The Release

Later that day, Hope hears a distant sound. It takes a moment to identify it, and when she realizes it’s the growl of a Humvee, the Less Thans and Sisters scurry for cover, throwing themselves to the ground. Cat is atop a ridge, and Hope crawls forward until she’s next to him. They peek their heads above the snow.

A lone Humvee appears in the far distance, and they watch as it snakes its way across the snow-blasted prairie. What Hope can’t figure out is why it’s out here, where it’s going. The one-lane road appears to dead-end at a small, snow-covered mound. There are no buildings here—no structures of any kind. Just a rusted chain-link fence encircling a tiny hill.

“Launch facility,” Cat explains.

“Huh?”

“It’s where they fired the missiles that day. My dad took me to one once.”

“There’s a missile there?”

“Used to be, in an underground silo. Nearly five thousand of them, scattered across the country. That’s how the world blew itself up.”

Hope has often wondered about Omega. She was young when her father first explained it, but somehow she envisioned airplanes dropping bombs from the air, not missiles erupting from the prairie.

She studies the hill. It’s a good quarter mile away, but she’s able to make out an upside-down dome on top of the mound. Burn marks scorch its edges.

“What’s in there now?”

“Not a missile, that’s for sure.”

So why is the Humvee headed there?

They watch as the military vehicle nears, then passes through the fence, skidding to a stop when it reaches the small hill. Three Brown Shirts emerge, cracking jokes, their laughter bouncing off the cloudless sky. One lights a cigarette before they disappear behind the far side of the mound.

“Where are they going?” Hope asks, more to herself than Cat.

Five minutes pass before the soldiers return. They each carry a large wooden crate. Stenciled on the sides is the distinctive symbol of the Republic: three inverted triangles. Beneath that are a series of letters and numbers. M4. M16. AK-47.

Military weapons.

The three soldiers slide the wooden crates into the back of the Humvee and then return to the mound. Hope rises to her feet.

“Where’re you going?” Cat asks.

“I want to see what they’re doing.”

Cat looks at her like she’s crazy. “You want to go inside a missile silo?”

“That’s right.”

“Where there are three Brown Shirts with weapons?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

She’s not sure she knows the answer, but it has something to do with unfinished business. Everything has to do with unfinished business.

Cat turns to the Less Thans behind him. Their hunger and exhaustion are obvious; many have fallen asleep in the snow. Cat points to the LT named Sunshine.

“Sunny, get up here,” he says.

Sunshine crawls forward. “What’s up, el bosso?”

“You’re good with a slingshot, right?”

“I’m good with any weapon.” He says it loudly, as if for Hope’s benefit. She rolls her eyes.

“Great. Then you’re coming with us.”

“What? I—”

“We’ll move in on their next trip.”

They wait for the soldiers to return.

9.

IT WAS STRANGE TO be following the same path we’d used to escape from the Compound. Once more, we were racing to something we’d already escaped from. I longed for the day when we could just live in one place.

Red raised his hand and motioned Flush and me to stop. He pointed to Argos, who was sniffing the ground with a sudden intensity. When he lifted his head, snow encrusted his muzzle.

Directly next to his front paws were human footprints.

I lowered myself to the ground and analyzed the treads; they weren’t from the moccasins of the Skull People nor the rags of the Crazies. These were pre-Omega shoes: Brown Shirt boots.

Soldiers.

My body gave an involuntary shudder.

“How many, do you think?” Flush asked.

“Looks like two.”

“Recent?”

“Recent enough.”

The footprints veered inland, away from the river but in the direction of the Compound.

“Do we follow them?” Flush asked.

“Do we have a choice?”

We shared a look, and Argos took off at a trot.

The footsteps were easy enough to track, and by midafternoon Flush pointed to the far horizon. Squinting across the flat tundra of snow, all I could make out was a speck of a distant object, sparkling sunlight.

“Solar panels,” Flush explained. “I used to clean those things.”

That was his job at the Compound. While I was working in the Wheel, he was helping harness energy.

“So we’re close?” Red asked.

“Not just close,” Flush said. “We’re probably above the Compound right now.” We all looked at our feet, envisioning what was on the underside of the ground.

We marched on, eager to reach the Compound entrance … and dreading it just the same.

It was the smell that suddenly led us forward. The footsteps were still there, of course, but we could have reached the Compound from the scent alone.

No, not scent—more like stench.

“What the heck?” Flush said.

Neither Red nor I answered, because we each had a suspicion we didn’t want to voice. The Brown Shirts’ rotting, putrefying bodies outside Libertyville had taught us what death smelled like. But why was that smell so strong out here, especially the closer we got to the Compound?

When the footsteps forked in the direction of the Compound’s main entrance, we abandoned them and went the other way, following the smell instead. We needed to see where it led us.

We were now in a field of corn stubble, dead stalks jutting from the snow. With each passing step, the bile rose in my throat, and my imagination was working overtime. Did we really want to discover the source of this awful stench?

Argos stopped and began to whimper. At first, I thought he was picking up the scent of more footsteps. Then I saw the black oval—a small hole in the middle of the field. It was nearly invisible to the naked eye … and just wide enough in diameter to allow a human body.

“Good boy,” I said, and nudged him out of the way.

I got down on hands and knees and inched forward, then stuck my head into the opening. There was a long wooden ladder that descended into darkness. Where it led was impossible to see. All I knew was that a wave of rancid smells gushed through the narrow opening, like lava spewing from a volcano.

I recoiled, breathing through my mouth to avoid gagging. It was rotten eggs and dead skunk and overflowing outhouses all mixed together. My eyes watered after a single whiff.

“Where’s it lead?” Flush asked.

“Hell,” I answered … and then started making my way down.

10.

THE THREE BROWN SHIRTS reappear, once more lugging wooden crates that they slide into the Humvee. When they return to the silo, Hope, Cat, and Sunshine rise to their feet and scamper across the snow.

They enter through the open gate and ease around the mound, stopping when they reach a thick metal door. Cat nods and the three of them step inside. When Hope’s eyes adjust to the gloom, she sees that they’re in a small antechamber. An elevator door stands straight ahead; to the side is a tube with a metal ladder descending straight down. She bends her head and listens. Voices spiral up.

With a series of hand gestures, Hope motions that she’ll go first, climbing down the ladder into the heart of the silo. She has no idea who’s down there … or what she’s getting into.

When she reaches the bottom, the first thing she sees is an open reinforced steel door. It’s easily two feet thick. Beyond it is a series of tunnels branching off in varying directions. Soldiers’ voices echo from a nearby chamber.

When Cat and Sunshine join her, they head toward the voices. On the way, Hope spies a side room, stacked with dozens and dozens of crates. More weapons.

Hope looks at Cat. Are you seeing all this?

He gives a nod.

As they tiptoe through one of the tunnels, still trying to follow the soldiers’ voices, Hope knows they’re buried beneath countless tons of earth and steel and reinforced concrete. Even if this place took a direct hit during Omega, it would have come out just fine.

They reach a cramped soldiers’ quarters: a couple of bunk beds, a primitive lavatory, a small kitchenette. In former times, soldiers lived here. Now, it’s just storage space, filled floor to ceiling with more crates.

The Brown Shirts’ voices grow suddenly louder, and Hope, Cat, and Sunshine duck into the nearest doorways. When the soldiers approach, Hope lets them walk by … and then she tiptoes forward, following. Just as her hand reaches for her knife, her shoes make a squeaking sound from the melting snow. The trailing Brown Shirt turns around.

His eyes open wide when he sees her. “Hey, you can’t—”

Hope sends her foot into the soldier’s groin. “I just did.”

His face turns strawberry as he collapses to the ground. Cat and Sunshine leap forward. The other Brown Shirts throw their crates and make a run for it, drawing weapons as they do.

“Damn it!” Cat curses, dodging the tossed crates and taking off after the soldiers. Sunshine follows.

At the first intersection of tunnels, one Brown goes right and the other goes left. With a quick nod of his head, Cat motions for Sunshine to follow the one to his right while he goes the other way.

No sooner does Cat step into the tunnel than it goes black; the soldier switched off the lights. Cat freezes, willing his eyes to adjust to the black. He tilts his head to the side, straining to hear. All he can make out is the steady, muffled, faraway sound of the soldier’s breathing. And then the click of a pistol being readied.

Cat freezes. One series of blind gunshots down this narrow tunnel and Cat’s a dead man. He presses himself against the wall.

He stands there, trying to come up with a plan. More than anything, he needs to see. From far behind him, he hears the sound of a scuffle. He can only hope Sunshine subdued the other soldier, leaving just this one.

His body folds in on itself as he lowers himself to the ground. Lying flat on the concrete floor, he removes an arrow from his quiver and nocks it. He reaches out to the side walls and gets his bearings, determining the tunnel’s direction. The fingers of his artificial arm hold the bow in place as he slowly draws back the string, aiming down the center of the tunnel. At the last moment, he alters where he points, so that when he releases the bowstring, the arrow travels no more than fifty yards before it hits a side wall.

“Shit!” the soldier cries, and takes off running.

Cat nocks a second arrow and sends it flying, then hears the satisfying sound of arrowhead entering flesh. The soldier stumbles to the ground, his gun clattering. Even in the dark, Cat is able to race forward and find the wounded soldier lying sprawled in the middle of the tunnel. Cat drags him back to the others.

When all three Brown Shirts are trussed up, Hope interrogates them.

“What’s going on here?” she asks.

The soldiers sit on the floor, wrists and ankles tethered together. They don’t answer her.

“Where’s your camp? Where’re you taking those crates?”

The Brown Shirt with the arrow jutting from his shoulder blade actually laughs. “Why should we tell you?” he says. “The only reason you’re still alive is because my gun jammed.”

He begins to turn away, but Cat grabs the soldier’s nose with his wooden pincers. “She asked you a question. Now, are you gonna answer her or not?”

His face goes pale. He tries to squirm free, but Cat’s grip won’t allow it. “The Eagle’s Nest,” the Brown Shirt sputters.

“What’s that?”

“Headquarters.”

“For who?” Again, the Brown Shirt tries to pull his nose free. Cat just pinches harder. “For who?”

“Chancellor Maddox. Who do you think?”

The hair rises on Hope’s arms, and although she knows it’s her imagination, it feels like both her scars itch at the mention of the chancellor’s name.

“You can say good-bye to those plans,” Sunshine says. “You’re not going there ever again.”

“Actually, they are,” Hope corrects him. “And they’re taking us with them.”

11.

THE LADDER GROANED BENEATH my weight. My guess was that this was one of the escape tunnels Goodwoman Marciniak had told us about. Except instead of escaping, we were using this tunnel to enter. A nasty habit we kept falling into.

When my feet landed on solid ground, I whistled for Flush and Red to climb down. Argos stayed up above.

The three of us began feeling our way around in the dark, trying to get a sense of where we were and how we could reach the heart of the Compound. Along the wall, a torch sat perched in its holder, as cold and lifeless as the winter itself. We could have lit it, but a fire would only announce ourselves.

Waving our outstretched hands like branches in a breeze, we let the wall guide us forward. It was slow going, made worse by the smell. We pulled bandannas over our mouths and noses, and every so often we stopped to spit—as if that could rid us of the foul stench.

Finally, we noticed a far-off glow. We moved faster now, aided by the distant light. Although I knew there were soldiers up ahead, I also thought about the food we would find. I could imagine the countless jars of green beans and blueberry jam, the strips of dried meat hanging like icicles in the smokehouse. The more I envisioned them, the more I could practically taste them.

I was thinking so much about my next meal that I stopped paying attention to where I was going. I tripped on something and went flying. When I reached down to push myself up, my hand went squish. I tried with my other hand, but it went squish as well. Then I realized why.

I’d landed on a person.

A dead person.

Many dead persons.

I was elbow deep in decaying corpses, and only the possibility of being discovered by Brown Shirts prevented me from letting out a horrified scream. I clamped my mouth shut and tried to steady my breathing.

“Oh … my … God,” Flush said. “Are those what I think they are?”

I nodded dumbly.

Easing to a standing position, my eyes peered into the dark, head swiveling first one direction and then the other. We were smack-dab in the middle of a burial ground, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of lifeless, bloated bodies.

Although we wanted to turn around—wanted desperately to get the hell out of there—we knew we couldn’t. We had come this far; we had to see it through. So we inched forward, tiptoeing around and over the piles of bodies.

What I couldn’t figure out was what it was supposed to be. Was this a cemetery—some sacred place of honor—or just a dumping ground? There was no way to tell.

We headed for the faint glow at the end of the tunnel, hoping to get as far away from the bloated corpses as possible. But of course, just when we thought we’d cleared the last of them, there were still more—piles of bodies stacked like firewood stretching as far as we could see.

“Who are they?” Red asked. I understood what he was getting at. He hadn’t been with us when we’d been imprisoned in the Compound. He didn’t know what Skull People looked like.

But when I bent down and tried to examine the dead bodies in the dark, I suddenly wasn’t so sure myself. On the one hand, it seemed their clothes were leather sandals and wool robes and toga-like garments, which made me think Skull People. But right next to them were men wearing rags, their beards long and matted, which made me think they were Crazies. I couldn’t figure it out.

A noise from farther down the tunnel grabbed my attention. Perhaps the very Brown Shirts whose footsteps we’d been following.

The more we tiptoed forward, the brighter it got … and the more we tried to avert our eyes. It was bad enough we were traipsing through this grisly graveyard—no point making things worse by staring at the corpses themselves. And yet, I caught myself glancing down from time to time, looking for people I might recognize. Like my grandmother. Or Goodwoman Marciniak.

Or Miranda.

It didn’t help that every corpse’s expression was the same—one of horror and fear.

In the near distance, torch flames caressed the cave walls with strokes of flickering light. Flush pulled to a stop, and I followed his gaze … to the bloated face of the chief justice.

My heart gave a lurch. I had no reason to feel any sympathy for him. After all, he was the one who’d sentenced us to thirty years’ imprisonment. But he was also the man who’d changed my sentence from the Wheel to the library—and was Miranda’s father.

So maybe she was here as well. My eyes roamed from one face to the next, and while the bodies were discolored and disfigured, there wasn’t one that looked remotely like the girl who’d kissed me as we watched the setting sun.

I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

We moved on. The only sounds were the quiet shuffle of our feet, a persistent dripping from the ceiling, the steady huff of breathing through our mouths.

When we reached a high-ceilinged chamber at the end of the tunnel, we expected to see the soldiers, but they weren’t there. No living person was. Just hundreds of scattered corpses.

“Where’d they go?” Flush whispered, but I didn’t know. I wondered the same thing.

Red pointed to the side. “Was it always like that?”

He was referring to an enormous rock pile that blocked a far entrance, boulders strewn in every direction. I gave my head a shake. “The Crazies were blowing up the place as we were leaving. Guess that’s what happened.”

We eased forward and began exploring. Some of the tunnels were completely closed off, barricaded by heaping mounds of rock. Others looked remarkably the same. The Crazies had managed to destroy only a portion of the Compound.

Flush began winding his way between a series of scattered objects, bending down to inspect a stack of items in the very center of the chamber. “What’s this?” he asked.

I turned and looked … and my heart stopped. I needed no refresher course to know what I was looking at. It wasn’t just dozens of cans of gasoline, but also explosives—C-4 and sticks of dynamite, heaped atop one another like a jumbled pyramid.

Someone intended to reduce the Compound to a pile of rubble.

12.

HOPE SITS IN THE passenger seat while a Brown Shirt drives. The other four are crammed in back. Whenever the driver peeks to the side, Hope raises her crossbow so it’s aimed at his chest. The message is clear: Don’t try anything.

Before leaving, she instructed Diana to lead the sixty-some Less Thans to Dodge’s Log Lodges. Hope, Cat, and Sunshine will catch up when they can.

“How often do you make these deliveries?” Hope asks the driver. When he doesn’t answer, Hope nuzzles the crossbow against his side. “I asked you a question.”

“Get that thing outta my ribs, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Why don’t you tell me and then I’ll get it out of your ribs.” She presses it into his body.

“Just started,” he says, writhing. “Last week.”

“How many more trips will you make?”

“Till the silo’s empty, I guess.”

“You’re taking all those weapons to Chancellor Maddox?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“Got me,” he says, and Hope jams the crossbow between his ribs. “I’m serious! I don’t know.”

For some reason, Hope believes him.

“Tell me about the Eagle’s Nest,” she says.

“What about it?”

“What kind of place is it?”

“A fortress you’ll never get into,” he says smugly.

Questions swim through Hope’s mind. Why are all those guns in an abandoned missile silo? Why are they being transferred to the chancellor’s headquarters? And why now?

The miles slip by—endless fields of white—as they veer farther and farther north, up toward the rolling foothills of Skeleton Ridge.

It’s late afternoon when the vehicle slows to a stop, and Hope realizes she’s been daydreaming. Something to do with Book. A part of her tries to shake the memory away.

Another part doesn’t.

“There,” the driver says, and Hope looks at where he’s pointing.

Perched atop a nearby mountain peak, swathed in swirls of clouds, is a fortress. Its walls are made of stone, and crenellated parapets give it the appearance of a medieval castle. Hope can’t believe it. What’s something like that doing in the Republic of the True America?

“What is this place?” she asks.

“I told you, the—”

“Eagle’s Nest, I know. But what is it?”

“A ski resort back in the day. Now it’s the chancellor’s HQ. That’s all I know.”

Hope studies it a moment. The turrets seem to snag the clouds, tugging at wisps of white. The Brown Shirt wasn’t kidding; the place is impenetrable.

“How do we drive up there?”

“We don’t.”

Hope turns to him and presses the crossbow into his chest.

“I’m not kidding,” he sputters. “There’re no roads up there in winter.”

“So how—” Hope doesn’t finish the sentence. At just that moment her eyes land on a tiny red square dangling in the sky. It’s an aerial tram slinking up the mountainside on a thick black cable. The soldier was right; there is no way in the world they’ll get up there—not if they have to ride in that.

“Told ya,” he says.

Hope sends an elbow into his side, and the Brown Shirt doubles over.

“Oops,” she says.

As her eyes follow the tram to the top, she tries to figure out how the three of them will make it up there. Because if that’s where Chancellor Maddox is, that’s where Hope needs to go.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” Sunshine offers from the backseat.

“Not necessarily,” Hope says. Even as she says it, she knows what she’s thinking is wildly dangerous and ridiculous even to consider. Still, what does she have to lose?

Three Brown Shirts shuffle through the snowy streets of town. Vehicles pass, weary salutes are exchanged. No one gives them a second glance.

A good thing, too, because wearing the uniforms are Hope, Cat, and Sunshine. The original soldiers are currently hog-tied in the back of the Humvee, down to their boxers, T-shirts, and socks. As a courtesy, Hope threw a blanket over them so they wouldn’t freeze to death.

Sunshine tugs at his uniform. “This thing is scratchy. And two sizes too big. And frankly, I don’t think the color becomes me.”

“I don’t think talking becomes you,” Cat growls. The younger LT shuts up.

Hope barely hears them; she’s thinking about Chancellor Maddox. Hope’s parents always taught their daughters to avoid the whole “eye for an eye” thing. They never said anything about “cheek for a cheek.”

A military transport passes, and Hope and Sunshine bow their heads. The fact that she’s a girl and has tea-colored skin makes her more than slightly conspicuous. Cat, the former Young Officer, fits right in.

“Uh-oh,” Sunshine says.

“What?”

“See for yourself.”

They’re within sight of a small brown building not much bigger than a shed—the tram station—and Hope’s heart sinks. Two armed Brown Shirts stand guard, checking the papers of everyone who intends to board.

“What do you think?” Cat asks, once the trio duck into an alley.

“I’m working on it,” Hope says.

Hope knows the smart thing would be to abandon their plan, to join back up with the others and head for Dodge’s and not worry about Chancellor Maddox and Dr. Gallingham and a silo full of semiautomatic weapons. The important thing is to get out of the territory.