We had nothing. No supplies. We’d both taken off our packs to work on the fence. Becky was bleeding, and my ribs were as bad as they ever were.

But we were free. They were going to chase us, but right now we were free.

“We’ll move downhill,” I said, my eyes locked on the smoky hills to the west. I was already picking out the trail in my mind.

Becky turned her head so she could see the forest floor but didn’t let go of me.

“That’s what they say,” I said, remembering something I’d seen on TV. “Downhill until you find a stream, follow that to a river, follow that to people.”

I felt her nod, and then she craned her neck to face me. She cracked a weak half smile. “Try to keep up.”

I took a deep breath. “Let’s run.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

Snow had finally come.

Becky was beside me, shivering and pale. My arm was around her, holding her tight against me, trying to share body warmth as we huddled in the forest.

I’d tried everything I’d seen on TV to help us survive. When Becky couldn’t walk any farther I’d found a hiding place in a cluster of junipers and laid down pine branches beneath us as insulation from the ground. I’d tried to cover us with leaves, but there weren’t many to be found, so I made due with more pine. After a few hours of sitting there, freezing, I had to wonder if it was doing any good at all. I didn’t dare make a fire.

She wasn’t sleeping. Her breathing was heavy and uneven, and she winced frequently, balling her hands into tight, pained fists.

We’d made it past the wall, past the androids. We were out in the forest—we’d escaped. And she might die anyway.

As the light of dawn began to fill the sky, I inspected her wound more closely. There was dried blood everywhere—and some that was still wet and oozing. Her skin was as white as the snowflakes.

“How is it?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Oh, you’re fine,” I said, trying to joke. “I don’t know what the big fuss is.”

She smiled. If Becky had learned anything in the last year and a half, it was how to fake a smile.

“It hurts,” she said, almost gasping the words.

“You’ll be okay.”

It was a lie. We both knew it. She’d lost too much blood, suffered too much trauma.

“Can you walk?” I asked. With light was sure to come more searches for us. So far we seemed to have avoided the guards, but I doubted that would last much longer.

“No choice,” she said. Her eyes were closed, like she was trying to concentrate on something.

I sat up, trying not to bump her or dislodge our flimsy covering. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and bit her lip.

Trying to move silently, I climbed the hill slope. From the top, I couldn’t see much more than endless forest, but I knew the mountains on the horizon—I’d seen them out the school’s windows for weeks—and they gave me a good idea of where I was. We’d probably only traveled a few miles—maybe three or four—before stopping.

We’d never make it to the highway.

I turned my sights to the south. I couldn’t see anything that way, either, but I knew something was there. The guards’ camp, or whatever it was. It had to be close.

Scrambling back down the slope, I found Becky, eyes still shut. She looked dead. The only sign of life was her labored breathing.

“We need to go,” I said.

She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

The going was difficult, but Becky kept moving, one foot in front of the other through the uneven terrain.

She didn’t ask where I was leading her, and I didn’t tell her. She wouldn’t have agreed.

I held her hand while we walked, but even after half an hour of exercise it wasn’t warming up. And now that the sky was even lighter, I could tell she wasn’t pale but gray. I wondered if infection was setting in. Was it too soon for that?

And then I caught something, a scent in the air.

Becky noticed it, too, and her head turned quickly, suddenly alert. “What is that?”

“Wood smoke,” I said.

“Is it the school?” she asked. She was looking at the sky, looking for smoke.

“I don’t think so. We’re close to the—whatever it is. The place you could see from the dorms.”

There was fear in her eyes. “We can’t turn ourselves in. Don’t do this.”

“I’m not. I’m just going to see if I can get some supplies—bandages or medicine or something. I’m guessing they’ll all be out looking for us. No one will even be there.”

Becky looked like she wanted to argue but was too exhausted. Instead, she just stood and stared into the woods.

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely audible.

We hiked on for another mile, maybe. We were going slow and not in a straight line, so it was hard to judge the distance. Eventually, Becky couldn’t go on. I helped her down into a sandy ravine and packed leaves and debris around her to keep her warm. It wouldn’t do much good.

She took my hand. “Don’t be gone long.”

“I won’t.” I might have expected her to cry but was surprised to find tears forming in my eyes.

Before I left, I kissed her.

I almost ran through the woods now, still trying to be quiet, but knowing that taking my time could mean Becky dying alone.

The woods leveled out, the hills and valleys fading into a flat, sparse forest. There were no tracks—no footpaths or tire marks. No animals, either. I was all alone.

The scent of wood smoke was growing now, and I could see the haze between the trees. I had to be getting close.

And then the woods ended, and there was a town. Small farms and a few dozen buildings. Smoke was rising from four or five chimneys.

This wasn’t a guard camp.

I ran to an empty garden that had been cleared for the winter, to the closest building. It looked like a barn.

I wanted to scream for help, to yell for the police, but my time in the school had made me paranoid. Maybe these people knew about the school. Maybe they ran the school.

Peering in the barn window, I didn’t see anyone. But there were a few tarps. I could use those.

I carefully opened the door. It was warmer inside. There were animals there—half a dozen cows.

I ignored them and went for the tarps. They were large and sturdy and canvas—not soft, but they looked waterproof. There was a cabinet on the far wall, and I ran to it.

“Who are you?”

My heart dropped.

But it wasn’t a guard’s voice. It was a voice I recognized. A girl’s voice.

I turned.

She was standing with the cows. She’d been milking them.

She didn’t look the same, but I knew her. Her fair skin was darker and freckled—and she was taller. Older. But I knew her.

“Jane?”

She brushed a strand of red hair away from her face.

“We didn’t think anyone survived,” she said, her words slow and worried. “They’re going to be looking for you.”

I was frozen to the ground, unable to move, unable to speak.

Jane stepped out from behind the cows. Her clothes were old and worn. She stared back at me.

“I know you,” she said, her words barely audible. Suddenly her eyes went wide. “I thought you died. I thought we both did.”