“Open it,” Trigger growls. “Now.” Then he takes off in the direction of the approaching footsteps just as three uniformed soldiers round the curve.
Wexler raises his tablet and types frantically with one hand. Trigger throws his foot in a wide arching kick, knocking guns away from two of the three soldiers at once. And I can only watch, fascinated, while each of them fights for our freedom in his own way, hoping that my skills will prove more useful in the wild.
Trigger drops to the ground and sweeps one soldier’s feet from beneath him while he grasps for one of the dropped guns. He stands, weapon in hand, and bashes the fallen soldier in the head with the grip of the weapon. The soldier collapses in a heap at his identicals’ feet.
On my right, Wexler makes a gleeful sound, and I turn to see that his password has been accepted and he’s being asked to confirm some command.
Trigger grunts again, and I spin just as one of the disarmed soldiers punches him in the jaw. His head snaps back and he stumbles into the wall behind him. Trigger bounces back to jab the soldier in the gut, then grabs the man’s head and rams it into the stone wall once, twice, three times. The soldier falls and Trigger stands up straight to face his only remaining foe.
Red light flashes in my eyes and a high-pitched electronic wailing scrapes the inside of my skull raw. But beneath that is a low grinding sound. I turn back to Wexler and find the huge metal door slowly rolling open. My heart leaps into my throat. Whatever password he’s stolen has unlocked the gate but set off an alarm.
“Stop him!” Trigger yells as the geneticist tries to squeeze through the slowly widening crack between the door and the wall. The warning costs him another punch to the face, but then he’s up and jabbing again, balancing nimbly on the balls of his feet, as if this is a dance rather than a fight for our lives. “We need him to close the door again or they’ll follow us!”
I spin again and pull Wexler back from the opening, glad he’s too wide to fit through yet. In his eyes I find fear and unapologetic triumph, but no guilt. He knew opening the door would set off an alarm and draw soldiers down from the top of the wall. He also knew that fighting Trigger would keep the soldiers occupied long enough for him to escape.
He’s sacrificed us for his own freedom.
Well, he tried to, anyway.
“You can’t leave us!” I shout, pulling him farther from the door. “This is your fault!” He’s bigger than I am, but I am determined. I need him for more than just closing the door once we’ve escaped. I still have questions only he can answer.
“Dahlia, your fate was sealed before you were ever born. I am sorry about the mix-up, though. Sad to think what might have been.”
I clutch his arm in both of mine and pull him farther from the door. But then I feel the fabric slip. He’s already shrugged out of the first sleeve of his lab coat and is pulling free from the other one, even as I cling to it.
“No!” I shout as I lose my grasp on his arm. He bolts for the opening and I scramble for a new grip. My nails gouge into his wrist. Blood wells from the scratches and drips onto the floor. Then Wexler is gone.
I turn to yell for Trigger, but he’s already running toward me. All three of the soldiers lie on the floor unconscious. “Let’s go!” he shouts.
But the thunder of footsteps nearly drowns out his words. The fading daylight falling through the open door is suddenly obscured, and I turn to see five more soldiers blocking the gate. Behind them, coming from the direction of the Administrator’s private tunnel, are three more.
We are outnumbered. We are outgunned. Trigger’s hands are in the air.
I can see the wild over the soldiers’ shoulders. Tall trees crowned in brightly colored fall leaves, growing right out of the dirt. Grass and weeds and flowers sprouting from the earth itself with no defined borders or geometric patterns. Wind blows, and the leaves brush together with a full-bodied whispering sound; I want nothing more than to climb into the branches and sing with the bright foliage.
Someone grabs my hands and binds them at my back. Tears fill my eyes. Trigger is unconscious, a lump already growing on the side of his head while two soldiers haul him away, each holding one of his arms.
As they drag me toward examination and certain death, my gaze returns to the trees, the flowers, and the weeds.
The wild is so close. Yet I’ve never felt farther from it in my life.
The soldiers put us in the back of a patrol car. Trigger is still unconscious, and a line of blood has dripped down from his temple over his ear. I wonder if he will have a new scar.
I wonder if he will live long enough for it to remind him of me.
A click echoes in my head as the rear doors of the car are locked. There’s no handle on the inside. I couldn’t get out even if I had the use of my hands.
“Trigger,” I whisper as two of the soldiers get into the front of the car. “Trigger. Wake up. Please.”
“He can’t help you anymore,” Gladius 27, one of the soldiers, says from the front right seat. “He can’t even help himself.”
“Administrator’s mansion,” the other soldier says, holding his wrist beneath the sensor built into the dashboard. “Rear entrance.”
“The mansion?” Gladius asks as Trigger’s eyelids begin to flutter.
“Ford 45 said no one can see her. The rest of her division has already been recalled, and if people find out she escaped, Management’s effectiveness will come into question—which would undermine the Administrator’s ability to lead.”
My chest feels too tight. I can’t draw a breath. Poppy and the others are gone, but hearing about it reopens a wound that hasn’t even started to heal.
“This capture will best serve the city in secrecy,” the other soldier continues.
“Strategic omission,” I murmur, thinking back to one of my first conversations with Trigger. “Anything necessary to protect the city is permissible.”
Both soldiers twist in their seats to look at me as the car follows the road toward the Administrator’s mansion. Gladius’s partner is named Pike 27. They are from the same division. Maybe from the same unit. “What else has he told you?” Pike asks with a glance at Trigger, whose head has fallen forward.
“Does it matter? They’ll kill me before I have a chance to tell anyone.”
I don’t recognize the bitter truth in my statement until I hear it come from my mouth. If I wasn’t going to die, would I tell someone what I know about the Defense Bureau? Who would I tell?
Poppy is gone. Even if she wasn’t, knowing what I know would put her in danger.
The irony of that thought bruises me all the way into my soul.
The soldiers shrug at each other, then turn to face forward again, effectively dismissing me.
I hardly notice the unfamiliar buildings on either side of the road, because Trigger’s eyes are still moving behind his closed lids. He could wake up any second, and that second cannot come soon enough.