Sirens rip through the air, overpowering all my senses. The alarm penetrates my ears and my eyes, its piercing touch invading my skin and overtaking my ability to smell anything but fear. I can taste the hot sound inside my mouth, and it tastes like blood and danger.
Mira and I escape through the underground passage in the garden, Father’s voice screaming inside my head, fighting through the sirens: Take the rail to Amarillo before they can find you on the surveillance system.
An explosion erupts from our house, the blast shaking the ground. The basement. It’s been destroyed.
I grab Mira’s hand, and we sprint toward a winding path that leads through the neighborhood, avoiding the streets.
“The umbrellas,” I say as we charge over a fence and through a backyard covered in tiny stone pebbles. Mira finds the two black umbrellas in my rucksack, tosses one to me, and we quickly throw them up above our heads to shield our faces.
The wailing cries grow faint in the background as we continue to flee away from our home, away from our father.
Roth is arresting him right now.
I push this thought to the back of my mind and focus on the flashing lights of the metropolis ahead. Breathing heavily, Mira falls behind. I notice that she’s running with a slight limp, and I know she must be hurting, but there’s no time for sympathy.
“We have to keep moving,” I say and press forward, forcing her to keep pace.
The TXRAIL station that will take us to Amarillo is in the heart of Dallas. I immediately see Father’s plan: the Guard won’t anticipate our running toward downtown, into an area with so much surveillance. They will expect us to hole up and hide in the fringes of the city until we are rooted out.
But how do we get on the rail undetected? And why Amarillo?
My chest heaves painfully by the time we throw ourselves into an alleyway sandwiched between two large glass buildings. Mira shoots her eyes up the side of the skyscraper.
“I don’t see any cameras,” she whispers. Regardless, we both continue to hold our umbrella shields firmly over our heads, the paranoia of surveillance deep-seated and constant.
Digging through my rucksack, I pull out a small bag of makeup and several articles of scent-eliminating clothing to shield us from the Scent Hunter drones. I motion for Mira to stand in front of me and apply a thick black line along her lower and upper lids with a wax pencil. She drapes a knee-length hooded vest over her shoulders to cover her nightclothes, and I place a dark beanie over her head, pushing her bangs off her face by tucking them into the cap. I step back to observe the effect.
Hidden beneath the beanie and makeup, she is not recognizably “Ava.” This makeshift disguise will have to do.
I search through the clothing pile once more and pick out a loose-fitting gray jacket for myself.
“The jacket will make my frame look bigger than yours,” I say as Mira grabs a tube of lipstick from the bag. She applies the stain to my lips, her unsteady hand making me wonder if more than my mouth is ending up red.
I peer over my shoulder at the massive TXRAIL station across the street. Large white sheets that look like sails from a luxurious yacht cover the tracks, designed to give mercy from the sun. Despite the early hour the platform is completely congested with people hoping to beat the even bigger morning rush at sunrise. The glaring streetlights allow for no shadows, no places to hide. Father thinks it’s safer for us to hide within the crowds, but right now I am not so sure.
“Are you sure we should risk it?” Mira whispers.
I turn back to find her staring at the station with intense apprehension, and I remember she has never been on a rail before. All public transportation requires a microchip scan, and without a real chip, Mira has never been permitted to travel. I myself have traveled using public transportation within the Dallas limits only to the market or to accompany Father on his campaign tours. We walk or bike everywhere else.
When I don’t answer, she gives me a worried look, but I have no white lies to comfort her. It will be a risk to expose ourselves on the station platform. Sealing ourselves into the railcar will be an even bigger one.
Get out of the city before sunrise. Survive.
We must have confidence that our temporary camouflage will be enough to deflect unwanted attention. Trust that the early morning commuters will glance upon us with dull eyes, not knowing they just witnessed the first sighting of identical twins in generations.
All I know is we have to keep moving. I throw up the hood of my linen jacket, cloaking my face in shadow.
“Are you ready for this?”
Mira vigorously shakes her head no.
I take a deep breath and hear my Father’s words with every frantic beat of my heart.
You will prove them wrong.
I press my forehead fiercely against my sister’s. “Mira, we can do this.”
Closing our eyes, we hold our breaths, and for a moment our thundering hearts are quiet.
We exhale, and our breathing syncs as one.
Mira and I crowd behind the metal railings that barricade us from the station platform, our umbrellas carefully angled to block our faces from the cameras that are installed in every corner. An alert Texas State Guard patrols through the impatient mass of people, and we drop our heads low.
“How are we supposed to get in without a microchip?” Mira whispers in a tone so soft only a twin could hear.
I don’t have the answer. I keep searching around me, trying to find the key. But I find only closed-off gates that require a microchip scan, and my heart falls into my stomach.
All I want is to protect Mira, but I know I’m not in charge. If someone came for my sister, I have nothing to fight them off except hands that have no special training and a knife I’ve never once used as a weapon.
A blinking green light above the gates signals more people are allowed to enter the platform. The barrier lifts, creating a small pathway, and straightaway a small young man wearing a wide-brimmed hat reaches out and scans his right wrist to a device at the entrance of the gate. A flash of blue light. Ping.
The mob behind follows suit, and it’s like we’re a thousand grains of sand fighting our way through an hourglass. The light flashes yellow—time is running out, and our small window of opportunity is closing. The frenzied crowd pushes Mira and me forward, desperate to get through the gate and onto the next rail.
Amid the messy free-for-all, a ragged old vagabond artfully squeezes himself through the multitude of people, and with a stealth I didn’t think possible, slips through the doors without scanning his chip and strolls onto the platform undetected.
Chaos. The master key.
I grab Mira’s hand and press tight against a lady holding a red parasol. As the woman swipes her wrist, I lunge through the gates, dragging Mira beside me.
I am elated with triumph for a single moment before an elbow connects with my temple. Mira and I are roughly shoved into the center of the moving herd jostling to get closer to the edge of the platform. Inside the gates I feel even more like cattle trapped inside a stockyard.
An anxious energy spreads through the crowd. Some people stand on the balls of their feet, ready to pounce at the first sign of the rail’s arrival. Students, businesspeople, and the homeless all mix together, almost everyone using a cover of some kind in an attempt to protect their identity. Mira and I blend easily into the crowd. You were right, Father.
A group of youth in front of us wears elaborate, high-collared jackets, their hoodies transforming them into their public avatars. I note a bright-pink bear and a dark medieval knight. The corporate woman next to me wears a beautiful silk scarf around her head like a Golden Age movie star. The poor use dirty rags and makeshift cardboard masks wrapped around their faces. Only a brave few stand proud and bare, open to the prying cameras.
A heavyset Guard stalks the edge of the platform, forcing people to make a wide path. “Umbrellas, sunglasses, hats—off!”