The farther we go, the closer we get to the main road and the closer we get to the compounds that are settled not a mile from here. I can see the boxy shape of their steel structures from where we’re standing.
Kenji jerks to a halt.
Says nothing.
“Why aren’t we moving?” I ask.
Kenji shushes me. “Can you hear that?”
“What?”
Adam pulls in a breath. “Shit. Someone’s coming.”
“A tank,” Kenji clarifies.
“More than one,” Adam adds.
“So why are we still standing here—”
“Wait, Juliette, hold on a second—”
And then I see it. A parade of tanks coming down the main road. I count 6 of them altogether.
Kenji unleashes a series of expletives under his breath.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s the problem?”
“There was only one reason Warner ever ordered us to take more than two tanks out at a time, on the same route,” Adam says to me.
“What—”
“They’re preparing for a fight.”
I gasp.
“He knows,” Kenji says. “Dammit! Of course he knows. Castle was right. He knows we’re bringing backup. Shit.”
“What time is it, Kenji?”
“We have about forty-five minutes.”
“Then let’s move,” I tell him. “We don’t have time to worry about what’s going to happen afterward. Castle is prepared—he’s anticipating something like this. We’ll be okay. But if we don’t get to that house on time, Winston and Brendan and everyone else might die today.”
“We might die today,” he points out.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “That, too.”
We’re moving through the streets quickly now. Swiftly. Darting through the clearing toward some semblance of civilization and that’s when I see it: the remnants of an achingly familiar universe. Little square houses with little square yards that are now nothing more than wild weeds decaying in the wind. The dead grass crunches under our feet, icy and uninviting. We count down the houses.
1542 Sycamore.
It must be this one. It’s impossible to miss.
It’s the only house on this entire street that looks fully functional. The paint is fresh, clean, a beautiful shade of robin’s-egg blue. A small set of stairs leads up to the front porch, where I notice 2 white wicker rocking chairs and a huge planter full of bright blue flowers I’ve never seen before. I see a welcome mat made of rubber, wind chimes hanging from a wooden beam, clay pots and a small shovel tucked into a corner. It’s everything we can never have anymore.
Someone lives here.
It’s impossible that this exists.
I’m pulling Kenji and Adam toward the home, overcome with emotion, almost forgetting that we’re no longer allowed to live in this old, beautiful world.
Someone is yanking me backward.
“This isn’t it,” Kenji says to me. “This is the wrong street. Shit. This is the wrong street—we’re supposed to be two streets down—”
“But this house—it’s—I mean, Kenji, someone lives here—”
“No one lives here,” he says. “Someone probably set this up to throw us off—in fact, I bet that house is lined with C4. It’s probably a trap designed to catch people wandering unregulated turf. Now come on”—he yanks at my hand again—“we have to hurry. We have seven minutes!”
And even though we’re running forward, I keep looking back, waiting to see some sign of life, waiting to see someone step outside to check the mail, waiting to see a bird fly by.
And maybe I’m imagining it.
Maybe I’m insane.
But I could’ve sworn I just saw a curtain flutter in an upstairs window.
THIRTY-THREE
90 seconds.
The real 1542 Sycamore is just as dilapidated as I’d originally imagined it would be. It’s a crumbling mess, its roof groaning under the weight of too many years’ negligence. Adam and Kenji and I are standing just around the corner, out of sight even though we’re technically still invisible. There is not a single person anywhere, and the entire house looks abandoned. I’m beginning to wonder if this was all just an elaborate joke.
75 seconds.
“You guys stay hidden,” I tell Kenji and Adam, struck by sudden inspiration. “I want him to think I’m alone. If anything goes wrong, you guys can jump in, okay? There’s too much of a risk that your presence will throw things off too quickly.”
They’re both quiet a moment.
“Damn. That’s a good idea,” Kenji says. “I should’ve thought of that.”
I can’t help but grin, just a little. “I’m going to let go now.”
“Hey—good luck,” Kenji says, his voice unexpectedly soft. “We’ll be right behind you.”
“Juliette—”
I hesitate at the sound of Adam’s voice.
He almost says something but seems to change his mind. He clears his throat. Whispers, “Promise you’ll be careful.”
“I promise,” I say into the wind, fighting back emotion. Not now. I can’t deal with this right now. I have to focus.
So I take a deep breath.
Step forward.
Let go.
10 seconds and I’m trying to breathe
9
and I’m trying to be brave
8
but the truth is I’m scared out of my mind
7
and I have no idea what’s waiting for me behind that door
6
and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a heart attack
5
but I can’t turn back now
4
because there it is
3
the door is right in front of me
2
all I have to do is knock
1
but the door flies open first.
“Oh good,” he says to me. “You’re right on time.”
THIRTY-FOUR
“It’s refreshing, really,” he says. “To see that the youth still value things like punctuality. It’s always so frustrating when people waste my time.”
My head is full of missing buttons and shards of glass and broken pencil tips. I’m nodding too slowly, blinking like an idiot, unable to find the words in my mouth either because they’re lost or because they never existed or simply because I have no idea what to say.