I felt frozen. Stuck. Helpless. I’d led too many people to their deaths, and I’d stood idly by while terrible people hurt the innocent. But what else was I supposed to do? Turn myself in? Live here until I got too old, and then be hauled away to an unknown fate? What if they just killed us all?

I looked up at the roof, at the guards who stood watch for animals and androids. They spent endless hours worrying about security. Maybe they could help me sort this out. And it was about time I finally talked to Mason.

There was a ladder, hand-built and rickety, in the corner of the fort for the guards to get up on the roof. I made sure my scarf was in place, and then climbed up.

There were four guys up there, but I knew only one of them.

“Hey, Mason.”

He looked over at me, quiet and nervous, and then turned back to scanning the fields around us. It was dark, but the snow on the ground highlighted every rock and tree. There was a man walking slowly around the perimeter.

I instinctively ducked, though he was too far and it was too dark for him to recognize me.

“How long has he been out there?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“You didn’t ring the warning bell?”

“Deer are out there almost every night,” he said. “Today it’s Iceman. But they’re all robots.”

We stood in silence and watched.

“What are punishments like here?” I asked, staring at the shadowy figure in the distance. He was in no hurry, just wandering slowly along the tree line.

“You don’t change,” he said, with a quiet chuckle.

“I don’t blame you,” I said, even though I had to force the words out. “For what happened to Becky.”

He didn’t answer. It was his dupe that attacked her, after he’d popped. He wasn’t in control—it wasn’t even his emotions.

“Punishments aren’t as bad as at the school,” he finally said, changing the subject. “We’re too valuable. They have to keep us happy. You saw what happened to Dylan.”

“Then I’m going to kill that guy.”

He laughed, too loud. “The hell you are.”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to see what’s inside one of those things?”

“Punishments here aren’t bad for us,” he said, emphasizing the last word. “We are important. You’re not. You don’t have a dupe, and you’re a pain in Maxfield’s butt.”

I didn’t care. “Do you have a weapon?”

“No.”

I didn’t believe him. One of the other guards was very obviously carrying a baseball bat, and another had a claw hammer hanging from his hand.

“Mason,” I said, “I don’t care about what your dupe did. That wasn’t you. But this is you, and I need help.”

“You don’t get it,” he said, suddenly looking older, tougher, as I looked into his face. “It didn’t work. Sixty people tried and only two made it past the fence. What makes you think you can go another fifty miles by yourself?”

“I’ve killed other robots. It’s not impossible.”

I walked to the outside wall of the fort and looked down at the snow twelve feet below. He followed me. “Becky’s getting better,” I said. “And the deal was, they take care of Becky and I help you escape.”

“You’re not doing this for Becky,” Mason said coldly. “You’re doing it for you.”

I turned back to give him one final look. “You’re not the same Mason I knew back at the school,” I said. “I get that. And I’m not the same Benson. I’ve changed.”

With that, I swung a leg over the low wall, and then jumped down to the frozen ground outside the fort.

Shelly answered the door of her barrack, wearing the same pajamas she’d had on the other night. I pulled down my scarf long enough for her to recognize who I was. She looked surprised to see me.

“Can I come in?” I asked quietly, looking past her at the room of curious faces. “We need to talk—privately.”

She nodded, stepping aside to let me in. She closed the door behind me, and then motioned for the rest of the room to get back to whatever they’d been doing.

“Lily told me something,” I whispered. “And I didn’t believe it until now.”

“That Birdman’s full of crap?”

“Pretty much.”

“I don’t trust you, Benson,” she said, her voice firm.

“I can cut my arm for you.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that. You’re human. You’re courageous. And you’re stupid and impatient.”

I paused, surprised. That wasn’t what I’d expected.

“I think you’re trying to escape,” I said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you don’t act like you’ve given up.”

“That’s not a lot of evidence.”

“I think it’s true, and I want in,” I said, “but that’s not what I came to see you about. I just need your help.”

She stared at me for a long time. She looked old for her age, tired and strong.

“What?”

“I need a new coat, one that no one will recognize, preferably white. I’d love a ski mask.” I pointed to the woodpile next to the fireplace. “And I want that hatchet.”

She smiled, uncertain.

“I’m not going to murder Birdman.”

Shelly laughed quietly. “Wait here.”

The fort was silent when I got back, but my breath was heaving, and my heart was pounding out of my chest. They checked my arm when I came in—I was almost getting used to that by now—and I jogged to Harvard’s room, pounding on his door. After a moment he answered. His grogginess dissolved instantly when he saw the blood on my coat.

I panted for air. “How long does it take Maxfield to get here when there’s trouble?”

“About twenty minutes,” he said, already pulling on his shoes. “Depends on how mad they are.”

“Then you have about eighteen minutes to dissect Iceman. He’s sitting on the road in front of the fort.”

A grin broke across his face, and he was out of his room in an instant, banging on Birdman’s door but not waiting for an answer before he ran to the heavy fort door and out into the road.

I was exhausted, frozen to the bone. It hadn’t been a hard fight, but I’d spent an hour facedown in the snow, stalking him. When I finally got close enough, it had taken only two hits—one aimed for his neck, and then another flailing, desperate blow that smashed through his metal spine.

He’d never even seen me. It was over too fast for him to turn around.

Maxfield would be here soon. I jogged back to Carrie’s room. She didn’t stir when I entered, or when I slid a chair across the rough wooden floor to the wall. I lifted the cloth drawing, removed the panel, and climbed in.

Becky was asleep, the short lantern wick just barely holding a trickle of flame.

I took off my shoes and pulled my black Steelers sweatshirt back on. It was filthy and crusted from my time in the cement, but it was dry now, and warm.

I lay down next to her. The room was too narrow for me to avoid touching her, not that I wanted to avoid it. I wanted to hug her, and hold her, and tell her what happened.