Rise

twenty eight

THE SOLDIER HAD BEEN DEAD FOR A FEW HOURS. MY HANDS shook as I worked the jacket from her body. Her arms were heavy, the limbs locked in place, as I inched them out of the sleeves. I tried not to look at her face, but it was impossible. My gaze kept returning to her white cheeks, the lips that were parted slightly, dry and cracked in places. Her eyes were covered with a thin gray film.

I'd found her several blocks away from the motel, slumped against a burned-out shop. Her head was bleeding in the back, the blood congealing in her ponytail. It looked like someone had surprised her while she patrolled the Outlands-probably a rebel bent on retaliation. I paused, holding her cold hand in mine, as I took off the other sleeve. The name Jackson was embroidered on her lapel.

I tucked the gun we'd taken from the man at the motel into my pants, the knife in the side of my belt. It would end soon. I wrapped the jacket around my shoulders, taking the cap that was curled in her hand, a thick blood spot on the back. I looked at her one more time before going, noticing the tiny tattoo on the inside of her wrist, of a bird in flight. She couldn't have been much older than me.

I started toward the Palace mall, knowing this would be the easier part of security to get through. Soldiers strode in and out of the back entrance, acknowledging one another with a nod as they went. It would be harder to get access to the tower stairs, which in the first days of the siege had been guarded at every point. The soldiers had been stationed there through the night, changing every six hours, at six and twelve.

A few Jeeps were lined up near the back entrance, creating a low barrier against the building. Two soldiers were talking, their shoulders leaning against the wall. I had a flash of Arden that night in School, how she'd strode past the guards confidently, signaling with one hand as if she'd spent her whole life outside the wall. I held my shoulders back, meeting their eyes quickly as I saluted them. I pretended to adjust my cap, covering the bloodstain on the back as I pushed through the heavy door.

Inside, the Palace mall was quiet. The sound of boots on marble echoed through the long halls. A few soldiers walked toward the old gaming rooms, but they hardly turned as I entered. I'd decided on one of the staircases on the north side of the tower. It was down a narrow hallway, more secluded than the others.

I kept past the closed shops, their grates pulled down, the mannequins silhouetted in their front windows. Far above me, the giant clock stared out, the second hand slowly inching toward the twelve. I ducked down the narrow hallway and saw the soldier bent forward, working at a scuff on his boot. I didn't speak until I was within striking distance, my hand on my gun.

"I'm here to relieve you," I said. "Little early, but I'm sure you don't mind."

He let out a low laugh. "Nah, not at all." He pulled his rifle from its spot beside the door. I glanced down the hallway, knowing the other soldier would come in a few minutes. As the man sauntered off, turning left into the Palace mall, I ducked inside the stairwell, beginning the long climb, feeling the slow, painful burn in my legs.

The lower floors were unlocked, opening up to rows of small single rooms, where many of the Palace workers slept. I moved through the halls, turning in to the twentieth floor, then the twenty-fifth, switching staircases to avoid being seen.

When I reached the last flight, my legs burned, the short, sharp pains shooting through my lower back. I took slow, even breaths, trying to calm the shaking in my hands, trying not to think about my swollen stomach, now hidden beneath the jacket. I kept going back to that moment in the suite when my father had turned away as the soldiers grabbed me, looking down to the executions below. Whoever he was to me, whatever we shared, he'd grown numb to it. He didn't feel anymore, not the way a person should. I had to hold that in my mind, that memory, to have any chance.