A SURGE OF satisfaction streaks through me, the kind I always feel when I ace a test. This time the pleasure is gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the slick, acrid taste of dread.

 

Have the Testers been recording every word we have spoken? Did they listen in on my conversations before I reached Tosu City or would they have not thought to bother since almost every move I made was recorded by their tiny cameras? I cannot help but pray for the latter to be true. Otherwise, they know. They know about my father. His nightmares. The warnings he gave me. He told me to trust no one, but I didn't listen. I decided I knew best. I trusted Tomas. I told him everything, and in doing so, I might have jeopardized my father's life. Because any government that is willing to stand by and watch as candidates commit suicide or ingest poisonous plants because they gave a wrong answer won't shrink from eliminating a man they might see as a threat. And Magistrate Owens. Dr. Flint. Our old teacher. Everyone who worked hard to keep Five Lakes Colony graduates safe from The Testing is at risk. Because of me.

 

"Cia, are you okay?"

 

I whip around and see Tomas staring at me. I must look pretty awful to warrant the concern in his eyes. Forcing a wide smile, I say, "Yeah, I'm just worried about Tracelyn and the others. I hope they find shelter tonight. It looks like a big storm is coming." Then I put my finger to my lips, point to the bracelet in my hand, and show him the almost imperceptible holes on the inside. With unsteady fingers, I probe for the clasp on my bracelet, work the fastening free, and set it on top of my bag. I then take Tomas's hand and remove his before heading out the door into the swirling wind.

 

"They've been spying on us," Tomas says. "I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise after the exploding pond. Listening to private conversations is minor compared to that."

 

"But how long do you think they've been listening? Just this test or since the beginning?"

 

I watch him consider the question and see the moment he remembers our conversation under the tree — away from the cameras. "Maybe they weren't listening then. I mean, at that point, there were 108 of us. Most likely they were just using the cameras so they could observe us all at once. Listening to over a hundred different microphones would take a lot of time and people."

 

I can only hope he is right. I don't know if I can live with the alternative.

 

"Cia, I know this is hard, but you can't worry about what might be happening to everyone back home." His hand brushes over my cheek. I catch it and hold it like a lifeline. "The only way for us to help anyone at home is to survive this test."

 

My throat tightens as desperation takes hold. "If we pass, they'll remove all our Testing memories. We won't remember there's anything we need to help with."

 

"Not if we figure out how they do it." He gives my hand a squeeze and brushes the stray tears that have slipped down my cheek. "I've been thinking about it, and I have a few ideas. Now that we know about the bugs, we can make sure they won't always know what we're planning. You've given us an advantage. We just have to be smart enough to use it."

 

The doubts I have threaten to consume me. Are we smart enough? Can we outthink a system that has been in place for decades? That has controlled the lives of hundreds of the brightest minds since the world began to rebuild? That is currently controlling us?

 

Straightening my shoulders, I say, "Well, then we'll just have to be smart enough. Right?"

 

"Right." Tomas smiles. "With the two of us working together, how can we go wrong? And you know what? I'm glad you figured out someone was listening in for another reason."

 

"Why's that?"

 

"Because the first time I tell you that I'm in love with you, I'd rather not share the moment with Dr. Barnes and his friends."

 

The words and the way his lips touch mine make my heart shimmer. I know this is the wrong time to be thinking about love. The stress of the test — knowing our lives are in danger — means I can't trust my emotions. But the warmth in my veins and the strength I feel just being near Tomas are real. So when his lips leave mine, I'm able to say, "I think I love you, too."

 

"You think?" He laughs and hugs me tight against his chest. "Well, I guess it's good I have a couple hundred miles of road left to convince you." He drops a kiss on the top of my head and sighs. "We should probably go back and entertain our listening audience before they start wondering if we've passed out from eating too much chicken." He takes my hand, and we start back toward the barn. "You do realize I'm going to have to declare my love again for our audience. Otherwise, they might start wondering why I'm telling you how beautiful you are."

 

I can't help smiling as we walk back into the building and snap the bracelets back onto our wrists. But now that I know people are listening, I can't seem to come up with anything to say. Thankfully, Tomas doesn't have the same problem. "I thought I heard a noise outside, but I guess I was wrong. No one was there. Guess with the storm coming, the wind kicked up some debris."

 

For a second, I'm confused. Then I realize he's explaining the silence to whoever was listening. "Good," I say. "We could both use the rest after last night. I'm not sorry we invited the others to camp with us, but it was hard to sleep with them there."

 

"I know." Tomas lowers himself to the ground and pats the spot next to him, which I take. "I didn't get much sleep, either."

 

"Then how do you explain your snoring?" I tease even though Tomas doesn't snore. Our audience will no doubt find it amusing. We talk about the other three candidates for a while, and then speculate on how our friends might be doing — whether they've teamed up with others or are traveling alone. The wind howls in earnest and raindrops begin to pound against the roof.

 

Once the barn is completely draped in shadows, we get ready for sleep. Settling into the back-corner spot we thought was best protected from the weather, we listen as rain pours from the sky. Water drips from holes in the roof, but the area we have chosen stays blissfully dry.

 

Tomas puts his arm around me and says, "You know, I really did lie awake for most of last night. I don't know if this is the right time to say this, but Tracelyn is right. I am in love with you."

 

Hearing it for the second time, even if he's saying it for Dr. Barnes, still makes my breath catch. Like last time, Tomas kisses me, but this kiss is longer, deeper, and stirs my blood. When he pulls away, it takes me longer to recover. Smiling in the dark, I snuggle up against him and whisper, "I think I love you, too."

 

His answering chuckle chases me into sleep.

 

 Something's wrong.

 

Tomas's arm is still wrapped around me. His breathing is even and steady. A pale gray light streams through the barn. The rain has stopped.

 

I put my head back down and close my eyes, trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep. And that's when I hear it.

 

Panting. Something is here.

 

My eyes fly open, and I raise my head and look around the dim interior of the barn. Nothing. At least, not that I can see. The panting sound is nearby. I close my eyes to pinpoint the sound. It's coming from behind me.

 

Heart pounding, I slide out from under Tomas's arm, slowly sit up, and turn my head to look at the wall behind us. There's nothing there. But I can still hear the rapid inhale and exhale of air. There's a long crack in the corner of the wall where sunlight is streaming in. Being careful not to disturb Tomas, I quietly get to my feet, peer through it, and bite back a scream.

 

The animal is massive. Standing on its haunches it is as tall as I am, with black and gray fur covering most of its body. In places here and there, leathery pink skin peeks through. What captures my attention most, though, are the hooked claws and the teeth. Several rows of them. Yellow and sharp in a wide, protruding mouth.

 

Is it a kind of bear or a wolf ? If it's either, this version is unlike any of the species I've ever seen. My father has shown me pictures that he took on the outskirts of one of the colonies he worked in. Pictures of animals twisted by the same chemicals and radiation that laid waste to the earth. Some of the animals developed extra limbs or lost their tails. Others lost their fur or gained skin almost impenetrable to weapons. Regardless of the change, every mutated animal became vicious. The smallest rodents with their hairless bodies and oversized ears would attack a human no matter their size. This animal — whatever it might be — outside the barn isn't small. It's huge. If it attacks, we will be in serious trouble.

 

And it is not alone. The large black head swings to the right, and I can see another grayer but equally scary animal standing behind it. It sniffs the air. Has it caught our scent? I think so. Which means we need to get out of here now.

 

I'm grateful we kept our things packed because we have to move fast. Kneeling, careful not to make a sound, I gently shake Tomas awake. His gray eyes open. His mouth smiles as he sees me, but the warmth and happiness leave his face as he notices the fear on mine. His eyes narrow as I lean close to his ear and whisper, "There are mutated animals outside. We have to get moving."

 

He nods and is on his feet, bag in hand, in seconds. Together we cross to the other side of the barn. Every scuff of our shoes or rustle of dry grass under our feet makes my heart jump. Once we are at the door, Tomas whispers, "We'll run with our bicycles until we get to the road. Then we'll ride. Okay?"

 

The barn is about 150 yards from the road. There are rocks, trees, and underbrush between us and the pavement. Not to mention the way back to the road slants uphill. I have no idea how the hook-clawed wolves move or how fast they can run. Perhaps they won't notice us. Or even if they do, maybe we will be far enough away for them not to give chase. If they do . . . well, I hope they lumber like bears. That might give us a chance. If they are swifter . . .

 

I clutch my gun, take a deep breath, and say, "Okay. Let's do it."

 

My feet pound the hard-packed earth, my hands hold tight to the handlebars as I keep my eyes focused on the road. The bicycle wheels bang and jump as they roll over the harsh terrain, but I don't look back to see if we have been noticed. That will only slow me down. If the animals and their vicious-looking teeth are in pursuit, I cannot afford the delay.

 

But Tomas does look back. I can tell by the way he sucks in air. The way he wills himself to go even faster as he yells, "Run, Cia. Run."

 

I do. I run as fast as I am able. My calf and thigh muscles burn as I propel myself and the bicycle up the hill that leads to the road. To our hope for escape that lies at least another fifty yards in the distance.

 

With his longer legs and superior strength, Tomas pulls ahead of me. He yells for me to keep running, and I am, but I can only go so fast. And then I hear it. Panting. Branches cracking. Yips and whines. They're close. Too close. And getting closer.

 

Fear, swift and fierce, helps move my legs faster. I climb the incline. Twice I almost lose hold on my bicycle as my feet catch in the underbrush, but I manage to keep climbing. Somewhere behind me the yips become growls. The sounds are closer. They are catching up, and I still have at least ten yards until I reach the road. A bicycle pedal catches on a bush, and I tumble to the ground. I look up and see Tomas at the top of the hill. He's already seated on his bicycle, poised to take flight.

 

"Come on, Cia. Hurry."

 

He doesn't say it, but I know the animals are moments behind me. There is nothing he can do to help me unless I make it to the top. So I scramble to my feet, pick the bicycle off the ground to keep it from catching on branches and grass, and force myself up the last incline. My feet hit smooth pavement and I want to cry with relief, but I can't. Out of the corner of my eye, I see them. A pack of them. Six or more. They are fast. Large, bulky shapes of gray and black matted fur. Ten or fifteen feet behind me. Jaws open. Ready to attack.

 

One leaps out in front of the others. Its wide, yellow eyes are focused on me as it closes the gap between us. I aim and fire. The thing growls in anger as the bullet hits it square in the chest. But it doesn't stop. The bullet doesn't even slow it down.

 

"We can't take them out. Get on! We gotta go."

 

Tomas's voice snaps me into action. I throw my leg over the bicycle frame. My feet hit the pedals and push. The sound of claws on pavement and the snarls of our pursuers get my legs pumping faster. The rickety metal beneath me protests as it picks up speed. I pray my handiwork won't give out on me now. Tomas is right. These creatures, whatever they are, are too strong for us to kill with a handgun or a knife. If we cannot out race them . . .

 

Tomas yells encouragement back to me as the road slants downward. My wheels pick up speed. There are howls behind me, but they sound like they are dropping back. I keep pedaling. Willing the animals to give up the chase. To find a different, less speedy prey for their morning meal.

 

And they do.

 

The yips and growls grow fainter. When I no longer hear the sounds of the animals in pursuit, I brave a look behind and see in the distance that the pack is leaving the road. Heading north. Away from us.

 

Still we keep riding in case the creatures think to circle around and come at us from the other side. That kind of thinking takes higher reasoning and calculated determination. More than most animals are capable of, but there are stories told around campfires to scare children. Stories as well about humans who survived the radiation and the chemicals but were horribly changed. Never did I believe those stories were true, but I would never have believed the United Commonwealth capable of killing Testing candidates to aid in their selection process. So while the animals we are escaping showed no signs of human characteristics, we ride another fifteen miles before we stop and catch our breath.

 

I lay my bicycle on the ground and walk into Tomas's waiting arms. Pressing my head against his chest, I hear his heart hammering hard and know mine is pounding equally fast. We are alive. Since being shot at hours after the test began, I have been focused on the dangers my competition might bring or the ones the Testing officials have put in place. I had almost forgotten to worry about the animals roaming the damaged plains. Although, now that I think about it, I have to wonder if they are out here by accident or design. The Testers erected fences. If they are high enough to keep us in, wouldn't it stand to reason they would keep animals not welcomed by the Testers out?

 

Pulling away from the comfort of Tomas's arms, I dig out a water bottle and swallow the bitter taste of fear and fatigue. I hand Tomas the bottle and unwrap the food we intended to prepare for our morning's breakfast. Miraculously, the eggs, wrapped carefully in my clothing, have survived unbroken. Tomas suggests we make a fire and cook them since we need to rest for a while anyway. Our race to safety has left us both exhausted.

 

At least, that's what I think when we first gather twigs and sticks for the fire. As Tomas kneels down to light a match, I notice the blood seeping through the back of his pants. The sight stops me cold, and I realize how bloodless his face has gotten now that the color of exertion has disappeared. The match trembles in his hand as he lights the twigs and coaxes them into a crackling fire.

 

I pull my medical kit out and order Tomas to lie on the ground.

 

He flashes me a pained grin. "Tell a girl you love her and she automatically gets bossy. Well, I guess I can't complain since you're asking me to take off my pants."

 

I laugh, but a tear in the cauterized wound puts an end to my amusement. And once I wash away the blood, I can see a slight redness that speaks of infection. The infection isn't bad — yet. But it could be if we aren't careful. Seeing the possible contagion makes me decide to change treatment options. Not that this one will be any easier.

 

I make Tomas take several pain tablets and drink a lot of water before I sterilize a needle, thread it, and begin work. Tomas flinches as the needle slides into his flesh. Or maybe it was me who flinched. My heart thuds, my stomach clenches, and I grit my teeth as I push the needle back through tissue, pull the thread taut, and do it again. The tear is less than a half inch long, but each stitch is so small that it takes a dozen of them to complete the job. Tomas doesn't make a sound, but every wince on his face makes my heart ache. Dr. Flint told me once that it's hard for doctors to work on people they love, and that he hoped he'd never have to perform surgery on Dad or any of us kids for fear that love would get in the way of his training. Working the needle in and out of Tomas's flesh, I understand Dr. Flint's words. My fingers are slick with red when I make the last stitch and tie and cut the knot.

 

I am shaking and queasy as I slather the anti-infection ointment on the wound and place another bandage over it. Tomas is in worse shape. Traveling now isn't an option. I wash the blood from my hands and tell Tomas to sleep while I get food ready. His eyes are closed before I can dig out the pan.

 

I decide to postpone cooking for a while. After all that blood, the idea of handling or eating food doesn't appeal. Gun in hand, I do a search of the area for something to cook with the eggs and score some wild onion. I also find a patch of ripe wild raspberries.

 

I let Tomas sleep for more than two hours — as long as I dare. When his eyes open, I'm thrilled to see they are bright and clear and filled with annoyance at being left to sleep the day away. Although, when we finish eating, it's obvious that no matter how much he might want to travel, riding isn't a good idea. Tomas is weakened from the blood loss, and the injury is too tender. So we walk, wheeling our bicycles beside us for hours and taking short breaks for Tomas to rest. We find a river, but the water is poisonous and cannot be purified. At least, not with the chemicals in my bag. Our progress isn't fast, but it is constant. And by the end of the day, we can see buildings in the distance.

 

An abandoned city. And the road we are traveling runs right through it.