Cowan’s chin dipped and she seemed ready to pass out. “I’m so sorry, Frypan. I never intended for you to get wrapped up in this,” she coughed, “but Kletter’s request went beyond just our family’s bloodline, it was for as many bloodlines as we could escape the island with.” The way Cowan said it, escaping the island, confused Isaac. The island was their home, they didn’t need to run from anything there. This, now, here is what they needed to escape. He could only dismiss it as the sickness moving through her, confusing her, but she sounded like she’d been brainwashed or something.

  “I know,” Frypan said nonchalantly. This shocked not just Ms. Cowan but Isaac, too.

  “You knew?” Isaac asked.

  “What?” he chuckled, “I might be older than mung beans but I knew this wasn’t just an off-island adventure for the Cure. As soon as we arrived at the Safe Haven all those decades ago, I knew that one day, someone would come looking for us. It was never going to be over, till it was over.”

  Cowan piped in, weakly. “It’s still about the Cure. There was never anything nefarious other than lying to Congress and omitting some of the intentions. Having the potential use of control subjects within the same family bloodline if we needed them back on the island.” Cowan coughed for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last few minutes. “But the Cure is the goal. Hear me? We owe it to the rest of the world to—” She coughed herself right into a fit until she hacked up liquid into a bucket.

  Isaac couldn’t tell if it had come from her lungs or her stomach, but either way, it wasn’t good.

  Isaac watched the sullen assistant open up the second pod and prepare it. “Ms. Cowan, did Kletter give you anything? Did she test something on you that you might have had a reaction to?” He looked back at Frypan to gauge how much he should tell her. The way Cowan blinked slower and slower, Isaac wasn’t sure they should bother her with the threat of a machine upstairs that may or may not be a Griever.

  Cowan seemed to be searching her memory. “I tested the sleeping substance before using it on the crowd at the amphitheater. Do you think . . . I had a reaction to that, it was so long ago though?”

  Isaac questioned Frypan but he shook his head. “No. It wouldn’t have been that. But, is it possible that she gave you something else while you were asleep?”

  Cowan coughed again. “No.”

  “Maybe testing to see how it would react with a part of Sadina’s blood?” Frypan asked as Isaac watched the assistant walk back over to them, dragging heavy feet.

  “Kletter?” Cowan’s purple-hued eyelids blinked. “You think she gave me something else when I was asleep?” She grabbed her head.

  “Annie Kletter was a thief and a liar,” the assistant finally spoke. Her eyes widened as if she dared anyone to correct her. “Is that why you killed her?”

  “Annie?” Isaac had never known Kletter’s first name, but for some reason Annie didn’t fit. It was too nice of a name for that woman.

  “We didn’t kill her,” Frypan said.

  “No. We didn’t kill her.” Isaac was more than alarmed that the Villa even knew Kletter was dead. He’d hoped to use it as leverage to get out of there, but instead the walls were closing in on him. He had nothing left but the truth to use as a weapon. “A guy named Timon and a woman named Letti did. . . . I don’t know which one actually slit her throat because I had a bag over my head before they kidnapped me, but they killed her.” He was rambling, hating the memory.

  “Where’s the rest of the crew?” The assistant moved her left hand to her back pocket, where her knife was.

  “The rest of our group is on their way to Alaska. I swear. We didn’t kill her.”

  “Where’s the rest of Kletter’s crew?” Her voice had gone from demanding to desperate. “I need to know where they are.”

  “Kletter’s crew from her ship?” Isaac asked, trying to think of something, anything to say about the eight people that arrived on the deck of the Maze Cutter, dead and beginning to rot. “Why?”

  “Because my mom was with them.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Flaring Justice

  What a day. She wore her mustard-yellow cloak to match the endless crowd of Pilgrims before her, reminding them once again that they would all be Gods someday if they chose the Evolution alongside her. What other choice did they have? By furthering society, she would be placing Alaska back online. Not on the internet of old, but a new human-wired system that allowed humankind to accomplish things never dreamed before. Alaska, the site of the Maze, would be the leader of the future.

  Flint worked to calm the crowd in front of her.

  The Evolutionary Guards flanked her tighter than ever.

  Alexandra searched the crowd for Pilgrims she might recognize from the six devout who, like Mannus and like the crazed woman in the streets, knew her secrets. She should have better committed their names and faces to memory, but she had other ways of flushing them out.

  Her vision flashed red again with fire. Red and orange flames as if her mind itself was the very thing ablaze and she couldn’t escape her own madness. The stress of the Evolution was getting to her, that was all. The stress of Nicholas still having control over her from beyond. His death had become a smothering blanket of wool, scratchier than the cheapest Pilgrim’s cloak, and she was ready to be free of it already. Her ears buzzed a tone so high-pitched that she almost let out a scream. The Flaring Discipline be damned, she needed to control her mind. She recited the digits, a thing she was doing more frequently with every passing day.

  “Goddess Romanov, they’re ready for you.” Flint directed her to the front of the stage, but she wasn’t yet ready to address this Sunday crowd of Pilgrims, not without Mannus. He was her social experiment, her proof against any stigma or whispers that Evolution was anything but good. Where was that horned human?

  “Goddess!” A man with long, matted hair screamed from the front of the crowd. “What of the murder? Who’ll be charged for the death of our God?!” Others grumbled in agreement with his outburst.

  “We need justice!”

  “Send them to the Guardroom!”

  Alexandra would calm them today, but in due time she needed a scapegoat or the Pilgrims would never settle. She looked over at Flint who voraciously tried to hush the Sunday chants, Flare above, Maze below.

  The crowd finally settled.

  She’d keep silly Flint around. He was good for some things.

  There was commotion behind her as her Evolutionary Guard barricade let someone onto the stage, but it wasn’t Mannus. It was a man in a dark robe, similar to what Nicholas wore. For just a moment Alexandra felt the scream of betrayal from her guards, as though Nicholas’ ghost had whispered to them of her guilt. Her neck muscles seized with tension.

  “How do I look?” The figure asked as it came closer.

  Relief flooded through her. “You look . . .” She searched for the words but the only one that came to mind was “hornless.”

  Mannus, missing his ratty beard along with the horns, looked softer, more human than ever. He winked and gave a chuckle that made Alexandra feel violated. Did he just read her thoughts?

  “Indeed. Impressive, isn’t it?” he said. “That Cure gave me some fun gifts.”

  Her jaw tightened. His lips hadn’t moved.

  Just as she had gotten rid of Nicholas’ telepathy she had now apparently inherited Mannus’, but she had to embrace the fact that some gifts of evolving would be like those of the Maze Trials. It was inevitable. Neural networks were a part of the Evolution.

  But unlike Nicholas, she had control over Mannus.

  You look like Nicholas in that cloak, but don’t be an idiot. Follow suit and you can keep your head. She made sure to think the words loud and clear before stepping forward and addressing the people.

  “Good afternoon, dear Pilgrims. We want to assure you that there is nothing more important to the Godhead than your safety and that is why we are moving quickly with our plans for the Culmination of the Evolution.” She paused, considering how delicately she must balance her motives with the fears, desires, and survival needs of her followers. She pushed the fire and buzzing out of her mind, into the embrace of the Flaring. “Not only is the serum for the Evolution a preventative to the Flare, but it will also unlock your highest potential in every way.”

  “Serum? We have to drink it?” an older man griped, as if they didn’t drink every night at the pub, anyway. Alexandra hated getting hung up on semantics, but she wasn't exactly sure how the vials would be distributed. Serum sounded better than dispensing, the term the Villa had used.

  “How do we know it’s safe?” another shouted.

  “The details will be available soon enough, but we’ve begun with our first set of human trials.” Alexandra waved at Mannus to join her at the front of the stage, conveniently leaving out the fact that their Godhead had been the real commencement of human trials. “Mannus, please step forward.”

  Her eyes wandered the crowd before her, waiting for each unique reaction of those Pilgrims who knew Mannus as a lower-rung member of society. A rung just above the dead moss above the site of the Maze, trampled on daily. A horned being, more beast than man, barely more man than Crank.

  Mannus pulled back his cloak to reveal his face, and more importantly, his hornless head. A gasp drifted over the gathered, from front to back. Alexandra smiled as the Pilgrims turned to each other, sharing their wonder. “You may know Mannus as one of you, but he is now raised to a God-like status through the help of the Evolution.”

  A bit of a stretch, even she was ready to admit. But no matter. Means to an end, all that.

  The heckling began soon after the initial shock.

  “He’s no God. He just got rid of his horns!”

  “We don’t care about this—we want justice for Nicholas. Justice!”

  “Flaring justice!”

  Flint attempted to silence the growing dissent, but his waving arms and shouts were little help, drowned out by the noise. The buzz in Alexandra’s ear started again, coupled with fierce head pain.

  “Flaring justice, flaring justice, flaring justice . . . ,” they chanted and Alexandra pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth in anger. She simply would not be able to roll out anything to do with the Evolution today. Instead, she’d have to pacify their wants for justice. The Flare be damned, she’d give them justice. She stepped forward with her hands in front of her in prayer position. “Please, settle yourselves. We know who’s responsible for the murder of our dear Nicholas.” A hush fell over the audience just as she knew it would.

  She turned to Mannus.

  Name them, the four others who accompanied you, Alexandra thought at him.

  He shook his head, stood firm. Challenging her.

  It’s you or them, she thought, along with all the feel of warning she could muster. Mannus stood there in his robe, unmoving and unspeaking. Fine. She’d show him that she wasn’t bluffing. “Dearest people of Alaska. Look to—”

  “Pilgrim Gilbert!” Mannus shouted aloud in a deep, booming voice.

  The crowd turned as one toward a round-headed man, no horns, but with the names of every single Glader of old tattooed on his face. Alexandra remembered him now. How could she ever have forgotten those fanatical tattoos? As soon as Mannus spoke the name, it was as if the robe of Nicholas’ transformed his word into law; the surrounding people mobbed the tattoo-faced man, throwing punches and kicking him to the ground. From beneath their grapples, the man tried to defend himself, tried to speak, but the violence only worsened. Alexandra didn’t like it, but she let the people have their moment, restraining the Evolutionary Guards with a glance, allowing the Pilgrims the reprieve of vigilante justice.

  The tattoo-faced man suddenly broke free from the mob, every last inch of him bruised or bloodied. “It was the Godhead turning on their own! It was—” A man in the crowd slugged the tattooed Pilgrim so hard he collapsed to the ground, completely lifeless. The Evolutionary Guard dragged him away.

  She kept her face still. Sometimes, violence was the only option. Sometimes, an example had to be made. For the greater good.

  “Yes, the rumors are true.” She spoke loud and clear. “The Godhead has turned its back on its own kind, as well as the people of Alaska.” The crowd quieted. “Mikhail has murdered our dear Nicholas and used the weakest of the Pilgrims to do his bidding.” She barely got the words out before the people before her erupted in screams of disbelief. Horror. They clawed at their own skin and eyes.

  Flint tried to calm them down by yelling one of the chants. “Flare above, Maze below! Flare above, Maze below!” But nothing of the sort would fix this. The people needed to heal, and in order to heal they first needed the wound ripped wide open.

  Keep going. She sent her thoughts to Mannus, finding the task easier and easier. You wanted power, well this is how you take it. Her ears rang with the piercing buzz as she observed Mannus announce the names of another man and two women. The mob went after the Pilgrims before the Evolutionary Guard ever had a chance.

  “Godkillers! Traitors!” The people shouted, their voices rising in waves of strength. They nearly murdered the four Pilgrims before the Guards could take them captive. The prisoners were lucky to be alive.

  Meanwhile, Alexandra was trying to shake the madness from within. The buzzing, the visions of fire. It was over now, she told herself. There would be no more outbursts. No more demands from the crowd. Mannus looked particularly annoyed, probably realizing the price of betrayal. Alexandra could hardly feel sympathy. If he wanted to wear the cloak of a Godhead, then he had to carry the burdens that came with it.

  She wasn’t done with the crowd. “The people of Alaska want justice and we must deliver that today!” She allowed a long, dramatic pause. “We will send them to the Maze—for Nicholas!”

  The Pilgrims cheered.

  Too easy.

  La verdad siempre saldrá a la luz.

  She grilled the boy standing in front of her, needing the total truth about Annie. “Was she with a group of people when you met her or not?” Deep down in the middle of her bones she knew that her mom was dead, but within the center of her heart remained the smallest bit of hope.

  “I . . . I don’t . . . know . . .” The young man’s eyes darted to the two others in the room, the old geezer and the sick lady, but Ximena had heard disappointing news from adults her entire life. She wanted to hear this from the boy.

  “You do know.” It couldn’t be more obvious that he was lying. Weakness. The immune’s blood might have been strong, but the rest of his body was weak. His eyes were tired, wounded, like whatever he’d seen wasn’t something he ever wanted to say out loud. There was no way he’d killed Annie. Ximena put the knife back in her pocket. She softened. “What’s your name?”

  “About time someone asked. I’m Isaac. And that’s Frypan, and this is Ms. Cowan.”

  “Isaac.” Ximena slowed down her words, “I need to know where they are. The people who were with Annie Kletter. Can you tell me that?”

  He nodded, almost looking relieved.

  “They’re on our island back home,” he said softly, and Ximena allowed herself the slightest sense of relief. Of course her mom and Mariana wouldn’t want to come home from the island, with so much to study and learn from the immunes. Absent-minded Annie didn’t leave them behind—they chose to stay.

  Ximena looked back to the old man, named Frypan of all things. He had a strange look in his eyes. “What? What is it?” she asked. The Cowan woman coughed. They all avoided Ximena’s stare as if they knew how different she was. A uniqueness that her mother called special, but Ximena felt differently. Every time she met someone outside her village and they learned the truth about her, they ignored her, stayed away from her. “Did my mom tell you about me?”

  “What is your name, dear?” The sick lady asked, and Ximena realized she hadn’t told them yet. Not that it mattered; they’d never see each other again after today.

  “Ximena.”

  “What a beautiful name.” Ms. Cowan coughed. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but . . .”

  “The boat, when it came in . . .” Isaac continued, and Ximena froze. Anything that started with an apology and needed two people to explain wasn’t good. She gazed into each of their weak, tired eyes. The old man returned a look of sincere sympathy, as if he’d seen all the worst things the world had to offer during his long life, and that he was sorry for it all.

  She shook her head, wanting to deny it.

  The omen of the dead, blackened jackrabbits.

  Her premonitions.

  Despite already knowing the truth, she couldn’t stop shaking her head.

  Frypan stepped forward and put his hand gently on her elbow. “They didn’t suffer.” He said it in a way only someone who’d lost a loved one could. Or many loved ones.

  Ximena started to cry before she heard the how and the why of it all. Her mom was gone. She wiped at her eyes, promising her Abuela that she would find the truth. She owed it to her whole village, and it all started with these islanders. “Get in the pods. One each.” She motioned with the keys in her hand.

  “We’re really sorry,” Isaac said.

  But could he possibly know what it felt like to lose a parent? To not get to say goodbye? She doubted it. “Get in the pod,” she ordered, refusing to look him in the eye.

  Trees. Mountains. Rocky cliffs.

  Air almost as chilled as the water crashing ashore.

  Alaska.

  The Maze Cutter anchored inside a small bay with a rough bump that jolted Sadina. Trish helped her gather their stuff; Miyoko and Dominic got the rest. “Should we bring the other palm mats too?” Miyoko asked.

  Minho snapped his answer. “Nope. Only what you need to survive. Bags, food, weapons.”