LITMIR.BIZ

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hours blurred together. It seemed complete and utter chaos was but a moment away, yet somehow Lamont kept us on track. I sewed stitches until my fingers turned numb. Set bones until my arms ached. The bandage around my forearm dripped blood, but I had no idea if it was mine or not.

      At one point a mechanical voice boomed. Everyone froze for a second as an announcement played. “Citizens of Inside, please do not panic.”

      Too late.

      “All life support systems are fully operational,” it continued. “Please remain at your posts. Those off-duty, please remain in your barracks and apartments. Anyone with medical experience is asked to report to the infirmaries on levels four, three and two. More information will be relayed when available.”

      We all stared at each other for a moment. Who was speaking, the computer or one of the Committee members? Before the rebellion, only the Travas had made announcements. However, nothing like this had happened when the Travas held power.

      Just like the redlights, the mechanical voice was probably an automatic safety measure. After another minute of stunned silence, activity resumed and I gave up keeping track of anything.

      But all through the frantic hours, bits and pieces of what had happen started to emerge. From half caught conversations and comments, I learned the power plant had caused the Big Shake. The plant occupied Quadrant C on all four levels. And the most severely injured were from Sectors B, F and a few from E. All shared a wall with Quad C. Which explained why the infirmary—Sector B3—had been in such disarray.

      At some point, the daylights returned, which meant we had power again. Eventually, the flow of patients eased and dribbled. I filled a tray with glasses of water and handed them out. A numb exhaustion had soaked into me, muting my emotions and slowing my reactions.

      For the first time since the … accident, I saw faces. Before I had focused on the injuries. But now I searched for those I recognized.

      Half of me was relieved not to see Riley among them, but the other half was terrified that his lifeless body was in the pile on level one, waiting to be fed to Chomper. Other horrible scenarios danced through my tired mind. His body hadn’t been discovered yet. He clung to life in level four’s infirmary. He was trapped, pinned under a heavy piece of machinery.

      I reached for another glass, but my tray was empty. Staring at the ripple pattern on the metal, I tried to remember what I should do as I swayed. Strong hands grabbed my shoulders from behind and guided me to my room. The bed had been cleared and the hands encouraged me to lie down.

      My weak protests were ignored. Unable to resist, I collapsed onto the mattress and through a slit in my heavy eyelids, I saw Doctor Lamont. She pulled a blanket over me. And the touch of her lips on my forehead was my last memory.

      Familiar voices woke me. They argued. I tried to produce the energy to care, failed and rolled over to return to sleep.

      But my mind wouldn’t cooperate. It mulled and tugged until it plucked the proper memory from the depths, exposing it in a series of images. The Big Shake. The injured. Beds filled with people. Blood everywhere.

      I lurched to my feet and ran from my room. My sudden exit surprised the two people on the other side of my door. Not caring I almost knocked Lamont down, I flung myself into Riley’s arms.

      He squeezed me as I clung to him. Questions poured from my mouth. “Are you all right? Where have you been? What happened?”

      “I’m fine. I’ve been helping Doctor Sanchia. Logan—”

      I pulled back. “Is he …” The word stuck in my throat.

      “He’ll be all right.” Riley swept my sleep-tousled hair from my eyes. “He looks better than you.” He rubbed his thumb lightly over the cut on my forehead. “This needs a few stitches. Want me to sew you up?”

      I studied his face and realized he was half serious. “Doctor Sanchia let you suture wounds?”

      “He didn’t have much choice. We were swamped with people.” Riley feigned nonchalance, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just a needle and thread. I’ve repaired rips in Sheepy before so I was more than qualified.” Humor sparked in his blue eyes.

      My mouth formed an automatic smile whenever I thought of Sheepy and his mother. The stuffed animal family had a special place in my heart. “I hope Sheepy and Mama Sheepy weren’t damaged.”

      “They’re fine. I checked on them before coming here. I do have my priorities straight,” he teased.

      I swatted him on the shoulder and he winced. Yanking his collar down, I exposed a fist-sized purple bruise.

      He peeled my fingers from his shirt. “It’s okay. No broken bones.”

      “How did you get hurt?” I asked.

      “I was inspecting the wiring on level five with Logan and the floor just heaved, tossing us across the room. He hit his head, but it’s a minor concussion.”

      “Heaved?”

      “An explosion happened in the power plant and we stood directly above it,” he said.

      “Does anyone know what set it off?”

      “No. That’s for another week.” He straightened his shirt and smoothed his black hair. Since the rebellion, Riley had let it grow. It smelled of shampoo. “Right now attending to the wounded and finding missing people is the main concern.”

      “Have you slept?”

      He nodded to the couch. “I arrived just after you went to bed. I didn’t want to wake you, so I showered and slept here. I’ve been helping Doctor Lamont.”

      Which reminded me. I stepped away from him, glancing around, but Lamont had left. “I should …”

      Riley stared at me in horror. Not my face, but my clothes. Dried blood stained almost all the white fabric, which had stiffened.

      “Relax, it’s not mine.”

      He pointed to a wet patch on my forearm. “And that?”

      “Just a cut. I need to shower and—”

      Unwinding the tattered bandage, he exposed the gash. I hissed in pain when he touched it.

      “Come on.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me from the apartment.

      Patients recovering from their injuries lay on the floor in Lamont’s office and in the exam room. Only a thin walkway remained free. At the examination table, Lamont finished with a young girl. The girl’s mother, who hovered nearby, swept the girl into her arms and carried her out.

      “Since you refused to get some rest, you might as well do Trella next,” Riley said to Lamont.

      He had been more forgiving of her betrayal. Which didn’t make sense to me. His mother had been recycled when he was little because of her. Well, not directly. But with Lamont spying for the Pop Cops, the Force of Ten had failed. The consequences had been high. My father—if Karla Trava had been telling the truth about me—Riley’s mother and two others had been recycled.

      Lamont claimed she had spied to protect her daughter, Sadie, which would be me if Karla’s word could be trusted. Except Karla said she recycled Sadie along with Lamont’s husband afterward. The lesson that should have been learned—don’t trust Karla or her word.

      Yet when the rebels were on the verge of winning, Karla told Lamont her daughter had really been living in the lower levels as a scrub. Once again Karla threatened to harm Sadie unless Lamont helped Karla stop the rebellion.

      How could such an intelligent woman fall for the same trick twice? When Karla had pointed to me as the long lost Sadie, Lamont had refused to believe her. It had been too coincidental. And I agreed.

      “Sit up on the table,” Lamont said to me.

      I stared at her. Deep lines of exhaustion etched her pale face.

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