The Isle Read Free

yourself, if you wish. The governor will be here tomorrow to oversee the procedure.”
    My heart retreats far into my chest, like it’s going into hiding. “Procedure? W-what procedure?” I glance around the room, eyes darting from floor to ceiling for some way out. There’s the door they must have dragged me in through, but I can’t use that. A bathroom tucked in the far corner is no help either. I’m thinking, thinking . . . but nothing turns up.
    Narrowing her crow eyes at me, she says, “Governor Voss believes that while you were in Ward Hope, you were given something very powerful by that young man. It cured you of the Blight, but the governor feels it’s capable of more.”
    What do they think it can do? Looking down at my skin-covered body, I try to see through to the bones and the bloodand the muscle underneath. No, I do not understand.
    I understand those sharp tools, though. They sit there, waiting.
    â€œSome Dilameth, to keep you calm.” The lady fills up a syringe with clear liquid.
    I tighten my forearms against the sheets.
    â€œNow don’t be difficult.” She rips my arm away, stretching it across her lap like I have doll bones inside me. “Make a fist.”
    Ren— she’d make a fist, but it wouldn’t be the kind this lady’s expecting. Ren wouldn’t let anyone stick her with a needle. She would fight. And then she’d escape, all on her own.
    Am I smart like that?
    I don’t know , I realize. I make the fist she asked for.

2
REN
1:15 A.M., FRIDAY
    â€œ H ow much longer?” I ask Derek for the hundredth time. My voice carries too loud through the miles of unused track that’ll lead us to the lab. A rat squeaks in the darkness.
    We lost our flashlights for good reason—any one of Derek’s centuries-old, assassination-happy family members could be following us. The delightful Kitaneh could be hanging back in the black right now, waiting to make her move.
    â€œSoon.” He stops. The rope leash around my wrist slackens—that’s how I can tell. “Sooner than the last time you asked, at least.”
    â€œBrack—” I curse, bumbling backward under the weight of my waterproof pack. I’ve just flat-tired Derek, walkedstraight into him, nearly pulling his boot clean off. “Why’d you—”
    He grabs my elbow, first to steady me. Then, like it’s some sort of road map, his hand travels down to find mine. The hairs on my arm prickle, standing tall as he brings my fingers to his lips. Between my knuckles, he whispers a soft “Shh.”
    I shut my trap and freeze all my bones, listening.
    We stand in the pitch-black for what seems like hours, our hands welded together. Another rat squeaks, and Derek exhales. Releases me from his grip. I feel him step away and the rope that’s tied between us grows taut again. He’s moving.
    We fall into a quicker pace this time.
    â€œYou sure the Blues don’t know about this route?” I ask in a low voice, worried that maybe Derek was wrong about that bit. We don’t need unforeseen trouble; the Tètai are trouble enough.
    He stops short and a puddle splashes under his sole. “The DI knows the PATH exists. They’re just under the impression that it’s still flooded.”
    The PATH. He hadn’t called it that before, but now that he’s using the tunnel’s old, pre–Wash Out name, my DI training kicks in—his information is good. As a former Blues mole charged with scouting the UMI for freshwater, I had to study maps galore: underwater, above water, geology, topography, history, too. This route travels under the Hudson River, now a strait. It connected Manhattan with NewJersey, now the Ward and the West Isle.
    Then the asteroid hit. Screwed everything up. Big-time .
    Sea levels rose. Ground water aquifers turned too salty to drink. Couldn’t even desalinate with an underwater power