“It’s so unbelievably huge,” Bunny said, which didn’t begin to cover it.
There were so, so, so many people. Just the people walking along the streets were more than ever came to a cell festival. The buildings went up and up, almost to the clouds.
“There are people in those buildings,” I said in awe. “There’s enough people here to fill those buildings.” I couldn’t imagine it, and pictured one or two people per floor.
Most of the buildings had lit signs on them, some of them the company’s name, some with enormous ads two or three stories high, saying drink this beverage, or eat these noodles.
There was so much traffic here that we were moving slowly, and I could see a checkpoint up ahead. “We should ditch the car,” I said reluctantly. “I’m sure they know it’s stolen by now and are looking for it.”
“That sign says park here,” Bunny said, pointing, and there was an empty space between two other cars. I parked and we loaded up with all the hand weapons we could. I hated leaving the rifles, but we just couldn’t hide them well enough under our coats. I locked the car—something I had never done in my life—and thought about home. It had been peaceful there, quiet. I’d known just about everyone, at least by sight. These two realities existed in the same world. It was unbelievable.
Jolie took my hand and, trying not to look too obvious, spelled P-O-L-I-C-E, and then made a circle motion with her finger.
I nodded. It was true—there were police everywhere. I’d never seen so many cops. If you have a ton of people, you have a ton of cops, I guess. At home people pretty much followed the rules. Was it the same here?
One of the billboards flashed, BUY TRUMAN BRAND SHOES—THE BRAND YOU CAN TRUST. Then that picture winked out and we had the more typical sign: THE UNITED IS BUILT ON TRUST. YOUR LOYALTY IS TO THE UNITED FIRST. It gave us a few seconds to absorb this, then changed to, UNITED, THEN COMPANY, THEN FAMILY. THE UNITED ONLY WORKS WHEN EVERYONE COMPLIES. That was more like it. We had the same signs at home.
I started looking at small building signs—if we found a doctor, could we risk having her check out Nate? He hadn’t complained lately, and he looked okay, but—
“Arms, please!” The cop was wearing riot gear, with visor, bulletproof vest, the works.
“What arms?” I blustered, my brain immediately whirring with possible escape routes.
“Your arms, smartass,” said the cop, holding out his own arm, wrist up.
Real arms. Okay.
One by one, we did the same, holding out our left wrists.
The cops pushed our sleeves back, then scanned us with a UV light. Nothing showed up, and the cops frowned and looked at each other.
“Where’s your chip?” one asked, just as another punched a button on his comm and alarms sounded, along with a canned voice: INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT!
Instantly we had our weapons out and were in attack stance. This was exactly what we’d been trained for.
75
THE SITUATION WAS EXACTLY WHAT we’d been trained for, but these big city cops were on a whole new level. The United soldiers we’d taken out before were nothing in comparison. These guys were a highly trained, professional team, armed with weapons so new I barely recognized them. Five teens, even armed to the teeth, didn’t faze them. One of them even smiled. My heart started pumping, and without being aware of it my brain quickly calculated order of attack and key areas of vulnerability. I heard a high-pitched whine and recognized the sound of a taser charging.
“Let’s get crazy,” I said under my breath, and the team knew I meant like at the Crazy House and whirled into action—literally. I spun away as if to run, then sprang up to snap-kick the closest guy in his helmet. He staggered back and pulled out his gun, but his aim was off and the bullet whizzed by my ear. Another kick from me knocked the gun out of his hand, and his expression went from stunned to furious. I kept it up, mostly with kicking since his flak jacket would break my knuckles if I punched him. He whipped out a billy club and smacked my thigh with it, almost dropping me to the ground. I wouldn’t have thought that a stick could hurt so much.
Finally I got in a lucky kick that snapped his head back, and as he came forward I managed a flat-palm smash against his nose. He fell.
There was a one-second opening and I jumped in. My squad had been doing their best—Mills and Bunny had even been shooting at them—not a good idea in such close quarters. But the cops’ bulletproof vests made the shots painful annoyances rather than death blows. We were all fighting dirty—street fighting the way we’d been taught—but this high-tech armor was defeating us. All of us were wounded. I was limping, Mills was holding his right arm close to his body, and Nate could barely see because of the blood running into his eyes.
Dodging blows while aiming a kick perfectly at one cop’s nuts, I heard a zapping sound, then a body hitting the ground. Someone grabbed the back of my neck, so I slumped to dead weight, then stomped his instep and followed it with a kneecap-shattering kick. There was another buzzing sound and the cop I was facing grabbed his arm, stiffened, then fell like a bushel of wheat seed. Right next to him another cop went down. The team stood back, as mystified as I was. The last two cops we’d been fighting were lying on the ground twitching, their eyes open. They’d been tased, clearly, but by whom?
Then I saw them. They weren’t dressed all in black or anything, but there was a look in their eyes—the same look I saw whenever I got a glimpse in a mirror.
They were armed and wore blue kerchiefs rolled up and tied at the back of their heads. Scanning quickly, I counted five people, male and female, some looking as young as us. Glancing from them to the cops helpless on the ground, I got it right away: these were rebels. Big-city rebels. Potential allies? Ansel’s message, “They will take you to the Loner,” popped back into my head. Had that been a clue, or a warning?
I stepped forward, ready to make contact with the one who seemed in charge. She pointed her rifle at me, and a guy held up his Taser.
“Hold it,” she barked, and I froze.
Within seconds, a black van with tinted windows screeched to a halt right next to us and its doors slid open. Before I could yell for the team to scatter, we’d been grabbed and thrown into the van. Inside, in the darkness, waiting hands immediately cuffed and hooded us.
Awesome, I thought grimly as I was tossed into a corner like a sack of turnips. Just like old times.