My head snaps up. “How?”
Georgette taps on a holographic screen that stretches across her palm, exchanging messages with the twins. Her fingers move faster than the legs of a green iguana. She whispers that they wrapped two layers of the silk around Master Thymel’s ear. The designer stood up on his own and moved into the silken enclosure while Myatt worked on releasing the cuff.
“I can’t bring up any images,” she adds.“Netface is locked down.”
“What does that mean?” My gaze darts to the dashboard screen, where a drone flies over the wreckage of Fort Sweetwater and sprays bullets on survivors.
“No-one can access anything except for the Government Channel,” she says. “The only way I got the twins’ message was via Prince Kevon’s private network.”
I nod, not quite understanding what it means, and turn my gaze back to the screen. Why isn’t Carolina telling us what she’s going to do with the Royals? We planned to throw them behind bars and hold them accountable for their crimes. I gulp. What if the monitor did something terrible to Prince Kevon’s heart?
Cricket twists around and taps the barrel of his gun on the screen. “How do you like your Oasis now?”
“You make it sound like Harvesters go there all the time,” I mutter.
“Will you give it a rest,” says Meadowhawk, his voice weary. “You’re as persistent as fungus.”
“It’s alright for you,” Cricket snaps. “Harvesters get double our food rations and four times as much water.”
Meadowhawk twists around in the driver’s seat, his face twisting into a snarl. “And we work the fields all day, but you don’t hear me whining that Foundlings sit around in the sun, drinking and dining for free.”
I nudge Georgette, and she meets my gaze with a nod. Perhaps we can use this conflict against them.
By the time we pass a deep reservoir at the foot of the mountain, a haze of light shines across the horizon. Dark clouds cover the sky, the sunset coloring their edges the color of flames.
The watch on my wrist buzzes, and a golden crown flashes on its screen. I tap the icon and receive an address with detailed coordinates. Georgette also receives the same information on her watch.
“This is where Tussah was going to pick up your mother and the boys,” she whispers.
“How are we going to get there?” I flick my head toward the pair, who haven’t stopped arguing about whose life is the worst.
She places a finger on her lips, which I take to mean she already has a plan. I nod and turn my attention back to the front.
Minutes later, the road veers away from the mountains and the vehicle’s headlights illuminate meadows of lavender. Then two lanes merge from the left, expanding the highway to four. About half a mile ahead, six tanks block the road.
They’re parked in the middle of the road in a way that forces vehicles to slow around them, and whoever has set up this roadblock has also piled a wall of sandbags along the meadow. Cricket leans forward and flashes the vehicle’s headlights, and we pass the roadblock without an issue.
My mouth dries. Even if I rescue Prince Kevon, how on earth will I get him out of the Oasis? Where will we go? I shake off those thoughts and tell myself that he’s been trained to cope with eventualities like this. There are secret tunnels all over the Oasis, and some of them even have roads. All I need to do is awaken him, and he’ll show us an escape route.
It’s dark by the time we reach the Oasis, which I recognize from the wall of interconnected domes glowing silver in the moonlight. Fires burn in the distance, incandescent walls of flame that illuminate gigantic plumes of smoke.
Cricket twists around in his seat and waves his metallic pistol at the windscreen. “They said the Botanical Gardens lit up at night.”
I’m locked in his manic gaze, but I have no answers. He must think I spent my time at the Princess Trials touring the Oasis and learning all about its workings. There’s no point in telling him I was fighting for my life.
“That’s right.” Georgette leans forward, snatching his attention from me. “Someone must have shut them down during the revolution.”
Cricket harrumphs and turns back to the front. We pass the checkpoint between the domes. It’s deserted, and I wonder if the guards who used to man this station have fled or died.
As we travel through the huge meadow that marks the beginning of the Oasis, a train emerges from an underground tunnel and races toward the source of the fire.
Georgette elbows me in the ribs. I slide my gaze toward my friend, who reaches into the front of her bag and pulls out a four-inch-long electroshocker. It’s the same type of device I snatched from the guard at the stadium. She slips it into my palm, extracts another, and flicks her head toward the front.
No words are needed. This pair has gotten us through the major checkpoints. Their vehicle is driving itself. It’s time to attack.
“Prince Kevon showed me a secret entrance into the Botanical Gardens,” I say out loud.
“I’ll bet he did,” mutters Cricket.
Meadowhawk lets out a groan that tells me he’s not looking forward to Cricket’s rant.
“Do you want to see it or not?” I say.
Cricket taps a command into the car’s dashboard, sending it down a side-road that cuts through the meadow and back toward the Botanical Gardens. I meet Georgette’s eyes and nod.
“Oppressors are still inside the domes needing collection,” Cricket mutters as he reclines in his seat. “If you can lead our comrades inside, it might go some way to redeeming—”
I lurch forward, jam the shocker into the back of Cricket’s neck and press the trigger.
Cricket roars, his limbs spasming. Bullets spray from his gun and hit the dashboard, the side window, and Meadowhawk. Warm blood sprays across the vehicle, splattering us all. The older man slumps forward, unmoving.
Georgette shrieks, and her electroshocker falls onto her lap.
I can’t stop. Can’t release the shocker, even though I’m screaming on the inside at the death of an innocent man. Cricket’s gun slips from his fingers, but he still won’t stop moving. If I release him, he’ll pick up the gun and perform a summary execution.
Georgette screams ‘Oh, my Gaia’ over and over until her words merge to a single syllable, but Cricket still thrashes. I snatch her shocker and press it into Cricket’s neck.
He slumps to the side, limp.
Georgette turns to me, the fear and shock and anguish on her face confirming what I’ve become. A monster.
“I didn’t mean for Meadowhawk to get shot.” My voice is hoarse. “We’ve got to reprogram the vehicle to take us to the coordinates. Can you move?”
She nods, and we wait for the vehicle to stop outside the Botanical Gardens. Metallic sheets stretch across each of the domes’ structures like armor. There’s no sign of anyone, not even the rebels.
Without a word, Georgette steps out and clutches her head. She’s breathing hard and fast, looking like she might collapse. I follow after her, place an arm around her shoulders, just as she has done for me countless times, but she flinches.
The rejection stings, but I can’t blame her. “Sorry.”
I open the passenger-side door, letting Cricket slump to the ground. He’s not breathing. After dragging him to the side, I swallow back a lump in my throat and move around the front of the vehicle where Meadowhawk slumps against the driver-side door.