Dozer leans in, his voice a snarling whisper. “It wasn’t treason that got us here; it was smarts. And if we’re going to get out of here alive, we need to work together. We can’t have one group doing one thing and another group something else.” In its own paranoid way, Dozer’s argument makes sense. Hope hates him for it.
“But we agreed back at the border to free the Less Thans,” Book says. “That’s why we crawled back under the fence.”
“That was the plan,” Dozer says, “back before you got a bunch of us killed. Back before you sacrificed your friend to the enemy.”
Hope can see the change in Book’s face. It’s like the blood drains away. He opens his mouth to speak but then thinks better of it. He stands there a moment longer, then slowly sits back down. Hope reaches out a hand and lets it rest on his forearm.
“But don’t take my word for it,” Dozer says, trying his best to sound humble. “Let’s let the people decide. All those who think these six are guilty, signify by raising your hand.”
Dozer raises his, and Angela and Lacey also. Red follows a moment later. That’s four votes, and since the six defendants aren’t allowed to vote, that leaves only two others: Four Fingers and Twitch. Even though they’re on Book’s side, it’s not enough.
Dozer shoots Book his hyena grin. “There’s your trial, Book Worm.” He turns to his three supporters. “Tie ’em up. And make sure the knots are tight.”
Before Hope knows it, ropes are flung around their wrists. Attached to the inside walls of the boxcar are big, black, metal rings for lashing cargo. Now, suddenly, the six prisoners are tied to the rings so their faces poke the wall.
Dozer shuffles over and says, “Let me know if I can get you anything, Hope Less.” He laughs maliciously and walks away. Red, Angela, and Lacey follow in his wake.
Lashed to the metal rings and pressed against the wooden wall, Hope gives a tug, but it does no good. She’s strapped in tight. They all are. There’s no getting away from here, and everyone knows it.
Overcome with despair, Hope sags against the wall.
THE DAY WORE ON. The temperature soared. Splinters creased my cheek where it pressed against the wooden planks. Once the sun set, the door was slid back open—the fresh air washing away only a portion of the stench of twelve sweaty bodies.
One by one, people went to sleep, even standing up, and I gave myself over to the steady clatter of wheels on rails and the train’s gentle, swaying rhythm.
That’s when I dreamed of them again: the prisoners held captive beneath the tennis courts, their hollow eyes and sore-covered faces begging for my help.
Then the dream shifted, and it was the woman with the long black hair. We were racing across a smoke-covered pasture, bullets whistling, explosions rocking the ground. The woman stopped and knelt. She was older than I remembered, more stooped, her skin more wrinkled. Her previous words echoed in my head.
You will do what’s right.
You will lead the way.
I wondered what it would be this time. To my great surprise, it wasn’t a sentence at all, just a single word.
“Now,” she said. And then she disappeared. Vanished.
“Now what?” I asked, but she was gone. It was just smoke and haze and singing bullets.
“Now what?” I cried again.
My voice startled me awake, and there I was, hands bound, wood grain tattooing my cheek like wrinkles from a pillow. Hope was awake too. I could make out her luminous brown eyes even in the dark.
“You were dreaming,” she whispered.
“Did I say anything?”
“You moaned.”
There was no going back to sleep. I was far too wide-awake for that. Besides, even though I didn’t know what we should do, I knew when we should do it.
Now.
Argos was sleeping in a corner, chin resting on his paws, and when I emitted a soft, low whistle, he scrambled to his feet and made his way to my side. His toenails clicked on the floor.
Way back when, Argos had been a stowaway, snuck into a pack and carried up the mountain. He went from Less Than to Less Than, ending up with me once I’d saved him from the fire in the Brown Forest. He’d barely left my side since.
Although we were inseparable, I never trained him. Never taught him any tricks. I didn’t need to, because Argos understood. And when I stretched away from the wall and presented my bound hands, he didn’t hesitate.
Placing his front paws against the wall so he was standing on his back legs, he swung open his jaw and began gnawing, his hot breath painting my hands. The ropes vibrated and buzzed. I looked down and saw a frayed strand of rope.
“Good boy,” I mouthed, but he was already onto the next strand, digging his sharp teeth into the coarse bindings. Another rope snapped in two, and I was able to squirm my hands free. My wrists were chafed and bleeding, but I was free.
I bent down and stroked Argos’s head. “Thanks,” I whispered, then rushed to Hope’s side. The knots were cemented with dried sweat and blood, and I turned back to Argos. He shuffled over and prepared for knot number two.
At that very moment, the train snaked around a sweeping curve. I could see the engine tugging our caravan of boxcars … and I let out an involuntary gasp.
“What?” Hope asked.
I pointed. In the far distance, bouncing off the low-hanging clouds, was a warm amber glow: lights from a town. Crazies. This was what the woman with the long black hair was trying to tell me: that we had to get off the train now, before we reached the town.
Argos was working as fast as he could, but it wasn’t fast enough. I needed a knife. Since my own had been stripped from me by Red, I needed to borrow someone else’s.
Four Fingers was fast asleep, his head propped against a crate. I scrambled to his side and clamped my hand across his mouth. His eyes popped open.
“It’s okay. It’s just me: Book.”
Once he made sense of what was going on, I could feel his smile beneath my palm, his lips stretching against my fingers. I removed my hand.
“I need to borrow your knife,” I said. “Just for a little bit.”
He recoiled, his hand falling across his weapon.
Ever since his accident in the Brown Forest—when Dozer had thrown him to the ground and he’d banged his head against a slab of granite—I didn’t know what Four could understand and what he couldn’t. But it was obvious he had no intention of parting with his knife.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll give it back.”
His grip tightened on the handle.
I was getting desperate. Time was running out, and I had to free my friends.
“Hey, Four. How would you like to go on an adventure? Just a few of us.”
His smile returned, his hand began to relax.
“I can’t tell you where we’re going yet, but if you let me borrow your knife, we can get out of here right away. And Dozer won’t be coming with us.”
Four Fingers seemed to consider what I was saying. He tilted his head to the side as if deep in thought. The train rounded another curve. Once more the town’s amber glow came into