Chapter 50: Chapter 50

My mom is ready as she's ever been. She practically sprints the first twenty kilometers to the establishment. The distant roar of powerful jets echoes through the sky, and she feels the rumbling of nearby trucks.

She knows they're still searching for her. She's certain the Master she was held captive by would have spilled the beans about her identity. They'd be on her trail.

A Traitor is always made an example of. They probably already have a pile of wood and a stake with her name on it.

She finds herself thinking about Sanoske a lot—his smile, the way he looked at her, how he held her in his arms. She's never felt safer.

She also thinks about the Kagegun, journeying from one end of the planet to the other, so far from their homes and families. Yet, they'd willingly give their lives for her.

She closes her eyes and thinks about her friend Beth, about Julia, Lola, Jennifer, and all the other girls she grew up with. All those who are already gone.

She thinks about Gael. She doubts any of the women from the Masters' house are still alive. She hopes the children are.

Her thoughts strengthen her resolve. By midday, she arrives at the establishment. She thinks she recognizes it, but she can't be sure.

She knows the inside better than the outside. The part that was destroyed when she was there has since been repaired.

She wonders if Eloise is still there, organizing the girls, sending the ones who don't get pregnant off to the factories.

She remembers her room, the place where she brought Beth into the world. She remembers her first night with Eric.

She finds a spot to sit, eat a little from her pack, and drink some water. She watches the establishment.

From the outside, it's quiet. She knows the inside is bustling with girls eating and heading down to the workshops. She watches the slight movements by the windows, listens for the sounds of trucks on the road.

It's far from nighttime. The soldiers won't be around just yet. Gathering her courage, she starts to formulate her plan.

The man rubs his large hands together and downs his fourth cup of tea. The journalist watches his movements. Twisting, he glances at the clock behind him.

It's nearly six in the morning. The sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting a yellow light through the window. But the journalist isn't tired; she's wide awake.

He gives her a small smile. “I’ve been here all night,” he says. “You’re probably sick of me by now.”

She shakes her head vehemently. “Not at all!” She tries not to sound desperate. “I would love for you to continue telling me about your mother.”

His smile widens. “The story of Albion is a complicated one, and history has twisted it around. My mother’s story is important, I believe, for people now to understand what it was really like. And how Albion fell.”

“I agree. Your mother was crucial to the end of the war.”

He scratches his stubbled chin and nods.

“That day was a turning point for my mother. Since Beth was taken from her, she had only one goal, to stay alive to get her back. She had never been so close to achieving her goal, but that’s exactly when it changed.”

His dark gaze meets the journalist’s straight on, and she can’t help but feel a shiver go down her spine. She had never felt so observed.

“Beth was her priority, but she’d understood that she had a higher cause. Another mission, which she’d been ignoring the whole time.

“Beth was her daughter, her life, and she’d been forcing herself not to think of all the other little girls who were born in the nurseries with Beth, all the little boys already being trained for war.

“They were also her responsibility now.”

***

I don’t have a concrete plan, just a mission. Living with the Kagegun for months has taught me a lot about survival, caring for the weak, and the power of truth.

Perfect women are indoctrinated from childhood, but they aren’t stupid. It didn’t take Julia and the others more than about ten minutes to find out the air is breathable and the world they’d been raised in is a complete lie.

That was the key to my own understanding, the critical flaw in the Masters’ plan. It's so easy to prove. I wonder why no one else has figured it out and tried to share it.

But then, of course, they have. And they were caught and killed. Rooms full of boys and girls “exposed” to the outside air have been killed. Because they knew the truth.

The truth is going to set everyone free, or it is going to kill them all.

I stare at the establishment, my resolve strengthening as my heart races. It's not my decision to make, and yet, here I am, making a decision for everyone.

Because this is war, and I am fighting for the other side now. I am Traitor Alexandra, after all.

Adrenaline pumping through me, I jog away from the establishment, the gray of my clothing camouflaging me in the gray landscape.

The school appears on the horizon hours later. I can feel the remaining heat of the setting sun on my skin. Its golden light casts dark shadows around the giant stones that cut through the horizon.

There’s an ethereal beauty to the world that surrounds me. The land is dead, purposely kept just so. And yet, the clouds, the sunshine, the signs of ancient plants show it was once a thriving place.

It, too, needs to be freed from the Masters. It also needs a chance to grow back.

As I move closer to the school, I slow my steps. It’s an enormous building. In fact, a series of buildings have been pieced together.

I realize that I almost never saw it from the outside. I spent fifteen years of my life inside, and yet I couldn’t recognize it from the outside.

I can, however, recognize the view. The bumpy gray land, the dip, the stone that looks like a face.

We used to tell the little girls stories about the stone. If they didn’t learn their lessons, it would come and gobble them up at night.

I can’t help but wonder if someone has tried to scare Beth with the same story. Probably. I hope so.

As I draw closer, I realize I need to channel Sanoske’s courage. I’ve been plotting how to retrieve Beth for months, maybe even years. A plan has slowly taken shape. But now, as I stand before the school, I’m not so sure it’ll work.

I adjust the straps on my backpack, roll up my sleeves, and head around to the back of the school. The kitchen is on the ground floor; above it are the bathrooms, and above them, a storage room.

The room used to store old uniforms we’d outgrown, ready to be handed down to the next batch of little girls. Beth and I had explored the room once, finding a window in the ceiling and spending hours just gazing at the sky.

I can only hope it’s still used for the same purpose. I grab the long iron water pipe that runs along the side of the building and hoist myself up, carefully choosing where to place my feet.

I could never have attempted such a climb when I was a Perfect. I was too soft then. But I’m strong now, and my resolve has never been stronger.

I make it onto the roof just as the sun dips below the horizon. In the fading light, I locate the ceiling window. I slide the tip of my blade through the seal and cut through it.

The window loses its insulation, and I’m able to pry it open. I slip into the dark room and pull the window shut above me. The room is silent, smelling of wool and soap.

Below me, I can hear the chiming voices of hundreds of girls brushing their teeth. I wait until the school falls silent. I eat something. Then I wait some more.

When it’s pitch black, I leave the storage room and navigate down the creaking old stairs.

Beth and I used to sneak out of our room late at night to explore the school. I’m surprised at how well I still know my way around by touch alone.

Navigating flights of stairs, winding through corridors, I slip past the teachers’ rooms. All I hear is the sound of light snoring from inside.

I continue to the first floor in the East Wing, the toddler dormitory. From inside, I hear soft whimpering, loud snoring, and mostly the rustling sounds of children shifting in their sleep.

I slowly push the door open. The moonlight from the corridor spills into the dark room. The familiarity takes me aback.

I had spent countless hours in this same room helping the teachers care for the youngest among us. The beds are all still arranged in the same way and painted the same shade of purple.

Even the bed with the dent from when it had been thrown downstairs in a fit of rage by one of the older girls is still there. They are all in place.

I wonder which bed my daughter is sleeping in. Would they have put her in the same one as me?

As I step into the room, the whimpering subsides, and I see the distinct shape of a small girl sitting in her bed, reaching for me.

I move toward her and scoop her into my arms. She smells of sweet soap and baby. Her soft blond hair tickles my chin.

“Teacher,” she cries in my arms.

“Hush, it was just a nightmare,” I whisper to the child.

“But she was a Cripple,” she tells me.

“Perhaps,” I murmur.

Her small fingers tighten in my hair as she tries to meld herself to my body. I let her, rubbing her back to comfort her. She mumbles to herself, sniffles, and wipes her nose on my shoulder.

There’s something comforting about her movements, something beautiful about her innocence. She hasn’t yet realized that she’s never seen me before.

There are names on the beds, written by the older girls in bright colors. I walk quietly through the rows of sleeping toddlers, reading each name.

The girl in my arms wipes her nose with her tongue, then squirms against me a little to face forward. I stroke her soft hair.

“What is your name?” I ask her gently.

“I’m Juliet, Teacher,” she tells me seriously.

My heart clenches, and I try not to hold the child tighter. Juliet. She had a daughter then. I kiss the child’s forehead.

“Juliet, can you show me Alexandra’s bed?” I ask her.

Juliet considers my question for less than a second and quickly points to a bed on the far side of the dormitory. Inside, I can just make out the shape of a sleeping child.

I try not to run. I walk on trembling legs, my heart pounding. But it doesn’t get me there fast enough. I run down the last row of girls. Juliet finds this hilarious and giggles.

The little girls around me stir from their sleep, but that’s not a concern because now I have my Beth.

I gently set Juliet down and lean over the cot that contains my still sleeping baby.

She’s mine. There’s no denying it. The slightly upturned nose, the arch in her dark brows, the natural smile of her lips, the slight curls of her hair against her forehead. She’s my Beth.

She’s so beautiful.

For a long moment, I can’t move, only stare at her. My heart hammers in my chest. She’s grown. How long have I been away from her? She’s at least two, if not three, times the size she was when I last saw her. Children grow fast.

Hanging on the outside of her cot is a small notebook. I remember this—information kept on the girls. Especially if they are to be closely watched.

I flip it open. The faint moonlight is enough for me to read the few words about my daughter. There are accounts of her behavior over the last few weeks, information about her food, about her obedience.

At the end of each page, the teachers have noted she’s not showing any signs of treachery like her mother. She is still a Pre-Perfect.

I slip the notebook into my pocket and gently reach into Beth’s cot. I lift her up into my arms gently. She molds herself to me, wrapping her legs around my waist.

Her arms naturally fall around my neck, and she buries her face into my collarbone. She smells the same. My heart hammers in my chest, and I hope it doesn’t wake her. I can’t help but smile.

Here she is, finally, in my arms where she belongs. I can’t stop the tears that spill over my cheeks. I hold my daughter close to me.

She’s talking in her sleep. I glance down at Juliet, who’s still on the floor, fiddling with the legs of Beth’s bed.

“Want to come with me?” I ask her, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” she responds without hesitation.

“Hold my hand,” I instruct her. I shift Beth in my arms and extend a hand to Juliet.

I lead us out of the room and into the hallway. The school is quiet as we make our way back up the stairs. It’s a slow process for Juliet; the steps are tall for a little girl, but she sticks out her tongue in concentration, focusing on each step.

Holding my daughter in my arms, I don’t feel any urgency to leave. Her weight is comforting. It makes me feel invincible.

I plant a kiss on her forehead, and she mumbles something. She’s always been a sleep talker.

Juliet and I manage to pass the teachers’ rooms. At the end of the hallway, there’s a window. I pause in front of it.

I’ve made the decision to risk the lives of everyone in this place. But I can’t do the same to the teachers at the school.

That would put all the girls in danger. Kids are innocent; they have no part in this war. I can’t drag them into it.

I continue on to the bathrooms, where I drink some water and give some to Juliet. She decides to use the restroom, so I wait for her to finish.

Then we head upstairs to the storage room I entered from. There, I gently lay Beth down, and her eyes flutter open in the moonlight.

“Hello, sweetheart,” I say, gently stroking her soft cheek.

Her wide eyes find mine, and I see her lips curl into a smile.

“Teacher?” she asks.

“No, baby, I’m your mom,” I tell her.

“Mama?” She blinks at me.

My heart bursts with joy. Tears start streaming down my face. She could barely talk the last time I saw her, but she’s learned that word.

“Yes, baby, it’s me,” I nod, pulling her back into my arms. Beth wraps her tiny arms around my neck and plants a kiss on my cheek.

“Don’t cry, Mama,” she wipes at my tears.

I kiss her small hand. “I love you, darling,” I tell her.

“I love you too, Mama.”

“Let’s get you girls dressed, okay?” I start rummaging through some clothes. Beth and Juliet find this fascinating and join in the rummaging.

I find little pants, sweaters, shoes, and socks for both of them and help them change out of their nightgowns. Once they’re dressed, I pull their hair back into braids, which they’re thrilled with.

I hadn’t planned on carrying two kids down the building, but now there’s no turning back. I can’t leave Juliet behind.

I fashion a sort of sling by tying some sweaters together and wrap one around my front and another around my back.

Juliet is a bit smaller than Beth, so I put her in front and secure Beth to my back. After triple checking the knots and adjusting to the weight of two toddlers hanging off me, I slide the window open.

Beth wisely informs me that the outside is toxic. I assure her it isn’t. Then I hoist myself up onto the roof.

My muscles strain, but they manage to pull me up. I stand on the roof, looking out at the dark landscape below.

I can only make out the jagged rocks, the hilly terrain. No lights, no buildings. Albion is dark and desolate, just as it was meant to be.

The girls squeal with delight at the stars above them. Carefully, I start to lower myself down the side of the building, one step at a time.

I jump down the last few feet, and the girls giggle. I feel Beth’s chin against my shoulder, her breath on the back of my neck.

I start walking away from the school, my precious cargo giggling with each step. As we walk, I tell them about where I’ve been. I’m not sure how much they understand, but they’re curious.

Eventually, they both fall into a deep sleep. Just as the sun starts to rise, I find myself stopping, sinking to my knees, and crying uncontrollably.