Prodigy (Legend 2)

Day’s concerns about my well-being really hit home now. Razor’s plan for me sounds good, but something could go wrong. What if, instead of taking me to see the Elector, I’m shot the instant I’m found? Or they could strap me upside down in an interrogation room and beat me senseless. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times. I could be dead before this day is over, long before the Elector learns I’ve been found. A million things could go wrong.

That’s why I have to focus, I remind myself. And I can’t do that if I stare into Day’s eyes.

Now the Patriot guides me inside the pyramid and down a narrow walkway running along one side of a wall. It’s loud and chaotic in here. Hundreds of soldiers are milling around on the ground level. Razor had told me they would put me in one of the empty barrack rooms on the first floor, where I would pretend to be hiding before trying to sneak on board the RS Dynasty. When Republic soldiers knock down the door and come for me, I’m supposed to make a run for it. To give it all I’ve got.

My steps quicken to match my guide’s. Now we reach the end of the walkway, where a secure door (five feet six wide, ten feet high) leads away from the main floor and into the hallways of the first floor barracks. The guide swipes a card across the door. It beeps, then blinks green and slides open.

“Put up a fight when they come for you,” the Patriot tells me in a voice I can barely hear. His appearance is no different from any of the other soldiers here, with slicked-back hair and a black uniform. “Make sure they believe you don’t want to be caught. You were trying to turn yourself in near Denver. Okay?”

I nod.

His attention shifts away from me. He studies the hall, tilting his head up to inspect the ceiling. A row of security cams lines this corridor, eight in total, one facing the front of each barrack door. Before we step all the way into the hall, the guide pulls out a pocketknife and uses it to clip off one of the shiny buttons lining his jacket. Then he braces himself against the doorway, presses one foot against each side of the door frame, and leaps up.

I glance back down the hall. There are no other soldiers here at the moment, but what if one suddenly turns the corner? It’s no surprise if they capture me here (that’s our goal, after all), but what about my guide?

He reaches up toward the first security cam, then uses the knife to scrape away some of the rubber coating protecting the cam’s wires. When a bit of the rubber comes off and exposes the wires underneath, he wraps his fingers in the length of his sleeve and presses the metal button against the wires.

A quiet burst of sparks. To my surprise, every security cam along the hall blinks off.

“How’d you break all of them with just one—?” I start to whisper.

The guide jumps back down to the ground and motions for me to hurry up. “I’m a Hacker,” he whispers back as we run. “I’ve worked the command centers here before. I rewired things a little to suit us.” He smiles proudly, showing even white teeth. “But this is nothing. Just wait till you hear about what we’ve done to Denver’s Capitol Tower.”

Impressive. If Metias joined the Patriots, he’d be a Hacker too. If he were alive.

We sprint down the hall until he stops us at one of the doors. Barrack 4A. Here he pulls out a key card and swipes the door’s access panel. It clicks and swings open a little—inside, eight rows of bunks and lockers sit in the dark.

The Hacker turns to face me. “Razor wants you waiting here to ensure that the right soldiers capture you. He has a specific patrol in mind.”

Of course, makes perfect sense. It confirms that Razor doesn’t want me beaten to a pulp by letting just any Republic patrol arrest me. “Who—?” I start to ask.

But he taps the edge of his military cap before I can finish. “We’ll all be watching your mission from the cams. Good luck,” he whispers. Then he’s gone, hurrying down the hall until he rounds a corner and I can’t see him anymore.

I take a deep breath. I’m alone. Time to wait for soldiers to arrest me.

I quickly step inside the room and shut the barrack door. It’s pitch-black in here—no windows, not even a slit of light from under the door. Certainly a believable enough place for me to be hiding. I don’t bother moving farther into the room; I already know what the layout is, rows of bunk beds and a communal bathroom. I just flatten myself against the wall right next to the door. Better to stay here.

I reach out in the darkness and find the doorknob. Using my hands to measure, I gauge how far the knob is from the ground (three feet six). That’s probably how much space is between the doorknob and the top of the door frame too. I think back to when we were still standing out in the corridor, picturing how much space is between the door frame’s top edge and the ceiling. It must’ve been a little less than two feet.

Okay. Now all my details are in place. I settle back against the wall, close my eyes, and wait.

Twelve minutes drag by.

Then, farther down the hall outside, I hear a dog’s bark.

My eyes pop open. Ollie. I’d recognize that bark anywhere—my dog is still alive. Alive, by some miracle. Joy and confusion wash over me. What the hell is he doing here? I press an ear against the door and listen. Several more seconds of silence. Then, I hear the bark again.

My white shepherd is here.

Now thoughts are racing through my mind. The only reason why Ollie would be here is because he’s with a patrol—the patrol that’s hunting me down. And there’s only one soldier who’d think to use my own dog to sniff me out: Thomas. The Hacker’s words come back to me. Razor wanted “the right soldiers” to capture me. He had a specific patrol in mind.