Rise by Anna Carey Page B

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    â€œWait there,” I called to Clara. “The tunnel isn’t more than two blocks farther. It’s in a motel marked with an eight.” I dropped my bag, gesturing to the awning of an abandoned grocery store. Clara called after me, asking me what to wait for, but I took off toward the building, her voice disappearing behind the heavy rain.
    Two soldiers were standing outside the front entrance. I slunk around the back, noticing an older woman at the side door. Our eyes met. She signaled to me with her hand. It wasn’t until I was a few yards away that I noticed the bright red streak in her hair. It was the same woman Moss had mentioned.
    â€œThey already know about you,” she said, leaning in. She didn’t look at me. Instead her eyes watched the scene over my shoulder. The high shrubs provided little cover from any vehicles that passed on the road. “The alerts have gone out. You have ten minutes, maybe fifteen, before they’re here. They’ve dispatched the Jeeps from the north end of the wall. You have to leave now.”
    I pushed against the side of the building, trying to get some respite from the rain that pelted my skin. The blood came off my fingers, the water pooling pink in my palm before it flooded over the sides of my hand and washed away. “I need you to let me inside,” I said. “Please—I’ll be quick.”
    â€œThere’s dozens of girls on this floor—maybe more. What are you going to do?”
    â€œPlease,” I said again. “I don’t have time.”
    She didn’t respond. Instead she opened the lock, and for the first time I noticed that her hands were shaking. “That’s all I can do,” she said. “I’m sorry, I won’t tell, but I can’t help you any more than this.” She stepped back, away from me, disappearing around the side of the building.
    I propped the door open with a rock. Inside, the long corridor was quiet. A few girls in a side room were talking about the explosions they’d heard outside, wondering what had happened and why. Two people sat under a giant calendar labeled January 2025 , their heads bowed together as they spoke. It wasn’t until Beatrice turned, hearing my footsteps, that I recognized her.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” she asked, starting toward me. Sarah followed along behind her, her eyes swollen. “Is what they’re saying true? They’re taking the girls back to the Schools?”
    â€œWe have to gather as many girls as possible,” I said, glancing into one of the rooms. A group of girls were sitting with their legs folded, reading some old magazines. “There’s a route we can take out of the City. Have them bring their warmest clothes and whatever supplies they have. How many are on this hall?”
    â€œJust nine of us,” Sarah said. “The rest are past there.” She pointed to the closed double doors behind her.
    I ducked into the second room, not waiting for Beatrice to respond. Four girls were curled up in bed, reading a tattered copy of something called Harry Potter . They looked up when I came in, scanning my drenched clothes and my hair, which clung to my face and neck in thick, black coils. Locking eyes with them, I suddenly wasn’t quite certain what to say, how to convince them to come now, with me, away from everything they’d known. “I need you to gather all your things and line up by the exit,” I said. “It’s not safe here anymore. Take whatever supplies you have and be ready to leave in two minutes, no more.”
    A girl with blond hair and freckles narrowed her eyes at me. “Who are you? Do the guards know you’re here?”
    â€œNo—and you won’t tell them.” I grabbed one of the top drawers and emptied it onto the bed, tossing the girl a canvas bag that had fallen out. “I’m Genevieve—the King’s daughter. And we need to