I can only hope his drones find survivors at HP.
I had no luck texting Dev. That doesn’t surprise me. The whole area is still a cellular black hole, but I had to try. Now Hewett has confiscated our phones and locked them in a strongbox, which makes me feel like I’m trying to function with one arm duct-taped behind my back.
Hewett assures us his drones will alert local emergency services. I keep waiting for ambulances, police cars and fire trucks to scream past us on the way to HP. This is the only road they could take. So far, nothing. The school is so isolated that unless Hewett calls the authorities, it could be hours before anyone notices a giant chunk of the countryside has disappeared into the sea.
I have been fearing an attack like this for two years.
Then why didn’t he warn us?
Maybe it’s a coincidence that two years ago, my parents died on a scientific expedition for Harding-Pencroft. A tragic accident, the administrators told us. Whenever I asked for details – why Tarun and Sita Dakkar were on that expedition for HP, what they were looking for – the faculty at HP seemed to get selective amnesia. I assumed they were trying to spare my feelings, letting me work through my grief with Dr Francis.
Now I’m not so sure.
I have a sudden image of Amelia Leahy, my house captain, Dev’s girlfriend, lounging in the sunlit quad this morning. She smiled and wished me good luck.
Amelia was so excited about graduating. She had big plans: the US Marine Corps, fast track to comm school at Twentynine Palms. In her five years at HP, she’d learned twelve languages. She could break linguistic codes that stumped our professors. Her goal was to become the youngest intelligence commander in corps history. Now she’s gone.
I try to keep the oxygen going in and out of my lungs. I’m not doing a great job with it.
I start to cry. I’m shaking with anger. Why is it that I can keep myself together when thinking about Dev, but I break down at the thought of his girlfriend dying? What is wrong with me?
‘Hey, babe …’ Nelinha rests a hand on my shoulder. She doesn’t seem sure of what else to say. She just hands me a pack of tissues.
Yeah … one tissue is not going to do it today. And I’m not the only person having trouble.
By the window, Ester is still puffy-eyed and sniffling. She’s furiously writing notes on a new index card, trying to process all this awfulness. Top, sensing who needs him most, pads over and pushes his nose between my knees. Hi, I’m cute. Love me.
Gem sits across the aisle. His jaw is set like a bear trap. SIG Sauer P226s are holstered on either side of his belt, Wild West gunslinger-style. These are his ‘twins’， which is how he got the nickname Gemini. Resting on his knee is an M4A1 assault rifle.
Another one of those oddities I don’t think about much: Harding-Pencroft has a dispensation to use military-grade equipment for our training. I suppose that’s fortunate, seeing as we’re apparently now at war with another high school.
The bus is strangely silent. Everyone seems lost in their own dismal thoughts.
Finally, Gem asks me, ‘Do you have any idea what’s going on?’
His brown eyes reflect the landscape racing past. I’ve never seen him show much sign of stress. Now a single bead of sweat trickles down the side of his face.
I don’t blame him for wanting answers. I’m grateful he doesn’t sound bitter or angry at me. I know he doesn’t want to be my babysitter any more than I want him to be.
I shake my head. ‘Honestly, no idea.’
I am telling the truth. Yet I feel like I’m lying. I can hear the guilt in my voice. I hate that feeling.
Gem taps his thumb against the stock of his rifle. ‘I’m going to need your help. All of you.’ He nods to include Ester and Nelinha. ‘I know we haven’t always got along –’
Nelinha snorts.
‘– but you know what I’m going to say is true.’ Gem glances up the aisle, then lowers his voice. ‘The four of us are the best in our houses. No disrespect to Tia and Franklin. They’re great at what they do. But if we’re going to war you guys are my top picks, even if you’re not all prefects.’
‘How flattering,’ Nelinha grumbles.
‘I’m just saying –’
‘Badly,’ Nelinha suggests.
‘He’s right.’ Ester keeps her attention on her note card, now almost filled with tiny words. ‘Tia’s our top theorist, but Nelinha’s scores in applied mechanics and combat engineering are higher. Franklin’s got more advanced medical skills than me, but …’ She shrugs.