We didn’t stay. Regaining my composure, I helped Becky to her feet.

She touched Mouse’s arm as we stepped out the door. “Thank you.”

Mouse just shook her head without meeting our eyes, and then motioned for us to leave.

The fights outside were over. A few groups mingled together, picking one another up and wandering back to the Greens. As we walked away, three Society guys made a dash for the gate, likely to get inside and save their leader. I ignored them.

“Are you okay?” I asked her, crossing the road and walking slowly out into the field.

Becky nodded. “You?”

“I’m fine,” I said. I stopped and pulled her scarf up over her mouth and nose. She stared back at me, her eyes showing more pain than she’d ever admit to.

I covered my face, too, and then steered us toward the stream. In a moment we were walking beside it, in the black shadows of the tangled trees.

“You’re going to get better,” I said.

“Of course,” she said, and it sounded like she meant it. She was good at lying.

I looked back at the fort, now maybe a football field away. The gate was hanging open. I didn’t know whether people had gone in or come out. No one was there.

Except … there was a kid standing on the roof, half-lit by the single small lantern. There was no way he could see us—it was too far, and it was too dark.

I thought it was Mason. I couldn’t tell.

“Where are we going?” Becky asked. She was moving so slow it could hardly be called walking.

“The forest,” I said. “They can’t get us out there. The implant won’t let them.”

“They can’t, but Iceman can,” she said.

I stopped at the stream and picked her up. I finally felt like I had the strength to not pass out and drop her, and keeping her dry seemed like the least I could do.

Her heavy coat was deceptive—she didn’t weigh much at all, maybe even less than when we got to the town.

“Let’s go to Shelly,” Becky said.

“Skiver—all those guys—they’ll find us.”

“What choice do we have?”

I kept walking, past the commissary and the washroom, past the barracks, and stopped at the work site. “Can you walk?”

She smiled. “I’m not an invalid.”

I set her down, and she did her best to hide the wince as she slipped out of my arms. I stepped into the construction site and tore a heavy sheet of plastic off a pallet of siding.

“Where are we going?”

“You grew up on a ranch,” I said, directing her down toward the end of the road. “I’m going to ask you to tolerate a stinky night.”

She shook her head. “Don’t they check the barn? It seems too obvious.”

I stopped and pointed at the tiny red structure beside the road. “I’ve never seen anyone check the chicken coops.”

Becky stared for a moment, then laughed and leaned into me. “If I get bird flu, I’m blaming you.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The coop wasn’t much smaller than the Basement. The birds were sleeping and hardly made a sound as I laid the heavy plastic on the floor and helped Becky down. I folded the plastic back over her like a taco, and then lay next to her, my arms around her to keep her warm. I listened to her breathing as she fell asleep.

The night was silent, and I strained at that silence, terrified of hearing a sound. A deer or a raccoon or another robot could stumble upon us while we slept, and there would be nothing I could do. We knew the chickens and cows were real—Birdman checked the cows the same way he checked the rest of us, and the chickens laid real eggs, and Jane said they’d occasionally cook one.

There wasn’t much I could do if someone found us anyway. I had no weapons. Becky still carried Ms. Vaughn’s Taser in the pocket of her coat, but it had already been fired and couldn’t help us anymore. The hatchet I’d used on Iceman was back up in the Basement.

On the other hand, maybe Maxfield knew exactly where we were, and how sick Becky was, and they didn’t care. None of the dupes were active anymore, so it wasn’t like there was a high demand for teenagers with implants in their heads. Maybe they were waiting for us to kill ourselves here in the town before they started anything new.

I was cold. My face stung. Frostbite was a real possibility, and I didn’t know what to do to stop it. I fiddled with the hood of Becky’s coat, pressing it down over her face as much as I could. It would have to do.

When the sun finally started to come up, I bent over Becky and checked her face, and I was relieved to see there was no frostbite. Her nose, mouth, and chin looked sunburned—the skin rough and splotched with red—and her lips were chapped and cracked, but it could have been a lot worse.

I felt some of the sting of frost burn on my face, but I had been better off than Becky. I was able to nestle my face into the back of her hood while she slept.

There was a tiny tap on the plywood door of the coop.

“Hey, Fish.”

I froze.

“Fish,” the voice said again. “It’s me. Mason.”

Slowly I peeked out the door. Mason was crouched beside the coop. He was alone.

“Hey,” I said, not moving.

“Cold night?”

“We’re okay.”

I didn’t like that he knew where we were, even if this was all perfectly innocent. If Mason had seen us, who else had?

“Got a minute?” he asked.

He was standing by himself, his coat off, and wearing only a flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up. He looked tired.

“What’s up?” I asked as I stepped out of the coop and scanned the tree line.

“I know what they did last night,” he said. “It’s not right, man.”

I thought for a moment. “Which of the not-right things do you mean? There were a lot.”

“I mean about the fight,” he said. He paused, looking past me, and then off toward the horizon and the rising sun. “Is she okay?”

“Great.”

“I’m sorry, Fish.”

I stared back at him, but didn’t say anything.

“It’s not right,” he said again.

Becky stirred, moving in her sleep and softly moaning at the pain in her arm. I closed the door and motioned for him to keep his voice down.

Mason was older than his dupe had looked. A little stockier, and he needed a shave. So did I.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said, still staring at the coop like he could see Becky through the wood. “At the fence.”

I shook my head. “We don’t need to talk about it.” I wasn’t trying to spare his feelings—I just didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to hate him, but I did.

“I need to know,” Mason said, finally looking at me. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” I said. “You didn’t do anything.”

“What did my dupe do?”

I ran my hands over my face and looked up at the brightening sky.

“You hit her,” I said. “That’s it. You chased us, and you hit her, and she fell.”

“Hitting someone doesn’t make them that sick.”

“What do you care?” I said, suddenly angry. I took another step toward him. “What’s it to you? You popped. The dupe wasn’t taking orders from you.”