I exhaled and tried to get a grip on my emotions. “Do you know what happened?”
“Well, he’s dead,” Nathaniel said, making my heart sink.
“Do you… do you know how he died?” I asked in a small voice.
“He was shot!” A woman had overheard me. “Someone shot him!”
My jaw dropped.
“Do they have any idea who?” Nathaniel asked, casually.
“Outsiders, no doubt,” said an older man, looking disgusted.
Sure enough, at that moment a large car pulled up, its rare, non-electric engine sounding weirdly loud. A young woman in a suit jumped out and opened the rear door, and Provost Allen got out. The woman handed him a megaphone.
“Neighbors!” The Provost’s voice made me wince. “Cellfolk! This tragedy is upsetting for all of us! And once again, it shows our increasing need and determination to rout these Outsiders!”
The crowd yelled their agreement; several people raised fists in the air.
“He’s saying that Outsiders did this?” I whispered to Nathaniel.
Nathaniel kept his public, “outraged” face on, but spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Yep. We didn’t, of course.”
“The same Outsiders who have been taking our children!” the Provost went on. “But fear not, citizens!” He lowered his voice and leaned forward as if about to tell a secret. “We have discovered who these Outsiders are!”
People around me roared their approval. Nathaniel punched his fist in the air and yelled, “Yes!”
I stared at him. What a hypocrite!
“Start yelling your agreement,” he said in a low voice only I could hear.
“No! I—”
“Cassie. Start yelling your agreement.”
Everything in me protested even looking like I agreed with the Provost and his thugs. Becca was still missing, for God’s sake! And my folks—
“Do. It. Now.” His voice was quite definite, and his elbow pressed into my ribs.
He’d survived as the leader of the Outsiders for a long time, all while looking like the best son the Provost could hope for.
“Arrests are imminent!” the Provost cried.
With bile rising in my throat, I punched my fist in the air. “Yes!”
PART
TWO
42
BECCA
DEFIANCE AND A LACK OF regard for rules has always been part of my personal charm, but let me tell you, they were long gone. After my miscarriage, they sent me back to my prison room as soon as they were sure the bleeding had stopped. I shuffled between two guards, knowing that this was my absolute lowest, both physically and emotionally.
The guards pushed me through the sliding door of metal bars, and I went to a lower bunk and gingerly sat down. My roommates knew enough to wait until the guards had gone before they gathered around me in support.
“Oh, my God, Becca,” Merry said, hugging me. “I was sure you were dead!”