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.