The Rule of One (The Rule of One #1)(57)

Rayla’s face softens as she touches Ava’s hand. And mine. She looks at me now not as a former rebellion leader, but as my grandmother. Or as close to that role as she can manage.

“Your father wants a better future for you both. He is a brave man.”

I turn back to the road that points south—the potholes, the painted lines, the horizon all disappearing into the dusk. I feel the spotlight on me as they wait for my response.

Shoving the rucksacks and umbrellas to the floor, I crawl across the seat, and pull the door shut with an unsatisfying bang.

I hear a final sharp click.

Locking me in.





AVA

I can only see three feet in front of me.

Thick clouds cloak this isolated back road in darkness, shrouding what lies ahead, the harsh yellow headlights revealing the last of our journey in quick, shallow increments.

Leaning against the headrest, I angle my neck to watch Mira through the rearview mirror. She lies across the backseat, unmoving, her eyes closed, shutting me out. I pay close attention to her hands. They rest folded over her chest, laced tightly together, but at any moment I fear her fingers will twitch, restless to pull up the lock again.

A piercing light cuts through the dark, and I see a warning sign zoom past my window: “Checkpoint 1/2 Mile. Prepare to Stop.”

“A checkpoint?” I cry out, horrified.

“What?” Mira shoots forward. “You said these rural roads don’t have a Border Guard!” she shouts at Rayla.

Metal road barriers make it impossible for a U-turn escape. Rayla has no choice but to pull in behind a short line of cars.

“Dammit,” she curses angrily under her breath.

Massive floodlights ahead illuminate a makeshift military station—dozens of Guards, a pack of canines, and surveillance cameras in every direction. You will be caught, and you will pay for your crimes, Roth’s cold promise echoes in my mind, turning my thoughts to ice.

This trap was set for us.

Throwing my arms over my head, I duck down in the cramped space underneath the dashboard. Oh God, it’s over. We’re caught. And they’re going to take Mira away from me.

“Get in the trunk.”

Rayla’s fiery order jolts me into action. I desperately lunge for the back of the car, but Mira doesn’t move. She sits frozen as I fold down the middle seat to expose an entryway into the compact trunk. Is she thinking of giving herself up?

“Get in, Mira!” I plead, throwing our bags in first.

The car inches forward in line, every second bringing us closer and closer to detection by the soldiers, the cameras, or the dogs. The canines must know my scent.

Rayla turns to Mira, a dark look of warning in her hard eyes, and I grab hold of Mira’s wrist, imploring her to move. A decision flicks across her face, and she plunges into the opening. I dive in after her and seal ourselves into claustrophobic darkness with fumbling, shaky hands.

Mira and I huddle close together in a ball, limbs overlapping, foreheads pressed together. For a moment all I hear are our fast, terrified breaths and the pounding of my sister’s heart.

Then the car advances once more before it glides to a stop.

I’m able to catch the muted sounds of a soldier’s heavy footsteps followed by the hum of a window rolling down.

“Why hello there, soldier!” I hear Rayla say in a cheerful voice. “I’m surprised to meet you all the way out here.”

“Present your wrist,” the Guard states robotically.

“Of course, of course,” Rayla responds, upbeat and casual.

“Clear your face for the cameras.”

“My apologies, soldier! An old woman’s forgetfulness.” I hear my grandmother release a pleasant chuckle. “At my age, it’s amazing the things that simply vanish from your head. Poof! Gone.”

An actress in her past life. A rebellion member, I think with sudden pride. I visualize Rayla removing her wide-brimmed fedora, a broad smile on her face, while the Guard bends his knees to peer into the empty backseat. Searching. Calculating.

Rayla continues her mindless banter, assaulting the soldier’s patience, hoping he will surrender out of sheer annoyance.

“Is that a German shepherd? Oh, I just love dogs! My mother would tell me stories of how her family used to own one as a pet. Can you imagine that? Some absurd name like Marshmallow . . . or was it Smooches?”

A warning that a dog is approaching the car.

Tens of thousands of our dead skin cells are floating around the backseat—an invisible trail just waiting to be sniffed out. The dog is so close; the antidrone spray can’t mask our scent. If he was given anything of ours to smell—the bedsheets Mira slept on or a uniform I wore—it’s too late to cover our tracks now.

Mira’s knee finds my stomach, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle a groan.

“What is the purpose of your visit to Montana?”

Get us out of here, Rayla.

“Well, it’s an unfortunate one, I’m afraid,” Rayla begins. “A dear friend of mine passed away. We knew each other since primary school—oh my, where does the time go? But Penny, God rest her soul, lived a good, honest life—”

“Move along,” the Guard cuts Rayla off with brusque impatience.

Relief washes over me when I hear the window roll up and feel the car shift into drive.