THE SELECTION: The Decision.

The Aftermath

Maxon's POV:

  Oh god.  Mr. Singer is a rebel?! Could America have been lying to me about this, too?  One look at her face sends a wave of relief through me, as well as confusion.  She didn't know.  But if she didn't know, and he really is a rebel... why would he let his daughter enter the Selection?
  As if he read my mind, Mr. Singer adds quickly, "Please don't fault America for this.  She had no idea.  I'm not a southern rebel, either... I just support the northerners. And I swear, I never pushed any of my views on her..."
  My father looks enraged.  "Like hell, you didn't! You've been manipulating her since the start, haven't you? Is that why you pulled all of those stunts? Hmm? Is that why you seem to have an utter lack of respect for authority?" He stares her down.
  "I-I... no!" She stutters, looking positively confused and, if I'm not mistaken, a little afraid.
  "Back off," I say coolly to my father.  "America didn't know.  And even if she had, it wouldn't matter.  Mr. Singer is a fine, upstanding man.  Many morally sound people are rebelling, Father.  Like I said before: people want a change." I look over to America's father.  "Mr. Singer... I don't blame you in the slightest.  Things out there have been tainted since the beginning of our nation. I'm only now realizing this, but I do hope to change it."
Before anyone can argue anymore, we hear the click of the lock being released and suddenly the door to the safe room swings open.
Officer Leger —Aspen, as I know now him— stands at the entrance, looking like he'd just fought a war. Which, if these were southerners, perhaps he had.
"I found them!" He shouts over his shoulder. "They're all here. All of them." His relief was palpable. I noticed then that his eyes were focused solely on America and, my jealousy overcoming me, I pull her to me and kiss her cheek. I note that he looks away and I instantly feel terrible.
I give him a nod. "Thank you, Aspen. Feels like we've been down here a lifetime."
"I'm sure it does, your majesty... the southerners fought long and hard." He seems hesitant. "And while I'm sure you're eager to get out of here... the death toll was high. The palace is a wreck. I would recommend staying out of the main areas for a little while."
America runs up to him quickly. "Aspen, my maids. Marlee. Carter. Are they okay?" She grips his arms, begging him to answer.
He clears his throat and gently removes his arm from her grip, perhaps in an effort to seem less casual in front of our parents. Or maybe me.
"Lady America... Marlee is okay. As are Lucy and Mary. I'm sorry to say that Carter is in the hospital wing with serious injuries and your head maid, Anne... did not make it." There is genuine sadness in his eyes as he looks at America.
I shift my gaze to her just in time to see her fall apart, and my heart aches. I quickly gather her into my arms as the tears fall.
"Darling, I'm so sorry..." I whisper, holding her close as sobs wrack her body.
When she can manage to speak, she whispers. "She wasn't my maid, Maxon... she was my friend. How... how can she be gone?" She gulps and looks up at Aspen briefly. "Do you know how-" She pauses briefly. "Did they take her first...?"
Aspen is shaking his head before she even finishes. "No, My Lady. She died saving your other maids.  Very bravely, I might add."
America gave a solemn, but very proud, nod. "I'm sure she wouldn't have had it any other way. Anne was special like that." She took a deep breath and turned to me. "Anne has no family. I'd like to provide her with a funeral and proper burial, if that's okay with you." Suddenly America was quite reserved, shut off almost, as she spoke to me.
"Of course, my love. I wouldn't have anything less. Silvia can take care of all of the planning and you can help as much or as little as you'd like. We'll bury her on the Palace grounds tomorrow."
This brought immense relief to her beautiful features. "That sounds perfect. Thank you."
"Of course." I kiss her forehead softly. "Now, then. Lead the way, Aspen... we'll do whatever you say until the mess is cleared."
He nods once. "Right. My suggestion is to take everyone who is in stable condition out to the gardens. It will provide people with a small relief from what has happened, and give everyone a chance to really breathe."
"Excellent idea. Shall we?"

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Leger May have taken us the "clear" path to the gardens, but the horrors that we saw in that time were too much for May and Gerad. I held one of them on each of my hips as they both buried their faces into my shoulders to avoid looking at the mess.
  It is clear that the Singers had never seen anything like this.  To be honest, neither had I.  Every attack is gruesome, sure, but this is a whole new level of horrors.  Written in scrawling letters down every clear wall is a taunting message that stops us in our tracks: SCARED YET?
  And I am.  My god, am I scared.