INSTINCTIVELY WE HUNCHED OVER BECCA’S body as the ceiling detonated above us. Chunks of concrete and wood rained down on and around us—Tim grunted every so often, his large body taking most of the blows.
When the fallout stopped, I wiped dust out of my eyes and looked up. What was left of Ms. Strepp’s army was scrambling like termites up the mound of debris, up through another subway tunnel and then into a house. Two stories above us, a large, fancy room was now missing a floor. That was the President’s palace, and it was like we were looking up into an elaborate dollhouse.
I coughed, dust filling my nose and mouth. I looked down at my twin and knelt to begin CPR again. Becca can’t be dead.
Wet, pale kid-soldiers passed by us, not glancing down. Despite looking shaken and cold, they attacked the mound of debris as they’d been trained, helping one another, hoisting themselves up. They held guns, rifles, shotguns, knives—whatever they’d managed to hang on to during the flood. Dust covered everything and everyone who’d been within a hundred feet of the explosion. Their wet hair was caked with it, and so was mine.
I gritted my teeth. One more time. I pinched Becca’s nose shut and breathed into her lungs, then pushed on her chest quickly, one, two, three, four, five. And again. And again. And again. Tim reached out and touched my shoulder, tears in his eyes.
I ignored him, filling her lungs with my own breath. One, two, three, four, five.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Ten yards away, Ms. Strepp urged soldiers up the mountain of rubble. From above us we heard gunshots, shouting, people running. None of it meant anything.
I held her face in my hands, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. “Becca! Oh, Becca, you came back to me!”
Tim leaned down and carefully kissed her dusty forehead. Her brow wrinkled as she looked at us blankly. “Who are you people?” she rasped.
I gasped in horror, staring at her. Did she have brain damage? Had she been deprived of oxygen too long?
Then Reckless Rebecca gave a faint grin. “Just kidding,” she said weakly, and coughed up some more water. I grabbed her and held her so tight. “I was so afraid you w
ere gone,” I whispered into her ear. “I was so afraid. There’s no Cassie without Becca.”
“And no Becca without Cassie,” she whispered back.
“My turn,” said Tim, and he swept her up onto his lap. They looked so happy to see each other. It was kind of weird, after I’d spent so much time with Tim.
“That seems kind of weird,” Nate whispered to me. “I mean, I’ve been traveling with her for ages.”
Still crying, I hugged him, my Nate.
Ms. Strepp strode over. “The Loner is going to blow this tunnel in two minutes,” she said tersely. “Either come with us now or stay here and be buried.”
“Can you walk?” Tim asked Becca, and she nodded.
I found my rifle slung across some metal fencing and shook the water off it. I couldn’t help holding Becca’s hand—she was alive, and we were together. And I held Nate’s hand, too, my heart feeling like it was about to burst.
At the mountain of rubble, we released hands and started to climb. Though Becca looked weak and faintly green, she started climbing. Tim grabbed a discarded gun for her and she slung it around her shoulder.
Nate and I started climbing, followed by Ms. Strepp. We were the last.
In the subway tunnel above, there was a somewhat twisted metal ladder leading upward. This was it: We were storming the President’s palace. A horrible, deadly battle was ahead. We might not survive, any of us. But I was here with my three favorite people in the world, and we were okay. Well, okayish.
I hiked my gun farther up on my shoulder and grinned at Nate through my tears.
“I’m just so happy,” I said.
120
BECCA
I FELT LIKE SHIT ON a stick and couldn’t actually believe that I was alive. I had a memory of floating above myself as I was washed down the tunnel. It hadn’t hurt or anything. I’d felt peaceful, not worried, watching myself get carried away.
The next thing I knew, someone was pushing on my chest hard enough to break my ribs. I’d been able to ignore it at first, but then it was like I’d been sucked back into myself, and Cassie was there and Tim and Nate.
I was alive. And storming the President’s palace. Because I hadn’t fulfilled my mission of killing him. Panting, nauseated, and weak, I looked up to see Tim—strong, solid Tim—holding out a hand to me. I gave him half a smile and shook my head.