Rise An Eve Novel

twenty



BETTE KEPT WAVING BACK AND FORTH, JUMPING UP AND DOWN, trying to signal to the motorcycle. “Over here!” she yelled out. “We’re here!”

I ran as quickly as I could, throwing my arms around hers, pinning them to her sides. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

The moonlight cast strange shadows on her face. “I did what you wouldn’t,” she said. “She needs help. You said yourself she could die.”

The motorcycle was coming closer, zipping along the ridgeline. I kicked dirt over the fire, a tiny pile of twigs and brush, scattered with a few burned matches she must’ve stolen from the supplies. Then I grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the motel. It all came back to me, rushing in, washing away every other thought. In an instant, I could see Marjorie and Otis on the cellar floor, her body slumped over his, her braid soaked with blood. I’d recognized the risk of bringing the radio along, knowing what could happen, knowing how much danger we would be in if one of the girls used it. I’d buried it in the bottom of the bag where only Beatrice, Clara, and I would know to find it.

Bette dug her heels in the dirt, pulling us both to a stop. “I’m getting her help,” she repeated. “We need someone to bring her a doctor.”

“That’s not how it works,” I said. She struggled against my grasp but I held on, not letting her go. “When did you send out the message? What did you say?”

The headlight sped closer. The soldier was just a dark figure silhouetted against the sky, his back hunched slightly, the motorcycle packed with supplies. I’d never seen just one soldier, but I’d heard the boys at the dugout speak of it, how sometimes they’d run surveillance from storehouses or government checkpoints. If he was canvassing, that meant there were others close by, not more than fifty miles off.

“Yesterday night,” she said. “When you were sleeping. I said where we were.”

I pulled her back toward the motel, using my full force. “You need to hurry,” I said, looking at the small cluster of buildings ahead of us. There were only three wooden structures and an abandoned store, the parking lots scattered with cars, their tires torn away from the metal rims. It wouldn’t take the soldier more than a few minutes to search the buildings. Our only advantages were that there were more of us, and we knew the layout of the motel.

I picked up the pace, running toward the back of the building, Bette close behind. The motorcycle approached too quickly. I heard it coming up the ridgeline, closing the gap between us. There was the terrible grating of the tires on pavement, the sound of the brakes. Just as we’d nearly reached the motel, the engine turned off, returning the outside world to silence.

He didn’t call out, as the soldiers often did, ordering us to turn, to make ourselves known. I didn’t look at him, instead bringing Bette around the side of the building, through the parking lot, to the back entrance. I pushed open the lobby’s glass door, sending off the dull clinking of chimes somewhere above. “We have to move into the back rooms,” I yelled out, pointing to the dark hallway farthest away from the road. “We’ve been found. Go—quickly.”

Bette stood by the door, unsure what to do. A few of the girls startled from where they slept. Clara hovered by the lobby’s front entrance, where she had been watching us as the motorcycle approached. She dropped the curtain and turned to me. “He’s not there anymore,” she said, going to the windows on the other side of the door. “I don’t see him.”

I scanned the lobby, but it was so dark it was hard to make out anyone’s face. Beatrice and Sarah helped Helene to her feet. I felt for the knife at my hip, reassured that it was there. As I grabbed Kit’s hand, shoving her out to the side hall, I heard the bells clank together, a sound so sudden it raised the fine hairs on my arm. There was the quick clomping of boots on the tile floor, then his slow, labored breathing, as the man grabbed Bette by the arm, holding a gun to the side of her ribs.

He looked around the room, his face half visible in the moonlight streaming in from the door. “Who did this?” he asked. It was obvious he wasn’t a soldier. He wore a broken leather jacket and jeans that were black with dirt. I watched him, studying the red armband tied to his sleeve, wondering what it could symbolize, if he was for or against the resistance. Did he know about the Trail? “Who brought you all here?” he yelled.

“You can take whatever you want,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “We have water and food. Enough to last you a week.”

“I don’t want supplies,” he said, the gun pressed into Bette’s side. She was oddly still, her body rigid and eyes closed, as if she were already dead. One of the girls behind me was crying. I didn’t turn to look. Some of them had on their jumpers from School, and I suddenly regretted letting them keep them, even if they only wore them when they slept. It was impossible now to lie about who they were.

“I brought them,” I said finally. “They were escaping the Schools.”

He moved the gun from Bette’s side, pointing it instead at me. “You did,” he started, each word short. “Someone sent out a message saying they needed help. That they were being held here.”

I looked to Bette. “She hurt her leg,” she choked out, barely opening her eyes. “Helene. She needs a doctor.”

The man scanned the room, taking in Helene at Sarah’s side. She held her hurt leg off the ground. “Eve was trying to save us,” Kit said quickly. I turned to her, hoping she wouldn’t go on, but she did. “She’s the Princess—the King’s daughter.”

Beatrice grabbed Kit, trying to silence her, but it was already too late. He let go of Bette and instead lunged at me, squeezing my arm so tight it hurt. Then he leveled the gun just below my ribs. The feel of it there, the blunt end pressing into my skin, was enough to steal the breath from my body. “Is there anyone else from the Palace?” he yelled at the others.

Beatrice stepped forward, into the dim light. “You’ve made a mistake,” she said. “She’s trying to bring the girls to safety. To Califia. She’s been working with Moss.”

“Moss is dead,” the man said. “Everyone on the Trail knows who Princess Genevieve is. She will be punished, even if her father was not.”

“I was working with the rebels,” I said slowly, trying to keep my voice calm. “I’m on your side.” The man yanked my arm, pulling me toward the back exit. A few of the girls were crying, their low, muffled sobs heard in the dark.

“I know the codes,” I said, thinking that might mean something to him. But he kept the gun aimed at my stomach.

“You have to listen to her,” Clara said, running toward us. “She never sided with her father.” I shook my head, hoping she wouldn’t say anything more. It was possible he knew who she was. If anyone said her name or mentioned she was my cousin, he might take her as well.

He pulled me toward the door. I didn’t resist, instead keeping my breathing steady, thinking of the knife at my belt. I didn’t know if I could physically bring myself to do it, but my gaze kept returning to the gun, the end of it still aimed right above my belt. He held my arm, starting backward. When he reached the door, he turned for a brief moment to open it, looking down as he searched for the handle. I slipped my hand to my waist, wrapping my fingers tight around the butt of the knife, pulling it from its sheath. He opened the door, signaling me through.

As I stepped into the parking lot, I kept the blade in front of me. He came through the door and I turned quickly, landing it in his right bicep. He cursed and released the gun. I kicked it hard, sending it skidding over the pavement. I stepped away from him, trying to get space between us, when Clara came through the door. I heard the bells clanking, the loud whine of the hinges, and then she struck him in the back of the head. It wasn’t until he was on the ground, twisted in pain, that I saw one of the glass water bottles in her hand.

He didn’t get up. His eyes were squeezed shut, his knees folded into his chest. He reached for the back of his head, where a gash had opened, the blood wet in his hair. Clara took the plastic rope from her belt and looped it around his wrists. Even when he was on the ground, his hands lashed together, I couldn’t catch my breath. I saw the gun again, the barrel pointed at my stomach. It was enough to protect myself, but I felt now there was this other part of me, a person I’d imagined as vividly as anything else.

It wasn’t more than a minute before the rest of the girls were outside. As the man lost consciousness they moved in, studying him. “He was going to kill you,” Helene said. She tried to dry her cheeks, but her eyes kept filling.

“I was just trying to help,” Bette said. “I was trying to get someone to help us.”

Clara’s face was unfamiliar to me. Her cheeks were red, her hand squeezing down on Bette’s arm. She spoke through clenched teeth. “What do you think we’re doing? We are helping you.” Bette tried to pull away, but Clara held her there. “If he heard it, how many other people did?”

I looked down at the man, his face caked with dirt. We had to leave tonight. It was possible more rebels were already on their way. If the soldiers had heard the message, they’d track us here. Even if we kept north, away from this campground, they could approximate where we were. If they thought we were going to Califia, they might set up checkpoints to the west of the mountains, blocking the way. We needed somewhere we could hide.

I ran off toward the road, where the motorcycle still sat. The quiet sound of my feet against the pavement calmed me. It felt good to be up, to be moving again, the night air filling my chest. “Eve?” Clara called out, watching me. “What are you doing?”

When I got to the bike, I knelt down beside the tire, feeling for the small nozzle in its side. Quinn had told me the trick in Califia, when we’d spoken about the government Jeeps. It was easier than cutting through the thick rubber.

I twisted the valve open, listening to the satisfying hiss of the air as it rushed out. “Get everything packed,” I called, turning to watch their silhouettes, frozen there against the star-dusted sky. “We leave for the dugout tonight.”