Forged(66)

The people on the outskirts of the crowd murmur, whisper.

“You’ve heard the rumors,” Ryder says. “Some of you might have even read about them in an underground paper. There is a resistance. There is a boy as wronged as you; a fugitive standing for freedom.” Bea’s paper lights up the screen. My face. Her captions. Her lies that are becoming truths right this moment. “He is here, among us. He is just one person, but he will fight if you do, and together, we are many.”

The whispers grow to a chorus. As the Forgeries press in on the outskirts of the crowd, weapons ready, the first aggressive contact begins: a shove, an elbow, a thrust.

“So I speak not just to you, citizens of Taem, but to all the domed sister cities, and to the people cut off from shelter years ago and still scraping by every day,” Ryder continues.

Frank’s head whips to the screen. The panicked words of an advisor are picked up by the microphone. “This is broadcasting everywhere? Cut it. Cease transmission.”

“Will you stand with me, with the East and the West?” Ryder urges, arms outstretched.

“Does no one have a shot?” Frank says, a hand at his ear. He’s speaking to the Order but like his advisor, he’s too near the mic.

“Let us Rally,” Ryder finishes. “Let us Sunder our ties with the Order.”

“For the love of God—Take it!” Frank shouts. “Anyone. Take the shot!”

A blast.

Ryder crumples.

Someone screams.

And the fighting erupts.





THIRTY-THREE


THE CROWD SURGES TO ACTION and almost as quickly, the Forgeries push in. Order members on the roof fire tear gas into the square. From windows, additional shots ring out, more of Ryder’s people springing to life from their posts.

I bring my eye back to the scope. Harvey is ushering Frank toward an armored car just off the side of the platform.

I reach for the trigger.

Come on, Harvey.

He bends.

A little more.

Just enough.

Before I can pull the trigger, a bullet clips Harvey in the arm, missing Frank altogether. There is shouting, more Order members swooping in. Frank is hurried into the car. Eyes snap up to where the shot came from: Bree’s post. They point. Something is shouted.

Swearing, I tear my sight away from the scope. These buildings are going to be searched. I need to move.

The fighting is deafening now. Popping gunfire and exploding blasts and screams. Too many screams. The alarm is finally tripped, but it’s the standard one, an emotionless, looping drone. Does this mean Harvey couldn’t get ours uploaded, or that he chose to not bother with it?

No time to dwell on it.

I leave the rifle and flee the way I entered: the elevator shaft until the first floor, then an air duct to the basement and back to the sewers.

Around the very first corner, I collide with Bree. We both fall into the shallow filth. She scrambles to her feet and immediately takes the lead.

“Why did you take that shot?” I ask as I run after her.

“I thought I had him.”

“But now Harvey’s hit and if he didn’t get to the virus yet . . . if he’s hurt and can’t—”

“I messed up, okay? I’m sorry! Will you pick up the pace?”

I bite off a retort. As we race through the water, we take turns I don’t remember from the way in. Actually, I have no idea where we are, but I know one thing: We should have joined up with Sammy by now.

“Bree, what about Sammy?”

She doesn’t slow.

I grab her arm. “Hey!”

She turns, and this section of the sewers is so poorly lit, I can’t make out anything but the whites of her eyes. Beneath my fingers, I can feel the cuff of her shirt.

“Where’s your jacket?”

“I had to shed it.”

“Why?”

“Will you quit it with the interrogation? We have to get to the rendezvous point.”

She tries to break away and I don’t let her. “We said we’d meet in the sewers. Where Sammy first split off.”

This shirt. The familiar material. How she’s leading me somewhere.

It’s not right.

My heart plummets.

I know what’s happening, but I don’t want to admit it, because it means having to reach for my handgun, the spare on my hip, and what if she beats me to the shot? Hers is already drawn. She’s had it out the whole time.

Something explodes on the streets, and a flash of light makes its way into the sewers through the drainage grates. It illuminates her for a second, from the neck to the waist. She’s wearing an Order uniform.

“Why are you wearing that?”

“Gray, you’re scaring me,” she says.

“Why are you wearing that uniform!”


“To blend in. I got the jump on this young Order kid around my size. Shot him and took his top.”

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where did you get the jump on him?”

“In the square.”

My hand goes to her neck, and I shove her into the wall. She drops her gun on impact.

“Shit, what is wrong with you?” She thrashes in my grip.

“You wouldn’t have had time—to fire the shot that hit Harvey. To also be in the square. To still get to the sewers the same time I did.”