Article 5 (Article 5 #1)(21)

But right under her nose I gathered things, like I had when my mother and I were at our worst during the War. A cup from the cafeteria when no one saw. A washcloth from the bathroom. I began hoarding nonperishable food beneath my mattress in preparation for my departure.

And I found myself relying on Rebecca. Though she played the rehab queen whenever we were around others, she had obviously found a way to survive. Her deception recharged my hope.

At night, we talked, and she became surprisingly open. Almost as if I were a confidante rather than someone who could cause her a great deal of trouble by exposing her secret. Through her lens, I began to see Sean in a new light. I began to notice the way he diverted Randolph’s attention from the girls and purposefully nodded his agreement when Brock lectured on something absurdly ridiculous, like appropriate ways for a Sister to talk to men.

To my shock, I opened up some, too. I told her some of the things I missed about my mother. The popcorn and old, pre-War magazine nights. The songs we used to sing together. How we’d never really been apart. Rebecca liked those stories. I think it helped her understand my drive to escape.

On the fifth night, I even told her about Chase.

I don’t know why. Maybe because she loved a soldier, or maybe because I felt the need to reciprocate some private piece of my life to her. Maybe because not an hour passed without me asking myself why he did what he did. Whatever the reason, it slipped out of me. Not the details, not the depth of what I’d felt for him, but the basics of what had happened between us.

“They’re not supposed to date. Not unless they’re officers,” she informed me when I said he hadn’t written. “They have to dedicate their life to the cause or something. It’s a form they sign when they enlist.”

“Sean doesn’t seem to care.” I couldn’t hide the pettiness in my voice.

She grinned, and it struck me how pretty she was. “Can you blame him?”

We both laughed then. It was the first and only time we would.

*



ELEVEN days had passed at the reformatory with no word from my mother or Beth.

On the eleventh night, I prepared to leave.

“I’ll go out with you,” Rebecca said for the tenth time. She was pacing around the room. It was after midnight, but she was still wearing her full uniform.

“No.” We had already talked about this. “Sean wants you here.”

“I don’t care what he wants!” Her voice went impossibly higher. She was wringing her blouse between her fists. “I can’t do nothing while he’s risking his life for you!”

The tension between us had been building steadily over the last few days. The reality of the plan was finally sinking in. Unconsciously, I traced the still-swollen welts over the backs of my hands and made a tender fist. The wounds had finally closed but were now painted with purple and yellow blossoms. They ached terribly, especially on cold nights like this one.

“He’s just going to point me toward the perimeter fence and then pretend like he doesn’t see me,” I assured her—again. “He won’t be in danger.”

Neither of us believed it.

The minutes ticked by. One. After another. After another.

I hadn’t been able to eat dinner. I’d been too nervous. But I’d hidden a cold baked potato with the rest of my supplies in Rebecca’s sweater, tied to my waist.

“Okay, I’m going,” I finally said at twelve-thirty on the dot.

She nodded, her face pale.

“I guess … it was nice knowing you,” she said weakly. “Thanks for not telling Brock about me and Sean. And … don’t get shot.”

I attempted a smile, but it didn’t work. I almost said that I hoped to see her again, or something similar, but I knew it wouldn’t happen in a million years. When she aged out, she and Sean were going to have to hide from the MM, and so were my mother and I. Instead I grabbed her shoulders, gave her a quick, awkward hug, and slid out the window.

It was snowing outside, just like the night the girl had died of hypothermia, but I was prepared, layered in all the clothing they’d issued me: two skirts, a camisole, three long-sleeved T-shirts, and my gray sweater. And I had some food for fuel, close to my body.

The ground was solid as a rock, and the cold leaked through my flats to the soles of my feet. The brick dorm building was covered with a thin layer of white. Long icicles hung from the rain gutters like jagged teeth.

I glanced both ways across the lane before darting into the woods toward the generators. Sean would be there, ready to get this over with. I was ready, too.

By the time I heard the steady drone of the machines, my muscles were warm and limber and my heart was pounding steadily. My stomach didn’t even hurt anymore; there was too much adrenaline building in my body to be bogged down by anxiety. I was glad. I needed whatever edge I could get.

My hearing was sharper than normal, and my head snapped toward the sound of crackling twigs nearby. I froze automatically, fingernails digging into my palms. It took every ounce of effort to push Katelyn Meadows from my mind.

Sean materialized from behind a wide tree made black by the night shadows. His winter FBR coat made him appear thicker through the chest; he was more intimidating than before. The scars on the backs of my hands from Brock’s punishment burned.

He didn’t say a word but turned past the enormous metal blocks emitting their low buzz and stalked deeper into the woods.