“The bracelets,” he says. “We didn’t go after Bello before because the monsters can hit us from a distance. That’s still the case, so why attack them now?”
Heads nod, arms fold across chests. I understand why he wanted to ask that question in private, but I have an answer.
“The Grownups want us alive,” I say. “Their lives depend on it. They don’t recognize us, at least not right away. I think that will give us time to use our speed, to reach them before they figure out who they need.”
“You think?” Spingate says. Her arms are crossed, too. “What if you’re wrong? What if they just shoot us?”
Bawden thumps her fist against her chest.
“Then we die,” she barks. “We die attacking, not hiding in this room like cowards.”
The circle-stars roar their approval. Bawden’s beautiful brown skin is invisible—she is reddish-gray, she is painted for war.
I continue.
“Our best chance to survive is to never be alone. Older kids will stay in groups of four. Don’t get separated, even if there is fighting. Beckett and Smith will protect the younger kids.”
Over a hundred small heads turn to look at those two. Strawberry-blond Beckett smiles uncomfortably. Skinny Smith tries to look fierce. She can’t fully hide her fear.
We are almost ready, but Aramovsky won’t give up.
“They are monsters.” He turns as he talks, looking to his supporters. “The gods sent them. We need to talk to them, beg them for mercy. I have seen what they can do. Unless you want to wind up as a pile of chopped-up arms and legs and severed heads, listen to me. And what good does it do us to stay in groups of four? If you want a fight, Em, the circle-stars have their clubs, so send them.”
I hop off the coffin and walk to the open archway. I wave El-Saffani in.
They enter. Boy El-Saffani carries a double armful of thighbones. Girl El-Saffani passes them out to each of the older kids, starting with Beckett and Smith.
I take one, then hop back up on the coffin: bone in one hand, spear in the other.
“Now we all have clubs,” I say.
I toss the bone at Aramovsky. He catches it on reflex, stares at it.
“We all go, Aramovsky. We all fight.”
On top of Okadigbo’s coffin, I am taller than anyone else in the room.
Maybe I am not as good a speaker as Aramovsky, but I’ve been paying attention. I’ve watched how people react to different things. I’ve recognized that certain words have power, that they dictate how people feel, how they respond—I will use those words now.
“Aramovsky is right about one thing,” I say. “There are monsters here. If they weren’t sent by the gods, then we have a right to defend ourselves. If the gods did send them, then we will prove ourselves worthy. No one is coming to rescue us. No one is coming to save us. We will not cower in this room waiting for someone else to decide if we live or die.”
So many faces gaze up at me, eyes big and wide, bodies leaning slightly my way. These people are terrified. They desperately need a sense of hope.
There is a final word of power I want to use, one related to rescue but also different, stronger. If I use it correctly, I know everyone will follow me no matter where I lead them.
“We will not be hunted,” I say. “We will not be erased. I know this is a lot to handle, especially for the new kids, but we are going to the Garden. We will save Bello if we can. We will attack. We will either win our freedom, or we will die.”
I raise the spear high, and I use that final word.
“If we can’t be rescued, then we…will…escape.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Together, we march on the Garden.
I have the spear.
O’Malley has the knife.
Everyone else carries a bone-club. Everyone except for the kids. Kids …is that what we should call them? That’s what we were, that’s how we thought of ourselves, but we’re not. We are not kids, we are not teenagers, we are not adults. We are a mixture of all those things.
We move as one, thanks to Bishop’s ability to organize. My friends are both out in front and bringing up the rear. Between them, over a hundred white-shirted kids marching in three long, neat rows.
Are we still afraid? Very. All around me, young faces etched with fear, but now other emotions as well. There is rage that they would use us up and cast us away, take over our bodies and make us just like them. There is a sense of belonging, in that we all fight for each other as well as for ourselves. And there is the newest feeling of all—hope—given to us by the promise of our own planet.
We belong down there. It’s what we were made for.
We are trapped on a ship where monsters want to kill us. The monsters have been here a thousand years: now that they know we are awake, they will find us. We are hungry, and in the one place we know of that has food, the monsters are waiting.
They won’t be waiting long.
We will not be used. We will not let them change us. They think we are property?
They are mistaken.