Marcus takes us into the tunnel behind the kitchen. It's dark in here. As more kids pile into the passage, the light from the room is smothered by eager bodies, leaving us in complete darkness. My shoe scuffs on the rough floor. I trip and bump into Adam.
"Sorry," I mumble.
"You're good."
I take a moment to be surprised. I don't think he's ever said a word to me. All this time I assumed his quietness is a sign of arrogance, but now I wonder if he's just shy. It's humbling to know that I judged him harshly.
"Can't you go a little faster?" someone calls from the back, followed by a wave of shushing. "Sorry," the person adds in a squeak.
The agreement before we departed was that we keep our mouths shut. The best way to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. Most people are on the same page; other than the noise of dozens of feet shuffling along the floor and the occasional murmurs, there's complete silence. It makes me anxious. We have no way of telling what's on the other side of this wall. For all we know, the Takers could be lined up out there, lying in wait.
Marcus comes to a sudden stop. I bump into Adam again and hear Marcus's whispered, "There's a door here."
The latch clicks. A crack of light sneaks past the door when he pulls it open. His silhouette appears as he aligns his head with the opening and assesses the situation. Finally, he slips through the door, and the two guys between us follow. We arrive at a long stretch of a hallway with more white walls and a gray stone floor. The air reeks of bleach. It smells like a hospital, like the one they took me to after I jumped off that bridge a year ago. I want to get out of here more than ever.
"Which way?" someone asks.
I look down both ends of the hall. They're identical, devoid of signs or labels.
"I don't know this place," Willow whispers close behind me. "The door in my bedroom has to lead to a different part of the building."
Marcus goes left. As we hurry after him, I glance back at the others. I don't know if everyone is present and accounted for, but I do know our numbers are far less than they should be. We're fifty-odd kids; more than two dozen people decided to stay behind. They had no confidence in my plan, and it's making me second-guess myself.
"Another door," Marcus announces.
He opens it slowly and rushes inside. There's a shout and a grunt, followed by a gunshot. I shoulder past Alec and Adam and shove the door wide open. My frantic eyes take in the scene. Marcus is straddling a guy laid out on his stomach, twisting his arm behind his back. There's a handgun on the floor. The uniformed security guard is still reaching for it, so I rush over and pick it up, keeping it pointed downward. It's hard and cold. I try not to let my nervousness show as I point it at the guard's head.
Marcus and Adam flip the man over onto his back and keep his limbs pressed down against the faded gray carpet. "Which way do we go?" Marcus demands as he holds him by the front of his buttoned blue shirt.
Blood is trickling from his nose. He takes in the room at large and says, "Take my advice, boy. Return to your holdings before Director Blaine's men get here."
Marcus slams a fist into his face. He jerks him up when his head lolls back. "I'll ask you again. How do we get out of here?"
"You're not going anywhere. Not unless you're dead."
Marcus gestures for a couple of burly guys. They pull the guard up and restrain his arms while Marcus repeats the question a third time. When he doesn't answer, he punches him in the stomach. The man groans and tries to bend over, but they don't allow him any comfort.
I don't like what they're doing, but I know it's a necessary evil. I avert my gaze anyway and observe the room. It looks like the typical security room with half a dozen screens mounted to the wall and a long desk in front of them, covered with a keyboard, a mess of wires, an open, dog-eared outdoors magazine, and empty containers of food and drink.
Most of the screens are black—no video feed from inside our facility—but one displays the hallway we just came through. "The guard knew we escaped as soon as we walked out of the passage between the walls," I say. "Why didn't he activate the alarm?"
"He shot at me," Marcus answers. "That should you he's not on our side."
The guard spits out blood. "Maybe you deserve to die. Did you think of that, boy?"
"Give me the gun, April," Marcus says.
I hand it over and gasp when he presses the muzzle against the man's temple. The guard isn't laughing anymore. Marcus leans over him. "Do you still think I deserve to die?"
"Don't hurt him." I walk over to them, trying not to sound breathless with fear. This is no longer a necessary evil. This is cruel.
"It's simple. He doesn't get hurt if he starts talking. So I'll ask you one last time, buddy. How do we get out of this place? Where's the exit?"
"Let him go," I say, not liking the look in his eyes. When he doesn't react, I reach out and grab his forearm, forcing the weapon away from the guard's head. The man keeps calm through all of this, but I don't miss his slight exhale when the gun is no longer pointed at him.
A wailing sound goes off right then, cutting off whatever Marcus has to say. The intense throbbing in my eardrums brings back memories of the white room, but this noise is different. It's not as shrill, and it doesn't make me want to curl up on the floor and disappear into myself.
"It's an alarm," a panicked voice says. "They've found us!"
"Everybody, out!" Marcus hollers.
As streams of people push through the door, he aims the gun at the guard again. I throw myself in front of the man. "Marcus, don't."
He keeps the gun pointed at us, though his finger eases off the trigger. "Who's to say he won't come after us? He could have another gun. Do you want to take that kind of risk?"
"No. But we can't kill him in cold blood. It's not right."
The gun wavers, and I think he's close to changing his mind. But when he looks at the monitor and sees the teenagers scrambling down the hallway, his resolve hardens. "Move out of the way. We don't have time for this."
It's hard to think up a convincing argument with the siren screaming in my ears. I glance around for something that will justify keeping the guard alive. I spot handcuffs on the desk, half buried under a pile of papers. "Here, we'll use these instead."
Marcus keeps the gun steady while I cuff the guard to the metal leg of the desk. I grab the heavy ring of keys on his belt and stick them into my pocket. When I finish, Marcus rushes to the door. He scowls when he looks back and sees me still standing there.
"Are we done here or do you want to sit down for some coffee and donuts? Maybe gossip about what he's caught on camera?"
"You work for Sam, don't you?" I shout to the guard over the alarm, hoping for leniency. "I'm his stepdaughter."
"I know exactly who you are, April Parker. If you think I'll help you escape, you're mistaken." His eyes travel down to my bulging pocket, where the outline of the silver case is visible. "It's up to you to figure it out."
"Figure what out?"
"April!" Marcus roars from the door.
"Hold on!" I snap back. There's no mistaking the way he glanced at my pocket. He's the first person I've met who knows about the case. The only person who can help me understand its purpose. "What's in the case?"
The guard stares up at me, his lips falling apart to give his answer.
I stop breathing when he says, "Your humanity."