“Who are you?” Zeke asks. “And why are you down here?”
The guy lets out a painful groan. It’s quiet for a moment. And then: “Cruz. My name is Cruz.”
I gasp, all the blood draining out of my head.
Bishop tries to grab my arm as I launch forward, but I slip free of his grip and push through the rebels.
Cruz’s head is slumped against his chest, whatever energy he summoned to speak zapped out of him. There’s a dark circle in the center of his T-shirt, and I don’t need more light to guess that it’s blood. I fall to my knees in front of him and grab his face in my hands, lifting his head up. His skin is too cold, his head dead weight in my hands. His eyes are circled with two violent black bruises, and there’s dried blood in the cuts on his swollen, cracked lips.
“Cruz, wake up,” I say, my voice faltering. “It’s me, Indie.”
A long moment passes before his eyes flutter open. “Indie,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. A sad smile quirks his lips. “Hey, chica.”
“You know this guy?” Zeke asks.
“What happened to you?” I say, ignoring her.
Cruz lets out a soft chuckle, then wets his lips. “Turns out the Chief doesn’t like humans disappearing on my watch.”
His words slam the air out of my lungs. He was punished because I disappeared on his watch. It’s my fault that this has happened to him. That he’s been tortured, beaten.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe. The words sound so inadequate to my ears. Tears spill down my cheeks faster than I can check them. “I never would have—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts. “It’s not your fault.”
There’s something behind his eyes I haven’t seen before—resignation. It makes a fresh wave of fear take hold of me. He can’t die down here. Not because of me.
“We don’t have time for this,” Zeke says. “Where is the Chief? Where is the ceremony being held?”
I turn to face the rebels. “Get him out of these chains,” I demand. I don’t wait for them to answer before I start frantically pulling at Cruz’s chains, as if I have enough strength to break two inches of solid metal. I wheel around, searching for support, but no one’s looking at me.
“Hello? Why are you all just standing there. Help me get him out!”
“Stop,” Cruz whispers.
“What do you mean?” I say, giving a bitter laugh. “Don’t be stupid. You’re not thinking straight. You’re sick.”
“They’re not regular cuffs.”
I stiffen at the sound of Pixie’s voice. The rebels part to reveal the small girl standing in the entryway to the alcove.
“The only person who can remove them is the person who put them on,” she says.
The ground sways underneath me. It can’t be true. I look at the faces around me—everyone except Bishop, who pointedly looks away. And then I look at Cruz. His head is slumped against his chest again.
“Then blast the wall! If you can’t break the chains, just dig them out of the wall. We can’t just leave him here—he’ll die.”
“Of course he’s going to die,” Sporty says. “Look at him.”
I flash my eyes to her. She grins, and it makes such intense anger rise up in me that I could probably kill her with my bare hands.
Cruz mumbles something.
I reluctantly break my stare from Sporty’s. “What did you say?”
He licks his lips slowly, then takes a big breath, as if what he’s about to say requires all of his energy. “Go,” he mutters. “Save Paige.”
I shake my head. “No. We won’t leave you here. We’ll get something for your wounds. We’ll stop the bleeding and get you out. It’ll be okay. You just have to hold on.”
He coughs then, and blood spurts out of his mouth. Hot tears spill down my cheeks. I squeeze his cold hand.
“The Hollywood B-B-,” he whispers.
I lean in closer. “What did you say? Cruz, stay with me.”
He doesn’t answer.
“The Hollywood Bowl,” Bishop says. “That’s got to be what that drawing in the Chief’s office was of.”
Murmurs rise up through the alcove.
“Cruz.” I shake his shoulder. “Cruz, wake up!”
He doesn’t answer.
I press a panicked finger to his neck, feeling for a pulse the way they do in the movies.
Nothing.
He’s dead.
27
The world goes out of focus. The ragged hole in my chest rips open and a choked cry pushes out of my mouth.
Arms wrap around me.
“Come on. We have to get out of here.”
Bishop’s voice brings me back to reality long enough that I realize he’s pulling me out of the room.
“No,” I say. I become dimly aware that the rebels have left, and we’re alone.
“Time is running out,” he says.
“You don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head.
“I think I do.” Though his voice isn’t entirely unkind, I can’t help but notice that it’s cut through with pain. “We need to go. There’s nothing we can do for him.”
I want to fight him, tell him that he’s wrong, but I know what he’s saying is true. That doesn’t make it hurt less.
I gulp for air as Bishop leads me back through the tunnels, supporting the weight of my body. Cruz tried to help me, and because of that, he’s dead. Everyone who cares about me ends up paying a price.
Bishop stops short and holds me by the forearms.
“Enough,” he says. His fingers dig into my arms more roughly than I’m used to. “Listen to me,” he continues, shaking me until I look up at him. “What the Chief did to him? That or worse could be happening to Paige and those other teens right now. Okay? So get it together.”
My mouth falls open at his harsh words, but he doesn’t soften his grip.
He’s right. Of course he’s right. Still, a part of me can’t help but wonder what he’s really mad at.
I take a shuddery breath and push all the pain and hurt back to that place in my chest where I keep memories of Mom. It will haunt me in my dreams, but right now, I can’t think about it. Paige needs me.
I give a terse nod, and Bishop lets me go.
We hear them first.
We’re barely to the parking lot of the Hollywood Bowl before the sound of hundreds of people chanting in time with a drumbeat spills through the open windows of the rebels’ car.