the box and close the lid. When the lid locks, the marker and clue to the next task will be dispensed. Solve the problem on the display to release your team member and be on your way.

“Someone has to get in there?” Enzo asks.

Will reads the note again and nods. “That’s what it says.” He closes the lid on the steel box and opens it again. “There must be a weight mechanism on the bottom that, when engaged, activates the lock. Maybe we can fill it with rocks or something heavy enough to simulate a person.”

I doubt the final years will let us off the hook that easy, but I follow Will’s lead and pile several heavy rocks into the box. When the lock still won’t engage, Enzo frowns. “They must have heat sensors set up to ensure that we comply with the guidelines.”

Either that or we’re being watched.

“Okay.” Will nods. “Who’s going to get in?”

“Cia will,” Damone says. “She’s the captain and the smallest.”

Both good reasons, but the idea of being locked inside a steel box and reliant on my team to release me makes me want to run far and fast.

Damone notices my hesitation and says, “You picked this team, Cia. Don’t you have enough faith in your judgment to rely on us to solve this task on our own?”

I look from Damone’s smirking face to Will’s, with its lack of expression, to Enzo’s concerned one. All three are smart. They wouldn’t be attending the University if they weren’t. Do I believe they will come up with the correct answer to whatever problem they are given? Yes. Do I trust them with my life? No. But I don’t have a choice. Damone has cornered me. Refusal will alienate my team. Even if we pass Induction, I will have made enemies.

“Okay.” I say as I set the green team bag on the ground and climb into the cold steel box. As small as I am, I have to bend my knees and twist my shoulders to fit myself into the container.

“Why don’t you give me your bags?” Will offers, and reaches for the straps. “That’ll give you more room.”

“No.” I pull the bags tight against my chest. While I have been maneuvered into putting my life in my team’s hands, I will not trust them with my secrets. The Transit Communicator will stay locked in this box with me.

“Here.” Enzo puts his flashlight in my hand. “We’ll get you out of there quick. I promise.”

As I watch Will reach for the lid and pull it down, I hope Enzo is right. Metal closes over me. Everything goes black. I hear the snap of a lock that tells me there is no going back. Until my team comes up with the correct solution, I am trapped.

I hit the switch on the flashlight. The small beam reflects off the silver of my prison. Even though I know it is futile, I push against the metal above me. It doesn’t budge. I run my fingers along the edge of the lid. The seal on the box appears tight. A click of the flashlight confirms my suspicion. There is no hint of outside light. Unless I am mistaken, this container is airtight. If my team does not release the locking mechanism in a timely manner, I will die.

I need to conserve air, but my breath comes fast and harsh. Knowing my life lies in the hands of someone who in the past tried to kill me fills me with terror. The pounding of my blood in my veins rings loud in my ears, drowning out the sounds of the voices outside the steel walls. Or maybe the material of the walls is too thick to hear clearly.

Pushing aside the panic that bubbles in my chest, I focus on my breathing. Measured breath in. Slow exhale out. Growing up, my brothers liked to play hide-and-seek. As the smallest of us, I could wriggle into the best hiding spots. And yet my brothers never failed to find me. Until finally Zeen explained that the excited sound of my breathing gave me away. It took practice on my part, but eventually my brothers needed to use more than just their ears to find me.

When my breathing calms, I strain to hear what is happening with my team. The voices are muted. Mumbles tell me they are hard at work, but I cannot tell what the task is or how long it is going to take. Here and there, I make out a word.

“No . . . second law . . .”

“. . . force . . .”

“. . . wrong . . .”

In between the words are only silence and the pulsing of my heart marking the passing of the seconds. Minutes. Maybe hours. Time stands still. During that time, I think of Tomas and wonder what trial he is facing in his own Induction. I wish he were here with me now to help keep me safe. A whirring sound followed by a jubilant shout pulls me from my thoughts, but my prison door does not open.

The voices outside are louder. I jump when something bangs against the box, but the lock stays firmly in place as my teammates continue to shout words that, no matter how hard I try, I cannot understand.

The voices go silent. To keep calm, I count the seconds. Ten. Twenty. Sixty. One hundred. Still nothing. Just darkness and silence. Did my team fail at their task and suffer a penalty? Or did they succeed and choose to leave me behind?

I close my eyes tight, clutch my bags to my chest, and continue to listen for signs that my team is still there. That I haven’t been abandoned. That I will not suffocate in this metal coffin. That I will not die here—alone.

The metal surrounding me vibrates. Over my quickening breath is the roar of a skimmer motor. Once again, I have trusted where trust was not warranted. Once again, I will suffer the consequences.

I should stay calm. I should breathe carefully to conserve my air supply until I find a way out of here. Instead, I bang against the lid of the box and scream. The sound of the motor might drown out my cries, but I keep screaming on the chance that those leaving me behind can hear my voice. I want them to know that I am alive now. That if I die, I do so at their hands.

My throat is raw. My hands ache when I stop my pounding. By now, my team is long gone. If I want to survive, I have to find a way out of here. I shift in the tight space so I can reach the fasteners on my bag. My fingers hunt through my belongings until they settle on the handle of my pocketknife. A click of the flashlight bathes the small space with light. I struggle to shift positions in the tight space as I run the blade along the top and bottom of the right side of the box, hoping to find a flaw in the design. When I find none, I roll to my left so I can reach the other side.

So intent am I on my mission, it barely registers when I hear something scrape against the outside of the box. I hear the sound again and hold my breath. Voices murmur. I knock three times on the lid, hoping someone will understand I am trapped inside. I almost cry with relief when three knocks sound in return.

“Hang on, Cia,” someone yells. “We’ve almost got it.”

The sound of a latch sliding confirms the words. The metal above me shifts upward. I squint into the sunlight and see Will’s and Enzo’s faces peering down. Will’s hand feels warm and strong in mine as he helps me stand and climb out. To my left, I see Jacoby and two other members of their team arguing. Their skimmer sits twenty feet beyond them.

“I heard the engine and thought you’d left.” My voice is raspy from the screaming. Evidence of my lack of trust.

“I would have thought the same thing.” Will hands me the green team bag and glances over to a grove of trees growing near the fence about fifty feet away. Glaring at us from the center of the trees is Damone. “If Damone had gotten his way, we’d have hit the road after getting the clue. He wasn’t interested in wasting time on the second part, to free you. It took a few minutes, but we helped him see the error of his ways.”

The darkening bruise on Will’s cheek gives me an idea as to how.

“You got it wrong,” Jacoby yells at the girl next to him. “Get out of the way and let me try.”

“We should probably cut Damone loose and get out of here before they figure out the solution,” Enzo says.

“I think we should leave him.” A smile devoid of happiness crosses Will’s face. “Give him a taste of his own medicine. It’s no less than he deserves.”

I look at the steel box where Damone would have left me to die, and my heart hardens. Will is right. Damone should understand what it feels like to be betrayed. Leaders—real leaders—must think of others before themselves. They need to consider the consequences of their actions and only sacrifice lives when the needs of many outweigh the needs of the few.

And I realize, as much as I want to penalize Damone for his cowardly actions, I cannot. Not without performing the same kind of act I am condemning Damone for. I am this team’s leader. I will not leave someone I am in charge of behind.

“Damone is coming with us,” I say, digging my pocketknife out of my University bag. “Get the skimmer ready. We’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for agreement, I walk toward the cluster of trees. The gray cast to the bark speaks of the lack of revitalization in this area. But the state of the trees and other foliage does not hold my interest. Damone’s reddened face and angry eyes do. He goes still as I approach and says nothing as I walk around him to examine the restraints Will and Enzo fashioned. His arms are wrapped around the tree behind him and bound at the wrist with strips of sturdy brown fabric. The same fabric that Damone’s shirt is made of. Blood streaks his skin where it rubbed against the tree in his efforts to get free.

“What do you want?” Damone sneers. “Are you going to pretend to leave me behind again? We both know you can’t do it. Can you?”

For a moment, my knife stills. The urge to leave him and his insults behind is overwhelming. To do so would almost certainly keep him from a leadership position. I could prevent him from making decisions that would affect me, my family, and my country. I have only to walk away and betray everything that I believe in.

My knife slices through the restraints. Damone offers no thanks or show of gratitude as he stalks toward the skimmer. The anger I pushed aside returns. I take two steps and feel my foot catch. My knees and hands jolt with pain as I hit the unforgiving ground. Tears caused by my stinging palms, my anger with Damone, and my disappointment in my own desire to punish him prick the backs of my eyes. I ache for home. For my family. For Tomas. For people who love me. For people I can trust with my life.

But they are not here and I need to get moving. I push to my knees and realize whatever tripped me is still wrapped around my left ankle.

I reach down and find thin, pliable wire where I expected to find a vine or root. Carefully, I unhook the metal from my ankle and examine it more closely. No rust. No wear. Extending from where I sit to somewhere to my right. Sliding my fingers along the length of the wire, I follow it to its end, which is expertly secured around a small but sturdy bush.

A snare. A simple one designed to catch an animal bounding through this grouping of trees. If an animal steps into or puts its head through the loop and keeps walking, the loop will tighten. As it did around my leg. The more the animal struggles, the more tightly it is trapped. Only, instead of dinner, this snare caught me.

“Are you okay?”

I turn and see Enzo standing near a scraggly tree, looking at me.

“I’m fine.” I brush off my knees and glance around for signs of other snares. “My foot just caught on something.”

There. Sunlight glints off silver metal. Only, this time the snare is located on the other side of the fence. As I take a step toward the fence, Enzo says, “If we don’t want the other team to pull ahead of us, we need to get going.”

Enzo has a point. Still, I step toward the fence. “I just want to take a closer look at something. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Cia.” Enzo’s voice holds authority and a whisper of nerves. “There’s nothing we need inside the air force base. We need to go back to the skimmer. Damone and Will won’t wait around for us much longer.”

I look to the skimmer and see Will waving at us. Enzo is right. It is time for us to go. I cast one last look at the wire trap set on the other side of the fence before walking away. As we climb into the skimmer, I don’t think I imagine the relief on Enzo’s face or the tension that leeches from his shoulders. Being left behind is reason enough for worry, but does his concern indicate something more?

The rise of the skimmer and the roar of the engine pull my thoughts away from what lies behind and refocus me on the task ahead. “What did the last clue say?” I ask.

Enzo pulls a gray piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to me.

The end is in sight. The next stop is near. In the foundation of our Commonwealth you shall search. Look for the symbol of where you now live and find what you seek upon its perch.

The answer seemed straightforward enough. “The Central Government Building,” I say.

“That’s what we thought,” Will says, his eyes fixed firmly on the road. In the seat next to him, Damone sits with his arms crossed as he stares out the window. Saving him from the snake and choosing to keep our team intact were the right things to do, but by making those choices, it is clear I have also made an enemy. Then again, maybe he was always my enemy and I just didn’t know it. Even after spending an entire day with Enzo and Damone, I know little more than I did before about their families or the values they’ve been raised on. With Damone, I can make a guess. His willingness to get ahead at the cost of others must have been a skill he learned from his government-connected father or the teachers who helped prepare him for the University. But Enzo is a mystery. From the way the others treat him, I can guess his family is not connected to the Tosu government. Who they are and what they believe in, I do not know. But the worry that sprang to his eyes when I made a move to examine the snares makes me determined to find out.

By the confident way he directs Will through the scenery that changes from dirt and plants to roads, walkways, and small buildings, it is clear Enzo grew up nearby. Through the smudged skimmer windows, I study the landscape. The buildings and plant life surrounding the houses look well tended. More like the dwellings we create in Five Lakes than the ones I have seen in the heart of the city. Children stop their playing to wave as we drive past. Citizens on bicycles or the occasional motorized scooter steer down the streets as people hurry to whatever tasks await them.

The number of personal skimmers filling the roadway increases as the buildings grow larger and less spread apart. Some stand five or six stories high. Books tell us taller buildings once graced the city streets—some reaching hundreds of feet into the air—but they were too tall, too exposed to survive against the trembling earth and destructive winds. While the tallest buildings faltered during the final Three Stages of War, most structures in this city, while shaken and sometimes cracked, stood strong. Their smaller stature proved to be an asset. One a country could rebuild upon.

Will’s face is a mask of concentration, and his hands tighten on the controls as the streets become more crowded. He speaks only to ask Enzo when he needs clarification about the direction he is going in. Finally, I see in the distance the riverbank that signals our destination is near. The flowing river sparkles. A carpet of green, healthy grass frames the river on either side.   “So we just need to find a picture of a balanced scale,” Will says once he safely steers the skimmer into a vehicle zone and turns off the engine. “Sounds easy enough.”

“Easy?” Damone shoots Will a withering look. “Have you been inside the Central Government Building? It’ll take a miracle to find anything in there.”

I hate to think it, but as we walk toward the Central Government Building, I realize Damone’s right. The United Commonwealth Government was officially created a hundred years ago in a large structure that sits on the east bank of the river. Two stories tall with circular walls and a low-domed roof, the building has a short but sturdy design that helped it survive the worst of the natural disasters with little more than a few broken windows. The lack of damage and the large rooms that can accommodate thousands of people made it an ideal site for the survivors of the war beginning to lay the foundation for a new country.

It is hard to imagine those first days when the earth quieted and people began to assess the damage. Corrupted rivers that caused illness or worse. Destroyed homes and a ground too contaminated for many plants to grow. A world filled with sorrow and fear. Instead of pulling closed the doors and cowering in the dark, people gathered here to pool their resources and restore hope.

I glance at the large square building on the land just north of the Central Government Building. Now named Tosu City Hospital and Medical Research Center. I don’t know what it was called then, but it was used as safe living spaces for those without homes or those too old, young, or terrified to be alone. An enclosed walkway allowed people to pass safely between the two structures without having to brave the chemical- and radiation-laced elements.

Leaders were elected. Laws made. Crews organized and sent outside to evaluate the city. Canned food was gathered and rationed. The dead found inside were buried in a crevice opened by an earthquake on the west side of the city. A group was formed to scout around the city for signs of still-living plants, animals, and people. Water was boiled and filtered. Even then, drinking the water made people sick, which prompted leaders to send the surviving scientists to the University labs. The scientists used the equipment there to run tests on the river, hoping to discover a way to make it pure once again.

One by one, buildings were repaired and deemed safe. Families left the safety of living with the entire community and moved into their own dwellings. Scientists found plants, like clover, that thrived in the damaged soil and began splicing their genes into less hardy vegetation. With hope, organization, and care, the world came alive again.

And it all started here.

People mill in the courtyard or stand talking in small groups. A hundred feet from our position is a small flight of stairs that leads to the entrance of the beige stone building. On either side of a fountain is a tall silver pole. At the top of each is a flag. The red, white, and blue one from the past that will never be forgotten and the other, displaying a stark white background trimmed with purple. In the center of the field of white is a single crimson rose. White to symbolize hope and purity of purpose. Purple for courage. The red petals of the flower signify the promise of a people determined to make the rose and the rest of the country thrive. I can’t help but wonder how The Testing was allowed to grow from that promise. Did those who conceived of it intend for the price of failure to be so high? How many people walking the halls of this building know the true nature of The Testing? How many more have feigned deafness because they don’t want to hear and recognize what, by ignorance, they condone?

We walk up the steps, and I glance over my shoulder to look for the other teams. None are in sight as we step into a room buzzing with activity. The antechamber is filled with people. Large white panels hanging from the two-story ceiling bask the room in light. On the wall to the right is a mural of the colonies and boundaries of the current United Commonwealth. Directly in front of us are two large sets of doors that lead to the Debate Chamber.

“Where do we start looking?” Enzo asks. “The observation gallery? The offices?”

Will frowns. “Cia and I came here for orientation a couple months ago. I don’t remember seeing anything with scales on it. Then again, we only went through about half the rooms in the building.”

“We should split up,” Damone suggests.

I have only to think about Damone’s desire to leave me locked in that box to reject his idea. “We should stay together. Otherwise, we’ll spend even more time trying to reconnect with one another.”

Damone gives me a flat stare. “Fine. You’re the captain. You tell us how we’re going to search hundreds of rooms and find the scales before the next team does.”

“I don’t know,” I admit, but my desire to outthink Damone has me determined to find out.

Our orientation leader said the building contained almost two hundred thousand square feet of offices, meeting rooms, and discussion chambers. Searching through them all could take days.

“We’re wasting time. Can someone make a decision already? Or is talking all they taught you how to do in the colonies?” Damone scowls at me and Will.

Will glares back. “At least they taught us something. The only reason you’re here is because your father is a hotshot Commonwealth official. I bet he knows where the scales symbol is in this place. Too bad he isn’t here to ask. Instead, we’re stuck with you.”

Damone moves fast. Before I realize what’s happening, he pushes Will back toward the wall behind us. I see shock register on Will’s face a moment before he slams into the hard surface. Will grabs Damone’s shoulders and shoves, sending Damone staggering back. I race in between the two, hoping to talk some sense into them before we get thrown out of the building or worse.

“Stop,” I snap, trying to mimic the tone my mother uses on my brothers when they are fighting. “Unless you’re hoping to impress the government officials with your right hooks, I think we should find what we came here to do. After that, the two of you can beat each other senseless for all I care. Okay?”

I wait for Will or Damone to object. Neither does.

“Good.” I push hair off my forehead and take a deep breath. “Now, maybe we can get back to solving this task.”

“Well, according to Will, we’re not smart enough to figure it out on our own,” Damone sneers.

“That’s not what I said.”

This time Enzo steps in to keep the peace, and I let him because Will and Damone have given me an idea. The clue did not say we had to find the scales on our own. While Damone’s father isn’t here for us to ask, there are dozens if not hundreds of government officials who work in this building every day. Some of them must know where the symbol of the scales of justice is. We just have to ask.

I approach a lady sitting in nearby a room with a glass window. When she sees me looking in her direction, her lips curve into a sympathetic smile. Taking that as a positive sign, I leave the boys behind and walk over.

The woman slides open a panel of glass. “Can I be of assistance?” Her eyes shift behind me; she no doubt wonders if the help I need is with my unkempt, ill-mannered companions.

“I’m hoping you know where I can find a picture or sign or statue with balanced scales depicted on it. There’s supposed to be one somewhere inside this building.”

With a nod, she says, “If you go through those doors there, I believe you will find a small rendering of that symbol on the back of the moderating justice’s chair.”

She points to the double doors situated between the two maps. The doors that lead into the Debate Chamber. Next to the door is a sign that lists the discussion and voting schedule for the day. I look down at the watch strapped to my bag. The Debate Chamber session is almost over. Once it ends, the chamber doors will be locked until the debate floor opens again—at nine o’clock in the morning. Unless we can convince someone to unlock the doors for us, we will have to wait to search the chamber during one of the session breaks tomorrow.

Or will we? I think back to the second line of the clue. Look for the symbol of the house you now live in and find what you seek upon its perch. If an image of balanced scales is on a chair, then what we seek isn’t going to be waiting for us when the chamber is empty. It’s what is at this very moment seated on that chair.

The moderating justice—President Anneline L. Collindar.

Chapter 9

I THANK THE woman for her help and walk toward the double doors. In my head, I try to picture what I saw the time I was here. Up front is a raised platform. A podium and chair in the center for the moderating justice, who leads the discourse. A desk and another chair for the assistant moderator, who records the proceedings. Seats and desks on the main floor for representatives of the ten departments of the government. More seats in the balcony for those who want to observe or, in some cases, add their opinions to the discussion. When we were here with our orientation instructor, most of the seats in the balcony were empty. Citizens were too busy with their jobs, homes, and children to care what change to the law was being made.

When I pull back the heavy doors and step inside, I hear murmuring somewhere overhead that tells me today at least some of the seats in the balcony are occupied. So is the debate floor. All ten department leaders are required to send two delegates to represent their interests on the debate floor. When I was last here, the requisite twenty were in attendance. Today there are at least twice as many listening to a speaker explain the need for more textile production.

My teammates join me in the open doorway.

“What are you doing?” Damone growls. “You’re not allowed on the Debate Chamber floor when the council is in session.”

“The next clue is in here,” I whisper.

“Where?” Will asks.

Taking a deep breath, I point to where the leader of our country sits with an unreadable expression on her face. “There.”

“Are you crazy?” Damone asks. “You can’t go up there. You’ll get us thrown out of the University and detained, or worse.”

He’s right. Our orientation instructor reminded us that detainment is the penalty for stepping uninvited onto the Debate Chamber floor. Doing so is construed as a threat against the president and the Commonwealth Government. The penalty was instituted during the early days when the fatigue and frustration of nongovernment citizens boiled over and resulted in injuries and, on one occasion, death.

Enzo nods. “If the next task is up there, we’ll find it when the session is over. We just have to wait.”

The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that waiting will do us no good. Thus far, each of the tasks set for us by the final years has tested specific skills. Mathematics. History. Mechanical knowledge. But in addition to classroom-learned knowledge, the tests have measured something more. They have judged our ability to work under pressure. To trust one another. To listen to instructions and critically think through problems. Successful government officials do all these things, but the best of them do more. They follow their instincts and figure out a way to do what needs to be done.

I count four men and two women dressed in black and standing near the stairs on either side of the raised platform. The wide white band on each of their right arms identifies them as Safety officials. The weapons at their sides and the respect our country’s citizens have for the work done here have ensured that no unauthorized person has set foot on the Debate Chamber floor for decades.

Since I can’t walk onto the floor without risking detainment, I have to find another way.

“Cia,” Will hisses, “we have to wait outside until the session ends.”

Damone, Enzo, and Will take a step backward, but I stay put. This session will last a half hour more. Then the room will be locked until morning. Damone might be able to convince one of his father’s friends to open the doors and let us search, but there is a chance that the president has to be seated on the platform for us to complete the task. Waiting will not help us. There has to be a second option. But what?

Ignoring the stares from officials on the debate floor and the insistent whispers from my teammates, I glance around the room for a solution. My mother always told me the best way to solve a problem is to ask for help. But while that worked the first time, I doubt the woman in the lobby will be able to assist me in this next step even if she knows what it is. The officials on the debate floor might be able to provide an answer, but unless I want to yell across the massive room, I—

Wait.

I close my eyes and think back to my Five Lakes classroom. Sitting in my seat behind Tomas. Listening to our teacher as she discussed the creation of this room. The founding government officials chose this space to house the Debate Chamber because they wanted a room large enough to house not only the governing body but those citizens who wanted to voice their concerns. In the early years of the Commonwealth, the debate floor was filled with people who wanted a voice in the reconstruction of our country. During the last several decades, no ordinary citizen has stepped onto the Debate Chamber floor. They’ve been too busy with their own lives to take responsibility for the government and the country. But just because no one in recent years has chosen to use that privilege doesn’t mean it doesn’t still exist. At the end of that lesson, my teacher mentioned an antiquated law that said any citizen may request a hearing on the Debate Chamber floor. We were never tested on that law or the wording required to gain access to the Chamber. At the time I was relieved. Not anymore.

It takes me several minutes to locate the thin, dark cord that hangs far to the left of the entryway in a dimly lit alcove. The cord is coated with dust, but when I tug, the gong of the hearing bell echoes through the room. One by one, the people on the floor shift their attention from the speaker to me. The man’s words falter. The Safety officials’ hands move to the weapons holstered at their sides, but they do not draw. Not yet. I can hear the surprise in the hushed whispers from the gallery above.

Part of me wants to withdraw. To avoid such attention. But the law states any citizen who rings the bell and follows protocol will be invited onto the chamber floor. While I am young and unimportant to the working of the Commonwealth, I am a citizen. The law gives me this right.

Only those who use the proper phrase are given leave to enter the chamber. One wrong word and the petitioner will be denied for her lack of respect for the process and those she seeks to address. I take three steps forward, swallow my nerves, and say the words my classmates and I were taught years ago. “As every citizen has not only the right but the responsibility to participate in the due course of this government, I respectfully ask permission to address the moderating justice and the official currently holding the Debate Chamber floor.”

Everything is quiet. The entire chamber is holding its breath. Watching. Wondering if I have spoken correctly. If I will be granted permission to take the floor. Time stands still as the president rises from her seat and studies me from across the hall.

“Permission is granted.” She nods. “You may approach.”

Relief floods through me. I hold my head high and keep my eyes forward as I walk to the stairs of the raised platform. Four steps up, and I cross the stage and come to a halt four feet from the leader of the United Commonwealth.

Several heartbeats pass as we look at each other. Me with my untidy hair and rumpled, dirt-stained clothes standing on the wooden platform. The president standing in front of a large, black wooden chair, with her short, perfectly styled ebony hair and a ceremonial red robe.

Then she smiles. “What can the United Commonwealth Government do for you, citizen?”

The president stands seven inches taller than I. Her face is long and angular. Not what most would call beautiful. But the almond-shaped brown eyes and strong jaw would draw attention anywhere. Almost all the United Commonwealth presidents have been female. It has been argued that women are less aggressive, more maternal, and thus more focused on the well-being of the country’s people. Less focused on politics or power. Perhaps this is true, but there is nothing maternal about President Collindar’s appearance or voice. Both carry a shimmer of absolute authority.

Taking a deep breath, I shift a few steps to the side so I can clearly see the back of the chair. And I smile. Dangling from a wire on the back of the chair is a picture of the balanced scales of justice. I swallow my nerves, smooth my sweaty palms on my pants, and say, “I apologize for the interruption, President Collindar, but I believe you have a message for me.”

The president’s eyes shift to the balcony and then back to me.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” The smile spreads as she reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out a familiar-looking gray envelope. “I wish you luck in the rest of your studies, Ms . . . ?”

“Vale. Malencia Vale.”

“Where are you from, Ms. Vale?”

“Five Lakes Colony, Madam President.”

Surprise lights her eyes, but President Collindar’s pleasant smile doesn’t change as she holds out the envelope. “I’m certain we’ll meet again, Malencia. Have a safe journey back to school.”

I take the envelope and she sits back down in her chair. I’ve been dismissed. I turn and glance up at the balcony as I make my way to the stairs. A dozen people are scattered in the gallery seats. Among them are two familiar faces. A tightlipped Professor Holt, watching my every move, and Dr. Barnes, whose gaze is affixed on the only person behind me—President Collindar. I can’t help but wonder if Professor Holt and Dr. Barnes will judge my actions to be the correct ones. While the envelope in my hand was the goal, I know from The Testing that the right answer doesn’t always ensure a passing grade. Coming in first during this Induction doesn’t mean we will be assigned the most important internships. It’s the skills and leadership we demonstrate during these tasks that will make that determination.

Hoping that I have shown whatever qualities Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt are looking for in their top government interns, I walk up the aisle to where my team stands holding open the double doors. Their expressions range from celebratory to sullen as I walk past them into the antechamber. I see the blonde seated behind the glass window smile at the envelope in my hand. I smile back and, when the double doors close with a soft thunk, I let out a relieved sigh.

“I can’t believe you got the words to that petition right.” Will laughs and shakes his head. “I would have blown it.”

“Then the administrators made a mistake letting you into the University,” says Damone. “Anyone who truly belongs in Government Studies can recite that request. It’s not like she did anything special.”

Will gives Damone a tense smile. “I dare you to walk into the Debate Chamber and request your own audience. I bet anything you’ll prove you don’t belong.”

Before the two can start shoving again, I say, “Instead of arguing about the last task, how about we concentrate on the next one? It’s getting late. I’d rather not have to finish this Induction in the dark.”

When no one objects, I open the envelope given to me by President Collindar and read:

The end is near. You’ll soon be done. Now it’s time to have some fun. Return to the place where you embarked on this quest. Induction awaits for those who complete one last test.

The place where we embarked on this quest? There are two possibilities. The zoo, with its booby-trapped monkey cages, or the University, where we boarded the skimmers that took us to the initial location. Since the clue implies our Induction adventure will be complete after we finish the final task, and since none of us wants to return to the zoo to face any other deadly inhabitants, we climb into the skimmer and head northeast to the University.

Damone knows this area best, so we let him navigate while Will steers through the well-tended busy streets of downtown Tosu. Being in charge seems to put Damone in a more cheerful mood, which is a relief. With one Induction task remaining, we need his cooperation.

Personal skimmers and a few old-fashioned cars cruise down the smoothly paved roads next to us. Kids play games on small patches of grass. Citizens with bags on their shoulders travel the walkways. I plug the coordinates I saved into the Transit Communicator and monitor our progress in case Damone is steering us wrong. We have just over four and a half miles to travel before we are back at the Government Studies residence.

The buildings lining the streets grow smaller. Some of the streets we pass are cracked. The roofs on the houses sag. The children playing outside wear frayed coats and shoes. Their cheeks are hollow. Their eyes resigned. I can see Enzo’s jaw tighten as we travel through those areas, which soon give way to larger houses in perfect repair.

“My parents’ house is just a few blocks down there.” Damone points to a block filled with large structures, green lawns, and young but healthy trees. “My school is over there.” He indicates a large fenced-in white building in the other direction. The windows sparkle in the sunlight. The paint looks new. Several kids in thick, colorful coats sit on the front steps of the school, laughing. Their faces are round and healthy. The difference between the schoolchildren and the ones we passed just blocks before forms a stark contrast.

“Why aren’t all the streets like this one?” I quietly ask Enzo.

After casting a glance at Damone, who is directing Will to go faster, Enzo leans forward and says, “Every sector of the city has a Tosu council member who requests resources and services for the people in that sector. The people on the streets I grew up on weren’t as friendly with their council member as people in Damone’s neighborhood.”

“What does that have to do with it?” I ask.

“Are you serious?” He gives a shake of his head. “Just because council members are supposed to represent everyone in their sector doesn’t mean they do. People look out for themselves and their friends.”

Enzo falls silent and stares out the skimmer window as the buildings speed past. I barely register the landmarks that announce our proximity to the University as I consider Enzo’s words. I grew up believing our leaders had learned from past mistakes. That, if nothing else, the Seven Stages of War taught us that life is fragile and precious. That those who survived have an obligation not only to repair the damage but never to repeat the actions that brought us to the brink of disaster. Distrust and anger caused governments to hurl angry words. Angry words led to bombs being dropped. A world destroyed.

Perhaps it is the size of the population that allows leaders to neglect some of those who look to them for assistance. In Five Lakes Colony, Magistrate Owens knows every citizen living within our boundaries. She might not know them well, but she has seen their faces and looked into their eyes. Would she show the same kind of leadership if she were appointed to oversee a city the size of Tosu? Would she be able to in a place where more than one hundred thousand faces look to the government for guidance and resource allocation?

During the early debates about whether to create a postwar government, many were vehemently opposed to the idea of a formal administration. They believed everyone should be allowed to survive in the way he or she thought best. Not forced to answer to the same kind of government that caused the wars in the first place. Some of the fiercest opposition went so far as to threaten the lives of those who were in favor of a new governing body.

Despite their tactics, I have to wonder if they had a point. Maybe it wasn’t just the leaders but the size of the governments that caused the world to falter. The bigger the government, the bigger the population it can claim. The larger the population, the less our leaders feel personally accountable to each citizen under their care. It makes it easier to sacrifice a few for the good of others. To make choices that might otherwise be unthinkable—like sending unknown kids from families you never met to The Testing to fight not only for a place at the University but for their very lives. Meanwhile allowing students from families you have known all your life to be held to a different selection standard.

Will’s celebratory cheer pulls me from my thoughts. I spot the large arching silver gate and the small plaque next to it that reads UNIVERSITY OF THE UNITED COMMONWEALTH. The sight fills me with a combination of pride, happiness, and fear. Pride that I have made it this far. Happiness that Tomas, the one person I love in this city, is close by. Fear at what is to come. Not just with this Induction, but everything that follows. This is not the end of the challenges I will face. There are more. Harder. Maybe deadlier. I must be ready for them all.

“Now that we’re here,” Will asks, “where do we go?”

“The Government Studies residence,” Damone says. “It has to be.” I can see Damone’s hands ball into fists as Will and Enzo look to me for confirmation. His fists stay clenched in his lap even after I agree. Will steers the skimmer past buildings that were created long ago. Glass. Stone. Brick. All constructed to encourage young minds to reach beyond what has already been done to something more. Something great.

The Government Studies residence comes into view. I see the earthquake-wrought ravine that circles the grounds, and my heart sinks as I realize that getting back to the residence won’t be easy. The bridge is missing.

Chapter 10

MY HEART DROPS into my stomach as I climb out of the skimmer and look at the gaping crack in the earth between us and our final destination. Twenty feet across. Hundreds deep. Near the residence, Ian and Professor Holt are among a group of other people waiting for us to reach them. On this side are four small boxes next to stacks of boards, ropes, and tools. The most sophisticated skimmers can hover up to fifteen feet above the ground. The one we’ve been using has been lucky to rise as high as my knee. However, sophisticated or not, the propulsion mechanism that makes all skimmers operate requires there be ground somewhere underneath. If a skimmer glides over a large hole, like the one in front of us now, the skimmer stops gliding. We cannot travel to the residence in our vehicle. If we are to get across, we will have to find another way.

While I’m surprised to find the bridge missing, I’m more disconcerted that I hadn’t previously noticed the bridge was built to retract. Ian never mentioned that when he first led us here. Slats and rails hang against either side of the ravine, waiting to be reconnected, and I wonder why University officials chose to build a bridge that could disappear at a moment’s notice. They couldn’t have built it specifically for the purpose of testing new University students. Which prompts the question: Did they build it to ensure people had to stay in or to keep unwanted visitors out?

A quick study of the bridge support nearest our position gives me a good idea of how the retractable bridge works. The mechanism on each support is designed to slide each half of the bridge backward on iron tracks when it is retracted. When it is raised, the system first elevates the bridge ninety degrees. Then a separate machine must slide forward to provide the support necessary to withstand the weight of both the bridge and those who cross it. Once both sides of the bridge are raised, they hook together seamlessly. At least, I never saw the seams. The looks on my teammates’ faces say I wasn’t the only one who missed that detail. I find that of little consolation when I realize the controls for the bridge are all located on the other side.

Enzo walks to the small black box marked with our number and pulls out the instructions for this task. “Come home.” He looks at the hole in the earth, the missing bridge, the supplies, and then back at the note. “Are they kidding? They want us to get across that? There’s no way.”

“If they want us to cross the ravine, there has to be a way to do it without getting ourselves killed,” I say with confidence. This isn’t The Testing. They won’t kill students in full view of other students. But they aren’t going to make it easy, either.

Will reaches into the pile and fingers a large length of thick rope. “We might be able to hoist this side of the bridge up with this.”

Enzo shakes his head. “The bridge is probably locked into place. But even if it isn’t, we aren’t strong enough to lift that kind of weight.”

Will frowns. “My brother and I helped a neighbor of ours build a rope bridge over a stream a couple years ago. We used trees to anchor the bridge on either side. The supports for the bridge that normally spans this are still here. We can use those.”

“Brilliant. Of course, the only way to use the anchor on the other side is to be over there to attach the rope to the bridge.” Damone rolls his eyes. “Which would eliminate the need for building the bridge in the first place.”

He’s right. While building a bridge is something I’ve never done, I understand the basic physics involved. The supports that are already in place will be strong enough to hold up whatever we build if we could attach it properly, but there is no way we can do that. And while I don’t think the University officials intend to watch us plunge to our deaths, I doubt they will lift a finger to prevent it. There has to be another solution.

“Why don’t we break into teams of two?” I suggest. “One group can go north. The other south. Maybe we’ll find a better place for us to get across.” I doubt it, but the possibility needs to be explored.

Will and Damone take the south. Enzo and I go north. We start out at a fast clip, certain we will find a way to cross the twenty-foot chasm of brown and gray rock and dirt that is between us and our destination. The crack begins to narrow, and Enzo and I smile at each other as we hurry ahead. That’s when we see it. Another rent in the earth that juts off from this fissure toward the west. Even if the fissure we are standing next to narrows enough for safe passage, we would still be forced to cross another gaping barrier. Crossing here will not be possible. We can only hope Damone and Will have had better luck on their scouting mission and have remembered I hold all the markers. If they have found a way across and have not waited for Enzo and me to go with them, they will still fail.

One look at their dejected faces tells the story. More barriers lie to the south. If we want to get to the finish line, we will have to cross here. And night is falling fast.

My three teammates study the building supplies and tools as I once again examine the supports and machinery. I shake my head. My skill is with machines. If the bridge’s controls were on this side, I’m certain I could make it rise. But they aren’t. And even if I could make the gears fire, I’m not sure I should try. Without our fully understanding how the mechanism works or how the two pieces of the bridge lock into place, attempting to cross the ravine could be akin to suicide. I’ve survived too much to allow University officials to push me into doing something stupid. And crossing on a contraption created with the tools and supplies provided would be even crazier. We could do calculations for days and still not be positive that the forces created by our weight and that of the bridge will balance with the upward force and properly absorb torque. A few more years studying with the professors here, and we might be able to pull this off. But now? How can anyone expect any of us to succeed at this task? They must realize it is impossible. Is that what Professor Holt and the others are waiting for? For us to fail? Why? What purpose would teaching us defeat serve? They want us to be leaders. Leaders are required to find solutions no matter what.

Or are they?

Bombs were dropped. Millions of people killed. A world destroyed because the leaders of our country and those around the globe were not willing to declare failure. They could not admit that the path they had embarked on was doomed. Instead, they forged ahead. More bombs. More destruction. More need to prove that they were right. That others were wrong.

I think about the Induction thus far. It has required us to carefully think through answers before putting them into action. To trust when trust is not only hard, but potentially deadly. To speak as an equal with the head of our government. All skills essential for government leaders. As is learning when to say enough is enough.

Turning my back on those who watch, I walk over to where a tree stands thirty feet away and sit. After leaning back against the tree, I open the green team bag and take out my bottle of water.

“What are you doing?” Damone yells as he notices me seated on the grass. “You should be helping us figure out how we’re going to get to the other side.”

“He’s right, Cia.” Enzo frowns. “The only way we’re going to beat this task is if we work together.”

“We’re not going to beat it.” I nod at the cluster of observers across the way. “They don’t expect us to, so there’s no point in giving them the satisfaction of seeing us try and come up short.”

“They wouldn’t have given us this task if there wasn’t a way to pass it.” Damone throws a plank to the ground and grabs a hammer. He takes three steps toward me, eyes bright with anger. The hammer wielded like a weapon. “I am not going to fail this test because some girl from the colonies doesn’t want to make the effort to win. Get the hell up or you’ll be sorry that Will and Enzo were too soft to leave you trapped in that box where you belonged.”

Damone lashes out with the hammer, and I scramble back out of its path. “Are you crazy?” I yell.

He starts to swing again and is brought up short by a hand grabbing his wrist and yanking the hammer free.

Will’s jaw is clenched and his eyes glitter with violence. This is the Will from The Testing. “Move away from her now, or you’re going to be sorry.”

“Let go of me.” Damone tries to yank his arm free. “My father is going to hear about this. Do you remember who my father is?”

Will holds fast. “I don’t care who your father is, but he might care that his son is so weak he had to be saved by a colony girl. She saved your life. She’s smarter than you. Than all of us put together. And you can’t stand it.” He releases his grip on Damone’s wrist, but keeps the hammer tight in his fist.

Damone rubs his arm where Will’s fingers dug into his flesh and scowls.

“Now, if you’re done demonstrating your lack of control to our viewing audience, Cia will explain why she thinks we can’t get across. I know I’m dying to hear it. I mean, while I’d love to impress the professors, I don’t plan on risking my life in order to do it.” His mouth curves into a half smile. “But I would be happy to risk yours, Damone, if you want.”

The smile. The hammer held confidently in Will’s hand. Both scare the crap out of me. Damone, however, doesn’t look scared. He appears on the verge of rage. But Will, as is typical, has said the right thing. Damone shifts his eyes to the people across the way watching our every move. His jaw clenches. His breathing is fast and uneven as he fights for control. Something he probably hasn’t had to do very often. And he wins that battle—for now.

“Okay.” He blows out air. “I’m not saying Cia is right, but I’ll listen.” Damone looks back at the wide stretch of emptiness behind him. “Prove to me that the final years don’t intend for us to be able to get across this on our own.”

I have lots of reasons, but proof? “I can’t.”

Damone’s nasty grin makes me want to scream. So I turn away from him and focus on reasoning with the rest of my team. “I think this Induction process has been about teaching us lessons. Teamwork. Trust. Government procedure.”

“And failure.” Enzo completes my thought. “No matter how smart our leaders are, there are problems they cannot solve. This is one of them.”

Will walks to the edge of the ravine and studies the drop. After several long moments, he shifts his attention across the divide to the people on the other side. His fists clench. Something intense flickers in his deep green eyes before he turns back to us and smiles. “So what should we do while we wait for them to realize we’ve given up?’

Damone whirls. “No one is giving up. We’re going to do exactly what the note says and get to the other side. I’m not losing my chance to win this Induction competition and throwing away my future just because some stupid girl from nowhere says she thinks we should give up. I’m not giving up. None of you are giving up.”

Will steps away from the edge, shoves his hands in his pockets, and saunters over to stand next to me. Enzo flanks me on the other side. Damone’s face colors as he realizes his words have had no effect. Right or wrong, Enzo and Will have chosen to stand with me.

Damone’s eyes meet mine. Glittering in their depths are anger and hate. My muscles clench as I brace for the attack that is sure to come. Damone might have been smart enough to pass the Tosu City application exams, but he has demonstrated all day that he has no control over his emotions. Perhaps he has gotten this far based on people confusing bullying for strength of personality. Whatever the reason, he is unprepared for others to take charge. I am certain he plans on taking back control by any means necessary.

“Hey, look,” Enzo says as a whirring sound fills the air.

Damone stops his advance and turns as the east side of the bridge slowly begins to rise. The support shifts backward. Across the ravine, Ian stands next to the support. He pushes a button, and our side of the bridge begins to move. After several minutes, the beams shift and lock together with a resounding clang.

Ian crosses to the center of the bridge and smiles. “Welcome back. You are the first team to arrive.”

Will and Enzo slap hands and let out celebratory shouts before they race across the bridge. Damone glares at me before crossing behind them. Us finishing our Induction will not make him forget that I was right. That the others sided with me. That he wanted to be a leader and was pushed to the side. Vowing to do my best to stay out of Damone’s way in the future, I follow.

As I pass Ian, his lips barely move as he whispers, “Meet me in Lab Two at midnight.”

I want to ask why, but I curve my lips into a smile for Professor Holt, who watches from under a tree fifty feet away. The students standing outside the residence converge on me and my team. People slap my back and yell congratulations. Behind me, I hear the whir of machinery and know the bridge is once again being retracted to challenge the next group who arrives.

“Cia. Enzo. Will. Damone,” Ian calls, and the voices around us go quiet. The four of us walk to where Ian stands next to Professor Holt. “Congratulations on returning with your entire team intact. Do you have the markers?”

I dig into the green bag and hand the markers from the first three challenges to Ian. “We don’t have a marker for this task.”

“There wasn’t a marker for the final test. This task was designed to be insurmountable.” Professor Holt takes the markers and gives me a small smile. “Ian was told to engage the bridge when we deduced that you had figured out that solution.”

My heartbeat measures the silence until Professor Holt says, “It takes a lot of courage to choose to do nothing when you aren’t certain of the outcome. We believe this is an important lesson to impart to all University students and one many students find almost impossible to accept. I’m happy to learn that most on this team are more . . . open-minded.”

I see Damone flush.

Professor Holt hands the markers back to Ian with a small nod. Ian turns and gives us a wide smile. “Congratulations, Cia, Enzo, Will, and Damone. Since you arrived first with all of your markers, we are happy to declare you the winners. Once the other three teams arrive, we will hold a formal Induction ceremony where you will be officially welcomed into the Government Studies program. Until then, I suggest you get lots of rest. I’ve seen your class schedules. Trust me, you’re going to need it.”

The students standing behind Ian laugh. As my teammates celebrate, I notice that Professor Holt isn’t the only one watching me. In the distance, next to the willow tree where just yesterday I stood with Enzo, is Dr. Barnes.

“You should all be very proud of yourselves,” Professor Holt announces. “These Induction tasks have taught us a great deal about you and the way you approach problem solving. But more important, this process not only gave you a glimpse of the revitalization work that still needs to be done, but also allowed you to learn about your fellow Government Studies students. All of you will be competing for the top grades, but I hope these challenges have taught you also that success comes only if we trust and work well with those around us.”

To my left, I see Damone nod, but I know the only thing he learned was to despise me.

After more applause, Professor Holt adds, “I have been told the next team will not arrive until tomorrow at the earliest.” The teams must not have gotten to the Central Government Building until after the debates ended for the day. Briefly, I pull my coat tight around me as the wind kicks up and wonder if those teams will be forced to spend the night outside or if they will seek shelter with their families. An option none of us had during The Testing.

Professor Holt continues, “Our official Induction will not begin until all teams have arrived and their performances have been evaluated. Until that time, I recommend you take Ian’s suggestion and get some rest. And you might want to know that dinner will be served in an hour.”

Perhaps I am paranoid, but I search my rooms for signs of cameras or microphones that might have been added since the scavenger Induction challenge began. I examine every piece of furniture, every inch of wall, and each light fixture. Tension drains from my body when I finish. For the moment, there are no signs of my being watched. I am alone and safe.

Stripping off my clothes, I step into the shower. The sweat, grime, and anxiety of the day wash away. My legs tremble as fatigue sets in. While I am hungry, I am not interested in facing Damone again so soon. Instead, I stretch out on the bed and close my eyes. I picture Tomas and feel a tug of loneliness as I wonder how he is doing. Is he facing his own Induction now? Praying Tomas is safe, I allow myself to slip into sleep.

The room is dark when I wake. I find myself starting to panic before I realize the darkness is not part of another Induction. The sky outside my window is black. I have slept longer than intended and night has fallen. Eleven o’clock. I haven’t missed the meeting with Ian.

My stomach growls even as it fills with dread. I have no idea what Ian has to tell me, but the way he requested the private meeting makes me believe it can’t be good. Repacking my University bag, I head out of the room and carefully lock the door behind me. While I doubt the lock will keep out those in authority, it might discourage people like Damone from going inside.

Despite the late hour, lights blaze in the common spaces of the residence. Most, if not all, of the students are still awake. The hangout room is filled with people laughing and talking with friends. I spot Will flirting with a girl I don’t recognize. Damone and Enzo are nowhere to be seen.

Before anyone can notice me, I head to the dining room, where I find an array of breads, fruit, cheese, sweets, and milk chilling in a large bowl of ice. The rest of the room is empty. I cut off a hunk of white cheese and make a sandwich with two thick slices of some kind of bread with tomatoes baked into the top. I keep an eye on the watch on my bag as I make myself eat the sandwich and drink a glass of milk. The sounds of laughter and conversation grow fainter as the minutes tick by. My fellow students must be starting to seek out their beds. I clean the crumbs off the table, put away my glass, and sling my bag over my shoulder.

I hurry past the doorway to the hangout room without stopping to see who is still awake and walk to the other end of the building. The lights on this side are set to low for power conservation, and this part of the residence is silent. I see a bright glow under the door to the lab. A creak of the floorboard makes me jump, and I glance back down the hall. When no one appears out of the shadows, I take a deep breath and turn the doorknob.

Ian pushes the door closed behind me. There’s a loud click as the lock bolts into place. “You’re in trouble.”

Unease churns my meal. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You did everything right.”

I don’t understand. “Then why am I in trouble?”

“Because you did too well.” Ian takes a seat on a high metal stool. “Every year the Induction is different to ensure students don’t have advance knowledge of how best to approach the problems that are given. You figured out the purpose of the final test faster than anyone expected. It makes Professor Holt and Dr. Barnes wonder whether you received help.”

“They think I cheated?” Anger punches through me. I would never cheat in order to make a better grade. Just the thought of doing so is offensive. I was taught to respect myself and those around me more than that. But the flash of anger burns out fast and is followed by an icy streak of fear. Do they penalize students for cheating? If so, what could the punishment be?

“They don’t know what to think.” Ian sighs. He nods for me to take the stool next to him. “Look, I only caught part of the conversation. Professor Holt and Dr. Barnes were disturbed by how quickly you recognized the insolvability of the task. Dr. Barnes said The Testing demonstrated that one of your greatest strengths is your willingness to trust your intuition. You trusting your instinct now is to be expected, but there were things about your Testing that were never explained. Things that, in light of these most recent tests, concern him now.”

“Like what?”

“He didn’t say, but Professor Holt seemed to know. She agreed that there have been irregularities and your past results should be reexamined. If necessary, she said, the University should take action.”

“What kind of action?” Redirection or something else?

“I didn’t hear anything more, but Professor Holt pulled me aside after your team went inside the residence.” Ian frowns. “She wants me to use my influence as your guide to get close to you. I’m also supposed to tell her the minute I see you struggling to keep up with your studies.”

“If you’re going to spy on me, why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m not going to be spying on you.” Ian smiles. “I’m going to help you. When Professor Holt asks, I’m going to tell her you’re a hard-working student who’s dedicated to her studies and the University.”

“Why?” The word is barely a whisper. “You’re graduating this year. Why risk your future to help me?” Michal said he would find someone to assist me. Is Ian that person? Is he one of the upper-year rebels? If so, which faction does he support? And what does he remember about his own Testing?

I can’t ask. And he doesn’t say. So I can only wonder and worry as his smile fades and he says, “You’ve done everything they’ve asked. You left your friends, your family, and your colony behind to come here. You not only made it through The Testing, orientation, and your Early Studies exams, but you excelled. If you were from Tosu City, Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt would be praising your deductive reasoning. Instead, they are looking for a reason to eliminate you from the program, because they’re worried you’re too smart. That you could be too strong a leader.”

I can barely breathe. “Has Professor Holt asked Will’s guide to spy on him?”

“I talked to Sam a couple of hours ago. Professor Holt never spoke to him.”

Will, who proved his inability to trust and be trusted, who killed and betrayed during The Testing, is not being watched. Only me.

Did someone besides Michal see me running from the Tosu Administration building after Obidiah was Redirected? Do they suspect I now know what Redirection means and that Dr. Barnes’s precious Testing process disposes of those who are not deemed smart enough but are too smart to let go? Did Michal say something that made them wonder?

“So now what?” I ask.

“Classes start on Monday. You go to class. You do the work. Your class schedule is going to be tough. Professor Holt wants you to fail. We’re not going to let that happen.” Ian takes a piece of paper off the metal lab table. My class schedule. One by one, he tells me what to expect from the classes. What kinds of tests the teachers will give. Which professors favor students who speak up in class and which ones like those who stay silent and prove themselves through papers and exams. And though I listen carefully and am grateful for the assistance, I can’t help wondering why Ian is giving it. Yes, he is a colony student like me, but I know that doesn’t tell the entire story. There is something more at work here. Something I believe directly relates to Michal and the rebellion. But without Ian’s confirmation, I can’t know whether my suspicions are right.

“The homework and tests are going to be hard to keep up with when you add in the internship. Officially, your internship responsibilities will only fall on Fridays, when no classes are in session, but that’s rarely the case. When the internships get assigned, we’ll know exactly what you’re dealing with in terms of extra workload.”

“What was your internship like?” I ask.

My father once mentioned he worked with soil scientists during his time at the University. They were perfecting a method of removing radiation from samples collected during a research tour made of the East Coast. I always assumed his work was part of a class, but now that I am here at the University, I understand that it was something more. He wasn’t working with professors. My father was working side by side with the people who were in charge of the biological revitalization plan for the entire country. The idea that we get to in some small way begin to help alter the path of the country is thrilling, but the fact that my father said so little about the experience makes me nervous about what surprises the internships themselves might hold.

Ian describes his job working as an aid for the department head of Resource Management, which sounds less exciting than I might have imagined. “Mostly, I ran errands and wished I was back here studying for whatever test I was worried I’d fail. At one point, I was given the job of summarizing colony reports about resource production. I spent hours detailing crop yields and livestock births, thinking I was finally doing something important. Then I learned the reports were several months old. They just wanted to see whether I understood which parts of the reports were important.”

Another test. Ian passed. I hope I can do the same.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. When it does, my dreams are filled with images of events that may or may not be real. My father telling me to study hard. Malachi’s hand in mine as life drains out of his eyes. A dim hallway, at the end of which are brightly lit doors marked by numbers. Blood being washed down rain-soaked streets. A yellow dress. The sound of gunfire. Broken streets.

I bite back a scream as I wake. The sky is still dark. The clock says only an hour has gone by since I climbed into bed. I push away the dreams, force myself to breathe in and out until my muscles relax. In three days, classes will begin. Professor Holt has set me up to fail. Why? Do the administrators believe I have regained my memory of The Testing and because of that understand better how they think? Is there a chance Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt know there is an underground movement to remove them from power and are looking for people who may be in contact with it?

Whatever the reason, Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt have a problem with me. They have set things up in a way they believe will lead to my downfall. Or, at the very least, my being ranked below the other first-year students. They mentioned irregularities in my Testing as the cause of their concern, but I can’t remember enough to know what I did to gain their attention.

The Transit Communicator recording tells me I figured out how to remove the bracelet and the listening device it contained. I must have removed it to make the recording. Could they be aware of my ability to keep some things hidden from them? Is whatever I kept from their watchful eyes now the source of their concern? I don’t know. And while the only way to beat them at this new game is to do as Ian says and excel at my classes, I cannot help but worry. If they expect me to fail, how will they react when I do not? Will scoring top marks keep me safe, or will it prompt anger and punishment?

All my life, I have believed that hard work and effort will be rewarded. Not just with grades but with results. Healthy plants. Abundant food sources. Clean water. Energy to light our homes. Machines that make it possible to communicate and share information to further our country’s growth and help us all not only survive but thrive. For the first time, I am forced to contemplate the possibility that the harder I work, the less I will achieve. That I should work to be average instead of endeavoring to excel. But I’m not convinced that doing so would not draw even more attention, since I have spent the last several months striving for the top marks in my class. Anything less might make my professors question my dedication to the University or make them wonder if I’m aware of their scrutiny. The only real hope I have for success is Michal and Symon’s rebels.

Tension makes my head throb. Closing my eyes, I pull the blankets tight around my shoulders and will the nightmares away. But the dreams still come. A gray-haired man smiling through a fence. Zandri asking me to explain how she died. I open my mouth to tell her, but nothing comes out. Because I don’t know. I need to know.

Zandri fades away, and I see Tomas smiling at me. Holding me in the dark. Speaking of love. Whispering that he might have found a way to keep our memories. He holds up a pill and smiles, and I yank myself out of sleep. Pushing aside the sweaty, tangled sheets, I sit up and work to hold on to the dream. Or is it a memory?

There is only one way to find out. Tomas.

The idea that Tomas has retained his Testing memories is hard to believe. That would mean he not only betrayed me by not telling me what happened to Zandri in The Testing but has deceived me ever since by keeping silent. The Tomas I grew up with in Five Lakes Colony was always honest. He would never have kept his memories of The Testing to himself.

But Tomas is changed. Just as I am. Memories or no, all of us who went into The Testing emerged different. Despite the alterations of our memory, somewhere in each of us resides the truth. Whether I like it or not, it is time for me to discover what that is.

Unfortunately, until the other three teams arrive and the bridge is replaced, I have no choice but to wait. With Professor Holt monitoring my behavior, the enforced inactivity is probably a good thing. All morning, I find myself pacing the floor of my room or walking around the grounds outside.

It is early afternoon when Griffin’s team arrives at the ravine and climbs out of the skimmer. After several minutes, I see them doing what we did—exploring the length of the divide for a better spot to cross. An hour later, they are joined by the four members of Jacoby’s team. From my place under the willow, I squint into the late afternoon sunlight and try to make out what both teams are doing. Jacoby’s team has begun to tinker with their skimmer—perhaps thinking they can use the parts to activate the motor on the bridge. Most of Griffin’s team is working to knot ropes together. All but Raffe. From here, I can see him rubbing the bandage on his arm as he stares into the void. Griffin yells at him to help with the work, but Raffe ignores him. When Raffe does finally turn back to talk to his team, it is obvious he has figured out the solution. They all drop their ropes. Then Jacoby’s group stops work as well. Ten minutes later, they are all standing in front of the residence.

The bridge has barely retracted when the last skimmer comes into view. Olive, Rawson, and Vance climb out. I wait for the fourth, and realize it is only these three. The fourth of their team, a girl with long brown hair whose name I can’t recall, is missing. Stranded at the zoo? Locked in a metal box, screaming for those who abandoned her to return? Or has her voice or air run out? I look toward the residence entrance, where Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt stand. Neither looks surprised by the missing team member. Do they know if she is alive or dead? Do they care?

I turn back and watch Olive and her remaining team members pick up the knotted rope Griffin’s team constructed. An hour passes. The rope bridge grows longer. Vance hammers pieces of wood together and attaches them to the ends of the rope. The sun begins to sink. The wind picks up, and several of the older Government Studies students disappear inside. After fifteen more minutes, Rawson throws down a section of rope and stalks away. Olive screams at him. He turns and yells something back. Vance stops his work and watches as his two teammates argue.

I see Rawson walk to the edge of the ravine and point across. Has he figured out the solution? Whatever he yells is too muddled for me to tell. Olive storms toward him, screaming something I can’t make out. I see Olive’s arms extend, make contact with Rawson’s torso, and shove. Deliberate? Out of anger? It doesn’t matter, because whatever the intent, the momentum pushes Rawson backward and he disappears over the edge.

Screams fill the air. I race with everyone on this side toward the ravine. Ian pushes a sequence of buttons that engages the bridge’s mechanisms. Several students peer over the edge. I pray that Rawson somehow landed on a ledge or grabbed on to a piece of protruding rock and choke back a sob as those who are closest shake their heads. The bridge locks into place, and I can’t help it—I run onto the platform and look down into the hole that goes on for hundreds if not thousands of feet. And see nothing. Rawson, a boy who left his colony and survived The Testing, is gone.

Chapter 11

MINE IS NOT the only face streaked with tears. As I look around, I see students huddled in groups. Their eyes wide with shock and sorrow. Across the bridge, the final-year guide Sam has his arm tight around Olive, who is kneeling at the edge of the ravine, shrieking Rawson’s name. Horror is etched into every inch of her face. The shrieks turn to sobs as Sam gets Olive onto her feet and steers her to the bridge.

Olive takes one step onto the metal walkway, breaks free of Sam’s hold, and runs. Not over the bridge toward the residence, but away. Sam turns and races after her, but Olive is fast and soon disappears. Whether the push was deliberate or an accident born of anger and stress, it’s clear from her reaction that Olive never intended for Rawson to go over the edge. I can’t imagine how she will live with the guilt that action will bring. Quiet murmurs and sniffles fill the air as we all watch the horizon, waiting for Olive and Sam to return. They do not.

Once a dry-eyed Vance stands on this side of the bridge, Professor Holt steps from under the tree into the dwindling sunshine and asks us to gather near. “Normally, we would hold the Induction ceremony tonight. However, in light of this tragedy, it will be postponed until tomorrow so together we can mourn the loss of Rawson Fisk. Dr. Barnes and I will be available to talk to those who need help dealing with this terrible event. All leaders are forced to confront tragedy, but we are sorry that you have to face it so early in your careers. Please let an official know if you are struggling to cope with this horrible loss. We are here to help.”

Dr. Barnes puts his arm around a sniffling girl and leads her into the residence. His posture speaks of caring and concern, but I see the cold calculation in his eyes as they sweep across the mourning crowd. Is he making note of the students who cry or the ones whose eyes are dry? Does he believe tears make a better leader? Will the students who come to him in search of comfort find themselves suddenly placed behind the rest of the pack, or will they be considered worthier of a high leadership position? It is impossible to know, and I am not interested in staying here and finding out.

When Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt disappear inside the residence, I head in the opposite direction. Away from whatever new test Rawson’s death has spawned. When I cross the bridge, my throat tightens. I know I will see Rawson in my dreams and wonder for the rest of my life if making a different choice when selecting my team could have saved his life. Would he be safe inside, preparing to start classes on Monday, if I had picked him first instead of the person I thought would help my team come out on top? While I know Rawson’s death is not my fault, I cannot help the guilt I feel. My team won this Induction task, but that victory wasn’t worth the cost. No victory is.

One more tear slides down my cheek and into the darkness below as I stop at the end of the bridge and whisper my farewell to Rawson. I wouldn’t have counted him among my friends, but he deserved so much better. Then, taking a deep breath, I turn in search of Tomas and the answers only he can give.

The Biological Engineering residence is easy to find. Unlike Government Studies, Biological Engineering houses its students just steps away from the classrooms and labs they’ll be studying in. But while it is easy to find the red brick two-story structure, I’m not sure what to do now that I’m here. In the short time I’ve been assigned to my residence, I have yet to see anyone other than Government Studies students inside or around our building. If there are rules that govern how students of different designated studies interact, I’m unaware of them. Still, there’s a chance my appearance at the Biological Engineering residence could cause trouble. Tomas might not appreciate the unwanted attention, and I’m held in enough suspicion as it is.

I find a spot on the grass next to the building across the street from Tomas’s residence and pretend to stare off in the distance, all the while keeping the front door in my periphery. Several older-looking students come out laughing. A few students go in. I wonder whether the Biological Engineering first years are still undergoing their own Induction. Maybe that’s why I see so few students come and go. A metallic taste fills my mouth at the idea of Tomas and the others facing the same kinds of challenges we did. The same dangers. But then I see a familiar tall brunette strut out the front door, and I spring to my feet. I’d almost forgotten that Kit was assigned to Biological Engineering. If she is here, Tomas could be nearby. She might be able to tell me where to find him or pass along a message.

I follow Kit as she heads down the walkway and turns a corner. Once we are both out of sight of her residence, I pick up the pace. “Kit. Wait up.”

She stops and turns, and her eyes narrow. “What are you doing here? I thought people in Government Studies were going through orientation this week.”

“Who told you that?”

“Tomas. He asked his final-year guide if he could visit some of his friends in other designated fields of study and was told both the Medicine and Government Studies students were unavailable until classes on Monday.” She tosses her waist-length hair and smiles. “What happened? Did you get Redirected like Obidiah?”

The mention of Obidiahs’s name and the amused expression on Kit’s face combined with the fresh horror of Rawson’s death make my hands ball into fists. I want to lash out the way I used to do when I was younger and my brothers picked on me.

Swallowing the bitterness bubbling inside, I say, “There was an accident. Rawson is dead.”

The smug expression vanishes. “Rawson? Our Rawson?”

The tears that glisten in her eyes make the ones I’ve been holding at bay surface. Wiping the wetness from my cheeks, I nod. “They postponed our Induction ceremony so people could get counseling. I needed to get away.” It’s the truth, even if it isn’t the entire reason for my being here. “Do you know where Tomas is? I want to tell him about Rawson before he hears it from someone else.”

“I think he said he was going to the library. A few of our final years were talking about a new gene-splicing technique we’ve never heard of. He wanted to see if he could find out more about it.”

Before she finishes the sentence, I’m turning and yelling my thanks. Then I run as though I can outdistance the sorrow that threatens to spill over.

The library is large. Made of concrete, glass, and faded brick, the building somehow survived the worst of the wars with its contents intact. Most of the damage it suffered was caused after the wars were over by people using the books and furniture for kindling. No one knows how much of the history once contained inside is now missing because of the cold, sometimes chemical-laden winds that whipped through the Midwest during the Sixth Stage. When the United Commonwealth was officially established, one of its first laws banished the practice of book burning. Though our leaders agreed that warmth was important, they believed preserving the written documentation of our history and culture was even more vital. All citizens who had books were directed to bring them to this library, where an official exchanged the valuable pages for blankets, clothing, or other resources. The exchange allowed the country to retain memories from the past that could help rebuild the future.

The result of that law is housed inside this building. Row upon row of books. Some filled with mathematics and history. Others with stories meant for entertainment. Books deemed too faded or damaged to be of use are sent to Omaha Colony for recycling. As revitalization expands the borders of Tosu City and the colonies, new books are found and added. Each colony has its own library. Our collection in Five Lakes is housed in a small waterproofed shed next to the school. But none can rival the pages of our past that can be found here.

I catch sight of a figure bounding down the library’s concrete steps. My heart swells as Tomas’s handsome face turns in my direction. I can tell the minute he spots me standing in the shadow of a tree, and I wait for happiness to light his face.

But it doesn’t.

Love doesn’t leap to his eyes. The dimple that makes me sigh stays hidden from view. His expression and the defensive way his arms are crossing his chest tell me loud and clear that my appearance is unwelcome. After the death of Rawson and learning that Professor Holt is monitoring my life, I should be incapable of surprise or of feeling more hurt. I’m not. Despair builds inside me, making it hard to breathe. A cold chill of panic follows closely behind.

“Hey, Tomas, wait up.” A small, wiry-haired boy with a pointed nose hurries down the stairs. Tomas turns so I can see only his profile, but it is enough to spot the dimple appear as he waves his hand in greeting. The other boy reaches Tomas and says, “I’ll walk back to the residence with you.”

“I’m not going back to the residence yet. There’s a plant I spotted yesterday by the chicken coop. Because of the Induction, I didn’t have time to look . . .” Tomas’s words trail off as he glances at the pointy-nose boy, who is sagging under the weight in his arms. “I could find the plant after I help you take your books back to our residence. They look a little heavy for you to carry on your own.”

The boy frowns. “They’re not that heavy. I’ve carried far more than this back to the residence. Go ahead and track down your plant. I can take care of myself.” The boy shifts his grip on the books and trudges down the walkway as if to prove his point.

Tomas immediately walks in the opposite direction. Not once does he glance at me or encourage me to follow. But I do. Because, despite his earlier expression, I know Tomas. He will be waiting for me.

With classes out of session until Monday, few people walk the campus. Still, I am careful not to walk behind Tomas in case someone is watching. I leave the walkway and cross the grass, taking a more direct route.

The chicken coop doesn’t contain chickens. At least, it doesn’t now. Though a great number of animal species were killed off by the wars, for some reason chickens survived mostly unscathed. Scientists speculate that the genetic enhancements and antibiotics given to the female chickens to help protect such an important food source helped keep them immune from the worst of the postwar afflictions. Male chickens, however, were not as lucky. In the years leading up to the Seven Stages of War, roosters were given fewer drugs since they weren’t as vital a source of sustenance. Fewer of them survived the onslaught of chemicals released by biological warfare. Those that did survive suffered a variety of physical ailments, including partial paralysis, nerve damage, or cancerous growths. With so few living roosters, the chicken population began to die off, so this coop was created.

Through a great deal of trial and error, Commonwealth scientists boosted the roosters’ immune systems, filtered out the genetic changes caused by the wartime chemicals, and created a new breed of rooster that could thrive in this new environment. This old brick building was too small for most of the University’s needs, so it was chosen to house the new generation of roosters as they were studied and refined. During orientation, we learned that the building was last used to house animals over sixty years ago. Since then, the building had been cleaned of chicken feathers, but no other official use for it had been found. Instead it has become a destination for the occasional student looking for a quiet indoor place to study when the tension of the residence and the library gets too high. Of course, this is only when the weather is nice. The roof is known to leak.

The red brick of the building is faded. The bright sunshine highlights every crack in the mortar. I stand on the walkway in front of the door and look around the area to see if anyone is watching before I turn the handle and step inside.

The interior of the building is filled with bits of grass and dried leaves. My nose wrinkles as it catches the scent of a mouse or small animal who must have died somewhere nearby. Though it would be more pleasant to go back outside and wait, I do a thorough search of both the main room and the smaller one to the right for hidden cameras, all the while pretending to examine the electrical systems. If someone is watching, I don’t want that person to know I’m aware of it. When I find no signs of observation, I walk to a corner of the main room, where I will be out of view from anyone who might glance through a window, and slide to the dusty floor. Slipping the bag off my shoulder, I pull my legs up to my chest, rest my head on my knees, and wait. I shiver as the cold of the concrete seeps into my body.

More than once, I stop myself from moving around to keep warm or glancing out the window to see if Tomas is coming. Instead, I close my eyes and think about the happiness I felt when I first arrived at the University and saw this building. It was a week after The Testing. The sun was hot on my skin and I couldn’t stop smiling. I had made it through the Testing. I was living my dream of following in my father’s footsteps. Everything was possible, especially with Tomas holding my hand firmly in his. I hadn’t known then how precious that happiness was. How free I felt or how quickly I would realize that nothing about my life was as I thought. That I was trapped.

Did Tomas know that then? I try to picture his face as we walked around the campus, discussing our futures. Were there signs that he retained his Testing memories? Did he understand then what our future really held? And if so, can I live with not only the betrayal of his silence but whatever actions his silence is hiding?

All thoughts of betrayal and secrets disappear as the door swings open and Tomas walks inside. When he opens his arms, I don’t hesitate for a second before rising and stepping into them. No matter what has happened, Tomas is part of my past. He is part of my home. In the warmth and safety of Tomas’s arms, the tears fall unchecked. As I bury my face in Tomas’s chest, the picture of Rawson stumbling into nothingness replays in my mind. I was too far away to see the look on his face, but I can imagine how the frustration over the task jolted into terror as he slid into the abyss. He left his colony to come here and provide aid to the country. So much hope. Gone in an instant.

Tomas says nothing as I soak his shirt in tears. His arms hold me tight, offering comfort and protection. When my emotions are wrung dry, he doesn’t ask for an explanation. He just places a soft kiss on my lips, tells me he loves me, and says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get here. I was worried you’d think I wasn’t coming.”

“I knew you’d be here.” It might be the only thing I really was certain of. “Were you worried someone was following you?” I know I backtracked once on my way here just in case Dr. Barnes had someone trailing me.

Tomas shakes his head. “I ran into Professor Kenzie, the head of our residence. He wanted to talk about whether I’d be interested in adding another class to my schedule.”

“How many have you been assigned?”

“Six. Agreeing to take the new class was the fastest way to get here to you, so I guess I’m now taking seven.”

That’s a lot, but still two less than me.

The tension I feel must show on my face, because Tomas’s eyes narrow with concern. “How many classes do you have?”

“Nine.” By the way Tomas’s eyes widen, I can tell none of the first years in his field of study have been assigned as many. I doubt anyone in any discipline has. Dr. Barnes has singled me out. Already, I feel the pressure. Pushing that aside, I ask, “What is your residence like?”

“At first it was great. There are ten labs in the basement for us and a greenhouse out back so we don’t have to walk to the controlled environment dome in the stadium. We were excited to get our class schedules and start work. Then our Induction started.”

Dread grips me as he talks about walking with his fellow first-year students into the large stadium at the edge of the University campus. Our Early Studies orientation instructor told us the stadium contained a greenhouse. Inside that greenhouse, the final-year Biological Engineering students had constructed an obstacle course designed to test the knowledge and resourcefulness of the incoming class. I try to picture what Tomas describes—seven stations where students were required to identify plants or animals by touch or smell or by reading lines of their genetic code. A correct answer meant passing to the next station. An incorrect one required the first-year student to face a physical challenge. Failure to pass the physical challenge resulted in elimination from the obstacle course and Redirection out of the Biological Engineering program and the University.

Redirection.

Bile rises in my throat. The word rings loud in my head, so I barely hear Tomas talk about the one question he answered incorrectly and the hundred-foot-long, fifteen-foot-wide path filled with hazardous plant life he had to navigate before being allowed to proceed to the next station.

“Most of the ground and shrubs were covered with poison ivy. Not the kind with the pink veins, although I saw a few of those near the edges of the path. Mostly, it was the typical variety we have growing at the edges of my father’s farm.”

Tomas is healthy and whole and seated beside me, but I still let out a sigh of relief. The garden-variety poison ivy isn’t fun. I walked through a patch of it when my father let me tag along on a scouting mission when I was six. If it weren’t for the salve Dr. Flint put on my ankles, I would have scratched them raw. The red, itchy skin was unpleasant, but it didn’t kill me. Had I run into the other kind of poison ivy, I wouldn’t have lived. My father says radiation interacted with the oily allergen contained in the leaves, transforming that strain into something incredibly deadly. While brushing the skin with the allergen will only cause blister-laden rashes, a touch of the oil on the tongue or an open wound as small as a pinprick will allow the poison to penetrate. Once the poison is inside the body, it attacks the cardiovascular system and typically results in pulmonary failure. Burning the plant and breathing in the fumes causes an even speedier death.

My father and brothers have carefully destroyed several small patches of pink ivy around our colony, using gloves to pull the roots from the soil and a special chemical to kill the plant and counteract the effects of the poisonous oils. I shouldn’t be surprised that someone would think it appropriate to use such a dangerous plant as part of a residence initiation, but I am. Perhaps because I know from my father’s work that pink ivy has been spotted in only six colonies. Never once has it been reported in the area surrounding Tosu City. Students who grew up in the city might never have come across or even heard of the deadly plant. Unless they got lucky, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

Tomas continues. “Your dad would have been able to identify all the plants there, but I couldn’t. I spotted poison sumac, prickly poppy, and the red-flowered jessamine that killed off Scotty Rollison’s goats when we were kids.”

The red flowers are another wartime mutation; they’re filled with pollen that attacks the immune system.

“Since I didn’t know all the plants, I tucked the bottom of my pant legs into my boots and stuck with the path I knew wasn’t going to kill me. I walked across the poison ivy, reached the other side, and moved on to the next station.”

Smart. Although, by the way he scratches at his left calf, I’m guessing he might need some salve.

Tomas doesn’t seem to realize he is scratching. His eyes are far away. Lost in a memory. “There were fifteen of us first years when we started initiation. Only eight made it through. Five of us from the colonies and three from Tosu City. The rest . . .” His voice trails off, but I know the ending to the sentence.

The unsuccessful students were Redirected out of the program. Removed from the University? I picture Obidiah being loaded into the skimmer and feel tears threaten again as I grieve for students whose names I don’t know and wonder about those I care about. What has become of Stacia? Did she survive the Medical Induction? And what has become of the others? Will I see their faces on campus, or will they join the ones in my dreams?

I take Tomas’s hand and entwine my fingers with his and then tell him about my experience. The scavenger hunt. Picking teams. The snake. The airfield. The trek around the city that showed how much work still needs to be done to rewind the clock to the days before the wars. I don’t tell him about the conversation I had with Michal before moving to the residence or about the rebels. Not yet.

Tomas’s hand tightens around mine when I mention teaming up with Will. Ever since listening to the recording, I’ve wondered if Tomas’s subconscious remembers the events I outlined on the Transit Communicator. But now I’m forced to consider whether my dream was right. If this dislike of Will is proof that Tomas’s memories of The Testing are intact.

Ignoring the gnawing anxiety, I tell the rest. Being maneuvered into climbing into the steel box. My certainty that I had been abandoned. Choosing to free Damone despite his horrific behavior. Reaching the final task. Learning that Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt are watching my every move. Waiting for me to do something that will result in my elimination from the University. My Redirection.

I hug my arms to my chest as I tell of Rawson’s final moments. The hands that pushed him and sent him stumbling to his death. The shattered reaction of the girl who killed without understanding what effect her act of frustration would bring. Finally, the guilt I feel over my part in the loss of Rawson’s life.

“It’s not your fault, Cia.” Tomas shifts so he is sitting across from me. His eyes meet mine with fierce intensity as he reaches for my hands.

“I know.” I do, but part of me still believes my choice in teammates would have made a difference.

I glance down at my hands held tight in Tomas’s and notice he no longer wears the bracelet of the Early Studies colony students. Circling his wrist is a heavy gold and silver band. Etched on the center disk is a stylized tree underscored by three wavy lines. The tree is an obvious symbol for a field of study dedicated to revitalizing the earth. The tangible proof that Tomas has become a part of something I am not tugs at my heart. For the first time since we left Five Lakes, we are not part of the same team. Separated by symbols. Maybe more.

Removing my hands from his, I know it is time to find out how great the divide between us is.

Chapter 12

“I’VE STARTED HAVING dreams,” I say. “Like my father.”

Before I left for The Testing, my father told me about his dreams. Dreams filled with a decaying city and explosions that ripped apart flesh and bone. Whether the dreams were real or imagined my father couldn’t say, but he shared them with me in the hope they might prepare me for what was to come. He used the dreams to demonstrate a lesson he needed me to learn. Not to trust anyone. But I did.

The way Tomas stills and the wary look in his eyes makes my nerves jump. “How long have you been having them?”

“A while.” The scars on my arm tingle, and I swallow hard. “I don’t recall everything yet, but I remember some things.”

His eyes search mine. “What do you remember?”

“Not much. Mostly flashes. Malachi dying. Will smiling over the barrel of a gun. You and me plotting to prevent the memory loss.” My heart slams against my chest as I wait for him to say something. Anything. The silence lasts a minute. Two. Each second that passes stretches my nerves. Pulls at my heart until I can’t take it any longer. “You remember.”

Sorrow, horror, and an emotion I can’t identify flicker across his face before his features go blank. “Remember what?”

“Everything. You took the pills. You kept your memory of The Testing. All this time. You remember.” I scramble to my feet even as my conscience is pricked by the fact that I too have some memories. That the Transit Communicator gave me a glimpse into the past. Something I never shared with Tomas.

But that self-reproach burns away as I hear guilt and fear snake through Tomas’s words. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” He climbs to his feet and holds out a hand I refuse to take. Pacing the small area between the windows, he says, “We were each supposed to take one of the pills, but I didn’t have time to get you one before they gave out the results. I thought there would be time. I’m still not sure why I took one of the pills before getting my results. Maybe I was hoping the medication would wear off before they performed the memory erasure. You wouldn’t think I went back on our agreement, and I wouldn’t have to remember. But I do.”

Pain blooms deep at the confirmation of Tomas’s betrayal. Hot anger. Icy terror. How could he not have told me? I force myself to stay strong and not give in to the rush of emotion. There are things I have to know if I want to survive. Answers that only Tomas and his memory can give.

I take a deep breath, swallow down the suffocating hurt, and will my voice to stay steady. “Dr. Barnes is watching me. Something I did during The Testing made him think I’m some kind of threat. What did I do?”

“I don’t know.” The words and concern on his face ring true. “You figured out how to remove the identification bracelets, which allowed us to talk without being overheard. Maybe Dr. Barnes is wondering about the silences that occurred when we left them behind.”

A possibility I’d already considered.

“When you realized the bracelets contained microphones, you were worried that Testing officials recorded our conversations before we reached The Testing Center. I didn’t think they would bother since they had cameras watching us, but maybe they did. Dr. Barnes could have heard you mention spotting the cameras or you telling me about your father’s dreams.”

The idea that Dr. Barnes might know about my father’s flashes of Testing memory makes me shiver. But while that would give Dr. Barnes cause to strike out at my family, I can’t imagine why my pre-Testing conversation with Tomas would draw his attention now. Surely, if that discussion was recorded, Dr. Barnes and the other Testing officials would have listened to it before finalizing their decisions about who would attend the University.

If Dr. Barnes were concerned about those things, he would be targeting Tomas, too. But Tomas hasn’t been assigned nine classes, and he has not had a sense of being watched more closely than anyone else. Which means something else has prompted Dr. Barnes’s interest. Something Tomas doesn’t remember or refuses to say. I will have to figure out Dr. Barnes’s motivation on my own.

Now there is only one last thing to ask.

I look into Tomas’s handsome face. His gray eyes are filled with worry, guilt, and love for me. I yearn to touch him, but keep my hands firmly at my sides. I open my mouth to speak the words that have the potential to shatter everything between us.

But I can’t do it.

I would rather live with speculation and uncertainty than lose the one piece of my life that connects me to my home and family. The alternative is too painful to think about. If that brands me a coward, so be it. I do not want to face being here at the University alone.

Tomas takes my hand, and I let him web his fingers through mine and pull me back to the ground. I lean my head on his shoulder and try to ignore the hollow ache I feel. We talk of inconsequential things—the size of the rooms at our residences, our guides, the attitudes of the first-year Tosu City students.

“The ones in my house didn’t have any interest in talking to those of us from the colonies until after the Induction. Maybe that was part of the reason for those tests. To make us realize that, no matter where we grew up, we all have the same problems to solve. We’re not that different,” Tomas says.

I wonder if he’s right. Are the Tosu City students more likely to think of us as equals now?

Tomas pulls me close. I lay my head against his heart. Its beat is steady and strong. Quietly, he says, “I meant to tell you that I kept my Testing memories, but I didn’t know how. You were so happy when The Testing was over. So much like the girl I graduated with back home. I wanted to give you time to just be happy. I promised myself I’d tell you after your birthday, but I could never find the right moment. The subject would change, or you’d smile and kiss me and I’d put it off. I kept telling myself that I’d do it tomorrow.”

He’s not wrong about the subject changing. I knew Tomas had something to tell me, and I didn’t want to learn what it was. I was a coward. Terrified that whatever secrets Tomas harbored would shatter my fragile hope that the stories on the Transit Communicator weren’t real. I didn’t want to face the truth, so I ran from it then. Now I have to face my fears.

“What happened to Zandri?” The words are barely a whisper.

Tomas stiffens beside me. The hand that was stroking my hair stills. He knows the answer, but says nothing. Part of me wants to pretend he didn’t hear the question. Everything inside me screams to walk away now before I lose everything. But I don’t, because I don’t want to be like Damone. Because Zandri deserves better. Because if Tomas was behind her death, then I have already lost everything. I just don’t know it. Pretending otherwise is a lie. I have had enough of lies.

I turn my head to face Tomas, and my words are stronger this time. “During the last test, what happened to Zandri?”

Tomas’s eyes shift away from mine. “I don’t know.”

Something inside me shuts down, and I pull away from him. “That’s not true. You had her bracelet in your bag.”

Silence. This time I refuse to be the one who breaks it. Tomas finally does. “What do you remember?”

Nothing. Just my whispered, sometimes unintelligible words asking Dr. Barnes about Zandri’s fate. His laughing response that I should already know. Finding the bracelet among my possessions. Not knowing what it meant. Only that I had found it in Tomas’s bag while trying to keep him alive after Will’s final betrayal. In the darkness, I assumed the bracelet was from another Testing candidate who was killed during the test, but I was mistaken. Tomas met Zandri on the unrevitalized plains of the fourth test, and he never told me.

But my secrets aren’t the ones in question now, so I say, “It doesn’t matter what I recall. I want to know what happened. You saw Zandri. I know you did because you took her identification bracelet off her bag and put it in your own. Why? What happened to her? What did you do?”

Tomas clenches and unclenches his hands, and suddenly I am not here. I am standing on the cracked earth. Back in the Testing area. My left arm aches under white bandages. My skin itches and is coated with sweat and dirt. Tomas stands in front of me, looking travel stained and tense as his hands clench at his side. Next to his hands, hanging from a sheath strapped to his pants, is a knife. A knife streaked with blood. There are hundreds of ways the blood could have gotten on Tomas’s blade, but only one that explains his silence now.

“You killed Zandri.”

“It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Part of me has desperately held out hope that Tomas was not responsible. That’s the part that begins to scream. “How do you kill someone by mistake? Zandri was our friend.” More Tomas’s friend than mine. She flirted with him. She might have even been in love with him. And he ended her life.

I can’t stay here. I’m on my feet and bolting for the exit, but Tomas is fast and gets there before me. Not just fast. Years of working side by side with his father on the farm have made him strong. I kick and push, but no matter how I fight, I can’t move him out of the path of the door.

“You have to listen to me.” Tomas clamps his hands on my shoulders, and I jerk back. I can’t bear to have him touch me. I want to lean into the warmth and security he has always provided, but I won’t let myself. Not anymore. The safety I feel with him is a lie.

Tomas removes his hands and runs one through his dark, wavy hair. “You have to listen. I never intended to hurt Zandri. You left to find water. Will and I fought. I was so angry. Mad that I was injured. Angry that you wouldn’t leave Will behind and that you stormed off and left me there with him. And I was furious that we were out in the middle of nowhere because Dr. Barnes and his people wanted to see who would kill in order to succeed. Will walked off carrying the canteen with the last of our water. He probably thought taking it would keep me from leaving, but I didn’t care. I picked my bicycle off the ground and climbed on, thinking I’d come find you. That’s when I saw her.”

Blood pounds through my ears. My stomach heaves. I don’t want to hear about the death of the blond artist who was always so beautiful and confident. But I wrap my arms around myself as though they will provide a barrier against the chill seeping through my body, and I wait for the rest.

“At first I didn’t recognize her. Her arms and face were stained with dirt. It wasn’t until the sunlight caught the gold in her hair that I realized who was staggering down the road toward me.”

Closing my eyes, I picture Zandri outside of the Five Lakes school—her eyes laughing, the gauzy dresses she favored smudged with paint, and her golden hair shining bright in the sun. It’s almost impossible to imagine her as Tomas describes. Dirty and disheveled and dead.

“She screamed when she spotted me and ran from me. I should have let her go. She might have lived if I hadn’t given chase.” Pain shadows Tomas’s face. Guilt weaves through his halting words. “But I had to see if she was all right. I knew you’d want me to.”

The words slap my heart.

“She wasn’t steady on her feet, so it wasn’t hard to catch up. When I did, she snarled and bit until I finally made her understand who I was and that I wasn’t going to hurt her. I never meant to hurt her.”

Tomas’s face is pale. His eyes filled with grief. “She was so relieved finally to find someone she could trust. Then Will appeared, and Zandri went crazy. She lunged at Will, and he pushed her back and yelled at her to stop. But she didn’t. She accused him of sabotaging their team in the third test and then started shouting at me. Seeing me with Will must have scared her. She said that I couldn’t be trusted—that no one could—and attacked. She had a stick that was sharpened to a point.

“She caught Will in the side, and he punched her hard across the mouth. Suddenly, I had my knife in my hand. She must have thought I was going to use it on her. Or maybe she wasn’t thinking at all. I don’t know, because I didn’t pay attention to her. I was too busy yelling at Will. Watching him pull out his gun. I threatened him with my knife. He laughed, which made me even angrier. I was glad I had an excuse to hurt him. I didn’t know I could be happy at the thought of causing someone pain. I don’t know why I listened to him when he yelled for me to watch out. But I did, and I turned.”

Tomas looks down at his hands. “The knife punched through her stomach. I can still feel her blood as it drained her life across my hands. The next thing I knew, Will was helping me lay her on the ground and she was gone.”

There are tears on Tomas’s cheeks. My arms ache to reach for him, to soothe the pain and grieve with him for the loss of our friend. But I don’t know how to cross the divide our secrets have built between us.

“Will grabbed Zandri’s canteen. I took the bracelet off her bag. We buried her in a dry riverbed.” He wipes the tears from his face and shakes his head. “I’ve replayed it a hundred times in my mind. If only one thing had gone differently. If I hadn’t taken out my knife. If Will hadn’t appeared when he did or yelled for me to turn. If you hadn’t left Will and me alone—”

Disbelief steals my breath. “This is my fault?”

“I don’t know.” Anger and guilt simmer in every word.

Tomas might say he doesn’t know, but I do. I can see the accusation. The bitterness. The hurt. Tomas is angry. Angry he took a life. Angry he was put in the position to do so.

Because of me.

But while my choice to trust Will was wrong, I was not to blame. Dr. Barnes and The Testing officials put us on that patch of cracked earth. Tomas allowed his frustration with Will to boil over. He let his emotions get the best of him and drew his weapon. He will have to live with that.

Some of what I’m thinking must show on my face because Tomas reaches out his hand and steps toward me. “I don’t blame you.”

“Yes, you do.” My words are quiet. Calm. The truth. My voice is as hollow as my heart when I say, “It’s getting late. We both need to get back. People are watching.”

Tomas doesn’t stop me as I walk around him and open the door, but his voice chases over my shoulder as I start to step outside. “You aren’t to blame, Cia. I am. But so is The Testing and every official who works for it. They deserve to pay for what they’ve done.”

The words make me stop and look back at the boy I have known and cared for almost all my life. He looks years older and wiser than when we first climbed into the skimmer that delivered us to The Testing. We’ve changed. The Testing did that to us.

“You’re right,” I say. “They deserve to pay.”

I want to be angry with Tomas. For his deception. For the terrible part he played in Zandri’s death. I want to hate Will. His willingness to trade others’ lives for his own success makes my stomach turn and my soul ache. Anger and hate are powerful, hot, energized. So different from the icy cold despair that fills me now.

I take a winding path through the University campus as I return to my residence. I tell myself that I am doing it to make sure anyone who sees me assumes I am out for a casual walk, but deep inside, I know different. Part of me wants Tomas to look for and find me. To convince me that we can still be partners. That our love is stronger than the terrible choices we have been forced to make. That I am not alone.

But I am.

By the time I arrive at the bridge to the Government Studies residence, all evidence of the final Induction task has been cleared away. No boxes or planks or tools. Nothing that speaks of the tragedy that occurred just hours earlier.

I step onto the bridge and peer down. This time I am not looking for Rawson; instead, I feel like I am looking for myself. Staring into the rocky void is like peering into a reflector of my emotions.

Shadows.

Emptiness.

A hole where once grass and flowers grew that has been transformed into a place where nothing thrives.

I close my eyes and see Rawson. Zandri. Malachi. My Testing roommate, Ryme. Other faces I have no names for, but whose empty eyes haunt me in my sleep. Lurking somewhere in the residence is Will. One who has been rewarded for murder and betrayal. How many others inside that building have killed without hesitation? How many have been rewarded for their treachery with the future leadership of our country? How can I face my fellow students each day wondering what horrors they are capable of?

The five scars on my left arm burn. The darkness of the void beckons, and for the briefest moment, I consider answering its call. I grip the steel railing and let the chill of the metal fill me. How easy it would be to let the emptiness swallow me. To find release from sadness at the bottom. To be welcomed by those I have lost and turn away from the problems I face now.

But I don’t. I take my hand from the rail and step back. This is one choice I will never make.

There was a time immediately after the end of the wars when the hopelessness of the scarred world led many to seek the peace of death. I understand better now the despair that can lead to that choice, as well as the courage it takes to fight. The vision it takes for scientists like my father to create hope in his lab and watch it die over and over again until finally it flourishes in the blighted soil. The strength it requires to turn from the easy path and face the hard.

I look at the University campus—a place built on hope and a promise that those who study here will make this world better. A promise I believe in and will find the strength and courage to fight for. Starting Monday, I will do what it takes to get the information Michal and those working in secret need to bring down Dr. Barnes and The Testing—no matter what the cost to me might be.

Chapter 13

FOUR OF US are missing.

“Induction Day is a day filled with hope. Today you, our new students, will officially be accepted into the Government field of study.” Professor Holt stands behind a small podium that has been placed under the willow tree near the Government Studies residence. Her hair is slicked off her face. Her scarlet-painted lips curl into an expression of geniality as she addresses those of us assembled here who are in her charge. First years stand in front. The rest of our fellow Government Studies students are behind us, ready to celebrate the entrance of our class into their ranks.

Or most of our class. Rawson is dead. Olive never returned to campus after her flight. Neither did the girl named Izzy who failed to finish Induction with her team. Those losses I knew about. But one student I expected to see is also unaccounted for. Vance—the blond boy and fourth member of Olive’s team—is missing. An entire team from Induction is gone. There are whispers that Olive, Izzy, and Vance left the University and returned home. For their sakes, I hope that is true.

“The Induction process was designed by the final years to show that not only will you rely on your own resourcefulness, but you will also need to trust and work effectively with others in order to succeed in the careers you have ahead of you. Those who cannot be trusted to consider the effects of their actions on others cannot be trusted to lead.” Professor Holt sighs. “Sadly, not all students who demonstrate the intellect required of Government Studies students also work well with others. We work hard to identify those students early in their careers so they can be Redirected into more appropriate fields. Because of this, only twelve of the sixteen initially directed into this field will embark upon studying it. It is our hope we will not need to reevaluate the twelve of you remaining in the future.”

First-year students shift beside me. The threat is unmistakable. Professor Holt’s serious expression is replaced by a wide smile. “Your guides have collected and turned in the bracelets that identified you as members of the University’s Early Studies program. It is my honor to replace them now with the symbol you will serve for the rest of your lives.”

She calls our names one by one and asks us to come forward. Griffin struts. Damone preens. Others show various forms of pride as they hold out their arm and allow Professor Holt to fasten a thick bracelet onto their wrist. When my turn comes, I am careful to keep a pleased expression on my face despite the way my nerves jump as Professor Holt reaches out for my hand. The silver and gold coiled bracelet is cold as it slides over my skin. There is an audible click as Professor Holt fastens the band around my wrist.

Will’s name is called as I take my place in line and study the bracelet. Gold and silver. The joining of the materials used for the colony and Tosu City Early Studies bracelets. Now the two types of metal are combined in a pattern that, like The Testing versions of the bracelets, makes it impossible to see where the band comes together. Fused to the center is a disk made of silver, outlined in gold. Etched across the disk is a picture of scales suspended from a bar, hanging in perfect balance. Streaking through the middle of the disk from the top of the bar to below the scales is a lightning bolt. My personal symbol combined with the symbol for justice.

After Enzo receives his bracelet, Professor Holt congratulates us all again before her expression turns solemn. “Though today is a day of happiness, I would be remiss not to remember the life of Rawson Fisk. He was a student of keen intellect with a love of history and a passionate desire to do whatever it took to improve the lives of his family and colony. He will be missed. But though his death is terrible, it is not without purpose.” Professor Holt’s tone changes from one of kindness to fervent conviction. “This tragedy demonstrates better than any classroom lesson that leaders can never let their emotions get the better of them. Cool heads and calm logic must always prevail if we are to succeed in restoring our country to what it was before the Seven Stages of War.”

I hear murmurs of assent behind me.

“We will hang a plaque commemorating that sentiment in the residence to make sure Rawson Fisk’s lesson is never forgotten.”

As Professor Holt invites us inside the residence for a small celebration, I look toward the ravine and the bridge that was once missing.

“Hey, the party is inside.”

Slowly, I turn to see Ian watching me. “I know. I wanted a few minutes to remember Rawson before I go in.”

The truth, but only a shade of it. “Professor Holt never mentioned the others. Were they Redirected?”

Ian looks over his shoulder at the residence. “I don’t know.” But I can see by the sorrow in his eyes that he does.

I finger the band on my wrist. “Are we ever allowed to take these off?”

“Dr. Barnes insists on students wearing their identification at all times.” A fierce intensity shines in Ian’s eyes. “Dr. Barnes believes that the bracelet allows people you come in contact with to understand you are a future Commonwealth leader. More important, wearing your symbol demonstrates that you have accepted the future it represents.”

A compelling reason, but I doubt it is more than a shadow of the real one. Horror streaks through me. The Testing bracelet contained a listening device. I was not wearing one of these Inducted-student bracelets in the chicken coop, but Tomas was. Did officials hear our conversation? Does Dr. Barnes know Tomas remembers his Testing? Does he know that even though the two of us are separated by guilt and anger, we are unified in our desire to end the process that brought us here?

“Do you mind if I take a look at your bracelet?” Ian takes my arm and probes it with his fingers. “I thought the design looked a little different this year. See . . .” He uses his index fingers and thumbs to squeeze two spots on the band, and it clicks apart. “This one is thicker and looks a little heavier.” He refastens the bracelet with a nod. “They talked about replacing the recorder with a tracking device last year. One of the first years got turned around while returning to campus from his internship. He was lucky safety officials found him in an unrevitalized part of the city before a wild animal did.”

A tracking device. That is what is contained inside this metal band. Since Ian freely shared this information, can I assume no one is recording or listening to our conversation?

“Hey, we should get inside so you don’t miss the entire party. Trust me when I say you won’t have a lot of time for parties when classes start in two days.” As Ian turns toward the residence with a grin, I do the same.

I eat. I laugh at jokes. All the while, I feel the weight of the bracelet and the tracking device it contains on my arm. The party lasts long into the night. It is only when the upper years seek their beds that I feel I can return to my room without arousing comment. It takes me a dozen tries before I can replicate Ian’s removal of the bracelet. I place it on the table and rub my wrist before examining the woven metal. I fish my pocketknife out of my bag, hold the bracelet to the light, and probe the back of the disc with the thinnest blade. The blade slides off the metal and nicks me twice before I find the almost imperceptible groove on the edge of the disc and pry off the back panel. Inside are a battery and an even smaller copper metal pulse radio transmitter.

Professor Holt spoke of the need for trust. Yet in front of me is the evidence to the contrary. I study the device. My father has never used homing devices, but Hamin and Zeen experimented with them as a method for tracking farm animals. The design of this one seems simple. A pulse signal is sent from this transmitter to a separate receiver, which communicates the location of the device. The size and simplistic design of the battery and transmitter suggest it is not that powerful and probably can only transfer data to the receiver if the receiver is somewhere close by. After several tries, my brothers were able to boost the power of their transmitter to reach a receiver up to a mile away. I doubt this one’s capabilities are much stronger, but I can’t be certain. I just have to assume the device is more powerful than I think and find a way to limit its ability to report my movements.

Since I have no idea how I’m going to do that, I climb into bed. Dreams of Tomas stabbing Zandri, or Dr. Barnes yanking me out of a hiding place and pushing me into the ravine, chase me from darkness until dawn. By the time I wake, I have still not come up with an idea how to limit the tracking of my movements without alerting Dr. Barnes that I am aware of the device. I could remove the transmitter and leave it in my room, but people might start to wonder why the transmitter never moved. The best idea I have is to enclose the transmitter with a thin layer of metal to block the signal and hope those who monitor our movement believe my device to be faulty. But that too might raise more questions than I want asked.

Putting the bracelet back together, I snap it on my wrist and head downstairs for breakfast. With no classes to study for yet, the first years are still in a celebratory mood. Although, as the day progresses, I see faces turn serious. For good reason. We have all been Inducted into the Government Studies program, but that acceptance is not a guarantee of our success. Only our performances in our classes can do that.

I still haven’t figured out a good way to counteract the transmitter in my bracelet by the next morning. But, today, if they monitor my movements, they will see what they expect to see. A University student going about her first day of classes. The pull of new ideas and learning is strong, but so is my fear that I might not measure up to the standards Professor Holt has set for me. As I finger the Government bracelet around my wrist, I can’t help but wonder how many other first-year students from the colonies have made it through their Inductions. Will Stacia be seated in one of my classes, or will she be remembered by future Medical students for the lesson she provided?

Breakfast conversation in the dining hall is subdued, and I notice I am not the only one who barely eats the food on the tables in front of us. Ian catches my eye as I push back my chair and hoist my bag onto my shoulder. He nods. I nod back, grateful for the support if uncertain as to the motive. It is time for my first class. Global History.

Fourteen of us are seated in the classroom when Professor Lee arrives carrying an armload of papers. He drops them on a large black table in the front that is already stacked with worn books. The only students I recognize in the room are Enzo and a broad-shouldered boy named Brick, who is a colony student like me. The rest are Tosu City students I know nothing about. Enzo does not look at any of them as they talk among themselves. He looks up only when Professor Lee finishes organizing his materials and addresses the class.

“Welcome to Global History. To make sure we don’t repeat the mistakes that led to the Seven Stages of War, we must understand past mistakes. In this class, we will learn what the landscape of the world looked like before the wars and study the countries and governments that dominated that landscape. Each week, we will focus on a different time period. You will be required to learn the names of the leaders, identify countries based on maps, and explain the pros and cons of the government structures of the most influential countries during that time. I will then select the most advanced students in the class for a special study of what is known about the current global structure and what it means for our future.”

The prospect of learning how the world is recovering beyond the United Commonwealth borders has me sitting up straighter. And I’m not the only one. The room crackles with excitement and something more. Under the exhilaration is an underlying tension. Only the select few chosen by Professor Lee will be allowed to participate in that portion of the class. Another competition. Another test.

He gives us a big smile and pushes a button on the wall. “So, let’s get to work, shall we?”

A large screen descends, and depicted on it is a world from the past. The next hour is filled with names of countries and people long dead. Governments destroyed by war or corruption. New regimes that rose to take their places. My pencil races across the page in front of me as I try to capture every word, knowing that any detail missed might be the difference between success and failure. Almost two hours later, my hand aches as I scribble down the homework instructions before heading to the next class. Enzo walks with me across the campus to Science Building Four.

Advanced Calculus.

Vic smiles at me from a corner desk. A boy named Xander nods from his seat in the front. Then class begins. Ordinary differential equations. Partial differential equations. Bessel and Legendre functions. Several pages of homework are assigned. A test will be given on Wednesday to assess our understanding of the material.

When class is over, I hurry out to avoid the familiar faces in the room. While I am grateful to see them, I am not sure I’m prepared to hear what they have to say. Will they tell me Stacia, whom I have yet to see, or other members of our Testing candidate class have failed their Inductions? That they have been Redirected? Instead, I find a spot outside that is mostly hidden from view to eat the apple and roll I slipped into my bag this morning. I have an hour to start on my homework before the next class begins.

United Commonwealth History and Law are followed by World Languages. Then my last class of the day: Chemistry. States of matter, properties of solutions, kinetics and atomic and molecular structure are discussed. A project assigned. And finally, classes are done, but my day is far from over. There are chemical equations to balance, a paper on the Commonwealth Government’s founding debates to write, and maps to memorize. All must be complete by Wednesday, with more to be assigned by my other professors tomorrow. I know Dr. Barnes will be watching to see which students fall behind. I will not be one of them.

The dining hall is filled with laughter and conversation. Students compare notes on their homework and teachers, and buzz about the news that internships will not be assigned for at least another week. I say nothing as I fill a plate with greens, some kind of spicy pork, and sliced potatoes cooked with onions and walnuts. Part of me is relieved to have one less thing to worry about for the next seven days. The other part is anxious to learn whether or not I will be assigned an internship that will allow me to collect information for Michal and the rebels. Pushing thoughts of the internship aside, I ignore Ian’s and Will’s beckoning waves and head upstairs to study while I eat. When I finally sleep that night, Malachi and Zandri join me in my dreams. They quiz me on the names of country capitals, help balance chemistry equations, and insist the ending to my paper could be stronger.

They’re right. When I wake, I rewrite the final page before getting dressed for the second day of class.

More professors. More assignments.

Electrical and Magnetic Physics. The Rise and Fall of Technology. Art, Music, and Literature. Bioengineering.

Here and there, I see familiar faces. Brick and Kit in Physics. Will, a girl named Jul, and a Boulder kid named Quincy in Art and Music. And finally I see Stacia—along with Vic and a girl from Grand Forks named Naomy—in Technology. All are here. All wear bracelets that report their movements back to Dr. Barnes and his officials.

News of Rawson’s death has spread. In the minutes before and after class, we band together and talk about the loss of our classmate. I had almost forgotten Naomy and Rawson were from the same colony, but Naomy’s puffy red eyes speak loudly of her sorrow and the love she has felt for him since she was ten years old. While I have never been close friends with Naomy, I find myself feeling sorry for her. During class, I notice some of the Tosu City students passing scraps of paper. Notes. With paper so precious, our Five Lakes instructors punished this practice with extra work. Here, where paper seems to be less of a concern, the instructors don’t seem to mind. Biting my lip, I tear a small corner off the page in front of me, write a couple of words asking to meet after dinner and work on homework, and pass the note to Naomy. The smile she gives me when she reads it makes me feel happier than I have in days. When Stacia shoots me a questioning look, I tear off another corner and pass her a note too. When she grins, I feel better, more in control, knowing I will spend part of tonight with friends.

All through the day, I find myself looking for signs of Tomas. When I finally see his familiar gray eyes watching me from the back of the Bioengineering classroom, I realize I am unprepared to deal with the emotions storming inside me. Love. Guilt. Need. Uncertainty.

My heart pounds loudly in my chest as I slide into the seat next to him. I can’t help but notice the pallor of his skin and the smudges of fatigue under the eyes that meet mine. Class begins. The teacher drones on about viscoelasticity, and though my pencil is clutched tight in my hand, my writing is barely legible as I try to ignore the ache in my heart. The same ache I know is in his at the possibility that we will never be able to look at each other without death and guilt between us.

The two of us stay seated when class ends. We say nothing as we watch everyone shove papers into their bags and head for the door. A few glance in our direction as they file out, but none linger. I wait for Tomas to speak. The quiet grows more uncomfortable with each passing second. In his eyes, I see self-condemnation and a weariness that scares me. Now that Tomas has admitted his actions to me, he is drowning in guilt. And though I still feel the sting of his betrayal, the anger I have held since hearing his confession fades, and fear takes hold. Unless Tomas finds a way to forgive himself for Zandri’s death, the weight of guilt could drown him. I see a flash of my roommate Ryme swinging from a yellow rope. I want to convince Tomas that Zandri’s death was an accident. He, unlike so many, did not make the choice to kill. But I have known Tomas too long to think words will help. Until his confession, Tomas pushed aside the guilt in order to protect me. He had a purpose. Now he needs another.

Leaning forward, I ask, “Did you work with my brothers on the livestock accountability project?”

Curiosity crosses Tomas’s face. “My brother did most of the work, but I had some input. Why?”

I look around the room. Not sure if someone could be listening, I grab my bag and stand. “I should get going if I want to make it back for dinner. Do you want to walk with me?”

We exit the building side by side. When we are far away from anyone who could hear us, I explain about the transmitter locked inside my bracelet and my desire to outwit it. Tomas asks questions as we walk toward his residence. By the time we reach his destination, his eyes have lost some of the shadows.

“A few of us are meeting together at the library to study tonight.” I brush my fingers against his hand. “You could join us.”

Tomas looks down at our hands. His fingers tighten against mine for a brief moment before they drop away. “There are some things I have to do.” As he holds up the wrist circled by his Biological Engineering symbol, I once again see the mix of determination and hopelessness.

His lips brush my cheek. Then Tomas turns and walks away before I can think of anything else to say.

Dinner at the residence is filled with undercurrents of tension. At least a half dozen first years are bent over books while they eat. The upper-year students look less tense, which leads me to believe the first-year course work is designed to test not only our knowledge, but our ability to cope with stress and adversity. To keep from failing that test, I once again fill a plate with food and take it to my room. Naomy and I agreed to meet at seven. I will work on other homework until then.

When I was too young to attend school, I used to watch my brothers do their homework at the scarred kitchen table. I longed for the day when I too would sit beside them with my mother close at hand to lend guidance. However, when my turn finally came, I found it almost impossible to concentrate surrounded by my brothers’ antics. So, each day, I would abandon the table and spread out on the floor in front of the living room fireplace. Which is why, when I enter my rooms, I ignore the desk in my bedroom and dump my bag on the floor. Sitting cross-legged, I eat bites of chicken and carrots while working on potential difference equations.

I jump as someone pounds on my door. Ian barely waits for me to get out of the way before coming into the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Did you think I was joking when I said Dr. Barnes is watching you? What do you think you’re doing up here?”

“I’m studying. You told me not to fall behind in my classes.”

“And I meant it.” Ian looks at the papers and books strewn across the floor and rubs the back of his neck. “But you can’t segregate yourself from the rest of us. Especially after Rawson’s death. Everyone in the residence is going to think your behavior shows you can’t handle loss or you don’t want to be a part of the University.”

His words make my nerves jump. “Tell them I have nine classes to study for.”

“No, because then they’ll report to Dr. Barnes that your class assignments are too much for you. Luckily, Raffe said you weren’t feeling well during class today. Enzo backed him up, which defused most of the grumbles.” He frowns. “Cia, it’s not enough to get passing grades. You also have to look like everyone else while doing it. That means eating meals in the dining hall, spending some time in the common areas, and making it look like you’re having fun.”

“I’m supposed to make handling nine classes look easy?”

Ian nods. “That’s what leaders do.”

I look down at the pages scattered across the floor. Pressure builds behind my eyes and in my chest. It’s only day two of class, and already I’m feeling the effects of the stress. But I only have to think of the leaders from Five Lakes Colony to know that Ian is right. Though she has the weight of our colony on her shoulders, Magistrate Owens never looks flustered. Even when voicing a serious problem, she has a way of making it feel like a puzzle rather than a life-and-death concern. My father is the same. No matter how worried he might be about a contagion corrupting crops or the way an unrevitalized piece of land is responding to his team’s ministrations, he never shows it. Not to the public. He keeps his frustrations and concerns at home. The minute he walks outside our door, he knows people will be watching his actions. The success of his team means the difference between starvation and survival.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll be at breakfast and dinner tomorrow.”

“Good.” Ian smiles, moves some papers off a chair, and takes a seat. “Once internships start, you won’t be expected at every meal. Unexpected tasks come up all the time. You’ll be able to blame them for the time you take alone to study. Now, since I’m here, do you want me to look at the assignments you have to turn in tomorrow?”

“Why?” I ask. Suspicion wars with gratitude. Is Ian’s offer of assistance due to his own experiences or something more? “Did someone suggest I need help?”

I search Ian’s face for the truth behind his actions. Is he rendering me aid because I am a fellow colonist? Is he the friend Michal spoke of when he said he was being reassigned? Ian sharing information about my Government Studies bracelet tells me he is on my side. But I still don’t know why.

“A friend did tell me that helping a pretty girl with her homework would be a great way to gain her trust. It can be hard to know whom to trust.” Ian pauses. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to hear the message communicated between the words. “That friend trusts me, Cia. You can too.”

Wordlessly, I hand over the pages. Then I try to work while Ian pores over them. He points out a mistake on my calculus assignment and is making suggestions about how to strengthen the ending of a paper when I notice the time. Stacia and Naomy are waiting.

“I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the library before it closes.”

Ian’s eyes narrow. “As long as you’re not meeting with your friend Tomas.”

Tomas’s name on Ian’s lips renders me speechless. As far as I know, the two of them have never met.

Ian sighs. “If you’re planning to meet him, don’t. You won’t be doing him any favors. Until we know why Dr. Barnes has singled you out, the only way to keep your boyfriend safe from Dr. Barnes is by staying away.”

Since Tomas turned down my invitation tonight, that won’t be a problem. But if we are going to work together to outwit the tracking device, we will have to meet in the future. We could meet in secret, but until we find a way to work around the transmitters in our bracelets, people in charge will know we are together—which, according to Ian, will put Tomas in more danger.

I know what Zeen would do. My brother wouldn’t put a stop to his plans. He would simply find a way to achieve his objective without alerting those watching to his actions. The Transit Communicator in my bag is a perfect example of his ability to follow his own agenda in plain view, and in such a way that no one notices he is doing anything at all. Perhaps I can use that same trick to cover any discussions I have with Tomas.

I shove the papers I need into my bag, shrug on my coat, and go down the stairs. I hear voices coming from the hangout room. Standing in the doorway, I look for familiar faces. Most of the students are upper years. But I spot Raffe and Damone with a couple of other first years in the back corner.

“I’m going to the library to work on my history of technology assignment,” I say as startled eyes swing toward me. “Do any of you want to come with?”

Most say no, which I expect. But Raffe surprises me when he gets up, hoists his University bag onto his shoulder, and says, “I was just about to head over there. Let’s go.”

We walk down to the bridge in silence. Raffe’s steps slow as we cross the bridge. So do mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Raffe glance over the rail.

Once the bridge is behind us, he asks, “Are we really going to the library?”

“Where else would we be going?”

He shrugs. “I’m just glad to get out of there for a while. Griffin and Damone are starting to get on my nerves.”

“I thought they were your friends.”

Raffe stops walking. “Just because we’re all from Tosu City doesn’t make us friends. I don’t know about you, but friendship is a luxury I’ve never had time for. I was too busy beating out my competition to get here.”

I can’t help but wonder about Raffe’s words as we walk across campus. Friendship is something I’ve always taken for granted. In Five Lakes, we competed to be the best in the class, but we all worked hard to get along. It’s impossible for me to imagine growing up without Daileen’s whispered confidences or Tomas’s kind understanding. Are the people here in Tosu City so different that they don’t place value on that kind of connection? Or maybe Raffe is just using this opportunity to gain my sympathy in hopes of using it later.

Naomy and Stacia are waiting outside the library when we arrive. I introduce them to Raffe. If either of them is surprised that I brought a noncolony student with me, they don’t show it. The four of us go into the well-lit library, pick a table in the back corner of the main study room, and get to work.

Several upper-year students and professors take notice of us, but none seem to be surprised or unhappy with the group study session. Nothing could be more natural than students working together to succeed. When I convince Tomas to join us, no one will think twice about his addition. At least, that’s what I hope.

In between discussing how much history was lost when computer networks were destroyed, we talk about ourselves. Raffe mentions he is the youngest son of the director of education for the United Commonwealth. Of the seven children in his family, six were accepted to the University. Naomy says she’s envious of large families. While her parents were proud of her being selected for The Testing, they couldn’t quite hide their sadness at the prospect of saying goodbye to their only child.

“At least you got to sleep in a bed growing up,” I say. “I shared a room with my four brothers. All of them snore.”

As we fetch books and look up information, we do something more important. We laugh. It feels good. Normal. Happy. How long has it been since I felt either of those things? Even Stacia, who is usually so reserved, unbends enough to talk about her little brother, Nate, who was born too early and as a result learns slower than his classmates. She wonders how he is doing now that she isn’t there to help him with his schoolwork and keep the other kids from teasing him. “Dad and Mom don’t always have enough time to spend with him.”

Stacia shrugs off the hand Raffe places on her shoulder and changes the subject, asking me to help her find a book. The two of us climb the stairs to the second floor. Several heads turn our way. Stacia studies them before leading me down a row of medical texts. Under her breath, she quickly tells me about the Medical Induction, where first years were asked to select the correct treatments for a dozen common diseases with the help of a medical textbook. Once answers were given, each student was taken to a treatment room. On the table inside, twelve sets of medications sat waiting to be dispensed to patients who, one by one, walked through the door. The medication inside the cup representing the correct answer was a placebo. Wrong answers contained poison.

“The final years made us watch each patient take their medication. They wanted to test our confidence in diagnosis and our ability to cope with losing a patient. I guess some people have trouble living with a mistake that causes someone else to die. Anyone who demonstrated psychological unfitness or gave more than two incorrect answers was Redirected.”

Bile rises in my throat. “The patients didn’t actually die, right?” It would be almost impossible for Dr. Barnes to explain that kind of loss of life or get officials to volunteer for that kind of job.

Stacia shrugs. “The one I lost looked dead, but I was instructed not to touch a patient after treatment had been dispensed. So anything is possible.”

Stacia is driven and sometimes aloof. Of all of the colony students, she has always accepted the challenges we face with calm resolve. But the fisted hands and tightening of her jaw when she speaks of death and the three students who her head of residence said were Redirected to work in the colonies indicate worry she has never mentioned. For some reason, seeing Stacia unnerved is more disturbing than if she had maintained her stoic resolve.

The overhead light catches the bracelet on her wrist. In the center of it is a symbol I remember seeing in Dr. Flint’s house. A snake coiled around a staff. Dr. Flint had it displayed in the room he used to treat patients. When I asked him about the design, he said it was the ancient symbol for medicine. However, unlike Dr. Flint’s version, this one has what looks to be a second snake coiled underneath it, ready to strike. After hearing Stacia talk about the Induction, I can see why this symbol was chosen to represent her.

I quickly answer Stacia’s questions about my Induction experience before grabbing a book and heading back down the stairs to join the others.

The next day’s classes get harder. Professors collect our homework. Several give quizzes to assess our level of understanding of the basic material. Others announce that tests on more advanced concepts will be given the following week.

I pass more notes during class Wednesday. Tomas’s note instructs him to wait to join the group until the following week. By then I am hoping people will be so used to seeing the group they won’t be surprised by the addition of one more. In the evening Stacia, Naomy, Raffe, and Vic meet me at the same library table we occupied the night before. We don’t all have the same assignments to complete, but we still work together. Help each other out when one needs someone to double-check a chemistry formula or proofread a sentence—like I used to do with Tomas during our Early Studies classes.

Thursday’s classes are more of the same. Assignments collected. Lectures on important literature, basic cell engineering, and the equilibrium properties of alloy systems. We are told the classroom buildings will be open over the next few days so we can use the labs and the resources in the rooms to complete our projects. I do, never forgetting my other projects. The one I vowed to help Michal with and the one that circles my wrist. As I work on a pulse radio assignment, I think I might know a way to address the second.

By Monday, the strain of the workload shows on almost every first year’s face. Too much reading. Too little sleep. Worry about the cost of failure shows in red-rimmed eyes and tense smiles. The exercises I have started doing alone in my rooms to regain my muscle strength have helped me fare better than some. Still, I find myself soaking a cloth in cold water and putting it across my eyes to hide the fatigue brought about by late work nights and dreams filled with disturbing images.

I pull myself out of sleep after every dream and sit in the dark, trying to decide if the smell of the blood and the sound of the bullet leaving the gun are simple nightmares or Testing memories lurking in my subconscious. If only I can find the key to unlock them.

I pass more notes, and our study group grows in number. Enzo joins us. As do Brick and a Tosu City Biological Engineering student named Aram. Internship assignments are postponed for another week. The tension builds.

Enzo starts walking with me to class. He is the one who spots Damone trailing behind us. When I look back, Damone stares at me. The next day, Enzo and I leave the building earlier, but still Damone is there. Watching. I notice the lock on my door is scuffed and scraped. Nothing inside the room is missing. No cameras have been added, but I can’t help feeling that someone has been inside. I sleep with a chair propped under the door handle and jump at every sound in the night as I lie awake—wondering if Symon’s faction of rebels has found a way to end The Testing without bloodshed or if war is coming while the rest of my classmates sleep, unknowing, in their beds.

I pass another note to Tomas, asking him to join us and sharing the idea that I have. When he walks up to the library table where we are gathered, the shadows in his eyes have faded, replaced by a hint of excitement.

For a while, he works next to me in silence. When some of our study companions begin to work together on assignments, Tomas turns to me and asks, “Did you finish the transmitter assignment yet?”

No one at the table is in our class. They have no idea what assignments we are working on. So I dig through my bag, pull out a piece of paper, and say, “I have a couple of ideas written down.”

While conversations about physics and literature swirl around us, I show Tomas my idea for an external transmitter that would be set to the same frequency as the one in our bracelets. In theory, the external transmitter would create enough interference that the signal from the device in the bracelet would be drowned out. Whoever was monitoring on the other end would read the problem as natural signal obstruction instead of tampering.

Tomas grins, helps perfect my design, and suggests we make extra transmitters to scatter around campus so other students’ signals experience the same technical difficulties. By the time we pack up our books for the night, we have a workable plan in place. When I get back to the residence, I head for the labs and get to work. I find a variety of resistors, batteries, capacitors, wire, coils, and transistors in the lab’s supply cabinet. My eyes are tired and my fingers cramped by the time I have assembled and tested five two-inch-long, one-inch-wide transmitters. I have also created a small receiver set on a different frequency that will light up when I flip a small switch. Now I will be able to signal to Tomas if I need his help. I hide one blocking transmitter behind a portrait in the currently empty hangout room before going upstairs to bed.

During classes the next day, I hide three of the transmitters on campus. When Tomas and I cross paths, I give him the receiver and an update on where I’ve hidden my transmitters. Tomorrow he will hide his. At dinner, an announcement is made. The internships will be assigned on Friday.

When Friday dawns, the first years and our guides are asked to assemble in the gathering room after breakfast. Most are dressed in their finest clothes. Boys wearing jackets. Girls in gauzy dresses. I did not bring fancy clothes with me for The Testing, so I am dressed in brown pants, a turquoise shirt, and my scuffed boots. Instead of pulling back my hair, I brush it until it gleams, like my mother did when I was little. Since I am more than happy to let officials track my movements today, I leave my transmitter hidden under my mattress when I go downstairs to learn what my assignment will be.

Dressed in deep crimson, Professor Holt stands near the fireplace. Lips that match the color of her jumpsuit are curved into a smile. “Today begins one of the most important parts of your education. It’s not enough to answer test questions correctly. You must be able to work well with others and apply the knowledge you have received to real-world situations. Your internships give you important experience that will help you be effective leaders after you graduate from the University.”

Her eyes pan the room. “Unfortunately, after meeting with your final-year guides and talking to your professors, we have concerns that some of you are not up to the challenges thus far presented. We have taken your academic achievements up to now into consideration when assigning internships. Some of you might be disappointed with the choices we have made, but we do so in the best interests of your future and the future of the United Commonwealth. Remember, while we consider these internships essential to your education, your classwork is just as important. Alternate arrangements will be made for students whose work falls below acceptable standards.”

Alternate arrangements.

Redirected.

Dead.

“When your name is called, your final-year guide will escort you to meet with a representative from the government department in which you will be working. Regardless of what internship you are assigned today, you should be proud of how far you have come and all that you have accomplished. We’ll start with Juliet Janisson.”

The dark-haired girl rises from a seat in the corner, joins her guide, Lazar, and disappears out the door. I wipe my palms on my pants as we wait for the next name. No one speaks as the seconds tick by. Several times I catch Griffin watching me. He whispers something to Damone that makes them both smile.

One by one, students are called. Guides walk with their charges out of the room and then return to act as escort to the next first year. Finally, only Ian, Professor Holt, and I remain.

The fire crackles.

The ceiling above us creaks.

I fight not to squirm under Professor Holt’s penetrating gaze. Finally, she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry you had to wait until the end, Malencia.”

“Someone has to be last,” I say, glad to hear my voice doesn’t betray the nerves I feel.

Professor Holt nods. “That’s true, but in your case, it was a deliberate decision. Certain events during your Induction raised questions about the kind of future you should have within this institution.”

My heart swoops into my stomach and my knees go weak. I’m thankful Professor Holt doesn’t expect me to reply, because I doubt I could squeeze the words through my clenched throat.

“Because of your unique circumstances, we had to wait until a time when the officials interested in your case could be available for this discussion.” She looks at her wrist and smiles. “That time would be now. Please follow me.”

Professor Holt sweeps out the door without a backward glance, and I follow. I look to Ian, who keeps pace beside me. When he takes my hand and holds tight, I know I am in serious trouble.

We are led across the bridge, where a sleek silver skimmer gleams in the sunlight. I want to run fast and far, because the only reason for a skimmer to be here is to transport me away from the University. To what or where, I don’t know, but it can’t be good. Despite my desire to flee, I hold fast to Ian’s hand and wait for whatever surprise Professor Holt has in store.

The passenger compartment door opens, and Professor Holt gestures for me to enter. Ian drops my hand. My legs are uncertain as I approach the skimmer. After one last look at Ian, I take a deep breath, climb inside the cabin, and see Dr. Barnes seated on one of the soft gray seats that line the wall. He gives me a familiar smile.

“Sit. Please.”

Despite the pleasant tone, I understand the words for what they are. A command. One I obey.

“I apologize for the unusual location of this meeting. As you know, at this juncture in your University career, Professor Holt and I normally assign you the internship we believe best suited to your skills. In this instance, however, we have been asked to pass along that responsibility to someone else.”

Hope blooms as I realize Dr. Barnes is in fact talking about an internship. I am not being Redirected.

“Who’s assigning my internship?” I ask.

“I am.”

I turn, and a shiver travels down my spine. Standing in the doorway, wearing a severely cut blood-red dress, is the United Commonwealth president, Anneline Collindar.

Chapter 14

“I APOLOGIZE FOR making you wait, Malencia.” President Collindar takes a seat opposite me and crosses one leg over the other. “Being a United Commonwealth leader means your time is never your own.”

“I’m sure your father would agree with that,” Dr. Barnes says. “Don’t you think, Cia?”

Hearing Dr. Barnes mention my father steals my breath.

President Collindar speaks before I can wonder what the reference means. “I know that Jedidiah has other things he needs to attend to, as do I, so I’ll make this quick. I was intrigued when we met during your Induction. Of all the students who came into the Debate Chamber, you were the only one who recited the request without error and the only female who made the attempt for her team. Taking that kind of risk in public is often more difficult for women than men. I’m not sure why.” Her smile says she has never found it to be a problem. “My interest was further piqued when you mentioned your home colony. Debate Chamber etiquette is not as well known as it used to be, especially outside the Tosu City boundaries. After discussing your Testing results and academic achievements with Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt, I asked that you be assigned to intern in my office. As president, my loyalties are to all United Commonwealth citizens, but it is rare that I get the opportunity to pass beyond the borders of Tosu City and talk to colony citizens. The times that I do meet with colony residents, they are too nervous or intimidated by my office to speak frankly. But a girl like you, Malencia—” She uncrosses her legs and leans forward. “Cia. A girl who is willing to risk embarrassment and possible failure by taking control of the Debate Chamber floor will be more likely to tell me what I need to know. Don’t you agree?”

“You want me to tell you about Five Lakes Colony?”

“If you think I need to know about it, yes.” She smiles.

“I hope you’ll have her do more than tell you about Five Lakes Colony,” Dr. Barnes says smoothly.

The president’s smile widens. “My office has never been included in the University internship program. Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt expressed some concern about the lack of a set curriculum, but I persuaded them of the educational value that comes with working alongside the staff of the president of the United Commonwealth.”

Dr. Barnes stiffens. “Remember, Cia, that like your fellow first years, you will have to keep up with the classwork assigned by your University professors. Just because you work in the president’s office doesn’t mean you will get special consideration.”

President Collindar lets out a light laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure Cia has plenty of time to complete all her assignments. How would it look if the president’s intern flunked out of school?”

Suddenly I realize that the tension I feel in the skimmer isn’t just coming from me. No. The angry flush under Dr. Barnes’s gray beard and the challenging gleam in President Collindar’s eyes speak of something greater than an internship assignment. A power struggle that I don’t understand, but one in which I have become unwittingly involved.

President Collindar looks at her watch. “It’s getting late. We’d better get going if Cia is going to have time to tour the presidential office. I’d offer to let you ride with us, Jedidiah, but I’m sure you have business you need to attend to here on campus.”

The dismissal is cutting, despite the cordial tone. It’s clear from Dr. Barnes’s stiff movements as he exits the skimmer that he has felt the slight. The passenger door swings closed, and a loud hum fills the compartment as the skimmer’s engine is engaged. I look around the cabin and spot a small round lens in the back right corner. Whoever is operating the skimmer must have a screen in the front that displays what is happening back here.

The president sees the direction of my gaze and nods at the camera. “Sometimes, if you aren’t certain of the outcome of a meeting, it is best to have another pair of eyes watching. You never know when you might need a hand.”

The skimmer lifts off the ground and moves forward. From the window, I watch the campus fade into the distance and feel a sense of relief even as I brace myself for whatever challenge comes next.

President Collindar leans back against the gray cushions. I try my best to sit still as my mind whirls. I have been assigned to intern with President Collindar. The most influential person in the United Commonwealth Government—who, from the looks of things, does not get along with Dr. Barnes. Michal implied Symon’s plan to end The Testing peacefully requires the support of President Collindar. I will be keeping my eyes and ears open.

After several minutes of silence, the president turns and looks at me. Not sure what to say, I ask, “Are we going to the Central Government Building?”

“Not today. When I was elected president, I moved my private office to a building a few blocks away. I find it is easier to think in a space that isn’t quite so chaotic.”

“I didn’t know that.” In fact, I remember our guide showing us the entrance to the president’s office when we toured the Central Government Building during orientation.

President Collindar smiles. “We don’t advertise. You’d be amazed how many people can’t make a decision without asking my opinion if they think I’m right down the hall. Now that they have to walk a few blocks, they can handle the little problems. The big ones . . .” She sighs. “Well, those are the ones the citizens of the United Commonwealth expect me to deal with. Today, you’ll meet some of the people you’ll be working with. But before we arrive, I’d like to stress that I am dedicated to the entire country. I believe in the mission the survivors of the Seven Stages of War embarked on when they founded the United Commonwealth Government. Not everyone does. And those who do often have different visions as to how that mission should be carried out. As you might have guessed, Dr. Barnes and I don’t see eye to eye on a great many things. Because of that, I often find that I am not as well informed about the University programs as I would like. I’m hoping you can remedy that situation.”

“I don’t understand.”

President Collindar leans back. “Don’t you?” Her eyes search my face. “The students who attend the University are the next great hope of this country. It disturbs me when I hear that many of those students fail to make it to graduation.”

She waits for me to speak. Words bubble inside me. I want to explain what I know of The Testing. Expose the brutality Dr. Barnes and his team have advocated. Condemn the process that has been allowed to flourish in the center of a city that was created to represent hope. This is the moment I have been waiting for. That the rebels have been waiting for. Yet, instinct stills my tongue. President Collindar is the most powerful person in this country. If she wants information about The Testing and the University, why hasn’t she received it before now? I shift in my seat. Surely, if the president demanded answers, someone would be compelled to give them. Too many people are involved in The Testing for them all to remain silent. If it is answers she seeks, why is she posing her questions to a first-year University girl instead of to those who have not had their memories removed by The Testing? There is something more at work here. Something I need to understand better before I risk my future and the future of the rebellion.

When I don’t answer, President Collindar sighs. “I don’t expect you to trust me. Not yet. But I hope that by working with my staff, you will realize that I have the best interests of this country at heart. If there is something more about the University program that I should know, I hope you’ll feel comfortable enough to share that information.” She glances out the window as the skimmer begins to slow. “We’re here.”

The door opens. President Collindar walks to the doorway, takes someone’s hand, and gracefully exits. I follow behind and take the hand held out to help me. When my feet hit the ground and I start to thank the person, the words lodge in my throat. Standing in a purple United Commonwealth uniform with a pleasant but impersonal smile on his face is Michal Gallen.

Michal is here. I try to feign interest in the building in front of me as he releases my hand, but I cannot stop the pounding of my heart. Michal said he was being reassigned. If he is here, the rebellion must know what I know about the president’s dislike of Dr. Barnes. Symon’s faction should be in a position to end The Testing. But if the president is asking questions of me, she either doesn’t believe what she has been told or they have yet to approach her. Why?

I try to catch his eye, but Michal keeps his attention straight ahead as we approach the office, which the president informs me is housed in one of the oldest buildings in Tosu City. Constructed several hundred years ago out of gray stone, with rounded turrets and a functioning clock tower, the structure resembles the castles in some of the fairy-tale books my mother read to me and my brothers when we were little.

Michal opens the large wooden front door and President Collindar sweeps past him. Two men and two women in Commonwealth uniforms greet us in the white tiled entryway. A muscular man in a black jumpsuit stands behind a desk near the front door. The president nods and he takes a seat, but not before I see the glint of a metal handle at his belt.

“Cia.” The president turns to me. “Several pressing matters have come up and need my attention. This is our newest team member, Michal Gallen. He’ll give you a tour and introduce you to the staff. When you’ve finished, we’ll go over the first assignment I’ve set aside for you.”

The four Commonwealth officials flank her as she disappears through a door down the hall to the right. When the sound of footsteps fades, I turn to Michal and smile. He doesn’t smile back. He just glances at his watch and nods. “The president’s main office is on this floor. To save time, we’ll start the tour on the top floor and work our way down.”

He walks quickly toward the black iron-railed staircase and starts to climb. I hurry to catch up and am breathing hard when we step onto the narrow fifth-floor hallway.

“The clock tower stairs are through that door.” He points. “The clock and this entire building do not run off city power, but instead run off three-dimensional monocrystalline solar panels. The power we don’t use is then fed into the Tosu City power bank to ensure nothing is wasted. As President Collindar mentioned in the skimmer, she doesn’t like waste.” He turns and shrugs. “I probably shouldn’t have listened to your conversation with the president, but the inside of the skimmer isn’t designed for privacy. Kind of like this building. Everyone here tends to know everyone’s business. You’ll get used to it.”

I understand the words for what they are: a warning.

The top three floors house cramped offices and larger spaces filled with historical objects and pictures. As I walk by the pieces of my country’s past, I can’t help but run my fingers across them. Framed photographs of soldiers. Women in long dresses holding what I think are called tennis rackets. An old-fashioned car from the early twentieth century. A display of hand-held weapons. An ornate organ. A phonograph. Wooden desks in a room designed to look like a late-nineteenth-century classroom, which makes me smile. The classroom is smaller, but it doesn’t look much different from the one I studied in back in Five Lakes.

As we continue the tour, Michal introduces me to several of the younger officials walking the halls or sitting in uncomfortable-looking chairs. Most look tired but excited to be working here. He points to one of the four desks in the corner of a room on the third floor and says, “That’s where I sit. So far, in the week I’ve been here, I haven’t done much of that.”

We walk down to the second floor. To our right are two purple-clad officials standing on either side of a massive wooden door. Michal nods at them and steers me to the left, explaining, “The president’s private rooms are through those doors. There are a few more offices on this side and some sleeping quarters for anyone who wants to catch a nap after a late night.”

“Does that happen often?”

“I’ve already used one of the rooms. The president likes to have as much information about the upcoming debate topics as possible. It’s our job to do the research and provide her with all sides of the argument. Talking to experts from the various departments and sifting through opinions is rewarding, but it takes time.”

On the first floor, there are more offices, a meeting space with a board displaying the debates scheduled for the upcoming week, and a technology room equipped with several powerful pulse radios, six televisions, and a number of visual and audio recorders. Pictures flicker across the television screens. I want to take a closer look, but Michal hurries me through. While I’ve seen photographs of televisions and studied the history of their use, I have never seen one in operation. My father once mentioned that the magistrate of Five Lakes was in possession of a television in order to receive certain types of communication from Tosu City. I can’t help but wonder if the pictures flashing on the screen now are part of that communication network and, if so, what the transmitted information might be.

Finally, Michal leads me to a large wooden door. A purple-clad official at a desk to the right nods, and Michal ushers me inside. The room is large. Larger than my family’s entire house. Deep blue carpet covers the floor. A fire crackles in the hearth to my right. Decorating the walls is a map of the United Commonwealth and the country’s flag. The officials I saw when I first arrived are seated on chairs facing the president, who is behind a massive wooden desk.

President Collindar looks up. “Perfect timing. We were just discussing your first project, Cia.” The president looks at one of the officials, who rises and turns to address me.

The man has flecks of gray in his brown hair that reminds me of my father’s. “We are currently working out resource distribution for a railway project. One of the colonies that the new train will connect to is Five Lakes. Since none of us have been to your colony or many of the other colonies this plan affects, we would like you to look at the plans and give us a colony citizen’s perspective. We’ve been told you also have skills in mechanical engineering that should give you an informed point of view when preparing a report for the president.”

President Collindar nods. “Too many of the colonies do not have easy access to Tosu City. For us to feel united in our mission to revitalize our land, we must actually be unified. The railway system has connected the nearest colonies, but the outlying ones are still isolated from our help and protection.”

Ryme’s face flashes in front of me. Flushed cheeks. Sightless eyes. She was from Dixon Colony. I think about Will and his brother, Gill. Twins from Madison Colony. One led to murder. Another gone. Redirected by The Testing. Both of those colonies, like Five Lakes, do not have access to the United Commonwealth train system. While easy communication with Tosu City might appear to provide protection for the colonies, the Testing candidates who have been forever altered by the protection they received would no doubt argue the point.

Still, I feel a spark of excitement at the prospect of working on a project that affects my family and friends. While I may not ever be allowed to return to Five Lakes to live, I will always consider it my home. Being able to help Five Lakes and contribute to a system that could allow my family and me to visit makes me feel as though I still belong to them.

I am given an overview of the project, including the departments involved, and told that today I must pick up reports prepared by each department. The Debate Chamber will be discussing this project at the end of next week. My report to the president is due on Monday.

“You can pick up the reports from the departments’ main offices in the Central Government Building. Feel free to work here or on campus, wherever you feel most comfortable. If you need transportation, let one of my staff know. They’ll make sure you have what you need. I look forward to seeing your thoughts on the matter.”

The president starts a conversation about the waste management system, effectively dismissing me. Putting a hand on my arm, Michal leads me out of the room. The door closes behind us.

“I’ll take you over to the Central Government Building in a few minutes. First we should see about getting you some kind of transportation. You won’t want to waste time walking.”

Michal leads me to a small building behind the president’s office, unlocks the door, and turns on the light. Inside the space are several single-passenger skimmers, two solar-powered motor scooters, and a handful of bicycles. I walk to the row of bicycles. Some have sturdy frames and thick, heavily treaded rubber tires. Others are made of lighter materials, with a design that speaks of speed. I run my finger along a tear in one of the seats and think of another bicycle. One that, according to my recording, helped Tomas and me survive The Testing. Gears, pedals, and wheels helped keep me alive then. I will trust them now to do the same.

I choose the bicycle with the heaviest frame and thickest tires. It is constructed to withstand the stress of traveling over rough terrain and reminds me of the one I rode back home. The lighter, sleeker ones I see on the streets of Tosu City are speedier, but they are also more fragile.

If Michal is surprised by my choice, he doesn’t show it. He just logs my selection on a chalkboard hanging near the door and escorts me and my new bicycle into the sunshine. We walk in silence for the next block, me wheeling the black-framed bike in between us. The streets are bustling with activity as citizens hurry about their business. Here and there, I spot officials in their United Commonwealth uniforms chatting in groups or jogging down the street on what must be pressing business. Though the Central Government Building is straight ahead, Michal glances around and turns us down a northbound walkway. Halfway down the block, Michal escorts me and my new bicycle into a building constructed of black metal and dark gray stone.

Inside it is dim and quiet as a tomb. Putting a finger to his lips, Michal motions for me to leave my bicycle before leading me through a maze of doors and hallways. Finally, he pulls out a key and slides it into the lock of a large steel door. The click of the lock disengaging rings in the stillness. Michal flips a switch on the wall, illuminating a gray, windowless room decorated with only a rectangular metal table and six folding chairs.

He closes the door behind us. “We don’t have much time,” he says, pulling me against him in a tight hug. “Someone will notice if we take too long to arrive at the Central Government Building.” He steps back. “I heard about the colony student who died. I’m sorry.”

The kindness and sympathy make me want to cry.

But Michal doesn’t dwell on the sadness. “Symon says there are signs that President Collindar is ready to challenge Dr. Barnes and remove him from his position as head of The Testing.”

My heart jumps as the hope I felt in the skimmer is confirmed. “That’s wonderful news.”

“Only if she has the power to eliminate Dr. Barnes and The Testing.”

I shake my head. “She’s the president of the United Commonwealth. Of course she has the power.”

Michal sits on one of the metal chairs. “President Collindar is technically in charge of the government, but as the man who selects the country’s future leaders, Dr. Barnes has as much power, if not more. Not only do current officials feel a sense of loyalty to him for having selected them for their jobs, they also seek his favor to ensure that their children are accepted into the program and given preferential treatment. In the past several years, the University has been allocated larger resources. More autonomy to act as Dr. Barnes and his team see fit. In the week I’ve been assigned to the president’s office, three Debate Chamber votes have swung in favor of whatever side of the issue Dr. Barnes supports. While the president is the head of the government, Dr. Barnes and his team actually now control it.”

The idea of Dr. Barnes running this country makes me want to scream.

“The president is working to regain the power her office has lost. She’s scheduled a Debate Chamber vote that would reorganize the administrative structure of The Testing and University so the head of the program reports directly to her. But unless something changes, she doesn’t have enough votes from the department heads for the measure to pass. The Education Department manager is a close personal friend of Dr. Barnes. He’s been working against the president’s measure by saying he has seen reports of The Testing and believes it is being run appropriately. Over the last two years, some officials have claimed that the president is an ineffective leader and should be replaced. Losing a vote of this import could confirm those claims and weaken her further. There’s a rumor going around the office that losing the vote will lead to a call for a vote of confidence.”

When the Commonwealth Government was created, our founders agreed that leaders should be allowed to govern as long as they were effective. They believed limiting the time a strong leader served was detrimental to the well-being of the country. However, to ensure a weak leader could be removed before he or she did too much harm, the founders instituted the vote of confidence, which requires members of the Debate Chamber to reavow their support of the president. A president who fails to get over fifty percent of the vote is immediately removed from power and a new president voted upon.

“If the president is replaced, it will be by someone Dr. Barnes and his supporters select. Maybe even Dr. Barnes himself. The president is not willing to let that happen. So, she and her team have been searching for another way to remove Dr. Barnes from power. They believe they’ve found that method in the other rebel faction.”

The faction that believes in taking down Dr. Barnes and The Testing by force. With weapons, bloodshed, and death.

“President Collindar would prefer a peaceful solution over action that could lead to a civil war, but she believes there is too much at stake for the country to wait. Dr. Barnes will find a way to remove her if she doesn’t act soon. The rebel faction has begun to recruit citizens from the less revitalized areas of Tosu. These recruits don’t care about Dr. Barnes or The Testing, but the rebels have convinced them they will have more say and more resources if they join the cause. If the president loses the Debate Chamber vote, the rebels will act. And the president and her people will throw support behind them. Tosu City could be ripped apart, and Symon fears there is a chance that with so many colony-born people living here, unrest could spring up in the colonies. Especially when the citizens there understand what The Testing did to their children.”

And war could follow. History shows that it takes only a spark to start a fire that cannot be easily checked. The Seven Stages of War started with the outrage of one leader.

“There has to be something we can do.” Violence can’t be inevitable.

“The president plans to announce the vote about the restructuring of The Testing in three weeks. Top members of her team are reviewing her key arguments and meeting with department representatives in order to sway votes. So far, they haven’t had any luck. Symon believes the only way the Debate Chamber will vote against Dr. Barnes is if proof of the true nature of The Testing is revealed in open session. The only way most officials can justify turning a blind eye to Dr. Barnes’s methods is by discounting the negative things they hear as rumors. No one wants to believe that students who give wrong answers can be killed. Tosu City children are never required to sit for The Testing. Officials can ignore Testing speculation without worrying their own children will suffer as a result. Indisputable proof will change that.”

“What about the University Induction tests? Students die during those.” I remember Rawson’s feet slipping off the edge. Olive’s horror-filled face as she realized the consequences of her actions. “The officials can’t possibly agree with those methods.”

“No, but most Tosu City officials survived some kind of Induction. They feel it’s only fair the new students have to suffer through a similar process. And while Dr. Barnes and the head residence professors are involved, the final years of each designated study are technically responsible for the Induction process. If someone dies, Dr. Barnes calls it an accident.” Michal’s eyes light with anger. “Government officials are happy to find any excuse to look the other way. But if they are forced to see the truth, they’ll have to fix the problem. That’s why we need tangible evidence of wrongdoing. Once it is presented in open session, officials will have no choice but to strip Dr. Barnes of his authority and put an end to The Testing.”

Tangible proof. “Can’t you testify on the debate floor?” I ask. “You still have your Testing memories.”

“I volunteered to speak out, but Symon and his advisers said my words won’t be enough. People could argue I’m making up stories because I wasn’t assigned the job I wanted or because I’m jealous. They would say the same about anyone who testifies if we are allowed to get that far. Symon is convinced Dr. Barnes is monitoring the president’s office and would learn the names of those scheduled to testify before they take the floor. How long do you think I and anyone else who volunteers to speak would live if that happened?”

Hours? Unless they ran. And who knows even then if they would survive.

“We need more than just our testimony to sway public opinion and convince the Debate Chamber to vote against Dr. Barnes.”

What other kind of proof could they find? I look down at the symbol on my wrist with the tracking device it contains and remember the one I wore before. “The Testing bracelets contained recording devices. We should find the recordings Dr. Barnes made.” Weeks of conversations recorded. Betrayals made. Gunshots and crossbow bolts that spilled blood. Ended lives.

“Symon has lower-level officials within The Testing and the Education Department searching for both audio and video recordings, but they haven’t been able to gain access to them. There is a chance Dr. Barnes destroys them after The Testing is complete and University candidates are selected.”

“I don’t think so.” I explain about the conversation Ian overheard in which Professor Holt talked to Dr. Barnes about reexamining my actions during The Testing. “They wouldn’t be able to reexamine my performance if they destroyed the recordings.”

“I’ll let Symon know. If you’re right, we still might have a chance to end The Testing without plunging the country into war.” Michal looks at his watch and stands. “But if we don’t want to make anyone suspicious, we have to get going.” He opens the door, steps into the hall, and looks around before telling me to follow.

“What can I do?” I ask, walking the dim corridors back to where I stashed my bicycle.

“Keep your ears open for any information that can point to the location of the recordings. Talk to whoever is assigned to intern in the Department of Education. Our contacts have heard rumors that the top-level officials have access to The Testing facilities. They might know something about the recordings. If you learn anything, let me know. I’ll pass the information to Symon.”

“Why not pass it directly to the president?”

Michal’s expression is grim. “She doesn’t know I’m a member of the rebellion, and we’d prefer to keep it that way for now. Symon orchestrated my transfer so I could report if the president is moving up the timeline for the rebel faction and her allies to attack. So far, she is sticking to her original schedule. She will make her case before the Debate Chamber floor three weeks from now. With luck, we’ll find the information she needs to win the vote before then.”

In three weeks The Testing will hopefully come to an end and Daileen and others like her will be safe.

Michal asks me to wait as he looks up and down the street. When he is satisfied our presence won’t be questioned, he has me follow him. Together we hurry down the walkway to the Central Government Building. Dozen of questions spring to mind. Has Michal told Symon that I remember some of my Testing? Did Michal know about the choices Tomas made during his?

As we approach our destination, Michal asks for my impressions of the residence and my classes. His impersonal tone tells me the conversation is for the benefit of those around us, so I keep my answers upbeat. I stow my bicycle in a waiting area near the front door and enter the building as Michal says, “Don’t be surprised if a few people recognize you. You made quite an impression during your Induction.”

His words make me conscious of the eyes that follow us as we walk through the lobby to a long hallway. Two older officials stop Michal to ask about his new job with the president’s office. At the end of Michal’s vague reply, he introduces me to them. An official from Housing. Another from Biological Revitalization. The latter mentions he has a son who is in his first year of University training as a Biological Engineering student. His pride is obvious, so I smile and say I hope to have a class with his son in the future. Inside my head, though, I hear Tomas describing his Induction. Fifteen students began the process. Only eight completed it. Was this man’s son one of those eight, or was he Redirected?

Forcing myself to pay attention, I try to remember the hallways that lead to the four departments I will be working with. At each, Michal helps me locate the person in charge of their piece of the Colony Railway Project. I receive several sets of bound papers and am told to come back if I have any questions; then we move on to the next department. Here and there, I spot other first-year students. Some look excited. Others are working hard to appear relaxed, but the worry in their eyes reveals the truth. I can understand their concern, because when Michal escorts me back to the front entrance, my bag barely holds all the documents I am supposed to review.

But despite the workload, I cannot get the thought of the possible Redirection of an official’s son out of my mind. If the Tosu City students were killed or disappeared, wouldn’t their parents object? If this official’s son did not make it through the acceptance process, wouldn’t he wonder what happened to him? Maybe some parents wouldn’t, but this one, whose love for his son is so apparent, would. I’ve heard people say that Tosu City students who did not reach Dr. Barnes’s expectations were assigned to jobs in the colonies. Yet, not one of the colony students I’ve talked to has ever noticed or heard of younger Tosu City adults coming to work in their area. While I know Five Lakes is smaller than the other colonies, I can’t imagine the arrival of new residents from Tosu City wouldn’t draw notice, even in the larger settlements. Something else is going on here. Which makes me wonder what Redirection really means. If it doesn’t mean assignment to the colonies or certain death, what happens to the students who do not pass Dr. Barnes’s tests?

Chapter 15

I WANT TO ask Michal if he has ever asked these questions, but this isn’t the time or place. There are too many people listening. Too much at stake.

As I grab my bicycle, Michal says, “I have to go inside for a meeting. Are you okay getting back to the University on your own? If not, I can ask someone to help you get these papers to your residence.”

I shift the strap on the bag so the weight will be easier to manage while riding and tell him I’m fine.

“Good.” Michal holds the bicycle while I throw my leg over the seat. “If you need any assistance with the reports, I’ll be working late for the next couple days. You’ll be able to find me at the president’s office.”

His eyes hold mine to make sure I understand. And I do. If I stumble across any important information or get into trouble, I am to find Michal. He will help.

Michal turns and I start pedaling. Despite the weight on my back and the worry of whether The Testing will end before inflicting more death, I smile. My legs pump and the bicycle picks up speed. My hair whips across my face, but I don’t stop to fasten it back as I normally would. The freedom I feel is too wonderful to stop for even a moment.

I push the pedals and zip around pedestrians. After several blocks, there are fewer people on the streets, and I ignore caution and push myself to go even faster. The buildings and trees speed by. The sun shines warm on my face. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine that I am back in Five Lakes, headed home to where my family waits.

Instead of taking a direct route to the University, I zigzag through the city streets, trying to prolong the happiness. Soon my legs begin to tire. Despite the exercises I have done to regain my former muscle tone, my body is not used to this kind of exertion. But it will be. Dad always said the best way to keep the mind healthy is to make sure the body is strong. I know my father was right. While my legs and back are tired, my mind is more focused. More like the girl I was before I was chosen for The Testing. The one who believed that the government wanted the best for us all and that her fellow students could be trusted. This girl would never have believed that friends could betray or that a fellow student would happily abandon her to die in a metal box.

Despite the nightmares that have plagued me, I have tried to avoid remembering the time I spent locked inside a case of steel or the revenge I wanted to exact when I was released. The only thing revenge brings is more destruction. More death. That I was willing to embrace that emotion, even for a brief time, scared me more than being locked inside that box. Though I do not like Professor Holt, her message to us during Induction was correct. Leaders must be able to control their emotions. It is a skill I vow to master. If it hadn’t been for my tripping on that wire, I might have done something . . .

The wire. The other wire I spotted on the other side of the fence. After Induction ended, I put them out of my mind. Ignored the questions I’d had when I saw them. Now that I’ve recalled the snares, the questions and all they imply return. Snares are set by people. People who need food. The signs on the air base fence are clear. The area beyond is too dangerous for anyone to venture beyond. The snares suggest different. If the area isn’t as deadly as the warnings suggest, it would be an ideal location for anyone looking to act in secret while remaining close to the United Commonwealth’s capital.

Could the rebels be using the airfield? Michal said Symon and his people were nearby, near enough for Michal and the other government rebels to pass information back and forth.

If the rebels aren’t at the airfield, who else could be living in the unrevitalized area? Could Redirected students be living among the devastation?

I slow and put my feet down on the pavement before crossing the bridge to the residence. Once I cross, my brief escape from the pressure and worry will end. University work will once again begin. The weight of the bag pulls on my shoulder, reminding me of the daunting task in front of me.

Walking my bicycle across the bridge, I consider how to discover what Redirection means for colony and Tosu City students. Symon’s faction of rebels is working to find The Testing recordings in order to convince Dr. Barnes’s supporters to remove him. If the rebels don’t find that proof, they’ll need other evidence to convince the Debate Chamber to vote with the president. Proof of what happens to the Redirected students might be enough.

Now that I have transportation and an internship with the president, I will have a method and an excuse to leave this campus. Professor Holt and my fellow students will believe I’m working at the president’s office, while the president and her staff will assume I’m doing my work here. As long as I get everything done, no one will have reason to question my whereabouts. Learning the identities of those living on the airfield might not give me the answers I seek, but it’s a place to start.

I look in the direction of Tomas’s residence and wish I could talk to him about what I plan to do. The fears I have. The conflict that might be coming.

I am about to turn my bicycle in that direction when a second-year student with pale yellow hair offers to show me the outbuilding where I can store my bicycle. Vowing to find an opportunity to talk to Tomas later, I follow her directions and take my bulging bag inside. Since it’s long past lunch, I grab an apple and some crackers from the dining hall before climbing the stairs to my rooms. The residence is mostly quiet. Students are in class, still at their internships, or locked in their rooms studying.

Sitting on the floor of my room, I pull stacks of papers out of my bag and put them into four different piles based on the departments that created them. I tie my hair back into a knot, pick a pile at random, and start reading.

After an hour, I’m sure this project will take years, if not decades, to complete. Once the government decides on the path the tracks should take—and there are seven differing opinions on the best route to each of the currently inaccessible colonies—the ground needs to be cleared of trees and debris. Then bridges must be built to cross chasms in the earth. Those gaps are the reason why Five Lakes and the other colonies were not part of the original rail plan. They are also the reason none of the departments can agree on how to proceed. Those who are involved with land revitalization don’t want the train to disrupt newly planted crops and trees, which means directing the train over some of the widest fissures. The Department of Resource Management is concerned by the amount of steel required to create bridges over those areas and wants the train directed to the areas where the gaps in the earth are smallest. Both sides have fair points.

For the next three hours, I consult maps, read long-winded documents, and scribble notes. When dinnertime comes, I’m grateful for the excuse to get up and leave the papers behind—even though I know I will see faces missing from the dining room. It is time to learn who has been cut from our ranks.

The dining hall is half full when I arrive. I can feel eyes following me as I cross to the back table where Ian is seated. Most of the first years are still missing, but I spot a few. Griffin. Kaleigh. Enzo. I let out a sigh of relief at the latter. Though he has not been forthcoming about himself, I count Enzo among my friends.

When I reach my table, those seated at it stop talking.

“I guess everyone knows about my internship,” I say.

Ian grins as the rest of our table suddenly fills with people. One of them is Griffin. Moments later, Enzo follows.

“The president’s skimmer on campus was a tip-off that something big was happening,” says Ian. “It didn’t take long for people to put the pieces together. I’ve been fielding questions about you and the internship all day.” While his tone is light, I can see tension behind his eyes as they slide down the table to Griffin and back to me.

I take a piece of bread and pretend that hunger, not worry, is churning my insides. Will and Raffe slide into the last two seats at the table, and I force a smile. While I’m glad they are not faced with Dr. Barnes’s Redirection, I still do not understand or trust either.

Turning back to Ian, I ask, “Who’s been asking questions?”

“My professors. Students. Everyone is talking about the president taking a deeper interest in the University. Some think her involvement means great things for the future.”

Some.

Forcing a laugh, I say, “That’s because they haven’t seen the work I’ve been assigned. I doubt I’ll ever come out of my rooms. People are going to have to start bringing meals to me. I’m glad the president said I can work out of her office if I need to, because carrying that much paper might kill me.”

Everyone at my table chuckles, but Griffin’s laughter has something ugly lurking behind it.

Plates of food are placed on the table. Long noodles mixed with tomatoes and greens. Flaky white fish that I’ve been told is plentiful in the river that runs through the center of Tosu. A bowl of fresh berries. As we pass platters around the table, I’m asked questions about my first assignment from the president. I answer each as vaguely as possible. After a few more attempts to learn more, my classmates give up and talk of other things.

Will answers a question about his internship in the Health Department as I glance around the room, looking for other first years. I count the faces as I locate them and then count again to make certain I am right. Two are missing. Their names were Geraldine and Drake. Redirected. Perhaps soon I’ll learn to where.

My plate is still full when dinner ends, so I put the fruit, bread, and cheese in my bag before going back to my rooms. Ian stops me on the stairs and asks if I have any questions about my internship. I know he’s offering me a chance to ask for help with my work. Part of me wants to accept. I believe we are on the same side, but without being certain I cannot take the chance.

Back in my rooms, I read the reports on the colonies that are to be joined by the railway. Five Lakes, with 1,023 citizens, is the smallest by far. Picking up the report on my home colony, I immediately realize that the person who sketched the maps and provided the details has never been to Five Lakes. The lakes that the colony is named after are in the right positions, as is the town square. But the apple orchard my father and his team cultivated is on the southwestern side of the colony. Whoever drew the map switched the location of the orchard with the windmills and solar panels that line the southeastern border.

I dig up a blank piece of gray paper and sketch my own map. Unlike Zandri, who could capture anything in a few strokes of a paintbrush, I have limited artistic talents. But I keep drawing, telling myself that accuracy is more important than perfection. I rearrange the incorrect locations and redraw the boundaries of the colony based on my father’s team’s most recent revitalization efforts, which expanded the northern border by two miles—results the officials in Tosu City might not have in their records. When I left, Zeen was scouting the area just west of our colony for the best areas to start the revitalization process there. I can’t help wondering if those plans were finalized or if they have already been embarked upon.

I dig the Transit Communicator out of my bag, turn it over, and run my finger along the almost imperceptible button on the bottom. The metal is cold beneath my fingers, but touching something my brother worked on makes me feel less alone. I know Zeen dreamed of being chosen for The Testing. What would he say about it if I told him what I have learned? I wish there were a way to tell him and to hear what he would do next. Because Zeen always has a plan.

I stiffen. Something scrapes against my door. I reach into my pocket for my knife as I scramble to my feet. When I fling open the door, I’m surprised to see Raffe standing on the other side. “What are you doing lurking out there?”

He jams his hands into his pockets and looks up and down the hall. “Can I come in?”

I study his face, finger the knife in my hand, and nod. I’m not sure what he wants, but I figure it’s better to find out inside my living room rather than where someone could be listening. I close the door as Raffe says, “Wow, you weren’t kidding about the amount of work you were given.”

Raffe moves some papers off a chair and sits at the small table. I don’t bother to sit. Instead, I ask, “Why are you here?”

“To see if you need help.”

I move the reports on Madison Colony and sit across from him. “Don’t you have enough work of your own?”

“Not as much as you’d think.” His shoulders stiffen. “I’m interning for one of the officials who work for my father. Since my father doesn’t want anything to interfere with my grades, I’m going to be using my time at the Education offices to catch up on my homework.”

The Education Department. Adrenaline zips through my blood. Sitting across from me is a person who might have access to the information Michal and the rebels are looking for. No one would think to question his desire to look through files. Not with his father in charge.

If only I could trust him . . .

Pushing away my thoughts, I glance at the papers around the room and say, “Must be nice not to have the stress of extra work.”

“Not really.” He puts his arms on the table and leans forward. “I didn’t study late every night while growing up in order to sit around doing nothing. There are things that are broken that need to be fixed. I want to help fix them.”

His gaze holds mine. In his eyes I see passion. For what I do not know. I am about to ask when a knock sounds. Will. He gives a jaunty wave when I open the door.

“What are you doing here?” Since moving into these rooms, I’ve had only two visitors—Ian and Will on the first night. Suddenly, I’m popular. It’s not hard to imagine why. “Do you want to help work on my assignments for the president too?”

“I saw Raffe leave his rooms and come upstairs.” Before I can close the door, Will saunters inside and gives Raffe a wide smile. “I decided to see what he was up to and wasn’t surprised when he came here.”

Raffe leans back in the chair. “I came to offer Cia my help.”

“So you can report back to your father and Dr. Barnes that she can’t handle her assignments?” Will asks.

“Why would I do that?” Raffe’s eyes glitter with anger.

“Maybe because you don’t like the idea that a colony student was picked to work in the president’s office instead of you? You wouldn’t be the first one around here I’ve heard sounding bitter about that. Griffin won’t shut up about it.”

“I’m not Griffin.”

“No.” Will nods. “But you aren’t a colony student, either. So why are you here, offering to help Cia?”

“Just because someone is from the colonies doesn’t mean he can be trusted, Will.” Despite the aid he rendered me during Induction, distrust fills my voice.

Will looks at me. I see surprise, sorrow, and regret flicker in his eyes. “Maybe not,” he says. Then the cockiness I have always known returns. “But some of us are worth keeping around because of our sparkling personalities and handsome faces.”

His words make Raffe laugh, and while I want nothing more than for Will to leave, even I am forced to smile. Will has that effect.

“As much as I appreciate that,” I say, “your sparkling personality is keeping me from getting this work done. If the two of you both leave, I can get back to it.”

“I’m not leaving until he goes.” Will picks up some papers and takes a seat on the small couch.

I look at Raffe, who raises his eyebrows at me. The expression is almost identical to one Zeen gives when I try to convince him to do something he has no intention of doing. It makes me want to stick out my tongue like I used to do when I was little.

“Hey, this report is about Madison Colony.”

I turn to reach for the papers Will’s holding, but the naked longing on his face makes me stop. Reading about my colony made me feel closer to those I love. As much as I want to hurt Will for all that he has done, I can’t deny him this glimpse of home.

“These plans are about the railway expansion,” I explain. “Four departments involved drafted opinions on how best to build a train system to the colonies that aren’t part of the current system. I’m supposed to review them and report to President Collindar on which ideas have the most merit.”

“Well, whoever drew this map should be pitched off the project.” Will holds up the diagram of Madison Colony. “The paper mills are over here.” He points to the outskirts of the city, where the report shows only unrevitalized buildings. The perfect site to build the train station. “And this area is all farmland. And why do they think we have corn and soy farms in the middle of the city?”

Raffe laughs. I sigh. “The Five Lakes Colony maps are wrong too. If both the Madison and Five Lakes maps are inaccurate, the others must be as well. I can’t give the president a recommendation if the information I’m basing my judgment on is wrong.”

Less than a day into my internship and I have already failed. So much for thinking I would get this assignment done quickly enough to strike out on my own.

“I can help,” Will says.

“Me too.”

Will rolls his eyes at Raffe. “Have you ever been outside Tosu City?”

“No.” Raffe shrugs. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t find people who have. Give me the maps for the other colonies. I’ll find students from those colonies who can look them over and tell us the things that are wrong.” When I hesitate, I see that glint of passion fire up again in his eyes. “Trust me. I can do this.”

Perhaps it’s because I see my brother in Raffe that I consider his request. This is my assignment, but it’s sheer folly to rely only on yourself when you don’t have the knowledge required. My father and Magistrate Owens delegate work all the time. If anyone questions Raffe’s assistance, I can say I was only doing the same.

But then I realize I don’t need to.

The mistakes in the reports about Five Lakes bothered me, but I could reason them away. Five Lakes is the smallest colony. The most distant. The least communicated with by the leaders here in Tosu. But Will’s observations about the flaws in the Madison Colony reports are not so easily explained. Every day the departments that created these reports make decisions that affect citizens across this country. I find it impossible to believe that a project so important would be treated with so little care. Or that the president would put so vital a task in the hands of an untried first-year University student.

I think back to the night Ian asked me to meet with him. He said his own internship was filled with writing summaries of old reports. As an intern, he was being tested on his ability to identify which facts and ideas were most important. The work wasn’t real. It was a test.

Just as this must be.

I look at the papers scattered across the room. While paper is utilized more frequently at the University and within the United Commonwealth Government buildings, it’s still precious. Ian’s internship tests were based on documents that already existed and were being recycled for his task. These reports, with their incorrect facts and mislabeled maps, could not possibly have been used before. They were created just for me.

Why? What purpose does this test serve? Did the president want to see if I would rely solely on my own knowledge or search for assistance on the colonies that I have never seen with my own eyes?

No, my gut tells me this test is not about teamwork or being confident enough to ask for assistance when it is warranted. There are ways to determine those skills that don’t involve wasting what at my school in Five Lakes would be a year’s allotment of paper.

I close my eyes to block out Raffe’s stare so I can think. The volume of papers and the short amount of time to read and report on them ensured I would have to work almost every moment until the deadline in order to complete the task. There would be little time to confirm the information I was reporting on.

And why would I? The documents were created by government departments. By people we depend on to make decisions for the good of our country. They are supposed to be the best at what they do. But if I used these reports to make recommendations and my recommendations were followed, then time, energy, and resources would be wasted. All because I trusted something created by people who are supposed to be experts.

And I understand. This wasn’t a test I was supposed to pass. Just like the final task during the Induction, this was an assignment designed for failure. The president wants me to learn that just because something is created by people in power doesn’t mean it is to be trusted. A lesson I learned in The Testing. And I will not forget it now that I have learned it again.

Opening my eyes, I thank Raffe for his offer but say I don’t need his assistance. I have enough information to write my report. I see annoyance color Raffe’s face before he gives a shrug. When I close the door behind Raffe and Will, I wonder about Raffe’s irritation. Did my refusing his aid injure his ego, or is he frustrated that he lost the opportunity to report that I could not complete this task on my own?

I’ll probably never know.

Sitting on the floor, I write a short list of recommendations for the president, including that she ask the colonies to provide accurate maps of their areas. I also suggest that when building the railway, engineers avoid laying tracks in the middle of already revitalized areas where healthy crops and trees could be affected. There’s no point in negating the important and successful work that has already been done. Something I’m sure the officials in charge already know.

Once I’m done, I pick up the papers strewn across the room, pile them neatly on the table, and head for my bedroom. President Collindar’s lesson has made me remember something important. The signs the government posted on the fence at the airfield imply that it is dangerous to venture into that area, but this doesn’t mean the government believes that to be true. Something lies behind those fences. It is time to find out what that something is.

Chapter 16

I ALLOW MYSELF two hours of sleep. The sky is still dark when I slide the external transmitter into my coat pocket, sling my bag over my shoulder, and quietly descend the stairs. The dining hall and kitchen are empty. Not a surprise, since breakfast won’t be served for another three hours. With only the light of the moon through the window to see by, it takes more time than I’d like to grab supplies. I slide two bottles of water, several apples and pears, some dried beef, and a few small loaves of bread into my bag. If this trip works as I plan, I won’t be gone very long, but it never hurts to be prepared.

Tiptoeing through the dimly lit hallways, I get to the entrance and breathe a sigh of relief as I slip out the front door. The damp, cold air makes me shiver as I walk to the small outbuilding to collect my bicycle. I keep close to the residence in case anyone from the rooms above looks out.

The vehicle shed is unlocked. I grope through the darkness to where I remember storing my new bike while casting glances over my shoulder for signs I have been discovered. When I find my bike, I pull it from the shed and begin to pedal—across the bridge, down several walkways, past the library. I slow in front of Tomas’s residence and use the transmitter to signal him to join me. If he sees the signal, he will turn on his light. But the residence stays dark. So, though I want nothing more than to have Tomas beside me now, I turn my bicycle and pedal past darkened buildings—all while fighting the urge to glance behind me. If someone is watching, I want to look confident. Like I have permission to be leaving campus in the blackness of night.

But wait . . . not everything is dark. In the distance, I see a light on the far side of the campus. While the University is given more power allotment than the rest of the city, the residences are the only buildings allowed electricity past midnight. The light appears to be coming from a building to the north—in the same direction as the building where Obidiah was Redirected.

I swing my bicycle toward the light, not sure what I think I will learn. But anything happening at this time of night is clearly supposed to be secret. If Dr. Barnes or his team are doing something they want to keep hidden, I’m betting the president and the rebels need to know about it.

The light is coming from the same building that Obidiah walked into. Stashing my bicycle in a small group of bushes about a hundred yards away, I watch the illuminated windows for signs of movement. When I see nothing, I creep closer.

I glance through the window and see no one in the hallway. But someone must be inside for the lights to be on. Remembering Obidiah’s Redirection, I stay near the brick wall and hurry to the back of the building. I’m hoping to see something to give me an idea of what is happening inside. Four skimmers sit on the ground behind the structure. Whoever piloted the vehicles must be inside. If I hide in the same place I did the last time, I will see them when they emerge. But then I will know nothing about why they are here. The only way to find out is to go inside. If I dare.

Careful to keep to the shadows, I hurry back to the front entrance. The lobby is deserted. Adrenaline, fear, and doubt pulse in my veins as I wrap my fingers around the door handle. I should go back to my bike and get out of here.

I tug on the handle. The door opens an inch and I lean close, listening for the sound of anyone who could spot me. The building is silent as stone. Before I can lose my nerve, I slide through the entrance, careful to guide the door closed behind me so it doesn’t make a sound. I hold my breath and walk farther into the lobby, looking for a clue as to which of the three hallways I should begin my search in.

The creak of a hinge makes me jump, and the sound of voices stills my heart. People are coming.

“Speaking of projects, did you hear about the new breed of rabbit Professor Richmard’s bioengineering students have created?” The nasal male voice sounds as if its owner is just down the hall. I need to get out or hide. I duck behind a tall black reception counter as the nasal voice grows closer. “The rabbits have a genetically modified immune system that will withstand eating the plants growing in the soil out east. The students released a bunch of the new species not far from here last week. They want to see if the genetic improvements have altered survival instincts.”

I wedge myself between the receptionist’s stool and the counter. Blood roars in my ears as I go still.

“Let’s hope this breed does better than the geese Dr. Richmard was so proud of two years ago.” Professor Holt’s voice makes me stifle a gasp. “Not only did they lose all their feathers, the animals were overly aggressive and attacked anyone they came in contact with.”

“Both of those traits turned out to be useful. Without any feathers to pluck, the birds were easier to cook, and the aggressive nature meant no one had to go searching for them to see how they were doing. That made it easier for Dr. Richmard’s team to track them. And it should be noted that both problems were fixed in the next genetic generation.” This voice is warm. Amused. Familiar. And right on the other side of the counter I’m hiding behind.

“I can’t imagine aggressive rabbits,” a deep voice says. “How will Dr. Richmard’s team know if this new breed is thriving?”

“They’re injected with a new chip that transmits their heartbeat and location to a receiver installed on top of the Biological Engineering residence. Once the data is received, it’s transferred to a processor in the lab. As long as the rabbits stay within a couple miles of campus, the students can track them.” The nasal voice laughs. “So far those chips are working better than the ones in the new identification bracelets. Maybe we should put the bioengineering students in charge of that project next time. We could even put them in charge of monitoring The Testing bracelets, since you had such trouble with that last year.”

There are murmurs of agreement. I hold my breath and listen as they are cut off by the familiar voice. “The current issue with the University bracelets will be worked out. As for The Testing, worrying about the past is pointless. I have no doubt that Jedidiah will be happy with the alternative my team has come up with. The new data recorder in the bracelets will tell us if the locking mechanism on the clasp has been disturbed, and we’ll know whether the user has removed the bracelet. We will not allow the mistakes of last year’s Testing to happen again. Next time we might not get so lucky.”

Several voices offer their agreement before the speakers all bid one another good night. Footsteps echo in the lobby and fade as several people go down the hallway that leads to the back of the building. But the rustle of fabric tells me at least someone is still here.

I swallow hard and wonder what he or she is waiting for. Do they suspect that someone entered the building while they were meeting? That an unauthorized person might still be here?

When the sound of walking can no longer be heard, Professor Holt breaks the silence. “Is everything else under control? Jedidiah is concerned there is dissention in your ranks.”

“When dealing with the brightest minds, you have to expect some will question the direction we are taking.” Despite the reasonable tone, something about the voice sends a shiver up my spine. I know I’ve heard the voice before. I just can’t recall where. But as much as I want to see who it belongs to, I keep perfectly still as the man says, “Those pushing the hardest for change have been given tasks to distract them. They’ve been given a new goal that they foolishly believe I disapprove of. They think their plan will change the course of our country’s history, when in actuality, it will serve to destroy what they think they are building. Once their plans are put into action, we won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

“How can you be so sure?” Professor Holt demands.

“Because, my dear professor, they’re all going to die.”

Calm. Rational. The same tone my father employs to tell my brothers and me to help our mother with dinner. People killed. For believing something should change. Is this man talking about members of Symon’s rebellion? He must be. Their efforts have not gone unnoticed, and now some of them are in mortal danger. As I will be if this man or Professor Holt discovers me listening to their conversation. Michal needs to be warned so he can pass the news along to Symon.

I swallow hard and wrap my arms around myself as the male voice lets out a low chuckle and says, “Trust me, professor. They’ll be taken care of. Your precious University program will continue exactly as Jedidiah and you planned.”

“You’d better be right. The president—”

“The president will not be in power much longer. She just doesn’t know it. You don’t have to worry. Now, let me escort you to your vehicle. The next time we speak, I promise you will see the results we have all been working for.”

I let out a sigh as the footsteps fade. The lights blink out. A door slams shut. I force myself to sit quietly and count to one hundred, in case either of them comes back. When no one does, I grab the counter and use it to support my shaking legs as I stand. Part of me wants to search the building to see if it contains something the rebellion could use, but I doubt that they would leave anything incriminating out in the open, and the nearness of dawn makes me head for the exit.

I look through the window to make sure no one is in sight, yank open the door, and run. When I reach my bike, I jerk it from its hiding place, throw the bag over my shoulder, and ride. Pushing the pedals. Using the terror in my veins to go faster.

When my bicycle is returned to the shed, I hurry to my rooms before the rest of the residence stirs. I turn the lock behind me, lean against the door, and start to shake. On trembling legs, I walk to the bathroom with the hope that a hot shower will ease the chill running through my body. I sit on the floor of the shower and let the hot water run until my skin is pink and the room filled with steam. When I’m dry, I pull on my sleeping garments, climb under the covers, and close my eyes tight, hoping to leave the cold fear in my veins behind.

When I wake, the room is bright with light. I glance at the clock. Lunch was long ago. I should get up. I need to find Tomas to formulate a plan. But my eyes are grainy and my muscles ache. So instead, I eat an apple from my bag, curl up on the bed, and doze until dinner. Even after sleeping all day, I have to force myself to climb out from under the covers and get dressed. At dinner, I do my best to laugh, talk, and eat just like everyone else. When Ian teases me about being so overworked I don’t have time to come to meals, I laugh and admit I was up so late working that I slept most of the day. The words are easy to say since they are true.

More than once, I catch Griffin and Damone looking in my direction, but I pretend not to notice. When the meal is over, I use work as an excuse to go back to my rooms. I ache for the comfort of Tomas’s arms, but I remember Griffin’s and Damone’s watchful eyes. If I go find him, someone will report that to Professor Holt and Dr. Barnes. Tomas would end up in danger. Instead, I stay where I am, stare out the window, and watch the sky go from light to dark.

I make excuses as to why it is best for me to stay in my rooms instead of pedaling into Tosu City or to the airfield tonight. I don’t want to go alone. I don’t have a flashlight. My muscles aren’t conditioned enough to make the journey quickly. I don’t know if Michal will be in the president’s office, and I don’t have the exact coordinates of the airfield. All are true, but deep down, I recognize the real reason I cannot make the trip.

I am scared.

The Testing put my life in danger. Though I still don’t have complete memories of that time, I know I faced the fear. I survived. I should be able to do the same now. But this fear is different.

During The Testing, I had no choice but to face the terror Dr. Barnes’s challenges evoked. Last night, for the first time, it was my choice and my choice alone that put me in the path of danger.

Part of me thought I had accepted the possibility that I might be given the ultimate punishment by Dr. Barnes and his team of officials.

I was wrong.

I want to live.

As important as it is to put an end to The Testing and Dr. Barnes’s current University program, there’s a group already working toward that goal. People like Michal, who are older, more experienced, smarter. They know this city and the people who inhabit it better than I. They don’t need help from a first-year University student. Any information I might find can also be found by Symon and his team. And even if I wanted to try, it’s too late for me to make a difference. As much as I’d like to think I’m important, I’m not. I’m too inexperienced. Too untried. Too young.

Technically, my school graduation in Five Lakes marked me as an adult. But huddled on the bed with my arms wrapped tight around my body, I have never felt less worthy of the distinction. As much as I always wanted to believe my father when he said I am capable of doing anything, I know I am not. I cannot deliberately make a choice that could end my life.

I am not a leader.

I am a coward.

My sleep is filled with strange dreams. My muscles feel heavy when I wake. My appetite is gone, though I force myself to eat before biking to the president’s office. Since it is Sunday, the office hallways are mostly empty. I drop my report onto the president’s desk and immediately return to campus. No detours. No notes warning Michal and the rebels of possible danger; no stopping at Tomas’s residence to tell him what I know. No opportunity for Dr. Barnes to accuse me of behavior that marks me for Redirection.

When the next week starts, I go to classes, turn in assignments, and take tests. My teachers praise my work. I receive high marks, as do the other members of our study group. Everyone asks questions about my internship, especially those who have been assigned to internships within the Central Government Building. Despite the weight of my fear, my answers are upbeat. Yes, I met the president. Yes, I already turned in my first assignment. No, I have not heard the rumor about the change in law the president will propose on the Debate Chamber floor.

I feel Tomas stiffen next to me as I answer the last question, and when I go upstairs into the stacks to find a book about the former European Union, he follows.

“What change in law is the president going to propose?”

“I don’t know.”

Tomas put his hands on my shoulders. “The others might believe that, but they don’t understand you the way I do.” His fingers trace the outline of my jaw. “I know when you’re angry or scared. Right now you’re both. I can’t help you unless you tell me why.” When I still don’t answer, he drops his hand and asks, “Is it me?”

“No. It’s . . .” The words die in my throat as I stare into the eyes of the boy I have trusted with so many of my secrets and my heart. Do I trust him now? Yes. Despite all that has happened, I believe in him. I love him.

Quickly, I tell him about the rebellion. About the president’s upcoming challenge to Dr. Barnes, the threatened vote of confidence, and the president’s willingness to embrace violence to end The Testing and prevent her loss of power.

“According to Michal, people around the city as well as students here at the University are being armed for this conflict. Unless Symon’s rebel faction finds something to convince the Debate Chamber to vote out Dr. Barnes, people will die.”

“So will Dr. Barnes.” The cold acceptance in Tomas’s voice makes me shiver. “He deserves to pay.”

“Yes.” I slip my hand into his and squeeze tight to remind him that I am here. That despite what we have been through, we are still the people who came from Five Lakes Colony. People who believe in doing what is best for everyone. “But not like that.”

Tomas’s gray eyes look into mine. In their depths I see anger and pain, but I also see the warmth and kindness of the boy I have known since childhood. A boy who has turned into a man.

“You’re right,” he says. “As much as I want Dr. Barnes to pay for what he has done, the country can’t afford another war. I don’t think that my internship in the genetics lab will give me access to the information the president needs, but I’ll keep my ears open. You’ll do the same. If we’re lucky, Dr. Barnes will be voted out of power and The Testing will end without the rebels raising their weapons.”

“And if we aren’t lucky?” I ask.

Tomas’s hand tightens on mine. “Then we run. We can take off our bracelets on our way out of Tosu. The city will be too busy with a civil war to worry about missing University students. They’ll never bother to ask if we fled and returned home.”

Home. My parents. My brothers. A place far away from Tosu City, filled with people I know and trust. Tomas could be right. There is a chance no one will search for us. Not with a rebellion going on. We might be able to go home and use our skills to help the people we grew up with survive. Five Lakes has so little contact with Tosu City, they may not even realize a war is happening. When we tell them, they will not only understand why we returned, they will welcome us with open arms. Perhaps we can leave the past behind us and build a future without fear. Together. And when Tomas’s lips find mine, the kiss is filled with passion and the hope that even if war comes, we will survive.

The days pass. I stash extra food in my bag during meals in preparation for the journey Tomas and I may make. During the study sessions, I try to ignore the faces around the table. Stacia. Enzo. Will. Raffe. Naomy. Holt. Brick. People I am planning to leave behind if violence comes. But the hope Tomas’s plan gave me fades as guilt takes hold.

On Friday, I am assigned to work with one of the president’s officials on reading through plans for a new communication system. Here and there, I catch snatches of conversation as the president’s office prepares for the debate motion on The Testing she will soon be putting forward. Throughout the day, I watch for Michal, hoping for news that evidence to condemn Dr. Barnes has been found. I spot him as I’m leaving for the day. He looks tired as he climbs out of a skimmer behind the president and several older officials. His steps slow when he sees me. His eyes watch as the president and her team disappear inside the building, and then he signals for me to follow him around the corner.

Once we are out of sight, he dispels my hope. Tangible proof has yet to be located, and Symon is working hard to persuade the president and the other faction that patience is required to avoid perpetuating the cycle of violence.

The words I heard while hiding in the dark echo in my head. A promise of more violence.

Quickly, I tell Michal about overhearing Professor Holt and the voice that spoke of murder. When I am done, Michal tells me not to worry. Symon would know if Dr. Barnes was aware of the rebels. But he promises to pass the information along.

During a whispered study session conversation that evening, Tomas assures me that I have done my part. I have passed along the warning. Other than preparing for flight, there is nothing more either of us can do. I don’t tell him about the airfield and the answers I think could be found there, because I’m scared. I want to go home. I don’t want either of us to die.

That night, I toss and turn as I wait for sleep to come. When it does, it brings with it faces of people I don’t know. Some wear bracelets of silver. Others wear ones woven of silver and gold. Extending from each bracelet is a chain bolted to the brick wall behind them. Some hurl themselves forward, trying to get free. Others seem resigned to their fates, oblivious to the metal links binding them to the wall. One by one, they turn and notice me. Their eyes look at my wrist. Envy, anger, desire, and despair light their faces. When I glance down, I see that I am not wearing a bracelet. I am standing in a field of rich green grass that my father helped create, far away from Tosu City. I am free.

Or am I?

I look around and my heart begins to pound. Something is wrong. I take several steps forward and run smack into a barrier. A wall. I turn and race in the other direction. Five steps. Ten. Another wall. One wall meets another. Then another.

A cage that cannot be seen is no less there than if the walls were made of steel.

The Testing candidates chained to the wall stand still as stone. In their eyes I see terror combined with a hunger that can only be sated by freedom. It’s a look I know. The same one I have seen in my own reflector. A look I must wear now.

I stumble backward, yelling that I can’t help them. But I can try.

The walls of my prison are cold to the touch. The chill seeps through my fingers. I shiver, pull my hand away, and the cold recedes. I step closer to the center of the confined space and feel warmer. Less frightened. Safe. A step closer to the wall, and panic gnaws my stomach.

And I realize—the walls are constructed of my terror. To escape, I will have to not only face, but defeat, my fear.

Nausea rolls through me as I push my hand against the wall. A drop of water hits the floor. Then another, until it becomes a steady stream. Water pools at my feet. The wall weakens beneath my hands. I push against the barrier and feel it tremble, but it does not break. I take several steps toward the center of the space and prepare to run as a voice inside tells me to stop. That what I’m doing is dangerous. That breaking this wall of ice could result in my death.

I know.

I accept.

I run.

The ice shatters on impact—as do the Testing candidates’ chains. I feel shards of ice slice my flesh. The pain I feel makes it hard to see whether the others have survived. But when I put my head on the blood-streaked earth, I know it doesn’t matter. Whether we are dead or alive, we are better off because we are free.

I jolt awake and run my fingers along the five Testing scars. They burn just like the shards in my dream. I slide out of bed, turn on the light, and pace the length of my bedroom. When the dream doesn’t fade, I run my hand along the wall. I feel the same chill I did in my nightmare. But these walls are real. Hours ago, hiding behind the walls of this room made me feel safe. I now see it for what it is. A prison. The safety is just an illusion. No matter how careful I am or how good my grades are, I will never be free of the threat Dr. Barnes and his system present. None of us will be until Dr. Barnes and his officials are removed from power.

Unlike in many of my nightmares, none of the faces in my dream were familiar. But I know who they are. Future candidates. Current University students. People who, like my friend Daileen, are at this moment seated at their families’ kitchen tables or in their residence rooms, studying late into the night, hoping to ace the next test. To get closer to their dream. They don’t know that the people who safeguard that dream are making choices that could lead to their deaths. But I do. No matter the excuses I make or the fear I feel, I cannot turn away from that knowledge. The president must win her vote. Dr. Barnes must be removed from power. The Testing must end.

So far the rebels have not found the evidence the president needs to win the vote and defeat Dr. Barnes. If the vote fails, the other rebel faction will attack, and—if the man I overheard is correct—Dr. Barnes’s team will be ready for them. They will do whatever it takes to crush those who wish to end The Testing, and they will sentence the rebels, generations of candidates, and perhaps even the president and her staff to death. I may not be able to find the information that can keep this from happening, but I have to try.

I glance at the clock. It is just past midnight. There’s plenty of time to prepare and search the abandoned airfield for information the rebels can use. I strip off my nightwear and pull on my clothes. Lacing my boots, I come up with a plan. First stop, the residence library. Last week, I left without learning the exact boundaries of the airfield. During the Induction, I logged the coordinates into the Transit Communicator, but the airfield is large. It would be best to have a more complete picture of the area I will be searching.

The hour is early enough that students are still in the hangout room when I walk by. After looking through the library rooms, I find a tattered atlas of the former fifty United States shelved near the floor. The old airfield base is marked on a detailed map of Kansas, along with its longitude and latitude. Step one complete.

An empty lab completes step two. I find several boxes of matches and a small penlight. I also unearth a narrow, razor-sharp folding knife used to cut up plants. It isn’t much, but between this knife and the one in my pocket, I will have protection if I run into trouble.

Back in my rooms, I slide the signaling receiver I built into my pocket. While I do not want to put Tomas in danger, I know he will want to be by my side. Studying the map, I plug the coordinates for the center of the airfield into the Transit Communicator. The machine calculates and tells me it is just shy of ten miles away. If Tomas and I leave within the hour, we should be able to reach it, look around, and get back to our residences before our absence is noticed. I place the map book in the bottom of my bag and then add the change of clothes, food, water, and matches on top. I hold the penlight in my hand. The knives go in the side pocket. Just in case.

When the clock strikes one, I open my door, step into the hall, and listen for sounds from my fellow students. There is silence.

The moon isn’t as bright as last week, which makes it easier to cross the residence property without notice. A crack of a stick makes me jump, but when I squint into the darkness, I see nothing. Thanks to the penlight, I find my bicycle quickly. As I start to wheel it away, I hear a shuffling noise.

My heart leaps to my throat as a figure fills the doorway and says, “I knew you were up to something. Wait until I tell Professor Holt about this.”

Chapter 17

DAMONE.

I hit the signal button in my pocket and then lift my penlight to his smirking face.

“You scared me to death.” I force a quiet laugh. “What are you doing out here?”

He leans against the doorway. “I think you’re the one who should be answering that question.”

Tension floods me, but I shrug as though I haven’t any concern. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. So I thought I’d take a ride.”

“That’s a good lie.” He laughs. “I wonder if Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt will believe it. They might, unless you have something in that bag that clues them in to what you’re really doing.”

I clutch the strap of the bag and pull it tight against me. If Dr. Barnes gets ahold of the Transit Communicator . . .

“What’s in the bag, Cia?” Damone pushes off the wall and saunters forward. “Griffin thinks whatever’s in there must be pretty important, since you never let the thing out of your sight.”

“Why does either of you care what I have in my bag?” I shift the bag on my shoulder so I can reach the side pocket. Sliding my hand inside, I say, “Are you failing your classes and need to borrow my homework?”

My fingers close around the handle of the lab knife as Damone’s eyes narrow. “We don’t need a colony brat’s help to pass. We’re the ones who deserve to be here. We should be the ones working with the president. Griffin figures whoever turns you in will be able to request that assignment. He thought you’d never have the guts to venture out after dark, so he went to bed.” Damone smiles. “But I know you better.”

“I saved your life,” I whisper, hoping Tomas has received my signal. That he is at this moment looking for me.

“I saved myself.” Anger crackles in his voice. “The snake only attacked because of you. And I was only in danger of being left behind at the second challenge because Will and Enzo were too weak to do what was necessary to ensure we’d win. Your lack of leadership made them weak. You don’t belong here, and I’m going to be the one who removes you for good.”

I grab my bicycle and throw it forward as Damone lunges for me. He lets out a shout of anger. The clatter of metal and a yelp of pain give me a burst of satisfaction as I flick off my light and dart to the left side of the shed. I slide the knife free of my bag and swing it toward the shadows in front of me as I try to think my way out of this.

But there is no way out. Even if I fight my way past Damone and flee, he will report me to Professor Holt. Dr. Barnes will send officials to look for me. Tomas and I only planned to escape if our disappearance would be covered by the outbreak of fighting. People might then believe we were casualties of that action. Now there is no chance for my flight to go unnoticed. My family could be punished, as could Tomas and all the students who dared to be my friends. If I turn myself in, they might be safe. Unless Dr. Barnes gives me the drug used in The Testing interview. Unlike during my Testing days, I have nothing to counteract its effects. My secrets will be in the open. My family still at risk. Right now the only war that is being waged is here. No matter what happens, there will be consequences to this night.

I race for the moonlit doorway. Hands grab me from behind and yank me back. Instinctively, I lash out with the knife. I feel the blade make contact with fabric and flesh, and Damone screams. His grip loosens and I run.

I am in the doorway when I hear the footsteps. I run faster, out of the shed, toward the bridge. I stumble over a small bush. That one moment is all it takes for Damone to catch me. His body hits mine, and we crash to the ground. I roll to the side and am stopped as hands close around my throat from behind and squeeze.

I can’t breathe. Pressure builds in my chest. The world goes hazy around me. I claw with my free hand at the fingers digging into my flesh and then do the only thing I can do. I grip the knife and stab behind me with the last of my energy.

The knife punches into flesh. I hear a gasp as the hands release their hold on my throat. Blood runs over my hand. The knife plunges deeper. Air slides into my lungs. There is a loud thunk, and Damone’s body slumps on top of me.

Gasping for breath, I struggle out from under the weight and hear “Let me help you.”

Not Tomas’s voice. Raffe.

I look up. He is standing in front of me holding a large wooden bat in one hand. The other is held out in front of him. I close my hand around his and climb to my feet. Only then do I look down at the body sprawled on the ground.

“Is he dead?” It hurts to speak, and my voice sounds unfamiliar. Low. Harsh. Swollen.

“Not yet.” Raffe puts the bat on the ground, grabs Damone’s legs, and begins to drag him. Not toward the residence and the help that lies inside, but away.

“What are you doing?”

“We can’t risk Damone telling Professor Holt about this.”

“We can’t prevent him from talking.”

“Yes.” Raffe looks up at me. “We can. No one will question a student disappearing from the University. Especially one who is barely making the grade, like Damone. Students know failure requires a price. Some are too cowardly to pay it.”

“I don’t understand,” I whisper. But I do. Raffe is dragging Damone to the ravine. If Damone isn’t dead now, he will be when he hits the bottom. “We can’t kill him.”

Raffe stops at the edge of the crevice. “If we don’t, we’ll both suffer the consequences. I’m willing to face Professor Holt if you are. Your choice.” He puts his foot on Damone’s back and waits.

My choice. Save Damone or myself. Kill or be killed.

I wish Tomas were here to help me make this choice. I know the one I should make. All my life I’ve been taught to respect each and every life. To do whatever is necessary to preserve it.

Moonlight glistens off the blood on my hands. I picture myself running inside. Calling for a doctor. Following the teachings my parents instilled in me.

But I don’t. I tell myself Damone has lost too much blood to be helped. That no matter the choice I make, he will die. Both are true. But I know in my heart the real reason behind my choice. Choosing to attempt to save Damone’s life means ending my own.

I look out into the darkness, willing Tomas to step from the shadows. When he doesn’t, I take a deep breath, swallow the bile building in my throat, and nod.

That one movement is all it takes. Raffe puts his arms under Damone and rolls Damone onto his back. Someone lets out a low groan. Raffe from exertion? Damone from pain? Before I can find out, Raffe gives one final push, and Damone’s body plunges over the edge.

I can’t breathe. Bending over, I put my hands on my legs and force air in and out of my lungs. Without missing a beat, Raffe walks back across the grass, grabs the bat, and drops it into the emptiness below. “Okay. Let’s get going.”

There is no guilt in his voice. No concern for the life he has just taken. None of the tears that make my body tremble and my eyes burn.

“Cia. We have to go.” He grabs my arm and pulls me toward the shed. “We don’t want to be out here if someone inside starts wondering what the shouting was that woke them up. If we don’t want to get caught, we have to get out of here now.”

I flinch at the icy tone of Raffe’s voice. Nausea rocks my stomach. A knife slick with blood is clutched in my hand. A body lies broken at the bottom of the ravine. Raffe appears unfazed as he picks my bike off the shed floor and wheels it out to me. A moment later, he returns with one of his own.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re not going anywhere with him.”

Tomas.

I turn and see him step out of the darkness into a patch of moonlight. His face is filled with worry and rage as he looks from me to the knife in my hands to Raffe.

“I should have figured you’d turn up.” Raffe takes a step toward Tomas. “Did you and Cia plan to meet tonight, or did the two of you figure out some kind of emergency contact method?” When neither of us answers, Raffe shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Cia didn’t need you to come to her rescue. She saved herself from Damone. The two of us were just about to head out. Do you want to come with us?”

Tomas stiffens at the implication that Raffe and I planned to go somewhere together without informing him. I start to explain, but realize this isn’t the time or place. The longer we stand here talking, the greater chance there is of someone hearing us. If someone finds us here, they will see the knife and the blood that stains my hands. They will know what I have done. All of us will pay the penalty for my crime. I will not allow that to happen.

Sliding the knife into my bag, I take a step toward Tomas. “Look.” The word scrapes my swollen throat. “We have to get out of here now.”

“I’m ready when you are.” Raffe sets down his bike, heads back to the outbuilding, and returns with another. “This was Damone’s. I don’t think he’ll mind if you use it, Tomas. Now, if both of you are ready, I think we should get moving.”

I look toward the edge where Damone lost his life, feel the throb of my throat where his hands tried to end mine, and climb onto my bicycle. Tomas does the same, but refuses to look at me as we begin to pedal.

Both Tomas and Raffe let me take the lead as we ride across campus. I push my legs as fast as they will go, desperate to leave the sorrow and fear of my actions behind. But there is no forgetting the feeling of my knife puncturing Damone’s flesh or watching his body plunge into the ravine. I want to collapse to the ground and howl with frustration, guilt, and sorrow. But I can’t because there is more at work here than a boy who wanted my success for his own and was willing to do anything to get it. There will be time enough for guilt and recriminations later. Now I have to decide what to do about the boys riding behind me. One I would trust with my life. The other just saved my life, but I do not understand his motivations. I need to if Tomas and I are going to survive this night.

When we are several blocks away from the University’s entrance, I stop and wait for Tomas and Raffe. When they arrive, I ignore the frustration on Tomas’s face and turn to Raffe. “This is as far as we are going to go until you answer some questions. I know why Damone came outside tonight. Why did you?”

“Because I was following you.” Raffe pushes up the sleeve of his jacket. In the moonlight, I can see three angry-looking scars. “You helped me during the Induction, not because you were trying to get ahead but because it was the right thing to do. That made an impression.” He shrugs and rolls down his sleeve. “A couple days after the Induction ended, I heard Griffin and Damone say that if they couldn’t beat you in class, they’d find another way to get rid of you. A few days later, Professor Holt asked Griffin to keep an eye on you. He said she was concerned about your suitability for leadership and wanted Griffin to report any unusual behavior. Griffin asked Damone and me to help him follow you. I drew that duty last weekend.”

My heart skips. “You saw me leave the residence.”

“You were too fast for me to keep up.” He gives a small smile. “This time I was ready. Apparently, so was Damone.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand. Why not report me to Professor Holt?”

“Because I’m not like Griffin and Damone.” Raffe glances in the direction we came from. “I grew up believing that going to the University and helping revitalize this country were the greatest things a person could do. Two years ago, I started to realize that things weren’t as perfect as my father and his friends claimed. Something happened—”

“What?” Tomas asks.

Raffe shakes his head. “There isn’t time to get into that now. The two of you can either trust me or not, but if we’re going to do whatever it is you planned, we’d better get moving or we’ll never make it back by morning. Unless, of course, you guys don’t plan to go back.”

“Of course we’re going back,” I say, wondering if Raffe has somehow overheard Tomas and me discuss our plans to leave. If so, what else did he hear?

Though we have studied together, Raffe is not a friend. Not someone I understand. His actions tonight should elicit my trust, but part of me can’t help wondering if that was the reason he helped me in the first place. Damone had more ambition than brains. It’s not a surprise he would jump to betray a fellow student in order to better his standing. While I didn’t like Damone, I think I understand what lay behind his actions. Raffe is a mystery. I do not want to believe someone would aid in someone’s death just to gain the confidence of another. However, Will’s actions in The Testing proved almost anything is possible if someone wants something badly enough. It’s possible Raffe pushed Damone to his death in order to delve into my secrets. My father once told me to trust no one. I take Tomas’s hand and hold tight. No matter what secrets we had in the past, I know I am right to trust Tomas. Unless I want to return to campus and ignore my chance to help end The Testing, I see no choice for now but to take Raffe with us.

“So are we going to stand here and talk all night, or do what you planned to do?” Raffe asks.

“Let’s go,” I answer.

“No.” Tomas lets go of my hand. “Cia, you can’t trust him.”

Maybe not, but I see no other option. Asking Raffe to give us a moment, I lead Tomas down the street and explain about the airfield and the answers I hope to find there. “The president is going to propose the change in law and ask for a vote soon. We may not have another chance to look for the answers the rebels need. I don’t know if I can live with myself if people die and I didn’t do everything I could to prevent it. Can you?”

I look at the dried blood on my fingers. Maybe if I prevent more deaths, I can live with the one I am responsible for. Maybe Tomas will be able to live with Zandri’s death, too.

Tomas studies Raffe across the darkened street. In the silence, I think of Will and his betrayal during The Testing. Tomas believed he could not be trusted. I insisted Tomas was wrong, and we almost died. I would not blame Tomas for walking away from me now. Instead he pulls me close and says, “No. I couldn’t live with myself either. Let’s go.”

United, we walk back to where Raffe waits with our bicycles. I pull the Transit Communicator out of my bag, turn it on, and tie it to the middle of my handlebars with shoelaces I took out of a pair of boots. Between the Communicator’s compass and the map book, I should be able to get us there and back without getting lost or turned around.

The map showed a number of ways to get to the airfield. My choice is a route two miles longer than the others. A road just beyond the revitalized boundaries of the city. Speed is important, but speed will mean nothing if we are spotted. Three people riding down the city streets in the middle of the night would attract attention.

Raffe says nothing as we pedal to the east. Revitalized streets give way to those abandoned to time. The pavement is bumpy and buckled. Using the dim light of the moon, I steer clear of the most damaged areas and keep riding. Finally, we reach the road that heads to the south. Here the pavement is smooth and in perfect repair. I feel my shoulders tense as I glide along the asphalt. The road’s condition acts as a warning. Pavement is only this well tended if it is important to the United Commonwealth Government. Though I doubt officials would travel in the dead of night, we need to take care.

The glowing display of the Transit Communicator marks our progress. I keep picturing Damone. His lanky body. Angular face. The calculation in his eyes except when he laughed. Laughter transformed him into someone young and carefree. From what he said during the Induction, laughter and fun were not priorities in his family. Success was. Perhaps if he had laughed more, he would not have made the choice to trade my life for his gain. He would not have been a tool for Professor Holt to use against me.

I think of all the lives lost in the Seven Stages of War. Of those who were sent by their leaders into battle and instructed to kill. Did those in charge understand the implications of their orders? Or were they, like Damone, thinking only of what they hoped to gain?

We are less than a mile from our destination when Raffe asks us to stop. “Do you think the two of you can tell me where we’re headed? The only thing this way is the old air force base.”

“That’s where we’re going,” Tomas says.

“Why? You wouldn’t have seen the warning signs during Induction, but Cia did.”

“Someone isn’t paying attention to the signs,” I say. “There are people living inside that fence, and I want to know who.”

Raffe looks like he wants to push for an explanation, but I cut him off by putting my feet on the pedals and going forward. If he doesn’t want to follow, he doesn’t have to. But he does. As we pedal the last mile, I see Tomas and Raffe scanning the horizon, looking for signs of whoever might be living in this unrevitalized area. Off to the east, a howl echoes across the plains. A reminder to keep alert for more than human-made tracks.

I spot the fence a hundred yards south of a bend in the road. We hide our bicycles in a thicket of bushes and listen for sounds that we are not alone. Dried leaves crunch under our feet, and the wind rustles grass and tree branches. Other than that, everything is silent.

Taking a deep breath, I put my hands on the fence and climb. Our feet hit the other side at the same time. Raffe starts forward, but I turn back and scan the fence, looking for a landmark to tell us where we entered. The shadows of twisted trees and scraggly bushes spread across the landscape. Nothing unique marks this spot. Digging into my bag, I pull out the extra shirt I packed and tie it near the top of the chain link. There’s a chance someone will see the fabric and wonder at it, but I would rather take the risk than waste time looking for our entry point later. Between the marker I’ve left and the Communicator’s compass, we should be able to find our way out.

“How did you know to mark the fence like that?” Raffe whispers.

Tomas answers, “It’s what we do in Five Lakes to make sure we can find our way back when we venture outside our colony’s boundaries.”

Raffe nods. “That makes sense. So now what?”

I pull out my penlight and shine it close to the ground. “Now we look for tracks and listen for sounds that will lead to whoever lives here.”

I glance at the watch on my bag. We agree to search for an hour. It isn’t much time, but it’s all we can afford if we want to make it back to the residence before dawn.

I watch the compass and walk with my hand cupped around the penlight’s beam—a trick Zeen taught me to limit the amount of light that can be seen at a distance—but juggling the two is awkward. Especially when the terrain becomes less level as grass and trees give way to broken pavement and collapsed buildings.

“You’ll be able to look for tracks faster if you let me hold that.” Raffe reaches for the Communicator, but Tomas’s hand is there first.

“I think it’s better if I take it.” Tomas looks at the readout and points. “South is this way.”

Raffe jerks at every rustle and snap. It makes it hard to focus as I study the ground. I am about to give up when my light passes over a section of dirt in between broken pavement. The dirt is dry and hard, but recently must have been soft enough to capture the tread of someone’s shoe. The print is faint. Too faint for Raffe to understand what he is seeing. But Tomas does. I spot another shoeprint fifteen feet from the first. Then another. The brown and yellow grasses growing through the pavement are stamped down in a manner that suggests someone has recently traveled this way. But as encouraging as that is, a glance at the watch tells me we will need to start back soon. If so, I will have to accept that this trip and the death that came because of it have been for nothing.

That’s when I see it.

A flickering glow in the distance. A fire.

My blood quickens as I turn off the flashlight and slide it into the pocket of my bag. I flinch when my fingers brush the handle of the laboratory knife and then close around it. My hand shakes as I pull it free. Never do I want to be forced to take another life, but I am not naïve. Whoever is by the fire may attack. If so, I will be ready.

Step by careful step, I move closer and crouch behind what must have once been some kind of vehicle. Tomas follows my movements and soundlessly joins me. Raffe arrives moments later. My heart pounds as I peer around the twisted metal and squint into the firelight.

People are lounging near the fire. Behind them is a one-story structure that looks to be mostly intact. I hear the murmur of voices, but I’m too far away to understand what they say. Part of me wonders why they are awake at this time of night. Then a memory flashes. Tomas and I huddle together on another night. Not beyond pieces of twisted metal, but in a small building with no roof. In my memory, Tomas tells me to get some sleep. He’ll wake me in a few hours so I can keep watch for other Testing candidates or animals that might mean us harm. These few must be the ones designated to safeguard their group’s sleep. That means there are more people nearby.

Someone laughs and shouts, “Hey, new guy. Bring us some water.”

“My name isn’t new guy.” The door to the structure opens. A man appears and walks toward the fire. “It’s Cris. If you guys are such hotshots, you should have figured that out by now.”

I hear Tomas suck in air as the firelight glints off a large silver gun strapped to the man’s side. But it isn’t the gun that makes Tomas catch his breath. It’s the sound of the voice, the sight of the blond hair, and the face that is familiar to us both.

The man taking a seat by the fire isn’t named Cris. It’s my oldest brother, Zeen.

Chapter 18

THERE IS MORE laughter. More conversation. Tomas’s hand finds mine, but I barely feel his touch as I close my eyes and then open them again. Zeen is still here. Wearing the gun at his side as easily as he wears his smile. My heart soars at the sight of him, even as confusion swirls through me. After so long without a glimpse of my family, to see Zeen’s grin and hear his laugh is like a balm for my soul. I want to race to where he sits, fling my arms around him, and bury my head in his shoulder the way I did when I was little.

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.

“Too many people know she plans on proposing a change of law. If she backs off now, she’ll look weak. Dr. Barnes has too many supporters ready to remove her if a vote of confidence is called. The other faction has convinced her that the only way to stay in power and end The Testing is to act now.”

“Did you know this was a possibility when you brought my brother here?” I don’t give him a chance to deny it. “I saw him, Michal. He’s calling himself Cris. Why did you bring him here when you know there’s a chance he’ll die?”

Michal shakes his head. “Zeen overheard your father and the magistrate discussing options to keep students from being selected for this year’s Testing. When he confronted them about their plans, he realized you might be in danger and insisted on coming to help you. Your father couldn’t talk him out of it, so he contacted me and asked that I find a way to bring him here and keep him safe. I thought if he was with the rebels, he’d be less likely to track you down on his own. I was the one who suggested your brother change his name so no one would associate him with you or your family. Just in case . . .”

In case the rebellion isn’t successful. So our family won’t be punished if Zeen is captured or killed. The way it sounds, both are strong possibilities. Unless, in the next couple days, someone can find and present the proof required to remove Dr. Barnes and his officials from power with a point of law instead of a war.

“I have an idea.” Before Michal can inquire about my plan, I ask him to wait for me to return, then I open the door and walk to the exit. For this to work, I have to put everything on the line. I have to once again go against my father’s instructions; I have to trust. Tomas would tell me this is a mistake, but he is not here, and I can see no other way. Zeen’s life and the lives of the other rebels are at stake, not to mention those of all future Testing candidates and the country itself. There is only one way I can think of to find the information the rebellion needs. If I am making the wrong choice, I will just have to live with the consequences.

I find Raffe waiting outside the entrance and say, “I need your help.”

I take Raffe to the same building where Michal once spoke to me in secret. Perhaps I should have asked Michal to come, but he would have objected to taking this risk and exposing the rebellion. So I tell Raffe about The Testing, the candidates who disappear or die, and the need to put an end to the system once and for all. I tell him the end can only come if certain information is found. My throat is still swollen and sore from the abuse at Damone’s hands. My words sometimes drop to a whisper, but I keep talking.

When I finish, the room goes silent. Seconds stretch to minutes as Raffe’s eyes search my face. Is he looking for the truth? Is he trying to decide the best way to report this conversation to his father or to the University officials? I clench and unclench my hands and wait.

Finally, he asks, “Colony students who get wrong answers die during The Testing?”

“Not all of them, but yes. In The Testing, death is often the punishment for failure. And for some, causing those deaths is the path to success.”

Raffe rakes a hand through his hair. “What about Tosu City students who don’t pass their Early Studies exams? My father said my sister was assigned to a job in one of the colonies. Is that true, or is she . . .”

The unspoken word hangs between us as he waits for my answer. For the first time, I understand the motivation behind his aid—the event that happened two years ago and changed everything for him. He is looking for his sister. Now he assumes I might have an idea where she is.

“I don’t know.” The unhappiness on Raffe’s face makes me wish I did. “Maybe if we can get Dr. Barnes removed, we can find out.”

Raffe takes a deep breath and nods. “Then I guess I should get started.”

Before I can ask what he plans to do, Raffe opens and closes the door, leaving me alone to wait and worry.

Time passes slowly. Though my throat is still sore, I eat an apple and swallow some water. I think of Tomas. Did he make it back to the University without anyone noticing he had been absent? Is he worried that I might not return? When I stand and stretch my muscles, my eyes stay glued to the ground below.

An hour passes. Two. Part of me wonders if Raffe was caught, while the other part wonders if he was telling the truth about his sister. Raffe’s father is in charge of the Department of Education. Surely, he would be able to protect his daughter from the punishments Dr. Barnes might exact.

The clock taunts me as its hands move from one number to the next. Closing my eyes, I picture the people I love. My parents. Zeen. My other three brothers. Daileen, who so badly wishes to be chosen for The Testing and join me at the University. Tomas. Would they understand what I am doing now? I know my father would agree that putting a stop to The Testing with bloodshed is just as wrong as ending lives because of incorrect answers. Fighting death with more death was the choice that led to the Seven Stages of War. Our country barely weathered the consequences. We may not survive if the same choice is made again.

I hear footsteps outside and hold my breath. Is it Raffe, or has someone Raffe alerted come in his place? Was putting my faith in him correct, or will I now be punished for once again ignoring my father’s advice to trust no one?

The footsteps pause.

The door swings inward.

Raffe stands alone in the doorway. In his hands are a bag and a gun.

Chapter 19

RAFFE TURNS THE gun around and offers me the handle. I look at him before wrapping my fingers around the hard wood grip, and he gives me a satisfied nod. “I grabbed this out of my dad’s private office. Since you’re trying to stop a war, I thought it might come in handy. This will too.”

He reaches into the bag hanging from his shoulder and pulls out a palm-sized machine. A recorder.

“I’m pretty sure the recording in this machine and the others in the bag are what you’re looking for. And you’re right, Cia.” His expression darkens. “What’s on these recordings needs to end.”

“It’ll end as soon as Michal gets the recordings to Symon,” I say.

But when I leave and return with Michal, Raffe refuses to hand the recordings over. “No offense,” he tells Michal. “But I don’t know you. If you want to deliver this to your people, you’ll have to take me with you.”

Michal stiffens. “I’m not taking the son of one of the biggest advocates of Dr. Barnes into rebel headquarters. Not only do I not trust you, but even if I did, Symon and the other members of the rebellion would see you as a threat. They’d eliminate you as soon as you walked into camp.”

That Michal believes the members of the rebellion would kill so easily makes my blood run cold.

“Raffe is on our side. He’s trying to find out what happened—”

“Look,” Raffe says, cutting me off. “There’s nothing I can say that will make you trust me. All I know is I have the recordings from The Testing. If you want them, you’ll just have to make sure your friends don’t see Cia and me. Otherwise, the two of us are walking out the door and taking the recordings with us.”

I blink at Raffe’s assumptions not only that I will side with him over Michal but that I plan on going back to the rebel camp. However, when I think about it, I know he’s right. I have to go. While I do not doubt Michal’s dedication to ending The Testing, President Collindar’s first assignment taught me that the only way to know the truth is to see it for myself.

But while I know what I need to do, I hesitate. If Tomas safely returned to the University, he is now waiting for me to signal him. Hours have passed since the time he must have expected me. Does he think I have been killed or captured? Will he stay in his residence and trust that I will make it back, or is he already planning to leave in search of me? I should let him know I am okay. But without knowing if my absence has been noted by Professor Holt or my fellow students, I cannot take the risk. If I return to campus now, I may never have this chance again.

Straightening my shoulders, I walk over and stand next to Raffe to show we are united. We will all go to the rebel camp.

Michal sighs. “It won’t work. The three of us together will attract too much attention on the Tosu streets.”

Raffe smiles. “Cia and I already know the way to the airfield. Just tell us where to meet you, and we’ll be there.”

That Raffe knows the location of the rebel camp decides the issue for Michal. He tells us to meet him at the fence near a revitalized evergreen tree whose trunk is surrounded by a circle of stones. Once we arrive, he’ll lead us to a place where we can watch Symon’s headquarters unobserved.

“Wait ten minutes before leaving the building, and make sure you aren’t followed.” Turning to me, he says, “Those recordings better be exactly what we need, or I’m turning him over to Symon as a potential traitor.” With this threat hanging in the air, Michal disappears out the door.

“That went well.” Raffe looks at his watch and takes a seat. “I can see why you like him. He’s a lot of fun.”

Despite my concerns about Michal, I leap to his defense. “Michal lived through The Testing. He helped me survive it. The two of us will do anything it takes to bring it to an end.”

“He might do anything, but you won’t. You’d never kill someone for being a potential threat.”

“How can you be sure? Look what I did to Damone.” The blood has been cleaned from my fingers, but I can still smell the stench and feel the way it spilled across my hands.

“Damone attacked you. You had every right to defend yourself. If you hadn’t, you’d be dead. If I didn’t trust your judgment, I wouldn’t have brought you the gun. The only question is whether you know how to use it.”

I clutch the wooden handle, remembering the feel of pulling the trigger, the kick of the weapon, the way eyes widen when the bullet you shot punches into a body and ends its life. The scars on my arm tingle.

“Yes,” I say, sliding the gun into the pocket of my bag. “I know how to shoot.”

“Good.” Raffe checks his watch and heads for the door. “After what I heard on those recordings, I think there’s a good chance that even if everything goes according to your friend’s plan, you’re going to need it.”

Raffe leads the way as we ride through the sunlit Tosu City streets. Though we are both tired, he sets a fast pace. Every couple of blocks, he points out a landmark as though giving me a tour. Occasionally, he waves to someone as they pass. I understand. He wants us to be seen and remembered as two University students enjoying a beautiful day. Because no one who sees us would believe we have caused death and are now working hard to bring part of the government down.

My muscles are taut. My pulse races but I smile and laugh. I tell myself that everything I have done will be worth it in the end. The recordings are the proof the rebels have been looking for. The president will play them on the Debate Chamber floor. Those who support Dr. Barnes will have no choice but to vote with the president and remove him from office. The Testing will end without bloodshed. No one else will have to die.

We arrive at the fence and look for the tree Michal indicated. I spot it four hundred yards from where Tomas, Raffe, and I entered before. We hide our bicycles in a thicket of weeds, scale the fence, and wait for Michal. Fifteen minutes later, he appears on the horizon from the south.

“Ranetta and the other faction’s leaders are scheduled to meet soon to finalize plans for their attack. As soon as that happens, they’ll start deploying to positions around the city as well as coordinating with the rebel University students and Tosu citizens who are willing to fight for their cause. Symon plans to make one more plea for peace. He’s at headquarters now, trying to come up with a way to convince Ranetta and her faction to hold off on their attack. You can’t go inside headquarters without being seen, but there is a broken shed in the middle of a copse of trees where you’ll have a good view of the building. That’s the best I can do.” Michal holds out his hand. “Before I take you inside, I want to hear one of the recordings.”

“Fair enough.” Raffe digs into his bag, pulls out the recorder, and hits Play.

“I guess I’ll be walking the rest of the way.”

I jump at the sound of my own voice.

“Don’t worry, Cia. You won’t be alone. I’ll walk with you.” Tomas.

“You don’t have to.”

The words are familiar. I close my eyes and try to remember. I see a road. A bicycle broken into pieces.

“Yes. I do,” Tomas says. “I guess this is where we part company again. Cia and I wouldn’t want to hold you back.”

“Funny, but I was just going to say the same thing.” Will’s voice. Then a gunshot.

Suddenly, I am back on the road. Tomas doubles over. His hands turn red as blood from the gunshot spills over them.

“What the hell are you doing, Will?”

I see Will smile at me from behind his gun. Feel the fear as I relive the understanding that I have been betrayed by a friend.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting rid of my competition. I didn’t lose my brother and come all this way just to be told I’m not good enough to make it into the University. I made that choice early on. Only you wouldn’t die. Thankfully, a couple of the others were easier to kill before I ran out of quarrels. Both Gill and I are championship crossbow marksmen. He always takes first, but I give him a run for his money.”

“And you think I’m just going to let you shoot me now? I’ve already proven I won’t go down without a fight.”

“You’re smart, Cia, but you don’t have the killer instinct. I could walk away right now and you wouldn’t fire at me.”

“You wanna bet? Go ahead and try me.”

For a moment everything goes silent. I hear Tomas whisper my name. Then gunfire fills the air.

And I remember. My knees buckle, and I grab the trunk of a tree to keep from stumbling to the ground as whatever barrier Dr. Barnes and his officials created to keep my memories at bay disappears.

Ryme offering me corncakes.

Will and Gill at the dinner table, laughing.

Holding Malachi’s hand as life drains out of his body. His blood staining the tiles as officials carry him out of The Testing room.

Jumping across a bridge.

Being chased by mutated humans. Claws raking down my arm. Searing agony mixes with churning fear as I turn, fire, and kill.

“Cia? Are you okay?” Michal’s voice cuts through the flood of memories. I look up and see him and Raffe wearing similar expressions of concern. The recording is no longer playing.

I take a deep breath and pull my thoughts back to the present. There is time enough to sort through the past. To remember. Now is the time to make sure what is contained in those memories never happens again.

Straightening my shoulders, I say, “I’m fine.”

Michal searches my face. Finally, he nods. “I have to get these to Symon. Once the president plays all these recordings on the Debate Chamber floor, officials will have no choice other than to vote against Dr. Barnes. A few might argue that the acts on these recordings were not sanctioned by Testing officials, but they won’t stand a chance against public outrage.”

The idea of Will’s betrayal, Tomas’s near death, and my attempt to kill being played aloud on the Debate Chamber floor makes me dizzy as I shift the bag on my shoulder and follow behind Michal and Raffe. People will know the choices I have made. They will hear the things we’ve all done and pass judgment. A small price to pay, I tell myself, for bringing The Testing to an end.

Twice we stop at the sound of nearby voices. Finally, we reach the broken outbuilding where Michal instructs us to wait. Two rotting gray walls are wedged in between a group of squat, twisted trees. Eroded sections in the front wall give us a good view of a long stretch of pavement four or five hundred yards away. On either side of the pavement are buildings. A handful of rebels hurry across the compound, long black guns slung over their shoulders. Zeen is not in sight, but he is here. Somewhere. And soon, because of these recordings, he will be safe. We all will.

Michal points to a building less than a hundred feet from where we are crouching. It’s a small red brick building set in the middle of a grove of trees.

“No one who comes by should question the two of you. But if someone asks, pretend to be new recruits who are looking for time alone. You should be fine.” Michal holds his hand out to Raffe, who hands over his bag. “Don’t move from this spot. I’ll be back soon.”

We watch through rotting wood as Michal hurries through the trees and disappears inside the brick structure. After ten minutes, he walks out. I gasp when a man with gray hair appears behind him.

I know that man.

Closing my eyes, I sift through my memories. He stood on the other side of a fence during The Testing. He gave me food and a drug that helped me keep my family safe from secrets I would have been compelled to share during the interview. Michal once told me I’d met Symon during my Testing days. This must be him.

Symon claps Michal on the shoulder and walks with him in our direction. I hold my breath as they pass by our location, and I hear a familiar voice say, “I can’t thank you enough for bringing these recordings directly to me.”

“I would have brought them to the president myself, but I know you wanted me to bring anything I found to you, Symon,” Michal says. “Once she plays these recordings on the Debate Chamber floor, the members will have to vote in favor of her motion. Dr. Barnes will be removed. You can tell Ranetta when you meet with her today. She will be relieved to know there won’t be a need for any more senseless death.”

From a crack in the one side wall, I see Symon sigh. “I know it seems that these recordings should guarantee the president wins the vote. However, I have learned that when dealing with the brightest minds, you have to expect some will question and have different opinions. Just as you do.”

My heart races. Those words. I’ve heard words like those spoken in just this way. By this same voice. In the early morning hours to Professor Holt.

I shift to get a better look at Symon. He shakes his head and takes a small pistol out of his pocket. “I’m an expert at dealing with those kinds of questions and the trouble they cause. That’s why Jedidiah assigned me to this post.”

Two shots split the air. Michal’s eyes widen. His hands reach for his chest and he crumples to the ground. Terror claws my swollen throat, but the hand that clamps over my mouth prevents sound from escaping. I swallow the scream and hear Raffe whisper against my ear, “Keep still. You can’t help him.”

He’s right. The bullets were fired directly into Michal’s heart. He was dead before he hit the ground. Even knowing that, I must use every ounce of my willpower to sit motionless as the blood flows unchecked from Michal’s body. To not cry out. To not strike back at the man who stole his life. I fight to breathe as Symon places the recorder on the ground next to Michal’s lifeless body, points the gun at it, and fires two more times. After picking up the shattered recorder and the bag containing the recordings, Symon walks back to the building without giving Michal a second glance.

A sob rips from my heart. Tears stream down my face as I take a halting step forward. I want to hold Michal’s hand as I did for Malachi, but Raffe pulls me back. Silently he points to two men coming out of Symon’s headquarters. They stride quickly to where Michal lies. One takes his feet. The other grabs his shoulders. Together they cart Michal’s body away.

“Come on.” Raffe grabs my hand and pulls. “We have to go.”

I take one last look at the ground stained with Michal’s blood. Tears burn my eyes and sear my throat as I dig through my bag. When my fingers close around the handle of Raffe’s gun, I turn and run.

My feet fly over the ground. Tears blind me. I stumble over roots and debris, but I don’t fall. Raffe’s grip on my hand keeps me upright and moving. The scene I witnessed plays over and over in my head as I try to make sense of Michal’s death. Symon, the leader of the rebellion designed to remove Dr. Barnes peacefully and destroy The Testing, has just committed a murder to ensure the plan he created fails.

Why?

It isn’t until my fingers grip the fence that I recall Symon’s words and begin to understand. “When dealing with the brightest minds, you have to expect some will question the direction we are taking.”

The Testing was created to ferret out the best and the brightest young minds and mold them into leaders. But the best leaders form their own opinions. They want to go their own ways. How better to control those differing opinions than to allow them to think their views are being heard and even acted upon? If those who want change think they are part of a rebellion, there’s no reason for them to start one of their own. By allowing them to think they are helping one or two students like me during The Testing, Symon has convinced them that they are having a real effect. Symon’s argument for a peaceful solution wasn’t to save lives; it was a delaying tactic to ensure that The Testing could continue to take them. To ensure that the rebellion would never take place. Year after year of caution. Year after year of Testing candidates’ deaths.

Until now.

After so many years of inaction, the rebels to whom Symon has counseled patience are no longer willing to wait. They have planned an attack. An attack Symon and Dr. Barnes know about. Possibly they’ve even encouraged it to eliminate those who have become too hard to control. To keep The Testing safe to select the next generation of leaders even if it means plunging a country into war.

If nothing happens to alter Symon’s plans, my brother, the rebels, and hundreds of selected Testing candidates will die. Dr. Barnes and his team will win.

I refuse to let that happen.

But the only way to stop it is to create a new rebellion. A rebellion free of Dr. Barnes’s control.

For that, I will have to step up and be the leader the University is teaching me to be.

Deep in my heart, I hear Michal’s voice whisper the words he said before I began the fourth phase of The Testing. “You’re smart, Cia. You’re strong. There are people like me on your side who know you can make it. Please, prove I’m right.”

I’m not sure that I can, but I have to try.

Raffe and I ride to the University in silence as we absorb what we have witnessed. As our bicycles glide under the iron entrance, I put my hand in my pocket to signal to Tomas that I am back and realize my pocket is empty. The switch I created is gone. So is the special transmitter I created to prevent University officials from following my movements.

When did I lose them? Have Dr. Barnes and his officials been able to track our movements the entire time we were away from campus?

Raffe doesn’t seem to notice my concern as he suggests we split up. He will go to the residence and see whether Damone’s absence has raised an alarm. I will wait fifteen minutes and then follow. If it’s safe, Raffe will be standing near the entrance.

But even if an alarm hasn’t been raised, it still may not be safe. Not if Dr. Barnes knows I was not on campus. That Raffe and Tomas were with me. Before I can warn Raffe about the tracking devices and what Dr. Barnes might know, he rides off, promising to see me soon.

I notice the dirt streaked on my hand and head for the library.

My eyes dart around as I look for friends and enemies while I prop my bicycle next to the building. Taking measured breaths, I walk straight to the bathroom and scrub the dirt from my hands and the tears from my cheeks. I straighten my clothes and unfasten my hair, untangling it with my fingers. Then I step back and study myself in the reflector. Aside from the grass stain on my right knee, all evidence of my actions is gone. My appearance will give no one reason to question where I have been. I look normal. And yet I barely recognize the girl staring back at me. I wonder if when this is over, I will know her at all.

As I walk back outside to my bicycle, I finger the bracelet on my wrist and see the faces of those who have died. Michal. Damone. Rawson. Zandri. Malachi. Ryme. A scruffy boy named Roman. A stunning redhead called Annalise.

Face after face. Some I cannot name. All are dead. Soon more will follow. Unless I am as smart as Michal believed me to be.

If Raffe can get more recordings, there is hope. If not, the president’s vote will fail. By the end of the week, most of the rebels, including Zeen, could be killed. The city might be at war. I have almost no time to make a plan. To decide who I trust. Who will trust me.

Tomas. My heart wants to keep him from harm, but I cannot do this without him, and I know he will not let me. The only way to dispel the shadows that chase us both is to face them. I know he will agree and we will face them together.

But no matter how much I might want to, Tomas and I will not be able to do this alone. More help will be needed. But who?

Raffe.

He says his sister sat for the University Early Studies exam and failed. His quest to find her makes him a natural ally, but I cannot help but wonder if he will be like Will and ultimately betray us.

Can I trust Stacia and Naomy? Nothing in my Testing memories says that I can’t. But I remember Stacia’s cool smile. One she gave as she approved of choosing leaders who will do whatever is required to win.

As my residence comes into sight, I scroll through names and faces. Vic. Enzo. Brick. Kit. Will. They all are smart. Some have skills I know I will need. Others are willing to do the unthinkable to survive. I think of Ian and wonder what he will do. Will he take up arms with the rebel faction, or can I convince him to join with me? If I am to succeed, I will need to stop the rebels from attacking. To do that, I need someone on the inside who can give me information or convey my messages.

I stop on the far side of the bridge. Raffe waves to me in the distance to signal it is safe to return. But I hardly notice as I reach into my bag and close my fingers around the Transit Communicator. Zeen’s device. The one that has pointed me in the right direction, hidden my secrets, and kept me safe. A device designed to communicate with another that has been too far away to reach.

Could it be close enough now? Knowing that I have this half, could Zeen have brought the other one? Is he waiting for the right time to contact me? Or for me to reach him?

Raffe waves again, but I don’t put my feet on the pedals. Instead, I hit the Call button and say, “Hello.”

The seconds stretch to minutes as I wait for a response.

Finally, I tuck the Communicator into my bag and head across the bridge. As I stash my bicycle in the outbuilding, I look for signs of my confrontation with Damone. But all I see is grass deepening to a rich green. Trees stretching to the sunlight. Spring is ready to bloom, bringing with it another demonstration of how the conviction of a people to bring hope to the world can succeed.

I don’t know if I am ready to be a leader or if I can stop the war that threatens all I love, but as I hurry up to my rooms and close the door behind me, I know I will do everything in my power to keep the hope of our country and those who struggled for it alive.

And that’s when I hear it. The sound of static. A muted voice. It makes me want to cry with relief and fear.

“Cia. Are you there?”

Tears threaten as I lift the Communicator out of the bag and answer, “Yes, I’m here.”

I just hope I am ready for what comes next.

To Margaret Raymo, for your guidance and vision.
I could never have done this without you.

Chapter 1

A KNOCK MAKES me jump. My hands shake from exhaustion, fear, and sorrow as I unlatch the lock to the door of my residence hall rooms and turn the handle. I let out a sigh of relief as I see Raffe Jeffries in the doorway. Though we share the same path of study, there is little else that is similar about us. Me from the colonies, who had to survive The Testing to be here. He from Tosu City, where students related to former graduates are welcomed into the University with open arms. We are not friends. Even after he helped save my life last night, I do not know if I can trust him. But I have no choice.

Raffe appears unconcerned, but I can read the warning in his eyes as he steps into my sitting room and closes the door behind him. “Cia, they know.”

My knees weaken, and I grip the back of a chair for support. “Know what?”

That I left campus? That I know the rebellion led by the man who helped me during The Testing isn’t what the rebels believe? That soon the rebels will launch an attack that will lead them to their deaths? That Damone . . . I push my thoughts away from that question.

“Professor Holt knows we both left campus.” His dark eyes meet mine. “And Griffin has started looking for Damone.”

Of course Griffin would be looking for his friend. When he doesn’t find him, he will alert the head of our residence, Professor Holt. She will wonder why the Tosu City Government Studies student has vanished. Will Dr. Barnes and his officials believe the pressure to succeed has caused Damone to flee? Or will they launch a search for him and discover that he’s dead? Panic begins to swell. I tell myself there wasn’t another option. But was there?

I shake my head. Unless I want my future to contain Redirection or worse, I have to avoid thinking about what is past.

There are no rules that say we cannot leave campus. I cannot be punished for that alone. But if they know what I have seen . . .

I take a steadying breath, then ask, “Does Professor Holt know when we left or if we left together?”

My fingers trace the lightning bolt symbol on the silver and gold bracelet encircling my wrist as I think of the tracking device contained inside. The one I thought I had beaten. Only, I was wrong. I was wrong about everything. Now Michal is dead and . . .

“I don’t think anyone knows how long we were gone. No one saw us leave, and I don’t think anyone spotted us when we returned to campus.” Raffe runs a hand through his dark hair. “But Griffin stopped me when I was going to deliver your message to Tomas. He asked if I had seen Damone. Then he wanted to know where you and I went this morning. I don’t know how, but he knew we were together.”

I have not told Raffe about the tracking device in his bracelet. Part of me had hoped I would not need to share my secrets. My father warned me before I came to Tosu City for The Testing to trust no one. But I have. I must again now. Because he’s helped me, Raffe is in danger.

Quickly, I tell Raffe about what’s hidden inside the bracelets and about the transmitter Tomas and I designed to block the signal and hide our movements from Dr. Barnes. Only, sometime last night or this morning, that transmitter fell out of my pocket. Where and when it was lost I do not know.

Raffe looks down at the symbol etched on his bracelet—a coiled spring in the center of the balanced scales of justice. “They’re monitoring our movements.” There is no surprise. No outrage. Only a nod of the head before he says, “We’re going to have to find a better way to block the signal if we don’t want them watching our every move when we do whatever you have planned next.”

What I have planned . . .

This week President Collindar will stand in the United Commonwealth Government’s Debate Chamber and ask the members to vote on a new proposal. One that—if approved—will shift administration of The Testing and the University from Dr. Barnes’s autonomous control. One that will force him to report to the president and allow her to end the practices that have killed so many who wanted nothing more than to help their colonies and their country. But while I’d like to believe the proposal will pass and The Testing will come to an end, everything I have learned tells me it is doomed to fail. When it does, rumor says Dr. Barnes’s supporters will call for a vote of confidence on the president. A vote that—if lost by the president—will signal not only the end of her role as leader, but the start of a battle that the rebels and the president have no hope of winning, since Dr. Barnes knows of their plans. Indeed, he and his supporter Symon Dean have planned the rebellion itself. Only recently have I learned its true purpose, which is to identify, occupy, and ultimately destroy any who would oppose the selection methods of The Testing. The time is fast approaching when Dr. Barnes will allow his people among the rebels to escalate their outrage and encourage open warfare, in order to crush that rebellion with violence of his own. If Dr. Barnes’s plan succeeds, those who seek to end The Testing will die—and my brother will be among them.

I can’t sit back and allow that to happen, but I don’t know how I can help stop the events that are already spinning into motion. I thought I knew. I thought I had found a way to help. But I only made things worse. Now Dr. Barnes will be watching my movements even more closely than before. I wish there were time to think things through. My brothers always teased that it took me hours to make a decision that took others minutes, yet my father taught me that anything important deserves thoughtful study. The choices that face me now are the most important of my life.

Am I scared? Yes. As the youngest student at the University, I find it hard to believe that my actions could change the course of my country’s history. That I am clever enough to outthink Dr. Barnes and his officials and save lives. But there is no other way. The odds favor my failure, but I still have to try.

“Right now the only thing I have planned is to do my homework and get some sleep.” When Raffe starts to protest, I say, “You need sleep, too.” The way his shoulders sag tells me he is just as tired as I. “Maybe if we’re rested we’ll come up with a way to help stop what’s coming.”

Raffe nods. “Regardless, with everything that’s happened, it’s probably best we stay inside the residence for the rest of the day. I’m sure Professor Holt will have someone watching you. You’ll need to be careful.”

A muffled series of clicks catches my attention. There it is again. One. Two. Three faint clicks of the transmission button on the Transit Communicator. The signal Zeen suggested we use to indicate one of us needs to talk. He must have found a place where it is safe for him to speak. But it is not safe for me. Not with Raffe here. I have been forced into trusting him with many things, but I will not trust him with this. Not with my brother’s life.

“I’ll see you later today,” I say.

Raffe cocks his head to the side. His eyes narrow as the three clicks come again.

Pretending I hear nothing, I walk to the door and open it. “I have an assignment I have to get to work on.”

Raffe looks around the small sitting room. My heart beats off the seconds as he waits for the clicking noise to recur. When it doesn’t, he shakes his head and walks to the door. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

When the door swings shut, I flip the lock and hurry to my bedroom. My fingers slide under the edge of the mattress and close around the device I brought with me from Five Lakes Colony. It was designed to communicate across distances of less than twenty miles with a device my father kept in his office. The one Zeen must hold now while waiting for me to respond.

I click the communication button three times to indicate I have received his signal.

“Cia. I can’t tell you how glad I am Michal finally told you where I am. I wanted to contact you the minute I got to Tosu City, but Michal said it would be best to wait. Are you okay?”

The sound of Zeen’s voice fills me with warmth. Growing up, I could always tell Zeen anything. Of all my brothers, he was the one I went to when I needed help with a problem. I was certain he could come up with the answer for everything. I hope that is still true.

“I’m fine.” For now. “But—”

“Good.” I hear Zeen sigh. “That’s good. Cia, I’m sorry I was so angry. I shouldn’t have let you leave without saying goodbye. I was jealous because you got what I thought I wanted. I didn’t know . . .”

I think about the hurt I felt when Zeen disappeared before I left for The Testing. Of all of us, he is the most passionate. The easiest to upset. The quickest to react when his emotions are stirred and hardest hit when those he loves are wounded or taken away. Which is why I understood his absence when my family said their farewells and why I can honestly say, “It’s okay. Besides, if you hadn’t stormed off, I would have asked permission to take this Communicator and you would have turned me down. I wouldn’t have made it through the last couple of months without it.”

“You should have heard me yell when I saw your note.” Zeen laughs. “Mom said it was a small price to pay for how I’d behaved, since I might never see you again. She didn’t want me to come, but Dad understood why I had to. Cia, there are things happening here. Important things. I don’t know if Michal told you, but these people are going to end The Testing. The leaders here have a plan that will change everything. It’s dangerous.”

“Zeen . . .”

But Zeen isn’t listening. When I was little, Zeen used to talk to me for hours about things I didn’t understand, but I didn’t care. I loved listening to his voice and knowing that he understood the things he talked about. But he doesn’t understand now.

“Zeen . . .”

“And it’s complicated and will take too long for me to explain. I can’t talk for much longer or someone will come searching for me. With everything going on, they’re slow to trust. Even with Michal’s endorsement. I think they would have arrested me the minute I walked into camp if it weren’t for—”

“Zeen, stop!” When there is silence, I say, “Michal’s dead.” My throat tightens. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Saying the words aloud makes them all too real. “I saw him die.”

“Cia, that can’t be true.” But the hitch in Zeen’s voice tells me he is shaken by my words. “I would have heard if Michal died. Symon or Ranetta would have told us.” Zeen’s soothing tone is the same one he used when I was small and thought there were monsters lurking under the bed. Only there is no soothing me with kind words now. I know these monsters are real.

“Symon wouldn’t have told you because he’s the one who killed Michal.” I look at the clock beside my bed. Five minutes have passed. If Zeen is right, people will soon come searching for him. I don’t want them to hear him talking into the Communicator and think he’s a spy. There is so much to say. So little time to say it in. I have to decide what is important now and what can wait until we can arrange another time to speak.

“Michal brought Symon the proof the president needs to sway the Debate Chamber vote and end The Testing in a peaceful way. I was hiding nearby.” I can still see the way the rebellion leader looked when he raised his gun and fired. Two shots. Then Michal fell to the ground. “I heard Symon say that he and Dr. Barnes created the rebellion to control those who want to bring an end to The Testing. The rebellion isn’t real.”

“The rebellion is real, Cia.” Though Zeen keeps his voice quiet, I can hear the anger, outrage, and disbelief bubbling below the surface. “Don’t you think I’d know if it wasn’t? These people are ready to fight in order to bring change.”

“I know they are. That’s what Dr. Barnes and Symon want them to do.”

“Cia, that can’t be true. I talked to Ranetta and Symon. Symon—”

“Killed Michal. You can’t trust Symon.” I’m not sure about Ranetta. “Michal did, and he’s dead.” Once again panic simmers inside me. Zeen has to believe. “Symon’s job is to make sure that the rebels fail. If the president loses the Debate Chamber vote and the rebels attack, Dr. Barnes and Symon will have Safety and Security teams waiting. They’ll say it is the only way to keep the rest of the city safe. If we don’t do something, the rebellion will fail. More people will die.”

“Wait. If you’re right . . .” Zeen takes a deep breath. When he speaks again, his voice is barely a whisper, but filled with conviction. “You have to get out of Tosu City.”

“I can’t. There are reasons.” The bracelet on my wrist. My friends who would be left behind. Zeen, who is in the middle of the rebels Dr. Barnes intends to kill. The last is the only thing I know how to fix. “Zeen, you should go. There are lots of buildings that aren’t used very often here on campus. You could hide in one of them.”

“No one is supposed to leave camp without a direct order from Symon or Ranetta.”

Ranetta. A woman I have never met or seen. When Michal explained the divide in the rebellion—one faction that pushed for a peaceful resolution and the other that, impatient with the delays, urged war—he said Ranetta was the leader of the latter. She must have once followed Symon’s methods as all the rebels did. If she opposes them now, could she be an ally? If Zeen could talk to her . . .

No. While Zeen is smart, when his emotions are engaged he often reacts before thinking things through. He hasn’t been part of the rebellion long enough to understand the dynamics and effectively gauge who can be trusted. Who knows if anyone can be? Michal thought Symon could be trusted. So did I. Besides, Zeen didn’t go through The Testing. He doesn’t understand what it is like or how terrible it truly is. This isn’t his fight. He needs to get out.

“You could escape without them seeing you.” The camp the rebels are using was an air force base before being hit by a vector tornado. The destruction was so great that the Commonwealth Government abandoned any hope of revitalizing the area. But while the land is not healthy, trees have grown. Some plants have thrived. If anyone can navigate the unrevitalized landscape and hide from those who pursue him, it will be my brother.

“Maybe. And I might have to if things go the way you say. But not yet. I’m here. I might be able to learn something useful. People expect the new guy to ask questions. I just have to figure out what kinds of answers we need. If there’s a chance . . .”

I wait for Zeen to continue, but there is only silence. My heart pounds as I look at the Communicator in my hand. Zeen must have heard someone approaching. Did he stop talking in time or was he overheard? I wait for Zeen to give me a sign. Something to tell me that he is safe.

The minutes pass slowly. One. Five. Ten. The clock taunts me. My worry grows with each passing moment. Silently, I clutch the device in my hands and will my brother to be okay. My bringing Michal those recordings prompted his death. I can’t lose Zeen, too. If I do, it will be one more person who died because of my actions. Part of me wants to go find Tomas. He was with me last night when I first spotted Zeen in the rebel camp. He’ll want to help. But as much as I want to wrap my arms around Tomas and rely on him, I know there is little he can do. That either of us can. As University students, we have almost no control of the world around us.

But there is someone who should be able to help me. Michal might not have been certain we could trust her, but I don’t see a choice. Not anymore. Zeen is in the middle of a rebellion that is ready to take up arms against Dr. Barnes and his supporters. The Testing will soon select the next round of candidates. More than a hundred students could once again be pushed into decisions that could end lives, whether their own or others’. And if my role in Damone’s death is discovered, I will no longer be able to take any action at all. I will be dead. The fate of too many people is at stake for me to believe I can fix what is broken. I am not one of the country’s leaders. The president is. This is her job. Not mine.

I have to convince her to help.

I pull on a pair of brown pants I acquired after arriving in Tosu City and a fitted yellow tunic adorned with silver buttons. I clean my comfortable but worn boots to make them as presentable as I can. Most days I pull my hair into a tight knot at the nape of my neck. Today, I take special care to brush it until it shines before braiding it in a style that my father lamented made me look like a young woman instead of his little girl. I hope he was right. In order for my plan to succeed, I need the president to see me as more than a University student. She has to see a woman.

Then I roll the bloody clothes I was wearing yesterday into a tight ball and shove them into my bag. There is no removing Damone’s blood from these garments. While I rarely have people in my room, I do not want to risk someone seeing the clothes. I need to get rid of them.

I reach under the mattress and pull out a small handgun given to me by Raffe. The weight in my hand feels insignificant compared to the weight in my chest. Guns are used in Five Lakes. I learned to discharge a shotgun at an early age, and Daileen’s father taught us to fire his handgun around the same time I learned how to multiply and divide. My father’s job required us to live near where he worked, which meant living close to the unrevitalized land where meat-seeking wolves and other, mutated creatures roamed. More than once I have injured or killed an animal intent on attack. But if this gun is fired it will not be at an animal looking for food. After shoving the Transit Communicator into my bag, I slide the bag’s strap onto my shoulder and walk out the door, careful to lock it behind me.

The halls of the residence are quiet. The students I pass speak to each other in tones more muted than usual. No doubt because of Damone’s disappearance. As I pass students on the stairs, I am careful to keep my eyes down in case they can see the guilt in them. With every step, I find myself listening for a click from the Transit Communicator to tell me that Zeen is okay.

When I reach the first floor, I force myself to walk in slow, measured strides to the front door so no one can see the anxiety I feel about Zeen’s silence. With each moment that passes I am more certain something terrible has befallen him. As I push open the door, I look behind me in case Raffe has seen me going down the stairs and has followed. No one is there, so I step outside into the afternoon sunshine. According to my watch, there are two hours until dinner is served. If I am not back in time, my mealtime absence will be noticed. But I have no choice.

I straighten my shoulders and walk around the residence to the vehicle shed, trying not to look at the place where Raffe and I pushed Damone over the edge of the ravine. Wheeling my bicycle out, I look around for anyone who might be watching, then throw my leg over the seat. My feet push the pedals. Worry about my brother propels my body forward despite my fatigue.

The wheels glide over the bridge that spans the twenty-foot-wide crack in the earth that separates the Government Studies residence from the rest of campus. It isn’t until I turn down the roadway that leads to the library that I glance over my shoulder. From this distance, I can’t be sure. But I think I spot Griffin standing motionless on the bridge, staring into the darkness of the ravine below. Despite my desire to find Tomas and ask him to join me on this journey, I don’t. Drawing unwanted attention to Tomas is the last thing I want to do. I turn and begin to ride as fast as I can in hopes of finding help for my brother and myself.

Riding under the woven metal archway that so closely resembles the design of the band that now circles my wrist serves as a reminder that my whereabouts are being monitored. University students are not forbidden to leave campus, but if I venture too far afield, Professor Holt and Dr. Barnes will certainly question my motivation. Luckily, as an intern in the president’s office, I have reason to be traveling to my destination.

Past the archway I stop my bike, pull the Transit Communicator out of my bag, and turn on the navigation display. While I have traveled these roads before, I am still not confident of choosing the most expedient path. Using a strip of fabric from my stained clothing, I tie the Transit Communicator to the handlebars. Once it is secure, I press the Call button once. Twice. A third time. No answer. I swallow my disappointment and point my wheels toward the center of the city. As I ride, I picture the faces of Zandri, Malachi, Ryme, Obidiah, and Michal. All came to Tosu City looking to help the world. All are dead. I have to help my brother avoid that same fate. I just hope I won’t be too late.

Chapter 2

I BARELY NOTICE my surroundings as I zigzag through the city, careful to keep an eye on the Communicator’s readout. As I ride, I consider what I know. The president’s disapproval of Dr. Barnes is obvious. I have observed their mutual dislike firsthand. But though the president wishes to remove Dr. Barnes from power, no one knows whether she will alter or end the University selection process. The Testing is terrible in its methods, but it has gotten results. The clean water we drink and the number of colonies with revitalized land prove the leaders the University has trained are skilled.

Can the president be trusted to change the system when it is yielding such results? I don’t know. But as the wind whips my hair, I realize that if I want to try to end The Testing, I am going to have to find out.

Residential streets give way to roads with larger buildings as I ride into the heart of the city. Personal skimmers hover above for those with business that demands attention on a Sunday. I turn down another street and see the distinctive gray stone turrets and clock tower of the building that houses the office of President Anneline Collindar.

I store my bicycle in the rack next to the entrance and pull open one of the large wooden doors. Two officials dressed in black jumpsuits approach. Two others hold their positions on either side of the arching door in front of us. The color of their clothing, their white armbands, and the silver weapons hanging at their sides signal their standing as Safety officials. Only Safety officials are allowed to carry weapons inside government buildings. The law was created after the Seven Stages of War when the people gathered to debate whether to form a new central government. Arguments for and against a new government body were heated. Many believed that the last president of the United States, President Dalton, and the other world leaders who held power leading up to and through the stages of war were to blame for corrupting the earth and causing so much death and destruction. Others argued that an organized government was still essential if the hope of revitalization was to be fulfilled. All citizens were allowed a voice in the debates, but some believed weapons were more persuasive than words. It was the firing of those weapons by opponents of a new government that swayed many to believe lawlessness would prevail without one. The first law passed after the vote to establish a new governmental entity banned all firearms from the Debate Chamber floor. Ten years later, the ban was expanded to all government buildings.

Today, I am in violation of the law. To obey, I would have to surrender the gun Raffe gave me. Something I am not willing to do. I do not know how the president will react to what I must tell her. I have to be prepared for whatever might happen.

Shifting the weight of my bag on my shoulder, I walk to the broad-shouldered Safety official who stands behind a small black desk. I give my name and show him my bracelet. When he nods, I straighten my shoulders and walk through the arched doorway that leads to the president’s office.

Since my internship began a few weeks ago, I have learned that while a few young, dedicated members of the president’s staff can be found working on Saturdays and Sundays, rarely does the president herself walk these halls on the Commonwealth’s designated days of rest. With the president scheduled to call for a debate on Monday, I expect more officials to be working. I’m not disappointed. The hallways I pass through to get to the president’s first-floor office teem with activity. The air crackles with tension as officials huddle around desks, talking in hushed voices. A few look my way as I pass by, but most are too preoccupied with their own business to notice me. I walk through a large meeting space where a board displays this week’s debate schedule. TESTING AND UNIVERSITY OVERSIGHT is marked in red letters under the date two days from now.

Finally I come to the large white wooden door of the president’s office. The desk to the left of the door sits empty. I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it.

Locked. A knock confirms my suspicion. The office is empty.

I retrace my steps back to the main hall and climb the iron staircase to the second floor. Weeks ago, I made this climb for the first time while following behind Michal. I’d been shocked to see him here. He’d pretended not to know me as he gave me the tour of the building—one of the oldest in Tosu City. After climbing the last step, I slowly walk down the hallway toward a set of double doors flanked by two purple-clad officials. Michal said the doors lead to the president’s private quarters.

Wishing he were standing beside me now, I walk up to the officials and say, “I have a message for the president.”

The dark-haired official on the right frowns. “The president is not on the premises. You can leave the message on the desk outside her office downstairs. A member of her upper-level staff will receive it tomorrow.”

I recognize the words for what they are. A dismissal. Though being cleared into the building says I have a right to walk these halls, no amount of confidence can hide my youthful face or small stature. Both mark me as a student who should not have any reason to send missives to the leader of the United Commonwealth.

“There must be a way to get a message to the president.” I use the firm, measured tone my father employed whenever he talked to Mr. Taubs about his goat eating the new seedlings planted near his farm.

“There is,” the gray-haired man to the left admits.

Before he can order me to leave, I say, “My name is Malencia Vale. I’m the president’s intern. President Collindar asked me several weeks ago to speak to her about a specific subject. I would like someone to get her a message that I am here and am willing to discuss that topic now.”

“The president does not take—”

The gray-haired official holds up a hand, cutting off his partner’s angry words. Quietly, he says, “I will have your message sent, and I hope it is as important as you believe. If not, you’ll discover there’s a cost to your misjudgment. Is that a price you are willing to pay?”

Cost. I know what Dr. Barnes’s price is for a failure in judgment. Does the president require the same payment? I have not worked in this office long enough to know its secrets, but I know Michal did not fully place his faith in President Collindar. I don’t either, but I have only to think of Tomas and all those whose lives could be threatened to know that no matter the price, I will pay it.

A nod is all it takes for the gray-haired official to disappear through a small door to the left. When he returns he says, “I’ve relayed your message. You’re to wait here.”

For what, he doesn’t say. The president? Officials who have deemed my request inappropriate? The only thing I am certain of is that my request to speak to the president has not gone unnoticed. Younger officials whom I have seen working in the cramped offices on the upper floors whisper to each other as they walk down the stairs in groups of twos and threes. While they pretend to be on some kind of errand, the looks they send in my direction speak of their true purpose. I hear one whisper that they hope I know what I am doing.

I hope I do, too. The more people who walk by, the more certain I am that news of this meeting request will spread beyond this building. Michal’s job in this office was arranged through Symon’s connections within the government. Symon planted Michal here to keep an eye on the president and report her plans, but I doubt Michal was the only informant assigned to that task.

Resisting the urge to pace, I keep my eyes straight ahead and hope the nerves I feel do not show on my face. After what seems like hours, a dark-haired woman in ceremonial red appears at the top of the stairs. She gives me a considering look before handing the gray-haired official a note. He reads it, nods, and walks over to me. “This way.”

He leads me to the double doors of the president’s private quarters. Opening the doors, he steps back and says, “You are to wait in this room. They will come for you when they are ready.”

Before I can ask who “they” is, the official nudges me into a small antechamber. The doors behind me close. The dim lights and gray walls make the room feel as if it is caught in shadow. A bright white door stands directly in front of me. The silver knob is polished to a shine.

A memory stirs. Six white doors with silver handles. Five marked with black numbers. The sixth is the exit. This door resembles the ones I stood in front of during the third part of The Testing. A test designed not only to evaluate our individual academic skills, but to examine our ability to assess correctly the strengths and weaknesses of our teammates.

“Malencia Vale.” A female voice emanates from a small speaker in the wall. “You may now enter.”

I put my hand on the knob and take a deep breath. During The Testing I had to make a decision—to walk through the door and face the test I found inside or to leave without entering. To believe that my teammates were working toward the same goal or to think that one who should be working for the common good had betrayed. During The Testing, I left through the exit. Today, I turn the knob and go inside.

No one is there.

The large room is painted a sunny yellow. Situated on one side is a long black table. On the other is a grouping of blue-cushioned chairs in front of a crackling fire. To the right of the fireplace is a closed door.

I open my bag, turn off the Transit Communicator, and take a seat in one of the cushioned chairs as the door opens. President Collindar stalks in. Her tall stature and sleekly cut black hair command attention, as does her fitted red jacket. She nods to acknowledge my presence and turns to speak to someone standing in the doorway behind her. “I’ve given you all the information I have. I hope you’ll be ready.”

“You can trust me,” a male voice says.

My breath catches as a gray-haired man comes into the room and gives me a broad smile. The same smile I saw him give this morning, just a moment before he pulled the trigger and ended Michal’s life. A smile that belongs to the rebel leader—Symon Dean.

Metal glints in the light as his coat shifts. He has a gun. Most likely the same one he used to murder Michal. His eyes meet mine, and I feel the pull of them just as I did when we met before. We have met only twice, during the fourth stage of The Testing, when he gave me food and water. Aid that he supplied to give the rebels a sense of victory, to keep them from feeling they could more successfully end The Testing on their own. But I am not supposed to have those memories. Any sign of recognition will be a sign that my Testing memories have returned.

Blood roars in my ears. I swallow down the anger and fear and force my expression into one of calm interest. Seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity before Symon shifts his attention from me back to the president. “Everything will be ready, but I still think you should postpone the debate.” I try not to show surprise at Symon’s words as he and the president walk farther into the room. “While postponing will be viewed by many as a sign of weakness, the extra days you gain will give us a chance to rally more votes. As it stands now—”

The president raises a hand and shakes her head. “Already there are those who waver in their support. A delay could push them to change their minds. Unless you can guarantee that you will be able to find what I need—”

“You know a guarantee is not possible.”

“Which means the debate goes ahead as planned. One way or another, by the end of the week I will declare victory.”

“Then there is much to discuss.” Symon gives a weary sigh, but I do not think I imagine the triumphant glint I see in his eyes. Suggesting the president would lose political clout by postponing her Debate Chamber proposal was his way of eliminating any thought she had of doing just that. He is smart. I hope she is even smarter.

President Collindar nods. “I will meet you downstairs as soon as I am done discussing my intern’s University experience. I thought having a student refresh my memory of the curriculum would help, considering the topic of this week’s debate. This shouldn’t take long.”

Symon casts one more look at me before nodding his head and disappearing through the door. When he is gone, President Collindar sits in a chair across from me. “I told Symon and other members of my staff that I asked you to meet with me this weekend after you finished the work you were assigned by your teachers. I thought it would be safer for you if word spread that you were here at my command instead of by your own initiative. There are events happening this week that could make it difficult for you to be seen as more than just an intern for me and my office.”

“I know,” I say.

One of the president’s eyebrows rises, but she does not speak. She simply waits for me to continue. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. How I present my information is just as important as what I say. I must keep calm. In control. This is the most important test I have faced thus far in my life. Too much is riding on the correct answer. I cannot fail.

“I know your team has been searching for tangible proof that Dr. Barnes’s methods for Testing and in running the University push beyond the bounds of what is acceptable. I’ve been told that without this evidence, the vote to remove Dr. Barnes from control will be unsuccessful.”

President Collindar leans back in her chair. Her dark hair gleams against the light blue fabric as she studies me. “Your information is accurate. Could the reason you’re here now change that?”

“I hope so. Although not in the way I think you mean.” I take a deep breath and explain. “The Tosu City official who escorted me from Five Lakes Colony to The Testing began working for you just before my internship started. His name was Michal Gallen.” I see a flicker of awareness cross her features as the name registers. “Michal told me he was transferred to this office through the influence of a man named Symon, who was leading the movement to put a stop to Dr. Barnes and his extreme methods. I was informed that because of my age, it was too dangerous for me to be involved in the rebellion against Dr. Barnes. I had nightmares about my Testing experience. I didn’t know if the flashbacks were real, but they made me determined to help in any way I could. Without Symon’s knowledge, Michal gave me a task. He asked me to help find the proof needed to convince the Debate Chamber to vote Dr. Barnes from power. Yesterday, I brought Michal the evidence you’ve been seeking.”

President Collindar leans forward.

Before she can ask for what I can no longer give, I say, “Michal took the evidence to Symon.” Her smile falters as she shifts her attention to the door through which Symon withdrew. “Since Symon didn’t know about my involvement, Michal was reluctant to bring me to the rebel camp. I insisted. I hid as Michal turned over the proof that would have brought an end to The Testing. And then I watched as Symon took out a gun and shot him. The evidence is gone. Michal is dead.”

President Collindar studies me. Her expression is devoid of emotion. My heart thuds in my chest. I fight the urge to squirm under her gaze. I want to beg her to believe me. But I can tell she is weighing my words. Judging my motives. My honesty.

Finally she says, “You claim Michal Gallen is dead. Can you prove it?”

“No,” I admit. Although maybe I could. Raffe was there. If the president were to summon him here, his account could add weight to mine. But I have not mentioned his involvement. To do so now might make President Collindar wonder what else I haven’t been forthcoming about. Perhaps more important, if President Collindar does not believe me, she will certainly mention this meeting to Symon. Redirection will not be far behind. In case Raffe is truly to be trusted, I will not entwine my fate with his. However, I realize there is one fact that will lend credence to my words. “Michal will not report for work Monday or in the days to come.” I ball my hands into fists as tears filled with sorrow and guilt prick my eyes and lodge in my throat. “His absence will confirm I am telling the truth, but by then it will be too late.”

“Too late for what?” President Collindar asks quietly, but I can see by the tension in her jaw that she has done the equation in her head. If I am to be believed, Michal is dead by the hands of someone she’s close to. Someone who has helped plan this vote and the attack on Dr. Barnes that is scheduled to come with its failure.

Still, I answer. “By the time people know for certain Michal is missing, you will have already made your proposal on the Debate Chamber floor.” Commonwealth law states that once a proposal is made and the debate on it has begun, the proposal cannot be withdrawn. The debate must be allowed to continue and a vote taken. The law was created to ensure that all matters brought to the debate floor would be carefully considered. “As soon as you do that, you set in motion the events that Symon and Dr. Barnes have orchestrated. They want your vote to fail and the rebels to attack. The minute that happens, Dr. Barnes’s supporters will move against them. They will remove both the threat to The Testing and you from office with this one fight.”

“And look heroic doing it.” President Collindar’s words are barely a whisper. So faint that I question whether I have heard her correctly. Heroic is the last thing I would call Dr. Barnes’s plan for eliminating those who oppose him.

But now that I think about it, I realize President Collindar has seen what I did not. Out of necessity, the rebels have been operating in secret. Their cause is unknown to Tosu citizens save for a few who may have recently been imposed upon to take up arms. And even if it were revealed, most citizens do not know someone who was chosen for The Testing. A fraction are related to those who sat in University classrooms and became the country’s leaders without undergoing The Testing or experiencing Redirection. Very few would celebrate a rebellion that would likely shed innocent blood for a purpose they do not personally understand. If Dr. Barnes and Symon’s plan is successful, the rebels will be killed almost immediately after the violence begins. Without the rebels to speak for their own cause, Dr. Barnes can paint their purpose as one designed to take down the United Commonwealth Government and destroy the country’s revitalization mission. His supporters will claim him as a hero. History has ever rewarded the victors.

President Collindar rises and stands in front of the fireplace. “Symon is working with Jedidiah.” Her voice is quiet. Controlled. Yet I hear the thin veil of tension that coats her words. “Setting up a rebellion against himself is smart. It allows him to control both those who follow and those who oppose him. Jedidiah’s strength has always been in strategy.”

“You believe me?” I ask. Amazement and a strange sense of peace flow through me. Not only have I passed this test, I have handed this problem to someone with the power to prevent a series of tragic events. Zeen and I can let her take care of it.

“I do believe you.” The president turns back to me. “You didn’t think I would. And yet, still you put yourself in danger to get this news to me. Even before we met in the Debate Chamber, I’d heard you were different from your peers. Perhaps because Jedidiah’s tests are not designed to reward those who are willing to sacrifice themselves. From what I know, sacrifice during The Testing often results in a candidate’s elimination.”

“Elimination.” A more pleasant word than “death.”

“It’s unusual that someone like you has gotten this far,” she adds.

I think about The Testing. More than twenty of us passed the fourth test and sat for final evaluations. Dr. Barnes could have eliminated me then. Why didn’t he?

President Collindar takes a seat again. “Perhaps you can answer a few questions. How many of the rebels are working with Dr. Barnes? Also, is Ranetta partnered with Symon or is she as unaware as I was?”

“I don’t know.” I wish I did. “I’ve never seen or talked to Ranetta.” Something that now worries me, considering my brother is working side by side with her and the other rebels. “Symon ordered some of his team to carry Michal’s body away. They didn’t seem concerned by Michal’s death. But I have to believe most of the rebels want to see The Testing ended.” Michal would not have put his faith in the rebellion if that weren’t the case. Neither would Zeen.

“I believe they do. Unfortunately, I cannot be certain which rebels are to be trusted and which would claim they are on our side in order to remove us. And since you say Michal’s position in this office was orchestrated, most if not all of my staff’s loyalty must also come into question. It is impossible to know which are loyal to Symon’s purpose or to me.”

She’s right. Tension builds as the president falls silent and stares into the fire. Her lips purse—the only sign of the magnitude of the problem that faces her. It is in this moment that I understand why she was chosen to lead.

She nods. “Symon will be wondering about this meeting. I have to go downstairs. Remain here. Someone will bring work to occupy you so those who are watching will not question your continued presence. I will be back soon.”

“But—”

President Collindar strides out the door and into the hallway, from where I hear her say, “Someone will be back with a project for Ms. Vale to work on. At least then her time here will not be completely wasted.”

I hear the door shut and I rise from my chair. Despite the relief I feel, I cannot sit still. Pacing the length of the floor, I think about President Collindar’s reaction to my words. Her quick acceptance indicates that she had concerns about the trustworthiness of the rebels already. Yet despite that, she continued to work with them. Michal once told me that though she holds the top government position, President Collindar has less power than Dr. Barnes. I think I finally understand how this can be true. The title of “leader” only brings authority if the officials and citizens you work with follow you. The term “president” is meaningless if people turn to someone else for leadership. With so many Commonwealth officials allied with Dr. Barnes, possibly even those in this office, President Collindar has been forced to work with those she might not have full confidence in to regain the control she needs to keep the country unified. Not only do presidents have to be smart enough to understand the problems that come before them, they have to find potential solutions and a way to inspire others to follow their lead.

President Collindar took office less than five years ago, after President Wendig died. He served in the office for thirty-four years. My Five Lakes teacher called President Wendig one of the greatest leaders history has ever known. When I studied the huge advancements in clean water, power, food sources, and colonization that were made under his leadership, I had to agree. Now I have to assume that President Wendig knew about The Testing and what was expected of the students who passed through The Testing Center’s doors. How many of the accomplishments he presided over were made possible because of students who were forced to sacrifice their lives? Did he actively support Dr. Barnes’s program? If so, does that diminish the advancements that came under his guidance? My uncertainty about the answer disturbs me deeply.

There is a knock at the door. Moments later, a young red-clad official appears, loaded down with several large folders filled with paper. Behind her is another female official also laden with paperwork. The two place the stacks of papers on the table. The second turns and leaves as the first says, “President Collindar asked that you organize these reports on University graduates based on where they grew up. Once you do that, she requested that they be alphabetized.” Her sympathetic smile says that she believes I am being punished with busywork for not providing more useful information during my meeting. Walking toward the door she adds, “A lot of us are going to be working late tonight. If you’re still here when the president leaves, we’d be happy to help.”

Clearly, the president’s plan to make people think I wasted her time has been successful.

While I know the papers are not part of a real assignment, I choose to organize them anyway. If nothing else, having something tangible to focus on keeps me from worrying about the president’s meeting with Symon. I assign areas of the table and nearby floor to the city and each of the colonies. Then I pick up the first stack of papers and get to work. Not surprisingly, since Tosu City was the only established concentration of people for the first twenty years after the United Commonwealth was founded, most University graduates have come from the city. Although, looking at the paperwork, I can see that there were fewer students at the start than there are now. Probably because more people were needed then for the physical labor involved in restoring the city.

As the first colony, Shawnee has the next largest concentration, immediately followed in number by Omaha, Amarillo, and Ames. Not surprisingly, the space I reserved for my own colony sits empty for a long time before I find the first student from eighteen years ago. Seven years after Five Lakes was created.

Dreu Owens.

Magistrate Owens’s son? My father once said she had a child but that he was no longer with us. I assumed he meant that the child had died. Instead, he was selected for The Testing and survived to attend the University. According to this file, he studied Biological Engineering and was assigned an internship with a research team working on techniques designed to reverse mutations in plants and animals. Putting the paper in the section I designated for Five Lakes, I wonder what job he was assigned after he graduated and if he is still in Tosu.

The stack of unsorted papers grows smaller as I continue my work. I am starting on the last stack when President Collindar walks in holding a gray folder. Gone is the muted sense of concern I saw when she left to meet with Symon. In its place are strength and confidence.

I scramble to my feet as she says, “I apologize for the delay. Symon had a number of thoughts on this week’s activities. Letting him talk gave me time to come up with a plan.” She crosses the room to the table where I sit, looks directly at me, and says, “I cannot cancel the Debate Chamber vote. Not without raising Jedidiah’s and Symon’s suspicions. But tomorrow morning a member of my staff will be reported as missing. No one will question a postponement while my team dedicates all its resources to finding him. I believe Symon will outwardly applaud the decision, all the while sowing dissention among the rebel factions and pushing them to schedule an attack. I can convince them to hold off while we search for Michal. If I am lucky, I might be able to postpone their actions for a week. I only hope it will be long enough.”

“For what?” I ask.

“I thought that would be obvious,” she says. “There is no choice. We must carry out the rebels’ plan to end The Testing.”

For a moment I am speechless as her meaning hits home. “The rebels were going to start a war.”

“That has never been the intention,” she says. “The plan is for the rebels to coordinate the elimination of specific targets. The loss of life will be limited to those threats marked for termination. Of course, when violence is employed as a tool, there is always a chance of unexpected casualties. But those involved in creating this plan worked to design a blueprint that would limit losses as much as possible.”

Strategic targets. Termination. Tools. Blueprint. Clean words for the bloodletting they imply.

She opens the folder she is carrying, pulls out a piece of paper, and hands it to me. On it are eleven names. The first is Dr. Jedidiah Barnes. Professor Verna Holt is also on the list, as are Professor Douglas Lee and a man named Rychard Jeffries—whom I am almost certain is Raffe’s father. Just holding the sheet of paper makes my pulse race and my palms start to sweat.

President Collindar doesn’t appear to notice my discomfort as she explains, “The direction of The Testing and the University is headed by a select group led by Dr. Barnes. They are members of the University, officials in key government positions, and research scientists whose work has been used by Dr. Barnes to benefit The Testing. All of the people listed have enough influence and authority to retain control of the University and Testing programs even if Jedidiah is removed from the equation. Symon helped create this document, so there is a chance it is flawed, but I believe the plan is still valid.”

“You want to murder Dr. Barnes and his top administrators?”

“No.”

I let out a sigh of relief as President Collindar reaches over, takes the paper from me, and slides it back into the gray folder. “I’m not going to kill Dr. Barnes and his followers.” She places the folder in my hand. “You are.”

Chapter 3

HER WORDS PUNCH through my chest and steal my breath. The fire crackles. Somewhere in the building I hear a door slam. President Collindar stands still as death, watching me.

“You can’t be serious,” I whisper. Though I know she is. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” Her words are sharp. Confident. “Though the process of The Testing is kept from the public, I have heard enough rumors to understand the tests each candidate must face. For a candidate to pass, she must be intelligent, quick thinking, and able to prove she is capable of doing whatever it takes to survive.”

Suddenly, I am not here. I am on the unrevitalized plains during the fourth test. Tomas whispers my name. In the dim light I can see the blood as it flows from the wound in his abdomen. Will stands in front of me. His green eyes narrow behind the gun he has now aimed at me. He straightens his shoulders and takes aim. The gun in my hand kicks. Will staggers as the bullet punches into his side. When he runs I ignore the nausea that is building inside me and fire again.

Yes. When attacked, I will do what it takes to survive. But this . . .

“I can’t.” My legs tremble but my voice is firm. Strong. More in control than how I feel.

President Collindar walks unhurriedly across the room and takes a seat in the chair right next to the fire. “I will postpone the vote, but that will only delay the inevitable. If you are correct about Symon’s allegiance, how long do you think it will take before he incites the rebels to lead their own attack? What will happen then? Do you think Symon will allow any of the rebels or the citizens who have aided them to live? What will happen to the country if I am gone? Who do you think the Debate Chamber members will appoint to take my place?”

Dr. Barnes. If not him, someone he supports. The Testing will continue.

“Cia, I would prefer not to involve you in this, but sometimes a leader has to rely on the resources at hand. My staff has been infiltrated once that we know of. There is no doubt in my mind that where there is one spy there are more, which means the people in this building cannot be trusted. Neither can the rebels.”

“The Safety officials—”

“Report to one of the names on that list. And there must be others Dr. Barnes knows will take up arms in his support. Otherwise he would not have embarked on this course of action.” She turns and stares at the fire as if looking for answers in the flames, and sighs. “I would attempt to execute this plan myself, but it would be impossible for my actions to go unnoticed, and I am no longer confident of whom I can trust. You, Malencia, are the only one I can be certain of, which is why I am forced to ask you to live up to the promise you have made as a future leader and take up this task. As long as Dr. Barnes remains in control of the University, the rebels will not put aside their agenda. Emotions are running high. The rebels are insisting on change. I have talked to a number of them already.”

I see a flicker of regret on the president’s face, but it is gone as quickly as it came. Then all I see is her resolve. “I have been told that citizens on the outlying areas of Tosu have been armed by Ranetta’s rebel faction despite my express wish for this not to happen. Symon assured me that those allegations are false and that my orders are being obeyed, but everything he’s said is suspect. We must assume there are citizens aware of the rebellion and ready to take up arms in support. When the rebels do attack, those citizens could take to the streets. Dr. Barnes’s forces will respond. People will be scared. Some will fight. More will die.”

Michal told me that the rebels were arming citizens. The president is right to fear what could happen with weapons in the hands of so many. The fear. The desperation to survive at all cost. But that might happen no matter what.

Shaking off the images, I say, “Killing Dr. Barnes and his top administrators might gain you control of The Testing, but people will panic when they hear that many government officials have died. There has to be another way.” When solving geometric proofs, often more than one path of logic can lead to the correct solution. Surely there must be a different route we can take now.

“The more we talk, the better I understand why Dr. Barnes chose you.”

Despite my own proximity to the fire, the president’s compliment makes me shiver.

“You are correct,” she acknowledges. “The death of several Commonwealth officials will be cause for concern. But that is far more easily dealt with than the alternative. Safety officials will be deployed in larger numbers. After a week, I can say that the person responsible for the attacks was killed when officials attempted to apprehend him. Personnel schedules and power allotments will return to normal. People will believe the crisis is over because they want to believe their world is safe.”

I try to imagine how I would feel if I were a Tosu City citizen who heard the president say a murderer that close to top government officials was no longer a threat. Would I believe the danger had passed and that life could return to normal?

Yes. Not because I was shown proof, but because I’d want to believe. The president’s plan might work. But only if someone were to perform the step that came before.

“Murder is wrong.” I’m amazed at how composed I sound, because inside my head I am screaming.

“Think of how different the world would be if someone had eliminated Chancellor Freidrich before she had Prime Minister Chae assassinated.”

The assassination of peacemaker Prime Minister Chae fractured the Asian Alliance and sparked the First Stage of War.

“Leaders are often forced to make determinations they find distasteful for the good of the people they serve. Asking you to help eliminate the leaders who champion the current mission of the University is the last thing I wish to do. I do not make this request lightly. But it is the best chance we have to avoid a path that will certainly lead to a far worse fate.”

President Collindar stands and crosses to me. She takes the folder from my hand, walks to the table, and picks up a pen. While she flips open the folder and writes something on one of the pages it contains, I swallow hard, close my eyes, and wish that I were back in Five Lakes. That I had never come to Tosu City or learned the secrets behind The Testing. War would still be looming but I would be unaware. The president would not have asked me to betray everything I have ever believed in order to fix what she cannot. That is not my job. Coming here and alerting her to the danger was supposed to pass the responsibility of keeping me, my brother, Tomas, and my friends safe to one who has been officially charged with leadership.

“If I thought I had a chance of successfully orchestrating this plan with my own team, I would. Perhaps I will have to attempt that as a last resort if you do not take up this task.” She places the folder back into my hands. “Throughout history, leaders have used targeted means to eliminate threats that, if allowed to remain unchecked, could cause far greater damage. When the United Commonwealth was founded, our leaders vowed we would do whatever was necessary to forward the country’s mission of revitalization and peace. That mission is now threatened. I’m asking you, Malencia Vale, to help keep our country and its purpose alive.”

The speech stirs my blood. Since I was little, my goal has been to follow in my father’s footsteps. To be selected for The Testing. To go to the University. To help my country. But this . . .

“Do not give me your answer now.” She takes one step closer and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I understand the difficult choice I have laid before you. I can hold off the rebels for at least a week. Two if I am lucky.”

So little time.

“Inside that folder is the list of those who need to be removed if The Testing is to end, along with information on each of them. Also, there is a room on the fifth floor that you might find useful in completing this task. I have written the entrance code on the top page.” The president squeezes my shoulder and then steps back. “I do not expect this to be easy. You may die in the trying. Even if you do not, there is a strong chance you will fail—although I would not ask this of you if I believed either to be the inevitable conclusion. If by the end of this week you have decided not to pursue this assignment, I ask that you send a message saying that the project is unsustainable.”

One week to decide.

“Regardless of what you choose, I warn you to be careful. Symon has indicated that members of the rebellion exist among the University students. They could expose you without realizing what they have done.” She walks toward the door. Hand on the knob, she looks at me. “Trust no one, Cia. It’s not just your life but also the lives of many others that depend on that.”

As she strides out I hear her say, “I think it is safe to say the young woman has now learned her lesson. I’ll be in my office if anyone else needs to meet.”

The door stays open as her footsteps fade. I know it is time for me to leave, but I am too stunned by what I have heard. Too overwhelmed by the task I have been asked to perform. I want to believe I imagined what just happened, but the folder in my hand belies that wish. My hands are cold when I open it and glance at the first page, which contains the code the president spoke of as well as the eleven names. No. Now there are twelve. Written at the bottom in the president’s strong block handwriting is the name Symon Dean. Below the name is a series of seven numbers and the words “I am counting on you.”

I close the folder and place it on top of my bag. Then I stack the piles of paper from my earlier work onto the table. At the last minute, I take the three pages that contain information on Five Lakes Colony University students. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it is just because I cannot bear the thought that this information is in the hands of anyone who does not know or care about them. Or maybe I need a reminder of where I came from and who I am. My parents raised me to believe in my fellow citizens and in the United Commonwealth. To fix things. I wonder what they would say if they knew I had been told that in order to fix the country they have worked so hard for I must now deliberately take lives.

The world spins around me. Nausea stirs in my stomach and sears my throat. I shove the folder into my bag and stumble over a crease in the carpet as I hurry to the door. The president has given me a week to choose what I will do, but I don’t see how I can make this choice. To allow The Testing to continue, or to do what I could not when I was Tested and kill. I am not like Will or Roman or Damone. I cannot commit murder to push myself forward. But can I end lives to ultimately save more?

I don’t know.

And still, I find that instead of climbing down the stairs, I go up. I hear voices coming from offices on the third floor, but no one is in the hallway as I quickly climb the next two sets of stairs. The fifth floor is quiet. I stop in front of the door with a red-lit keypad at the end of the hall and turn toward the stairs to check if anyone is coming. I see no one. After pulling the paper out of its folder, I punch in the seven-number code, watch the light go from red to green, and slip inside. I wait for the door to close before feeling around the wall for lights. When I find them, my heart begins to hammer.

Guns both large and small.

Stack upon stack of boxed ammunition.

Knives of varying shapes and sizes.

Bulbs filled with an explosive powder that my father and his team use to loosen sections of rock in unrevitalized areas.

After a moment, I notice the room contains more than weapons. Long-range transmitters. Pocket-size pulse radios. Tracking devices. Recorders made in various shapes. Some look much like the ones I remember being used in our Testing bracelets.

And I realize that this room reminds me of the one Michal brought me to before the fourth test. During The Testing, I looked at the weapons provided and saw tools to aid in survival. Now I see them as so many of my fellow Testing candidates must have—as a means of taking lives.

I slide four of the smallest pulse radios inside my bag. Beside them I place several recorders and tracking devices as well as a small monitor that must be used to display the location of the transmitter. I look at the other shelves and consider taking one of the larger knives. But their serrated edges remind me too much of the weapon Tomas carried during The Testing. The one that killed Zandri.

Telling myself I have no need of the weapons since I do not plan to carry out the president’s directive, I walk back to the door and turn off the light. In the darkness, I listen for sounds on the other side. When I hear none, I slip out the door, wait for the light to turn back to red, and head downstairs.

One of the officials who brought the files spots me as I reach the third floor. She asks if I need help with my work, and I tell her I finished the assignment and am going home. With a wave, I continue down the next two flights, hoping she isn’t one of Symon’s rebels.

More officials are in the halls on the first floor than when I arrived. I keep my head down and walk to the exit. The fresh air feels cool and wonderful against my skin as I grab my bicycle and begin to ride. I try not to think about the president’s request, but it is impossible to forget what she has charged me to do. Dr. Barnes. Professor Holt. Symon. Raffe’s father. All people who have had a hand in killing Testing candidates either by active participation or passive acceptance. They deserve to be punished for their parts in the deaths of those who came here in hope. But do their actions mean they deserve to die? And if so, can I bring myself to kill them?

My stomach heaves as I recall the feel of Damone’s blood running over my hand while life drained from his body. If the president has her way, his will be just the first blood I shed. I try to tamp down the nausea, but after three blocks, I jump off my bike and run toward a group of bushes huddled near the side of a sandy-colored brick building. My bike clatters to the walkway behind me as I empty my stomach onto the ground. I wipe my mouth and try to stand up straight. But my stomach tightens again and I hunch over. My legs feel like jelly. Sweat breaks out, and I start to shake as the images of those who have died run through my mind. Ryme’s empty eyes. Roman’s bloody body. Michal’s face as it drained of color just before he crumpled to the ground.

Slowly, the shaking subsides and I straighten. I take careful steps. The weakness I felt seems to have passed, but when I pick up my bike, I choose to walk with it down the city street instead of riding. I fumble with the fastenings on my bag and dig out a bottle of water. The water cleanses my mouth and throat of the taste of bile, but it cannot wash away the cause. I wheel my bike north while taking sips of water, not paying attention to where I am headed. When I come to a small fountain in the middle of a grassy area surrounded by a small square of shops, I set my bike on the ground and take a seat on the stone lip of the fountain.

It is cool, but the early evening light has encouraged many to come out of doors. Children play a game of tag. Several couples sit on benches along the walkways that surround the park. Everything seems so normal. No one here feels the tension of the power struggle that is about to threaten their world.

I pull the Transit Communicator out of my bag, hit the Call button, and close my eyes as I wait for Zeen to respond. But no matter how much I want to hear his voice, the Communicator remains silent and I have no idea what I should do now. I went to the president so she could save him and everyone else from Dr. Barnes, Symon, and the destruction the false rebellion will cause. She was supposed to take charge and solve this problem. Instead, she has turned it back on me and I am not sure I am capable of walking the path she has pointed me toward.

Swallowing hard, I open my eyes and stare at the clean, clear water gurgling next to me. The fountain is not simply decorative but is used by citizens to fill their drinking bottles, and I find myself thinking of the people who survived the Seven Stages of War. The fear they must have felt when the South American coalition attacked. When President Dalton responded by ending the stance of isolationism he’d adopted in hopes that avoiding conflict would bring peace. It didn’t. Nor did the violence that came after. Cities around the world were leveled. Millions killed. Finally, leaders decided to lay down their weapons before they destroyed not only their enemies but themselves. The Fourth Stage of War ended and peace treaties were signed.

Despite the devastation, there must have been a sense of hope. A feeling that the worst was over. But the earth did not sign a treaty. The biological and chemical warfare employed during the first Four Stages could not be wiped away with the stroke of a pen. Peace would not be so easy. Earthquakes. Chemical-laden rainstorms. Floods. Tornadoes. Hurricanes. By the time the Seventh Stage of War ended, the weather and landscape had been unimaginably changed.

It’s amazing that humans survived. How easy it would have been to look at the horror around them and give up. Food was scarce. Uncontaminated water was almost impossible to find. But they didn’t surrender. They salvaged what they could from their homes and set out to find other survivors. They came here. They revitalized this city. Brick by brick, tree by tree, they began to restore what their leaders had destroyed.

There must have been terrible choices to be made. People who refused to endorse a centralized government created trouble. They hoarded resources. Caused fights on the Debate Chamber floor and turned the focus away from the good of everyone to themselves. City officials encouraged them to leave Tosu. Eventually, they did.

When my Five Lakes classmates and I were studying this part of history, our teacher told us that the dissenters disappeared from the city. I assumed she meant that they set out to find a new place where they could live as they chose. Now I wonder. Would those intent on bringing down the newly created government have been able to leave so easily? Especially when their dissent was causing the governing body so much trouble? There were food riots. Solar panels were destroyed or stolen. Vigilantes patrolled the streets, fighting with and sometimes killing those the government had assigned to ensure their safety. With a shortage of resources and a flurry of lawlessness, there must have been concern that the new government was flawed. That it was not in control. That, maybe, not following the new rules for resource distribution and revitalization would make things better.

How difficult those days must have been. With new food resources available and plants and trees thriving in the revitalized soil, it seems impossible to imagine that anyone could have believed trying to survive on their own would be better than working together and following the same rules. But quite a few did. Yet somehow the government regained control. In order to do so, did they eliminate those who were intent on wreaking havoc?

Maybe.

If so, were they wrong?

I look at the sparkling, uncorrupted water and then at the children laughing as they play. Would these things be here now if the dissenters had destroyed what was just being created? Does this end justify a means paved with blood?

I don’t know.

At one time I would have been certain. This situation would have appeared black and white. I wish it did now. I told President Collindar that I could not eliminate those whose names are written on the paper in my bag. I want to believe that this is the truth, but the pressure I feel growing in my chest as I look around at a city that was forged in struggle and in hope makes me wonder whether there might be another truth. That like the Seven Stages of War and the time that followed, peace will come accompanied by sacrifice and death.

I glance at the watch on the strap of my bag. The sun will soon be setting. I need to return to campus. I know I should get on my bike and return, but I find myself pulling the gray folder out of my bag again and opening it. There are the twelve names, the code to the fifth-floor room, and the note President Collindar wrote to me. Under that page are several more sheets of gray recycled paper. Eleven of them, to be exact. One for each of the original eleven names on the president’s list. At the top of each page is a name followed by the person’s residence, family information, and role in The Testing.

Not surprisingly, the first page of this group centers on Dr. Jedidiah Barnes. The location of his home means little to me, since I am not from Tosu City. Although I do remember other students mentioning that his personal dwelling is on one of the streets that surround the University campus. I read the name of his wife and picture the woman I met last summer, after The Testing was over. His two children are sixteen and twelve—approaching the age when they can apply to the University. With their father as head of the program, they no doubt would be selected. But will they want to be a part of the trials that follow? Dr. Barnes has been in charge of The Testing for fifteen years. During that time, 1,132 students have sat for The Testing. Of those, 128 were passed through to the University. Over one thousand students who wished to help the world are gone. Because of him.

As the light fades, I read through the other pages, committing as much as possible to memory. Professor Holt—an advocate for adding another section to The Testing to push the ability of students to think critically while under emotional strain. Professor Markum—head of Medical studies, who created the newest version of the memory-erasure serum and is working on a neurological implant to help officials better monitor the way each prospective student deals with the strain of The Testing process. Professor Lee—who, according to this information, not only helped create the scoring system for each group of students during the first round of The Testing but is advocating for a larger pool of candidates to ensure that none of the best and brightest escape notice.

Page after page of leaders. All working to make The Testing harder. More invasive. Deadlier.

White-hot anger builds inside me as I start over and reread the descriptions by the fading light. These people were entrusted with the lives of the next generation of leaders. They have betrayed not only that trust but also the faith of the entire country.

Emotions cloud my vision, making it hard to read through the last few pages. Rage. Sorrow. Fear. Despair. They chip away my resolve to refuse the president’s request and pull at the beliefs I have been taught to hold dear. When I finally finish my second read, I slide the papers back into the folder, fill my water bottle at the fountain, and climb onto my bike. Using the Transit Communicator to guide me, I head back to the University, taking the same path I used to get to the president’s office. The route isn’t the most direct, but getting back quickly isn’t my purpose. While I would prefer to destroy the papers the president gave me, there is a chance I will have need of the information they contain. Hiding them so I cannot be caught with them is my best option.

I spot a neighborhood where the roads and sidewalks are cracked and broken and the grass less green, and turn to enter it. The roofs of the houses sag in the middle. Boards across windows and doors signal a lack of materials to make repairs. Stairs are missing steps. Swirls of faded paint decorate the houses’ exteriors. The front yards are mostly dirt with a few patches of scraggly yellowish grass. If it weren’t for the hopeful budding of the healthy trees on the street, I would think this area had yet to be revitalized and that people did not yet live here. But they do. A rag doll sitting near the rotted front steps of a squat brown house with a porch that is carefully swept of debris and a metal shovel that is free of rust sitting outside another dwelling tell me that people are here.

Since coming to Tosu, I’ve realized that despite the best intentions of the government, it is almost impossible for a city this size to treat all citizens the same. Streets that government officials call home are repaired more frequently than those of people who do not hold influential jobs. But the run-down appearance of some areas notwithstanding, I have never seen another so poorly tended as this one. While that disturbs me, in a way I am glad. It’s clear that the government rarely if ever notices this street, so it could be a perfect place to hide the papers I don’t want anyone to find.

In the last rays of daylight, I study the dilapidated, graffiti-laden houses on either side of the roadway, ignoring those that show signs of habitation. A small one-story structure with boarded-up windows and a sagging roof catches my eye. The houses across from it show subtle signs of occupancy, but this one and the two on either side look as though nothing but rodents and small animals have gone near the front door in months.

Careful to keep to the grass so I don’t leave footprints in the dirt, I cross to the back of the house. The door in the rear hangs precariously from its hinges. I can see at least one spot where an animal has constructed a nest in the eve of the roof.

I lean my bicycle against the back of the house and walk to the door. The hinges let out a shrill protest as I shift it open. I go still and wait to see if anyone appears. When no one does, I walk inside into a small kitchen. Doors of cabinets are missing. In the center of the room, the remains of a collapsed table lie sprawled on the floor, surrounded by three wooden chairs. Leaves and twigs are scattered on the ground. Still, I search the rest of the structure to make sure this place is not in use.

The living room floor is coated in a thick layer of dust. The lone sofa in the room is so worn that springs poke through its cushions. I search the bathroom and two bedrooms. When I see no obvious signs of habitation, I pull my pocketknife out of my bag, then open the bedroom closet. Kneeling, I use the knife to prod around the floorboards. Several are loose. I pry up three, stand up to pull the folder out of my bag, remove the list of names, and tuck the rest of the papers into the spot I dug out. I replace the floorboards and pile the clothes stained with Damone’s blood on top of them. Then I close the closet door and hurry out.

I save the coordinates of this location on the Transit Communicator, then climb onto my bicycle and ride. When I reach the end of the street, I look back at the house where the papers lie hidden, knowing that if I return to retrieve them it will be because I have chosen to take up President Collindar’s charge.

And not just me. Because this task is not one that I can complete on my own. My father told me to trust no one. I have broken that edict more than once—often to my detriment. And if the president is right and there is no other way to end The Testing and the destruction to the country that might come, I may have to break it again.

Chapter 4

THE SKY IS dark as I cross under the arch that marks the entrance to the campus. Solar lights illuminate the roadways and the buildings that I pass. I see fewer students than usual. Many spend their Saturday evenings in their rooms, catching up on sleep or blowing off steam, but normally there are more than the handful of students I see going to and from the library or sitting on the benches outside the residences. The inactivity makes my heart race as I pedal across the bridge toward the vehicle shed. I store my bike and hurry around to the entrance of the residence.

“Cia.”

I jump at the sound of my name and squint into the shadows, looking for the source. For a moment I see nothing. Then a figure moves away from the trunk of the weeping willow tree into the faint moonlight.

Enzo. Of all the University students, Enzo is the one I think I most understand and the one I am more inclined to believe has my best interests at heart. He is not like the others, whose families have ties to the Commonwealth Government. He could not rely on his parents’ connections in order to get accepted to the University. Enzo worked for it. He, like me, wanted to come to the University to help better our country. That similarity and the lack of connection to those who currently lead the University are the reasons I cross the grass instead of going inside. If Enzo has been waiting outside the residence for me, the reason must be important.

As I walk toward him, Enzo looks around to make sure we are alone. When I reach his side he says, “Professor Holt is looking for you.”

I swallow hard. “Do you know why?” Does she want to know what I was doing in the city today? Does she suspect what the president has asked of me? Or is this about what happened last night?

“Professor Holt has been interviewing everyone in the residence to see if anyone has information as to Damone’s whereabouts.”

“Maybe he went to visit his family,” I say, hoping Enzo doesn’t hear the strain in my voice. Many Tosu City students use their free hours on the weekends to spend time at home. The action isn’t encouraged by University staff, but neither is it condemned. Their being able to visit those they love is just one more aspect that separates those of us from the colonies from the students born in Tosu City. Even Enzo has taken time away from his studies to make the trek to the south side of the city to see his family.

“I told her that I spotted Damone this morning from my window. He had a bag over his shoulder as he came out of the vehicle building with his bicycle. Professor Holt is checking to see if Damone went home.” Enzo looks toward the bridge as if searching for answers. After several long moments, he quietly says, “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

Five words. Enough to make my pulse pound.

My heart ticks off the seconds as I wait for what comes next. Ten. Twenty. Finally he says, “My bedroom window next to my desk faces the back of the residence. Normally I don’t bother to look outside. But I did. I saw Damone.” His head turns toward me. “And you.”

“I . . .” I what? I wasn’t there? I was, and Enzo and I wouldn’t be having this conversation if he had any doubt that it was me he saw in the moonlight. “What did you see?” My voice sounds harsh. Panicked. I’m both. If Enzo has lied about what he said to Professor Holt, I will have two choices: run or be Redirected. Maybe that is why he is telling me now. To give me a chance to flee.

“I saw Damone and you fighting. I was going to come help, but by then my help wasn’t necessary. Damone is dead, and I’m not sorry. He shouldn’t have attacked you. He shouldn’t have even been here in the first place. It’s people like him that made my father agree to help change things. He and my brothers—” Enzo looks back to the horizon. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Look, I’m not telling you this to make you afraid. I just want you to know that I could see you and Raffe. If I could, someone else might have. Professor Holt is talking to everyone inside the residence. You need to be prepared.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask. “You could go to Professor Holt, tell her what you saw, and collect your reward.”

“I’m not Damone.” Enzo’s voice trembles. “He and Griffin want to be important. I want to make a difference. I promised my family I would. They’re counting on me. Selling you out to Professor Holt wouldn’t make them proud or help them. They are fighting against what she stands for. I am too.” Enzo takes several steps toward the residence and turns back to face me. “I don’t know why you were out of the residence last night or why you let Raffe help you. He’s one of them. I think you and I are on the same side. So be careful. Okay?”

For a moment we just look at each other. Enzo watching me for signs of agreement. Me waiting for . . . I don’t know. Something that tells me he really is on my side. That he is not repelled to know I am responsible for taking a life. That he can be trusted to aid me if I see no other way to end The Testing than to follow the president’s command.

Whatever he sees on my face must be enough of an answer because without another word, he turns and leaves me standing under the willow, struggling to think through what he has told me. Is it safe for me to stay, or should I pack my bag and run now while I still can?

Part of me wants to flee. If I could talk to Zeen, I know he would tell me to run. But he still isn’t answering. I want to believe that he hasn’t been able to find a place isolated enough to contact me. To think otherwise would shatter me. My brother is smart and resourceful. I just have to be patient. But I cannot wait to hear from him before formulating a plan. If I were to run, Tomas would go with me. The two of us are resourceful. We would have a greater chance of survival than most. Our survival of The Testing proves that. Running would mean I wouldn’t have to face the choice I have been given.

For a moment I look at the bridge. I imagine what it would be like to leave behind this place and everything I know. Then I turn and walk to the residence. Because there is too much at stake. I might not be able to stop what is to come, but I cannot leave without trying, or without learning what has become of my brother.

The sight of two officials in ceremonial purple greets me as I walk through the entryway of the residence. Enzo is nowhere to be seen. The minute the officials see me, the one on the left takes a step forward and says, “Malencia Vale?”

I try to keep the concern I feel off my face as I nod.

“Professor Holt asked that you report to her in the main common room once you arrived. She’ll be glad to know you are safe.”

While I am not sure Professor Holt will feel delight upon seeing me, I thank the official for his message. I then head in the direction of the common room, hoping I did not make the wrong decision when I chose to stay instead of run.

I walk down the hall to the large room that we use for residence gatherings, studying, and relaxing in between classes. Professor Holt is seated near the large stone fireplace. Her squared shoulders, her short cap of red hair, and the crimson color of her clothing give her an undeniable air of authority. Across the room, several upper-year students are standing in small groups. It only takes one of them noticing my approach for Professor Holt to turn toward me. Her almond-shaped eyes narrow behind her thickly framed glasses before she turns back to the students gathered nearby. A look from Professor Holt sends them hurrying out the door, leaving the two of us alone.

Forcing a smile, I say, “You asked to see me, Professor Holt?”

I stand motionless while Professor Holt studies me. My heart hammers as I think of Enzo’s words, the lie he swore he told, and the gray paper in my bag. In my mind I picture Professor Holt’s name written in firm black letters beneath that of Dr. Barnes. Would she understand the purpose of the list if for some reason she asked to see the contents of my bag? And what would she say if she saw the gun and the transmitters?

“Please, take a seat.” Professor Holt waves me into the faded armchair across from her.

I sit, wishing I could have found a plausible reason to stand, since I had the advantage of height and the ability to run. Sitting with my bag on my lap, I am very aware of being at the mercy of Professor Holt and the University if the answers I give are not correct.

Professor Holt leans back in her chair and asks, “Have you been experiencing any problems in your classes or with your internship?”

The subject matter catches me off-guard. I blink twice and consider her seemingly innocuous words. After being assigned to the Government studies program, my fellow students and I were given class schedules. I was assigned nine classes—the most of any first-year student. Failure to keep up with the course load is monitored closely. Some students who struggled have already been Redirected out of the University. According to my guide, Ian, I have been watched more carefully than my peers for signs of difficulty. There was something about me that Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt found troubling long before my untracked disappearance from campus this morning. Something that goes back to The Testing. Even with my returned memories, I have not been able to puzzle out what that something is. And not now, with Professor Holt staring at me, waiting for an answer.

My admitting my workload is difficult could give her an opening to doubt my abilities as a student, but saying I am managing my schedule with ease is a lie. One she will certainly call me on. Without understanding her agenda, I carefully say, “It’s a challenge to keep up with all of the work, but I’m determined to succeed.”

“I’m sure you are.” Professor Holt’s smile fades. “Damone Pyburn was determined as well, but he appears to have vanished from campus. He has not been seen since last night. When your friends could not find you, I was concerned you might have disappeared as well.”

Her eyes flick to the bracelet on my wrist. A sure sign that my whereabouts were never in doubt. I wonder if Damone’s bracelet is currently able to be tracked and if Professor Holt knows he is at the bottom of the chasm that surrounds this building. Or does the tear in the earth go too deep for her and Dr. Barnes to trace with a short-range transmitter?

Giving her an embarrassed smile, I say, “I apologize if I caused anyone to worry. I had some questions about a project I’m working on and decided to go to the president’s office to get some answers.”

If Professor Holt looks for the lie in my words she won’t find one.

Nodding, she says, “I appreciate your dedication to your studies, as I’m sure the president does. And, of course, you left before I requested that students remain in the residence so that I could discuss Damone’s unusual disappearance with all of you individually. So, you had no way of knowing that you went against my explicit instructions.”

“I would never have left had I known I was instructed to stay on campus.”

Her lips purse. “Well, now that you’re back, perhaps you can tell me whether you had cause to speak with or spend time with Damone Pyburn before he went missing.”

I consider my words carefully as I say, “Despite our being on the same team during Induction, I don’t know Damone very well. He made it clear that he wasn’t interested in being friends with colony students, so we rarely if ever spoke.”

“And yet you saved his life—twice.”

Only to end it later.

I stifle the urge to shift in my seat and say, “It was the right thing to do for my team.”

“And you always do the right thing.”

“No,” I answer honestly. “Growing up, I was taught that it’s impossible to know what the right thing always is. The best you can do is to try to do what you think is right for yourself and the people around you.”

Professor Holt stares at me for a minute as if trying to read hidden meanings in my words. Finally she says, “I have been told that you were absent from the residence twice today.”

Blood pounds in my ears. Cautiously, I nod. “I went into the city.”

“The first time was with Raffe Jeffries. Yes, I spoke with him earlier. He gave me an account of your outing. Perhaps you’d like to give me yours.”

What to say? I do not know the explanation Raffe gave Professor Holt for our leaving campus. If my answer does not match the one he gave, Professor Holt will question everything I have said thus far. And I have used my internship to cover my journey to the city this afternoon. I can’t use the same excuse for Raffe and me going out this morning.

Hoping Raffe didn’t tell an elaborate story, I say, “Raffe knows I haven’t had much of a chance to explore Tosu City. We ran into each other before breakfast and he volunteered to show me around.”

Professor Holt tilts her head to the side. “What time did you and Mr. Jefferies meet?”

Breakfast starts at seven-thirty. “Around seven, I think.” Most students don’t get up on the weekends until after the allotted time for breakfast has already begun, so the time I quoted gives less of a chance for her to question why other students didn’t see us. I can only hope the logic Raffe used to give his answer was the same I employed to create mine.

“Are you certain that time is accurate?”

I’m certain it is not, but I cannot change my answer now. Instead I force a laugh and say, “It might have been just before or just after. I wasn’t watching the time all that closely.”

“Mr. Jefferies said the two of you planned to meet this morning, but you implied it was a spontaneous trip.”

I feel color fill my cheeks and I clutch my bag as my mind races, trying to decide how best to explain the discrepancy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone hovering in the doorway of the common room. Turning, I lock eyes with him. His long dark hair frames his pale face and deep green eyes.

“Do you need something, Mr. O’Donovan?” Professor Holt asks. Her tone is clipped, indicating her displeasure at being interrupted.

Will doesn’t seem to be bothered by Professor Holt’s annoyance. Flashing a crooked smile, he shoves his hands into his pockets and leans against the doorjamb. “No. I was just checking to make sure Cia was okay. I ran into Tomas Endress earlier, and he was worried that he hadn’t seen her all day. Don’t worry, Cia.” Will’s smile grows wider. “I didn’t tell him that you spent most of the day with another guy.”

He winks.

Frowning, I look down at my hands as though embarrassed by Will’s words. In reality, I feel relief as Professor Holt dismisses Will with a reminder that all students are to remain inside the residence until after breakfast tomorrow.

When she turns her attention back to me, I quietly say, “Tomas and I aren’t as close as we used to be, but I don’t want to upset him if I don’t have to. We’re both from Five Lakes and . . .” I shrug and take a deep breath. “I thought it would be better if he heard that my visit to the city with Raffe was spur of the moment instead of something we planned.”

My nerves jump as Professor Holt stares at me, her eyes unblinking behind her glasses. “It is always difficult to decide whether emotional attachment is due to shared experiences or to something deeper. If you aren’t careful, those kinds of attachments can cause distractions you don’t need. That’s only one of the many reasons I’m pleased Dr. Barnes continued the practice of eliminating Testing memories in successful candidates. The last thing we need is students who have formed personal attachments as a mechanism for dealing with stress.”

At Professor Holt’s mention of The Testing, I find myself recalling the information I read earlier today and her placement on the list of people marked for death. While I don’t like Professor Holt, the idea of deliberately ending her life makes my heart cringe. “Professor Holt, can I ask a question?”

She blinks behind her glasses. “Of course.”

I choose each word with caution as I say, “Do you think The Testing is the best way to select future leaders?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I heard people at the president’s office discussing The Testing. Since I don’t remember my experience, I thought I’d ask your opinion. Do you think putting candidates through The Testing is necessary?”

“We need strong leaders more than ever before. One wrong choice could cause everything we have rebuilt to collapse.” Dark eyes filled with conviction meet mine. “The Testing is not only necessary—in my opinion, the process is not nearly hard enough.”

The confidence in her stride as she walks out the door leaves no doubt. If Professor Holt has her way, even more Testing candidates will die.

Chapter 5

THE RESIDENCE HALL is quiet as I go to the dining area to get something to eat. I fill a plate and balance it as I walk up the two flights of stairs. Unlike most nights, no one is wandering the halls, which makes me wonder about Will’s arrival during my interview with Professor Holt. Why was he out of his rooms? Was he looking for me? His appearance helped me come up with a plausible answer to her question. Was that on purpose or just a coincidence?

I have not come up with answers to these questions about Will as I turn the key in my lock and enter my rooms. Pushing aside all thoughts of Will and whatever agenda he might have, I unfasten my bag and look at the things I took from the room on the fifth floor. Why I selected these items is still a mystery to me. Perhaps instinct had me grabbing anything that would give me comfort. Fixing, creating, and modifying technology has always been what I have done best. Since being assigned to Government Studies, I have felt removed from that part of me, just as geography and our different fields of study have made me feel cut off from Tomas. Suddenly, I realize that the pulse radios in my possession mean neither is an obstacle.

After the Seven Stages of War, scientists utilized the higher concentration of electromagnetic radiation in the air to restore communication with these devices. Pulse radios were designed to record chunks of information and, using pulselike signals, send them to receiving devices that are set to a corresponding frequency. Because any device set to the same frequency as the sending radio can receive the recorded message, pulse radio signals are not a secure form of communication. But if we pick frequencies unused by the Commonwealth and alternate them often, Tomas and I will have a better form of communication than has been available to us thus far. For that, I am willing to take the risk.

The other items from the fifth-floor room I have less of a sense of purpose about. I turn a small recorder over in my hands. It resembles the one I remember finding in my Testing bracelet. Perhaps it will be useful, but at the moment I’m not sure how. Setting this recorder aside, I look at the tracking devices. While I am unsure how to use them to my advantage, there’s always a chance they could be valuable.

I glance at the clock. It’s after nine, but still the Transit Communicator is silent. Forcing myself to eat, I contemplate how best to modify the frequency of the pulse radio to something not typically used by Commonwealth officials. The knot of worry in my chest dissolves as I focus on a problem I can solve.

Using the screwdriver part of my pocketknife, I remove the back cover of the pulse radios and examine the transmitters and receivers. The receiving frequency is easiest to modify. Just a couple turns of a screw and it will shift downward. The transmitting frequency is more challenging, since these pulse radios do not contain oscillators but rather use surface acoustic wave filters. To alter the frequency, I will need to swap the SAW resonator and several other parts.

I look through the items in my desk drawer, hoping to find what I need. But while I come up with a few pieces I can use, others are missing. The lab rooms downstairs will have those. I hope.

After placing the cover back on the radio, I put everything back in my bag and head for the door. Downstairs, the corridors are empty. The officials in purple are gone. Everything is as still as a tomb. I turn to the right and head down the hallway in the opposite direction of the common room toward the four labs we are allowed to use for our studies.

Labs 1 and 4 are occupied, telling me that not everyone has chosen to hide in their rooms. Treading as lightly as possible, I walk into Lab 2, put my bag on the metal counter, and walk to a set of small drawers to search for the items I need to create my SAW filter and additional components. Bits of copper. A small ceramic square. Small screws. I work quickly. My confidence grows as I solder metal, connect the wires, and put that radio aside to begin work on the next one. The second is easier, since I have completed this manipulation once. When I am finished, I speak my name into the first pulse radio’s recorder and press Send. Moments later I hear my voice address me from the other radio. It worked. The two are now functioning at a different frequency.

I start to work on the other two radios but then stop to consider my options. By making all the radios the same frequency, I can allow four people to send messages to each other. While this sounds like a reasonable idea, I’m not sure it is the best plan. Whatever communication I have with Tomas I want kept private. He is the only one I am sure is on my side. The way to keep what we say between us is to set the other radios to a separate frequency and modify mine with an oscillator so it can change between the two.

The work calms me. My mind empties of everything except equations to determine frequency. Creating the oscillator circuit. Adding the pieces necessary to allow mine to swing between the other pulse radios. The higher frequency I keep for Tomas. The lower works with the other radios. Who I might give them to or why is still to be determined. When I am done, I pack the radios in my bag and go back to my room proud of the job I have done. As I curl up on my bed with the Transit Communicator clutched in my hands, I can only hope Zeen is safe.

I awake with a start. The sun is streaming through my bedroom window. The Communicator lies on the bed beside me—silent. There is no way to know if Zeen tried to contact me last night and I failed to hear his call. I push the button on the side twice and wait for my brother to respond. When he doesn’t, I scramble off the bed and check the time. It is after eight.

I take the Communicator into the bathroom with me as I wash the sleep from my face, and study myself in the reflector. With the tip of my finger, I trace the five scars on my left arm. While almost all the students from The Testing were healed of injuries and began their University studies unmarked, these could not be removed. The poison that infected me was too powerful to be healed with the available medicines. Now that my Testing memories have returned, I know how I received these scars and I am glad they remain. Professor Holt might believe that removing The Testing memories allows us to come into our studies with a better ability to focus, but while that might be true, she is wrong about the importance of knowing the choices we have made and what we have done.

I killed.

Not because I wanted to. But because I had no choice. Not if I wanted to live. Not if I wanted to help the others I cared about to survive.

I came to Tosu City unmarked. I thought I understood what leadership meant and what I would face if I was selected for The Testing. These five raised scars remind me how far I have come and how much I have changed. Because it is not just the outside that has been marked. Where my beliefs were once black and white, I now see shades of gray. My father must have seen those shades, too. He suspected what The Testing entailed. He could have made the choice to help me flee. He and the other leaders of our colony could have found a way to eliminate the Tosu City official before he had a chance to inform the four of us that we were chosen.

Looking back, I see so many things my father could have done had he wanted to keep me from The Testing. And still he let me come. Because no matter what he believed about the process of The Testing, he believed in this country and the strength of the leaders who run it. He made a choice to believe in this system despite its flaws. I think of the piece of paper that sits inside the bag I now slide onto my shoulder, the task I have been given, and my belief that The Testing must end before it is allowed to kill again. I will have to decide whether to pretend I am still the girl from Five Lakes who climbed into the skimmer on her way to Tosu City or to take the best of that girl and allow it to be forged into something new.

A faint clicking sound stops me as I start down the stairs. Zeen. Relief fills me. And when the sound comes again, I hurry back to my rooms, unlock the door, and pull the Communicator out of my bag.

I click the button twice in response and say, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What about you? I was worried when you didn’t answer last night. If everyone around here weren’t so jumpy, I would have come to check on you.”

“I can take care of myself,” I say. That I survived The Testing and everything the University has thrown at me should be testament to that. Still, it is nice to have my brother thinking about me and expressing a desire to protect, even though there is little he can do to keep me safe.

“Well, if you want to take care of yourself, you have to get out of there. Now,” Zeen hisses. “The girl I talked to last night says there are rebels on campus who Symon has been using to collect information. They’re also part of a plan to attack Dr. Barnes and other University officials from inside.”

“Michal told me there were rebels among the University students,” I reply. He was worried they were armed. He feared that if fighting broke out, they might start open warfare here on campus and that students might be caught in the crossfire. From what Zeen says, Michal was right.

“This morning Symon and Renatta spoke to everyone at camp. With the vote coming tomorrow and the attack scheduled to begin on Friday, we’re now under instructions to remove anything or anyone we believe could interfere with the rebellion’s success. If the rebel students are under the same orders, it won’t take much to convince them to come after you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I’m a colony student. They should know I’m on the side of shutting down The Testing. Removing me isn’t logical.”

“Logic isn’t what’s leading this rebellion, Cia. Emotion is. They want to end The Testing, but after investing their time and energy, what they want even more is to make Dr. Barnes and all those who were part of The Testing pay. They don’t care if they die as long as those they believe to be responsible for The Testing are dead, too. If they see you as a threat to victory, they’ll have no problem sacrificing you in order to secure the greater cause. Get out of there while you can. There’s nothing you can do to stop what’s coming.”

Yes. Yes, there is.

“Zeen—”

“Quiet.”

I obey the harsh whisper and wait. Metal bites into my fingers as I clutch the Communicator and wait for Zeen to speak again.

“Look, I mean what I said. Get Tomas and get out of there. He can help you stay safe until I get word to you about what is happening here.”

“I’m not going to leave unless you do.” If it would keep my brother safe, I would run.

“You have to get out of the city, Cia. This isn’t something you should be dealing with. Let me know when you’re out of harm’s way, and I’ll try to join you after this is all over. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me. It might be hard for me to get somewhere private enough to speak, but I’ll contact you as soon as I am able.”

“No. I’m not going to leave knowing you’re still in danger.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says with a hint of the self-assured tone I have always associated with my brother. “I can take care of myself. I have to go.”

“Zeen . . .” I whisper. As much as I want to speak his name again, I don’t dare.

Tears of frustration fill my eyes as I shove the device back into my bag and again head for the door. People will be starting to wonder why I am so late for breakfast. If Zeen is right, some of them might be rebels waiting for a chance to strike at any target, even me.

Two officials, one in red, the other in purple, stand at the base of the stairs as I reach the first floor and head down the hall to get breakfast. Only a handful of students are seated at the breakfast tables when I walk into the dining hall. During most meals it is noisy here, but now the room is quiet. Those who speak use hushed tones. Some watch me as I weave between the tables to the one where my final-year guide, Ian, sits along with Raffe. Most students keep their eyes on their plates. Enzo does not. As I walk by him I see concern and what looks to be a warning in his eyes.

Something has happened.

I try to catch Raffe’s eye as I slide into the seat across from him, but he does not look up from his plate of grilled egg bread and fruit. Ian passes me a platter of food, and I place a slice of bread and a piece of ham on my plate. The food tastes wonderful, but it is clear no one is enjoying the meal. One by one, the remaining students finish their breakfast, push back their chairs, and leave. “What’s going on?” I quietly ask Ian, who has remained in his seat.

“University officials have confirmed that Damone didn’t go home.”

“Do they think he ran away?” I ask.

Ian shakes his head. “Professor Holt seems to think he might still be on campus. The officials spotted blood behind our residence, and they’re concerned Damone might be injured and unable to find help. So she’s ordered a search of every building on campus, including this one. No students are allowed back in their rooms until the search is complete. We’ve been asked to confine ourselves to the common room or the labs or to wait outside until the officials are done.”

I think of the clothes I left in the abandoned house and the items that currently sit in my bag. If I had left any of them in my rooms, officials would be looking for me now. They would suspect what I know. Would they consider those objects a sign of treason? If so, I would be dead. Still, I am worried about what else they might find. Is there something in my rooms that would lead officials to question me or remove me from campus? I don’t think so, but it is impossible to be sure.

Anxiety bubbles inside my chest, making it hard to breathe. Trying to sound unconcerned, I say, “Enzo told me he saw Damone leave campus on his bike. If that’s true, why is she searching the residence?”

Did Professor Holt not believe Enzo’s story? Or is the transmitter in Damone’s bracelet sending out a faint signal that shows he is somewhere nearby? Either way, I suspect this search isn’t just a method of looking for Damone. Professor Holt knows about the rebel students. This might be her way of causing anxiety and maybe stirring them to action so she can have them removed.

“She says she’s making sure all avenues to find Damone are explored, but I get the feeling she’s looking for something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” But his eyes say something different. “At least one student has disappeared every year that I’ve been attending the University. This is the first search like this I’ve seen. Professor Holt must have a reason.” Ian’s tone warns me that more is going on here than is being said. Perhaps Professor Holt’s search has indeed spurred the student rebels to act on their own. “Also, until further notice, students are not allowed to leave campus for any reason. She has asked Dr. Barnes to post officials at the University gates to serve as a reminder to students who might otherwise forget.”

Extra Safety officials. A ban on leaving campus. Both will make aiding President Collindar more difficult if not impossible. I should feel relief that I now have a valid excuse for not being able to fulfill the president’s assignment. But I don’t. I feel cornered and helpless.

“When will we be allowed to resume our internships?” I ask. “There are things I’ve been asked to do.”

Ian pushes his plate away and turns toward me. “Whatever assignments you’ve been given can wait until this whole thing passes. I get the feeling things are going to be different soon. Just go to class, do your homework, and sit tight. Okay?”

His eyes hold mine. Just for a fraction of a second, but it is enough for me to know that there is a deeper meaning to his words. He is confirming what I have believed since I was first assigned to Government Studies and Ian offered me assistance. Ian is one of the rebels. Which means he must have weapons somewhere nearby. Is he concerned Professor Holt will find them? If so, he is good at hiding his apprehension. I wonder whether that would be the case if he knew the rebellion he follows is being undermined.

When Michal was transferred to the president’s office, he told me a friend would be near to watch over me. I believe Ian is that friend. If so, telling him what happened to Michal and warning him about Symon’s true purpose in creating the rebellion could make Ian an ally. But there is an equally good chance that his dedication to the rebel cause will make him discount what I say. Worse, he could report my words back to Symon or act as Zeen suggested and eliminate the threat he might think I pose to the rebel plan. The president told me that whom I put my faith in will affect not only my life but the lives of those around me. Knowing that, I find it impossible to decide. Do I take the chance of gaining another ally—one who might be able to help convince other rebels to ignore Symon’s directives—or wait to learn more?

For the first time, I find myself wishing that Ian had gone through The Testing with me. Knowing the choices he made during his Testing would help me now.

The thought shocks me. The Testing is wrong. Wishing that I knew what decisions Ian made during his Testing is wrong. And yet, despite the horrific nature of the tests, I think of what The Testing taught me about myself and about my fellow candidates. I understand that when pushed, I can shove back. That I am stronger and more resourceful than I ever thought possible. That my willingness to assume everyone believes in the values with which this country was founded and I was raised is flawed.

I think of Professor Holt and her statement that The Testing should be made even more strenuous. Of Dr. Barnes and his belief that The Testing’s purpose succeeds when the pressure of the tests causes a girl to take her own life. Of Symon, who has chosen to lead those who want change—boys like Ian and my brother—to kill even as he facilitates their own deaths.

Ian stands. “Are you done, Cia?”

I look down at the mostly full plate in front of me. But when I say, “Yes, I’ve had enough,” I know I am referring to so much more.

Chapter 6

THE SUN IS bright. The vibrant green grass looks cool and inviting as I stride across it to an unoccupied area not far from the bridge. I want to be close to the only exit from this area in case I have forgotten something in my room and safety officials come for me. I doubt I would be able to flee, but I won’t let them take me without a fight.

The two officials on the other side of the ravine watch me as I look for a spot where I can settle. Some students who have chosen to treat being banned from their rooms as a holiday from work play a game of catch not far from the weeping willow tree. Others sit in groups, quietly talking. A few, like me, have gone off on their own, reading from books they must have brought with them to the morning mealtime.

For a moment, I stare off in the distance toward the Biological Engineering residence where Tomas is. I want nothing more than to go to him. To find out if his residence is also being searched. To tell him what I have learned and what I have been asked to do. To share the burden of the decision that deep in my heart I have made. Will he approve? Will he stand beside me and help me complete this test as he has done so many times before, or will this crackdown of University officials convince him once and for all it is time to run?

I don’t know.

But I know I cannot succeed in bringing down The Testing alone. For that I require help. I need people who are not only capable of doing what I ask, but whom I know I can trust.

“Where did you go yesterday afternoon?” The soft-spoken words make me turn, and I see Raffe standing next to a small sapling. “You were supposed to stay inside.”

Had I done so, I would not be planning what I am now. One choice has led to so many others.

“Too much had happened for me to stay in my room. So I took a ride to clear my head.” I’m getting good at telling shades of the truth.

“And now you have a plan.”

Instead of answering the implied question, I say, “While I was riding yesterday, I ended up going down a street that looked as if it hadn’t been repaired in some time. Are there a lot of streets like that near the University?”

“A few. Although not as many as there are on the other side of the city. There are more government officials in this area, so there are fewer areas that have not been kept in good repair. My father doesn’t even notice those streets exist.”

His father.

“But you’ve seen them.”

Raffe shrugs. “I made a point of visiting some of those neighborhoods last year. I was hoping I’d find some answers.”

I wait for him to tell me what answers he sought and what he found. When he doesn’t, I say, “The street I rode down is ten minutes from campus. A lot of the houses had graffiti on them.”

He cocks his head to the side. “I think I know the street you mean.”

“Do people live there? The houses look empty, but I thought I saw signs that some of the buildings are still in use.”

“There are always people who don’t want to adhere to the rules of the world they find themselves in. Since those streets are outside the notice of most government officials, they make good places to hide.”

That’s what I thought, too.

“Why do you ask?”

As much as I want to confide in Raffe, I am not sure I can. Despite everything that has happened in the last few days, I still don’t know if I am confident enough in what he believes to tell him about the president’s assignment. Without understanding his motivation in helping me, I cannot tell him more.

“I was just curious,” I say. “It’s different from the way we do things back home. Especially the different-color paints and drawings on some of the houses.”

“There are always kids looking for places to get away from their parents. Some of them liked to mark the houses they used to let other kids know the space was claimed. Officials put a stop to that when my brother was in school. Once that happened, the government lost interest in those sections of town. But mere curiosity isn’t the real reason you’re interested, is it?” When I don’t respond, he nods. “You still don’t trust me.”

Nearly everything inside me says that I should. But my father’s warning before I left Five Lakes haunts me—as does the outcome when I failed to heed his advice during The Testing. Though I want to trust, I can’t. Not yet. In this case, once trust is given it cannot be taken back. I have to be sure. “You still haven’t told me why I should.”

“When you trust me with your secrets, I’ll trust you with mine.” With that, Raffe heads off across the grass and around the back of the residence. The next time I notice him, he’s standing next to Griffin. Both are laughing. Both are looking at me.

The room-by-room search continues for the next several hours. Some students complain. Others stretch out on the grass and go to sleep. Careful to make sure no one is nearby, I pull out a paper and pencil to organize my thoughts. First I write my name, followed by Tomas’s. Beneath our names I write others.

- IAN

- RAFFE

- STACIA

- ENZO

- BRICK

All have knowledge or skills that could be useful in the days to come. Ian with his connection to the rebels. Raffe because of his knowledge of Tosu leaders. Stacia for her ability to put aside emotion and coolly analyze a situation. Enzo with his awareness of the tensions among the citizens, his clear dislike of the current system, and his father and brothers, who must be working with the rebels. And Brick, who might have skills to support this kind of action, since his parents went through The Testing. They both graduated from the University and now work at a former military facility, developing techniques to improve colony security against wild and mutated animals and other possible attacks.

All good reasons to ask these individuals for their assistance. But there is one more factor that has to be taken into consideration. Who will be able to kill? More, who will I be willing to ask to take lives?

Closing my eyes, I take deep breaths and think about these people one by one.

Tomas. Just focusing on him makes me feel more grounded. I love and trust him without reservation. He might not like the decision I have made to end The Testing using the president’s method, but my heart wants to believe he will stand at my side. At the very least, he will not reveal my plans to anyone who might act against me.

Stacia is my friend. She is also assigned to the Medical field of study. The field that is headed by one of the people on the president’s list. Stacia is focused, strong-willed, and more than capable of handling whatever comes her way. The Testing and her Medical Induction prove Stacia will do whatever it takes to be successful. Can she be trusted? Under normal circumstances, I’m certain I would say no. But if she can be convinced that the president’s assignment will aid her own advancement, she can be counted on to help. And I am certain she would approve of the president’s determination that the ends justify the means.

I draw stars next to both names and move on to the others.

Raffe has already shown he can turn deadly, and the unemotional way in which he disposed of Damone tells me he is not squeamish about doing what needs to be done. But I do not know what secrets he holds or what he would do to protect them.

Brick has also shown his ability to wield a weapon. If I close my eyes, I can see his bullets tearing into the mutated humans that he thought threatened me. The Testing taught me Brick is willing to place faith in my observations when it comes to passing a test, but he’s the son of two University graduates who believe in The Testing. Brick’s parents wanted him to come to the University, so Brick obeyed their wishes and studied in order to be selected. I am not sure he would be willing to ignore what he was taught by his parents on my word alone. In fact, I am almost certain Brick would not see reporting my actions as a betrayal, but as the act of a good citizen. I draw a line through his name.

I shiver as a breeze rustles through the nearby tree, and I rub the scars on my arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the flash of a smile and the intense gaze of green eyes.

Will.

Someone I have not added to my list, but one who can kill. From experience, I know Will to be cunning and resourceful, and capable of a ruthless determination. He made the choice to kill other candidates who did nothing more than stand in his way for a spot at the University. Will he be willing to eliminate the people who gave him what he fought so hard for? I think about the Will I first met. The one who joked with his twin. Who, under the most pressure-filled circumstances, found ways to make the people around him laugh. It was when his brother failed to pass the first test that Will began to change. He felt alone. He was desperate to prove that he could survive without his brother. That the sacrifice of that lifelong anchor was not for nothing.

Does that make his betrayal less heartbreaking? No. But now that I have my memories back, I remember something else. A conversation we had after the tests were over. Despite the callousness of his actions, he took the time to learn the name of a girl he’d killed. Perhaps he never thought her death would matter to him as more than a method of achieving his goal. But it did. I can’t forgive him for his actions, but there was something about the way he talked of her that makes me wonder if Will wouldn’t make a different choice during The Testing now.

I shake my head and mentally draw a line through Will’s name as Professor Holt steps out of the residence entryway and calls to us. When we gather near, she thanks us for our patience and tells us that we are free to go back to our rooms or to any of the University buildings. However, until the investigation into Damone’s disappearance is complete, no student is allowed to leave campus.

Relief fills me. If they had found something incriminating in my rooms or in the rooms of the rebel students, I doubt they would allow us to just go about our business. Foreboding returns as I realize there is an equal chance Professor Holt and her team did find something and that they are just using that information to focus their attention on the student or students who are now under suspicion. Most of my fellow students seem unconcerned as they follow Professor Holt back inside the building. Worry that my movements might be watched even more closely makes me consider doing the same. But sitting inside will not help my brother. So instead I head for the bridge, to find Tomas.

The officials who were guarding the bridge are gone as I pass onto the main part of campus. The Biological Engineering residence is to the northwest. When I get close, I see students milling around the building. They too must have had their rooms searched. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I look for Tomas and finally spot him. He is listening to a girl who is trying to hold his attention. But I can tell the minute he sees me. His shoulders sag with relief, and his smile transforms from one of kindness to one filled with love.

As much as I want to cross the space between us, I turn and head toward the northeast, hoping that Tomas will understand and meet me in the place where we have met in the past. I take a less direct path to better determine whether anyone is following me now that the search of the residence has been completed. Fewer people are wandering around the campus, which makes me feel more conspicuous than usual. Especially since I am alone and those whom I do pass are walking in groups of three and four. I wave as if not caring who sees me and hurry along the walkways until I reach my destination.

I enter the small brick building that was once used to house genetically altered roosters. Once scientists had successfully boosted the roosters’ immune systems and filtered out the mutations caused by wartime chemicals, the roosters were distributed to new farms and this building was cleaned in preparation for a new use. And now, because of the building’s small size, only students seeking privacy have been interested in using the space.

Sunlight from a small window in the back provides the only illumination in the dim, musty room. It is enough light for me to decide to remain standing instead of taking a seat on the dusty floor. I check to make sure the transmitter I left here to block the tracking signals in our bracelets is still in place and then pace as I wait for Tomas to walk through the door. When he does, I drop my bag and run to him.

Wrapping my arms around his body, I lean my head against his chest, grateful to have him near. Tomas and I have known each other our whole lives. We have grown, worked, and survived The Testing together. Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me still that we are joined now by love as well as friendship. I’m not sure what I would have done without Tomas beside me during the weeks after we left Five Lakes Colony. His faith in my abilities kept me strong. His strength and love helped me survive.

When his lips find mine, I throw myself into the kiss, knowing that when it ends I will have to tell him everything that has happened since we last saw each other. It has been less than two days but it feels like longer. For a moment, I allow myself the luxury of forgetting. I press myself against Tomas, feeling the warmth of his body seep into mine. His mouth becomes more insistent, and I meet it with a passion I didn’t know I possessed. We are both alive. We are together. With what is to come, I am not sure how long that will last.

The kisses grow in intensity until finally we step away from each other. My heart pounds. My breathing is shallow and quick. I long to kiss him again, but there will be time for that later. I hope. For now, too much has to be said.

As quickly as I can, I explain the events that transpired since I insisted he leave the rebel camp and return to the University without me. Raffe finding The Testing recordings. Michal’s giving them to Symon. Symon’s betrayal. Michal’s death. Tomas starts to ask questions but I keep talking. If I don’t, the emotions I’ve kept at bay over Michal’s death and the things I have now vowed to do will overwhelm me. I speak about contacting Zeen. The search for Damone. Enzo reporting Damone’s departure to Professor Holt. My trip to the city to find the president. The search of our residence.

“I’m glad your brother is safe, and he’s also right. You need to keep your head down and stay out of this from now on. Especially now that they appear to be searching for trouble here on campus.” Tomas takes my hand and squeezes it. “You’ve done all you can. The president can take it from here.”

I shake my head. “President Collindar can’t cancel the vote without losing the authority she still has left. She thinks she can postpone it for a week—which gives her time to implement a second plan to eliminate Dr. Barnes.”

“What plan is that?”

I lace my fingers through his, take a deep breath, and say, “Me.”

Tomas goes still. “I don’t understand. What does she think you can do that her own staff can’t?”

“She thinks I can kill Dr. Barnes and his top administrators.”

“That’s crazy. She can’t be serious.”

“It’s the same plan Ranetta’s rebel faction was supposed to execute,” I explain. “And it makes a terrible kind of sense. If Dr. Barnes and the other leaders are eliminated—”

“I’m not referring to the plan. I can understand why she’d believe that tactic is her only choice. What I don’t get is why she’s asking you to do it.”

“Symon was able to get Michal assigned to her office as a spy. There could be others who report back . . .” I pull my hand away and wrap my arms around myself. “I think she’s right. Asking me could be the only real chance of her plan succeeding.”

“Except that you aren’t a killer. Even when we were betrayed during The Testing, you refused to kill deliberately.” I start to protest but Tomas cuts me off. “If you really wanted to eliminate Will during the fourth test, you would have.”

But I did try. I can still feel the kick of the gun. My desperation as Tomas lay bleeding on the ground—a victim of Will’s desire to win at all costs. I wanted Will to pay for his betrayal. I failed then. This time I cannot.

“I know you want to end The Testing, Cia. I do too, but this is too much for the president to ask of you. This shouldn’t be your job.”

But it is.

Straightening my shoulders, I say, “I have been given an assignment by the president of the United Commonwealth, and I’m going to accept.” Fear wells up inside me, but alongside it is a determination as strong as steel. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, Tomas, but to end The Testing and save my brother and Daileen and everyone else, I will do this.”

“Are you sure?” I hear the unhappiness in his voice. Not long ago, he asked me to leave the University with him. When I refused, he chose to stay with me. But I know that’s still what he really wants. To flee. To go home. To pretend none of what we have seen and what we know is real. As much as I have planned to have him at my side during the weeks ahead, I love him. Because of that, I have to let him go.

“I am.” Two words from which there is no going back. I will do what I must. But Tomas doesn’t have to. “You don’t have to do this. You can leave.”

Pressure builds in my chest. Tears pool behind my eyes. I feel one fall as I steel myself against the pain. “I might not succeed,” I say. “If I don’t, one of us should go back to Five Lakes and tell Magistrate Owens what’s happening here. Our families and friends need to be prepared for whatever comes. They need you.”

I wait for him to respond. Another tear falls.

“Tomas?” I reach out to him, but he steps away from my touch.

“Promise me that if we fail and war breaks out, we run,” he says.

“You can’t—”

“Yes, I can.” He steps closer, and in the dimness I see his face. So handsome. So dear. “I won’t leave you to do this alone.”

“But—”

His mouth touches mine, silencing my protest. I wrap my arms around him and sink into the kiss. After this I will find a way to convince him to go. But I want this one memory to hold close. This moment.

His arms wrap tight around me. In their circle I am safe, but I feel a fire start to burn. My hands touch his cheeks, his neck, his arms, memorizing the feel of him. My breath comes faster. I allow myself one last kiss, then step out of the warmth of Tomas’s arms.

Taking a steadying breath, I say, “I want you to tell me that you’ll leave.”

“I’ll leave only when you do. Until then, we’re in this together.”

He kisses me again. His fingers lace through mine. We stand in the shadows, facing the unknown like we did on the plains during the fourth test. “Together,” I agree.

Maybe if I pushed harder, he would promise to return home. But I don’t. Because this is his fight, too. Because I know, if I am going to succeed, I need him at my side. Because my heart cannot bear to push him away.

“How many names are on the president’s list?”

“Twelve.” I run down the list of names I memorized earlier.

“The president can’t believe you can handle all of that by yourself.”

“She might, but I know I need help,” I say. “I was hoping you’d stand with me, and I think Stacia might. But we’ll need more. People who believe as we do and can handle the decisions we are going to have to make. People we can trust.”

“Trust takes time. That’s something we don’t have.”

Tomas is right. Trust does take time. So does understanding a person’s strengths and weaknesses. The task I have accepted should seem impossible, yet, in a matter of weeks, Dr. Barnes was able to determine not only who was smart enough to lead our country but how we would comport ourselves when faced with extreme pressure and life-threatening situations.

Everyone here at the University was chosen to lead. But what I will need to know is that those on my team believe as I do that The Testing must be ended. That those who have worked for the rebellion, thinking they were bringing change, must be saved. That we need new leaders who will change the system that brought us here in order to secure the futures of those younger than us who dream of someday being selected. And if the people I decide to ask to participate in this terrible task are willing to fight for those things, there is still one question that must be answered.

Can they be trusted?

To learn the answer Tomas and I have only one choice. We will need to stage our own Testing.

Tomas listens as I tell him my idea as well as everything I learned about the people on the list and their visions for the future of The Testing. When I am done, he doesn’t make another plea for us to leave. Instead he says, “A week doesn’t give us much time to assemble a team and carry out a plan.”

“I’ll talk to Stacia tomorrow after class,” I say.

“Are you sure we can trust her? I know she’s your friend, but . . .”

I’m certain he is remembering the encounter we had with her during the fourth test. I remember it too. She was with two candidates from her colony—a blond girl named Tracelyn and a boy named Vic. We spent only a few hours with them, during which Stacia was standoffish. When she did speak, she casually expressed the belief that Testing officials would be justified in passing candidates who chose to kill. When the fourth test ended, Stacia and Vic had crossed the finish line. Tracelyn had not. And the smile Stacia wore on the days leading to our interviews and selection made me think she had something to do with Tracelyn’s failure to pass that test.

“No,” I admit. “But I think I understand what motivates her.” Which might be more important. “I can’t say the same about the others I’m considering.”

“I wish there were more students from Five Lakes.” Tomas says. “At least we’d understand where they came from and what they were taught to believe.”

Knowing Tomas is thinking of Zandri, I give his hand a squeeze and think about how much I wish she were with us too.

“I think there might be others from Five Lakes here in Tosu City.” Quickly, I tell Tomas about Dreu Owens and the information I found about him. “If he’s still in Tosu City, he might be willing to help us.”

“Maybe.” Tomas smiles for the first time since I told him about the president’s directive. “I know a number of Biological Engineering graduates, like your father, are sent to the colonies, but a lot of them are assigned to work in Tosu City. One of the people I work with in my internship might know where to find Dreu. If not, the head of my residence should have an idea where he is. It would be good to have someone on our team who knows how things work in Tosu City.”

True. Which is why Raffe and Enzo are both on my Testing list. The idea of Raffe as a team member doesn’t make Tomas happy, but instead of arguing he says, “If you can find a way to test Raffe that shows he isn’t like Will, I’ll be okay working with him.”

In my mind I see a flash of Tomas’s face going pale as Will’s bullet hits home. Red blooming on Tomas’s shirt. Him clutching his torso as he falls to the ground. Whatever test I create for Raffe to prove he is capable of being on our team will have to be definitive in order to gain Tomas’s agreement.

I check the time. Dinner will be served soon. With Professor Holt and rebel students scrutinizing all that is happening around them, I dare not be late. We will meet after classes tomorrow. By then I hope Tomas will have learned something about Dreu Owens and I will not only have secured Stacia’s agreement but will have come up with ways to test Raffe, Ian, and Enzo.

“If you need to contact me before then, use this.” I pull out the pulse radio that uses the frequency I chose for just the two of us.

Tomas takes the radio from me and smiles. “I like knowing I can get in touch with you whenever I want. You’re probably going to hear from me so often that you’ll be sorry you gave it to me.”

“I doubt it,” I say, taking his hand in mine. “I know being a part of this isn’t something you want.”

“No. And it isn’t what you want, either.” He reaches out and runs his fingers across my cheek. “We’re going to get through this, Cia. I promise you. One way or another.”

One way or another.

We agree to test the radios later. After one last kiss, I turn and walk out the door to head back to my residence. Tomas will wait ten minutes and then go to his. We will meet again tomorrow. By then our own version of The Testing will have begun.

Chapter 7

I LEAVE THE dining hall as soon as I finish eating. Between Griffin’s glares, Raffe’s forced smiles, and Ian’s concerned glances, I had little interest in the meal. Most of the other students didn’t have the same problem, especially when it was announced that the ban on leaving campus would be extended one more day. Not having to attend internships made some of the students cheer. I couldn’t help but notice that Ian wasn’t among them. No one seemed concerned about the search of their rooms that had occurred just hours before. But I was.

When I return to my rooms, I brace myself as I slide the key in the door. During dinner, I heard a few annoyed whispers about items that were taken from students’ rooms. An old straight razor Sam’s grandfather taught him how to shave with. A journal one girl had kept since she first started at the University. An old map of Tosu City from the days when it was called Wichita. Nothing that seemed important. Not a single object that could help Professor Holt discover Damone’s whereabouts. But I did notice people casting glances at those who confessed to discovering items missing from their rooms.

Despite the search that took place, my rooms look almost exactly as I left them. I search to see if anything is missing. The vase of dried flowers and my clothes are here. The books for my classwork are accounted for. The homework I need to turn in tomorrow has not been disturbed. One by one I pull out the desk drawers and check their contents. Pencils and page clips. Straightedges and old assignments I have not yet recycled. Bits of wire, pieces of metal, small copper plates, some screws and other hardware—the things I used to make the transmitters I designed to interfere with the signal of the tracking device in my bracelet. Not that these things are unique to that purpose, but there is a chance someone who knows about the tracking device could look at them and divine my reason for having them. If so, there is nothing I can do about it now.

Almost everything seems as I remember seeing it when I left this morning. The only changes I have spotted are a desk chair out of place and the wardrobe pushed several inches away from the wall. I slide the chair back to its place under the desk and walk to the wardrobe. The large wooden case is heavy and hard to shift on the carpeted floor. I’m amazed the officials went to the trouble of moving it, since I can’t imagine what they could hope to find in the space between it and the wall. I slide one hand behind the wardrobe to see if there is any way to get a better grip on the wood and feel something cool and metallic. I pull my hand back and peer behind the wardrobe to see what it is that I touched. The object is small, round, and silver. The same listening device I discovered in my Testing identification bracelet.

I think of the conversations I had before I went to meet with the president. Was this device placed here during the search by Professor Holt and her officials today, or has it been here longer? I searched this room when it was first assigned to me and have repeated the procedure at least twice a week to make sure no one has found a way to watch my actions when I think I am alone. But the last search I conducted was days ago. Before my conversation with Raffe. Before speaking to Zeen. If this device was put in place before I spoke to either of them, then someone knows that I am responsible for Damone’s disappearance and that I’m aware of the rebels and their purpose. They will also know that my brother is now among them and is working from the inside to put a stop to their mission.

It is only Michal’s insistence that Zeen use a different name that keeps me from grabbing the Transit Communicator in an attempt to warn him. While we share my father’s eyes and my mother’s bone structure, that is where our resemblance ends. Zeen is tall and blond. No one will see him and think of me. If anyone has listened to my conversation with Zeen, they will never know to look for a boy named Cris. Eventually, they’ll ask enough questions and put together a list of all the recruits Michal brought to the camp, but that will take time.

Now that I have found the listening device, I search the room again. Every inch of the wall. The bathroom tiles. I upend the small sofa, round table, and chairs in the sitting room. Examine the seams of each of the cushions on the furniture to make sure none have been opened and a camera or listening device inserted. The device behind the wardrobe is the only one. I walk back to look at it. When I discovered the recorder in my Testing bracelet, my only thought was to avoid letting those who listened hear my secrets. Then the information the listeners received was only a danger if I crossed the finish line and passed the fourth test. Now whoever is listening is not just an observer, but an active participant—just as we candidates were. While I do not like knowing the recording is capturing every sound I make, I recognize the opportunity to create misdirection. Of course, while I believe Professor Holt is behind this device, I am not certain that is the case. If it was here for longer, it might have been planted by the rebel students, Griffin, or fellow classmates who are just looking for a way to get ahead. Creating misdirection will be difficult unless I determine my audience. Until I do, I will leave the device in place.

After several more tries, I shove the wardrobe back. Then trying not to feel self-conscious, I put my bag on the ground, sit next to it, and pull out the list. With Symon and Dr. Barnes waiting to spring their trap, I doubt President Collindar will be able to delay making her proposal on the Debate Chamber floor for much longer than the seven days she promised. In that time, I have to assemble a group of true rebels, formulate a plan, and execute twelve leaders of the United Commonwealth. The enormity of the task threatens to overwhelm me, but I don’t have time for doubt.

Tomas has agreed to help. If I haven’t misjudged her, Stacia will join the cause after our class tomorrow. While part of me considers creating a test for her, what I learned during The Testing has given me enough insight into her character.

Those two are smarter than any others I know, but no matter their resourcefulness, there are still too many targets for three of us to handle. Four if I count Zeen, although I’m uncertain how much help he can offer while entrenched in the rebel camp. Still, I write his name on the paper next to Tomas’s and Stacia’s. Then I consider the others.

Dr. Barnes has the resources of the entire United Commonwealth and years of trial and error to create his examinations. I have Tomas, Stacia, my instincts, and only a few days. The question of what litmus test to use on my peers is a difficult one. Clearly, I must present them with an opportunity that puts a crossroads before them. An opportunity to make a choice that shows not only whether they wish to stop The Testing but also whether they are willing to believe that violent action is necessary to obtain that goal.

Easier said than done.

I consider various scenarios, but none seems appropriate for all. And I realize that this is the problem. In contrast to the early stages of The Testing, everyone cannot now be given the same test. Each classmate has a different outlook on life and a different goal for his or her time here at the University. Yes, they all want to be leaders, but none has the same reason behind it.

Raffe is here because of his family connections. That history should tie him tightly to Dr. Barnes, but it doesn’t appear to. Raffe doesn’t act as though it is his birthright to be one of our country’s future leaders. He’s hiding secrets. As is Ian. I believe Ian wants The Testing to end. We are both colony students who have faced many of the same challenges to get to this place. That alone should be enough to put us on the same side. But I’m uncertain whether he is a member of the rebellion, and if so, how loyal he is to Symon. If he believes Symon is truly working to end The Testing, Ian will not want me interfering in the rebels plans. He will do whatever it takes to stop me. Even if we have the same agenda, it is unclear how Ian would react if I were to tell him what I know.

Enzo is another mystery. He has his own share of secrets. After what he shared with me outside the residence, I believe his father and brothers are among Symon’s or Ranetta’s numbers. If they are part of Ranetta’s faction, he might be able to get word to them about Symon’s treachery. If Zeen and Enzo’s family members both met with Ranetta, they might be able to encourage her to work independently of Symon and to remove the targets on the president’s list without Dr. Barnes being alerted to the attack. However, if his family is working with Symon’s group, then Enzo may not believe what I have to say. As potential members of the rebellion, Ian and Enzo could be my staunch allies or my ardent opponents.

Raffe, Ian, and Enzo. I need to test all three. But what challenge should I give each of them? And while I do not want to ask myself this, I have to wonder, if they do not pass, what the punishment for failure should be.

My eyes grow as heavy as my heart. Though I want to keep working, I know my mind will function better if I rest. Besides, who knows how much sleep I will get in the days to come.

I slide a change of clothes along with my papers into my bag, and crawl into bed with the bag tucked in beside me. Despite the bulk of it, having my things next to me is strangely comforting. I slept like this every night during The Testing and survived. With a lot of luck and the right decisions, I will survive again.

My sleep is filled with flashes of memories. The poisonous plants from the second test. Malachi as he touched the wrong part of the pulse radio, sending a nail into his eye. Annalise as she tossed her red hair and swaggered out the door. The city streets with only one path for escape. Will’s green eyes staring at me from behind the barrel of his gun as he fired.

When I wake, sunlight is streaming through the window. I put my bag on the floor and slide out of bed. Today the president will announce that Michal is missing. The debate will be postponed. The countdown to the rebels’ attack will end as mine begins. And the images from last night’s dreams give me an idea of how to start.

I shower, pull my hair into a knot at the base of my neck, and check the time. There is an hour until my first class starts. Time enough. I place two of the half-inch round trackers I took from President Collindar’s fifth-floor storeroom into my jacket pocket. The monitor I slide into my bag. Then, after a quick inventory of the mechanical parts I have stored in my bottom desk drawer, I grab my bag and head downstairs to get the other pieces I need. No one is working in the labs this morning. I search through all four of them before I find the items I require. Since I have to get to class soon, I put all the parts in my bag, grab food from the dining hall so I can work through lunch. Then I look for Ian. When I spot him at our usual table, sitting across from Raffe, I walk over and slide into the seat beside him.

Putting one hand in my pocket, I quietly ask, “Do you have time to talk? I’m leaving for class in a few minutes but there’s something . . .” I drop my fork, get out of my seat, and kneel down to retrieve it. While doing so, I slip one of the small tracking devices into the side pocket of the bag at his feet. I’ve never seen Ian put anything in that pocket, but I’m hoping the disk will be small enough to escape his notice if he does. Grabbing my fork, I back out from under the table and take my seat again, keeping my eyes lowered so Ian will think I’m flustered by my mistake. In a quiet voice I ask, “Is there any word on when we’ll be able to leave campus?”

“Not yet. Which is good in a way. Everyone can catch up on classwork. The campus lockdown is unusual, and I can’t imagine it will last very long. If it goes more than a few days, I’m sure some students will feel compelled to break the rule and leave anyway.”

“What will happen if they get caught?”

Ian puts down his fork. “Every head of residence is different. I’ve heard Professor Markum is pretty lenient about these things. Professor Holt, however, isn’t as easygoing. Unless, of course, you’re one of her favorites or someone she’s asked to do a job for her.” The way Ian glances across the room at Griffin leaves no doubt as to whom he is referring. Although Professor Holt has asked favors of Ian in the past, like spying on me, he could be one of those she allows to break the rules without consequence. The tracker will help me learn whether he actually does cross the University boundaries. If so, I will know he is working with Professor Holt. It is not a perfect test, but it is a start. Kind of like step one in The Testing process. Once I see what his movements are today, I can decide if there needs to be a round two.

Raffe leaves the dining hall when I do and matches his stride to mine as I cross the bridge and head toward the center of campus. He glances over his shoulder then says, “The president is making her proposal to the Debate Chamber today. That has to be the reason none of the students are allowed to leave campus. Dr. Barnes and his administrators must not want us to get caught in the crossfire if the attack happens sooner than they planned.”

That could be part of the rationale. Of course, Raffe doesn’t know about the rebel students on campus or their orders to remove any perceived threats to the rebellion.

“So have you decided how you’re going to get around the tracking devices so we can do something to stop what’s about to happen? Or are you still trying to figure out if you can trust me?”

“I do.” At least, I think we are fighting for the same purpose. But I believed that of Will, and Tomas almost died. “There are just some things I have to work out. Once I do, I’ll share everything I know.”

“Well, you’d better do it quick, Cia.” Raffe frowns. “Because unless I’m mistaken, the time for thinking is running out. If we’re going to try to end The Testing and change this University, we have to do it before things are locked down so tight that we no longer have a choice.”

Raffe stalks off in the direction of the Science buildings. As much as I want to follow, I don’t. I have only twenty minutes until class begins. I need to find Stacia. We don’t have any classes together until tomorrow afternoon, and Raffe is right. I do not have time to wait.

I see her walking behind a group of older students toward the Humanities building and wave. When she doesn’t notice me, I yell her name as I hurry in that direction. She cocks her head as she spots me. “What are you doing over here? Don’t you have World History first thing on Monday morning?”

I nod and look at the watch on my bag. Fifteen minutes. Not a lot of time, but enough to say what I need to. “There’s something I need to tell you and a favor I have to ask.”

We sit on the stone bench near the walkway. I take out a book in order to look as if we are two students comparing homework.

“What’s so important it couldn’t wait?” Stacia asks, brushing a blond lock of hair behind her ear. “Did Tomas and you break up for real?”

She rolls her eyes and waits for me to laugh as I did when she’d say something like that a month ago. When I don’t, her expression turns serious. “President Collindar has asked me to assemble a team of people to help her bring down The Testing and eliminate the people in charge of it.”

Stacia blinks. “This is a joke, right?” She looks at the group of girls walking by us and then lowers her voice. “You’re not joking?”

“I wish I were.” I give her a quick synopsis of the tug of war happening over the Debate Chamber vote and the rebellion the president was counting on that has proved false. Only five minutes remain until the start of class when I say, “I’ve learned enough to know that The Testing needs to end. Unlike President Dalton in the Fourth Stage of War, President Collindar has chosen to strike against Dr. Barnes and the people who could plunge this country again into war. But I can’t do what she asks without your help.”

Two minutes. I’m going to have to run to make it to World History in time. Hoping I have given her enough information to at least make her consider helping, I ask, “Can you meet me here in two hours?” The Calculus building is directly across from this bench. I can make it here easily after my second class.

Stacia stands. “Sure. If for no other reason than I’m dying to hear what else you have to tell me.”

“Don’t say anything to anyone until we speak. There are people . . .” One minute. “Just don’t say anything about this. Okay? Or we’ll both be really sorry.”

When Stacia nods, I race across the grass, hoping I have not just made a mistake.

Class is starting when I hurry into the room and take a seat in the back. Professor Lee’s raised eyebrow is the only indication that he has noticed my tardiness. While he begins the lecture, I fish a notebook and pencil out of my bag, then leave the bag open beside me so I can see the light of the monitor telling me if Ian’s position changes.

The need to watch the monitor, the worry that Stacia will not heed the warning I gave her, and the knowledge that Professor Lee is one of the people I am supposed to eliminate dominate my thoughts. Professor Lee has always seemed so interested in his students living up to their potential. It seems impossible to believe he would be an advocate for a larger pool of Testing candidates. Could he really want to eliminate the potential of so many additional candidates just to provide more competition during the selection process?

“What can you tell us, Ms. Vale, about Prime Minister Chae?”

The sound of my name makes me realize that I have not been paying attention. I’m just glad Professor Lee said my name before the topic; otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to answer now. Thankfully, this is a topic that was covered not only in our school back in Five Lakes, but in Early Studies. “Prime Minister Chae was the broker for the Asian Alliance. It was his refusal to accept defeat during the Sanai Summit that pushed the talks forward. He is also credited with helping maintain peace by encouraging compromise between the leaders of the Asian Alliance, but despite the public’s desire to see him lead, Prime Minister Chae refused to push himself forward to be the leader of the Alliance. Had he accepted leadership, his desire for peace could have prevented the escalation that led to the Seven Stages of War.”

Professor Lee studies me. “Is that what you believe?”

I feel everyone waiting for me to speak, but I have no idea what to say.

Professor Lee smiles and glances around the room. “Is that what you all believe?”

Now everyone has been put on the spot. And, like me, no one else knows how to respond. A few heads nod but Professor Lee doesn’t speak. It is clear he is waiting for someone to speak. So, I do. “That’s what you taught in Early Studies.”

Professor Lee’s smile grows wider. “It is. We know certain facts from those years before the Seven Stages of War. We know Prime Minister Chae fought for unity and that while many believed he was out to create a power base for himself, he never tried to gain leadership of the Alliance. We also know that he traveled around Japan, China, and North and South Korea stressing the need to put aside differences and follow the new laws. After that, we know very little. Which is why you have only been taught and tested on those facts. Today, I’d like to talk about what we don’t know.”

The confusion on my fellow students’ faces must be mirrored on my own. I’d heard about the sequence of events that led up to the Seven Stages of War before I started school. I have been tested on them in Five Lakes, during The Testing, and throughout Early Studies. The idea that there is more information that I have never been told has me leaning forward in my seat waiting for whatever Professor Lee will say next.

His smile disappears. “Prime Mister Chae’s involvement in the great treaty, his call for peace, and his death are well documented. However, very little about the years when he stepped out of the limelight have been verified, which is why you have never discussed the possibilities behind those dormant years. I’d like to remedy that today.”

Walking up and down past the aisles of desks, Professor Lee talks at length about the mystery that surrounds Prime Minister Chae’s decision to step away from the government for ten years only to reappear when the Alliance was threatened because Mongolia seized land from China. Prime Minister Chae reemerged and once again brokered peace. A movement developed in every Asian Alliance country. People demanded that the current Alliance leader step down and that Chae take his place.

According to Professor Lee, books that survived that period suggest Chae spent the early part of those mystery years traveling throughout the Alliance countries, cultivating followers while professing to support the current leader. It has never been confirmed, but there were rumors that Chae was spotted in Mongolia not long before its president directed his troops to cross the border into China.

“Since so much of our world’s history was only documented with technology that was lost during the wars, no one knows for certain whether these events are rumor or fact,” Professor Lee says, pausing near my desk. “If they are true, then I think it is very possible that Chae’s well-known selflessness was a cover for his true intent—to become the leader of the Asian Alliance by prompting the Mongolian president to create a threat that would thrust Chae back into the political arena. If this speculation is correct, Chae laid the groundwork so that it would appear he only took the reigns as head of the Allied governments by humbly accepting the will of the people.”

Professor Lee smiles. “His plan could have succeeded had he not been assassinated. After that, you know the rest of the story.”

Civil war broke out in the Asian Alliance as each country accused another of the assassination. The unrest prompted the Mid-Eastern Coalition to attack Japan. One by one, every country was pulled into the war as tensions around the world exploded. Eventually the rumors of Chancellor Freidrich’s involvement were confirmed, but by then the unrest was too great to turn back. Bombs were dropped. Cities leveled. The population of the world was reduced to a fraction of what it once had been. I thought I had understood the reason why our world was destroyed. But if Professor Lee is correct, we have only been taught part of our history. That shouldn’t be a surprise, considering how much was lost in the Seven Stages of War. Those who lived through the war were intent on survival, not on preserving our past.

“It is interesting to speculate on what might have happened had Prime Minister Chae not been assassinated, and even more fascinating to consider what history might look like had he chosen to retain his role in the government and not pushed for more.” President Lee surveys the room and glances at the clock. Our time is up. Though after what I have learned I don’t want to leave. Not if there is still more to hear. My classmates must feel the same. Not a single student has begun to pack up.

“And now for your assignment,” Professor Lee says. “I would like you to consider what we know to be fact about the state of the world governments at that time and write a paper telling me what you believe would have happened had Prime Minister Chae not been assassinated. I wish to be dazzled by your keen political and historical insight. Those who impress me most will be selected to participate in a special seminar. One that will discuss what is happening outside of the United Commonwealth right now and speculate on what might happen next.”

He closes the book in front of him, grins at the stunned expressions of everyone in the room, and heads out the door. Despite everything that has happened over the past couple of days, I can’t help but feel a spurt of excitement at the idea of delving deeper into our past and discovering what is happening outside our country. Are there others fighting to restore the earth? Could the course of action I have decided upon affect more than just the Commonwealth?

I want to believe that Chancellor Freidrich had Prime Minister Chae assassinated not to retain power, as some believe, but because the action would keep the Alliance stable. Instead it plunged nations into a war that led to the downfall of the world. Dr. Barnes is not Prime Minister Chae. He has not been an advocate for peace. Yet his work selecting leaders has helped revitalize this country. While I think The Testing is a terrible betrayal of everything I have been taught to believe in, others might not agree. I am betting that some Testing candidates, if their memories were restored, might even see Dr. Barnes as a savior. Will Stacia be one of them?

I’m still thinking about this and the events that have made me resolve to employ some of the same principles used in The Testing as Enzo and I walk together to our next class—Advanced Calculus. I have not yet decided what test I can give him, and I wonder if the fact that he knows I killed Damone and hasn’t reported me to Professor Holt is test enough.

But it isn’t, because I don’t know where his family’s loyalty lies.

As we walk up the steps of Science Building 4, Enzo stops me and asks, “Is everything okay?”

I blink.

“I just know you’re going through a lot with . . . everything that’s happened.”

Is he referring to my part in Damone’s death or to something else?

He jams his hands into his pockets and keeps his voice low. “I just wanted you to know that if you need someone to talk to, I’m a good listener. My father always says the reason I seem smarter than the rest of my brothers is because I watch and listen to everyone else, instead of jumping in and getting my hands dirty.”

“Jumping in before you know what you’re getting into is a good way to get hurt,” I say, wondering why he is pushing to bring himself into my confidence. What does he think I am doing, and what would he do with the information if I gave it to him? The intensity with which he waits for me to say something more makes me certain there is another agenda aside from friendship at play. Trying to sound casual, I add, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not ready to talk.”

Enzo shrugs. “Well, I just thought since I saw . . . well, you know . . . that I sort of understood and that I can be trusted.”

The more he tells me I can rely on him, the less I want to.

“Thanks,” I say. “It’s nice to know you stand by your friends.” When Enzo shifts his weight and looks uncomfortable with my gratitude, I say, “Come on. We don’t want to be late for class.”

It’s a good thing we aren’t. Our professor assigns eight pages of homework, most of which deals with equations he covered in the first few minutes. I am so busy writing notes I barely have time to glance down at the tracking monitor in my bag to verify that Ian’s device is still on campus. Where Ian said he was going to be. When the professor is done answering questions about the assignment, he announces that Professor Jaed is not on campus today. My next class, United Commonwealth History and Law, is canceled along with the others Professor Jaed teaches, which gives me a two-hour window until my next lecture. Time enough to talk again to Stacia and, I hope, construct an appropriate test for Raffe.

Stacia is waiting where I last saw her. Before I can take a seat, she stands and says, “You don’t have to convince me that what you said the president asked you to do is the truth. At first I thought it must be an elaborate joke, but I know you wouldn’t joke about something like that. So, tell me what I can do to help.”

“Just like that?” I ask. Walking here, I’d come up with all the things I could say that would convince her to be a part of this team.

“Dr. Barnes runs this University. If we were still in The Testing, I’d probably side with him—since he’d control whether or not I got here. But the president’s in charge of the country. If we succeed, I’ll be a hero. Heroes get more options for their future. They also have more power. I want both. So where do we go from here?”

Good question. “I have something I need to do in the Early Studies building. We can talk about it there.”

From what I have heard, the building’s classrooms and labs are only used in the beginning of the school year. Once students are divided into their designated areas of study, the facilities are rarely utilized until the following year. If that holds true today, Stacia and I should be able to work there on a test for Raffe while talking through the details she needs to know.

“I’m assuming Tomas is part of our little band?” Stacia asks as we head up the steps of the building. As with all of the University educational buildings, the front door is unlocked during daylight hours. The labs on the first floor are open and empty. The rest of the building is silent.

I tell her yes as I lead us into the chemistry lab—a large room with ten black tables, behind each of which stand two silver stools. Light streams in from three large windows that face the back lawn of the building. In the front of the room is a large, floor-to-ceiling gray cabinet filled with chemicals, microscopes, burners, and other tools.

I set my bag on the table least visible from the windows, open it, and take out the tracking monitor so I can watch it while I work. Ian is still on campus, only a couple of buildings away.

“What’s that?”

I explain about the tracking device I placed in Ian’s bag and the tests I need to create for Raffe and Enzo.

“How many people are on the list the president gave you?”

“Twelve.” I run down the names on the list and the reasons the president gave for each one. Stacia seems surprised to hear that the head of her residence is on the list, but doesn’t interrupt. While I speak, I pull out the other items I brought with me. Six four-inch-square pieces of steel. Wires. A switch. A thumb-size solar battery. More metal for a circuit board.

“What are you doing?”

“Building a pulse radio. Or at least something that will look like one,” I say as I work to attach wires. “I want Raffe to believe there’s information recorded on this that will help the president bring an end to The Testing.”

“Why?”

“I’m still working out the details, but if he takes it out of my room or finds a way to steal it I’ll know he can’t be trusted to follow my lead.” I need people who are willing to stop The Testing, but whom I can also depend on at any cost.

“And then what?” Stacia crosses her arms. “Raffe isn’t stupid. If he takes the recorder and figures out that the recording isn’t real, he’ll know you’re onto him. The minute he tells his father or one of the administrators on your list we’re all in trouble.”

I put down my tools and sigh. “Do you have a better idea?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Stacia takes the box I have built in her hands and turns it over. “If Raffe fails this test, there has to be a consequence that ensures he is unable to tell anyone about it. And the only way to guarantee that is if after failing the test, Raffe is dead.”

Chapter 8

“I CAN’T . . .”

Stacia’s cool, calculating eyes meet mine. “You’re planning on killing Dr. Barnes and eleven of his supporters. You really think one more is going to matter to the president as long as you help her achieve her goal?”

“No,” I whisper. I’m certain it won’t. But it matters to me. Raffe saved my life. My legs begin to tremble. I place my hands on the cool worktable as a wave of dizziness crashes over me.

“Just because you like Raffe doesn’t mean he’s not a threat. As far as I can tell you have two choices—keep him out of this, or give him a test that will allow us to know if you’re right to trust him and that will remove him from the equation if you’re wrong.”

Keep Raffe out of this plan? I doubt he would let that happen. He already knows about the false rebellion and the true nature of The Testing. More, he’s aware of my understanding of both. He will be watching what I do. If he is not a member of my team, he will certainly interfere with or possibly work against us. Even without knowing what I am about to do, Raffe could cause this plan to fail. My brother and the rebels could die. The Testing would continue. And the rest of the country . . . It is impossible to know what the repercussions would be, but I know I can’t risk them happening. Not if I can potentially stop them.

Trying not to think about what I am doing, I slide the second tracking device into the box. Then I go to the cabinets where chemicals are stored.

Locked.

Not a surprise but also not a deterrent, since the same kind of closure was on the wooden chests where my brothers used to store their personal items. When I was little, they teased me by hiding my favorite rag doll in those locked containers. Since my father believed in fair play, he taught me to pop the locks on the chests with a wire or thin piece of metal. Once my brothers learned I could open the locks, they stopped taking my doll. I haven’t had reason to use that skill much since then, but I have not lost the ability. Within moments, the cabinet doors stand open. As Stacia compliments my breaking-and-entering skills, I find what I need to create something else my father taught me. Something that could serve the purpose that Stacia suggests. Potassium nitrate, charcoal powder, and sulfur powder.

Stacia nods as I put the chemicals on the table and start to measure, hoping that I recall the proper ratios. I mete out the same amounts of each chemical twice—so when I am done there are two bowls that contain seventy-five percent potassium nitrate and smaller amounts of sulfur and charcoal. I keep an eye on the clock as the two of us grind the chemicals together. The process is slow, but dividing the labor makes it go quicker.

Stacia passes the time by chatting. “I can understand why the president might want to stop it, but The Testing can’t be all bad. I mean, there has to be some kind of benchmark for who gets to be in charge and who doesn’t.”

“Killing candidates seems like an extreme method of making that choice,” I say, although I can’t help but think of what I am doing now and wonder if my choices are just as extreme.

“I can’t imagine they kill everyone who doesn’t pass. Right?” Stacia stops and looks at me. “I mean, this country is still rebuilding. Killing off over eighty Testing candidates every year isn’t logical.”

“Then what do you think happened to them?” I’ve often wondered if the candidates who weren’t killed as direct penalties for failure have survived.

“I don’t know.” Stacia starts her work again. “We can’t remember our Testing, but who’s to say it was as bad as you’ve been told? And even if it is, think about the penalty for leaders who fail. They’re not the only ones who suffer the consequences when that happens. How else can you tell if someone can handle that?”

Stacia’s calm reasoning is disturbing because I can see the logic in her words.

“There has to be another way,” I reply.

“Well, there’s going to have to be since we’re going to end it. But you have to wonder whether the president would be asking you to do this if The Testing hadn’t already told her what you’re capable of. What happens once The Testing has ended and they need leaders who are willing to do whatever it takes to help this country survive? Just because someone says they are capable doesn’t make it true. And just because you think something is wrong doesn’t mean it isn’t necessary.”

“If you think The Testing is necessary, why are you working with me to end it?”

Stacia’s smile is hard and so very familiar. It makes me shiver now, especially when she says, “Because I want my chance to make sure the mistakes that ruined this country never happen again. If I have to kill to make that a reality, then that’s what I’ll do.” Stacia laughs. “Besides, you’d never do anything you weren’t certain was absolutely right. If you believe that by ending The Testing we’ll prevent a potential civil war, that’s good enough for me.”

My breath catches. My chest tightens as Stacia’s casually spoken words settle on my shoulders like a yoke. She is here because I asked. She will kill not out of passion for the purpose we have, but because of me. My request. My beliefs. My choices. I can only hope they are the right ones.

We work in silence for the next half hour. By the time the powder is ground, our arms are tired. Stacia helps me strain the black powder, then test it by putting a small pinch of the substance on a block of wood. I put the wood on a table, touch the match to it, and step back as the substance ignites. A flame several inches high burns bright, then fades.

It doesn’t take long for us to put shredded paper and the black powder into the fake pulse radio I constructed. Then I slide two wires into the holes and wrap black adhesive tape around the lid to ensure that the wires stay in place and no powder escapes the holes.

I check the switch on the radio to make sure I have built it properly. To engage the power source, someone must flip the switch and then turn a knob a hundred and eighty degrees. It is a design sometimes used to make sure power is not wasted if a switch is mistakenly turned to the On position.

Stacia takes a step back as I connect the other ends of the wires to my power source. I count to ten and then let out an exhale of relief when the device stays quiet in my hands.

“Well, that was amazing to watch. I’m glad to know I’m on your side.” Her grin is wide and delighted. “So, when do you plan on giving this to Raffe? I want to make sure I’m far away in case he decides to give it a whirl.”

“I don’t know.” Now that I’m holding it in my hands, I can visualize him turning the dial. Igniting the powder. Getting caught in the explosion.

“Take advantage of the first opportunity that presents itself. If we want to succeed, we don’t have time to waste.”

Knowing she’s right, I carefully pour the last of the black powder into a small specimen container, seal the lid, and put it in my bag, along with a book of matches from the cabinet. Together we clean up the evidence that someone has been in this room, secure the cabinet doors, and gather our things. I remove one of the single-frequency radios from my bag and hand it to Stacia. “I’ll let you know when I’m done testing the others and we can move on to the next step. For now I have to get to class.”

“Why?” Stacia slides the radio next to her books and tosses her hair. “Something tells me skipping a few classes isn’t really going to affect our grades from here on out.”

“Maybe not, but until we start our attack, we need to stick to our normal routines.”

“Well, no one will be surprised if I’m late.” She smiles. “Professor Frick isn’t exactly punctual himself. I’ll see you in class tomorrow if I don’t hear from you sooner.” As she leaves, she looks down at the table where the test for Raffe sits. “And good luck.”

Carefully, I pick up the device, slide it into my bag, and notice that the red message light is lit on my oscillating pulse radio. Tomas.

“I’m hoping this thing works. I’ve been asking some of the upper years about Dreu Owens, and I think I have news. Meet me after class at the greenhouse. With internships canceled, it should be a good place to meet. Oh, and Cia . . . I love you.”

Those words give me the strength to pick up my bag and walk to the door. This test for Raffe is too much like something Dr. Barnes or his officials would have dreamed up. But Tomas suffered the consequences of my confidence in the wrong person before. This time it will not just be Tomas but the rebels and maybe the rest of the country that suffers. Stacia is right. If Raffe understands he has been tested and has failed, his reaction could have serious consequences not only for me, and those who are working with me, but for the rebels and future Testing candidates. I can’t afford to be wrong about Raffe. I have to be sure, and I cannot think of another way.

The professor is ready to begin lecturing when I slip into a seat near the front of my World Languages class. Will raises an eyebrow when he catches my attention. I just smile and shrug as if my almost being late to class isn’t unusual.

I take notes and try to concentrate as the professor discusses the languages of the Asian Alliance countries, but all the while I am glancing down at my bag to check the monitor. Two lights blink close together. One, not far from the building in which I sit, belongs to Ian. The other belongs to the potentially deadly device sitting at my feet.

Class ends. I turn in my homework, write down the instructions for this week’s assignment, and move on to my next class: Chemistry.

Raffe sits next to me. My heart pounds as the seconds count down. Stacia said I should seize the first opportunity that presents itself. This is it.

Somehow I am able to stand without trembling when class ends. My voice is dispassionate when I ask Raffe if he has a minute to talk.

“Are you okay?” he asks after the other students head out of the room. “You look upset.”

“Are you going back to the residence now?”

“I was planning on it. Do you want to walk back with me?”

“I can’t.” I wait for the last student to leave before saying, “I have to meet somebody, but I don’t want to take something with me while I do. It’s too important.” I open my bag and remove the metal box I created.

“What is it?” He turns the device over in his hands.

“It’s a recording Tomas found. One that might be helpful in ending everything—if I can get it to the president.” I take a deep breath. “I’m hoping the restriction against leaving campus will be lifted by tomorrow and I can get it to her then, but I don’t want to have it on me now in case something goes wrong at this meeting. I’d give it back to Tomas, but—”

“I have it covered,” Raffe assures me. “But it sounds like wherever you’re going might be dangerous. Are you sure you should be going alone? Maybe you should let me—”

“I’ll be fine. This is something I have to do by myself. But I need you to promise me that you won’t play the message. The recording device sounds faulty. I’m worried the pulse signal might not hold up for more than one additional play.” A tempting opportunity for someone who is looking to aid Symon and Dr. Barnes. Tracking down the recordings of The Testing should have proved that Raffe and I have the same goals. But there is a chance that he learned through his father about Symon and the false rebellion and knew those recordings would eventually be destroyed. If he plays this recording, I will know where his loyalties lie. And if he gives it to someone else to play, they will pay the price. Either way, I will have the answer I seek.

A flicker of annoyance crosses Raffe’s face. Almost as quickly as it appears, it is gone. “Are you at least going to tell me what’s on it? Or is that information only for you and your boyfriend?”

“I’ll tell you everything later tonight. Everything,” I stress, meeting his angry eyes. “I promise.”

I see the anger fade. “Okay,” he says, “then I promise too. Take care of yourself and don’t forget what you just said. I’m holding you to it.”

I watch him tuck the device I created into his bag, and I wonder if this is the last time we will see each other. The explosive I built is much like the ones my father and brothers used in their work when they needed to break apart rock. The amount of powder I used should severely injure or kill. If Raffe decides to listen and potentially eliminate the message he believes is there, he’ll flip the switch, turn the dial, and draw a spark from the wires that should ignite the powder I created.

Raffe and I walk out of the building together. As he heads toward the residence with the device, I picture the paper and powder igniting and then the blast. I want to run after him and take the device back, but I remember Stacia’s words. That which is wrong is sometimes necessary. As I turn and walk in the other direction, I wonder if The Testing officials tell themselves that too.

The sun is bright. The warmer weather combined with the brisk walk makes me sweat. Surrounding me are signs that spring has come to Tosu City. Greener grass. Buds transforming into leaves and flowers preparing to bloom. All signs of hope.

I cling to that hope as I check the tracking monitor. Both devices are close by. One looks as if it is near the Government Studies residence—Raffe. The other is somewhere southeast of my position. I would guess that Ian is at the library. Regardless, I know he is still on campus. Taking that as a good omen, I pick up my pace as I head for the stadium and the greenhouse that sits at its center.

Long ago, the structure was used for sports events, but after the Seven Stages of War, scientists needed a controlled environment in which to plant and cultivate their new specimens. Since this building had no logical purpose in the new culture of revitalization, the country’s top botanists enclosed the open space in the center of the structure with glass to create an enormous greenhouse and modified the surrounding rooms within the outer ring to function as genetics labs. Depending on the day, this area can be filled with activity as students, biologists, and various officials go about their work. Without internships compelling students to work, the building appears to be deserted.

I check the pulse radio recorder to see if Tomas has left a message as to where exactly he wants me to find him, but the light is not illuminated. While the stadium seems to be a good place to meet, it is huge. Just inside the front entrance seems like the most logical place, so I head in that direction.

As I walk, I turn on the Transit Communicator in case Zeen has news. When he doesn’t answer my call, I look around to see if anyone is nearby and looking my way. No one. I have toured this building, but I have had little need to use it—although Tomas has. After being assigned to Biological Engineering, he was forced to go through a potentially deadly Induction test here. Of all the designated fields of study, Biological Engineering most often works in this building, which is why it makes sense that Tomas wants to meet here.

The stadium entrance is open. I walk through the doors into the dimly lit corridor and look up and down the two hallways that lead away from here. No Tomas.

I’ve taken a couple steps down one hall to look for signs of a common waiting area when I hear footsteps behind me.

“Cia,” a male voice whispers.

I turn and squint down the shadowed corridor. Since this building is so large, the halls and most of the rooms are not illuminated unless they are in use. Most of the power collected by the enormous solar panels affixed to the roof is directed into maintaining the controlled climate in the greenhouse.

A figure steps into view.

“Tomas?” I ask, but I know it is not. The shoulders are too broad. The hair just a fraction too long.

My instincts scream for me to turn and run.

And I do.

Chapter 9

I HEAR A voice curse. Someone must have known about our meeting and followed me in. To do what? I don’t know, but I am pretty sure I don’t want to find out.

Blood pounds in my ears as I run. Away from whoever is now running behind me. Away from the entrance. Away from what I am almost certain means an end to a plan I have barely embarked upon.

The footsteps behind me sound like they are getting closer. I dart around the large steel beam supports and follow the hallway as it curves to the left. I’m fast. The person behind me is faster. And chances are whoever it is knows this building far better than I do. I am at a disadvantage, but if my pursuer thinks I will give in easily, he or she is mistaken.

My bag bounces against my side as I run. The jostling throws me off balance, and I shift the strap over my head to better secure the bag at my side. I glance at the closed doors that I pass. Any one of them could give me a place to hide, but if the door I choose is locked, my pursuer will catch up.

I see a set of stairs to the right and race to them. My muscles burn as I climb. When I reach the first landing and head for the second flight of stairs, I brave a look. Dark hair. White jacket. Angry expression. Dark eyes that are focused on me.

There is something vaguely familiar about him. If I had time to stop and think, I might be able to place him, but at the moment I’ve learned what I need to know. The boy behind me doesn’t have a weapon and he’s halfway up the staircase to the landing. The first gives me the advantage I’ve been missing. The second tells me that if I want to capitalize on his lack of defense, I have to move even more quickly.

My breath comes hard and fast as I climb step after step while unfastening the closure to my bag. My fingers find the wooden butt of my gun as I hear the boy reach the landing below and begin to climb the next flight of stairs.

Good. Let him come. The higher he climbs the better.

When I reach the top, I don’t allow myself time to think. I just pull the gun out of my bag, turn, and fire.

The boy jumps to the left and then stumbles and goes tumbling down the stairs. He groans as he hits the platform with a thud. The sound gives me a hum of satisfaction as I race down the corridor to the left. Behind me I hear the boy swear and start his climb again. Even though I missed, the pain and frustration in his voice tell me he isn’t as fast as he was. Which is all I can really hope for. Hitting a moving target while I am also in motion requires far more skill than I have. The only way I’m going to hit anything is by chance. But my pursuer doesn’t know that. And now that he is aware of my weapon, he will be forced to move more cautiously.

I glance behind and see he has reached the top of the stairs. I fire again. This time the bullet hits the ground somewhere in front of him. He drops to the floor. I keep running. Around the curved corridor. Down the hall. I turn and fire once more to ensure he stays off balance, then bolt for the stairs that lead back down to the first floor. If I am lucky, I will find an unlocked exit and make my escape. If not, I will learn how accurate my shooting skills really are.

I fight to breathe. My muscles burn from exertion. Sweat streaks down my back as I fly down the stairs.

One flight.

Two.

I dash down the hall toward the doors I first came through, glance back to see if the boy has gained on me, and hear the rustle of fabric a second before I collide with someone.

Hands grab my arms and I fight to get free as a voice yells, “Cia?”

Tomas.

“Cia, what are you doing? What’s going on?”

Somewhere above, footfalls sound.

“Someone’s upstairs. We have to get out of here.”

“A couple of students might be working on a project. I thought the place would be empty, but we can always—”

“No. Someone was waiting for me to arrive and he’s chasing me now. We have to run.”

The sound of shoes pounding the metal stairs makes Tomas look up. From my position I see a leg step off the landing. Tomas’s eyes widen as he spots the person’s face.

“Kerrick.” For a moment Tomas goes still. Then he shakes his head as Kerrick barrels down the stairs. Tomas looks around the room and takes a step to the left. “But if Kerrick is here, then—”

A gunshot punches the air to my right and a figure steps out of one of the rooms. I don’t think. I set myself, aim, and fire. The answering scream tells me I have managed to hit something. I don’t wait to see who I shot, I just grab Tomas’s arm and yell for him to move. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I do know that if Tomas hadn’t moved, he would be dead.

We reach the end of the hall. Gunshots rip through the air. Tomas flinches with each shot, but whoever is shooting must be as skilled at hitting a moving target as I am, because the bullets don’t come close to our position. Of course, that could change at any moment.

I spot an exit to the right, but Tomas grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall to the left. “Come on.”

He leads me through a wide, arching doorway that runs into the center of the stadium. My throat burns with each breath. I climb the steps that lead to the entrance to the greenhouse. Tomas punches a code into a panel. The door slides open and he pulls me through.

The smell of growing plants and rich soil hits me first, followed by the air thick with moisture.

“This way.”

I have been in this room only once before, during my first University tour, and then only for a few minutes. Nothing here is familiar, and I am running out of ammunition. I can only hope that whatever Tomas has planned will get us out of this situation.

Tomas pulls me through several rows of oak saplings and through a grove of reed-thin elms near an area that is surrounded by a small, red wire fence. “There’s a control booth over this way that runs the irrigation, power, and climate for the greenhouse. Go there.”

He begins pulling the knee-high red fence out of the earth. “Kerrick and Marin can’t be allowed to leave here. Not unless we want them coming after us again or reporting us to someone who can do something worse. Go.”

Understanding what he’s trying to do, I run to the twenty-foot-square patch of the greenhouse and help yank the fence out of the ground, removing the barrier that warns people about the plants contained inside. Plants my father has spent his lifetime eradicating. Mancinella Flowers. Pink Ivy. Poppy Doll Eyes. Red Jessamine. Flowers and plants that if touched or tasted can shut down nervous systems and cause cardiac arrest, blindness, vomiting, and dozens of other awful side effects. For some, ingestion is necessary to trigger the poison, but the Mancinella Flower and Pink Ivy only require the simplest touch for infection to occur. And Poppy Doll Eye berries can cause severe hallucinations, the walls of veins to thin, and hearts to stop beating. Terrible plants. Mutations caused by the chemicals unleashed upon the world. Those grown here are used for study so that scientists can figure out how to eradicate their effects. Today, Tomas and I need their deadly qualities to keep us alive.

Careful not to touch the toxic plants, Tomas and I shift the fence to an area that contains edible vegetation.

“Now what?” I ask.

“Now we have to get them to come in this direction and hope they don’t notice what they’re stumbling into. Kerrick is in Biological Engineering, but he deals more with animal studies than plants. I just wish we had a way to burn some of the plants. There are burners in some of the labs, but we don’t have time to waste getting them. Maybe—”

“I have an idea,” I say, opening my bag and grabbing the matches I took from the chemistry lab and the specimen container where I stored the excess black powder.

“What’s that?”

“Something that can set the plants on fire.”

I keep one eye on the entrance in the distance as I place the paper with the black substance near the patch of plants Tomas thinks has the best chance of making this plan work. Poppy Doll Eyes. When burned, this plant gives off fumes that will overload the nervous system. Something people from Pierre Colony learned when a spark from a researcher’s campfire landed on dry grass near a large patch of the plants with the white bulbs that look like tiny eyes. The fire combined with high winds caused everyone living on the outskirts of the colony to suffer muscle spasms, blindness, or, in many cases, death.

With the amount of powder I have used, a flame should flare high and wide enough to make the white bulbs hanging nearby catch on fire. The only tricks will be to get our two attackers to come in this direction and to create a fuse long enough to allow me to get to the exit eighty feet behind this point before the smoke caused by the burning plants can reach me or Tomas.

“Here.” Tomas hands me a thin ten-inch strip of paper. Not as long or as reliable a fuse as I would like, but the shouts I hear and the figure bursting through the greenhouse door tell me I am out of time.

I lay the fuse on the paper and push a coating of powder onto the end. I fumble for the matches and pull one from the book.

“Get their attention,” I whisper as I poise the match against the strike pad.

Tomas looks at the black powder and the match, then back at me. Nodding, he stands. He takes several steps toward the greenhouse door. He pretends to stumble over an evergreen shrub and swears. That’s all it takes.

Kerrick’s head swings in our direction. “They’re over there.”

Tomas looks back over his shoulder and makes for the exit behind us. Kerrick and Marin trample plants and weave around young trees as they race for our position. Tomas yells, “Cia. Come on.”

“My foot is caught,” I yell back. “Go. I’ll catch up.”

Kerrick and the other person come closer. For the first time I get a glimpse of Marin. She’s someone I have seen around campus. I think I’ve even noticed her talking to Tomas. Her most distinctive features are her smile and contagious laughter. She isn’t laughing now as she closes the distance between us.

A gunshot rings out. I hear the bullet hit the ground far behind me. Aimed at Tomas. Another shot. Kerrick and the girl move closer. Everything inside me screams at me to flee, but I hold my position as I pretend to struggle to free myself from the phantom vine that holds me hostage. I need their attention directed at me, not on the nearby plants. They come closer. Just a few more seconds.

Five.

Another shot.

Four.

Kerrick spots me and yells.

Three.

The girl sees me and smiles.

Two.

I press the match hard against the strike pad and pull.

One.

The match flares. A gunshot makes me jump. The bullet slams into the ground to my right as I touch the flame to the paper fuse. The second I see the flame traveling up the paper, I scramble to my feet and run.

Another shot. I stumble and pitch forward as pain sears my calf. I swallow the scream that wants to erupt from inside me and tamp down my body’s protest as I climb to my feet. Marin calls out to Kerrick. Tomas yells for me to hurry. I glance behind me and realize too much time has passed. The fuse should have ignited the powder. The plan didn’t work, and Kerrick and the girl are coming.

I will myself forward.

“Come on, Cia.”

One step. Two. Faster.

“What’s that?” I hear Kerrick yell.

The smell of sulfur reaches me. I hear another gunshot and someone starts to cough. I don’t look back. I just keep moving one boot in front of the other, clenching my teeth against the pain that would otherwise bring me to my knees. Tomas already has the exit door open. His eyes are bright with fear as he holds out his hand, beckoning to me. Someone is still running behind me. I stumble through the door and Tomas slams it shut. His fingers fly over the control panel. The light above the door shifts from green to red, and now it can only be opened from this side.

A smart move, although one glance through the door’s glass pane tells me it wasn’t necessary. Kerrick is on the ground twenty feet from the exit. His body jerks as if connected to a stream of electricity. I can see the agony on his face as the toxins he breathed in take over his body. Shut down his systems. End his life.

Chapter 10

I FORCE MYSELF to watch Kerrick die. No matter the reason, I helped caused this. I do not know anything about Kerrick save his name, his field of study, and the fact that he wanted to harm me.

Tears swell behind my eyes and sear my throat as I try to hold them back. But there is no denying them. The death of the boy, the pain burning my calf, and the knowledge that more people will die before this week is done are impossible to suppress.

Tomas’s arms pull me close. He tries to make me look away, but I can’t. My eyes stay focused on the scene behind the glass as feelings storm through me. Sorrow. Despair. Fear. Kerrick’s still body swims in and out of focus as tears continue to flow. I feel Tomas’s hands touch my injured leg. Fingers probe my wound. The screams I have been holding back claw out of my throat.

“I’m sorry, Cia,” Tomas says. His voice soothes even as his hands continue to touch the wound and cause pain. “We need to clean and bandage this. It looks like the bullet only grazed your calf, but it’s bleeding pretty bad. There’s a first aid room just down the hall. I think there should be something in there that I can give you for the pain.”

“It’s not that bad,” I lie. “We should get out of here while we can. I don’t know where the girl went, but she could be nearby.”

Tomas looks toward the greenhouse and shakes his head. “She’s not going to be coming after us. Marin’s in there.”

Despite the angry protest of my leg, I push to my knees. I follow the direction of Tomas’s gaze, squint through the haze of smoke that still lingers, and see Marin sprawled among a group of small shrubs. Marin. A name that until minutes ago I’d never heard and now will never forget.

“Do you know how to turn on the irrigation system?” I ask, concentrating on the smoke instead of Marin’s lifeless face. The plants inside are too green and healthy and the air too humid for everything to catch fire. Only the plants that were directly under the flare from the black powder burned, and while I doubt that they still burn, turning on the irrigation system will ensure that the fire goes out. It should also help dissipate the poisonous fumes that linger in the air.

“Stay here.”

“No.” I struggle to my feet. “I’ll come with you.” Despite the pain that moving causes, I don’t want to be alone.

Tomas slides an arm around my shoulder and helps me walk down the hall to the control booth. I ease into a wooden chair and watch as Tomas works the controls.

It takes him three tries to remember the sequence of buttons but eventually water sprays from pipes that hang from the greenhouse ceiling. After several minutes, Tomas turns off the water, hits a button marked Fan, and says, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“The fence needs to be put back where it was, and I need to move the bodies where they won’t be discovered. Between the water and the fan, it should be safe to reenter the greenhouse.”

“I’ll help,” I say, starting to rise again.

“No.” Tomas puts his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back into the chair. “Stay here. Please. This is something I need to do by myself.”

Unshed tears shimmer in his eyes. I want nothing more than to hold him and help ease his pain. But I don’t. I know Tomas is trying to stay strong in front of me. So I just squeeze his hand and watch him leave.

Several minutes pass before Tomas appears behind the observation glass window. I watch him replace the fence so that it once again signals danger. Then he reaches down and picks up Marin’s lifeless body. His jaw tightens as his cheek brushes against Marin’s shoulder. Then with the body cradled in his arms, he disappears from view. When he returns, Tomas tries to lift Kerrick, but the weight is too much. He grips Kerrick’s ankles and drags the body away. I find myself wishing I had asked him to remove their bracelets as we did for those who fell during The Testing. To remember. As if we could ever forget.

I reach into my bag and check the tracking monitor. Both devices are located near each other, not far to the south of where I am now. I am glad to see two lights on the screen. It means Raffe’s is still active. He has not yet failed his test. It is something to be grateful for.

Tomas’s face is flushed but free of tears when he returns with medical supplies.

“Are you okay?” I ask, even though I know he’s not. How could he be after what has happened?

“Let’s worry about getting you patched up. Then we’ll talk.” He kneels on the ground and rolls up my pants leg. I flinch when I see the bloody tear in my flesh. I focus on Tomas’s face as he wipes the wound with a wet cloth. I bite my lip and taste blood but I do not call out.

Tomas’s hands shake as he spreads a healing ointment on my leg. As the medication begins to leech the pain from my flesh, he grabs the bandages and says, “Kerrick likes to help first- and second-year students with genetics homework. He has a way of explaining things that makes the most complicated theory accessible. He’s easy to talk to, and he never forgets a single detail. His memory is incredible.”

Likes. Has. Is. All present-tense. Despite carrying his dead body, Tomas has not accepted that Kerrick is gone.

“You talked to Kerrick about Dreu Owens.”

“You said Dreu had been given a job in Genetic studies. I was hoping that because Kerrick’s internship involves genetics, he might have heard of him.”

“Had he?”

“Kerrick says Dreu was assigned to the lab where he interned during his first year. He was working with a team to identify mutated genes in raccoons and rabbits. They were hoping once those genes are identified they can find a way to isolate the mutation and eventually eliminate it.”

“Where’s Dreu Owens now?” I ask.

“Kerrick wasn’t sure.” Tomas frowns. “He suggested I go through the files he used for his research project. The files he said are kept in one of the offices in this building.”

“Did you talk about anything else?” Anything that would cause this kind of attack?

“He was curious why I was looking for Dreu now instead of when I first came to the University. When I said you overheard someone at the president’s office mention Dreu and the fact that he, too, was from Five Lakes, Kerrick said I might want to wait to go through the records and look for Dreu. Otherwise teachers might assume I have too much free time and come up with more work for me to do. I thought he was just joking the way he always does.”

Instead, Kerrick was issuing a warning to Tomas. To stay away from Dreu Owens. Tomas didn’t, and now Kerrick and Marin are dead.

“They must have been members of the rebellion.” It’s the only explanation I can come up with. “Zeen said the rebels had been given orders to remove anyone who might interfere with the success of their mission. Either Dreu has something to do with the rebellion or just mentioning his name was enough to cause worry that you could disrupt their plans.”

The sound of a door slamming makes us jump. Someone is in the building.

“You need to get out of here.” Tomas helps me to my feet.

“What about you?”

“I’ll go, too, but first I want to look around the offices and see if the files Kerrick talked about really exist. I doubt it, but if Dreu is important to the rebellion, it would be good to know why. Kerrick and Marin lost their lives. I’d rather it wasn’t for nothing.” Tomas looks out into the hall. “This way.”

He leads me to the unlocked westernmost entrance he arrived through and tells me to wait as he steps out and looks around. A moment later, he leads me out into the cool, crisp air.

“How’s the leg?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Tomas runs a hand over my cheek but then frowns. “I don’t think we can wait much longer to put the president’s plan into action. If Kerrick was ready to attack on the chance I might interfere with the rebellion, there’s no telling what the other rebel students might do. This place could end up as a battleground any moment. If we’re going to finish this, we have to act now.”

Anger simmers below Tomas’s logic. One of his hands is clenched in a fist at his side. He who once wished to flee has found in Kerrick’s and Marin’s deaths the need to fight.

“Stacia is in. If everything goes according to plan, by tomorrow morning the others will be, too.” I entwine my fingers through his. “Then we make this right.”

I stand on tiptoe and place a kiss on Tomas’s jaw. Then, as much as I hate leaving him, I turn and walk toward the south. When I glance back to look for him, he’s gone. My leg aches as I hurry down the walkway. The pain reminds me that the bullet that ripped open my pants also left them stained with blood. I can’t go back to the residence looking like this.

I duck into one of the Science buildings at the edge of campus, locate the bathroom on the first floor, and change into the pair of gray pants I have in my bag. I wash the blood from my hands and then run my fingers through my hair in an effort to erase all evidence of my time at the stadium. In the past several days, three students have died on account of my actions. At any moment another might be injured or killed because of something I created. Somehow, remarkably, my image in the reflector looks unchanged. How wrong that seems and yet how lucky it’s true. Because there is still so much more to do before this ends. Maybe once it is over people will understand what I have become. Maybe I’ll understand as well.

Since classes have ended, I am not the only one hurrying to get back to the residence. That allows me to move quickly without worry that I will attract attention. Despite the dread that churns inside me, when I reach the Government Studies building I put a smile on my face and walk through the residence’s front door. The sound of laughter trickles down the hall. After everything that has happened, I long for the relative safety of my quarters upstairs. Instead, I head down the hall and glance into the main gathering room. Raffe isn’t there, so I head for the stairs.

When I reach the second-floor landing, I make a decision. Instead of going up to the third floor, I turn and walk toward the door marked with a coiled spring. Raffe’s symbol. For the first time I wonder which kind of spring Raffe’s symbol is meant to be: a tension coil that stretches and shifts to work with the machine it’s a part of or a compression coil that will not allow itself to be pushed down. Is Raffe the type who truly wishes to resist the current methods of selecting our leaders, or is he working with his father and Symon to prevent change? I raise my fist and pound on the door. The time has come to find out.

When the door opens, in spite of the monitor’s assurance, I let out a sigh of relief to see Raffe alive and whole.

As soon as I step over the threshold, Raffe closes the door and throws the lock. “I was starting to worry. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Not exactly.” I look around for signs of listening devices or cameras. The room is almost the same size as mine and contains the same table, chairs, and sofa, but Raffe has transformed the space. A blue and white quilt hangs over the top of the couch. A handwoven rug with a circular blue design lies in the middle of the floor. And hanging on the walls are paintings. Some framed, others affixed at the corners with adhesive strips. Abstract swirling colors. Beautiful renderings of flowers and trees. And in the center is the largest canvas. Deep brown wood frames the portrait of a girl with light blue eyes, dark blond hair, and a chin the same shape as the chin on the boy who stands in front of me. She isn’t what I would call beautiful, but there is something striking about her face, and the look in her eyes is haunting.

“I don’t normally let people in here.” Raffe stands next to the painting. Now that his face is beside the girl’s, the resemblance is even more pronounced. “I don’t think we have a lot of art lovers under this roof.”

I look at the slashes of vibrant colors next to muted earth tones and find myself wishing Zandri were here to explain why these paintings make me want to catch my breath. She’d understand the emotions on these canvases because she had this kind of talent. The talent to make someone feel without saying a word.

“They’re wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

The pride in his voice makes me turn. “You made these?”

“Only a couple of them. The rest belong to my sister.” He glances at the girl in the frame and I wonder—is she the sister he referred to long ago? If so, she is part of the reason he sought to ally himself with me. Raffe promised he would trust me with his secrets if I trusted him with mine. This painting and his having passed my test tell me the time for sharing those secrets has come.

“Do you have a piece of paper I can borrow?” I ask.

Raffe looks confused, but disappears into his bedroom and returns with a paper and pencil. Taking a seat at the table, I write a note and hand it to him. He reads it, shakes his head, and together we begin to search for signs that we are being recorded. Because Raffe has more possessions than I, our search takes longer than mine did, but when the two of us are done, we haven’t found anything. Whoever is listening to me has not found reason to be suspicious of Raffe.

Quickly, I tell him about what happened at the stadium. The ambush. The dead students Tomas disposed of. And finally, I tell him about my trip to see the president, what she asked of me, and what I now ask of him.

“I knew Kerrick,” he says, taking a seat across the table from me.

“I’m sorry.”

“You and Tomas did what you had to do to stay alive. Now we’re going to do what is necessary to end this. Right?”

“Before you agree to help,” I say, reaching into my bag, “you need to see this.” I slide the president’s list of names across the table and watch Raffe as he reads. When his hand tightens on the paper, I know he has reached his father’s name. If I saw my father’s name there, I would rip up the paper. Yell. Cry. Plead. And if that didn’t work, I’d find a way to warn him. I would do anything to keep him safe. Raffe just stares at the paper in his hand.

The silence stretches until he quietly says, “Some of these names don’t belong here.”

“Your father—”

“No. These names—” He grabs a pencil and puts stars next to five names on the list. “I’ve heard my father rant enough about them to know they don’t get along well with Dr. Barnes. I’ve even heard my father ask Dr. Barnes why he keeps them around instead of insisting on their transfers. Unless I’m mistaken, they don’t believe in The Testing any more than you do. The president or maybe Symon has reasons for wanting them dead, though I can’t tell you what they are. But my father . . .” Raffe’s anger-filled eyes meet mine. “My father belongs on this list. He’s a part of what needs to end. We both know my father’s aware of what happens to Testing candidates who don’t pass. There’s a penalty worse than simple failure for Tosu City students who fail even the entrance exam and my father not only knows this, he believes it is right.”

I blink. “I assumed Tosu students were allowed to go home after they were told they didn’t pass.” Otherwise, why would their parents let them risk failing the exam? Or does the chance to be one of the country’s leaders mean that much to those who live here in Tosu City?

Raffe stands and walks toward the portrait. “They don’t go home, but everyone in Tosu City believes the unsuccessful applicants are assigned to jobs outside the city. I believed that. It’s what we’ve all been told, so why would I think any different? There are even people who swear they’ve heard from family members who were assigned jobs in the colonies. Important jobs working with new solar power technology or on innovative communication systems. I’ve heard friends of my parents brag about their child who has succeeded despite failing to pass the University entrance exam. Some have even mentioned it to Dr. Barnes in order to point out that he made a mistake grading the tests.”

“I don’t understand. If people have heard from their family members who have been assigned to colony jobs, then maybe the students really were sent there.” I want that to be true.

Raffe shakes his head. “You asked why I insisted on helping you. It’s because I learned that those letters aren’t real. That nothing I grew up believing is as it seemed.” He reaches out and touches the girl’s portrait. “My sister Emilie created most of these paintings, including this one. I asked her to make a portrait of herself for me to have after her application to take the University entrance exam was approved.”

He runs a finger over her long hair and lets his arm drop to his side. “Emilie never wanted to go to the University. She wanted to be an artist and work with one of the revitalization teams to make the city beautiful. But my father insisted she apply. The only way he would allow my mother to get Emilie art supplies was if her grades were the top in her class and she submitted an application. Emilie was smart, but she struggled with her homework, especially science. So I helped. When I didn’t understand something, I asked my teachers. Then Emilie and I would figure it out together.”

“She got accepted to take the entrance exam.”

“She did.” The words are filled with regret and pain. Raffe shoves his hands into his pockets and turns to face me. “My father was thrilled, and all the extra studying had me so far ahead that I was guaranteed a spot in my University class. Before Emilie began attending prep classes for the Early Studies exam, Dr. Barnes himself came to our house to inform me and my father that my teachers had recommended I apply to the University and take the Early Studies entrance exam a year early. I was ready to go, but Dr. Barnes believed I would do better if I had the extra year to develop my other talents. I was so proud knowing I was going to be able to attend the University like I’d always dreamed. Never once did I consider what could happen if I didn’t pass the entrance exams and get assigned to a field of study. It’s probably not surprising that I was too excited to sleep when I went to bed that night. So I went downstairs to get a drink and heard my father’s voice. Dr. Barnes and he were talking about some possible changes to the current education program in the city that would better prepare future University students so that a higher percentage would pass the Early Studies entrance exam.”

Raffe gives me a bitter smile. “Had I gone upstairs at that moment, I wouldn’t be talking to you now. I’d be pissed you’re so damn smart, and I’d be studying day and night to make sure my grades were better than yours.”

“I would’ve liked to see you try,” I say with a grin. The passionate way he talks reminds me of my brothers. Proud. Stubborn and strong in their convictions. Not always the easiest to work with, but people who would die before betraying what they believe. That thought comforts even as the strain in Raffe’s voice makes me ache with sympathy and dread.

“When this is over, I promise to give you a run for your money.” He walks over and sits back down in the chair across from me. The humor in his eyes fades as he says, “Things would have been easier had I gone back to my room, but I liked how important I felt listening to that kind of conversation. I was so busy imagining how it would feel when I was able to make decisions that changed the course of people’s lives that I almost missed what Dr. Barnes said next. He asked my father if he was sure he was willing to risk Emilie sitting for the entrance exams. If not, Dr. Barnes would allow her to back out of her acceptance. He assured my father that the list of accepted students had not yet been made public. Emilie could be removed without anyone being the wiser.”

“I’m surprised Dr. Barnes offered to let your sister step away from her application acceptance,” I say. “It’s considered treason for a colony candidate to refuse to appear for The Testing.”

Raffe shrugs. “Dr. Barnes and my father have worked together for years. My father considers Dr. Barnes one of his closest friends. So I wasn’t as surprised as I might have been, especially since I understood the concern. Emilie’s smart, but she takes a long time to think through answers. She doesn’t perform well on timed exams. Especially when they are math- or science-based. Her teachers mentioned that issue in her evaluations, which is why Dr. Barnes presented my father with an opportunity to withdraw her name. I assumed Dr. Barnes wanted to give my father the option of having his daughter remain in Tosu City, because failure on the exams would ordinarily mean a job assignment in the colonies. But when my father refused the offer, Dr. Barnes said something that made me wonder if there wasn’t something more.”

“What did he say?”

“That once the list was public there would be no going back. If Emilie failed her exam, she would face the same consequences as the others and become a resource for the Commonwealth. No exceptions could be made, not even for the daughter of a good friend.” Raffe’s gaze drifts to the portrait. “My father said he didn’t care. If Emilie wasn’t strong enough to take her place at the University, then her Redirection would mean she’d still make a valuable contribution to her country. Nothing else mattered.”

Redirection. “Maybe your father just meant that your sister would have a purpose in one of the colonies.”

“You didn’t hear the tones of their voices, Cia.” Raffe closes his eyes as if hearing it all again. “Whatever Dr. Barnes was talking about had nothing to do with a remote colony job. If it had, he would never have asked my father to withdraw Emilie’s name. That night I lay in bed, thinking about the words Dr. Barnes had used. He said Emilie would become a resource. Something to be used. Since my father refused to change his mind, I did all I could to help Emilie pass the exam. I made her study late into the night and practice taking timed tests. But no matter how hard we studied, it wasn’t enough. I should have told her what I’d heard and made her run, but I didn’t. I thought my help was all she needed. She didn’t pass.” Tears color his words and pull at my heart. “When my father told me the news, he said she had been assigned to a job in Five Lakes Colony.”

“Five Lakes?”

“I know.” His eyes meet mine. “There’s no one named Emilie Jeffries working with first- and second-year students at the school in Five Lakes Colony.”

“No.”

Raffe rises and walks the length of the room. “For the last two years, I’ve been looking for her and the other students who didn’t pass the entrance exams. That’s how I found the street you saw today. The people who stay there want to live separately from the government, but are too afraid of what lies in the unrevitalized parts of the country to travel outside the Tosu boundaries. A few were students who fled before the entrance exam results were posted—certain they had failed. The others—they all have their reasons for not wanting to be a part of what the United Commonwealth stands for. I had hoped someone there would know where Emilie was. Instead one person told me he once heard that students who failed were taken to an unrevitalized area to the east. He didn’t know why. I didn’t want to believe him, but part of me has always wondered if it’s true. My father’s position in the government has made it easy for me to meet officials who’ve traveled to the colonies and to ask questions, and I’ve learned that not a single person I’ve inquired about has ever been seen in the colony they’d supposedly been Redirected to. They’ve just disappeared. Since Tosu officials aren’t in frequent contact with Five Lakes Colony, I couldn’t verify whether Emilie was there. When I heard about you and Tomas, I asked people what you’d told them about your colony. I learned that until the official arrived to escort you to The Testing, no one from Tosu had come to Five Lakes for years. Emilie never set foot in Five Lakes Colony. I don’t know where she was sent, but I intend to find her. She deserves that much. They all do.”

I think of Will’s twin brother and all the other students who did not pass the first round of Testing. After The Testing was over, those of us who were accepted into the University were told that the unsuccessful candidates were directed to jobs in colonies other than the ones where they were raised. When questioned, Dr. Barnes said sending them to new locations allowed them to take their places in society as adults instead of as children who would have to convince those around them to see them as full grown and capable of meaningful contributions. The explanation was logical, but after I listened to the recording on the Transit Communicator, I knew it was false. At first, I thought all the unsuccessful early-round candidates had suffered the same fate as those who failed during the fourth exam—death. But hearing Raffe’s story confirms the theory I’ve recently considered and just today heard Stacia echo. Those who are tested for the University are the best and the brightest. Killing all those who do not succeed in their candidacy is wasteful. And Dr. Barnes is not one to waste resources. Not when they can be used. The question is, for what and where?

Still, while I want those answers and understand his anger, I cannot believe Raffe would really want to see his father killed. But when I ask him about it, his answer is immediate. “My father has chosen his side. Now I’m choosing mine.”

I study the anguish and resolve on his face. I have seen the same expression in my reflector. It is the look of a person who has come to a crossroads and chosen the more difficult path.

The sound of people in the hall tells me it is time for dinner. After the meal, I will have to find a way to test the last two potential members of our team. Perhaps Raffe can help with that and with planning the next stage. He seems to have already helped by possibly limiting the number of people we need to target. But to be certain, I need to learn more, which is why I ask Raffe if he’d be willing to meet later tonight to compare his thoughts to the information I received when I got the list.

“We can meet after dinner and go for a walk,” he says with a smile. “After our disappearance into Tosu this weekend, everyone already assumes I have a crush on you. This will seal the deal.”

“They don’t know you very well, do they?” I ask.

Raffe’s smile fades. “Not many people do.”

A reminder that despite his having passed this test, neither do I.

Shaking off my concern, I return the list to my bag and slide the strap onto my shoulder. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Wait,” Raffe says as I head for the door. He disappears again into his bedroom. When he returns he hands me the pulse radio test I designed. “You forgot this. I didn’t listen to the message.”

“I know.” I take the device and carefully set it in my bag.

Raffe folds his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “What would have happened if I had turned those switches?”

My heart skips a beat. “You knew it was a test?”

“Not right away. But after thinking about it, I realized I would only leave something that important with someone for one of two reasons. If I had no choice or if I wanted to see what they would do with the information. Once I decided this was your way of having me prove my trustworthiness, it was harder to ignore it sitting on my desk. I wanted to know what you’d designed it to do. Was it going to give me false information?”

“No.” I shift my feet. “It was going to explode.”

There is silence as Raffe gapes at me. I wait for anger. Instead, Raffe lets out a bark of laughter. “I’m glad I’m such a trustworthy guy. That would have really sucked.”

“You’re not mad?” I remember how I felt when I realized my life was on the line because of Dr. Barnes’s tests.

“You did what was necessary. And now I’m especially glad I spent the afternoon doing this instead of tinkering with your toy.” Raffe grabs something off a small table near the far side of the couch and hands it to me. “Here.”

I take the six-inch-square piece of paper. Painted on it is a purple circle against a red backdrop. In the center of the circle, forming an X, are two yellow lightning bolts outlined in white.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Symbols are important, especially to those embarking on change. The revolutionaries who formed the United States had their stars and stripes. The European uprising against their coalition used a closed fist. I decided to create a different version of your symbol for ours.” He nods at the band that circles my wrist. “In mythology, lightning represents either the loss of ignorance or punishment for those who overstep their bounds. I used two bolts since we intend to do both.”

The lightning bolts look powerful against the colors of our country. Up until now, I’d looked at the symbol Testing officials gave me as an acknowledgment of my mechanical abilities. I thought it represented the ability to create solar cells and light sources. But this . . .

“It’s perfect.”

The loss of ignorance. The punishment of those who created The Testing. Maybe the punishment of those of us who fight against it. Despite that possibility, there are now four of us, five if Zeen is still alive and well, who will see this through to the end.

Chapter 11

MY INJURED LEG is starting to throb when I go upstairs to my room to drop off the books I don’t need. I open the door carefully and see the tiny slip of paper that I had slid in between the door and the frame flutter to the ground. Not the most sophisticated of warning systems, but it was effective. As far as I can tell, no one has been inside since I was last here.

Closing the door behind me, I put my bag on the table. Gently, I remove the metal box containing the black powder and place it in my top desk drawer. When I have time, I will dismantle the device so there is no chance of it exploding accidentally. While I am here, I place a new change of clothes in my bag, put more healing ointment on my leg, and check my gun. Only one bullet left and I do not have any others. A problem I can remedy with a trip to the president’s fifth-floor room. I will have to find a way to make that journey before my team is forced into action.

I notice that the light on my pulse radio is illuminated, and I go into the bathroom and turn on the water so I can listen to Tomas assure me he is safe. So far no one is looking for Kerrick and Marin.

I record messages for Tomas and Stacia, letting them know Raffe passed his test. I tell them that the device I built to test him is now back in my possession and that Raffe wants to discuss the names on the list after dinner. I tell each of them to join us outside the library. If anyone is watching, they will assume we are meeting for our study group. For Tomas, I add “I love you” before pressing Send. Thinking about those I love, I try to contact Zeen to see how he is doing. I want to tell him about Dreu Owens and the tension on campus. But he doesn’t answer. Hopefully, he will find time to contact me soon. Then, sliding the Communicator back in my bag and the small slip of paper back into the frame, I lock the door behind me and hurry downstairs.

During dinner it is announced that Damone has still not been found. Also, the ban on leaving campus will continue throughout the week. Most students appear unconcerned by their fellow student’s disappearance and the requirement to stay on campus, but I notice that a few upper years, including Ian, exchange nervous glances.

The dining hall is still filled with students when Raffe stands up, holds out his hand, and asks if I’m ready to go. As I let him pull me out of my seat, I try to ignore people’s snickers, but I cannot help the knot of anxiety that tightens in my chest when I walk by Griffin. His grim smile is not directed at me, but at Raffe—who nods to acknowledge Griffin and then winks back.

The air outside is chilly and damp. Dark clouds dim the sky. Wind whips the willow tree branches as we walk by. It feels like a storm is coming.

“I’ve asked Tomas and Stacia to meet us at the library,” I say as we approach the bridge. “Before they meet us, I’d like you to tell me more about the people you said you believe don’t belong on the list.”

Raffe glances at the residence before saying, “I could be wrong, but there are a lot of names that don’t make sense to me.”

“Like who?”

“Professor Lee, for one. I remember my father saying that the country would fall apart if ever Professor Lee was put in charge of the University. My father believed Professor Lee always saw the best in students and wasn’t decisive enough to cut away the ones who weren’t strong enough to lead.”

I think about Professor Lee’s kindness during Early Studies and about his lecture today. The combination makes it hard to believe he’s an ardent advocate of The Testing.

“What about the others?”

Raffe names Professor Markum and Professor Harring. Heads of Medical studies and Education. Both people with whom Raffe’s father has clashed in recent years. Both professors petitioned the Education Department to expand the number of colony students allowed in the University. Then there’s Official Parkins, head of the Resource Allocation Department, who suggested a new colony be created in the unrevitalized area southwest of the city that was once Chicago. An area that years ago was allocated to Dr. Barnes’s father for The Testing.

Those five are the ones Raffe marked earlier, but there are two others that worry him. Official Frank Alkyer and Official Liza Yamatchi, whom Raffe has never heard of. “If they are important enough to keep The Testing and the current University program going, I probably would know who they are. Dr. Barnes oversees the University and The Testing. Professor Chen coordinates selection of candidates with the colony educators. Professor Holt is Dr. Barnes’s second in command. My father works with all of them to make sure they have whatever is necessary to select and educate the next generation of leaders. Those four have the most power. Removing them should cripple The Testing enough for the president to stop it for good.”

Four lives—five when we include Symon, whose removal is not in question—but only if I believe Raffe is being truthful about what he knows. The president gave me the list of names. She must have reasons to believe these people should be removed. But who is to say those reasons are specific to The Testing? The first directive I was given as an intern was to have faith only in the information I verified on my own. Until this moment, I had forgotten that lesson. While I am not certain Raffe’s information is accurate, I do know that I cannot follow the president’s orders blindly. Not questioning her list was my first mistake. I cannot afford to make another.

“So, what’s the plan?” Raffe asks as we take a seat on the stone steps that lead up to the entrance of the library. “Or do I have to wait to hear it until Stacia and Tomas arrive?”

“I don’t know.” I thought I did, but now . . . When I chose this path, I convinced myself that the people on the list had earned their fate. “How can I plan anything without being sure who these people are?”

“Could you live with yourself if you sit back and do nothing while The Testing continues and the rebels are betrayed and killed?”

I want to say yes, but it would be a lie. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, you do.” Raffe’s voice is soft but firm. “You ask yourself what your goal is. You look at the facts as you know them, and you make the call.”

“What if I’m wrong?”

“Then you’re wrong.” Raffe’s voice cracks though the swirl of confusion like a whip. “If you’re looking for guarantees, you’re asking the wrong person. Leaders don’t get guarantees. The only thing they can do is make the most educated decision they can and hope for the best. Isn’t that how you got through The Testing and our Induction?”

I shake my head. “That was different. I’m not sure I can do this.” There has already been so much needless death. The weight of those lives presses on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Whom do I trust? The president? Raffe? Tomas? Myself?

But if Raffe sees my trepidation, he doesn’t show it. Instead he says, “Well, if you can’t, then none of us can. One person can’t do it alone, and I doubt Stacia and Tomas would help if I asked. The only way this works, Cia, is with you.”

“I know.” I see Tomas approaching and am certain Stacia isn’t far behind. Neither of them would have picked Raffe for a teammate. I doubt they would even pick each other. Raffe is right. The future is on me.

Ever since I was little, I wanted to be like my father—someone everyone turned to for answers. Until now, I’d only thought of his successes. I never considered how alone he must have felt or the courage it took to take the next step forward knowing that another wrong move could ruin us all. But though he might have wanted to, he didn’t walk away. He didn’t have guarantees that things would work out. He made the decision he believed was best because that was all he could do. Just as it is the only thing I can do now. I think of the symbol Raffe created for me. For us. For this purpose. I came to Tosu City because I wanted to be a leader. I thought that would come after I graduated from the University. I thought that event would signal my readiness. But I can no longer wait for Graduation Day. The time to lead is now.

“We can’t reach everyone on the list,” I say when Tomas and Stacia join us on the stairs. Tomas’s eyes looked tired and strained. When I touch his hand, he flinches. Stacia, however, appears not only rested but eager to take the next step.

Quickly, I give them a summary of Raffe’s knowledge of those on the list. “See if you can learn anything more about them. That will help us decide which people are to be given priority. Even if Enzo and Ian join us, there’s no way the six of us can hit all the targets. Out of the four of us here, Raffe is the only one who knows Tosu City well enough to get to specific addresses quickly. That’s going to slow us down. And once they break the ban on students leaving campus, Professor Holt and the other residence leaders will start looking for us.”

“Unless,” Stacia says, “we find them first.”

Raffe shakes his head. “We can’t remove them before we take out Dr. Barnes. Right, Cia?”

Stacia looks ready to argue but stops when I say, “Raffe is right. The minute people on the list begin to die, Dr. Barnes will know someone is coming for him and will find a way to prevent it. Removing the other targets on the list won’t mean anything unless Dr. Barnes himself is taken out.”

“The president wants all the targets eliminated,” Stacia reminds me. “Not just the ones you pick.”

“The president will understand that we have to prioritize according to what will help her best achieve her goal,” I reply. As long as The Testing and the University are removed from Dr. Barnes’s control, I don’t think she’ll have reason to complain. “Once Dr. Barnes and the top administrators of The Testing are eliminated, she’ll be able to handle the others herself.”

“What about Symon?” Raffe asks before Stacia can object again. “It’s not going to be easy to get to him. Not in the middle of an armed rebel camp.”

“I think I know a way.” But I do not share it. I will trust Stacia and Raffe to help me end The Testing, I won’t trust them with my brother’s life.

Stacia crosses her arms and leans back. “Okay. So when do we start this plan?”

“As soon as I’ve decided about Ian and Enzo. Once we know the full team, we’ll be ready.”

We fall silent as a group of students approaches. Once they walk up the steps and enter the library, Stacia quietly asks, “Have you figured out how you’re going to test Enzo? Because if you know, this might be the time to do it. He’s coming this way.”

Sure enough, Enzo and Will are walking toward us.

Will spots us first. He waves and yells, “Should we be offended that you scheduled a study group meeting and forgot to tell us?”

Raffe laughs as he climbs to his feet. “It just figures. I finally get Cia to go for a walk with me alone and everyone turns up. A guy can’t catch a break.”

“Probably because Cia is smart enough to know not to be alone with a guy like you,” Will says with a grin as he reaches the library steps. “Colony guys are far more trustworthy. Don’t you think, Tomas?”

“Of course.” Tomas stands and gives Will a tight smile. “Although some of us are more trustworthy than others.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but some of us actually need to get some studying done. We can’t all be like Cia and have our homework already completed,” says Will. Stacia rolls her eyes at me and turns toward Enzo. “Do you guys have time to compare answers on the physics homework? I think I might have gotten number ten wrong.”

“Sure.” Enzo gives her a shy smile. “I struggled with that one too.”

Stacia gives us a triumphant smile as she leads Enzo and Will up the steps into the library, leaving Tomas, Raffe, and me behind.

I wait for Tomas to tell me what he found in the stadium offices. When he doesn’t, I realize it is because Raffe is here.

“I told Raffe what happened at the stadium today,” I say. “You can tell him what you found.”

Tomas studies Raffe for several beats before saying, “There are files on every past graduate of the Biological Engineering program. They aren’t very detailed, but they do list the internships that former students worked on, as well as locations and the length of every job assignment postgraduation. The last time Dreu’s file was updated was five years ago when he began work on a reverse mutation research program headed up by Ranetta Janke.”

Ranetta. The leader of the second rebel faction. Whatever Dreu’s current involvement with her, it’s no wonder Kerrick and Marin were concerned when out of the blue someone asked about him. They thought that by attacking Tomas and me, they were protecting the rebellion, which makes me feel even worse about their deaths. They died for nothing because they did not know we were all on the same side of this cause.

But learning of Dreu’s connection to Ranetta also makes me feel more optimistic. If Dreu is with Ranetta in the rebel camp, Zeen may be able to track him down. The common tie to Five Lakes could help Zeen convince Dreu of the true nature of the rebellion. He could be enlisted to help Zeen in removing Symon. If that doesn’t happen, then it will be up to Stacia, Raffe, Tomas, and me to finish what we will soon start.

“Has anyone noticed Kerrick is missing?” I ask Tomas.

“No, and I doubt they will until tomorrow at the earliest. Kerrick and Marin were together most of the time they weren’t in class. The people in our residence won’t be concerned if they don’t notice him around. We just have to hope the other University members of the rebellion don’t start looking for him.”

The sky rumbles. Several more students approach the library and look at us as they hurry past. The rain will be here soon. “We might want to move this conversation,” Raffe says. “Especially since it looks like we’re drawing notice from one of your friends inside.”

I look toward the library and see Will’s curious face peering out.

“I want to get back to my residence anyway,” Tomas says. “I have some things I need to take care of before this project starts.”

The wind whips strands of my hair free from the tie I have fastened it back with as we start toward the residences. Raffe must understand that Tomas and I need a moment alone, because he walks more slowly until we are twenty feet ahead.

Quietly, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“Sure.” The lie is obvious, maybe just because I was there today and I’m not okay, either. Although, I’m not sure that I should be. That either of us should be. Focusing on the future has helped me build a wall between my thoughts and my feeling about what has happened. But at some point, I know that wall will break. When it does, who knows if I will ever be okay again.

“Remember what you told me,” I say. “We’re going to get through this together.” My fingertips brush his.

Tomas goes still. After several long moments, the tension goes out of his shoulders. When he nods it is accompanied by the dimpled smile that never fails to tug at my heart. “Together.” His fingers close over mine for a few seconds before he walks away.

I watch him as he approaches his residence, and feel Raffe come to stand beside me as Tomas disappears through the front door.

“Is he okay?”

“Today was rough,” I say.

“It’s going to get rougher.” The sky rumbles. “Do you think he’s going to be able to handle it?”

“Tomas won’t let us down.” No matter the cost.

Despite the threat of rain, Raffe decides we should continue on our “walk” for a while longer. In case anyone is monitoring our movements, it should look as though we got interrupted by Stacia and Tomas and now are able to spend time together as we intended. What we really are doing is looking for the best way to get off campus without being noticed.

We spend the next hour walking along the north and east sides of the University grounds as the rain-filled clouds grow closer and the sky darkens to black. To the west and south are rips in the earth caused by the Sixth Stage of War. Too wide even at their narrowest points to cross, they provide a natural barrier.

A Safety official stands under an illuminated solar lamp outside The Testing Center. It’s hard to tell if there are any officials in the shadows in between that building and the next ones we pass, but we spot another not far from the stadium and three between the stadium and the Tosu Administration building on the far northeast side. The officials must assume the eight-foot-high black iron fence will keep students from leaving, because we don’t see any sign of them along that side of campus until we reach the southeast corner, where four officials stand on the road under the iron archway that marks the entrance to the University.

“We’ll have to go over the fence,” Raffe says as the first raindrops hit. “The grove of trees that we passed not far from the Tosu Administration building will provide enough cover for us to get over without being seen.”

“Yes, but we won’t be able to take our bikes.” It will be hard enough to reach all the people on the president’s list without also having to travel on foot. I wrap my arms around myself and pick up my pace as a drop of rain lands on my forehead. “Maybe we can lure some of the officials away from their posts.”

“A distraction might get them to leave their posts long enough for us to get by, but it won’t take them long to figure out they were duped. The minute they do, they’ll be after us. How long do you think we’ll last out in the open city streets? We’re going to need a place to hide at least for a few hours until the initial search dies down.”

“I’m pretty sure I found one. Remember the street I asked you about yesterday?” The drops begin to fall harder as we race up the path toward the residence. A streak of lightning illuminates the horizon as we step inside.

“Well, that was just about perfect timing,” Raffe says, wiping the rain off his nose.

“Perfect for what?” I ask, tucking a damp piece of hair behind my ear.

“For having dodged the deluge.” He laughs as he shakes the water from his hair like Scotty Rollison’s dogs do back home. “I guess I’ll think of an umbrella next time.”

“If there is a next time.” The sound of Will’s voice makes us both turn. “Enzo and I were wondering where the two of you went. He wanted to talk to you about the History assignment you got today. He just went to grab a book from his room. He’s going to meet me back in the common room.”

“If you see him before I do, let him know I’m going to change into something dry,” I say with a deliberate look at Raffe. “I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.” I head down the hall. Behind me I hear Raffe say that he’s going to change clothes, too. He’s right behind me as I start climbing the steps.

A loud bang echoes in the building. My foot misses a step as the source of the sound slams home. Not thunder. An explosion. I regain my footing and run up the stairs, not caring about the pain that streaks through my leg.

I hear shouts. Doors slam as students who were in their rooms come out to see what has happened. I hit the third-floor landing. Raffe is still right behind me. The smell of smoke and sulfur is heavy in the air. Raffe yells for everyone to go downstairs until someone checks to make sure everything is safe. That this must have been caused by the storm. A dozen girls exit their rooms and hurry down the stairs. A few cast glances at me as I disregard Raffe’s suggestion and race down the hall.

Smoke rises from the crack at the bottom of my door. The small piece of paper I used to warn me of another’s entrance lies on the floor. The lock is engaged, and I fumble with the key until it slides home and the knob turns. Smoke pours into the hallway. I cough as I step into the room. Through the smoke, I spot the outline of someone writhing on the floor of my bedroom as his clothing is eaten by flames.

I drop my bag onto the floor and hurry to see if I can help Griffin. Because it has to be him. He’s the one who has been following me. Who hates me. Who was enlisted by Professor Holt to find a reason to remove me from this school. I yank blankets off my bed and throw them on top of the whimpering form to smother the flames and realize the body beneath the covers is too small to belong to Griffin. And the voice that screams for help . . .

I pull the blanket away and see dark hair that has been burned away at the front of the scalp. A hand blistered by the explosion reaches out to me as I look into eyes glazed with pain and whisper, “Enzo.”

Chapter 12

CONFUSION. SORROW. ANGUISH. Tears fill my eyes as I run to the bathroom and douse a towel in water. Enzo broke into my room. He went through my things and failed the test that was intended for Raffe. After our Induction experience and the way he tried to protect me after Damone’s death, I don’t understand how this could be. Placing the cool, wet fabric on his angry, red-looking arms, I want to ask why, but the pain on his face and the way his body begins to shake make that question fade. All I want to do is stop the pain. To turn back time so I can dismantle my test before Enzo can find it.

“Cia.” His voice is barely audible through clenched teeth. “I’m sorry. I thought . . . Stacia said . . .” He coughs, takes a shallow breath.

Stacia. Did she think I was taking too long to make a choice? Did she decide this should be Enzo’s test, or is this her way of drawing attention to me so that my plan to help the president—our plan to end The Testing—will fail?

“It’s going to be okay,” I say, because he needs to hear the words and I want to believe them. But it isn’t. Because here he is, burned. Maybe dying.

I dig through my bag for the ointment I have been using on my leg. It won’t be enough to heal these kinds of wounds, but it might make them more bearable. Once I find the small tube, I have no idea where to begin. There are red blotchy patches on his face, arms, and hands. Other burns can be seen through the holes singed into his shirt and pants. There is a charred black area on his cheek that looks as if the skin has been seared beyond repair, and the tissue around his eyes has already begun to swell, making his eyes look small and incredibly vulnerable. The bomb I built did what it was designed to do. Stacia drove Enzo here, but I am to blame for this.

A pulsing, high-pitched sound makes me jump. Someone has activated the residence’s emergency siren.

“Cia, help is coming.” A hand digs into my shoulder and shakes me. “Cia. Do you hear me?”

I look up through my tears to see Raffe’s face looking down. “I’ve put out the rest of the flames and have told everyone coming up the stairs to go outside, but that siren means officials are going to arrive soon. They’re going to come here to your rooms and see what’s happened. Do you understand what this means?”

“It means they’ll help Enzo.” I feel a moment’s relief and then realize that I’m wrong. Raffe isn’t telling me that Enzo will get medical attention. His words are a warning. University officials will be here soon. They will ask questions about what happened and why I created a device that caused this kind of injury. Enzo broke into my room, but I am the one who will pay the price if I don’t leave.

“I have to go,” I say.

It takes two tries to rise to my feet. Raffe moves to help me but I shake off his hands. I walk to my wardrobe, grab my extra boots and another change of clothes to add to the one already in my bag. I pull my jacket on to protect me from the rain. Then I look around rooms that still contain a haze of smoke. Books. Papers. Writing utensils. Many items have been burned, but some were untouched by the flames. They are what have defined me and my goals for most of my life. There is no way to carry more than the paper and pencils I already have stored in my bag, and even if I could, I will have no use for anything else now. Today I am being forced to leave behind the books and the knowledge they contain. From now on, I must have faith that I have learned the lessons I need to take the next step.

“What happened in here?” Ian yells from the doorway.

I have no answer to give, but I’m thankful Raffe does. Over the shrill siren he yells back, “Enzo broke into Cia’s room. He must have been trying to set some kind of trap. It backfired. We figured it would be best if we got out of the way. Right, Cia?”

Ian looks to where Enzo lies shaking on the floor. Then back at me. For a moment he seems conflicted. Then he slides his hand into his coat pocket. When he removes it, a gun is wrapped in his hand.

Enzo moans on the floor. Officials must be arriving now. My time to flee is running out. I need Ian to let me go.

“I know you’re one of the rebels,” I say. “The one Michal told me would keep me safe.”

“Michal would understand. The rebellion has to come first.”

“Michal can’t understand, because he’s dead,” I scream. I think about the listening device behind the wardrobe and lower my voice as much as I can while still allowing myself to be heard. With the emergency sirens blaring and officials on their way, I doubt anyone is listening to what is happening in here now, but I don’t want to reveal more to those who are spying on me than I have to. Lightning flashes in the window. “Symon killed him when Michal gave him proof the president could use to end The Testing. I know, because I was there.”

“I was, too,” says Raffe, standing next to me. His hands are clenched at his sides. I know he is waiting for the right moment to strike. Ian doesn’t know it, but he is now in as much danger as we are in from him.

The gun in Ian’s hand shifts downward as he looks from the open door behind him back at me. “That’s not possible. Symon—”

“Symon is working with Dr. Barnes,” I say. “He’s not trying to stop The Testing. He’s working to make sure the people who want to stop it are controlled and then killed. I’m trying to make sure that doesn’t happen. If you want The Testing to end you have to let me go.”

Voices can be heard over the din of the sirens. Coming up the stairs or down the hall. The time I have to escape is ticking down. If I don’t leave now, The Testing might never end. My brother could die and everything I have done will have been for nothing.

I see Raffe put his hand into the side pocket of his bag and nod at me. I shift my feet and prepare for flight, but before Raffe can attack, Ian yells, “Cough.”

Raffe stops and looks at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Start coughing. Both of you.” Ian shoves his gun back into his pocket and takes two steps toward me. “I need you to trust me or you won’t make it out of here.” He leans down and puts one hand around my back and the other behind my knees. Before I know what he intends, he sweeps me and my bag into his arms and hurries toward the door, yelling, “It’s going to be okay, Cia. Come on, Raffe. We have to get her out of here. She can’t breathe with all this smoke.”

I go limp, close my eyes, and start to cough. Raffe coughs, too, as Ian carries me away from the smoke. From Enzo. From the damage I have helped cause.

“What happened up here?”

I force myself not to react at the sound of Professor Holt’s voice and wait for Ian to stop moving. But he doesn’t. He just yells, “Enzo set off some kind of explosive in Cia’s room. I need to get her away from the smoke.”

Raffe’s coughing tells me he is still behind us when Ian starts down the stairs. More than once someone bumps into us as they go to help Enzo. I keep my eyes shut tight as the chatter of voices grows as loud as the shrieking sirens. Students yell above the screech of the alarm to find out if anyone knows what is happening. Ian screams for people to get out of the way. Before I know it, I feel moist air on my face.

“She’s fine,” Ian yells. To whom, I’m not sure. The change in his words makes me stop coughing. “She got overwhelmed by the heat and the panic downstairs. But Professor Holt asked me to tell the rest of you to come upstairs. Someone’s burned really bad.”

I open my eyes as two officials head into the building, leaving Raffe, Ian, and me alone outside the residence.

“We have to leave,” I say as Ian sets me on the wet ground. “Now.”

“I think I can buy you five minutes,” Ian says. “After that, there’s nothing I can do.”

“You can’t stay here. There’s a listening device planted behind the wardrobe in my room. Whoever put it there will know I told you about Dr. Barnes and Symon.” Even if they didn’t hear the rest, that will be enough to put Ian in harm’s way.

Ian looks back at the residence, then shakes his head. “If someone was listening, I’ll just have to find a way to talk myself out of trouble. I’m not leaving. If you’re right, the students who follow Symon are in danger. I can’t go without letting them know.” Ian puts his hand on the door. “I’ll stall the officials but it won’t be for long. You have to hurry.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I run as rain again starts to pour out of the sky. Raffe reaches the vehicle shed first. He grabs my bike from the rack and wheels it out to me.

“What about yours?” I ask.

“Two of us will have a harder time leaving campus without being seen. You’ll have a better chance avoiding notice if you’re by yourself.”

“What will you tell Professor Holt? She knows you were with me.”

“I’ll come up with something. Don’t worry. I’ll meet up with you tomorrow. I promise.”

I unfasten my bag and pull a hand-held pulse radio from inside. “Make sure this stays dry. You should be able to contact me with it.”

Then I put the strap of my bag over my head and climb onto my bike as the rain pounds down.

“Wait.” Raffe puts a hand on my arm. “You should take off your bracelet. Otherwise they’ll be able to track you. I can plant it in one of the University buildings so they’ll think you’re hiding here on campus.”

That’s a good idea. But as I look down at the bracelet on my wrist and the symbol that was meant to signify who I am now and the future I was to have, I shake my head. “I can’t get rid of it yet. There’s something I have to do first. Remember the building we talked about. If I can get off campus, that’s where you’ll find me. It’s time to act.”

My feet bear down on the pedals. Rain pelts my face and soaks my clothes as my bike picks up speed. Over the bridge. Onto the walkway. Away from the sirens that still cut into the night. Through the rain, I think I see running lights of skimmers approaching in the distance, so I steer my bike onto the grass, away from the street lamps and into the shadows. Although I am not sure I can truly be safe ever again.

The wet ground slows my progress, but soon I spot the fence that marks the right side of campus. There I get off my bike and wheel it toward the arching entrance to see if Safety officials are still keeping watch there. I shield my eyes from the rain and peer into the darkness. When I see no one, I pick up a rock and throw it as hard as I can onto the roadway. It cracks against the pavement and then skitters across the ground until it comes to a stop. If anyone had been standing guard, they would have come to investigate. Enzo has inadvertently caused the diversion Raffe and I had discussed.

I start to get back on my bike but remember something I need to do. I pull out my pocketknife, a flashlight, and my pulse radio. I use the radio first. Making sure the dial is set to Tomas’s frequency, I turn on the recorder. Quickly, I tell him what happened and that I am now outside the University’s boundaries.

“Once they realize I’m gone they’ll come looking for you. Leave your bracelet in your room. I’ll be waiting three blocks directly east of the entrance gates. Please be careful. I’ll see you soon.”

I press Send, shove the radio back into my bag, and turn my attention to the identification bracelet. Remarkably, my fingers are steady as I detach the slick metal from my wrist and flip it over to expose the back. I hold the flashlight in my mouth so I can see what I have to do next.

Using the smallest knife tool, I wedge it into the seam of the center disc of the bracelet. It takes several tries and I cut my finger before the back pops off and I am able to remove the tracking device.

After putting the knife and the flashlight back in my bag, I refasten the bracelet to my wrist and throw the tracking device into the middle of a small group of bushes situated near the fence to my left. Then I ride three blocks and look for the group of trees and bushes that I spotted on the way to my internship. Part of me wants to ride as fast from my tracking device as I can. I don’t want to get caught. But I can’t leave without Tomas. I’m hopeful he will have already seen the indicator light shining. If so, he’ll be here soon. If not, I intend to wait as long as I can.

The clump of bushes I’m looking for is at the end of the third block, a hundred feet from the road. I get off my bike and drag it with me into the middle of a thicket of evergreen boughs. I sit on the ground with my knees pulled tight against my chest. Thunder echoes above. Between the lack of moonlight and the misty rain, visibility is poor. Now that I have nothing to do but sit and think, tears begin to fall. And I let them, because this might be the only time I have a chance to release the feelings inside me. Bitter tears for Enzo. For Kerrick and Marin. For Damone. For Michal. And even more for me. For the girl who was raised to love and respect life and has since been forced to kill.

The tears keep coming as the sky clears. At some point, Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt will find the tracking device near the campus entrance. They will know I am no longer on campus. Will they believe I have done what Tomas has suggested and gone home? Will they send someone to Five Lakes? Will they believe my family when they say they have not seen me? If not, what will become of them and everyone else in my colony? Because the people I know there will not stand by and allow my family to suffer at the hands of whichever officials arrive. They believe in peace, but I have no doubt they will fight if necessary. They will fight and keep fighting.

I can do no less.

I take a deep breath, wipe the tears off my face, and try to think. Part of me wants to head for the rebel camp and find my brother. He was the one I always turned to when I needed help solving a problem. Even if he didn’t have the answer, he always made me feel more confident and in control by discussing the dilemma with me. But I can’t go to him now. If the students who attacked in the stadium are any indication of the lengths to which the rebels will go to ensure nothing threatens their cause, going to the air force base will only lead to trouble for Zeen. Even if I could find him, my brother would insist on my leaving Tosu City, which is something I can’t do. Besides, he is in the perfect place to remove Symon when we are ready. Until then, I will have to rely on myself to think things through.

I doubt Dr. Barnes and Symon will allow me to roam free for long. Once they begin to search in earnest, President Collindar will be unable to intervene on my behalf. Not without making them aware of her interests. Starting tomorrow morning, word will reach the president and her team, and I will be cut off from any assistance on that front. This means if I need anything from the fifth-floor room, I have to get it before sunrise. And now I know what I will need.

If only Tomas would arrive.

According to the watch on my bag, it has been two hours since Tomas, Raffe, and I parted ways. So much change in so little time. The minutes crawl by as I peer through the branches toward the roadway that leads to the University gate. If I’m to reach the president’s office before a search for me is launched, I have to go now or risk being spotted and captured.

Still, I wait. I need to know that Tomas is safe.

Ten more minutes pass. I picture Tomas being caught. Questioned. Injured. Worse. Part of me wants to ride back onto campus to find him. But I stay put and squint into the shadows.

There.

I see the outline of a figure riding a bicycle. I know it’s him. Turning the frequency knob on my pulse radio to the one that Raffe uses, I shove the radio into my bag and then crawl through the mud out from my hiding place. I pull my bike free from the branches and wheel it toward the roadway. Tomas looks over his shoulder, toward the University entrance. Looking for someone chasing him or for me?

The second he spots me he stops his bicycle, climbs off, and whispers my name in the dark. When I reach him I throw my arms around his waist and squeeze tight, so grateful that he is safe and here with me now.

“I was worried you’d leave when it took me so long to get here.” Tomas presses his lips against my forehead. “There are lots of skimmers and Safety officials on campus, especially near the residences. I had to double back a lot in order to avoid them. Are you okay?”

“We have to get out of here.” Reluctantly, I step out of his arms.

“If you’ve changed your mind, we could still leave. Five Lakes—”

“I’m not going back to Five Lakes.”

Tomas takes a deep breath and nods. “I didn’t think you would, but I’d hoped . . .” He looks past me, down the roadway. Despite his desire to see The Testing ended, he wants more than anything to go home. To forget. I understand that longing, but there is no forgetting what we have seen and done. The only way to live with our actions is to end the very thing that caused them. Or die trying.

He sets his shoulders and asks, “Where do we go from here?”

I climb onto my bike and say, “First to the president’s office. There are weapons there that we’ll need. Then we’re going to hide in a place where no one will find us and plan our attack. If the others get off campus, they’ll meet us there.”

I can tell Tomas wants to question me further, but there isn’t time. I push off and begin to pedal down the darkened roadway, scanning the area for any movement near the buildings that we pass. The structures in the area immediately outside the University are used by professors and their families, although a few are designated for use by colony officials and scientists who have come to Tosu City. Since it is approaching nine o’clock, past the time the law allows the use of electricity in nongovernment and University buildings, the houses are dark. Here and there I see a flicker of light coming from a window, telling me some families are using candlelight.

The clouds dissipate and the moon appears. It is only a sliver, but even that meager, hazy light helps us move faster than we otherwise could. It is hard to spot the places where the road has fallen into disrepair. But we continue to head southbound, toward the heart of the city.

Everything about this journey, us riding bicycles, Tomas’s breathing, and the nervous clench of my muscles, reminds me of the fourth phase of The Testing, when Tomas and I had only our wits and each other to help us survive. Perhaps it is because I remember how we beat the odds that I do not feel the same fear now that I did then. And strange as it seems, for the first time since I was selected for The Testing, my actions are my own. Yes, Dr. Barnes and his officials will be searching for me. Yes, President Collindar expects me to do a job that almost everyone in my colony would find unthinkable. But my flight from the University means I no longer am accountable to either of them. For the first time in a long time, my life is in my own hands. Though I can’t know if that life will last much longer than the next couple of days, I at least know that this time belongs to me.

Chapter 13

THE TRANSIT COMMUNICATOR and the lights from the windows of the government buildings in the center of the city guide our travel. The residential neighborhoods we ride through are quiet. We hear nothing to give any indication of pursuit. Still, I find myself casting glances over my shoulder and pushing my legs. We need to get to the president’s office and leave again before the search for us extends past the University grounds.

Because government officials are known to toil late into the night, I have little doubt there will be people working on the president’s projects when I arrive. If I am lucky, they will not question my presence. They will, however, wonder about Tomas, which is why I lead him to the building where Michal once felt it was safe to talk.

“You won’t be allowed to come into the building with me. You can stay here,” I say, testing the door. When it opens, I heave a sigh of relief.

While individual offices and rooms are often locked, the doors to most buildings are kept unfastened because of what happened during the Fifth through Seventh Stages of War, when chemical-laden rain fell from the sky. People caught in those downpours sought shelter, but those who were not near their homes or vehicles succumbed to the toxins in the deadly rains because they had nowhere to take cover.

I wait for Tomas to protest. He only warns me to be careful and hurry back.

Using one of the windowless rooms inside the building, I change into fresh clothes from my bag and untangle my hair with my fingers. I walk back toward the front door and into Tomas’s arms. I hug him tight before striding out. While the streets we rode coming here were empty, here in the heart of the city I spot several skimmers as they travel to or from government buildings, as well as two people in the distance traveling on foot. I store my bicycle in the holding rack and walk into the building with my shoulders straight and my head high. As if I belong here.

One of the two Safety officials inside the foyer looks up from his log and gets to his feet to verify my clearance. His movements are annoyingly unhurried as I pull up the sleeve of my jacket and display the bracelet on my wrist.

He checks his clipboard and nods. I force myself to keep a moderate pace as I head for the stairs and start climbing. Still, I am out of breath when I reach the fifth floor and punch the code into the keypad next to the door. Once again I find myself in the storage room, taking stock of the inventory. But this time, instead of avoiding the weapons, I reach for them.

I open a box of bullets and reload the gun Raffe gave me. I then slide several boxes of ammunition, three additional handguns, and several long, deadly-looking knives into my bag. This isn’t The Testing, when I could only choose three items to keep me alive. Now I can take whatever I can fit in my bag. I turn and walk toward bins containing canisters of explosive powders and chemicals. Seeing the explosives makes me think of Enzo. I can’t help wondering if he is still alive and whether the medical team will be able to keep him that way and repair the damage he has suffered. I hope Raffe will have the answers to those questions when next we speak. Until then, I cannot let the memory of Enzo or the guilt I feel stop me from doing what must be done.

Stepping closer, I inspect the explosives and other containers on the shelves.

My insides curl as I carefully add three canisters to my cache. Finally I turn and look at the technological devices. My fingers itch to take them all, since these are the tools I understand best. But my bag is almost full. So I take three tracking devices that are tuned to the same frequency as the monitor in my bag. I am not sure if Raffe will be able to meet Tomas and me or if I will come into contact with Zeen. But if I see them and we are all forced to separate during the hours and days ahead, these devices will give me a way to find them. After one last look around, I lift the strap of my bag onto my shoulder and walk out of the room, hoping I have not left behind anything I need.

Aside from the sound of my boots against the gray tile, everything is quiet as I head for the stairs. On the third-floor landing, I pause when the murmur of voices reaches me. I’m tempted to walk down the hall to see if anyone there knows whether the president really did postpone her Debate Chamber proposal and if the search for Michal continues. But as much as that information would help me understand what is happening with the president, I cannot afford the time or the risk of being seen by too many people. I continue down the stairs.

I am crossing the lobby when I see the front doors open. Several officials in ceremonial purple and red walk in. The two Safety officials near the front desk stand as one last person enters.

President Collindar.

There is nowhere to hide.

Stepping to the side, I tilt my head down in what I hope looks like a respectful gesture. My hair fans out on either side of my face, giving me some cover, but when the president looks my way, I see her eyebrows rise. I hold my breath. Has she heard about Enzo? Will she decide that my being on the run makes me more of a liability than an ally?

“Official Dresden.” Though the president is addressing one of the Safety officials, she takes a step toward me. “Can I see the list of all personnel who have checked in tonight?”

The official takes the clipboard off the desk and hands it to her. She looks down at the list and then back at me. “It’s nice to see that so many of our staff are dedicated enough to overcome the concern Official Gallen’s disappearance has caused. The increased number of Safety officials that I have just ordered to participate in the evening patrols should also ease fears. Don’t you think?”

When the Safety official agrees, President Collindar hands the clipboard back to him. “I’m hopeful this upheaval will be smoothed over and things will return to normal. We need everyone from the Debate Chamber to focus clearly on our proposal.” With an almost imperceptible nod in my direction, the president turns and heads down the hall. “Fredrik, what can we do to convince Nigel’s department to vote with us? I’ve heard they are wavering and might be willing to come to our side if given proper incentive.” Her officials trail after her, debating ideas, and I head for the door.

As I step out of the building, a black skimmer passes by. The white seal on the door marks it as a Safety and Security vehicle. One of the extra patrols President Collindar just warned me about. The fact that she chose to give me such a warning speaks volumes. Some of the Safety officials who roam the streets are doing so to reassure the Tosu population. But there must be others who are searching for me.

I duck back into the entryway alcove and stay there until the skimmer has disappeared down the street. Then I head for my bicycle. Coasting, I approach the roadway that leads to the building where Tomas is waiting and only turn when I see no one is around.

I click on my flashlight when I walk into the building, shine it down the hallway, and whisper Tomas’s name. He doesn’t appear. My heart stills. I whisper again. Panic resonates in my voice. Finally I see someone step out of a doorway on the right, far down the corridor. Tomas.

“Sorry,” he says, walking through the shadows toward me. “I decided to see if there was anything on this floor we could use. Did you find what you needed?”

“I saw the president. She warned me additional Safety officials have been added to the evening patrols. We have to be careful when we go to the next location. Once we get there, we should be safe.”

“Where are we going?” Tomas’s hand finds mine in the dark.

“Someplace no patrols would go.”

Tomas exits first. He waits several moments before motioning for me to follow. Then we climb onto our bikes and ride. Twice we stop and crouch behind bushes or duck around the edges of buildings to wait for a skimmer to pass us by.

The buildings we pass grow smaller. Tomas asks if I am sure we are going the correct way. I know he is concerned that we have veered to the north. The same direction as the University. I check the Transit Communicator and assure him that we are on course.

When my front wheel hits several holes in the pavement, I know I have found the street I have been searching for. In the dim moonlight, I study the dilapidated, graffiti-laden houses on either side of the roadway to find the one I entered two days ago.

“That one,” I say, pointing to the small one-story structure. After taking a closer look, I pick up my bike and walk carefully across the grass to the back of the house. Tomas does the same.

Tomas leans his bicycle against the wall and then walks to the door and eases it open a crack. Just enough for us to squeeze ourselves and our bicycles through.

We search the house as I did the first time I was here. Aside from several puddles of water in the bedrooms where the ceiling leaks, the place looks the same. Tomas turns the faucet on in the bathroom to check if it works. The water that runs into the sink is tinged with orange. I find the pile of clothing in the same place I left it, and when I pry up the floorboards I see the folder I hid there.

My muscles tremble as I place my bag and the folder in the corner of the room. Tomas pulls a blanket out of his bag and spreads it in the middle of the dust-coated floor. Since the windows are boarded up, we leave the flashlight on as we sit down. I lean my head on Tomas’s shoulder and snuggle close. There is so much we need to talk about, decisions to be made—but now that I am relatively safe, fatigue makes it hard to speak. Tomas doesn’t seem to want to talk either. Instead, he just holds me. I don’t know how long we sit like this. Ten minutes? Twenty? All the while I keep my eyes closed and imagine us back in Five Lakes, in a time and place that made sense. But as much as I try to hold on to the idea of us sitting near the fountain in the Five Lakes square, surrounded by all things familiar, the images of Michal’s bloodless face, Kerrick’s and Marin’s corpses, and Enzo’s burned body will not stay out of my mind.

When I shiver, Tomas holds me tighter and asks, “Are you okay?”

I shrug and burrow closer, but Tomas won’t allow me to hide. His hand lifts my chin so that I am forced to look at him. In his eyes I see the same sadness I feel. But, I also see love. His lips brush mine. Once. Twice. The gentleness of his touch makes me want to cry.

Tomas leans back and looks at me again. His fingers brush my cheek, wiping away a tear I wasn’t aware had fallen. When his lips find mine again, they are still gentle, but instead of kindness, the kiss shimmers with desire. I snake a hand around the back of his neck and pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

There is nothing more I want than to feel this way forever. I allow myself two more kisses before easing away from his touch. If it were just about this moment, I would allow myself to get lost in Tomas’s embrace. If it were just about us, I would forget what tomorrow could bring. But I want a future that can happen only if we are successful in what we intend to do.

My breathing comes fast and my pulse pounds as I look up at Tomas, worried he’ll be upset that I pulled away. But his face is filled with tenderness as he asks again, “Are you okay?” The same question, but this time he’s asking about us.

I swallow hard and nod. “Are you?”

My breath catches when he doesn’t answer right away. Tomas webs his fingers through mine, holds my hand tight, and says, “It’s only been eight months since we left Five Lakes, but it seems longer. So much has happened. Some of it we understand, and much we don’t. But there are two things I am certain of. I love you and you love me. We’ll figure out what that means for us after all this is over. Until then, I’m grateful we’re here together. Okay?”

I lean up to kiss him. Then I grab the flashlight, walk over to my bag, remove the weapons, and dig out the pulse radio. The message light is on. The first voice I hear when I press Play is Raffe. He sounds raspy and is speaking so softly I have to strain to understand him.

“Professor Holt called a meeting for everyone in the residence. The medical team thinks Enzo will recover.”

One of the knots inside me eases.

“We’ve been given an order to report any sighting of you to the Safety officials or to Professor Holt. Any student who aids in your capture will be rewarded with the presidential internship and a special independent study with Dr. Barnes.”

Tomas takes my hand and I squeeze his tight. All students, including my friends, have now been given two reasons to betray me. If Stacia’s intent in testing Enzo was to help instead of hinder, I doubt she is still willing to aid in my plan. Not with an easier path to success in front of her. Frowning, I rewind and replay the last part of Raffe’s message. “Stay safe. Let me know if I should meet up with Stacia. I’ll do what I can to join you tomorrow.”

The recording ends but the light doesn’t go dark, which means there is at least one more message.

“Raffe didn’t ask you to tell him where we’re hiding.” Tomas frowns. “Did you already tell him how to find this house?”

I shake my head. “I told him about the street, but not which house we’d be in. He didn’t ask to confirm the location in case the signal was intercepted.” I changed the frequency to one I believe is not typically used, though there is always a chance another pulse radio within reception range could pick up the signal. But there is one person who I know has a pulse radio tuned to the same signal. I push Play again and hear her voice.

“I got Raffe’s message. Enzo must have decided to find the recording. Sorry about that, but I guess it’s better to know now if he can be trusted. Right?” Stacia’s tone is matter-of-fact. “Raffe, if you get this I’ll meet you first thing tomorrow morning so you can tell me where to find Cia. See you all soon.”

The light goes dark as the message ends. Stacia wants to know where to find me. In order to join in the fight or to report me to Professor Holt and receive her reward for that betrayal?

“Now what do we do?” I ask. “I don’t know if we should work with Stacia, and I can’t leave a message for Raffe without her getting one, too.” Will Raffe believe she is supposed to come here with him tomorrow? “I don’t know how to tell him to make sure to leave her behind and not let her know where he’s going.”

“You can’t.” Tomas looks at the radio on my hand. “Stacia knows too much to be left behind. She knows who is on our side and who our targets are. If we cut her out of the plan now, she will probably tell Professor Holt and Dr. Barnes everything she knows. By leaving her behind, we’ll decide her loyalties for her. And let’s face it, we need her.”

“But—”

“There’s no way we can do this alone. We need all the help we can get, and Stacia’s proven she’s willing to do whatever it takes. Including turn on us if that’s the only way to be rewarded for her actions. It’s better to have her with us where we can see what she’s doing than wonder what she’s up to.”

Tomas has a point. I selected Will to be in my Induction group for the same reason, but then I knew we had the same agenda. Stacia wants to be rewarded for her actions. Who she plans on seeking that reward from—Dr. Barnes or the president—is still in question. But at the moment we have no choice in the decision we must make.

Pressing Record, I say, “Both of you be careful. I hope to see you tomorrow. And Raffe, if you have trouble, ask our other friend for help. He might know how to get away without being seen.”

“Ian?” Tomas asks.

I nod. “I don’t think he’ll leave the rebels, but he helped me get away tonight. I think he’d do the same for Raffe and Stacia.”

“That still leaves the problem of how Raffe will find us. All the windows are boarded up, so we can’t see when they arrive. You said there are people living on this street. Some might not react well if strangers come too close to their dwellings. How are Stacia and Raffe supposed to know which house we’re staying at without knocking on doors and alerting the people who live here to our presence?”

Good question. With the people on this street trying to live in the shadows, I’m sure they will not want the attention we could bring on them. To keep a low profile, they might ignore us, but it would be best not to test that hypothesis.

As I consider the problem, I put the radio back in my bag and catch sight of the painting Raffe gave me. Of the symbol he created that gives an identity to what we have planned. Seeing the crisscrossing slashes of yellow gives me an idea. Digging through my bag, I find the black charcoal pencils I carry and say, “I’ll be right back.”

“What are you going to do?”

“This house is covered with graffiti,” I say, handing him the flashlight. “I’m just going to add a little more.”

Tomas helps shift the door wide enough so I can slip out. The night is quiet. Clutching the pencils, I walk slowly to the end of the structure. I peer around the edge. The street is empty. Nothing moves. But that could change at any moment, so I have to do this fast.

I carefully make my way to the front of the house, pick a spot on the stoop that is bare, and begin to draw. My artistic abilities are lacking. The lines I create aren’t filled with the same raw power as Raffe’s. But when I am done, the design in the center of the slightly egg-shaped circle is unmistakable.

Two crossed lightning bolts.

A symbol of power. Of the elimination of ignorance. And of a rebellion that must overcome insurmountable odds in order to succeed. A symbol that combines my past with my future. And the time has come for that future to begin.

Chapter 14

WHEN I GO inside, I try to hail Zeen on the Transit Communicator. Never have I wanted to hear my brother’s voice more. When he doesn’t answer, Tomas convinces me that we should sleep. Lying on the blanket with the Communicator near my head and our hands linked, I listen as Tomas’s breathing evens out and try to clear my mind so that sleep can find me too. But there are too many worries.

Eventually sleep comes. As always, in my dreams I see the faces of those who died during The Testing. I see those who have fallen since, too, as well as the faces of students back home who I know might suffer the same fate if I fail. In the middle of them all is Enzo. His burned hand reaches out to me as Stacia appears behind him. I jerk awake with the image of Stacia’s unreadable smile etched firmly in my mind. It is only the sight of Tomas next to me that allows me to lie back and relax enough to sleep again.

When next I wake, small beams of sunlight peek through the windows. They bathe the room in a pale glow. For a moment I smile. Then I realize Tomas is not on the blanket beside me. I sit up. Both our bags sit next to the ratty sofa. Seeing them makes me feel better as I get up and go in search. I find him standing next to a freshly cleaned counter in the kitchen, cutting up apples he must have taken out of my bag or brought from his own residence. When he sees me, a smile lights his face.

I take the apple slices he offers and realize the counter is not the only thing Tomas has cleared. The broken table has been removed and the floor has been swept.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to tidy up a bit and check out the place, since we might be here for a while.”

We both know most likely we will not be here long at all, but it is nice to pretend if just for a moment that we can relax. That this is our house. That we are eating breakfast at the start of a typical day.

“I ran the water in this sink for about five minutes. That seems to have flushed out the worst of the rust buildup. I was worried the noise would wake you. I’m guessing you didn’t sleep very well.”

I put a hand to my hair and smooth it down. “I look that bad?”

“No.” Tomas tucks a strand of wayward hair behind my ear. “But I had trouble sleeping. I figured you might have, too. Yesterday was hard.”

I take Tomas’s hand. “Today will be harder.”

His fingers tighten on mine. “I know.”

We sit on the blanket in the living room with the list of names, the apple slices sitting on a chipped but clean plate between us. I treat my leg wound with more ointment. I’m glad when I see it is not as swollen as yesterday, and rewrap it with a fresh bandage. Then, in between bites of apple, I explain what Raffe told me about the people on the list.

Tomas takes a pencil and crosses out the names that I have indicated, leaving the other five. “These are the ones we have to find.”

“I think that Raffe’s father and Professor Chen have information we need.”

“What kind of information?”

I explain about Raffe’s sister’s disappearance and his search for her and the other students who were Redirected from the University program. “I think The Testing candidates from the first two rounds of tests were Redirected to the same place as Raffe’s sister. If we get these officials to tell us what they know, we might be able to find them.”

As much as I want to end The Testing, I am equally determined to find those who have not lived up to Dr. Barnes’s standards. My eyes glance at the bracelet on my wrist. I no longer have a use for it, but I have yet to take it off. I may have need of it again, and it reminds me of something Ian said on the day I moved into the Government Studies residence. He said the scales of justice symbolize the need for government to balance humanity and kindness with law and justice. Maybe if I find some of the Redirected students alive, it will balance the deaths I have been and will be responsible for.

Taking the recorders out of my bag, I explain, “I think Professor Chen and Official Jeffries know what happens to the Redirected candidates. If we encourage them to talk, we can record the conversation.” That evidence might not sway Dr. Barnes’s most ardent government supporters to end The Testing, but it will give us what we need to find Raffe’s sister and everyone whom Dr. Barnes sent away. “Once we record what they know, we’ll restrain them. The president and her Safety officials can be in charge of them after we have completed our mission.”

Tomas’s eyes darken. “If they are as connected to The Testing as the president believes, keeping them alive isn’t an option. Not if we want The Testing to end.”

“It has to be.”

“Because one of them is Raffe’s father?”

“No.” Because watching Enzo in agony and seeing Kerrick die has taught me something valuable. While I’m capable of doing what is necessary, I’m not Dr. Barnes. “These officials have failed their country, but it’s not up to you and me to determine their punishment. If the president and the leaders of the Debate Chamber want them to be killed for their participation in and perpetuation of The Testing, they will have to be the ones to do it.” I have no doubt that the president will arrange for them to die, but their blood will not be on my hands.

“And what about the other three?” Tomas asks. “Do we detain them, too?”

“No.” The apple feels like lead in my stomach. “For them we have no choice. Symon’s hold on the rebels is too strong. Even if the Debate Chamber voted to remove Dr. Barnes and end The Testing, the attack Dr. Barnes and Symon have orchestrated would still happen. Who knows how many would die if that were allowed to take place? Zeen could be among them. If we want to end The Testing before Symon and Dr. Barnes have a chance to cause more death, we have no other choice. They have to be killed.”

Our eyes meet. In Tomas’s I see the resolve that matches my own. “Then let’s figure out how to do it. I brought some things I think will help.”

We empty our bags and lay our supplies on the floor. The apples, rolls, crackers, and cheese we put in the kitchen. Then we assess the rest. If Tomas is surprised by the weapons and explosives I’ve brought with me, he doesn’t show it. However, while he is willing to handle the guns, he avoids looking at the knives and flinches when I touch their handles. I move them to the side so he will not have to be reminded of Zandri every time he sees them.

Some of the items Tomas brought with him I expected—clothes, food, water, and the radio I adjusted for him. But I’m surprised to see specimen containers filled with plants, a mortar and pestle, two small burners, and matches. When he sees me blink, Tomas smiles. “I wasn’t sure what we would need, so I grabbed a bunch of plants from the lab before I walked out the door.”

I pick up the containers and look inside. “They leave this stuff lying around your residence?” While I understand the need for Biological Engineering majors to have easy access to the genetic materials they are asked to work with, some of the plants, like the Purple Poppy or the Pokeweed Roots, have properties that should be kept under lock and key.

“Some of it.” He shrugs. “My guide is in the advanced classes that study the best ways to negate the deadliest of the mutated plants. He prefers to work in a makeshift lab he created in one of his rooms instead of at the stadium. Our head of residence gave him special permission to take plants out of the greenhouse and work with them there. I went to his rooms to ask a question and had Kit drop by to distract him. While he walked her back to her rooms, I grabbed a few things out of his bag.”

Tomas and I separate the samples based on properties. There are three plants that will kill when ingested, two that are used most often as sedatives, and several that will be useful if any of us are injured.

I place the deadliest of the samples in the corner of the room. Then I take a seat next to the rest of the pile to figure out how to get the answers we need and eliminate Dr. Barnes, Professor Holt, and Symon—all in the next twenty-four hours. Raffe said that he and Stacia would join as soon as they found a way off campus. If we need them to bring supplies, we have to let them know in time to retrieve the message.

“Zeen will have to eliminate Symon.” My chest tightens as I realize that I still haven’t heard from Zeen.

“Even if he does,” Tomas says, “that leaves the four of us to question two on the president’s list and eliminate two others, all in one night.” Tomas looks at the array of materials next to us and frowns as he contemplates the difficulty of the task. “I guess we need to think of this like a mathematical proof. We understand the question. Now we have to list everything we know about the subjects, our skills, and the obstacles we face. Maybe then we’ll find a way to solve it.”

Easier said than done. There are too many variables: the extra Safety official patrols; our unfamiliarity with areas we will have to visit; no estimate on how long it will take to achieve our goal when we reach each location. It’s an impossible equation with our current numbers.

While Tomas goes to the kitchen to grab rolls and water for lunch, I hear a series of clicks. Zeen. I pick up the Transit Communicator, take a deep breath, and press the button.

“Zeen.”

“Cia.” Just hearing his voice brings emotions I’ve held at bay to the surface. But I cannot let him hear me sound weak or scared or he will come find me. As much as I want to see my older brother, I need him to stay where he is.

“How are the rebels reacting to the postponing of the president’s proposal?”

“According to Symon, everything is going forward as scheduled. If the president really did postpone making her stand on the Debate Chamber floor, word hasn’t reached us. The attack is still being planned for the end of this week.”

Which means we have to complete our mission before then.

“Anticipation of the attack has emotions running high around here. That’s why I haven’t been able to contact you. This is the first chance I’ve had to warn you. You need to get off campus. Part of the attack is going to happen there. I don’t want you caught in the crossfire,” Zeen says as Tomas walks into the room.

“Already done,” I say. “Something happened last night.” I shake my head. This isn’t the time to talk about Enzo. “Tomas and I were able to get off campus and are currently hiding while we wait for some of our friends.”

“Good. That’s good. If you stay where you are until after—”

“I’m not staying here. The president has asked me to help end The Testing and save the rebels and I’m going to try. But I can’t do it without you.”

“You shouldn’t be involved in this, Cia.”

“Are you kidding? I went through The Testing. I became involved in this the minute they chose me to come to Tosu City. There are things I’ve been asked to do that I hate, but I’ll do them because the alternative is even worse. You can’t stop me. But you can help me. Where is Symon now?”

“He’s meeting with his team leaders. Ranetta wants to start deploying the attack groups of her rebel faction around the city tonight so they’ll blend in. They don’t want anyone to question their presence before Friday, when the attack begins.”

Tomas takes the Communicator and asks, “Can you get close enough to Ranetta to talk to her?”

“Tomas? I would think if anyone could talk Cia out of this you could.” When Tomas says nothing, I give his arm a squeeze. “Ranetta’s pretty busy right now,” Zeen continues. “I doubt she has time for someone like me.”

“If you find a man named Dreu Owens, I bet you can convince him to get her to make time for someone from Five Lakes. He’s Magistrate Owens’s son, and we have reason to believe he’s working with the rebellion. Find him and he might be able to help you stop the attack or get you close enough to permanently remove Symon.”

“We need you to eliminate Symon, Zeen,” I say before my brother can reply. “None of us will be able to get close enough to kill him. We can take out Dr. Barnes and the others on the list, but Symon controls the direction of too many of the rebels. You have to take charge of his removal. Otherwise who knows what will happen next.”

Tomas and I look at each other as the silence on the other end stretches on. “Zeen?” I ask quietly. When he doesn’t answer I say his name again. “Are you there?”

“I’m here. Dad used to talk about Dreu. He liked to follow Dad around to learn how to engineer new plants. Dad said I rivaled Dreu in the asking-questions department. If Dreu’s here, I’ll find a way to enlist his help. If not, don’t worry. I’ll kill Symon myself.”

I close my eyes as feelings storm through me. Relief that Zeen will help. Pride that he is no longer speaking to me as if I am a child. And sorrow for making my brother vow to take a life.

I want to thank him but the words stick in my throat. How do you thank someone for promising to kill? I know that by doing so Zeen could die, and if he is successful, it will forever change his own life.

Swallowing hard, I tamp down the tears and focus. “We’re waiting for the rest of our team to arrive. If everything works out, we’ll begin our attack tonight.”

“Then I’ll try to be ready on my end. Signal me three times if you’re starting your assault. With luck, I’ll have found Dreu and will be in touch before then. And Cia . . . be careful.”

“You too.”

The Communicator crackles for a moment and then there is quiet. Worry festers deep in me when I think about the danger Zeen is in.

Since we still don’t know how many of us will be working to find our targets, I concentrate on one problem we are certain of. The extra Safety patrols that are traveling the Tosu City streets. As Tomas and I discuss this, I look at our supplies and have an idea. Since they have been instructed to keep an eye out for me, Tomas, and anyone we are with, the best way to go unnoticed is to make them think they have already found us.

Putting the three explosives containers I removed from the president’s storage room in front of me, I explain my idea. The Safety officials will have been told about the explosion in my room. If they hear an explosion somewhere in the city, I’m betting they’ll feel compelled to look for me nearby. We just have to make sure that the explosions occur in an area far away from our targets and that we are gone before they detonate.

For the next few minutes, Tomas and I go through the house looking for items we can use to make a timing device for the bombs we plan to build. A timer is trickier to create than the switch I used in my first bomb. That switch was manually operated. This device requires a remote so whoever places it has time to escape the blast. While I have never attached a timing mechanism to an explosive, I’ve helped my father create timers for irrigation systems. The principle behind them is the same and not all that complicated, but I’m not sure we have access to all the components we need.

Tomas and I find the electrical circuitry box in the kitchen closet and flip the main power switch to the Off position just in case. We widen a hole in the wall of the smallest bedroom and remove wires, circuitry, and switches. These will be valuable, but we still need a timer to trigger the detonation.

We go through the house again. When we come up empty, I unclasp the solar watch that I have hanging from the strap on my bag. I had hoped to find something else to use so that I would have a watch during our attacks. I will have to do without. So will Tomas. When he sees me opening the watch’s back panel, he offers his identical watch. Removing the inner workings, I find it fairly easy to locate and detach the alarm wires. Without a soldering tool, it takes more time and some experimentation with the Bunsen burner Tomas brought to attach new wires to the leads. I hook up the wires to one of the coil relays we salvaged from the house’s electrical system. When that is done, we construct a solar igniter similar to the one I built yesterday and complete the circuit with one of the solar batteries Tomas brought with him.

Once both timers are built, we decide not to attach them to the explosives just yet. We’ll keep the timer separate until we need to arm the explosives.

Now that we potentially have something that will distract the Safety officials, we discuss the other issues we face. Our unfamiliarity with the areas in which our targets live is a problem. Stacia is similarly hindered. Raffe knows the city better than we do, so he will have to act as our guide. But as Tomas points out, no matter how effective our distraction is, there’s no way all four of us can travel through the city unnoticed. We’ll have to split into two teams. I will lead one. The other . . . I guess we will have to wait and see if both Raffe and Stacia make it here before we decide who will take leadership of the other. Tomas would be the natural choice, but I don’t know how he will feel about separating from me. Regardless of who takes charge of the second team, we will have the pulse radios. Raffe will be able to help give directions if the second team gets turned around, and if something goes wrong, we should be able to let the other team know.

Knowing we will be divided into two teams, I take out my radio and record a message for Raffe to bring another flashlight if possible. While we wait for Stacia and Raffe to arrive, Tomas and I sort through the rest of our gear. Each of us takes two of the recorders that I lifted from the president’s fifth-floor room. Then we each place a bottle of water, some food, and one of the timers and canisters into our bags. We also take another look at the list and information sheets the president provided. Based on the coordinates of each personal dwelling, we decide to split the targets into two groups. One team will go after Professor Holt and Professor Chen, who appear to live less than a quarter of a mile apart. The other team will target Official Jeffries and Dr. Barnes.

“I think that’s as far as we can plan until the others arrive. If they don’t make it, we will have to split up. If they do arrive, the most logical approach would be to have Raffe on the team assigned to his father, since he grew up in that area and knows it well. But Raffe might not be able to handle that. We won’t know until we ask him,” Tomas says as we sit on the floor with our hands clasped between us. All day we have found ways to touch each other. A brush of the arm. A kiss on the cheek. I know we are storing up memories in case one of us is not here tomorrow. I can see in the intensity of Tomas’s gaze that he has accepted that possibility.

Tomas glances at one of the timers and sighs. “It’s starting to get late and there are still a few things I want to do before the two of them get here.” After brushing a quick kiss on my lips, he stands and grabs the mortar and pestle, the burner, and several of the plant samples and disappears into the kitchen. He comes back a moment later and takes the sample containers I placed to the side. Then he leaves the room again.

I rise and start to follow to ask him what he is working on. But then I stop. I trust Tomas to tell me what he is doing when he is ready. And I am glad for the solitude because I, too, have accepted that I may not live to see tomorrow, and so there is something I must do.

I take one of my charcoal pencils and several sheets of blank, gray recycled paper from the bottom of my bag. For a while I just stare at the pages. Then I begin to write. I don’t know if these letters will make it to the intended recipients, but writing them helps organize my thoughts.

To my father I explain that I failed in heeding his warning. That while I cannot live my life without trust, I have learned better whom to give that gift to and that the things I do now I do with those who believe what I believe. They, like me, cannot know what I know and allow a broken process to continue. I apologize if the choices I’ve made make him unhappy or cause him and the rest of my family trouble, but explain that I cannot live my life pretending what I know is not real. He taught me that even the most corrupt patch of earth can be transformed into a place where living things thrive as long as someone is dedicated to that cause. This is my cause. I cannot make plants grow, but I can commit myself to removing the corruption in this soil. Maybe if I am lucky, something strong and good will grow in its place.

Tears stain the page as I sign my name and move on to the letter for my mother. Hers is shorter but filled with love, as is the one for my brothers, including Zeen. Has he found Dreu Owens? Have they talked to Ranetta yet?

Forcing those thoughts to the side, I turn my attention to the final page and write. I have wiped away evidence of my tears and am sliding that paper into the side pocket of Tomas’s bag when he returns from the kitchen with four water bottles, two in each hand. He puts down the ones in his right hand, takes my pencil, and draws a circle on the side of those two.

“This one contains a steeped mixture of the new strain of Valerian and lavender.”

That combination should relax muscles and reduce pain. It could also cause some people to fall into a deep sleep. It should help if one of us is badly injured.

He puts one bottle in his bag, hands me the other, and then picks up the other two and marks each one with a large black X. “These have a combination of Rosary Pea, Pokeweed, and Oleander. This second bottle probably won’t be needed, but I thought it might be good to have in case of an emergency.”

I start to ask what kind of an emergency he envisions, but before the words can pass my lips, I understand. This bottle is not meant for the people on President Collindar’s list. It, too, is meant for us. If we are caught by Dr. Barnes or the Safety officials, Tomas intends to kill himself, and from the way he looks at me I know he wants me to do the same.

I swallow hard and force myself to breathe as shock turns to horror. Whether we succeed or not, our lives could be taken. But while I accept that might happen, I cannot and will not make the choice to end my own life. To choose death is to say I am done fighting. That I give up not only on myself but on everything I love. I think of the letters I wrote and know I could never willingly abandon my family.

However, though I am determined to fight to the end, Tomas isn’t me. I have seen the guilt and despair building inside him since The Testing. What happened at the stadium only darkened his sorrow. A seed of anger has kept him going, but Tomas’s fuse is reaching its end. Once the fire is extinguished, his drive to fight will be gone, too. Especially if he thinks the fight has been in vain.

So, as much as I want to tell Tomas to leave the bottles behind or to promise not to use them, I don’t. Instead, I take the bottle he offers and place it in the side pocket of my bag so it cannot be confused with the others. Taking a deep breath, I walk back to Tomas, stand on my tiptoes, and place my lips against his, infusing the kiss with all the love and understanding I can.

I barely register the click from the Transit Communicator as Tomas pulls me closer. It is only when the sound comes again that I understand.

“Zeen is calling.” I feel embarrassment heat my cheeks as I step out of Tomas’s embrace and reach for the Communicator. “Did you find Dreu?” I ask Zeen. “Is he there?”

“I asked a couple of people in my group. If Dreu’s here, he’s probably with Ranetta. A few of my friends are going to ask around for me since I told them Dreu and I are from the same colony. From what I can tell, he’s been working on medical research and syphoning off resources for the rebels whenever possible. It sounds like he’s not here very often.”

Which means Zeen will be on his own. “Can you find a way to talk to Ranetta without him? Maybe if you say you know Dreu?”

“I’ll try, but I’m not sure anyone is going to let me through to see her. Not now that things are so crazy. Groups of rebels are already starting to head into Tosu. If I’m going to get close to Symon, I need to do it soon. Otherwise he might leave the base. Once that happens, there’s no telling where he’ll go. But if I can get through to Ranetta before then, I’ll let you know. Rumors are running rampant that some of the attack groups have been given different schedules based on whether they are in Symon’s or Renatta’s faction, so the tension is pretty high. When are you planning on starting your attack?”

Until the others arrive, we cannot know for sure. But with the rebels being deployed and the chance that the order to attack may be delivered before the scheduled time, there is no other option but to say, “We’ll do it tonight. We plan on setting off a diversion to pull away the Safety patrols. Once you’re done with Symon, you should come here,” I say, and I read off the coordinates on the Transit Communicator. Zeen doesn’t know Tosu City at all. Unless he manages to convince Ranetta that killing Symon is necessary, he will be viewed as a traitor in the camp. He will need somewhere to hide.

“If I finish and get off this base, I’m not going to hide. I’ll be coming to help you.”

Not if I can prevent it. Since he won’t know where to find me, I consider this a promise he can’t fulfill.

“I have to get going, but Cia . . .”

“Yes, Zeen?”

His words are barely a whisper when he says, “I’m not sure when we’ll talk again, but I wanted to say—I love you. Be careful. Okay?”

Pressure builds in my chest and behind my eyes. “I love you, too, Zeen. And Zeen . . . don’t do anything crazy.”

“Who, me?” His bright laugh makes me smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’m counting on it,” I say. Despite the click from the Communicator, I continue to cradle it in my hands. As if holding it will somehow keep Zeen safe or bring him closer to me. Tomas tries to put his arms around my shoulders. I know he wants to offer me his support and comfort, but I pull away and walk to the other side of the room. While I love Tomas, I need to be alone with my thoughts of my brother.

I’m not sure how long I stand holding the Communicator, but the shadows on the floor have shifted when I hear the sound of low voices outside the boarded-up front door.

Someone is here.

“Tomas,” I whisper. When he doesn’t answer, I cross the floor and whisper his name again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he appears in the doorway to the living room.

Putting my finger to my lips, I wait for the voices to come again. When they do, Tomas stiffens. Unfortunately, they are muted, making it impossible to know if they belong to Safety officials, our friends, or someone from the neighborhood who has grown curious about our presence. Slowly, I cross back to my bag, slide the Communicator inside, and reach for my gun. The voices are gone, but I notice the indicator light on my pulse radio is lit. I show the light to Tomas, who nods for me to press Play.

“We’re outside. And we need to come in.”

Raffe.

I put down the radio but keep the gun firmly in my hand as we go into the kitchen and open the back door. The sunlight is intense. I have to blink to focus my vision. When I do, I see Raffe and Stacia standing in front of me. Raffe is balancing their two bicycles, and after one look at Stacia it becomes clear why.

She has been shot.

Stacia cradles one arm to her chest. The hand she uses to protect her injured arm is streaked with blood. Her face is pale and she sways on her feet. I hand my gun to Tomas and lead her to the blanket on the floor. I ease off her jacket and use my pocketknife to cut away her shirt from just above the elbow so I can get a better look.

I see Raffe and Tomas standing in the doorway and ask, “What happened? Did a Safety official try to detain you?”

Raffe and Stacia look at each other as Raffe says, “Not exactly. Ian scouted the area and let us know the Safety patrols were concentrated near the main entrance so we could go to the north side and get around them. He gave me an idea of the best path to take and went back to our residence to keep the rebel students there distracted so they wouldn’t notice that I’d left. Stacia and I were so busy avoiding the officials that we didn’t realize two rebel students had followed us.”

“It’s my fault.” Stacia winces. “They were fourth-year medical students. Both of them were known for hazing the first years. So I didn’t think anything of it when they followed me out of the residence. I went into the History building so they’d think I went to class. When they walked away, I thought they’d lost interest in me. But they were waiting for us on the road outside the main campus exit.”

While I am fairly certain Raffe has at least one weapon in his possession, I am amazed he was able to find a way to use it and get away after being taken by surprise. When I say so, Raffe shifts uncomfortably and says, “Actually, we didn’t get away from them on our own. We had some help.”

“Ian?” Tomas asks.

“Me,” says a familiar voice from behind us.

Dread grips me as I turn toward the doorway in time to see an unmistakable figure stride into the room, wearing a wide smile.

Will.

Chapter 15

GREEN EYES MEET mine. For a moment I can’t breathe as I remember the way those eyes glittered with calculation during The Testing when Will shot Tomas and turned his gun on me. I had thought he was my friend. I had thought he was on my side. I had been wrong.

I drop Stacia’s arm. My fingers wrap around the wooden butt of my gun as I stand. No one says a word as I raise the gun, wrap my other hand around the handle for balance, and take aim.

Will doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look to the others for help. His eyes stay fixed on me. Waiting for whatever I decide to do next. My brain tells me to shoot. I cannot allow Will to betray me again. I won’t let Zeen be caught as a rebel traitor and killed. Will cannot be trusted. There is no choice but to eliminate him.

But I do not fire. Because for some reason Will saved Stacia and Raffe. Just as he saved Tomas and me on the plains when we were attacked. Why? During The Testing, Will decided to eliminate the competition in order to better his chances of being one of the twenty selected for the University. He could have allowed Roman to kill Tomas. He could have waited to see if I had the nerve to kill before stepping in to save us. He could have stood by and allowed us to die.

But he didn’t. Ever since my memories returned, that fact has haunted me. Will wanted us dead. Yet he saved us despite his intent to kill. And now here he stands, calmly awaiting my decision after coming to the aid of two of my friends.

No, I am wrong. Though there’s a lack of emotion on Will’s face, he is not calm. The grip he has on the strap of his bag has turned his knuckles white. That and the rapid breaths he takes speak of the emotions swirling beneath the surface. But he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t plead for his life.

“You remember.” The words are barely a whisper, but the way Will flinches tells me he has heard. Still, I say the words again in case I am wrong. This time my voice is firm. As is my need to understand this boy who has done good even as he has deceived. “You remember The Testing.”

“No one remembers their Testing,” Stacia snaps.

But Will doesn’t look at her. His eyes hold mine while he says, “Not exactly.”

“But you remember something,” Tomas says, taking a step closer to Will.

Despite Tomas’s obvious anger, Will doesn’t move. His voice is steady when he says, “I remember enough to know that I’ve earned whatever punishment you and Cia think I deserve. Whatever you decide, I’ll accept.”

“What are you all talking about?” Stacia asks, trying to climb to her feet. Raffe hurries to help her up, but she pushes him away. “Why would Cia and Tomas want to punish you, Will? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Yes.” His voice is quiet but firm. “I have.”

It is that calm acceptance of what he has done and the punishment he deserves that makes my finger ease on the trigger. If Will were angry or defiant or belligerent I would shoot. But I find myself remembering the boy I first met during The Testing. The one who heard me confess that I didn’t finish one of my tests. Instead of ridiculing me or rolling his eyes as so many of the other candidates would have done, he thanked me for being willing to admit the truth. I saw Will’s heart break when his brother didn’t make it through the first Testing phase. I watched as he killed the boy who was about to kill Tomas in the fourth test, and I know that it’s thanks to his insistence that I was freed from the locked metal box Damone wished me to die in during Induction.

Which is the real Will? The one who coldly killed or the one who helped me live? I don’t know.

Slowly, I lower my gun. Tomas frowns as I ask him to get me a bottle of water from the kitchen so we can tend to Stacia’s wound, but he does as I ask.

As Tomas leaves the room, Stacia shifts, winces, and says, “I don’t understand. How do you remember your Testing? No one else does.” Stacia looks at me. “Do you? Do both of you?” she adds as Tomas walks back through the doorway. Anger flashes from her eyes.

I choose my words with care. “During The Testing, I discovered a way to record some of what happened. I found the recording and started to remember.”

“What about Tomas?”

“The memory-erasure procedure never worked on me.” He sits down next to her and wets a cloth with water. “I’ve always remembered.”

Tomas starts to wash Stacia’s wound but she pulls away. Jerking her head toward Will, she asks, “What did he do?”

“I killed people during the fourth test,” Will says. “Then I tried to kill both of them.”

“Well, I guess that tells us you need to work on your aim.” Stacia winces again but jerks her arm away when Tomas tries to tend to it. “How about me?” she asks, glaring in my direction. “Did I do anything that would make you want to shoot me? Or aren’t I allowed to know what happened?”

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I only talked to you once during The Testing. You were with Vic and Tracelyn during the fourth test. You and Vic completed that test. Tracelyn never did.”

“Do you think I killed her?” Stacia asks. The resentment has faded from her eyes, leaving only pain behind. Pain from the wound or from the thought of committing the murder of someone she knew? It’s impossible to say.

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully again.

“But you think I must have. Otherwise, why else would I be here, right?” Before I can reply, she turns to Tomas and asks for the wet cloth so she can clean her wound, saying that she is the most qualified owing to her field of study. Tomas hands her the cloth but stays nearby as she begins to dab the blood away.

The set of Stacia’s jaw tells me she is done asking questions for now, so I turn back to Will and ask, “When did your Testing memories return?”

Will shrugs and sits on the ground next to the wall. “Right after Dr. Barnes told us we’d been accepted to the University. When I looked around and didn’t see Gill in the room, I knew something was wrong.”

I remember that Will had to be restrained and was taken away by officials when he realized his brother wasn’t there. It took days before he returned.

While Will explains the flashes of memories he experienced, Stacia lets Tomas help finish cleaning up the bloody wound. I shift closer so I can see it. The hole made by the bullet isn’t large. Perhaps a half inch in diameter. Maybe less. But the swelling and red rim around the injury are concerning. As is the blood that continues to trickle out. Since this is the only puncture in Stacia’s arm, I have to conclude that the bullet is lodged inside.

Stacia comes to the same conclusion and decides to bandage up the arm instead of doing anything more to treat it. “I can’t dig the bullet out myself. And even if I could I’m sure it would do more harm than good. I wish I had broken into the residence pharmacy and taken some of the good pain meds. All I have are some anti-inflammatories.”

“I mixed some herbal remedies with water,” Tomas says, taking the bottle marked with a circle out of his bag. “It’ll take away the pain, but there’s a chance it will also put you to sleep.”

Stacia looks at the bottle and shakes her head. That simple movement makes her wince. In a strained voice she says, “I think I’m going to need a clear head for this. But if you don’t mind, I’ll hold on to it for later.”

When Tomas hands her the bottle, she opens it and smells the contents. After a moment, she asks him to pour some of the liquid on one of the bandages she brought with her. I pull the ointment from my bag and hand it to Stacia for her to use on the wound as well. The easing of tension in her shoulders tells me that the combination might be enough to help get her through what is to come.

Before we discuss that, there is still something I have to know. “Why did you tell Enzo about the pulse radio in my room?”

“If I give the wrong answer are you going to threaten to shoot me like you did with Will?” She gives me the same smile I remember from The Testing dining hall. “Is this my test, Cia?”

“Would you pass?” I ask, conscious of the gun in my hand. “Not only was Enzo burned and almost killed, but it happened in my room. If it weren’t for Ian, I would have been detained by officials. I might even be dead right now. You set that up. I think it’s fair to ask why.”

Stacia looks around the room. All eyes are on her. “When we went into the library, Enzo started asking a lot of questions about you. He said he was worried that you might be doing something that could get you in trouble with Professor Holt and he wanted to help. I figured it was the perfect opportunity. You hadn’t come up with a test, and there wasn’t any more time to waste. So I told Enzo you had found some recording that you thought was important and were trying to decide whether to turn it over to the president. He went after the recording and proved he wasn’t on our side. I’m sorry he got hurt, but I did us a favor.”

“All you proved was that Enzo wanted to see what was on that recording,” I say. “You have no idea what his motives were.”

“Cia’s right.” Will speaks up from his spot in the corner. “Enzo could have been worried enough about Cia that he was willing to risk punishment in order to learn what trouble she might be facing.”

“Or he could have been spying on her and was looking to collect a reward for turning information over to Dr. Barnes,” Stacia shoots back.

And we may never know. As much as I want to believe Enzo will pull through, I saw how badly injured he was. It is impossible to imagine the pain he will endure and how he will survive it in order to come back from that.

“Worrying about what’s been done isn’t going to help us now,” Raffe says. “Enzo will recover or he won’t. We can’t change that outcome. The only thing we can do is learn from the mistakes made and make sure we don’t make the same ones in the future.” When no one contradicts him, he adds, “The only way to prevent something like this from happening again is to agree that one person makes the final call on how we move forward from here. And the only reason we’re having this discussion is because of Cia. She pushed for information about The Testing and found the truth behind Symon and the rebellion. The president asked for her help. Cia is our leader. From my position, whatever decision she makes on something should be final. Does everyone else agree?”

Will is the first to nod. Not that what he thinks truly matters, since he is not a part of this. Not really. Tomas studies Raffe and then gives his assent, which leaves only Stacia. I still do not know whether she believes in this cause or if she is only doing it for a reward she thinks she’ll be given once it’s over. Whatever her reason, it is clear she is not happy when she sighs and says, “Fine. Now can we talk about what we plan to do next? We don’t have much time.”

I push my worries about Stacia to the side. Now that the others have arrived, we are faced with two unanticipated problems. Will’s presence and Stacia’s injury. Tonight will be physically and emotionally challenging. I don’t believe Stacia can handle it in her condition. However, I am certain she won’t allow herself to be left behind. And from the way Tomas is acting, it’s clear he is unwilling to discuss strategy with Will in the room. But we really don’t have a choice.

Raffe doesn’t seem to have the same concern since he asks, “So now what?”

Tomas and I look at each other. I can tell he doesn’t want to talk, but as this group’s leader the decision is mine.

Taking a deep breath, I tell them about my brother and what is happening now in the rebel camp. Raffe and Stacia merely nod when I mention Zeen. They listen as, pulling out the list, I explain the strategy Tomas and I have devised. Two teams. Four targets. All to be reached between dusk and dawn, starting tonight.

“But we might have to revise that plan now that Stacia is injured,” I admit. “Maybe Ian . . .”

“No.” Stacia shifts and winces but says, “I’m going. You can’t force me to stay behind.”

“She’s right,” Raffe says. “We need all of us to make this work. Even if we could get word to Ian, I don’t think he’d leave campus. He’s determined to talk to as many of the rebel students as he can and sway them to ignore Symon’s orders. If Stacia thinks she can handle this, then she should try. If she starts having problems then we’ll deal with it.”

“Fair enough,” Stacia agrees. “So which one of you is going to be lucky enough to team up with me?”

“I will,” Tomas offers. “Out of all of us, I’d be the best one to help with the pain if it gets too bad.”

That’s not the real reason. The look Tomas gives me as I start to object tells me I’m right. Any one of us would be able to apply ointment or dab on some of the plant-doctored solution that Tomas has created. But while I am sure Tomas would prefer to face what this night will bring together, as we faced so much of The Testing, doing so would force us to trust the two members of the other team to do exactly as they say they will. Tomas does not fully trust Raffe. I do not trust Stacia. Knowing that, this pairing is the only one that makes sense.

Raffe asks, “Who’s going after Symon?”

“Who’s this Symon?” Will asks.

“He’s someone who works with Dr. Barnes.” Considering that enough explanation, I turn back to Raffe. “My brother is taking care of Symon.”

Raffe studies me for a moment and nods. “Even without Symon, I’m not sure we can cover all the ground that needs to be covered in this time frame.” He glances at the map I drew earlier with the locations of the targets. “If we want to draw the Safety officials away, the explosions will have to happen in the unrevitalized area on the other side of the city. Just avoiding the Safety officials is going to make getting there a challenge. Especially since they must be looking for all of us by now. Then add in the time to scout locations where we’re certain no one will be injured and set the explosions . . .”

“You need someone the Safety officials aren’t looking for to set the explosions,” Will says from the corner. “I volunteer.” When I shake my head, Will says, “The Safety officials aren’t searching for me. I can make it through the city faster than you can. We saw the outskirts of that area of the city during Induction, so I know where I’m going. And no one will think twice if they see me after the explosions go off. They’ll be looking for the four of you, only you won’t be on the city streets. When I’m done, I’ll come back here and be ready to help if you need it.”

I hate that he makes sense. If he were anyone else . . . “You’re not a part of this,” I say.

“Of course I am. They took my brother. And even if they hadn’t, I’d still be part of this.” His normally pale face is flushed with passion. “I know I gave you reason to doubt me. The Testing showed me things about myself. Things I’m capable of doing. But it’s because of what I learned that I know I can handle this job.”

I wait for Tomas, Raffe, or Stacia to say something, but they don’t. Stacia’s flat stare says it all. I am the leader. I decide. I feel the weight of this decision as it settles on my shoulders. Unless I ask for their opinions, they will leave it up to me. Me. The youngest of all of us. Yet, one thing I have learned since coming to Tosu City is that age does not guarantee better decisions or stronger leadership. The ability to put aside personal agendas and decide what is best for the whole does. That is what I now have to do.

Do I trust Will?

No.

Do I believe he can accomplish what he has volunteered to handle?

Yes. As long as he chooses to carry through with the plan. However, if he decides to run to the nearest University official in order to better his position after he graduates from the University, we will all pay the price.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open them. “Tomas and I built the timers this morning.” I get up and cross to where the timers and explosives sit. After picking up one of the timers and a canister, I walk over to Will. “You’ll need to attach them when you get to the sites. One needs to be set to detonate at seven. The other should be placed a mile away and explode a half-hour later. That should convince the Safety officials to focus their search on that side of the city.” Handing him the timer, I add, “We also have a third explosive that doesn’t have a timer—”

“You can’t possibly want him to do this. Think of everything he’s done to us.”

“I know what he’s done, Tomas. But I also remember what I’ve done too,” I say. “What we’ve both done. Dr. Barnes and The Testing are the reasons Will was put in a position to commit those acts. Will’s here. He’s capable. He deserves a chance to prove that he isn’t the person Dr. Barnes’s tests turned him into.”

All of us deserve that chance.

“I’ll show Will how to arm the timers.” Deliberately, I turn my back on Tomas, signaling the discussion is closed. I can feel his anger and hurt. But if I am to be our leader, I cannot allow my feelings for Tomas to get in the way. So I demonstrate the timer to Will and explain how it is to be used with the canister.

Will explains the process back to me, asks several questions, and then checks the watch he wears on his wrist. “It’s getting late, and I have a lot of ground to travel. I need to get going. If these things are as loud as I think they’ll be, you’ll hear whether or not I’m successful.” As Will carefully packs the canisters in his bag, I walk to our stash of supplies and select a long, sharp knife and a loaded handgun.

“Here,” I say.

I can feel Tomas’s eyes on me as I hand Will the weapons. Will’s hand closes over the butt of the gun and he tucks it in his jacket pocket. The ammunition goes into the side pocket of his bag, along with the knife and its smooth, deadly blade. I take Stacia’s radio from her and pass it to Will. His hand closes over mine and stays there.

“Thank you.” His expression is grim. Determined. “I won’t fail you this time. I promise.”

“Be safe,” I say as he takes the pulse radio out of my hand. “We’re counting on you.”

“I know.” Will turns away from me and walks to Raffe to ask his opinion about strategic locations to place the canisters.

Then, armed with Raffe’s instructions and the weapons I have given him, he walks to the doorway, turns, and smiles. In that smile I see the boy who befriended me during the first test. That’s the boy I am counting on.

“I’ll let you know when I’m in position,” he says. With a wink, he turns and heads out the door.

“How’s that feel?” Tomas asks behind me.

When I look over, I see Stacia flexing her arm and nodding. “Better. I would never have thought of putting some crushed Valerian directly on the wound.”

“That’s why you doctor types need biological engineers to help you come up with the new drugs.” Tomas smiles.

She smiles back. “Well, I hope Enzo’s getting some of this right now.” She looks at me. “I really did think I was doing the right thing by testing him. I never thought he’d break into your room and get hurt. Otherwise, I would have warned you first.”

Her regret is for causing me trouble. Not for the injury to Enzo but for choosing a path without checking with me first. She believed I was taking too long to make a decision and did what she thought was necessary for us to succeed. I will have to remember that as we move forward. To keep Stacia from making decisions on her own, especially ones I do not agree with, I will have to make choices with more speed. If we come through this, I doubt I will ever be able to call Stacia my friend again. But just because I personally cannot feel comfortable with her doesn’t mean she is incapable of doing what I need her to accomplish. If I have to be a stronger leader to make her do it, then that’s what I will do.

Straightening my shoulders, I say, “We have two hours until Will sets off the first explosion. We need to be ready. We need to decide which team—”

“No, we don’t,” Raffe interrupts. “My house will be harder to find for someone who doesn’t know the area. Besides, I need to be the one to deal with my father. Tomas and Stacia will take the other two targets. There are several landmarks that will help you know you’re on the right track.”

For the next ten minutes, Raffe gives Tomas and Stacia directions to their two targets. Professor Chen’s house is near a small pond. Professor Holt lives only three blocks away in a large house surrounded by a tall wooden fence.

“Professor Holt never travels anywhere on foot. If her skimmer is parked in front of her house, you’ll know she’s home. If you can find the key to the skimmer, use it. Safety officials won’t stop a University vehicle.”

Tomas and Stacia ask many questions. I try to hand the Transit Communicator over to Tomas, but he shakes his head and says I need it to connect with my brother. Tomas says that if he and Stacia need help, they will send a message for Raffe. His knowledge of the city is more useful than the Communicator, which can’t tell them what landmarks to look for.

It is six-forty by the time our bags are packed, plans have been coordinated, and Stacia and Tomas feel confident they can navigate the city streets quickly. I hold the Transit Communicator, hoping to hear from my brother. Instead, the message light on the pulse radio blinks to life. Will. The first charge is in place and ready to fire. Time for us to go.

Raffe and Stacia walk to the kitchen to get their bikes as I stare at the letters for my family that sit on the floor. When I look up, Tomas hasn’t moved. He just looks at me. The silence stretches between us. In a few minutes we will separate. Once that happens, there’s a chance we might not be together again.

“I love you.” I cross over to him and look up into the face that is so dear to me, memorizing the curve of his jaw and the shape of his eyes. Standing beside him, I am struck all over again by how tall he is. How safe he makes me feel. I cling to that feeling as I reach out and take his hand. He stiffens but does not pull away. And when his fingers tighten around mine, I feel complete.

“I love you too,” he says. The anger is gone. Only concern remains. “Stay safe.”

“We’ll see each other soon,” I promise as we walk outside.

The sun is fading as we wheel our bikes out of the back door and around to the street. A child playing in a yard down the block sees us and runs up the stairs and inside. I look at the Communicator in my hand. Zeen still hasn’t contacted me. Is he alive? Has he killed Symon? Have the rebels started a search for him or are they even now spreading out among the Tosu City streets, waiting for a sign to begin their attack? Worry gnaws my heart, but there is nothing I can do but hope he is safe and focus on what must be done.

I climb onto my bike. My gun is in my jacket pocket. Tomas takes my hand as the four of us stand on the road, waiting. I glance at the house next to us and in the fading light see the symbol etched on the stoop. Two lightning bolts. Two teams. The end of ignorance. The beginning of hope.

I glance at the watch on Raffe’s wrist. Five minutes until seven.

I see a door to one of the houses open a crack. Part of me considers waving so they’ll know we aren’t threatening, but I understand that showing they have been spotted will only cause more anxiety. So I keep my eyes focused on the time.

Four minutes.

Three.

Two.

Somewhere to the west there is a rumble. The signal that the rebellion—the one Dr. Barnes never intended to truly exist—has begun.

Chapter 16

I LOOK DOWN at our joined hands and then up at Tomas as I try to memorize everything about this moment. We got through The Testing together. To succeed now we have to part.

“Are you ready?” Raffe whispers.

I swallow hard and after one more moment force myself to let go of Tomas’s hand. “Keep your radio close. Leave a message if you’re in trouble or if you’ve finished one of the tasks.”

Tomas and Stacia nod and point their bikes to the north. I watch them ride down the block as I press the Call button on the Communicator to tell Zeen we are starting our part. When the two of them ride to the left and disappear from view, I turn my bike and head in the opposite direction, trying not to think about what might happen to Tomas.

Raffe leads the way. As the shadows lengthen, we zigzag around potholes, turn west, and keep riding. I catch sight of the white markings on a skimmer door in the distance. The vehicle belongs to a Safety official. But it never slows or turns in our direction. Whatever distraction Will has provided is enough to keep the skimmer pointed toward the west.

Raffe continues the fast pace. We spot another Safety skimmer in the distance and slow down. It, too, passes without incident. I wonder if Zeen is still at the rebel base and whether Tomas and Stacia have avoided the patrols as Raffe turns down the next street. This one is filled with large houses painted pale shades of blue or gray with white trim that shines bright even in the dimming light. Each structure sits on a plot of grass that is a healthy shade of green. The trees here are young but grow straight and true. Down the block kids race around a lawn, playing tag. Someone yells for them to stay close to the house.

A door opens to one of the blue houses. Raffe waves at the elderly woman who steps out the front door onto the porch and then looks at me as the lady waves back. “That’s Mrs. Haglund. She’s not wearing her glasses, so most likely she hasn’t the slightest idea who I am. Even if she does, she’s hard of hearing. I doubt she has a clue what’s going on in Tosu or that Safety officials are looking for us. My parents’ house is this way.”

We turn down another block. The houses here are even larger than the ones we just passed and are more widely spaced, so that each one has an expanse of grass and trees on every side. Raffe stops as we reach the third house. He gets off his bike and starts wheeling it up a wide walkway that runs alongside the blue structure made distinctive by the large white pillars that frame the front door. He walks with his shoulders straight. His gait is unhurried. It’s as if he belongs here. Which I suppose he does. I try to mimic his behavior as we lean our bikes up against the rear wall of the house.

“My father is typically in his office at this time of night.”

“What about your mother?” I ask.

“Once we all graduated, my father decided that they no longer needed to use power after the designated hours the rest of the city follows. So she goes to a friend’s house after dinner and doesn’t come home until well after nine. They’re the only two who live here. We should have time to do what needs to be done.”

Raffe glances at his watch. Seven-twenty. Ten minutes until the next explosion is set to go off. I check the pulse radio. No messages. Are Tomas and Stacia standing at the back door of Professor Chen’s house right now? Is Tomas turning the handle and stepping inside a kitchen as we do? Raffe closes the door behind me, reaches into his bag, and pulls out his gun. I engage the recorder and hand it to him. Nodding, he slides it into his pocket and then waits until I clutch my own gun before moving forward. I follow. Through the kitchen into a dark hallway that opens into a large living area.

Every step we take echoes in my head. I listen for sounds that Raffe’s father is home, but aside from our breathing and my pounding heart, I hear nothing. Raffe leads me down another darkened hall. He doesn’t turn on the flashlight as he moves confidently toward a closed door, beneath which a sliver of light glows. I hear papers rustling and ignore the way my muscles tense as I think through the strategy Raffe and I discussed. When we reach the door, Raffe touches my arm. I feel around the wall for the door he said was just outside his father’s office.

There. I find the handle, turn it, and slip inside a small bathroom. I leave the door open so I am ready to act if necessary, and wait for Raffe to take the next step. My breathing comes fast as I hear a handle shift, a door creak open, and Raffe say, “Hi, Dad.”

“Raffe.” In the deep voice I hear surprise and relief. “Verna said . . . well, it doesn’t matter now. I’ll contact her and let her know that you’re here and not off somewhere causing trouble with those colony students.”

“What kind of trouble?” Raffe asks.

“It’s not important. What’s important is that you’re here and that Verna and Jedidiah will see for themselves that you aren’t involved in this mess. Of course, you should have known better than to leave campus when you’re forbidden to do so. Your lack of judgment has caused people to question your loyalty. Do you know how that reflects on me?”

“I know where my loyalties lie.”

“Be that as it may, Raffe, you can’t just assume that my reputation will protect you from the consequences of your actions. I will not interfere with whatever punishment Dr. Barnes requires for this visit.”

“I didn’t expect you would. After all, you didn’t help Emilie. Why would I think you’d help me?”

“Your sister had to take the examination on her own. There was nothing I could do to help her pass.”

“You knew she would fail and you let her take the test anyway.”

“The rules—”

“Dr. Barnes was prepared to break the rules to keep Emilie from taking the entrance exam because he knew what we all did. That Emilie not only didn’t want to attend the University, she didn’t belong there. I heard him make the offer. You turned him down. Where is Emilie now, Dad?”

The question hangs in the air. When Official Jeffries answers he sounds less confident. Warier. “You know where your sister is. She was assigned to a job in Five Lakes Colony.”

I hear Raffe laugh. The sound is devoid of humor and makes my blood run cold. “Are you aware that two of the students you were worried about me leaving campus with are from Five Lakes? Until they were selected for The Testing, they’d never met anyone from Tosu City.”

“They were mistaken.”

“No, they weren’t. Dr. Barnes offered to allow you to remove Emilie because he was worried you couldn’t live knowing what the consequences would be if she failed. What are those consequences?”

I hear the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. A loud slam. Scuffling feet and the shatter of glass. I step into the hallway but I don’t move toward the room—not yet. Raffe told me that he would call for help if he needed it and that I wasn’t to come in otherwise. His father would never talk about the Redirection of Testing candidates and unsuccessful University applicants around me. The wall trembles as something heavy is slammed against it. Then everything goes still.

Through the open door I can see an overturned armchair and the corner of a desk. I hold my breath and listen. Nothing. I take one step closer when I hear Raffe ask in a low, angry voice, “What happened to Emilie? Where is she?”

“She’s doing important work to help revitalize this country.” Raffe’s father’s voice trembles with defiance, but under it I hear fear. I want to see what has caused the terror, but I don’t want to interfere. Not when Raffe is so close.

“Where? And are The Testing candidates who failed there, too?”

“It doesn’t matter where she is. What matters is that Dr. Barnes has allowed these students to contribute to our society in a meaningful way. They weren’t strong enough to become leaders, but they are still able to assist our top scientists in understanding the worst corruptions that were inflicted upon our world and our race. It’s because of her and the other students that we’ve been able to make such great strides in reversing some of the minor human mutations.”

“Emilie isn’t a scientist. She’s not working in some secret lab, conducting experiments that will fix everything caused by the war.”

“Of course she’s not running the experiments.”

My chest tightens as I understand what Raffe’s father is saying.

“Then what is she . . .” Raffe’s voice trails off. Has he come to the same terrible conclusion I have? If the failed Testing and University candidates are not in charge of the experiments, the only thing left for them to do is to take part in them. “You’re running experiments on them?”

“Our best scientists are using the resources provided in order to fix the worst of the chemical and biological damage caused by the Seven Stages of War.” Resources. The word makes me shiver, as does the conviction in Official Jeffries’s voice—which grows stronger with every syllable. “Anyone who has seen the worst of the mutations understands why we’ve allocated some of our most promising resources to this project. Over the years, we’ve learned that subjects who can articulate the changes they experience are more useful than those who have no concept—”

The crack of a bullet makes me jump. I flatten against the wall as four more blasts echo in the house. Once the shots stop, I race toward the illuminated doorway. Gun raised, I prepare to fire. But I stop as I cross the threshold and see Raffe standing in the middle of the room, looking down at the figure sprawled on the woven gray carpet. Raffe doesn’t move as I cross the room and kneel next to the man staring blankly up at the ceiling. I should feel horror at what Raffe has done. Up close I can see the resemblance. Same thick hair. Same square jawline and cheekbones. But there is nothing but a sense of sympathy as I check his pulse and confirm what I knew the minute I saw the bloody hole in the center of his forehead. Just as the president requested, Official Rychard Jeffries is dead.

“I didn’t want to kill him,” Raffe says in a dull voice, his eyes focused on the man whose blood he shares. “I wanted to think that my father wasn’t as much a part of this as Dr. Barnes and the rest. But I was wrong. He is, and he didn’t deserve to live.”

The gun in Raffe’s hand trembles. In the warm light, his face looks pale. Strained. The same expression I’m sure I wore when my knife punched into Damone’s chest. Will told me once that the decision to kill is easy but living with it is hard. I understand those words now better than I did then, which is why I slowly rise and hold out my hand. “Why don’t you give me the gun, Raffe?”

“I’m not going to shoot you, Cia.” His attention does not shift from the ashen face lying at my feet. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

It’s not me I’m worried about.

“I know.” I keep my voice soft and soothing, the way I used to do when I handled one of the baby animals my father helped bring into the world. “Give me the gun, Raffe. Just for a few minutes. You should go to the kitchen and get some water. That will help.”

Will it? I don’t know. If nothing else it will get him out of this room. Raffe might hate his father now, but from what he has said, I know there was a time he felt love and admiration for the man. Soon those emotions will catch up with him, and when that happens, I’m not sure what Raffe will do.

I take another step forward and uncurl his fingers so the gun drops into my hand. When Raffe doesn’t acknowledge my actions, I push aside my sympathy and sorrow. Yes, he needs to grieve. He needs to come to terms with what he has done. But this is not the time. A large clock on the wall tells me Will’s second explosion should have detonated fifteen minutes ago. Whatever cover those explosions has given us will soon expire. The officials may understand that we are using them as a diversion, and widen their search. Raffe managed to get a large piece of the information we needed from his father. Had he not fired, we might have gotten more. I wish I could have guessed what Raffe would do when he heard the truth. If I had . . .

I push away the regrets. If we survive this, there will be time enough to sort through them. But now we must move on to the second part of our mission—Dr. Barnes. And since I only vaguely know the area he lives in, I cannot get there on my own. I feel uncaring for thinking of more than Raffe at this moment, but it can’t be helped.

I take the recorder out of Raffe’s jacket pocket, switch it to the Off position, and say, “We’ve done as much as we can here. We need to go.”

My words are cold. Hard. Raffe’s head turns toward mine. Shock and tears glisten in his eyes. For a moment I worry that I will not be able to get him to move. That I will have to leave him behind and continue on my own. His eyes close. His jaw clenches, and when he opens his eyes and nods, the tears are gone.

“You’re right.” He turns his back on his father’s body and heads for the door. “Let’s go.”

Raffe doesn’t look back, but I do. I put the guns I hold in the side pocket of my bag and briefly study the man on the floor. Rychard Jeffries helped shape, revitalize, and educate this country. What he explained to Raffe is terrible, but he must have done good things along the way to achieve the position he held. Raffe’s passion and his dedication to his sister are proof that not everything Rychard Jeffries did was bad. For that alone, he deserves to be remembered.

I find Raffe washing his hands in the kitchen. He offers me a glass of water and I take a drink, then remove the radio from my bag.

The message light is on. Will’s voice tells us that he has completed his part and is headed back toward the house. The rest is up to us. I cannot help the stab of disappointment I feel that the message wasn’t from Tomas. Telling myself that restraining Professor Chen and getting information from her will be more complicated for Stacia and Tomas than what Raffe has just done, I record a response to Will, letting him know we have finished our first stop and are moving on to the second. I then repeat the message for Tomas’s frequency, adding a request for his team to contact us with their status soon. I need to hear his voice.

After returning my radio to the bag, I find Raffe’s gun and hand it back to him. “If you can’t handle the next part, I need to know.”

He opens his bag, pulls out the box of ammunition, and fills the empty slots. After snapping the chamber closed, he runs a hand along the barrel of the gun and shakes his head. “I have to finish what I started.”

So do I.

The sun has set. The houses around us are quiet as we wheel our bicycles down to the street and climb on. The haze in the sky tonight makes it hard to see the moon. The lack of light is good for traveling unseen, but I have to work to make sure I don’t lose sight of Raffe as we ride through the streets in the direction of the University. Dr. Barnes lives in a house close to campus. We will check there for him. Because it is night, there is a good chance we will find his family with him. Just the thought of what we might be forced to do if they are all at home is almost enough to make me stop pedaling. Only thinking about my brother, Daileen, and all those who have died in The Testing keeps me moving forward.

As we ride, I try to catch a glimpse of Raffe’s face to gauge what he’s thinking or feeling. After Zandri’s death, Tomas was quiet. Withdrawn. At the time I thought it was just fatigue or disillusionment with the world around him that caused his depression. But now that I know what happened during my absence, I realize it was because Tomas was struggling with his conscience. Had I not been with him, I doubt he would have continued with the fourth test. Taking a life, especially one he knew and cared for, ate at his desire to save his own until the only purpose he had was helping get me safely to the end. Raffe’s need to find his sister should keep him focused on us getting through the next several hours. After that, who can say what will happen. Perhaps if Emilie is still alive, Raffe will find purpose in bringing her home and helping her recover from whatever she has suffered.

Raffe turns to the left. I follow, although I notice that Raffe is farther ahead than he was before. Despite what has happened, the burst of speed makes clear that he has not lost his endurance. At first that thought encourages me. Then I realize that Raffe is not the one who has changed speed. I have.

I’ve been so concerned with Raffe’s state of mind that I have not noticed the weight that seems to press on me with every turn of the pedals. At the end of the journey to Raffe’s house was death. There had always been a possibility that I would come to Raffe’s aid if he needed me, but it wasn’t necessary. This journey is different. While blood stains my hands, I have never before set out to commit murder. Tonight, I am doing exactly that.

Raffe stops so suddenly, I have to turn my handlebars to avoid crashing into him. “Look,” he says. I squint into the darkness, trying to see what he sees.

Skimmers.

At the other end of the block, traveling toward us without their running lights engaged. The lack of lights is both illegal and dangerous. Neither problem is likely of much concern to those who pilot the vehicles.

“This way,” Raffe whispers, and he leads me off the paved roadway and onto the grass. I cast glances behind me, trying to see if the skimmer pilots have noticed us, but the black of the night makes it hard to tell. Raffe must think there is a chance we have been detected because he doesn’t slow as we ride in between two tall trees a hundred feet from the road. Riding on the rougher terrain has slowed his pace enough for me to keep up.

“This way.”

Raffe darts behind the house to our right and stops. Putting a finger to his lips, he glances around the corner at the street to see if we are being pursued. I hold my breath. A minute passes. Two. Then I hear the hum of engines moving closer, but from the sound I can’t tell if they are leaving the street or traveling along it. Finally I see a shadow darker than the rest slowly moving along the road toward the east. It’s small. The same size as the skimmers we used during our Induction, although I am certain this one is faster and in better repair. A second skimmer appears. Raffe points out a third. The seeming lack of urgency suggests they are performing a basic patrol. Three patrols in one location seems excessive on a normal day, but I am not surprised to see them congregated here, since we are near so many of the dwellings where top officials reside. We were lucky not to have run into more trouble on Raffe’s block.

Or were we?

I see the skimmers stop and watch as one by one they turn around and head back in the direction from which they came. If they were on basic patrol, they would keep going to secure the rest of the neighborhood. These Safety officials are guarding something. Since Dr. Barnes’s house is only a hundred yards away, I can guess what that something is.

The lead skimmer passes our position as I hear the click. And another. It’s coming from the Transit Communicator in my bag. Zeen.

Raffe turns his head. A second skimmer comes into view. The click sounds three more times. When I don’t pick up, a voice calls, “Cia, answer me.” Zeen’s frantic plea echoes in the quiet of the night. I reach into my bag to find the Communicator and shut it down. My fingers fumble with the fastener as Zeen yells, “I’m coming, but Symon is—”

I hit the Off switch.

Everything goes silent.

No. Not everything.

The hum of the skimmer engine turns to a roar. The running lights flare to life as the skimmer turns and heads across the grass, directly at us.

Chapter 17

TERROR FUELS MY feet. “Follow me,” I whisper as loud as I dare, hoping my words can be heard over the roar of the skimmers’ engines as they throttle up. These skimmers are bound to be fast and easy to maneuver. That’s almost enough to make me think our fate is sealed. Our only chance is to ride around the far side of the house and double back toward the road before they see us. If they can’t see us, they won’t know which direction to follow.

I take a standing position to gain more momentum. The sound of Raffe’s harsh, fast breathing tells me he’s not far behind. We are almost to the edge of the house when my front wheel hits something. I jolt as the bike slows to a crawl. Panic flares as Raffe zips past and around the corner. I try to push the pedals again but they won’t turn. Whatever I hit must be wedged in the gears.

Jumping off my bike, I lift it by the frame and run. Between the bulk of the bag and the weight of the bike, my movements are awkward. Engines roar somewhere behind me. I don’t think they are close—yet—but I can’t tell for sure and I don’t dare take the time to look. My feet stumble. Raffe takes the bike from me and runs to a small group of bushes. He slides the bike under it and then grabs my hand and dashes toward the front of the house.

“Dr. Barnes lives two houses down on the north side of the street. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

I don’t have a chance to argue as he darts away. Without thinking, I run to the front of the next house and cross the street. The slap of my boots on the pavement makes me cringe. When I reach the grass on the other side, I brave a look behind me. The skimmers have not yet reached the end of the house we came around.

My heart pounds. I run as fast as I am able and drop to the ground near the wall of the house, and flatten myself against the dirt.

I keep my face lowered, hoping my dark hair will blend into the shadows. The sound of an engine comes closer. Slowly, I move my right hand. My fingers search for the side pocket of my bag and the gun I have stored there. I can feel the seam of the pocket, but I cannot slip my hand inside without shifting my entire body, giving myself away.

I hear the sound of the other skimmer. I press my cheek to the ground and squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for shouts, increased engine power, or anything that would indicate I have been spotted. My whole body quivers with the urge to run, but I force myself to stay put. The smell of rich dirt evokes memories of my father. My first memories are of the smell of earth that surrounded him when he’d come home after a day of working in his greenhouse. It’s a smell I have always associated with hope. I cling to that as I wait.

Three gunshots slash through the night. Somewhere to the left. Perhaps a few houses away. Maybe more. Did a Safety official find Raffe? Has he survived? I want to look for him, but getting myself captured or killed will not help anyone. Instead, I bite my lip, force back tears of frustration, and hold my position.

The engine closest to me roars and disappears in the direction of the gunshots. I force myself to count back from fifty in case another patrol comes by. Fifty. Forty-nine. Forty-eight. Forty-seven. The seconds feel like hours. When I reach five, I lay my hands flat on the ground. Two. One.

Pushing to my knees, I blink at the darkness. There are no signs of skimmers or their running lights. Can I still hear their engines? No. My legs tremble as I climb to my feet. The pain that streaks up my leg makes my knees buckle. When I reach down to adjust the bandage, it is wet. My leg is bleeding. I consider my options. Go to the north and around the back of this structure toward Dr. Barnes’s house or see if Raffe needs my help.

There is really only one choice. Raffe could be captured or dead. All I can do is continue to follow our original plan and hope for the best.

Slowly, I cross the grass to the back of the house. The breeze rustles the leaves on nearby trees. Somewhere in the distance I hear a dog bark. No engines. No sound of footsteps other than mine. I pass several windows as I walk but see no faces peering out.

When I reach the end of the structure, I glance around the corner, toward the street. Nothing. I quickly cross the expansive lawn between this house and the next. The one that Raffe told me belongs to Dr. Jedidiah Barnes. The house is two stories tall. A flicker of light from a second-story window tells me someone is home.

As I walk to the back door, I glance through the rear first-story windows, but it’s too dark to see within. The door is unlocked. I tighten the hold on my gun and start to push it open.

“Cia.”

I turn the barrel toward the sound of my name and squint into the darkness for the source. When I can’t make out the person running toward me, I raise my flashlight and hit the switch. After the events in the stadium, I think the risk of exposing my position is worth it.

When the beam illuminates Raffe’s face, I let out a sigh of relief and switch off the light. “Are you okay?” I ask when he reaches my side. “I heard gunshots and thought you’d been killed.”

“I used to play with some of the kids in this neighborhood,” he whispers near my ear. “There are old water ducts at the end of the block. They’re not easy to find if you don’t know where to look. I fired a couple of shots to draw the Safety officials in my direction and then went into one of the ducts and crawled until I came out on the other side of the block, which is harder to do now than when I was smaller. Are you ready?”

Am I? Could I ever be ready for what I now must do? “I’m ready for this to be over,” I answer.

“Then let’s go.”

Raffe pushes the door open and steps cautiously into darkness. I follow, closing the door behind me, then turn on my flashlight. We’re in a large kitchen. My light shows dark wood cabinets, white and gray countertops, and a large wooden table. There are no dishes in sight. No glasses in the sink. My mother would approve. Raffe frowns.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“Probably nothing,” he says. “When my father and I came to visit, Mrs. Barnes let me hang out in here. She always had flowers on the table and things her kids made on the countertop by the sink.”

I shine my light again. The countertops and table are clear of decorations. Out of curiosity, I open one of the cabinet doors. In it are two plates, two bowls. The next one contains three mugs and two drinking glasses. I think of what my mother keeps in our kitchen. Because my father’s job requires him to be close to the area he is currently working to revitalize, we move often, so Mom tries to keep our possessions to a minimum for ease of relocation. Despite that we have at least six or seven pots and pans, over a dozen plates, and a large number of cups. I have a hard time believing that what’s contained in these cupboards is enough to service a family of five.

“Let’s go.” Raffe turns toward the door that leads to the rest of the house.

I keep the light pointed in front of us as we walk through a hallway that takes us to a large room. On one side is a wide staircase. A sofa, small table, and two blue chairs are arranged in the middle of the room. A shelf on the wall contains a number of books, but, as in the kitchen, there are no personal objects of any kind in the room. No paintings or baskets filled with knitting needles like I noticed in Raffe’s house. The furniture and rug look comfortably worn, but still the house feels as though it’s not really lived in.

Gun in hand, Raffe leads the way up the stairs. As I follow, I run my finger along the wood banister. It comes away clean. No dust. Despite the meager furnishings, someone still lives here.

We reach the top of the stairs and turn to the left. The light I saw from outside is coming from an open door fifteen feet away. The rest of the doors in the hall are closed. No lights shine from beneath them.

Raffe glances at me and nods. I turn off my flashlight, put it in my pocket, and nod back. This is it.

It is easy to keep our approach quiet. The carpet on this floor is thick. When we are steps away from the door, Raffe looks at me and mouths the word “Go.” He races through the door. I step in after him with my finger poised on the trigger, prepared to fire. Only, no one is there. The chair behind a large desk stacked with papers is empty. The shelves in this room are stuffed with books worn from use. A large rocking chair sits near a window. Beside it is a small table stacked high with paper-filled folders.

Without discussion, Raffe and I walk out of the room and search the rest of the upstairs rooms. No one occupies them, but we do find answers of another sort. In the largest bedroom, we see a portrait of Dr. Barnes, his wife, and their children on the nightstand, but when we look in the closets we find clothes that belong only to him. There are no toys or clothes in the other bedrooms. Dr. Barnes still lives here, but his family does not.

Why?

We go back to the office to see if answers can be found there. Raffe stands at the desk. I walk to the rocking chair and sit on the floor next to a pile of papers. But before I can open the first file, I remember Zeen. Opening my bag, I take out the Transit Communicator, turn it back on, and click the Call button. When Zeen doesn’t answer, I click the button three more times, hoping he will understand that I am now able to talk. That I have not heard the message that he took such a chance to relay to me.

The Communicator stays silent. Whatever Zeen is doing at this moment, he cannot hear me or cannot get to his Communicator. Biting my lip, I set the device to the side and search for the pulse radio. The message light is on, so I press Play and feel a tear slide down my cheek as Tomas’s voice fills the room.

“The first step is complete. We are moving on to the second.” His voice is strained. He promises to contact me once their next task is finished and then says, “I hope you are safe. Remember, I love you.”

Warmth floods my body as I cling to one thought—Tomas is alive.

“He didn’t say what happened with Professor Chen,” Raffe says.

“No.” I noticed that omission too. Perhaps Tomas is being careful, but his tone tells me something went wrong. Since there is nothing we can do about what has happened, I say, “They must have found her or he would have said they were unable to complete the first step. They might be with Professor Holt now. We have to decide what to do next. Where do you think Dr. Barnes and his family could be?”

“Dr. Barnes must have decided to move his family somewhere safe in case something went wrong with his plan. But I can’t imagine he’d leave Tosu City.”

I agree. Symon is in charge of directing the rebellion, but Dr. Barnes gives orders to Symon. He wouldn’t leave. Not when the events he has orchestrated are about to be put in motion. “According to the president’s information, he spends a lot of time at The Testing Center. I think our best chance of finding him would be there.”

“Getting off campus was hard.” Raffe frowns. “I’m guessing security is even tighter now.”

“If we have to get past the Safety officials, we will,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “But it would be better if we knew for certain if Dr. Barnes is there.” I glance at the papers in piles around the room. “Maybe there’s something here that will help. We might even be able to find evidence of what happened to your sister and the other students.”

That kind of proof to supplement the death of some of the top Testing advocates might aid us in ending The Testing even if Dr. Barnes has gone into hiding. But we can’t stay here for long. My gut tells me Dr. Barnes is still in the area. If we are going to find him, we need to continue our hunt. “Let’s do a quick search,” I say, opening the first folder in the stack next to me. “If we don’t find anything after ten minutes, we should get going.”

As Raffe flips through papers on the desk, I focus on the pages in my hand. At the top of the first page is a name. Ayana Kirk. Beneath it are listed grades for twelve years of studies as well as notes that say the student especially excelled in physics and music. There are several recommendation letters from teachers. In a different hand, I see notes in the margin questioning whether the student’s musical proclivities make her too sensitive to withstand further education or whether she might be better served by a mid-level education job instead of reaching for a higher position. These questions must have been sent to those who wrote the recommendations because more letters follow, addressing the concerns, as well as a note that an invitation to take the University exam was sent. I flip the page and my heart sinks as I see the words “Redirected and assigned to resource program under Professor Cartwright.” Beneath that is Dr. Barnes’s signature and a date. This student failed her examination last year. The signature is in the same hand as the notations in the margins throughout the file.

I skim through the next file. Another failed student. Another Redirection. This one also from last year. As I quickly scan the pages, I notice that all the files stacked here are from the past ten years. No students previous to that time are included. All were Redirected. The older the application file is, the fewer notations in the margins. Not a single question is written for those who applied a decade past. As I do the math, I notice something else. Unless files are missing, over three times as many students were Redirected ten years ago than last year.

“What did you find?” Raffe asks.

“I’m not sure,” I say. Or maybe I am and I don’t want to admit that what I’m seeing is real. Dr. Barnes is the force behind The Testing. He’s the one who created tests that kill and who turned failed University applicants into resources to be experimented on. And yet, if these files are authentic, he’s been working to convince applicants he believes are doomed to fail to choose another path before they make a choice they cannot take back. Just as he did with Raffe’s sister. Why?

“Maybe officials who traveled to the colonies began to notice that none of the Redirected students were ever seen there,” Raffe suggests when I explain what I’ve found. “Limiting the number of unsuccessful applicants means fewer questions he’ll have to answer for officials and families here in Tosu.”

That makes sense. Especially since President Collindar took office just six years ago. I glance at the clock on my watch. Our ten minutes are up. We need to get moving.

“Did you find anything?” I ask.

“A couple of reports suggesting The Testing be limited to a hundred candidates. During the past several years a larger percentage than is acceptable to Dr. Barnes has been eliminated during the first examination. Nothing that helps figure out where Dr. Barnes is now.” Raffe frowns. “Although there’s also a calendar that shows the scheduled meetings for this year’s selection of Testing candidates, along with the preliminary names.”

Raffe holds out the papers and I cross the room and take them. The first page is a list of potential candidates. My soul aches as I read name after name, along with the colonies they belong to. Finally I come to Five Lakes Colony and the names Daileen Dasho, Lyane Maddows, and Christoph Nusman. All students I know. I have played sports with them and studied beside them. All three will celebrate their selection for The Testing, not knowing that the price of failure is more than they should ever be forced to pay. Pushing aside the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me, I flip to the calendar. There was a meeting of the committee earlier today at The Testing Center. I doubt Dr. Barnes would have missed it. The meeting must have ended hours ago. Dr. Barnes could have left after it was over, but this is the only clue we have as to his whereabouts. We have no choice but to follow it.

When I tell Raffe we are headed to campus, he says, “Before we leave, there’s something you need to see. There’s a file here with your name on it.”

He places the file in my hand and watches as I open it. The paper is the same gray color as the one given to me by President Collindar. Only this time, instead of finding Dr. Barnes’s name and information inside, I find my own.

Malencia Vale.

Age at Testing: 16

Colony: Five Lakes

Group: Wide range of aptitude

Defining attribute: Mechanical Ability

First round Testing: Pass

Notes: Strong emotional reaction to candidate self-termination. Will watch to see if this affects future Testing.

Second round Testing: Pass

Notes: Again, strong emotional reaction to candidate failure. Yet still completed this test.

Third round Testing: Pass

Notes: Unusual need to aid teammates when allowing those teammates to fail would bring candidate closer to achieving her goal. Her personal beliefs are in conflict with the committee’s criteria for passage to the University. However, strong demonstration of candidate’s ability to trust her instincts and persuade others makes her unique. I believe she is my best chance and have taken steps to go around my colleagues in an effort to aid and test her further in round four.

Best chance? I read the line again. Best chance of what? Was Dr. Barnes the reason Symon gave me food, water, and the vial that helped me in my interview? From what I see here, it appears he must be. But why? I don’t understand.

Fourth round of Testing: Failure recommended by staff. Candidate is not questioning enough of others and not committed enough to her agenda to do whatever is necessary for the country’s future development. Does not have a strong enough personality to make difficult choices.

Failure. I shake my head and read the words again. Not a strong enough personality. If the committee sought to eliminate me as a candidate, why was I accepted?

Interview: Candidate surprised committee with emotional restraint and strongly worded responses. Some have been swayed to allow her passage. Most have not.

Committee recommendation: Failure

Final result: Pass

Despite everything I did, the committee believed I had failed. Those words on the page make my knees go weak. It shouldn’t matter what The Testing officials believed. But seeing proof that I was not good enough or strong enough to them is like a slap in the face. My best wasn’t worthy of their acceptance.

“None of this makes sense,” I say, looking up from the folder. “Why did I pass The Testing if the committee recommended I fail?”

Raffe shakes his head. “It looks like Dr. Barnes intervened. Maybe that’s the reason Professor Holt has been upset about your presence at the University from the first day you arrived in her residence. She would have known you had been marked for failure and yet somehow survived. What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know.” And there is only one way to find out. I pick up my bag and shove the folder inside. “We have to find Dr. Barnes. Let’s go.”

Raffe glances around the room. “I don’t know if it’s important, but it just occurred to me what’s been bothering me since we got here. The lamp in this room was on. Dr. Barnes would never have left a light on all day by mistake.”

“Why . . .” I don’t ask the rest of the question because I guess the answer. Dr. Barnes left the light on because he wants people to think he is here. The Safety patrols that roam this street, even though all other officials are looking on the other side of the city for whoever set the explosives.

This is a trap.

Chapter 18

RAFFE AND I look around the room for a sign that I am right and find it beneath the desk. A black box with wires and a blinking light. An explosive. Is it on a timer or is it waiting to be tripped by something else? It’s impossible to say. Only one thing is clear. “We have to get out of here.”

Raffe must agree, because he grabs his things and is right behind me as I hurry into the hall. We are halfway down the stairs when a door somewhere below us closes.

I turn off my flashlight and consider our options. Going upstairs will get us out of sight, but this is the only staircase down. If we hide in one of the second-story rooms, we risk being stuck in our hiding place. So I hurry down the stairs as quickly as I can. The front door is only about twenty steps to the right, but when I calculate the time it will take to get there, unlock the door, and get out, I discard that option. Especially since I hear the sound of footsteps from somewhere in the back of the house.

Grabbing Raffe’s hand, I race down the last six stairs, race to my left, and duck behind the sofa. Raffe joins me just as the lights in this area flare to life.

“You two, stay here,” a familiar voice says quietly.

Symon. If he’s here, what happened to Zeen?

Raffe stiffens beside me. He too has recognized the voice.

The carpet dulls the sound of footsteps as Symon climbs the stairs, but what I do hear makes me think more than one person made the ascent. A few minutes later, Symon calls down, “He’s not here yet. We’ll wait. Turn off the lights. One of you go to each end of the block and hold that position. The minute you see him, signal me.”

The lights blink out. Footsteps disappear down the hallway, toward the back of the house. A door slams upstairs. The minute Raffe hears that, he peers around the side of the sofa. He waits for a moment and then whispers, “Stay there,” as he slips out from behind the couch. Several seconds later he returns, taps me on the shoulder, and motions for me to follow him.

Slowly we cross the dark room, careful to steer clear of the furnishings and avoid making noise. I want to go up the stairs, demand to know where my brother is, and put a bullet in Symon’s head. But if Symon sets off Dr. Barnes’s trap, I don’t want to be caught in it too. I brush my fingers along the wall to guide me and am relieved when the hall opens into the kitchen.

When I head for the door, Raffe grabs my hand and whispers, “We have to split up. If you move fast, the two people he sent to guard the ends of the street won’t yet be in position. You’ll get out of the area without being seen and be able to get back to campus. Go to The Testing Center. I’ll deal with Symon. You have to find Dr. Barnes.”

“You saw what’s in his office. You can’t go up there.”

“Symon’s working with him. He has to know about the bomb. There’s no choice. We have to eliminate him.”

“Then I’ll stay.” If Symon knows anything about Zeen, I might be able to find that out before I pull the trigger.

Raffe shakes his head. “The minute a gun is fired, the guards will come running. Knowing this neighborhood is the only thing that’s going to help me get away.” He walks me toward the door and takes my hand. “This is our only shot at getting them both. You know I’m right.”

I don’t want to agree, but I do. Raffe has a better chance alone. I have to trust him to do this. Just as he is trusting me.

“I’ll see you soon,” I whisper.

Raffe leans forward. His lips press against my cheek. His fingers tighten around mine as he whispers, “You will. Be careful when you get to campus. The rebel students could cause you more problems than the Safety officials. And just in case something goes wrong here, I need you to do something for me. Find my sister and tell her I’m sorry. I never thought I’d trust someone the way I trusted Emilie, let alone someone from the colonies. But I believe in you. You’ll do what’s right.”

Then he’s gone. He slips into the shadows of the hallway. Out of sight.

Outside, the breeze is cool on my face. I close the door quietly behind me and slowly look from side to side. When I see and hear nothing, I consider which way to go. Since the guards are posted to the west and east, I run north and realize why Symon did not worry about someone approaching from this direction. Fifty yards from the house is a large wall that stands at least eight feet high and spans the length of this block. The barrier is made of smooth stone. There is nowhere to get a good handhold, and I can’t reach the top without a boost.

Squinting into the darkness, I spot a tree about twenty feet away and head for it. The willow tops the wall by five or six feet. The tree is fairly young. Probably about four years old. I pull on one of the lower-hanging branches. It’s thin. Supple. Not ideal for climbing, but this is the only one I see that is close set enough to the stone wall to be of help.

Still, the tree stands about eight feet away, which means I will have to climb as high as possible for this to work. I shift my bag so it doesn’t get caught on the branches, put one foot on the trunk, and pull myself up. The lowest-hanging limb bends under my weight but doesn’t break.

I reach as close to the top as I dare, position my feet on two V’s near the trunk where the branches are sturdiest, and take a deep breath. The sound of gunshots makes me flinch. Raffe. I force myself not to look behind me. Instead I grab the thin center of the tree as the branch under my left foot breaks and smashes to the ground.

I hear shouts. More shots. The limbs sag as I quickly step from one fork to another. At the third fork, I push off hard and extend my arms as I jump toward the wall. My chest makes contact with the top of the stone barrier. I bite my lip to prevent myself from crying out as I start to slide down. The stone grates against my fingers but I refuse to let go. My arms tremble. Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. I almost lose my grip as an explosion roars behind me. I finally find a good holding spot with my boots and use my leg muscles to propel me up and over. Before I drop to the other side, I catch a glimpse of smoke and licks of fire coming from Dr. Barnes’s house. I allow myself five seconds of hope as I scan the area for Raffe before I let go of my grip, drop to the other side, and run.

I race across the grass, run between two houses, and reach the street on the other side. Beams from flashlights cut through the darkness as people awakened by the sounds come out of their homes.

Everyone looks scared. I’m certain I do. Between the spectacle of the fire and the fear, no one gives me a second look as I walk quickly down the street. Away from the flames. Away from Raffe. If he survived the explosion, he might at this very moment need my help. But I do not turn, because he would never forgive me for risking our mission. As I walk, I can only wonder who will be next and if anything we do is worth the price paid.

When I can no longer hear the shout of voices, I duck under a bush and pull out the Transit Communicator. I select the coordinates for the Government Studies residence that I saved in the device during Induction. I am a half mile from campus. If I start walking now, I should be there in less than ten minutes. I look at the moon and try to judge the time that has passed since Tomas, Stacia, Raffe, and I left the house. Two hours? Three? It seems impossible that so much has happened in so little time. Raffe is probably dead. Zeen still does not answer my calls. Tomas and Stacia were okay when Tomas left his message, but who knows where they are now.

I push to my feet. My legs tremble as I shift my bag back onto my shoulder and start walking. Slowly at first, then faster until I am running as fast as I can. The sooner I find Dr. Barnes, the sooner everything will be over. The Testing. The experiments on Raffe’s sister and the other failed students. The deaths I’ve been asked to execute. All of it. It has to end.

My lungs burn. My pulse pounds. Both make me feel alive. It isn’t until I see familiar landmarks that tell me I am only a block from the University gates that I slow. I click the Call button on the Communicator one last time, not caring if Zeen speaks and someone else overhears. I need to hear his voice. But the device stays silent. I feel a part of my heart go still as I slide it back into my bag and exchange it for the pulse radio. The indicator light is dark. Recording a whispered message, I tell Tomas, Stacia, and Will that I am currently headed to where we began this journey. Then I press Send. Instead of putting the radio back in my bag, I slide it into my jacket pocket to keep the thought of Tomas close, and I start moving through the shadows.

The archway of the University entrance comes into view. Seeing it again, I remember how I felt the first time I rode beneath it. Tomas, Malachi, and Zandri were beside me as we spotted the wrought-iron sign that reads THE UNIVERSITY OF THE UNITED COMMONWEALTH. Despite my father’s warnings, I felt excitement and hope. I do not cross under the archway now. If anyone suspects I’m on my way here, this is where they will wait. Instead, I head toward the TU Administration building on the edge of campus.

I’m careful to keep my tread light so no one nearby hears me as I walk through the darkness, listening for sounds of officials or rebels lurking nearby and thinking of the day I left Five Lakes Colony. Before The Testing. When I trusted others but was not always sure I trusted myself.

Heading toward where this all started, I think I finally understand why The Testing was created. In a time when each decision could mean the difference between a country rebuilt and one that becomes too broken to repair, the founders of The Testing were not willing to trust anyone’s best intentions. They needed leaders who were not just smart or kind or nice, but who were capable of making the tough choices that most people would not want to make. Of putting necessity above all else and acting on it without hesitation.

Stacia is right. President Dalton faltered. His wasn’t the worst mistake, but historians say that by the Fourth Stage of War it was clear that peace talks had no chance of prevailing. Despite so many deaths and so much destruction, the leaders of the main alliances still believed their desire for conquest could be fulfilled. They had invested too much to step back. Doing so would have been akin to admitting they were wrong. The only measure that could have stopped the Fourth Stage from progressing would have been to eliminate the leaders who were marching the world toward destruction. Had that happened, perhaps those who took their place could have seen the futility of the devastation around them and taken steps to end the war.

But that didn’t happen. The leaders pushed forward with their war and the world collapsed. The United Commonwealth rose from the ashes of that world, and The Testing was created to ensure that leaders would not fail like that again. But while The Testing seeks to push candidates to show what they are capable of, it fails to recognize that different circumstances bring about different results. The Testing committee believed I should be cast as one who failed because I couldn’t do what was necessary. How I passed is still a mystery, but the journey I make now shows how wrong they were.

The sound of boots slapping against pavement hits me, and I slip behind a bush. The footsteps are somewhere to my left. I squint into the darkness and spot two people racing south. Officials? Rebels? There’s no way to know. When they disappear, I wait for several minutes before walking in the opposite direction. I see the edge of the fence in the distance and hurry to reach it. When I do, I’m glad for the lack of windows in the back of the TU Administration building and I slip around the fence onto campus.

Gunshots sound in the distance. A siren starts to wail as more gunfire erupts. I flatten myself behind a bush and wait. A scream rises above the din. Other voices shout and more shots are fired. All of it sounds as if it is taking place on the other side of campus. When another round of gunfire rings out from somewhere far to my left, I clasp the gun and stand.

Careful to keep to the shadows, I cross behind the building and head toward the stadium, trying not to think of what happened there only yesterday. But I do think of Tomas. Is he safe? The radio light stays dark.

Just past the stadium I see it. Five stories tall and almost hidden in the darkness because of its black steel and black glass exterior. The fence that surrounds the area around it also blends into the night, but I know it is there along with the small bronze sign that announces the purpose of the work that takes place inside.

The Testing Center.

The last time I was inside that building, Dr. Barnes announced that the twenty of us seated in the room with him had been accepted to the University. Tomas and I were together. Without my memories of The Testing I had just passed through, I was happy.

I spot a figure standing in the shadows near the front of the building and go still. Without getting closer I can’t determine whether the man is one of the rebel students or a Safety official. But all the activity to the south has not pulled his attention, so I know he will not be drawn away easily. I will have to find a way around him or another way inside.

A back door or windows on the main floor would allow me to enter without being seen. I don’t recall the presence of either, but I circle around to the back of the building to check. The black fence that surrounds the building grounds is only chest high and easy to scale. Once on the other side, I confirm what I hoped was not true. The guarded entrance is the only way inside.

As silently as possible, I cross the area behind The Testing Center. The upper-story windows are darkened, making it impossible to know if Dr. Barnes is inside. Have I ever seen light coming from the windows here? I don’t think so. The only time I remember being outside this building during The Testing was in the daytime, when we were waiting for the results of the first test and they allowed us to go outside. Zandri, Malachi, Tomas, and I sat near a small pond. As I approach that spot now, I remember how Zandri’s hair caught the sunlight and the way she made Malachi laugh. Last year the fountain in the middle of the pond was broken. To pass the time, Tomas and I worked together to repair it. The fountain is currently turned off, and I wonder if there’s a way to use it to create a diversion.

The gunfire has stopped, but the siren still sounds as I find the power box nestled discreetly in a pile of rocks. As I did months ago, I remove the cover with the screwdriver attachment of my pocketknife, and this time use my flashlight to view the contents. Everything looks as it did when Tomas and I fixed the fountain last summer, and I think I should be able to make the motor whine and grind enough to attract the guard’s notice.

It takes several tries to make the adjustments to the motor, wrap long pieces of grass around the impeller blade, and block the water-return pump in a way that will cause the now-hindered motor to be even more overworked. The combination should tax the machinery to produce rumbling and a high-pitched whine. Or the motor might overheat and stop working altogether. There’s only one way to find out which.

After taking a deep breath, I get ready to run and hit the power switch. The water gurgles in the fountain as I dash toward the building. The sound of the grinding motor begins as I edge my way along the back of the building toward the north side. The motor lets out a screech loud enough to be heard over the siren. It only lasts for a few seconds before the damage I did causes the motor to give out with a loud bang.

Was the noise enough?

Yes! I hear footsteps and duck around the corner of the building as whoever was in the front now looks for the source of the sound. Hoping to get inside before he returns, I race to the entrance, but I start to panic as I see the small keypad next to the door. I remember Michal using a code with six numbers to gain us entry, but I didn’t see what they were. Even if I had, I doubt they have remained the same. I turn away from the pad and focus my attention on the lock above the door handle, hoping I can jimmy it before the guard returns.

The sound of running feet and the voice yelling for me to stop tell me I’m too late. I do the only thing I can. I turn, aim at the Safety official as he raises his weapon, and fire.

I meant to hit the man’s leg. Instead, my bullet punches into his stomach. His weapon goes off as he hits the ground, and I press against the door behind me and feel it give way. The lock wasn’t engaged. The man behind me groans in pain. I want to help him, but I tamp down that instinct and step through the doorway. Between the unlocked door and the man I shot lying on the ground outside, someone will soon discover I am here. I have to find Dr. Barnes, fast.

Clicking my flashlight, I shine it around the building’s entrance. Everything in the lobby is as I remember it. White walls. Scuffed gray floor. Gray wooden chairs in the corner. The Testing storage room and personal preparation rooms are on this floor. I will not find Dr. Barnes in those. If he is in this building, he will be on one of the upper floors. I run down the long white and gray hallway to the bank of elevators we rode during The Testing to reach the upper four floors.

But I don’t want to be trapped inside an elevator if someone discovers that I am here. So I walk past them, down the hall, looking for stairs.

I find them at the end of the corridor and begin to climb. The building is large. The task of finding someone in this place is daunting. When I reach the second floor, I step out into the hallway and shine my light down the corridor. I could search floor by floor, and I will if I have to. But for now I follow my instincts, turn back to the stairs, and climb to the third floor. It was on this floor that Dr. Barnes spoke to us about each phase of The Testing and gave us each set of instructions. This level was also the location of our interviews. It was during mine that I learned Tomas was responsible for Zandri’s death, although Dr. Barnes refused to tell me how. When I step out of the stairwell into a dimly lit hallway, I am certain that Dr. Barnes is near.

Sliding the flashlight into my bag, I pull out my gun and walk toward the lecture hall. Blood pounds in my ears as I approach the large double doors that lead to the room where I began and ended my Testing. When I take hold of one of the door handles, I feel the same anxiety and fear I did when I entered this room for the first time months ago. Inside, the stage is dark. In the shadows I see the same podium Dr. Barnes spoke behind standing at the center. The tiered seats are empty, but if I close my eyes I can see the faces of those who died. If Dr. Barnes has his way, this room will soon be filled with more candidates ready to be tested. Knowing that steadies the gun in my hand as I turn and walk to the very end of the lecture hall toward the room where I was interviewed. I see a thin slice of light under the door.

I put my hand on the knob. In my mind I list the names of the candidates who walked through the doors of this building. Those names give me courage as I slowly turn the knob, push open the door, and step inside.

Seated at a black table near the back windowless wall with a pen in his hand is Dr. Barnes. I wrap both hands around the butt of the gun, plant my feet firmly on the floor, and prepare to fire as Dr. Barnes looks up from the table and smiles.

“Good evening, Cia,” he says. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Before I can wonder who “we” is, I hear a click and feel the cold metal of a gun barrel as it is pressed against my head. And I know I have failed.

Chapter 19

A HAND REACHES out and wrests the gun from my hand. Another person grabs the bag off my shoulder and laughs. I know that laugh. Turning, I see a sneer spread across Griffin’s face as he drops my bag to the ground.

“You might want to be careful with that.” Dr. Barnes rises from behind the table and crosses toward me. “Ms. Vale may have one or two more tricks up her sleeve.” He reaches out and takes my gun from a third-year Government Studies student I have never spoken to. “Thank you for your assistance. Now, if you don’t mind waiting outside, Ms. Vale and I have matters to discuss. You’ll both be rewarded once our conversation is complete.”

Annoyance flickers across Griffin’s face as he stalks toward the door. The other boy follows. When the door clicks shut, Dr. Barnes picks my bag off the floor, walks back to his chair, and places the bag on the table. “Please, have a seat. I know you haven’t gotten a lot of rest in recent weeks. You’ve been quite busy, Cia. So busy, in fact, I was concerned something might happen to you before you had a chance to meet me tonight. That would have been a shame, since there’s much to discuss.”

He motions for me to sit in the black chair that is situated across from him at the table. The smile Dr. Barnes wears is familiar. It is filled with warmth and concern and is designed to elicit trust. His expression turns puzzled when I do not take a seat. “You did come here to talk to me, didn’t you, Cia?”

“I came here to kill you.”

“Of course you did.” His smile widens as he sets my gun down on the table in front of him. “And I intend to let you. Of course,” he adds, “you will still have to deal with the individuals outside if you succeed. I apologize for that, but I couldn’t take the chance of you killing me before we had this conversation.”

“You’re going to let me kill you?” Confusion, nerves, and fear make me laugh, although nothing has ever seemed less funny.

Dr. Barnes leans back in his chair. “You don’t believe me, Cia?”

“No.”

Now he laughs. “I suppose I don’t blame you, although do you really think you’d be standing here right now if I didn’t intend for you to complete your agenda? You’ve come a long way since first stepping into this building, but there’s still much for you to learn.”

I think of the lock that was disengaged downstairs, the lack of dishes and clothes at Dr. Barnes’s house, the papers and files in plain sight in his study, the explosion that burned his house, and the ease with which I crossed campus despite all the fighting going on. Even the guard outside who had the chance to fire at me before I shot him. While the plan that I embarked on was well thought out, I could not have made it this far without some kind of help. Help Dr. Barnes is now claiming he provided. Why?

“You’re right,” I say, shifting my gaze to the gun. While this room is small, the gun is too far away to reach before Dr. Barnes does. I’m not sure if Dr. Barnes’s nod of approval is for my decision not to take that risk or for my understanding of the help I have received. And it doesn’t matter, because he’s correct. We have to talk. I need answers that only he can provide. Once I have those, I will find a way to get the gun, because I do not believe for a moment that Dr. Barnes intends to die.

Crossing to the black high-backed chair, I take a seat. “I do have more to learn, Dr. Barnes. But somehow I doubt you and Professor Holt will allow me to return to class after everything that has happened.”

“Professor Holt would certainly stand in your way. She’s been suspicious of your abilities since you first arrived for The Testing. She was especially unhappy when you were passed through to the University despite her objections. She never understood how you received enough votes.” He gives me a pleased smile. “However, due to tonight’s activities, Verna is no longer a consideration. Neither is MayLin Chen. So they won’t be around to complain if you decide to continue your education. Then again, after everything you’ve been through, you may wish to leave Tosu City and return to Five Lakes. If so, I’m certain your family will be happy to see you.”

Hearing Dr. Barnes mention my family makes it hard to breathe, but I keep my emotions off my face. I will not give him the satisfaction of knowing that his verbal jab connected. Keeping my tone flat, I say, “You went to a lot of trouble to arrange this meeting. I doubt it was because you want to talk to me about whether or not I’d like to go back to my colony.”

“You don’t believe I’d allow you to return home?” He leans forward and rests his hands next to the gun.

“No.” I cannot take my eyes away from his fingers as they brush the butt. “I don’t believe you.”

“I have no reason to lie,” he says, wrapping his hand around the wooden handle. “Of course, I don’t expect you to take my word on that.”

Gun in hand, he rises and crosses the room to a small bench I failed to notice before. On the bench is a tray. Atop that tray is a glass filled with clear liquid. Dr. Barnes takes the glass with his free hand, walks over to the table, and places the glass in front of me. “That’s why I provided us with a drink you might remember from the last time we were in this room.”

As Dr. Barnes walks back to the other side of the table, I pick up the glass and study its contents. There is nothing to distinguish it from water. Not the look or the smell. It appears innocuous. But it could be the same liquid as the one I was required to consume during my interview, and I know looks are deceiving. Even after taking a serum that was designed to counteract the effects of the interview drug, I still felt a sense of euphoria once I drank it and the desire to tell those who questioned me everything they wanted to know. Thankfully, the serum allowed me to think before I answered and to control my responses. I do not have the benefit of that serum now.

“I’m not going to drink this.” I set the glass down on the table.

“And I’m not going to insist that you do. The drink is for me,” he says. “I’m just offering you the opportunity in case you doubt my claim about what’s in the glass.”

I’m confused. Is what he has to tell me so important that he would willingly consume the truth drug he once forced me to take? The one that, with Symon’s help, I beat. “How do I know you haven’t taken the serum that negates it?” I ask.

“You don’t.” Dr. Barnes leans back in his chair and nods. “You are always one to trust your instincts. What do you think?”

I don’t know what to think. This is another test—perhaps the last one I will ever face—and I’m not sure of the correct answer. None of what has happened tonight makes sense. Not the unlocked door, Dr. Barnes’s booby-trapped house, or his claim that he wants me to kill him. For these things to be true, Dr. Barnes must have always known what I’ve been doing. Nothing I’ve done has been in secret. But there have been no cameras. I disabled the tracking device in my bracelet. He couldn’t have planted something in my clothes because I have not always worn the same . . .

My eyes fall on the University bag that sits on the far edge of the table. I’ve rarely been without it since it was given to me after The Testing. The bag is constructed with strong material to prevent it from ripping. The bottom, especially, is thick to ensure the bag can hold all the books we have to carry around campus. At least that’s what I assumed. A bag. Like every other bag. Without memory of The Testing, I had no reason to question it when it was given to me. And once I did remember, I never gave it a second thought.

I put the glass back on the table and lean back in my seat. “Was The Testing bag designed to monitor our movements, too?”

“I’m impressed, my dear. You’re correct about this bag containing a device that allows me to better understand your daily activities, but the satchel you carried during The Testing did not. My staff believed the recorders in the bracelets were sufficient to obtain the information we needed. You proved them wrong then as you have here at the University. Just as I hoped you would.”

“You hoped?”

Dr. Barnes reaches across the table, picks up the glass, and toasts me with it. He swallows some of the liquid and frowns as he sets the half-empty glass back on the table. “I forgot how unpleasant that taste is. It was something we always meant to fix but never got around to. Not a surprise, I suppose, since no one who drinks it remembers the bitter flavor once The Testing is over. Ah, well, perhaps now you will allow me to explain in my own way.”

He places his hands on the table and begins to speak. “When the United Commonwealth was formed, it was decided that a different selection method would be necessary to ensure our country did not fall victim to the mistakes of the leaders in our past. For a while that selection was easy, since the boundaries of our country did not extend beyond the city. It was a simple matter for officials to observe those who naturally assumed leadership roles in the work they’d been assigned. However, after the first colonies were established and our population grew, there were problems. Leaders struggled to be decisive when faced with difficult decisions like power distribution. Fights broke out in parts of the city where power allocation was at its lowest. To stave off frustration and violence, two new colonies were established and tens of thousands of people sent out of the city to revitalize areas far to the east. Due to rushed decisions, those areas were poorly scouted. Only a handful of those who left the city survived.”

We studied the failed colonies in school. Those who survived talked of poisonous windstorms, vicious mutated animal attacks, and contamination in the ground that caused anything that was planted to die within days. My father always wondered how the scientists who reviewed those areas missed such deadly contamination, and believed mistakes were made. He was right. Thousands of people died because of those errors.

“Those who returned shared their story. They questioned the current leadership. The civil war that loomed would have torn apart the city and the country. To prevent that, a compromise was reached between the current leaders and those who opposed them, ensuring that new leadership would not commit the same mistakes. The University, under my grandfather’s guidance, was charged with selecting students with the qualities necessary to lead and with preparing them for the positions they would hold. A year after that change was made, The Testing was established.”

Gun in hand, Dr. Barnes stands and walks the length of the room. “It’s hard to determine what makes a good leader and to test for those qualities. For the next ten years, The Testing was comprised of written and hands-on challenges meant to determine whether a candidate had the knowledge required to help lead the revitalization mission. Those who attended the University were the brightest and most promising minds our country had to offer. And yet, many of them faltered when it was their turn to lead. After all, no matter how intelligent and skilled a person is, it is impossible to know how a person will behave in a certain situation until they are faced with it. So my grandfather created two versions of The Testing as an experiment. One for colony students and the other for those from Tosu City.”

When Dr. Barnes turns away from me, I realize this could be my chance. Slowly, I slide to the edge of the chair. There is a knife in the side pocket of my bag. If I can reach it . . .

“The colony candidates’ Testing became harder. More stressful in order to see which students could succeed in spite of the pressure and which would break under the strain. Perhaps it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the largest advancements in genetic manipulation, medicine, and in cleansing our water have been made by those who came from the colonies and passed through The Testing. Successful candidates like your father and President Wendig. Over the years, The Testing has proven to be an effective tool, which is why President Collindar is now insisting that all applicants for the University, including the ones from Tosu City, be required to take part in it.”

Icy shock streaks up my spine. “That’s not true. President Collindar wants to end The Testing.”

I know Dr. Barnes is lying. Until recently, the president didn’t understand what candidates were forced to go through. Her desire to learn more about The Testing was one of the reasons she had me assigned to be her intern.

“No, my dear.” He sees my proximity to the bag and extends the gun in front of him. His eyes hold mine, waiting for me to make a choice.

Slowly, I sit back. With a smile, he lowers the gun and continues. “While you would like to believe differently, ending The Testing is the last thing President Collindar wants. After a hundred years, other countries in the world are reaching out. Some in friendship. Others . . . well, let’s just say that our leaders will need to stay strong in order for our country to survive what comes next. Despite my growing concerns about the elimination of so many bright minds through The Testing, President Collindar believes that those losses are minor compared to the number of casualties we’ll incur if our leadership should falter.”

My mind races back to my conversations with President Collindar about The Testing. In each, she talked of ending Dr. Barnes’s control of the process. Never once did she actually say she intended to eliminate The Testing itself. But that proves nothing. I look at the half-empty glass sitting in front of Dr. Barnes. Is he telling the truth now? There’s no way to know.

I tamp down the uncertainty rising inside me and ask, “What about the Redirected students? Does President Collindar know that you and your scientists are experimenting on them?”

“Ah, you have been busy learning all of our secrets.” But his frown and the flicker of confusion that crosses his face make me wonder if he truly knows everything that I have done. “Yes, the president receives monthly reports from Professor Cartwright and Dr. Bates that outline the success of their resourcing program. She’s fully aware of their progress in the study of human mutations caused by the wars, although she believes Professor Cartwright is being too cautious in his use of the subjects. Results are important. Especially if the reports we are getting from beyond our country’s borders are accurate.”

I want to ask about the reports he has hinted at, but as important as those are, it’s the faces of those who did not pass the first rounds of The Testing that haunt me and make me ask, “Where are they? Where are the experiments being conducted?”

“In Decatur Colony.”

“There is no Decatur Colony.” I would have heard. Everyone in the Commonwealth would have. Five Lakes was the last colony established, and that was more than twenty-five years ago.

“The colony isn’t like the others. It was established as a base for research close enough to the boundaries of the fourth test that unsuccessful experimentation can be released into a closely monitored environment.” It is the way he looks at me. Expectant. As if he is waiting for an answer. Unsuccessful experimentation . . .

Horror squeezes my chest. I see the eyes that met mine when I raised my gun on the unrevitalized plains and fired.

Angry.

Bitter.

Human.

I remember the screams as my bullet made impact and took a life. If Dr. Barnes is to be believed, it might have been the life of a former Testing candidate who was Redirected. Turned into a resource and then discarded.

Before I can recover my voice, Dr. Barnes goes on. “President Collindar and I disagree on a number of things, which is why you, Cia, are here. I chose you to be our own personal test. A candidate from a colony we have not selected a student from in years. One who is unlike the type of leader President Collindar and the rest of the Testing committee insists will be necessary for our country to survive the future. The president was positive a student with your background would crack under the pressure, that you’d be incapable of doing what is necessary to keep your country safe.”

A piece falls into place. “Symon helped me during the fourth phase of Testing because you told him to.”

He nods.

“Why?”

“I needed you to think clearly about your interview answers so that I could make a case for you being accepted to the University. Many on the committee had already expressed concern that you were too emotional and displayed qualities they felt were inappropriate in our leaders. I needed you to be in control during those final moments of The Testing so no one would ask too many questions when you were passed through to the University, which is what needed to happen. Because that was the only way you could be here at this, your final and most important test. President Collindar has agreed to abide by the results. If you pass this one last exam, The Testing program will end. If you fail, it will move forward as it currently stands and students will continue to die.”

“What is the test?” I ask. Vaguely, I am aware of the sound of footsteps and raised voices outside the door. But that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except this moment. My throat is dry and my heart pounds as I stare into Dr. Barnes’s eyes, looking for the truth. “What do I have to do?”

“Why, that should be obvious.” He walks around the table to where I sit and turns the butt of the gun toward me. “It is up to you to make sure that I die.”

I stare at the handle of the weapon in his hands. In my mind, I take it. I aim. I fire. The Testing is ended. All of this is over. But all I can do is stare at the gun, trying to decide what new test lies behind Dr. Barnes’s words.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“Of course you do.” He smiles. “I want to end The Testing. For that to happen, sacrifices need to be made. It seems only fitting that I am the one to make this one, since I have been a part of this process for so long. And truly this is the only way for The Testing to come to an end. The Testing has helped our country get through the darkest time in our history. People have come to trust the system and the leaders it produces. They believe in it.”

“Because they don’t understand what The Testing entails,” I insist.

“You aren’t that naive, Cia,” he chides. “They might not admit it, even to themselves, but more people than you think understand what The Testing involves. Most choose to pretend they’re ignorant of the facts because the system works. The idea of changing it scares them more than giving it their tacit approval. But you, my dear, are here to test whether the system really does function as well as we believe. In previous years, despite your grades and your performance in the fourth test, you would never have passed The Testing. Without the drug provided by Symon, you would have answered the interview questions truthfully. Your natural inclination to trust and your lack of killer instinct would have been apparent. Those qualities that have rallied friends to your side would have caused you to fail, because those characteristics are viewed as weaknesses by the selection committee. Today, you will prove that The Testing and the reasoning behind it are flawed. The president doesn’t believe students like you have what it takes to do what is required when your country demands it. By killing me, you prove that I am right in my convictions and she is wrong. Kill me, and this all comes to an end.” He places the gun in my lap, takes a step back, and folds his hands in front of him. “I am sorry, Ms. Vale, but after all that you have done, I have to ask that you take this one last test. You now have all the facts at your disposal. What will your answer be?”

Chapter 20

I WRAP MY fingers around the gun and stand. Slowly, I extend the weapon in front of me. I walked into this building resolved to kill, but I could never have imagined that Dr. Barnes would stand quietly in front of me asking me to take his life.

He created the tests, selected the candidates, and forced them into situations in which giving the correct answer was not enough. The president has asked for his death. Killing him will mean an end to The Testing.

His eyes fill with sympathy. The expression on his face is one of understanding and acceptance. I steel myself against the doubt that swirls inside me. Dr. Barnes calls this a test. If so, it’s one I don’t completely understand and one I cannot fail. I have to shoot. For Zandri, Malachi, and all those who did not pass. For Daileen and the others who could be a part of The Testing in the future. For me.

I jump at the sound of voices raised in anger. Running footsteps. Someone is coming. Friend? Foe? It doesn’t matter. All that matters are the gun in my hand and the man waiting for my answer.

My hand trembles as I search within myself for the truth. Something crashes into the door, making it shake.

Dr. Barnes’s eyes meet mine. “Your time is almost up, Cia.”

I do not take my eyes off the man who stands before me. Is he the monster I have always believed, or someone who is now making the ultimate sacrifice as a means of righting wrongs and finding redemption? The answer shouldn’t matter. But it does.

Everything depends on this moment.

I need to fire.

I need to kill.

But I can’t. No matter how much I want to succeed, I know that Dr. Barnes was wrong to choose me. Because I can’t look into the eyes of an unarmed man and fire. No matter what answer I give to this test, I know that ultimately it will cause me to fail.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the door to my right open. Lowering my weapon, I turn and see Symon standing in the entryway with his gun raised. Behind him are two more men. Both armed. And their weapons are all pointed at me.

“Put your gun down on the table, Cia. After your surviving this long, it would be a shame for it all to end here.” Symon takes a step toward me. His shirt is torn. Blood and char streak his pants. He must have still been inside Dr. Barnes’s house when it exploded. The hand that holds the gun poised to fire at me does not tremble. Symon’s eyes are flat and cold. He will not think twice about ending my life. I know I have no choice. My fingers tremble as I set the gun on the table next to me. Nodding, he calls over his shoulder. “Guard the elevator and the stairs. The president might have sent people here, too. Once we have a plan in place, we’ll be leaving.”

The two men hurry down the hall as Symon turns his attention to Dr. Barnes. “When you missed our meeting at your house, Jedidiah, I was worried. The person who attacked me and the bomb that went off there concerned me even more. The students here on campus have been leading an unauthorized assault on the officials Professor Holt assigned to keep the campus locked down.”

That’s what the fighting I heard outside was. Ian must have convinced the rebel students to turn against Symon.

Dr. Barnes frowns. “I thought you said you had the students under control.”

“I did, but things have started to unravel. Ranetta is refusing to deploy her teams around the city. Instead, she has convinced most of them, including many in my faction, to stay in camp. I don’t think we can wait for the rebels to hit first. If they’re going to be eliminated—”

“The rebels aren’t going to be eliminated,” Dr. Barnes says.

Symon goes still. “I don’t understand.”

Dr. Barnes smiles and puts his hand in his pocket. When he pulls it out, he is holding a small gun. “The president and I have come to an understanding. Too many people know about The Testing, the rebellion, and the Redirection project.”

“The rebels—”

“Not just the rebels, my friend.” Dr. Barnes’s face is filled with sorrow as he steps toward Symon. I am forgotten while they study each other. I slowly reach for my gun as Dr. Barnes says, “The time has come for all three to come to an end. The country is better for them, but they have served their purpose. I wish you had died in the explosion I created. After Ms. Vale’s heroics, I thought it appropriate. And then I wouldn’t have to do this.”

Symon understands the words a moment too late. I jump at the crack of gunfire. Symon reels back. Blood blooms on his shoulder, just inches from his heart, as he screams and fires back. Dr. Barnes shouts and another gunshot explodes as I turn to flee.

A familiar figure fills the doorway, blocking my path. Sweat glistens off Griffin’s head and he raises a large black gun. This time I don’t think. I pull the trigger. Surprise crosses Griffin’s face and he grabs the door. I fire again. Red spatters his face. As he falls, I run.

I race down the hall. Three shots ring out from the room behind me. Someone inside is still alive. At the end of the hall, I see the outline of a man raising a gun. I run to the left, toward the double doors, as he fires. I slip back into the lecture hall, close the door, and lock it. The lock will not keep them out for long, but it buys me a few seconds to figure out what I need to do next.

The room is black as night. The door handle rattles. I run my hand along the chairs beside me to keep my balance as I navigate the stairs as fast as I dare. There is shouting on the other side of the door. Two voices. Symon’s is the loudest as he yells for the other to stand back. I reach the bottom of the stairs and hurry across the aisle between the stage and the front row of chairs as five gunshots slam into the door.

I duck down behind the chairs as the door crashes open. Lights flicker to life above me. I hold my breath and crouch as low as I can while still remaining on my feet so I am ready to flee. To my right is the stage where Dr. Barnes once stood. The podium is there. Far to the left I see a narrow door. Too far away for me to reach now, but maybe I can find a way.

Someone is on the stairs. Another is near the back of the hall, moving down the aisle. From the hall outside the room, I hear more footsteps. The other man Symon brought with him? Two against one is bad odds. But three against one? I tighten my hold on the gun. I will only get one chance to fire. Whoever is with Symon will see me the minute I rise. He will fire too. I will die. But so will Symon. I will not allow myself to die without a fight.

The person coming down the stairs is moving slower that the one in the back. His footsteps sound heavier. Like a man who is injured. He will be my target.

A voice shouts from the hallway. Whoever is out there will be here in moments. Then I will face three opponents. I think of those I love and have the whisper of Tomas’s name in my heart as I swallow down my fear and stand. I was right. Symon stands three quarters of the way down the side aisle. His eyes widen in surprise as he sees me. Blood coats the hand holding the gun that takes aim.

The footsteps in the hall stop. Three figures appear in the door as I squeeze the trigger. Sound explodes around me. Symon drops to the ground and rolls down the last two stairs to the front aisle as searing pain pierces my right arm. I turn toward the man who shot me and fire again, but miss as he darts to the left. And I’m not sure if I would have hit him anyway. The burning ache in my arm is making it hard to keep a grip on the gun.

Symon’s man turns and takes aim as a voice calls my name.

Tomas.

Another shot cracks the air. Symon’s man stumbles backward into one of the chairs. Blood seeps from the wound in his chest as he sinks to the ground.

My arm is on fire. The world spins in and out of focus, but none of that matters as Tomas races down the stairs toward me. His clothes are covered in dirt and a ragged cut runs down one side of his face, but he is here. Whole. Alive.

Over Tomas’s shoulder I see two other people running down the stairs. One is Will. The other, Zeen. I look behind them for Stacia but don’t see her. Did Tomas have to leave her behind because of her injury? Or is she looking to make sure Dr. Barnes is dead?

I am about to ask when my brother says, “I want my Transit Communicator back.”

Despite the pain I feel, laughter erupts out of me. Zeen flashes the smile that I grew up idolizing as he rushes toward me. I start to reply when I see movement to my left—the barrel of Symon’s gun as it is placed in position. I push Tomas to the side and raise my weapon, but I know I will be too late. That after all I have been through, I will die as Symon pulls the trigger.

Gunfire fills the room. A scream rips from my throat, but the bullet never finds me because Zeen gets there first. My brother jerks as the bullet punches into him and groans when he hits the ground next to Symon. I do not hesitate as I squeeze the trigger of my weapon. A wound blooms in Symon’s chest. A second—from Will’s gun—appears in his left temple, and Symon drops to the ground.

Zeen. I can barely whisper his name as I kneel next to him, ignore the pain in my arm, and roll him over to see the injury he has sustained. I choke back a sob as I see the hole in his chest. Instinctively, I reach for my bag to find something to help, but my bag isn’t here and even if it were, I know there is no healing this wound. Zeen’s lungs have been damaged. Maybe his heart. It won’t be long before both stop working.

Despite what I know to be true, I scream for Will and Tomas to find someone to help us. I don’t care if I am arrested and punished. Zeen needs to live. There has been enough loss. Enough death. Too high a price has been paid. I can’t lose him. Not now. Not when we are finally together again.

Will yells that he’ll go to the Medical residence to find help and disappears out the door. When Tomas finally moves, I think that he too is going to look for aid. That he believes there is a chance Zeen could live. Instead, he kneels opposite me, next to Zeen, and takes Zeen’s other hand in his. I see tears streak down Tomas’s face. I want to cry, but there are no tears to wash away a loss this huge. Dr. Flint used to say that the severest wounds often cannot be felt by the victim because the nerves are too damaged to transmit pain. Seeing Zeen in my arms, struggling to breathe, has cut too deep for tears.

He coughs and I smooth back his hair and whisper encouraging words like he used to do when I was little and scared or sick. I tell him that I love him. That I am so glad I am with him now. That everything will be okay. But it won’t. Because Zeen’s breathing is becoming shallower. His heartbeat is slowing, and his eyes are filled with anguish.

“Do you still have your bag?” I ask Tomas. “Can you give him something for the pain?”

Tomas looks down at Zeen and nods. He stands and walks to where he dropped his bag. He pulls out two bottles. One marked with a circle. The other with an X. I see the question in his eyes as he holds them out to me.

Zeen coughs. His hand tightens around mine. His face has drained of color. His chest barely rises as he takes his next breath. I reach out and take the bottle with the circle on it and help him drink. Maybe it is selfish of me, but I want these last moments with him to last as long as they can. It will be hard enough to go on after Zeen is gone. I cannot be the one to bring about the final moment of his life.

“Cia,” Zeen whispers. “Remember what I said when you graduated. And tell Mom and Dad I saved you. They’ll be proud.”

They find us sitting with our hands joined. Tomas, Zeen, and me. Zeen’s heart has stopped. He is no longer in pain.

I try to console myself with that as Safety officials do not shoot but instead ask us to stand. When I try, I find I cannot. I am too dizzy. Too tired. Too overwhelmed. They let Tomas help me into one of the chairs as a medical team works on my arm. Tomas sits beside me as they clean and bandage our injuries. When I ask about Stacia, anguish crosses Tomas’s face and I know before he says it that she is dead. Tomas tells me he’ll explain everything later, but that she died at Professor Chen’s house. When he falls silent, I don’t press for answers because I have had enough of death.

My arm throbs, but the pain lessens when the medical team applies an ointment and begins to wrap the wound with a bandage. They have done all they can here and will need to treat me further to prevent infection or a terrible scar. As if anything they can do will prevent the scars I will wear from this night forever.

A team of officials in purple appear. I think they must be coming to arrest me, but instead they walk to where Zeen lies. I scream when they try to carry Zeen’s body out. That’s when President Collindar arrives. She tells them to leave Zeen with us and orders her staff to remove Symon and to keep everyone else out. When the medical officials are finished, she asks them to leave us alone. She allows Tomas to stay, which is good. He would have refused to go.

Once she is alone with Tomas and me she says, “There is much we need to discuss, but most of it can be done in the days and weeks ahead. My officials found Dr. Barnes down the hall. He and Symon are both dead. But that is not true of everyone on the list I gave you.”

Dr. Barnes is dead.

I close my eyes and try to feel relief that someone succeeded in killing him when I could not. After all, he is the reason my brother and so many others lost their lives. But there is no joy in his death. Only sadness and a sense of confusion, since I will never know whether his final words were the truth—that he believed The Testing should end and was willing to give up his life to make sure that it did.

I open my eyes and choose my words carefully as I reply to the president’s unspoken question. “Since Symon had a hand in creating the list, I decided it was best to learn what I could about the people on it. Of the twelve, only five were involved in the University and Testing process in a way that eliminating them would affect your agenda. Those are the ones we opted to remove.”

“I’m impressed.” President Collindar smiles. “It is not always easy to lead with caution, especially with so much at stake. After giving you the list, I began to wonder if Symon included some opponents of The Testing. Had they been killed, you would have eliminated those who could have been influential dissenters.”

Are her words the truth, or did she herself have reason to want those people removed, as Dr. Barnes’s explanation suggested?

The president’s stolid expression provides no insight. “For your sake and the sake of your friends,” she says, “we will make a public announcement that the deaths of several prominent officials and members of the University came at the hands of one Symon Dean—the leader of a group created to destabilize the Commonwealth and our revitalization mission. He will also be blamed for the explosions that occurred here on campus and on the other side of town, as well as for the deaths of the students and officials who have been fighting tonight. I have already talked to the leader of the students who believed they were doing what was necessary to help end The Testing. He and his fellow students will be given amnesty for their actions, as will all those who followed Symon.”

“And is that when you’ll announce that The Testing will end?” I ask.

President Collindar straightens her shoulders. As she looks at me, I recall the words Dr. Barnes spoke tonight. Does she know that I was not the one who killed Dr. Barnes? Have my actions been sufficient to prove that I am strong enough to be a leader even though it was not my hand that accomplished that task? If Symon killed him before coming after me, then there is no one to tell her differently. But if someone else was behind the act, and Dr. Barnes was being honest, I’m not sure what she will do.

“Yes.” She smiles again. “I will also announce that the University selection process known as The Testing will end. Once the University and its programs are legally shifted under the Debate Chamber’s jurisdiction, I will direct the Chamber to choose a new head of the school and institute some necessary changes.”

“What kinds of changes?”

“It will be a while before that can be determined, but I can promise you that none of the candidates for our University will have to go through the trials you did.”

Her smile is reassuring but her words are not. My brother and my friends did not sacrifice their lives for half promises.

“What about the students who failed to pass The Testing?” I ask. “The ones in Decatur Colony. What will happen to them?”

For several heartbeats there is silence as President Collindar studies me. Gauging how much I know. How much she should say. “I’ve only recently learned that there is a research group known as Decatur Colony. Perhaps you will be interested in taking a trip there with me to see what work is being done.”

I think of Raffe’s final request that I find his sister Emilie, and I nod. “I would.”

“Good.” She smiles. “I assure you that changes will be made. There are a number of challenges ahead, and whether someone attends the University or not, I intend to see that the brightest minds from the colonies and Tosu City are put to the best use possible. Because of that, it is my plan to allow students who are unhappy with the University to request to return home to their families. I’m certain those who do will find a way to contribute to our revitalization mission from there.”

Tomas’s hand tightens on mine, and I know he is thinking the same thing I am. We can go home.

“Do you have any more questions, Cia?”

I have dozens. But I’m sure I will never hear the answers to the most important ones. I look at President Collindar’s sincere expression and think of the tension I felt between her and Dr. Barnes the day I was assigned to my internship. I think of the worry she expressed at the number of candidates and students who came to the University and failed to graduate. She spoke of the desire to remove Dr. Barnes in order to end the practices that he perpetuated, and charged me with helping her create that change. I want to believe her. To deny that anything Dr. Barnes said about her was real. After all, he was the one who watched my Testing roommate’s body be cut free while explaining that her suicide proved The Testing’s methods worked. Could that man, who was responsible for so many deaths, have really wanted The Testing to change? Was he right about President Collindar? Is it true that she not only knows the fate of those who have been Redirected, as her own words indicate, but approves of what has been done to them? Does she believe The Testing should be made even more difficult and be inflicted upon more than just colony-born students? Despite what she says now, will The Testing that Tomas and I were forced to participate in really end?

Dr. Barnes said that my greatest asset is my ability to trust my instincts. I have to trust them now. Do I believe Dr. Barnes? I don’t want to, but I do. And now that he is dead, there is only one way to know if I am right.

“Do you have any other questions for now, Cia?” President Collindar asks again.

“Yes, I do,” I say. “Would you mind if I get my University bag from the interview room?”

She rises. “Of course not, although you understand that any tools you might have borrowed to complete your task will have to be returned to the storage facility in my office.”

It takes me two tries to get out of my chair. The room shifts but I stay on my feet. Tomas offers an arm to help me balance as I navigate the stairs, but I refuse. This is something I must do on my own.

President Collindar follows us out. I feel her eyes on us as, side by side, Tomas and I walk to the end of the now brightly illuminated lecture hall. A purple-clad official wipes blood off the floor near the entrance to the interview room. Griffin’s body has been moved. As I step through the doorway, I see a body lying on the floor with a small gun near one hand. Blood pools near the head, matting the gray hair that had given the man an air of authority and wisdom. His face is turned away from me, and though I know who it is from the clothing and the gun, I move several steps closer.

There is a bullet wound in Dr. Barnes’s shoulder that was not there when I last saw him. But that wasn’t what killed him. The three bullet wounds clustered near his heart are the obvious cause of his death. I wonder if those three holes will give me away, because never could I shoot with that kind of skill.

“As soon as we leave, they will collect the body. I gave you this task, but I wasn’t sure you would be able to see it through. When your friend told me that you had, I was pleased to know that the faith I placed in you and your abilities was not mistaken.”

“My friend?” I look at Tomas, who shrugs. He is not the one who claimed I killed Dr. Barnes. Then who?

“Yes,” she says. “The dark-haired boy with the green eyes.”

Will.

“I saw him after I heard Dr. Barnes had been killed and asked him what he knew. He was worried you’d feel guilty after everything that happened and that you wouldn’t accept the credit for what you had done. He thinks you’re a hero.”

“I’m not.” After everything that has happened, it is the only thing I am certain of.

President Collindar smiles. “I had a feeling you’d say that. The decisions that leaders have to make are never easy. Including this one. You took a life, but just think how many more were saved.”

Not Zeen’s. Lives were saved. Yes. But not by me. By Will.

I look again at the bloody hole in Dr. Barnes’s shoulder and the three precise gunshot wounds in his chest. Symon must have caused the first as he ran to find me. Symon was injured when he fired. I am not sure he could have fired with the accuracy it would have taken to create the fatal wounds. But someone who was a known marksman, like Will, could have. His main skill lies with a crossbow, as he demonstrated in the fourth test, but I remember how he took down Roman and know his skill with a gun doesn’t lag far behind. Symon might have inflicted the three wounds that killed Dr. Barnes, but my gut tells me no. This was Will’s work.

Will wasn’t here when Dr. Barnes explained his bargain with President Collindar. He couldn’t have known that crediting me with the kill was the only way to end The Testing we both despised. Yet, that is what he did. The Will I knew during the fourth test would have taken the credit for his actions. He would have wanted whatever reward he thought would come with bringing down the president’s foe. Instead, this time, he passed to me whatever accolades he felt would be delivered. Because Will isn’t just the boy who shot and betrayed. Just as I am not just the naive girl from Five Lakes. Now I have to decide for certain whether Dr. Barnes was the man I believed him to be and whether President Collindar is the person she says she is.

Walking to the table, I look at the glass Dr. Barnes drank from, and the liquid that remains at the bottom. I put the glass to my lips and take a small sip.

The flavor makes me grimace as Dr. Barnes did. Metallic. Bitter. The taste that I remember from months ago in this same room. When Dr. Barnes watched and waited and hoped that I would be confident and coherent enough to pass through to the University. He hoped I would prove that The Testing was flawed and that by my hand and through his sacrifice it all would be ended.

“Are you ready, Cia?” President Collindar asks.

Everything Dr. Barnes told me was the truth.

“Cia, are you ready?” she asks again.

I look at the president and then around the room, my mind filled with questions. Only some of which I can answer. For the rest I will have to do what is necessary to obtain the truth.

“Come on, Cia,” Tomas says, taking my bag from the table. “Let’s go home.”

Chapter 21

HOME.

On the outskirts of Five Lakes I sit under an oak tree that my brother Zeen helped create. My father and I have visited this site every day since I have come home. Today, I am here alone. In my hands is the Transit Communicator that Zeen once owned. The mate to this Communicator is buried next to him. Tears that I could not shed the night he died fall freely now that I am surrounded by reminders of him. The night of my graduation, we stood under an oak like this. On that night Zeen spoke to me the words that in the moments before he died he asked me to remember. Back then the two of us stood in the shadows together, both disappointed about our futures. Me, because I thought I hadn’t been chosen for The Testing. He, because he felt trapped by the boundaries of Five Lakes and the lack of recognition for what he had achieved. In that moment he told me, “Things don’t always work out the way we hope. You just have to pick yourself up and find a new direction to go in.”

Nothing about what has happened this past year has turned out the way I had dreamed of. Yet remembering Zeen’s words has given me comfort, and knowing he died to save my life has made me more determined to see that his sacrifice is never forgotten.

Above me, leaves rustle on the tree. Sunlight, bright and filled with hope, shines on the four grave markers beside me. Each etched with a symbol and a name so that the sacrifices of those who died will live in the memory of everyone from Five Lakes. Zeen Vale beneath two crossed lightning bolts. An arrow under the name Malachi Rourke. A stylized flower and the name Zandri Hicks. And Michal Gallen with the symbol of an anchor. He wasn’t from Five Lakes, but I insisted he be included. Honored for the help he gave and the sacrifice he made. Without him, change would not have come. And there has been change.

Three weeks have passed since that night in The Testing Center. I spent much of that time in the University Medical building getting treatment, talking to Enzo, who is still in the early stages of the healing process, sitting with Tomas, and watching Raffe through a window as he fought for his life. The medical team is amazed that Raffe has survived this long and that each day his vital signs get stronger. Caught in the blast that was meant to kill Symon, Raffe is determined to live. And now he has an even larger reason to fight for his life.

The president stood by her word. Three days after that night in The Testing Center, I accompanied her and her team to Decatur Colony. Since Tomas is not part of the president’s staff, he was not allowed to join us. I’m glad, because I am uncertain how he would have handled what we found there. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t a community twice the size of Five Lakes Colony with medical facilities more advanced than any I’d seen in Tosu City located on the outskirts of the colony. But unlike those wards, these contained patients in various stages of chemically induced mutations. Not as many as I would have thought, considering the number of Redirected students sent here every year. Four in each of the five stages being studied. Two male. Two female. Those in the worst stages arched their backs and extended their claws as researchers stood behind glass walls, taking notes. When I asked, I learned why there are so few. The others deemed beyond help were turned out onto The Testing grounds to mingle with the mutations that were created by war instead of by this lab.

The scars on my arm tingled as I stared into their eyes and wondered if these patients knew the mutated humans I shot during the fourth test. I wish I knew their names, but the newly appointed head of Decatur Colony’s research team, Dreu Owens, does not know the identities of those I killed or whether they were research subjects or natural mutations like the ones scientists are hoping eventually to treat and cure. Dreu told me that after being assigned to Decatur Colony, he wanted to leave when he realized most residents and test subjects were former Testing candidates and Redirected University students. But he didn’t because, now that he understands the work being done, he can’t leave behind those who suffered. Not if there is a chance of curing them. And from the partially cured human and animal mutations Dreu showed us, I believe there really may be a chance.

But not if those in charge continue the practices that have been employed up till now. Because while many former candidates and students are content to be working in labs and helping to discover a cure, there are others who are bitter and angry. Who believe that the methods being used are wrong and who live in fear that they might be chosen as the next subject for experimentation. Dreu has already announced that he will limit research to subjects who have already suffered mutations and that those who are unhappy in their current work will be able to request a transfer to another project.

Over the president’s objections, I insisted on taking two Decatur Colony residents with me—Raffe’s sister Emilie and Will’s twin brother, Gil. Both had been assigned to work in the labs and seem to be undamaged. It appears they had escaped scientific testing. After seeing what they could have been faced with, I am glad they are untouched. Both have been reunited with their brothers. The smile I saw on Will’s face was the same one I remember him wearing the first time we met. He and Gil exchanged jokes and finished each other’s sentences as if they’d never been apart. Seeing their happiness made me hold back the questions I will someday ask. About Dr. Barnes. The bullet holes. The credit Will gave me. But even without hearing the answers, I can see the truth when Will’s smile fades and he thinks no one is watching. He is living with the memories of what he has done. Something his brother and Emilie do not have to do.

All memory of the time spent in Decatur Colony has been removed from them. The president and her advisors believe limiting the memory of those who return from the colony and the public’s information about the research done there is essential to retaining peace. Another secret kept for the good of our country. When I consider the president’s logic, I cannot disagree. And yet, part of me wonders if we can ever truly learn from what we have done if we continue to suppress or erase the past.

And yet, there is hope that we have learned something. Last week, I watched from the Debate Chamber gallery as President Collindar kept her bargain with Dr. Barnes. Standing at the podium, looking out on a filled Chamber and observation area, the president announced the disbanding of the University selection process known as The Testing. Current University students will continue their education under the temporary direction of Professor Douglas Lee—head of Early Studies and professor of history. Meanwhile, the president and her office will work closely with the Education Department to create a new selection system for the University, one that will be the same for both Tosu City and colony students.

The city is buzzing about the traitor who killed Dr. Barnes, Professor Holt, Official Jefferies, and Professor Chen. I know now that only three of them should be dead. In the days following the attack and Dr. Barnes’s death, I learned that Professor Chen was pushing for a reevaluation of The Testing’s purpose and the method of selecting new students. Tomas and Stacia learned of Professor Chen’s true intent when they went to her house. Once she was restrained, Tomas wanted to leave but Stacia refused. A bullet at close range from Stacia’s gun killed Professor Chen. Stacia was determined to follow the president’s instructions. The United Commonwealth president was Stacia’s leader. Not me. Stacia died moments later. Tomas says it was self-defense. I have not pressed him. Perhaps because I can see the real answer in the shadows that fill his eyes. Maybe someday he will tell me why he killed Stacia, but I doubt it. In his mind, what happened is over. It is time to move on.

My name has not been mentioned in conjunction with Dr. Barnes’s death or the elimination of the others. Nor have the names of Tomas, Ian, Raffe, Stacia, and Will, though our friends from our former study group helped us create a marker decorated with the symbol Raffe created to honor Stacia. We placed it next to the one Professor Holt hung for Rawson. A fitting tribute, I hope, for a girl who wanted more than anything to be important. She and I might not have agreed on much in the end, but for better or worse, she was still my friend. I miss her.

Thanks to the president’s official version of events, I can go on with my life without anyone knowing about the task the president gave me and the choices I made. Tomas is grateful. I suppose I am, too, although I have already told the truth to my family around the same kitchen table where I learned how to divide and multiply. I notice my brothers no longer tease me as easily as they used to. My mother tries to pretend nothing is different, but I have seen her watching me. I know she wants me to be the same girl who left home, and I try my best to act like her, but we both know I am not. My father is the only one who truly understands. Perhaps because he too has been Tested.

I stand and look to the west. Far in the distance I see the current boundaries of Five Lakes Colony and the unrevitalized
area beyond. There is much good I can do here. I love being home, even though once again I am sleeping in front of the fireplace to avoid hearing my brothers’ snores. Magistrate Owens has already asked me for ideas about enhancing our communications with Tosu City and the other colonies as well as my thoughts on better ways to create and manage our colony’s power.

Tomas is happy because he has been offered a place on my father’s team. If he proves himself, he will be able to create a team of his own. Being home has lifted Tomas’s spirits. He’s more like the boy I knew before leaving for Tosu City. Surrounded by family, he’s begun to heal, though he too will never forget. Despite our not having graduated from the University, everyone here considers Tomas and me leaders. The opportunity we’ve been offered to help our colonies is exactly what we dreamed of when we hoped to be selected for The Testing. Tomas is eager to start working with my father, and to build our lives here.

I long to stay. To be happy.

But as much as I want to be with Tomas and my family, each day that passes convinces me that I cannot. Five Lakes is as wonderful as I remember. I will visit as often as I can and will always find peace here. I wish I could go back to who I was, but I’m different. This is my home, but it is no longer where I belong.

Holding the Transit Communicator tight to my chest, I slowly walk to town, where Tomas waits for me. I’m going to tell him that I have to go back. But he will know my choice the minute he sees the bracelet that circles my wrist. This is not the path I dreamed of while growing up, but it is the one have to walk. Because the only way to be sure The Testing we had to survive never happens again is not to trust our leaders. It is to be one of them.

I walk up the hill and into the square. Tomas stands near the fountain that sprays sparkling, clean water into the air. When he sees me, a smile filled with love spreads across his face. In his hands are daisies he must have picked on his way here. As I walk toward him, I smile back with all the love in my heart. Tomorrow I will return to Tosu City. I will move into a new room at the University and will complete my studies and my internship. I will tell Brick, Naomy, and Vic the truth behind what has happened. And when Enzo and Raffe recover, I will ask them all to help me keep watch over the president and our other leaders to ensure that nothing like The Testing ever happens again.

If I have to travel the path I have chosen alone, I will. But as Tomas’s mouth meets mine, I hope deep in my heart that he will understand the choice I have made and will once again make the journey to Tosu City with me. Because despite what I have learned and what I have done, I am still the girl from Five Lakes who wants to lead and help my country. And there is so much still for me to do.

TODAY IS THE DAY.

I lean against the trunk of a thin, healthy tree and watch the sun crest over the horizon. Thirty feet from where I sit, I can see where green grass meets cracked earth. Brown, scraggly plants. The twisted branches of trees that fight for life in the corrupted soil. An area where my father and his team have yet to ply their revitalization efforts. But they will. My father is hoping I’ll be here to help. I have different plans. Today will determine whether all of the studying, pushing myself to learn more, will pay off. It has to.

The wind catches the edges of the papers in my hand and pulls my focus back to where it belongs—studying. If I am selected for The Testing today, I need to be prepared. Being ranked first in my colony’s graduating class and being chosen to go to Tosu City will mean nothing if I am not prepared enough to pass The Testing and continue on to the University.

I touch the words on the cover of the booklet in my hands: THE TESTING PREPARATION GUIDE. A knot of guilt forms in my gut as I think about the head teacher of Five Lakes Colony, Mrs. Bryskim. Just yesterday she was saying how proud she was of me for graduating first. How proud my father must be to have his oldest take after him. I wonder if she’d express that same pride if she knew I stole this booklet out of her desk drawer?

Not that I wanted to. Stealing is not the Five Lakes way. But what choice did I have after Mrs. Bryskim refused to let me borrow it? I thought she understood how much I need to be chosen. To succeed. That I have to get out of Five Lakes colony and make my mark on the world. I don’t want to work for my father for the rest of my life. I need the chance to make my own mark on revitalizing our damaged world. To do that, I have to be selected for and pass The Testing. This booklet will help me grab hold of the future that is waiting for me.

I flip to the opening page and read the first question: Describe each of the Seven Stages of War.

Easy.

In my head I list the stages—the first four stages of man-made warfare that started on the other side of the globe and tore apart civilization as people knew it. Then the next three stages, when the earth, corrupted by radiation and biologically engineered weaponry, fought back. Windstorms. Tornadoes. Earthquakes. Hurricanes. Until finally the earth quieted and the rebuilding process could begin.

I smile as I consider how far we’ve come in more than a hundred years. Then I move on to the next question. Explain kinetic theory and write the formula that best explains how to determine the temperature of a gas. It isn’t a difficult question, but not as easy as the first. Pulling a piece of chalk and a black slate from my bag, I get to work. Though I would prefer to write on paper, I can’t. Not for this kind of practice. Paper is precious. In school, paper is used only for the most important tests. Once the test scores are determined, the paper is immediately sent off to Ames Colony for recycling. Trees are too precious to waste on frivolous things.

“Zeen.”

My head snaps up at the sound of my name coming from our dwelling’s kitchen window. “I’m out here, Mom,” I yell back, and go back to reading the next question.

“You’d better be in here in the next five minutes or you’ll be late for graduation.”

I start to yell that I have plenty of time, but then I notice the position of the sun in the sky. Damn. I shove my chalk, slate, and the booklet into my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and head for the house. I will have to study later. Mom is right. Graduation is important. I don’t want to be late.

My mother fusses over every detail. I let her even though the way she frets and fiddles makes me want to scream. No matter how I brush my hair, it’s not right. Finally, Mom takes over, which makes my brother Hamin snort with laughter. We’ll see how funny he finds it in two years when Mom does the same to him.

Finally, after more than an hour of buffing dirt and grime only my mother can see from my boots, and a lot of jokes from my twin brothers, Win and Hart, Mom declares me presentable. A glance in the reflector tells me she’s right. My blond hair is neatly swept back behind my ears. My chin is whisker-free. As I straighten the deep purple sleeve of my tunic, I smile. Purple. The ceremonial color of adulthood. I am a man.

As the rest of the family hurries to get ready, I pull the booklet from my bag and take a seat at the scarred oak kitchen table, hoping there is time for just one more question.

“Are you nervous?” asks my favorite voice in the world.

Without regret, I push the booklet aside and smile into my little sister Cia’s deep brown eyes. “Not a bit. All I have to do is stand on stage and listen to a bunch of speeches. That’s nothing to be nervous about.”

“Then why have you been getting up so early and studying like your life depends on it?”

I laugh. Although her tiny stature and dark curls make my sister look younger than her ten years, she is smarter than almost anyone in Five Lakes. Except for our father, the magistrate, Dr. Flint, and me. It doesn’t come as a surprise that she has noticed my Testing preparations while others have not.

“I’m just making sure I’m ready in case I get chosen for The Testing, kiddo.”

Cia’s teasing smile fades. “You’re going to get chosen. Everyone says you’re the smartest student to graduate from Five Lakes in the last ten years. I overheard Mom talking to Dad about it this morning. She’s sure you’re going to be chosen and you’ll go away forever.”

The tears lurking in my sister’s voice have me pulling her up onto my lap the way I did when she was a toddler. “What did Dad say?”

“He told Mom that she should be more concerned with what’s going to happen if you don’t get chosen. He doesn’t think you’ll be happy living in Five Lakes with us. That’s not true, is it?”

I do the only thing I can. I lie. “I’ll be happy no matter what. I promise.”

“Good.” Cia wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tight. Which I’m glad for, because it means she can’t see the anger that must show on my face. Our father went to the University. He should be pleased that I have worked hard to be chosen in order to follow in his footsteps. But instead of being proud and hoping for my success, my father is planning for how he will placate me when I fail.

I have worked too hard. There is no one who has worked harder. I can’t fail.

But I do.

I stand on the stage so proud. So confident. I look out at the gathering of our entire colony—just over nine hundred people strong—and smile. I don’t care how long the presentation is or how many announcements the magistrate and other leaders need to make. This yearly event is the only opportunity address the entire colony. Why should I begrudge them their announcements about building a barn or constructing a new fountain in the square in honor of the man who helped purify our water? While my fellow graduates fidget, anxious for the event to be over, I stand with my hands clasped behind my back. Patient. Because the prize I’ve waited so long for is coming.

Only it never arrives. No Tosu Official takes the stage. No announcement about Testing candidates selected. Nothing but the stab of defeat followed by bone-chilling shame.

The minute the sky turns dark, I slip away from the graduation celebration. No more smiling to hide the bitterness of disappointment. No more pretending to be excited to start work with my father.

For the first time, I am grateful for the isolated location of my family’s dwelling. Normally, I get irritated being so far from friends. Today, the long walk by hazy moonlight gives me time to think. My father offered me a job working with him. Everyone expects me to take it. It’s only natural. I want to be part of the country’s revitalization. My father is doing important work.

And yet, I don’t want to stay in Five Lakes, where I know every face and everyone knows mine. I could apply to Tosu City and hope they find a job for me in another colony, but the chances of that happening are rare. If I want to see more of the world than Five Lakes, I have to do it on my own.

When I reach our home, I am glad to know no one will disturb me as decide what choices I still have left for my future. I pass through the living room into the bedroom I share with my brothers and sister and flip on the light Cia built out of spare wire and solar panels. As I cross the threshold, the purple tunic I’d been so pleased to wear hits the floor. I give it a kick under the bottom bunk of my bed and try to decide what to do next.

I should get ready for sleep, but instead I find myself pulling on my work clothes and my most comfortable boots. I take several more shirts out of the wooden trunk at the foot of my bed. Three pairs of socks. Two pairs of pants. I grab my bag, pull the practice test out, and throw it on the floor. Funny how just hours ago those pages seemed so important. Now they are nothing compared to the need to pack. To leave Five Lakes Colony behind me. To run far and fast from my failure. To do it now.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here.”

The sound of my father’s voice makes my heart stop. I’d been so focused on gathering my things, I never heard him come in. Taking a deep breath, I turn and face the man I’ve always been told I look like. The man I’ve always wanted to make proud. “I thought you’d still be at the party.”

“Did you intend to leave without saying goodbye?”

The bag in my hand feels impossibly heavy. “I don’t know.” The truth of the words makes the shame inside me grow.

My father nods. “I know you wanted to be selected for The Testing, but I’m relieved you weren’t. Especially after seeing you now.” He points to my packed bag. “Your passion is one of your greatest assets even as it is your biggest flaw. You always lead with emotion and think through the consequences later. It’s the reason you’d never have survived The Testing.”

Anger flares hot and deep in my stomach. “I know how to take a test. I would have passed.”

“The Testing is about more than the right answers. A great deal more.”

“How would I know what The Testing is about?” I throw the bag to the floor. “You never talk about it. It might have helped me get selected if you had, but never once did you tell me what The Testing was like.”

“That’s because I can’t.” My father runs a hand through his hair. The hurt in his eyes drains away, leaving sadness and something more haunting behind. “The United Commonwealth has procedures in place to ensure that successful candidates can never reveal their Testing experience. But I can tell you this—the Testing doesn’t always reward the smartest or the fastest to finish the test. Unlike you, I was not at the top of my colony’s class. There were candidates smarter than me who walked through The Testing Center’s doors. Whatever happened inside was too much for them. They never walked out.”

My father’s admission that he wasn’t the smartest of his class surprises me. I always assumed he was. Now I am forced to wonder what else about my life is not as it seems.

“Look,” my father continues. “I understand you’re disappointed, but leaving Five Lakes isn’t the answer. At least not today.”

I cock my head to the side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dad’s eyes meet mine. “There are things outside the safety of Five Lakes Colony that you don’t understand. That you aren’t prepared to deal with. You’ve only seen glimpses of the damaged world that exists out there.”

“Whose fault is that?” Frustration storms through me and punches through my words.

“Mine.” My father shouts back. “I take responsibility for keeping you sheltered, and I will not apologize for making choices that have kept my children safe. There is more than poisoned water, rabid animals, and a lack of food waiting outside Five Lakes.”

“Like what?”

“Promise you won’t run off in anger. That you’ll stay in Five Lakes and let me help prepare you for what exists beyond our colony’s borders. If in a couple years you still want to leave, I swear I won’t stand in your way.” Before I can answer, he adds, “Don’t give me your answer now. Sleep on it. The world will still be waiting tomorrow.”

With that he’s gone, taking my anger with him. All that remains in its place is the weary ache of misery.

Stay home and hope to find answers?

Leave and on my own discover the secrets my father hints at?

Fatigue jumbles my thoughts together. My head pounds. Bitterness churns my stomach as I try to focus. When I can’t, I am forced to admit Dad is right. I cannot make the decision now. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll be rested. If I choose to, tomorrow is soon enough to leave.

My brothers are still sleeping when I wake and carefully slide out of bed. Cia’s bed is empty. Not a surprise, since Win is snoring. Carefully, I slip out of the room and smile as I spot the tiny body curled up in front of the fireplace. In that moment, my choice to leave or stay is made. While I love my parents and brothers, Cia is special. I’m the one she comes to when she’s worried or confused. She’s the one person I know needs me. So for now, I will stay, and learn what Dad has to teach. Once Cia is older and Dad has shared what secrets he knows . . .

Who knows.

I’m so focused on my own problems that I barely notice the booklet clutched in Cia’s hand. The same booklet I studied yesterday morning. Cia must have found it on the floor in our bedroom.

Careful to step around the floorboards that squeak, I cross to where Cia is sleeping. When I reach to take the booklet from her hands I notice how tightly she holds it. As if it is as important to her as it was to me.

So, instead of retrieving it, I go in search of my father to tell him that I will stay, and leave the study guide clutched tight in my sister’s hands. After all, what harm could encouraging her dreams do?

Malencia Vale

TEST 1 - HISTORY

Authorized by THE TESTING
for

The United Commonwealth

Q: Explain the First Stage of the War of the Nations.

A: The assassination of Prime Minister Chae fractured the Asian Alliance and sparked a power struggle among the other nations and a civil war. During the civil war, bombs were dropped on the Korean States, destroying most of the population and causing the meltdown of two nuclear reactors.

Q: What were the first two genetically altered crops to be cultivated successfully in the fields outside Tosu City?

A: Wheat and corn.

Q: Explain the cause of the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Stages of War and their impact on North America.

A: Use of nuclear and biological weapons increased the pressure near fault lines. This sudden rise of pressure caused earthquake swarms and aftershocks that began in what was once the state of California and traveled across the continent. Earthquakes also disrupted the ocean floors, triggering the first of the floods that signaled the start of the Sixth Stage and submerged what remained of the coastal states, destroying most of the population. The Seventh Stage was marked by a shift in the weather patterns. Tornadoes, radioactive windstorms, and droughts caused the population to decrease even further and tainted all but the hardiest of plants, animals, and food sources. When the weather calmed, those who survived could finally begin to rebuild.

Q: Why was Tosu City chosen as the site for the United Commonwealth capital?

A: Because of the non-strategic nature of the state of Kansas, the city of Wichita was not targeted during the first four stages of war. While earthquakes and tornadoes ripped apart the north side of the city, the majority of the city was untouched, making it the ideal site to start the rebuilding process. The city name was changed from Wichita to Tosu to symbolize the hope of a people set on rebuilding what was lost.

Do you think you have what it takes to pass
THE TESTING?

Kaylee

WANT: A DESIRE TO POSSESS OR DO SOMETHING. A WISH.

NEED: SOMETHING REQUIRED BECAUSE IT IS ESSENTIAL. SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT THAT YOU CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT.

WHAT DO YOU NEED?

“See, Kaylee. It’s fascinating, right?” Nate swivels in my desk chair and grins, showing off the braces he will finally get removed next week. He lobbied to get the braces off earlier, saying that no sixteen-year-old should have to face girls with metal in his mouth, but his father and the dentist both said no. Personally, I think they make Nate’s blond good looks less perfect, which is not a bad thing. He needs a flaw. Or twelve. Of course, I have enough flaws for both of us. The attention-seeking drama queen and the neglected, nonathletic brother. We’re so different and yet, at the core, we’re the same.

“I don’t understand,” I say, and I shift my attention over his shoulder to my Mac. “I thought you said this was the website where Jack got a new iPhone.”

Nate’s older brother asked for the newest iPhone for Christmas after breaking his third phone in almost as many months. He pleaded the need to check his email in case colleges sent acceptance letters. The first two times, his mother replaced the phone with a warning, saying she wouldn’t do it again, which no one believed, since Nate’s parents give Jack whatever he wants whenever he wants it. This last time, though, his father denied Jack’s request and held firm. Even Santa and the holiday spirit didn’t budge him. No new iPhone until after first-semester report cards came in and Jack could prove he was responsible in at least one nonsporting aspect of his life. As if that was going to happen. Jack is the king of all things popular because of his athletic ability, but just because his friends like him doesn’t make him smart.

“When Dad came home from work and saw Jack with the phone, he was seriously pissed. He figured Mom had gone behind his back, screamed that he was tired of her undermining his authority, and stormed out before she could persuade him she had nothing to do with it.”

“Maybe she did.” I take off my glasses and rub my eyes. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time Nate’s mom had caved. In the Weakley house Jack can do no wrong. Must be nice. For Jack.

Nate shakes his head. “I thought it was my mom too, but later I heard Jack talking to one of his friends. He said he got the phone from this new social networking site. All he had to do was invite five qualified friends to join. As soon as they accepted the invitations, presto, the phone was his.”

“The world doesn’t work that way.” At least, my world doesn’t. “The site must ask for a credit card or something. No one gives out free cell phones for inviting five people to a new social network.”

“This one does.” Nate swings back to face the screen. “Trust me, my brother isn’t clever enough to make something like this up. And he’s not the only one who got stuff. Look at this.”

Nate clicks the mouse and shifts the laptop so I can see the screen from where I’m standing behind him. Normally, without glasses, I wouldn’t be able to read anything. In this case, I can make out the large red letters in the center of a black box.

NETWORK MEMBERS—48

NEEDS PENDING—43

NEEDS FULFILLED—7

“So . . .” Nate looks at me with a goofy smile. “What should I ask for? A new bike? A computer?”

“You don’t need either of those things.”

“What’s your point?” Nate shrugs. “Jack didn’t really need a phone, but he got one.”

“Yeah, but . . .” But what? I’m not exactly sure. There’s something about this whole setup that bugs me. Or maybe it’s just the question we’re asked—What do you need? Because I know what need is, and it’s not another phone.

Nate gives me an annoyed look and I feel a twinge of guilt. When Nate heard my mom and brother weren’t home, he dropped what he was doing to come over and keep me company. And knowing Nate, he probably had a zillion offers for something more entertaining to do with his night. At some point he’s going to realize that and start accepting those invitations. Then what will I do?

So I slide my glasses back on and say, “I guess I’m just surprised your brother sent you an invitation.”

“He didn’t.” Nate flashes a wide grin. “He forgot to log out when he left to meet his friends, and I borrowed his computer and sent an invitation to myself.” Nate rolls out his shoulders. “The network assigns a profile name to every user, and as far as I can tell, no one is allowed to say anything on the site that will reveal their identity or to disclose online or in real life whether their need has been fulfilled.” He clicks the mouse several times and then points to the screen as he reads: “Doing so violates the terms of use and voids any possible fulfillment of requests in the future.”

“But Jack—”

“Yep.” Nate laughs. “Jack already violated the terms. He’s going to be displeased when he tries to get something else and the NEED fairy godmother gives him the finger. I can’t wait.”

“You’re assuming the people who operate the system know Jack told his friends,” I say. “The odds of that occurring have to be pretty low.”

“Yeah. What a bummer.” Nate lets out a dramatic sigh. “Still, there’s always a chance someone will learn about Jack breaking the rules, which is good. It gives me something to dream about when he’s being a jerk.”

“So, basically, you’ll be dreaming about it a lot.” I laugh.

“A guy has to have a hobby. We can’t all have brothers we actually like and get along with.” I see Nate’s eyes shift to the framed photograph on my desk of me, Mom, and DJ from this summer. DJ’s blond hair shines in the sunlight. His face is filled with delight. Mom and I look happy too, but our brown hair makes us look less bright. Or maybe it’s just that I know how much we both wish we were more like DJ.

“Have you heard anything?” Nate asks.

I bite my bottom lip, pull my phone out of my back pocket, and check to make sure I didn’t miss a message. Nothing. “Mom took DJ to the ER at All Saints Hospital, and her phone doesn’t always get the best reception there. I’m sure she’ll update me soon.” The tests won’t say he’s had a relapse. They just can’t. He deserves better than that. He deserves better than everything he’s gotten up to now. Karma owes him. I’d be there with him now if I’d been allowed to go. Instead, my mother insisted I stay here. Out of the way. Alone.

Nate reaches out and I step toward him. He takes my hand and webs his fingers through mine. No. Not alone. Behind him, I can read the word NEED shining in large red block letters at the top of the computer screen, which is appropriate. Because in my life, Nate is someone I need. Without him, I’m not sure how I would get through nights like this. If he ever finds a serious girlfriend, I’ll be sunk.

“So . . .” Nate’s voice is once again filled with mischief as he lets go of my hand and swivels toward the desk. “Back to the really important stuff. What should I ask the great and powerful NEED network for? A car would be nice.”

“You live two blocks from school,” I say. “You don’t need a car. Not to mention that you’d have to get a job to pay for gas and insurance.”

“Sad but true. And since I’m not interested in hard labor, I’ll have to ask for something else.” Nate tilts his head to the side. His expression turns serious. “You know what I really need? A B on my physics final. Before break, Mr. Lott told me I have to get at least an eighty percent on that test or I’ll fail the class and end up in summer school.”

“I don’t think the people running NEED can take your final for you.”

“No, but whoever created this thing must have skills. He might be able to hack into the system and change my grade. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?” Nate types An A on my physics final into the box and hits Enter. The message in the box changes. Now it reads: NEED REQUEST BEING VERIFIED. PLEASE STAND BY. The image of a clock appears.

“I thought you said you needed a B.”

“Why settle?” Nate taps his fingers on the wood of my desk as the second hand of the clock on the NEED site travels from twelve to one. Then two. As it travels to the number three, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. My stomach lurches. My legs are unsteady as I stand and pull out the phone.

“What does it say?” Nate asks.

I try to breathe, but I can’t as I click the Talk button, praying that DJ is okay. Thankfully, my mother doesn’t draw things out and tells me in the first sentence that he is. No relapse. He’s still sick, but it isn’t worse. With every relapse it can get so much worse. So this is good. Still, my voice shakes when I put down the phone and say, “The doctor is going to run one more test, but they think a virus caused the fever. Everything else is stable.” For now.

“That’s a relief. Hey, I haven’t asked in the last week, but your father . . .”

I shake my head. “I still haven’t been able to find him. The Christmas card he sent had a Kenosha return address and postmark, but when I called the apartment complex they said they’d never heard of him.”

“You’ll find him, Kaylee.” Nate gets up and puts his arms around me. “If not, we’ll convince more people around here to get tested. Someone will step up and help.”

I lean into Nate and close my eyes. “I hope so.” I used to think so. Then I learned the truth. People say they care, but they just don’t give a damn. Not my father. Not the people in this town. Not the school psychologist my mother insists I see to deal with my “issues.” No one. Opening my eyes, I see the screen behind Nate change and am grateful for the distraction. “The clock on the site stopped ticking.”

Nate’s face lights up. He gives me one final squeeze before sliding into the chair in front of the computer screen. “Score. My request has been processed. Now, according to this, I just have to invite six qualified friends to the site and my need will be met. That’s easy enough.” Nate types my name and email address and hits Send before I can object. He then types five more addresses.

“Who did you just invite?”

“I’m not telling. Unlike Jack, I plan on following the rules.” After hitting Log Out, Nate shoves back the chair and stands. “Now, did your mom say when they’ll be home?”

“No.” The last time I went with DJ and Mom to the ER, it took hours before DJ was discharged. It’s like clocks stop working when you step into a hospital. “I doubt it will be any time soon.”

“Good.” Nate grabs my arm and pulls me toward the door. “That means we still have time to raid the fridge and watch a scary movie before they get back.”

“Does it have to be a horror film?” I ask, even though I know the answer. “Can’t we watch Lord of the Rings for the hundredth time? I won’t complain when you say all the dialogue and reenact the fight scenes.”

“Tempting, but no.” He laughs. “You have to do something nice for me because I came over, and I have my heart set on hearing you shriek like a girl.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I am a girl.”

“And I’ve been working hard for the last seven years to not hold it against you.” Nate turns and winks. “You get the popcorn. I’ll get the soda. It’s time to have some fun.”

Buy the Book

Visit www.hmhco.com or your favorite retailer to purchase the book in its entirety.

About the Author

JOELLE CHARBONNEAU began telling stories as an opera singer, but these days she finds her voice through writing. She lives near Chicago with her husband and son and when she isn’t writing, works as an acting and vocal coach. Visit www.joellecharbonneau.com.