But we didn't die. Our families had no way of knowing. Just because our bodies were dead, it didn't mean our minds were. They had already been spirited away. Copied. Stored. Saved.

Saved. For what?

Fox, who didn't yet have a driver's license, is semicomatose and still in critical condition. The severity of her burns and injuries makes it impossible for her to communicate or give authorities any details about the accident. Investigators say they can't rule out the possible involvement of a second car, but it appears that high speeds and reckless driving contributed to the car veering off Route 93 and tumbling 140 feet down the steep incline. The hydrogen in the tri-energy BMW, registered to Matthew Fox, exploded on impact, leaving investigators little evidence to piece together events from the evening of the crash.

Gatsbro watched us carefully when we were done reading, like our reactions were just another experiment in his lab. Tell me how you feel, he said.

Crushed. Sick. Devastated. Take your pick, moron. How would you feel if you read about your own so-called death?

But neither Kara nor I said anything to Gatsbro about the accident or the article. I always remembered Kara's warning from that first day. Never show your weakness. But the accident was our weakness. It was the beginning of where we are now. We knew the events that led to the crash. We knew everything.

It wasn't Jenna's fault. It wasn't even Jenna who was driving.

Chapter 61

I find myself in the town plaza, but getting here is a blur just like the road and trees. The town center is barely that. Without the stalls of the Sunday farmers' market, it's only a large oval of tall trees with a carpet of loose leaves beneath them, and in the center a crumbled fountain that isn't working.

There are half a dozen carts with vendors selling goods--a hot bread cart that seems to magically produce a fresh hot loaf in seconds and another cart that has gray meat packaged in plastic packs that my sister and I would have called mystery meat, like in my aunt's casseroles. Most of the vendors look like they're human, but one is definitely a Bot with no legs like Dot. He's attached to his cart like a hood ornament on a car and he's selling vTrips. To my right is a woman tending three small children who are mesmerized by one vendor's creation of sparkling cookies in the shapes of animals. The dough barks, meows, and roars as it takes shape and crystallizes into the requested form. A dozen more people either walk through the plaza or stand at other carts to buy something.

On the far end of the plaza just outside the oval of trees is a group of land pirates huddled on a low wall. Bone and the other two I worked with are among them. They frequently glance around the plaza, like they are wary of everyone else. I probably need to be more watchful than they do. I haven't seen any Security Force Officers since I was kicked by the one on the road, but there's more to be wary about than them. I scan the perimeter of the plaza, looking into the shadows. Where is she? Is she watching me now?

Kara? Even if she were close enough to hear me, she wouldn't answer.

I said Jenna's name first when I finally had a mouth again to speak. How could I have done that to her, after all we had been through together? Why would I do that? I held her last night. I whispered poetry into her ear. For you, Kara, just for you. I desperately tried to make up for all the hurt I've caused. From the moment we woke up at Gatsbro's estate, I thought if I loved her enough, I could make up for the accident--make up for the hell we had been through. But it's never been enough.

Is today the day she will come? Tomorrow? I don't know how long I can keep it a secret that she's here. It doesn't seem right. Jenna deserves to know. But Kara deserves the timing she wants too--after all the years she was forced to wait in dark silence, she deserves at least that much. My eyes travel over the plaza again. Is she watching right now from someplace beyond the trees?

The waiting twists inside of me until every fabricated bone in my body is ready to snap. Where is she? One of the land pirates stands. He mumbles to the others, and Bone puts something into his hand. He walks toward the bread cart. The baker sees him coming. I read the baker's lips as he jerks his head toward the land pirate and says to a man working the cart with him, I always charge those Non-pacts double. Serves them right. Too stupid to know the difference. Make sure you do the same. The other man matches the baker's scowl. Filthy Nops, he says.

I am already walking toward the cart. Nops. That's what that is. The Fancy Pants have their own degrading slang for Non-pacts. Yeah, some things don't change. But I'm not so filthy anymore, or tired or weak. And I'm a head taller than the baker. As I approach, the baker is already scowling at me as he takes the order from the land pirate. "Wait your turn, you--"

I let my jacket flap wide open. He notices the expensive fabric and cut of my shirt, probably more extravagant than anything he's ever owned, courtesy of Gatsbro's expensive tastes.

His scowl changes to a smile. "I'll be right with you, sir," he says.

"Not necessary." I place my hand on the land pirate's shoulder. "I just wanted to tell this fellow that I know a place where he can get better bread at half the price."

The baker's smile disappears. "Why, you--"

"Want to make something of it? Because we can." My hand drops from the land pirate, and I step closer to the cart. I almost hope he does make something of it. Every fiber in me twists impossibly tighter. I want to snap. I want to snap more than I want a fair price. The land pirate glares at both of us, not trusting me, either. He is here for bread, not trouble.