Prodigy (29 page)

“Now,” Day says.

We rush out from under the wing, taking the soldier barricade completely off guard.
Before any of them can grab or shoot at us, we’re through, ducking into the crowd
and melting in with the people. Instantly Day lowers his head and pulls us through
the thick pockets of arms and legs. His hand is clenched fiercely around mine. My
breath comes out ragged and forced, but I refuse to slow us down now. I push on. People
shout in surprise as we barrel through.

Behind us, the soldiers raise the alarm. “There!” one yells. A few shots ring out.
They’re after us.

We barrel ahead through the crowd. Now and then I hear people exclaim,
“Is that Day?” “Did Day come back in a Colonies jet?”
When I glance behind us, I can tell that half the soldiers are heading the wrong
way, unable to tell which direction we took. A couple of others are still hot on our
trail. We’re only a block away from the Capitol Tower now, but to me it seems like
miles. Occasionally, I get a glimpse of it through all the bodies pushing and shoving
around. The JumboTrons show Anden standing on a balcony, a tiny, lone figure dressed
in black and red, holding his hands out in a gesture of appeal.

He needs Day’s help.

Behind us, four soldiers are gradually catching up. The chase saps away the last of
my strength. I’m panting, struggling to breathe. Day is already slowing down to keep
pace with me, but I can tell we’ll never make it at this rate. I squeeze his hand
and shake my head.

“You have to go ahead,” I tell Day firmly.

“You’re cracked.” He purses his lips and pulls us forward faster. “We’re almost there.”

“No.”
I lean closer to him as we continue to make our way through the people. “This is
our one shot. Neither of us will make it if I keep slowing us down.”

Day hesitates, torn. We’ve already been separated once before—now he’s wondering if
letting me go means he’ll never see me again. But we don’t have time for him to dwell
on this. “I can’t run fast, but I can hide in the crowd. Trust me.”

Without warning, he grabs my waist, pulls me into a tight embrace, and kisses me hard
on the lips. They’re burning hot. I kiss him back fiercely and run my hands along
his back. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he breathes. “Hide, stay safe. See you
soon.” Then he squeezes my hand and vanishes. I suck in a breath of icy cold air.
Move it, June. No time to waste.

I stop where I am, turn around, and crouch down right as the soldiers reach me. The
first one doesn’t even see me coming. One second he’s running—the next I’ve tripped
him and he’s flat on his back. I don’t dare stop to look—instead, I stagger back into
the furious crowd, weaving my way through people with my head down until the soldiers
have fallen far behind. I can’t believe how many people are here. Fights between civilians
and street police are breaking out everywhere. Above it all, the JumboTrons display
live feeds of Anden’s face, his expression grave; he’s pleading from behind the protective
glass.

Six minutes pass. I’m only a dozen yards from the base of the Capitol Tower when I
notice that the people around me are slowly falling silent. They’re no longer focused
on Anden.

“Up there!” one person shouts.

They’re pointing at a boy with torch-bright hair, who’s perched on a Tower balcony
on the opposite side of the same floor as Anden. The balcony’s protective glass catches
some of the street’s light, and from here, the boy is glowing. I catch my breath and
pause. It’s Day.

BY THE TIME I REACH THE CAPITOL TOWER, I’M soaked in sweat. My body burns with pain.
I go around to one of its sides that isn’t facing the main square, then survey the
crowd as people shove roughly past me in both directions. All around us are blinding
JumboTrons, each displaying the exact same thing—the young Elector, pleading in vain
with the people to return home and stay safe, to disperse before things get out of
hand. He’s trying to console them by dictating his plans for reforming the Republic,
doing away with the Trials and changing the way their career assignments are given.
But I can tell this goddy political talk isn’t going to come close to satisfying the
crowd. And even though Anden is older and wiser than June and me, he’s missing that
crucial piece.

The people don’t believe him, and they don’t believe
in
him.

I bet Congress is watching all this with delight. Razor too. Does Anden even know
that Razor was the one behind the plot? I narrow my eyes, then leap up to grab the
second floor ledge of the wired building. I try to pretend that June is right behind
me, cheering me on.

The speakers do seem to be wired up the way Kaede had described back when we were
in Lamar. I bend down at the ledge right below the rooftop to study the wires. Yep.
Wired in almost the same way I’d done it on the night I first met June in that midnight
alley, where I’d asked her for plague cures through the speaker system. Except this
time, I’ll be speaking not to an alleyway but to the Republic’s entire capital. To
the country.

The wind stings my cheeks and whistles past my ears in gales, forcing me to constantly
adjust my footing. I could die right now. I have no way of knowing if the soldiers
on the rooftops will shoot me down before I can reach relative safety behind a balcony’s
wall of glass, dozens of feet above the rest of the crowd. Or maybe they’ll recognize
who I am and hold their fire.

I climb until I reach the tenth floor, the same floor that the Elector’s balcony is
on, then crouch for a second to look down. I’m high enough—the instant I turn the
corner of this building, everyone will see me. The masses are most concentrated on
this side, their faces turned up to the Elector, their fists raised in anger. Even
from here, I can see how many of them have that scarlet streak painted into their
hair. Apparently the Republic’s attempts to outlaw it don’t work so well when
everyone
wants to do it.

On the edges of the square, street police and soldiers are striking out mercilessly
with their batons, pushing people back with rows of transparent shields. I’m surprised
there’s no shooting. My hands start shaking in rage. There are few things as intimidating
as hundreds of Republic soldiers decked out in faceless riot gear, standing in grim,
dark lines against a mass of unarmed protesters. I flatten myself against the wall
and take a few breaths of cold night air, struggling to stay calm. Struggling to
remind
myself of June and June’s brother and the Elector, and that behind some of those
faceless Republic masks are good people, with parents and siblings and children. I
hope Anden is the reason no shots have rung out—that he has told his soldiers not
to fire on this crowd.
I have to believe that.
Otherwise, I’ll never convince the people of what I’m about to say.

“Don’t be afraid,” I whisper to myself, my eyes squeezed shut. “You can’t afford it.”

Then I step out from the shadows, hurry along the ledge until I turn the corner of
the building, and hop into the closest balcony I can find. I face the central square.
The protective balcony glass cuts off about a foot over my head, but I can still feel
the wind siphoning in from above. I take off my cap and toss it over the top edge.
It floats down to the ground, carried sideways by the wind. My hair streams out all
around me. I bend down, twist one of the speakers’ wires, and hold the speaker up
like a megaphone. Then I wait.

At first no one notices me. But soon one face turns up in my direction, probably attracted
by the brightness of my hair, and then another face, and then another. A small group.
It grows into several dozen, all of them pointing up at me. The roars and angry chants
below begin to subside. I wonder if June sees me. The soldiers lining other roofs
have their guns fixed on me—but they don’t shoot. They’re stuck with me in this awkward,
tense limbo. I want to run. To do what I always do, have always
done,
for the last five years of my life. Escape, flee into the shadows.

But this time, I stand my ground. I’m tired of running.

The crowd grows quieter as more and more turn their faces up to see me. At first,
I hear incredulous chatter. Even some laughs.
That can’t be Day,
I imagine them muttering to one another.
Some imposter.
But the longer I stay here, the louder they get. Everyone has turned toward me now.
My eyes wander over to where Anden is on his balcony; even he’s looking at me now.
I hold my breath, hoping that he doesn’t decide to order me shot.
Is
he on my side?

Then they’re all chanting my name.
Day! Day! Day!
I can hardly believe my ears. They’re chanting for me, and their voices echo down
every block and reach every street. I stay frozen where I am, still clinging to my
makeshift megaphone, unable to tear my eyes away from the crowds. I lift the speaker
to my lips.

“People of the Republic!” I shout. “Do you hear me?”

My words blare out from every speaker in the square—probably every speaker in the
country, for all I know. It startles me. The people below let out a cheer that makes
the ground tremble. The soldiers must’ve gotten a hurried order from someone in Congress,
because I see some of them hoist their weapons higher. A single bullet zips through
the air and hits the glass, sparking as it goes. I don’t move.

The Elector makes a quick gesture at the guards standing with him, and they all press
a hand to their ears and talk into their mikes. Maybe he’s telling them not to harm
me. I force myself to believe it.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I shout in the direction that the lone bullet had come from.
Keep yourself steady.
The people’s cheers turn into a roar. “You don’t want an uprising, do you, Congress?”

Day! Day! Day!

“Today, Congress, I give you an ultimatum.” My eyes shift to the JumboTrons. “You’ve
arrested a number of Patriots for a crime
you
are responsible for. Release them.
All
of them. If you don’t, I will call your people to action, and you
will
have a revolution on your hands. But probably not the kind you were hoping for.”
The civilians scream out their approval. The chants continue at a feverish pitch.

“People of the Republic.” They cheer me on as I continue. “Listen to me. Today, I
give all of
you
an ultimatum.”

Their chants go on until they realize that I’ve fallen silent, and then they too begin
to quiet down. I hold the speaker closer. “My name is Day.” My voice fills the air.
“I’ve fought the same injustices that you’re here to protest right now. I’ve suffered
the same things you’ve suffered. Like you, I’ve watched my friends and family die
at the hands of Republic soldiers.” I blink away the memories that threaten to overtake
me.
Keep going.
“I’ve been starved, beaten, and humiliated. I’ve been tortured, insulted, and suppressed.
I’ve lived in the slums with you. I’ve risked my life for you. And you’ve risked
your
lives for me.
We
have risked our lives for our country—not the country we live in now, but the country
we hope to have. You are all, every single one of you, a
hero.
”

Joyful cheers answer me, even as guards below try in vain to bring down and arrest
stragglers, while other soldiers are trying fruitlessly to disable the rewired speaker
system. Congress is afraid, I realize. They’re afraid of me, like they’ve always been.
So I keep going—I tell the people what had happened to my mother and brothers, and
what had happened to June. I tell them about the Patriots, and about the Senate’s
attempt to assassinate Anden. I hope Razor’s listening to all this and seething. Throughout
it all, the crowd’s attention never wavers.

“Do you trust me?” I shout. The crowd answers with a unified voice. The sea of people
and their deafening roars are overwhelming. If my mother was still here, if Dad and
John were here, would they be smiling up at me right now? I take a deep, shuddering
breath.
Finish what you came here to do.
I focus on the people, and on the young Elector. I gather my strength. Then I say
the words I never ever thought I’d say.

“People of the Republic,
know your enemy.
Your enemy is the Republic’s way of life, the laws and traditions that hold us down,
the government that brought us here. The late Elector.
Congress.
” I raise my arm and point toward Anden. “But the new Elector is . . .
Not. Your. Enemy!
” The people grow silent. Their eyes are forever fixed on me. “You think your Congress
wants to end the Trials, or help your families? It’s a
lie.
” I point at Anden when I say this, willing myself, for the first time, to trust him.
“The Elector is young and ambitious, and he is
not his father.
He wants to fight for you, just as
I
fight for you, but first he needs you to give him that chance. And if you put your
might behind him and lift him up, he will lift us up. He will change things for us,
one step at a time. He can build that country we all hope we can have. I came here
tonight for you all—and for
him.
Do you trust me?” I lift my voice:
“People of the Republic, do you trust me?”

Silence. Then, a few chants. More join in. They raise their eyes and fists to me,
their shouts ceaseless, a tide of change. “Then raise your voices for your Elector,
as I have, and he will raise his for you!”

The cheers are deafening, drowning out anything and everything. The young Elector
keeps his eyes on me, and I realize, at last, that June is right. I don’t want to
see the Republic collapse. I want to see it change.