the middle of the video displays, are my parents—in orange prison jumpsuits, gagged and shackled.
My knees buckle, and I sink back to the floor.
Chapter 43
Whit
AS WISTY FALLS to the floor again, sobbing against my pants leg, I keep my face pressed to the glass, waiting for the details of the
execution event.
I don’t actually want to know, but I have to know. How much time do we have? To find our parents, to plan our escape?
But we’re in between billboards now, and traffic is slowing down. I pound the back of the van in frustration. I’m about to
crumple on the floor next to Wisty, but I’m suddenly jolted alive with a rush of —
Celia.
It’s her scent, no doubt about it. The perfume she wore the day she originally disappeared. It’s like she’s right here with
me, like she never left.
I’ve never heard of a portal in a moving New Order vehicle. Is it even possible? I start pounding on the floor, the walls,
then the back van doors, shouting her name.
“Whit,
stop it.
” Wisty looks at me with red, weary eyes.“Celia’s gone. You’ve lost it. Our parents are scheduled for execution! Why are you —?”
But I’m pounding the window again. I see her hair. Waving across the next billboard some hundred yards away, streaming in
front of her face.
Whit,
Celia says. Her voice is muffled, as if it’s coming through a loudspeaker outside.
You’re okay. You’re doing the right thing. Don’t give up.
I hurl my body against the door. “Get us out of here, Celia!” I know, at least I
think,
it’s nuts. How can she be a projection on a billboard? But she’s so real. And I can smell her.
Are you even listening to me, Whitford Allgood? I said, you’re doing the right thing.
I don’t even care that she sounds annoyed. I love it. It reminds me of when she’d start telling me about her chem test in
the hall at school, and I’d just give her a kiss right in the middle of her sentence.
“Are you even listening to me, Whitford Allgood?”
she’d say, and I’d feel seriously warm all over.
Am I listening to her now? I am actually. The sound of her voice is like a drug I can’t get enough of.
The van is getting closer to the billboard. My face can’t be pressed any harder against the glass, my body flattened against
the door. We’re passing right by her image, and I practically feel the heat of her breath on my cheek.
You need to turn yourself in,
she continues.
And you’re on your way to The One right now. It’s the only way. If you want us to be together again, it’s the only way.
“Together again?” I ask.
“Together again,” she repeats as we pull away.
And then she’s gone. But I’m still dazed by the lingering image of Celia until we turn in through a very high gate marked BUILDING OF BUILDINGS .
Chapter 44
Wisty
WHIT AND I MAY have electrodes all over our arms, but at least we’re upright and sitting in high-backed leather chairs so comfy it’s like
swimming in butter. And we each have a glass of water next to us. It’s all five-star accommodations here at the Building of
Buildings, which is basically The One’s crib and bat cave–type place, and it’s where the very grumpy men in the van brought
us.
Maybe I could get used to this?
Whit and I had both been curled in the fetal position in the back of the van when suddenly we were yanked out and escorted
into the B of B. So this had started out as one of our most pathetic public parades into captivity yet.
I actually made eye contact with some of the citizens who were watching as we trudged across the luxuriously outfitted marble
lobby. Maybe I’ve been infected with a big-ego savior complex, but I thought I saw a flash of… respect, maybe even admiration,
or at least somethingvaguely hopeful buried deep in some of the glazed Beaner eyes. It helped me get my groove back anyway.
The more I stare at our interrogator right now, the more I think maybe I see it in him, too. Grudging respect?
My knees buckle, and I sink back to the floor.
Chapter 43
Whit
AS WISTY FALLS to the floor again, sobbing against my pants leg, I keep my face pressed to the glass, waiting for the details of the
execution event.
I don’t actually want to know, but I have to know. How much time do we have? To find our parents, to plan our escape?
But we’re in between billboards now, and traffic is slowing down. I pound the back of the van in frustration. I’m about to
crumple on the floor next to Wisty, but I’m suddenly jolted alive with a rush of —
Celia.
It’s her scent, no doubt about it. The perfume she wore the day she originally disappeared. It’s like she’s right here with
me, like she never left.
I’ve never heard of a portal in a moving New Order vehicle. Is it even possible? I start pounding on the floor, the walls,
then the back van doors, shouting her name.
“Whit,
stop it.
” Wisty looks at me with red, weary eyes.“Celia’s gone. You’ve lost it. Our parents are scheduled for execution! Why are you —?”
But I’m pounding the window again. I see her hair. Waving across the next billboard some hundred yards away, streaming in
front of her face.
Whit,
Celia says. Her voice is muffled, as if it’s coming through a loudspeaker outside.
You’re okay. You’re doing the right thing. Don’t give up.
I hurl my body against the door. “Get us out of here, Celia!” I know, at least I
think,
it’s nuts. How can she be a projection on a billboard? But she’s so real. And I can smell her.
Are you even listening to me, Whitford Allgood? I said, you’re doing the right thing.
I don’t even care that she sounds annoyed. I love it. It reminds me of when she’d start telling me about her chem test in
the hall at school, and I’d just give her a kiss right in the middle of her sentence.
“Are you even listening to me, Whitford Allgood?”
she’d say, and I’d feel seriously warm all over.
Am I listening to her now? I am actually. The sound of her voice is like a drug I can’t get enough of.
The van is getting closer to the billboard. My face can’t be pressed any harder against the glass, my body flattened against
the door. We’re passing right by her image, and I practically feel the heat of her breath on my cheek.
You need to turn yourself in,
she continues.
And you’re on your way to The One right now. It’s the only way. If you want us to be together again, it’s the only way.
“Together again?” I ask.
“Together again,” she repeats as we pull away.
And then she’s gone. But I’m still dazed by the lingering image of Celia until we turn in through a very high gate marked BUILDING OF BUILDINGS .
Chapter 44
Wisty
WHIT AND I MAY have electrodes all over our arms, but at least we’re upright and sitting in high-backed leather chairs so comfy it’s like
swimming in butter. And we each have a glass of water next to us. It’s all five-star accommodations here at the Building of
Buildings, which is basically The One’s crib and bat cave–type place, and it’s where the very grumpy men in the van brought
us.
Maybe I could get used to this?
Whit and I had both been curled in the fetal position in the back of the van when suddenly we were yanked out and escorted
into the B of B. So this had started out as one of our most pathetic public parades into captivity yet.
I actually made eye contact with some of the citizens who were watching as we trudged across the luxuriously outfitted marble
lobby. Maybe I’ve been infected with a big-ego savior complex, but I thought I saw a flash of… respect, maybe even admiration,
or at least somethingvaguely hopeful buried deep in some of the glazed Beaner eyes. It helped me get my groove back anyway.
The more I stare at our interrogator right now, the more I think maybe I see it in him, too. Grudging respect?
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