Hector and Joel were already up front, hacksaw and shovel in hand, attempting to get through the sturdy chain link. Becky ran forward, dropping to her knees at the fence line. She put the mouth of the pruning shears onto a wire and then strained to close it, trying to snap the thin steel. It wasn’t cutting, so I joined her, my arms next to hers on the handles, trying to force the blades closed.

I grunted and Becky let out a labored cry, and the shears snapped the wire.

There were cheers behind us, and we moved to the next one.

My arms burned, and sweat dripped down my back, despite the freezing temperatures. Becky’s forehead was wet with tiny droplets, and her skin was pulled tight as she clenched her jaw. We clipped another. And then another. By the time we’d snapped through ten of the wires, we were surrounded, everyone applauding each little success. Finally, Hector, who had given up with the hacksaw, told us to get out of the way and he began unweaving the steel links. In a few minutes there was a hole in the fence big enough to climb through.

He held it open proudly and gestured for Becky to go through. She grinned, her face beaming, and for the first time in almost a year and a half, Becky walked outside the fence. I followed her, and it was as though I were stepping out of a dark closet. Even though we remained in the same endless forest, it felt easier to breathe, like a heavy weight had been taken off my chest.

People were streaming through the hole now—Gabby, Hector, a few unarmed Society kids, Oakland, Mouse. All were moving with confidence and surprise; I don’t think any of us expected we’d get this far.

“That’s enough. Very good.”

My heart fell into my stomach.

All the students were frozen. Ms. Vaughn had a Taser in her hand and another on her belt. Other than that, she was completely unarmed and alone.

She raised a finger and pointed. “I wouldn’t go through there,” she said simply and quietly. I looked back to see Mash standing at the hole.

“Why not?” he demanded and then tried to climb through. The moment his hand touched the chain link he froze and convulsed. We all stared in horror until one of the Society guys kicked Mash’s feet out from under him and he fell, releasing his grip on the now-electrified fence.

“Turn it off,” I shouted. “Let them through.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe that’s going to happen.” Once again, she pointed at the fence. “You’ve broken the rules, quite severely, and you all know the punishments.”

Firing erupted from somewhere behind the fence and I turned to see one of the Society girls firing her gun at the other students. Some shot back, but the same paint that was stinging their skin and threatening their eyes didn’t phase her at all. She calmly lowered her gun and raised a butcher’s knife.

“You see?” Ms. Vaughn said. “I’m not alone.”

I spun, raising my gun at Ms. Vaughn.

Joel was in front of me, and his fist hit my jaw before I could react. I collapsed, lights dancing in my eyes, and watched as the few students on my side of the fence began fighting. The androids in the group were changing sides.

I grabbed Joel’s leg and tried to trip him, but he managed to stay on his feet and smashed his gun down on my bad arm. I fell to the ground with a heavy thud and had to shake my head to try to see.

There were shouts and screams all around me, and the hissing sound of flying paint. I realized now that it was stupid to bring the guns. The paint couldn’t hurt the robots—only the humans. And all the androids were armed with it.

I could see the fallen pruning shears a few yards away and wondered where Becky was, but there wasn’t time to look. Joel grabbed me by the shoulder and lifted me off the ground—far stronger than any human could. But I twisted away, and his grip slipped, leaving him with a handful of shirt.

I reached for the pruning shears—my fingers could just touch the long handle—but I was too far. Joel flung me to the ground and then stepped on my braced wrist. I screamed in pain, and he kicked me in the ribs.

I couldn’t move. My arm throbbed and burned, and I felt like my lungs had stopped working.

Joel was moving away from me, inching toward the unarmed Society kids. Becky was in the front, her arms outstretched in a vain attempt to protect those behind her. He swung his heavy arms at her, missing by inches.

Taking a desperate gulp of air, I pushed myself to my feet, my ribs flaring with pain.

Joel brought his fist down on Becky’s shoulder, and she crumpled to the ground.

I grabbed the pruning shears. Recklessly, I lunged toward Joel, holding the shears in my right hand, just above the blade. I tackled him, plunging the sharp tool into his ribs.

He rolled underneath me, but I didn’t let go. I yanked out the shears again—they were bloody, but I knew it was only from the skin; there was no blood in his mechanical body—and again rammed them in, this time just below the neck. He spun, trying to throw me. He brought his fists down against me, but I was too close for it to hurt much.

I felt someone behind me jump on Joel’s fallen body and grab his thrashing legs. Another person—Becky—leapt on him, too, her arm around Joel’s neck.

She screamed. “Kill it!”

With a surge of adrenaline, I thrust the shears back down into Joel’s twisting body, again and again. On the last time the blade caught something, and I worked the handles back and forth cutting whatever cables or wires I’d snagged. Immediately, Joel stopped. His limbs and mouth frozen in place.

I lifted my head, surprised to see that no one else around us was still moving.

Mason stood disarmed, his hands on his bloodied head. On the other side of our group, Gabby was on the ground, moaning in pain, blood all over her shirt and arms. Mouse was down on the ground, Oakland’s machete lodged in her chest. For an instant I wondered what that meant—I couldn’t even tell who was on my side—but then I saw Oakland standing next to Ms. Vaughn, another knife at her throat.

“We’re not going to be your guinea pigs anymore,” Curtis yelled at the captive Ms. Vaughn. He was still standing on the other side of the electric fence. Many on that side were down on the ground now, crying in pain or cowering in fear, but I didn’t think there were any other androids there.

Curtis’s face was ashen. Carrie was trying to prop him up. “You can’t test us anymore,” he shouted. The pistol was in his hand, pointed at Ms. Vaughn. If Oakland didn’t get her then Curtis would.

Ms. Vaughn stared back at him, her amused smile visible in the dim light.

“How very egocentric,” she said, her voice cold and cruel. “We weren’t testing you. We’re testing them.” She gestured at the bodies of Joel and Mouse.

The androids? Jane?

“We have to test the programs somewhere, in a controlled environment,” she said scornfully. “This was never about you.”

“The tests weren’t for us,” Carrie said, her voice almost a whimper.

“Well,” Ms. Vaughn said, grinning at Carrie. “That’s not precisely true.”

And in an instant Curtis’s pistol was in Carrie’s hand. As he collapsed to the dirt—as Carrie let him fall—she fired three rounds into Oakland’s chest.

Screams erupted again, and Carrie fell—maybe Curtis pulled her down, I couldn’t tell.