I DIDN'T REMEMBER FALLING ASLEEP; only waking. Of course I did-my body was shaking so hard that I rolled right out of bed and hit my face against the next bunk over.

Vanessa must have jumped out of her skin with the sudden bang and movement of her bed, because I heard her say, "What the hell-Ruby? Is that you?"

I couldn't get up. I felt her hands on my face, and registered she was now screaming my name, not just whispering it.

"Oh my God!" someone said. It sounded like Sam, but I couldn't open my eyes.

"-emergency button!" Ashley's weight settled over my legs; I knew it was her, even as my brain came in and out of consciousness, and a white hot light was burning behind my eyelids. Someone shoved something in my mouth-rubber and hard. I could taste blood, but I wasn't sure if it had come from my tongue or my lips or...

Two pairs of hands lifted me from the ground, dropping me on some other surface. I still couldn't open my eyes; my chest was on fire. I couldn't stop shaking, and my limbs felt like they were caving in on themselves.

And then I smelled rosemary. I felt soft, cool hands pressing against my chest, then nothing at all.

Life came back to me in the form of a hard slap across the face.

"Ruby," someone said. "Come on, I know you can hear me. You have to wake up."

I cracked my eyes open, trying not to cringe as the light flooded in. A door opened and creaked shut somewhere nearby.

"Is that her?" a new voice asked. "Are you going to sedate her?"

"No, not this one," the first voice returned. I knew that voice. It was as sweet as it had been before, only this time it had a sharper edge. Dr. Begbie's hands came up beneath my arms and propped me up. "She's tough. She can handle it."

Something smelled horrible. Acidic and rotten all at once. My eyes flew open.

Dr. Begbie was kneeling beside me, waving something beneath my nose.

"What-?"

The other voice I had heard belonged to a young woman. She had dark brown hair and pale skin, but that was all that was remarkable about her. Not realizing I was watching her, she stripped her blue scrubs off and threw them at Dr. Begbie.

I didn't know where we were. The room was small, filled with shelves of bottles and boxes, and I couldn't smell anything besides whatever it was Dr. Begbie had used to wake me.

"Put these on," Dr. Begbie said, pulling me to my feet whether my legs were ready or not. "Come on, Ruby, we've got to hurry."

My body felt heavy, cracking at all my joints. But I did as I was told, and pulled the scrubs over my uniform. While I was dressing, the other woman put her hands behind her back and waited as Dr. Begbie wrapped them together with thick silver duct tape. That finished, the doctor moved to tying the other woman's feet together.

"You're meeting them in Harvey. Make sure you take Route two-fifteen."

"I know, I know," Dr. Begbie said as she chewed off another piece of tape and placed it over the woman's mouth. "Good luck."

"What are you doing?" I asked. My throat was scratchy, and the skin around my mouth seemed to crack as I spoke. The doctor pulled my hair back, twisting it up into a messy bun that she secured with a rubber band. The other woman watched as her ID tags were dropped over my neck and Dr. Begbie put a surgical mask over my face.

"I'll explain everything once we're out, but we can't waste time. They'll be doing rounds in twenty minutes," she said. "You can't say anything, understand? Play along."

I nodded and let her push me outside of the dark room and into the dimmed hallway of the Infirmary. Once again, my legs seemed to be failing me, but the doctor took it all in stride. She looped one of my arms over her shoulder and supported most of my weight.

"We're moving," she muttered. "Return the cameras to their normal feeds."

I looked over, but she wasn't talking to me. She was whispering to her gold swan pin.

"Not a word," she reminded me as we turned down another long hallway. We were moving so fast that we rustled the white curtains of the examination stalls as we passed them. The PSFs were black blurs as they stepped out of our way.

"Sorry, sorry!" Dr. Begbie called after us. "I've got to get this one home."

I kept my eyes on the straight lines of tile passing under my feet. My head was still spinning so badly that I didn't realize we were heading outside until I heard the beep of the doctor's card passing through the lock swipe and felt the first drops of cool rain hit my scalp.

They kept the camp's enormous stadium lights on at all hours of the night; the lights stood like giants across the camp, but all they reminded me of were night football games, the smell of fresh cut grass, and the back of my dad's red Spartan sweater as he yelled for his old high school's team to run some damn offense at the top of his lungs.

It was a short walk and stumble from the back of the Infirmary to the pebbled parking lot. I actually wasn't sure if I was hallucinating or not-my sight went in and out of focus, but it was impossible to miss the sound of crunching gravel and the voice that yelled, "Everything okay over there?"

I felt, rather than saw, Dr. Begbie tense. I tried to keep moving, to use her shoulder to prop myself up, but my legs just weren't working anymore.

When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting up, staring at the standard-issue boots of a PSF soldier. He knelt down in front of me. Dr. Begbie was saying something to him, her voice as calm as the first time I had spoken to her.

"-so sick, I offered to drive her home. I put the mask on her to make sure she didn't give the bug to anyone else."

The soldier's voice became clearer. "I hate that we always get sick from these kids."

"Would you mind helping me walk her over to my Jeep?" Dr. Begbie asked.

"If she's sick..."

"It'll just take a minute," the doctor interrupted. "And I promise that if you have so much as even the sniffles tomorrow, I'll nurse you back to health myself."

That was the voice I recognized-so sweet that it sounded like little bells. The soldier chuckled, but I felt him lift me up all the same. I tried not to lean against him, to grit my teeth against the jarring motion, but I could barely keep my head from rolling back.

"Front seat?" he asked.

Dr. Begbie was about to respond when the PSF's radio crackled to life. "Control has you on camera. Do you need assistance?"

He waited until Dr. Begbie had opened the front passenger side door, and he set me down on the seat before replying. "Everything clear. Doctor..." He took my tags in hand, lifting them off my chest. "Dr. Rogers has the virus that's been going around. Doctor..."

"Begbie," came the quick reply. She slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut behind her. I glanced over, watching as she fumbled to get the key in the ignition. It was the first time I noticed her hands shaking.

"Dr. Begbie is driving her home for the night. Dr. Rogers's car will be here overnight-please inform the morning guards when they do their tally."

"Roger that. Tell them to head straight for the gate. I'll notify the watch patrol to wave them through."

The Jeep sputtered to life in a series of grinding protests. I looked out through the windshield, to the electric fence and the dark, familiar forest behind it. Dr. Begbie reached over to fasten my seat belt.

"Man, she's out of it." The PSF was back, leaning against Dr. Begbie's window.

"I did give her some pretty strong stuff." Dr. Begbie laughed. I felt my chest clench.

"So about tomorrow-"

"Come by and say hello, okay?" Dr. Begbie said. "I have a break around three."

She didn't give him a chance to reply. The tires spun against the gravel and the windshield wipers squealed to life. Dr. Begbie rolled up her window with a friendly wave, using her other hand to steer the car back and pull out of the parking space. The little green numbers on the dashboard read 2:45 a.m.

"Try to cover your face as much as possible," she muttered before flicking on the radio. I didn't recognize the song, but I recognized David Gilmour's voice, and the ebb and flow of Pink Floyd's synthesizers.

She turned the volume down, taking a deep breath as she turned out of the lot. Her fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel.

"Come on, come on," she whispered, glancing down at the clock again. There was a line of two cars in front of us, each waved forward with agonizing slowness. I thought she was going to crawl out of her skin by the time the last car pulled forward into the night.

Dr. Begbie hit the gas too hard and the Jeep lurched forward. The seat belt snapped into a locked position when she slammed on the brakes, knocking the air out of my chest.

She rolled the window down, but I was too tired to be afraid. I pressed my hand over my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. The surgical mask brushed against my lips.

"I'm taking Dr. Rogers home. Let me just get her passes-"

"It's fine. I have you on the schedule for tomorrow at three p.m., is that correct?"

"Yes. Thank you. Please indicate Dr. Rogers will not be in."

"Understood."

I was too tired to try to control my brain's wandering fingers. When Dr. Begbie touched me again, brushing the hair out of my face, an image bloomed to life behind my eyes. A dark-haired man, smiling broadly, with his arms around Dr. Begbie, spinning her, and spinning her, and spinning her, until I could hear her delighted laughter in my ears.

Cate cracked our windows, and the air rushing by brought in the scent of rain and carried me quickly into sleep.

SIX.

IT WAS STILL DARK OUT when I opened my eyes.

The AC blew through the vents, batting at the little yellow cardboard tree hanging down from the rearview mirror. Its vanilla fragrance was sickeningly sweet and so overwhelming that it turned my empty stomach. Mick Jagger crooned next to my ear, singing about war and peace and shelter-those kinds of lies. I tried to turn my face away from wherever the song was escaping from, but I only managed to smack my nose against the window and strain my neck.

I sat straight up and almost hanged myself on the gray seat belt.

We weren't in the Jeep anymore.

The night came back like a deep breath, complete and overwhelming all at once. The glow of the green dashboard lit the scrubs I wore, and that was enough to flood my mind with the reality of what had happened.

Smears of trees and undergrowth lined a road that was completely dark, save for the small car's weak yellow headlights. For the first time in years, I could see the stars that Thurmond's monstrous lights had faded into nonexistence. They were so bright, so clear that they couldn't have been real. I didn't know what was more shocking-the endless stretch of road or the sky. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes.

"Don't forget to breathe, Ruby," came the voice beside me.

I pulled the surgical mask down from over my mouth as I looked over. Dr. Begbie's blond hair was around her face, sweeping against her shoulders. In the time it had taken us to get from Thurmond to...wherever we were, she had stripped off her scrubs and changed into a black T-shirt and jeans. The night stained the skin under her eyes like bruises. I hadn't noticed the sharp angles that made up her nose and chin.

"You haven't been in a car for some time, huh?" She laughed, but she was right. I was more aware of the forward lurch of the car than I was of my own heartbeat.

"Dr. Begbie-"

"Call me Cate," she interrupted, a bit harsher than before. I don't know if I reacted to the abrupt change of tone or not, but she immediately followed with, "I'm sorry, it's been a very long night and I could use a cup of coffee."

According to the dashboard, it was 4:30 a.m. I had only had two hours of sleep, but I felt more alert than I had all day. All week. All my life.

Cate waited until the Rolling Stones had finished out their song before turning down the radio. "All they play are oldies now. I thought it was a joke at first, or something Washington wanted, but apparently that's all that gets requested these days." She snuck a look at me out of the corner of her eye. "I can't imagine why."

"Dr.-Cate," I said. Even my voice was stronger. "Where are we? What's going on?"

Before she could answer, there was a cough from the backseat. I twisted around despite the pain in my neck and chest. Curled up there in a protective little ball was another kid, about my age, or maybe a year younger. That other kid. Max-Matthew-whatever-from the Infirmary, and he was looking far better than I felt as he slept on.

"We just left Harvey, West Virginia," Cate said. "That's where we met with some friends that helped me switch cars and remove Martin back there from the medical trunk we had to smuggle him out in."

"Wait..."

"Oh, don't worry," Cate said quickly. "We made sure it had air holes."

Like that was my biggest concern?

"They just let you take it out to the car?" I asked. "Without even checking it?"

She glanced at me again, and I was proud of the look of surprise there. "The doctors at Thurmond use those trunks to transport medical waste. The camp controllers started forcing the doctors to dump the waste themselves when the budget got cut. Sarah and I had duty for this week."

"Sarah?" I interrupted. "Dr. Rogers?"

She hesitated a split second before nodding.

"Why did you tie her up-why did she-why are you helping us?"

She answered my question with one of her own.

"Have you ever heard of the Children's League?"

"Bits and pieces," I said. And only in whispers. If the rumors were true, they were an antigovernment group. They were the ones the younger kids-the later arrivals to Thurmond-claimed were trying to take down the camp system. The ones that supposedly hid kids so they couldn't be taken. I had always assumed they were our generation's version of a fairy tale. Nothing that good could ever be true.

"We," Cate said, letting that word sink in before continuing, "are an organization dedicated to helping children affected by the government's new laws. John Alban-have you heard of him? He was formerly an intelligence adviser to Gray."

"He started the Children's League?"

She nodded. "After his daughter died and he realized what was going to happen to the kids who survived, he left D.C. and tried to expose all of the testing that was happening at the camps. The New York Times, the Post, you name it-none of them would run the story, because, by then, things were bad enough that Gray had them under his thumb for 'national security' reasons, and the smaller papers folded along with the economy."

"So..." I was trying to wrap my mind around this, wondering if I had misheard her. "So he created the Children's League to...help us?"

Cate's face lit up in a smile. "Yes, that's exactly right."

Then why did you help only me?