If that was it, they'd be locked up in one of the institutions. This couldn't be happening.

What if it was the body bank?

They wouldn't rent out Tyler, of course-he was too young and sickly-but they might use him as bait to lure me in. I clenched my fists.

I had an urge to go there, gun in hand, and demand to see my brother. But even in my surge of fire, I knew it was impossible to rescue anyone from Prime. They had guards. And big thick doors with locks. And it would be just what they wanted. Not to mention it would be a gamble, because truthfully, I didn't know where he was. I just knew in my gut it wasn't good.

Still, I had to do something.

I drove onto the gravel by the fence that surrounded Blake's family ranch and swung my car around so I would be facing the right direction when I left. Best to plan for a quick exit. When I grasped the car door handle to get out, my hand was shaking.

I rushed across the crunchy gravel path to the front door, keeping my purse over my shoulder, with the strap across my body. I needed easy access to my gun.

The housekeeper let me in and took me to the living room. It was in grand hacienda style, with a high ceiling and dark, exposed beams. The scent of coffee and tobacco, something that normally would be inviting, made me cringe under these circumstances. He was all money and power, Senator Harrison.

Blake and his grandfather were sitting in large sienna leather armchairs-until they saw me.

"What is she doing here?" The senator stood and pointed at me.

"It's all right, Grandfather. I invited her." Blake rose.

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because she's got something she wants to say to you." Blake came over to me and held my hand. I wondered if he'd said anything to his grandfather.

"Get her out of here now!" the senator yelled.

My blood was pumping so hard, I thought I heard it throbbing in my ears.

"Go ahead, Callie." Blake released my hand. "Tell him."

"Tell me what?"

"Are you aware that what you are doing is murder?" I said.

He flushed with anger. "Don't you talk to me that way, you old biddy."

I pulled out the gun and aimed it at him. "I'm not old, I'm sixteen. I'm the donor body."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Blake's jaw drop, but I brought my focus back to the gun. I needed to keep my hand steady. I stood behind one of the couches so I could brace myself against something. I calculated the distance between me and the senator. Roughly twelve feet.

His face registered surprise. "Then why do you want to kill me?"

"Your deal with the government and Prime Destinations means that innocent unclaimed minors will be sold to the body bank. And the body bank will let seniors buy them to occupy their bodies for the rest of their lives."

The senator was hard to read. His face had a horrified expression, but it wasn't clear whether this information was news to him.

"I blame you for this." He pointed at Blake. "Do something."

"She's making sense, Grandfather. Is it true?" Blake asked him.

"Is it true?" The senator repeated Blake's words in a mocking tone.

"You are going to take me to the man behind Prime," I said to the senator. "The Old Man."

His jaw went slack. "No. I can't."

My palms were perspiring, I was so nervous. The sweat made my grip on the gun loose, slippery.

"You don't want to give me trouble, Senator Harrison, not now. My best friend's just been bought and my little brother is right behind him. He's probably in line for his surgery right now, like some dog at the vet. My only hope is to see the Old Man, and if you can't take me, then I have nothing to lose."

"I can't," he said. "I can't do that."

"You don't have a choice."

"Just take her, Grandfather," Blake said. "You know where he works."

"Let me put it this way," the senator said. "If I take you to him, he'll kill me."

"And if you don't, I'll kill you." I struggled to steady my grip. "I warn you, my arms are getting tired, so I'll give you to three. Isn't that what they do in the holos? You start walking to that door or on three, I shoot. One."

He licked his lips.

"Two."

He swallowed so hard, I could see his Adam's apple vibrate.

"Three." He wasn't going to move.

I had to shoot, but I didn't want to. I imagined the bullet piercing flesh, ripping it apart, the skin curling back in flower-petal shapes as blood spurted like a fountain, flooding the room. My finger quivered, and pulled. It was like I was trying to let go, let the trigger come back to position, but of course that didn't work, so I shot him. I guess I did want to.

The gun went off with a high, tinny pop.

At the same time, or maybe sooner, I'm not sure, Blake went flying over to his grandfather, pushing him hard.

"Blake!" I screamed.

They both ended up on the floor, blood starting to stain the cream-and-black Navajo rug. It was coming from the senator's arm.

I looked down at them. The senator groaned. Blake tore off his grandfather's jacket and applied pressure to the wound.

He looked up at me for a second, his expression one of pure shock and disbelief. "You shot him! You could have killed him."

I didn't know what to say. He was right. I would have killed him if Blake hadn't intervened.

"He should have done what I said."

"I didn't think ... you'd do it," the senator said through his pain.

Neither did I. My heart was racing. I pointed the gun at the senator. "Get him up."

"What?" Blake asked.

"It's just an arm wound. Get him up on his feet."

Blake helped his grandfather to a chair. The senator leaned back, moaning in pain.

"I didn't want to do this. You forced me into it." I motioned with the gun. "So let's not make this all for nothing. I want you to take me to the Old Man."

The senator's face was pale as he drove his car with one hand. I sat shotgun. I wondered if that was where the expression came from. Or maybe they meant leaning out the window and shooting. In any event, I was sitting there holding the gun on the senator and Blake was in the backseat right behind him.

"What part of town are we going to?" I asked.

"Downtown," the senator said, wincing in pain.

We had covered his shirt with his jacket so the wound wouldn't be obvious.

"I'm not the bad guy here," I said. "My little brother is sick. I have to find out who took him."

"He could be anywhere." The senator spoke with great effort.

"You're right, I don't know where he is. So I have to search. The Old Man is my best guess."

"You seem like a smart young lady. Resourceful. Let me make a proposal. I'll pull over and let you go, and I won't report this."

"Do I look senile to you?" I asked.

He stared in the rearview mirror at Blake. I realized then that Blake had been awfully quiet. He hadn't said a word, actually. What was going on in his head? I guessed I had put him in a no-win situation. I turned around to look at him. Just then, the car swerved hard. The senator floored the gas pedal and turned sharply, crossing lanes until we were on the opposite curb. We rammed into an empty transport bench.

Airbags deployed, shoving the gun in my hand into my head. Hard.

When everything stopped moving, the bag deflated. I felt dizzy, and my vision was blurry. The senator opened the back door and pulled Blake out with his one good arm. I couldn't see if he was hurt.

I moved in slow motion. The side of my head was wet. I touched it-blood. I could make out the senator helping Blake as they ran away from the car. Blake tried to turn around, his arm reaching out, but his grandfather forced him to keep going.

I had to get out of the car. Where was the door release? My hand found it, pushed it open. I fell out of the car, onto the road. Everything was out of focus. Shapes, people, ran toward the car. The last one I saw, before everything went black, was a man in uniform.

A marshal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

I came to on my back, beneath a bank of harsh lights. I had to squint, the light was so intense. An IV tube snaked down to my arm.

"She's awake," an elderly female voice said.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" A man's voice, also an Ender, hovered closer.

"I can hear you." I managed to croak out the words. "But I can't see you."

"That's all right," he said. "That's normal. Just take your time. Keep your eyes closed if it's more comfortable. We're just going to ask you a few questions, all right?"

I nodded. My brain felt heavy. Foggy. I wondered what drugs were pumping through that IV.

"What is your name?" the woman asked.

"Callie."

"Last name?"

"Woodland."

"What is your age?"

"Sixteen."

"Are your parents alive?"

Her voice sounded familiar.

"No."

"Do you have grandparents or any other guardians?"

"No."

"Are you an unclaimed minor?"

My head ached. "How long have I been out?"

"Not long. Just answer the question," she said. "Are you an unclaimed minor?"

I didn't have the strength to lie. "Yes."

The questions stopped. I heard her straighten.

I slowly opened my eyes. My vision was still unreliable. I could make out that the man was dressed in surgical greens, like a doctor. I expected the woman to be a nurse, but she wore gray, not white. She held a tiny metal button in one hand. A recording device.

"Would you like some water?" the doctor asked me.

I nodded. He held up a cup. I sipped from the straw.

"I had to give you stitches for that gash on the side of your head. There will be no scar, it was all under the hairline."