Sara was tying off the last stitch. “That can’t be right. Just keep pressure on it.”
“No, really. Look for yourself.”
They rolled the girl onto her back again, and Sara pulled the sodden compress aside. It was true: the bleeding had slowed. The entry wound even looked smaller, pink and puckered at the edges. The girl’s face was gently composed, as if she were napping. Sara placed her fingers at the girl’s throat; a hard, regular beat met her fingertips. What in the world?
“Peter, hold that lantern over here.”
Peter swung the lantern over the girl’s face; Sara gently peeled back the lid of her left eye—a dark, dewy orb, the disklike pupil contracting to reveal the ribbed iris, the color of wet earth. But something was different; something was there.
“Bring it closer.”
As Peter shifted the lantern, blazing the eye with light, she felt it. A sensation like falling, as if the earth had opened under her feet—worse than dying, worse than death. A terrible blackness all around and she was falling, falling forever into it.
“Sara, what’s wrong?”
She was on her feet, backing away. Her heart was lurching in her chest, her hands were shaking like leaves in the wind. Everyone was looking at her; she tried to speak but no words came. What had she seen? But it wasn’t something she’d seen, it was something she’d felt. Sara thought the word: alone. Alone! That’s what she was, what they all were. That was what her parents were, their souls falling forever in blackness. They were alone!
She became aware that others were in the ward now. Sanjay and, beside him, Soo Ramirez. Two more Watchers hovered behind them. Everyone was waiting for her to say something; she could feel the heat of all their eyes upon her.
Sanjay stepped forward. “Will she live?”
She took a breath to calm herself. “I don’t know.” Her voice felt weak in her throat. “It’s a bad wound, Sanjay. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
Sanjay regarded the girl a moment. He appeared to be deciding what to think of her, how to account for her impossible presence. Then he turned toward Caleb, who was standing by the cot with the blood-soaked compress in his hands. Something seemed to harden in the air; the men at the door came forward, hands on their blades.
“Come with us, Caleb.”
The two men—Jimmy Molyneau and Ben Chou—grabbed the boy by the arms; he was too surprised to resist.
“Sanjay, what are you doing?” Alicia said. “Soo, what the hell is this about?”
It was Sanjay who answered. “Caleb is under arrest.”
“Arrest?” the boy squealed. “What am I under arrest for?”
“Caleb opened the gate. He knows the law as well as anyone. Jimmy, get him out of here.”
Jimmy and Ben began to pull the struggling boy toward the curtain. “Lish!” he cried.
She quickly blocked their way, positioning herself in front of the door. “Soo, tell them,” Alicia said. “It was me. I was the one who went over. If you want to arrest someone, arrest me.”
Standing beside Sanjay, Soo said nothing.
“Soo?”
But the woman shook her head. “I can’t, Lish.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“Because it isn’t up to her,” Sanjay said. “Teacher is dead. Caleb is under arrest for murder.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
By midmorning, everyone in the Colony knew the story of the night before, or some version of it. A Walker had appeared outside the walls; Caleb had opened the gate, letting in a viral. The Walker, a young girl, was in the Infirmary, dying, shot by a bolt from a Watcher’s cross. The Colonel was dead, an apparent suicide—how he’d gotten over the Wall, no one knew—and Arlo too, killed in the Sanctuary by his brother.
But worst of all was Teacher.
They found her under the window in the Big Room; Hollis’s line of sight had been obscured by a line of empty cots. Probably she had heard the viral coming down off the roof and tried to make a stand. A blade was in her hand.
There had been many Teachers, of course. But in a truer sense there had only been one. Each woman who took the job down through the years became that person. The Teacher who had died that night was actually a Darrell—April Darrell. She was the woman Peter remembered laughing at his questions about the ocean, though she had been younger then, not much older than he was now, and pretty in a soft, pale way, like an older sister who was kept indoors by some physical ailment; she was the woman Sara recalled from the morning of her release, leading her with her chain of questions, like a flight of stairs taking her down to a dark basement in which lay the terrible truth, then giving her into her mother’s arms, to weep over the world and what it was. It was a hard job, being Teacher, everyone knew that, a thankless job, to live locked away with the Littles with barely any grown-up company except for women who were pregnant or nursing, with nothing on their minds but babies; and it was also true that because Teacher was the one to tell you—tell everyone—she bore the collective resentment of this trauma. Except for First Night, when she might make a brief appearance in the Sunspot, Teacher hardly ever set foot outside the Sanctuary, and when she did, it was as if she moved in an invisible container of betrayal. Peter felt sorry for her, but it was also true that he could barely bring himself to meet her eye.
The Household, which assembled at first light, had declared a state of civil emergency. Runners were dispatched from house to house, passing the word. Until more was known, all activities beyond the Wall would be suspended; the herd would stay inside, as well as any HD crews; the gate would remain closed. Caleb had been remanded to the lockup. For the time being, it was agreed, with so many souls lost, and such fear and confusion having gripped the Colony, no sentence would be passed.
And then there was the question of the girl.
In the early-morning hours, Sanjay had led the members of the Household to the Infirmary to examine her. The wound to her shoulder was obviously serious; she had yet to regain consciousness. There was no sign of viral infection, but it was also the case that her appearance was completely inexplicable. Why had the virals not attacked her? How had she survived, all alone in the dark? Sanjay ordered anyone who had been in contact with her to be stripped and washed, their clothing burned. The girl’s backpack and clothing went into the fire as well. The girl had been placed under strict quarantine; no one but Sara would be allowed in the Infirmary until more was known.
The inquest was held in an old classroom in the Sanctuary—the same room, Peter realized, that Teacher had taken him to on the day of his release. An inquest: that was the term Sanjay had used, a word Peter had never heard before. It seemed to Peter that it was a fancy name for looking for someone to blame. Sanjay had instructed the four of them—Peter, Alicia, Hollis, and Soo—not to speak to one another until each had been questioned in turn. They waited outside in the hall, wedged into undersized desks shoved in a line against the wall, with a single Watcher—Sanjay’s nephew, Ian—waiting with them. Around them the building was oddly silent; all the Littles had been moved upstairs while the Big Room was washed down. Who knew what they would make of the night’s events—what Sandy Chou, who had stepped in for Teacher, would tell them. Probably she would tell them they had simply all dreamed it; with the youngest children, that likely would do the trick. As for the older ones, Peter had no idea. Maybe they would have to be released early.
Soo had been called first, emerging from the room a short time later and striding down the hall with a harried look. Hollis was then summoned inside. Unfolding his long legs from under the desk, he appeared completely devoid of energy, as if some essential piece of him had been carved away. Ian was holding the door open, eyeing the group with a look of impatient warning. At the threshold Hollis stopped and turned to look at all of them, uttering the first words any of them had spoken in an hour.
“I just want to know it wasn’t for nothing.”
They waited. Through the door to the classroom, Peter could hear the murmur of voices. Peter wanted to ask Ian if he knew anything, but the expression on the man’s face told him not to try. Ian was Theo’s age, part of a group that had come up at around the same time; he and his wife, Hannah, had one young daughter, Kira, in the Sanctuary. So, Peter thought, that explained the look on Ian’s face: it was the look of a parent, a father.
Hollis emerged, briefly meeting Peter’s eyes and giving him a curt nod before retreating down the hall. Peter began to rise but Ian said, “Not you, Jaxon. Lish is next.”
Jaxon? Since when did anybody call him Jaxon—especially someone on the Watch? And why did it sound suddenly different to him, coming from Ian’s mouth?
“It’s all right,” Lish said, and got to her feet wearily. He had never seen her looking so defeated. “I just want to get this over with.”
Then she was gone, leaving Peter and Ian alone. Ian had awkwardly fixed his gaze on the square of wall above Peter’s head.
“It really wasn’t her fault, Ian. It wasn’t anybody’s.”
Ian stiffened but said nothing.
“If you’d been there, you might have done the same thing.”
“Look, save it for Sanjay. I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
By the time Lish appeared, Peter had actually managed to doze off. She stepped from the room with a wordless look he knew: I’ll find you.
Peter felt it the moment he stepped into the room. Whatever was going to happen had already been decided. His appearance, whatever he had to say for himself, would make very little difference. Soo had been asked to recuse herself from the proceedings, leaving only five members of the Household in attendance: Sanjay, who was seated at the center of a long table, and, on either side of him, Old Chou, Jimmy Molyneau, Walter Fisher, and Peter’s cousin Dana, occupying the Jaxon seat. He noted the odd number; Soo’s absence had effectively prevented any kind of deadlock. An empty desk had been positioned to face the table. The tension in the room was palpable; no one was speaking. Only Old Chou seemed willing to meet Peter’s eye; everyone else was looking away, even Dana. Slumped in his chair, Walter Fisher seemed hardly to know where he was, or to care. His clothing seemed unusually filthy and rumpled; Peter could actually smell the shine coming off him.
“Have a seat, Peter,” Sanjay said.
“I’d rather stand, if that’s all right.”
He felt the small pleasure of defiance, a point being scored. But Sanjay did not react. “I suppose we should get on with it.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Though there is some confusion on this point, the general opinion of the Household, based in large part on what Caleb has told us, is that you were not responsible for opening the gate, that this was his doing entirely. Is this your version?”
“My version?”
“Yes, Peter,” Sanjay said. He sighed with unconcealed impatience. “Your version of events. What you believe occurred.”
“I don’t believe anything. What did Hightop tell you?”
Old Chou held up a hand and leaned forward. “Sanjay, if I may.”
Sanjay frowned but said nothing.
Old Chou leaned forward over the table, a gesture of command. He had a soft, wrinkled face and damp eyes that gave him an appearance of absolute earnestness. He had been Head of the Household for many years before yielding the position to Theo’s father, a history that still gave him considerable authority if he cared to use it. For the most part, he didn’t; after his first wife had been killed on Dark Night, he had taken a second, much younger wife, and now passed most of his days in the apiary, among the bees he loved.
“Peter, no one doubts that Caleb thought he was doing the right thing. Intention is not the issue here. Did you open the gate or not?”
“What are you going to do with him?”
“That hasn’t been decided. Please answer the question.”
Peter tried to meet Dana’s eye but couldn’t; she was still looking at the table.
“I would have, if I’d gotten there first.”
Sanjay gave an indignant lift in his chair. “You see? This is what I’m saying.”
But Old Chou paid this interruption no mind, keeping his eyes locked on Peter’s face. “So am I correct in understanding that your answer is no? You would have, but in fact you did not.” He folded his hands on the table. “Take a moment to think if you need to.”
It seemed to Peter that Old Chou was trying to protect him. But saying what had happened would shift all the blame to Caleb, who had simply done what Peter himself would have, if he’d gotten to the wheelhouse first.
“No one doubts your loyalty to your friends,” Old Chou went on. “I would expect nothing less from you. But the greater loyalty here must be to the safety of everyone. I’ll ask you again. Did you help Caleb in opening the gate? Or did you, in fact, try to close it, once you saw what was happening?”
Peter had the feeling of standing at the edge of a great abyss: whatever he said next would be final. But the truth was all he had.
He shook his head. “No.”
“No what?”
He took a long breath. “No, I didn’t open the gate.”
Old Chou visibly relaxed. “Thank you, Peter.” His gaze passed over the group. “If nobody has anything else—”
“Wait,” Sanjay cut in.
Peter felt the air in the room tighten; even Walter seemed suddenly alert. Here it comes, thought Peter.
“Everyone here knows of your friendship with Alicia,” Sanjay said. “She is someone who confides in you. Would that be fair to say?”
Peter nodded warily. “I guess.”
“Has she in any way indicated to you that she knows this girl? Has seen her before, perhaps?”
A knot tightened in his stomach. “Why would you think that?”
Sanjay glanced at the others before returning his eyes to the front of the room. “There is a question, you see, of coincidence. You three were the last to return from the power station. And the story you tell, first about Zander and then Theo … well, you must admit it’s pretty strange.”
The anger Peter had been holding in check gave way. “You think we planned this? I lost my brother down there. We were lucky to get back alive.”
The room had grown very quiet again. Even Dana was looking at Peter with frank suspicion.
“So, for the record,” Sanjay said, “you are saying you don’t know the Walker, you’ve never seen her before.”
Suddenly it wasn’t about Alicia, he realized. The question was about him.
“I have no idea who she is,” he said.
Sanjay held his eyes on Peter’s face for what seemed like an unnaturally long moment. Then he nodded.
“Thank you, Peter. We appreciate your candor. You’re free to go.”
Just like that it was over. “That’s all?”
Sanjay had already busied himself with the papers before him. He looked up, frowning, as if surprised to find Peter still in the room. “Yes. For now.”
