The Rule of One (The Rule of One #1)(22)
The word “Wanted” flashes red and bold across my school uniform.
“Ava Goodwin, daughter of Dr. Darren Goodwin, has been charged as an accessory to his crimes. The fugitive has fled the scene but is still believed to be at large in the city.”
Alarmed, I scan the passengers around me. Outrage, disapproval, hostility—their sentiments are marked clearly on their faces.
Then it hits me. The governor didn’t mention the one word that would set the people into a mob. Twins.
“Let it be known that any persons providing illegal aid to Ava Goodwin will be immediately arrested.”
So this is how you’re going to play it. Keep the truth tucked under the bullshit blanket of vagueness. Shift the attention to finding me so you can withhold the reason for my father’s arrest.
“I speak now directly to Ava Goodwin.”
I lock eyes with Roth, who glares straight into the news camera, every bit the formidable general he used to be.
He still only has eyes for me.
“Turn yourself in. You will be caught, and you will pay for your crimes.”
I want to look at Mira so badly, to share this terrorizing moment with her.
“The severity of your own punishment depends upon your next move,” the governor finishes, never once breaking his stare.
The newscast cuts to black, and my hand begins to shake. I quickly cover it, Roth’s last three words echoing in my mind with a terrifying urgency.
What is our next move?
MIRA
The repetitive purr of the high-speed rail creates a soothing lull, making it difficult to fight sleep.
Only ten other passengers remain in our car. A few idly watch the happy sitcom now projected on the wall where Governor Roth’s face dominated an hour before, but most stare at nothing, eyes glazed and vacant. I stare through the glass doors of the car in front of me, eyes moving, always watching.
Anticipation is the worst part. I know something’s coming. Someone will recognize us, the cameras will register our faces despite the concealment of our hoodies, the railcar will slow before reaching its designated stop, a full military unit will swarm the tracks, and Ava and I will be captured.
I can smell my fear. I’m drenched in it. Hiding my entire life behind the guise of Ava is nothing like the terror of being hunted. We’ve been unmasked. We’re a bull’s-eye. And now I’m trapped in a steel box, and I find it hard to sit still.
Adrenaline burns through me and I want to run, but I know the rail is cutting through Texas, closer to where Father wants us to go, at three hundred miles per hour. I just need to stay seated, stay inconspicuous.
My eyes on fire, I allow myself a brief moment of rest. My lids hurt when I close them, but it only takes a few seconds before I feel the heavy pull of sleep.
Loud cackling erupts from a woman beside the sitcom projection, stinging my insides and jerking me alert.
Nerves shot, my gaze immediately lands on Ava. Five rows in front of me, she holds her arms with a slight stiffness as she slides her body forward to the end of her seat and gives a small nod toward the car behind me. I dare a glance over my shoulder and spot a single Texas State Guard scanning the aisles of the neighboring car.
There he is. I feel strangely better now that I can see him. My hunter. I hold my stare long enough to witness the soldier approach a teenage girl sleeping against the grimy window, unceremoniously grab her wrist, and scan her microchip.
I turn back to my sister. She rises, slowly, so as not to attract attention, and moves to the doors opposite the Guard. I rise and do the same.
Survival mode kicks in, fueling me, and I somehow know exactly what to do. I search the walls and floor as I follow a safe distance behind Ava to the adjacent car, sizing up everything as a possible weapon.
We make it through the walkway and halfway into the next car when Ava stops short, which can only mean she detects another Texas State Guard ahead. I examine the car, counting only five commuters, backs all turned, focusing on their various devices. Ava turns to me, and with that single look, we both drop to the floor.
She crawls between a row of benches, dives under the seats, and motions for me to join her. My hands slip on the tile beneath my sweaty palms, so I use my knees and feet to drive me forward, thankful my right ankle has gone numb. I know I’ll pay for this respite later.
Clearing the aisle, I make it to Ava just before the doors open and a thick black pair of boots enters the car.
Seven brisk strides and the Guard bears down on the young woman seated four rows up to the right. With her blonde hair and tan skin, she looks nothing like us, but the Guard was no doubt ordered to scan any woman under the age of thirty. The young woman wisely puts up no fight, and I hear the sharp ping of his device meeting her microchip.
Cautiously Ava sneaks her head out from beneath the seat as the Guard examines the chip’s information. Ava’s eyes scour the car left and right, searching for the screen that shows the rail’s progress, but she tucks herself back into our hiding space shaking her head, her face pale and slack. She doesn’t know when the rail will stop.
The Guard presses forward down the aisle, his thundering steps syncing with the hammering beat of my pulse.
Ten more steps and it’s over.
Ava grips a knife in her hand.
There’s a knife in the front pocket of my bag, but I can’t reach it crushed between the bench and floor . . . There’s a soda bottle three feet from me—if I can grab it, I can throw the liquid in the Guard’s eyes before he sees us, and Ava can use her knife on him . . . Oh God . . . I’ll be able to take his taser and gun, then we can sprint down the line of cars, holding off any pursuing Guards until the doors finally open . . . My mind races through all the various scenarios in the span of two swift steps of the Guard’s boots. It won’t work. Nothing will work.