I stammered, trying to find a way to say no. I just wanted to stay here, for her to get better—completely healthy—before risking anyone’s life again.

“You can’t run.”

“I’m not as bad as you think. And you can help me.”

I looked back at the empty trees. Was the trap going to work? Would we just meet him face-to-face at the stream?

“Bense,” she said, “we have to go.”

“But …” We were going to die. She was going to die.

“We don’t have time.”

“I can’t drive a stick.”

Becky’s cracked lips turned up in a grin. “Is that all? Do I have to do everything?”

She took my hand and coaxed me up, walking unsteadily. “You do?”

She squeezed my hand. “I told you. I grew up on a ranch. I’ve been driving old trucks since I was eleven.”

I took a deep breath, and then pulled her good arm over my shoulders. We couldn’t run, but we strode out onto the road, brazenly into the open.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I was moving as fast as I could, but it didn’t feel like enough. It was taking too long, and the seconds were ticking away. We weren’t going to make it.

I hedged my bets, leaving the road and heading for a thicker cluster of brush south of the ford.

“Where are you going?”

“He’ll be heading for the ford,” I said. “That’s where the trap is set. I want to cross the stream somewhere else in case it doesn’t work.”

Becky nodded and pulled her arm away from me. “I can walk by myself. It’ll be faster.”

“I can carry you faster.”

She took a breath to say something, but didn’t.

There was still no sign of anything. I’d expected to hear a big electric crackle, or a pop, or anything. Maybe the trap didn’t work—the wires didn’t fall in the water. Or maybe they did, and he was built to resist electric shock. Or there was too much water and the electricity dispersed and didn’t incapacitate him.

“Go without me,” she said.

“No.” We were almost at the stream.

“You don’t have to protect—”

“Yes, I do,” I said sharply. If she’d heard me talking to Mason about his plan, she’d heard me talking about her.

Her fingers dug into my shoulder. “Down!”

I was falling to my knees before she’d even said it. Iceman was on the road.

He wasn’t looking at us—he was glaring down the road toward the barracks. He was dripping wet, and pissed off.

Becky was trying to pull herself with one hand toward the cover of the stream. With Iceman facing the other way, I risked it and jumped to a crouch. I grabbed the shoulder of her coat and pulled her into the bushes.

Without talking, we crawled farther, sliding down the stream bank to hide. We were still fifty yards of twisting river from the ford—from where Isaiah’s body was. This felt safe. Relatively.

“Come to the fort!” Iceman bellowed, his voice unnaturally loud.

I darted across the stream, splashing through the icy water that was deeper here, and peered through the bushes at the fort. He was back on the fort side now, walking past his white pickup. We were too late. He was still closer to the truck than I was, and he had to be faster than me anyway.

Becky caught up with me just as a crack broke through the morning silence like a gunshot.

Iceman had punched through the old wood of the fort’s heavy door like it was glass. He reached between the shattered boards and unlatched it.

“This isn’t good,” Becky breathed.

“We need to get out of here,” I said.

She looked back upstream, toward the truck.

“We don’t have time,” I said.

“I know,” she snapped.

Becky stood, hunched over in what was probably just as much pain as it was stealth.

“Here,” I said, reaching for her arm. “Let me carry you.”

“I’m fine.” She stepped from the bank into the stream, the frigid water rushing over her shoes and up to her calves. She paused to steady herself, and I reached for her again.

“Stop it,” Becky said, her voice firm. “I’m fine.”

I turned back to look at the fort. The gate was hanging open, and I heard the sound of something else breaking.

Becky was moving downstream, heading for the forest in short, unsteady steps. Our clothes weren’t camouflage, but they were dark and we were still in the early morning shadows. Iceman had other things on his mind, too, but I had no idea how that would affect a robot. Could he get distracted?

The water was numbing my feet, but there was no other way to get back to the forest without climbing the bank and leaving the cover of the brush.

Becky moved slowly, constantly stopping to keep from slipping. She could only stretch out one arm for balance, and I heard her heavy breathing. The fast recovery she’d seemed to be making after Jane’s help had reversed in the last twelve hours.

“Come to the fort!”

We both jumped, and she grabbed my shirt so she wouldn’t fall. I looked back, but couldn’t see anything—there was too much brush in the way.

“Come to the fort right now,” the metallic voice bellowed again, sounding almost like a bullhorn, but deeper and louder. “Or I will fry your brains one by one.”

Becky stepped back to the bank and knelt in a stand of scrubby willows.

“They’re not looking for us,” I whispered, dropping to my knees and crawling up the frozen muddy bank. He had to be talking about their implants.

She tried to stand, using the thin willow branches as support, but one snapped. We both fell, lying as flat against the earth as we could.

I couldn’t see anything—not the field, or the fort, or Becky, or anything. The only sound was the burbling of the stream behind me. But I didn’t dare move. My heart was pounding, thumping in my chest like a bass drum.

“Gather in front,” the voice ordered, its deep, inhumanly loud sound seeming to rumble around the trees and town for several seconds before dissipating.

I rolled onto my side, and I could see Becky again. She was farther down the bank, kneeling and hunched over. She was cradling her bad arm with her good one, but the look on her face was one of determination, not pain.

I mouthed the words keep going to her, and motioned for her to head for the forest. She nodded, but it didn’t look like she agreed with me.

Two cottonwoods grew ten feet upstream, their trunks almost touching at the bases. I slid back down the bank and crawled toward them. Crouching, I could see through the two-inch gap between them, my body still hidden almost completely.

Everyone—there had to be almost eighty with the new kids—was standing in the field. They were in groups, huddled together for warmth. Almost no one wore a coat, and one guy didn’t even have a shirt. They’d been asleep when Iceman had come.

Mason was there, in the back. He looked like he was trying to stay out of sight, but Iceman must have suspected him. He’d been the only student outdoors.

Iceman stood by the gate, his back to the wall of the fort. I couldn’t tell whether he’d been hurt by the trap. His clothes dripped and stuck to his body, but there were no obvious burn marks or mechanical problems. He looked as cold and evil as ever. And he was angry.