The Final Test
Here’s a moral dilemma for you: a few dozen kids are being held in locked rooms in the basement of a torture chamber masquerading as a school.
Carefully picking the locks on all their doors would give the armed guards chasing you time to dig through the wreckage left by the bomb you just set off, catch you, and—very likely—kill you.
On the other hand, if you leave without helping the others, you’ll most likely get away, but you have no idea what will happen to them.
What do you do?
A) Save yourself
B) Try to save everyone
C) Just save your sister
The floor beneath the trapdoor is closer than I expected, but the fall still hurts like hell.
I moan and push myself to all fours, looking around the small, contained space.
I’m lying on a cold floor, alone except for Ian.
Concrete walls block me in from three sides, but there’s a door just ahead.
It’s a heavy steel door with a little window in the center, like they have in juvenile detention centers.
They must’ve used some optical illusion to make it seem farther down when you peer through from above, mirrors or computers, something. I have no idea.
“Where are we?” Ian moans, sitting.
Instead of answering, I stand and hobble over to the door, pressing my face right up to the glass. There’s a hall lined with more doors on the other side. And at the far end there’s another door, but this one doesn’t have a window. Above is a fluorescent Exit sign.
I glance over my shoulder at Ian. “There’s a way out through here.”
I pull my lockpick kit out of my pocket and drop to my knees to get to work.
We don’t have a lot of time. There are already noises coming from overhead: voices yelling, footsteps, the sounds of people trying to move things, probably debris from the bomb.
I’m guessing Lynn, Wyatt, and a bunch of guys with guns will be dropping through that trapdoor in a matter of minutes. We have to hurry.
Here’s where I get lucky: The door lock is a Kwikset dead bolt—the classic one, not the smart key.
It’s second generation, which means it can be picked normally, and the key pins don’t bind unless the sidebar is shimmed.
I work my picks into the lock, tongue between my teeth as I navigate the familiar twists and turns.
It takes me about ninety seconds to swing the door wide.
“C’mon,” I shout, waving Ian through the now-open door.
But I hesitate a moment before pulling it shut behind me, eyes snapping to the trapdoor above.
I see shadows moving up there, and the voices seem closer.
Making a split-second decision, I break one of my picks off in the lock.
It’ll lock us into the hallway, but it should also keep anyone from following—for a little while, at least. I pull the door shut just as a shadow drops down from the trapdoor.
The doors lining the hall all use Kwikset bolts, too. I get the first open and throw the door wide to reveal a dorm-like room with cinder block walls and no windows. I count six kids lying on bunks: Zachary Edwards, Xavier Adams, Mark and Adam Bennett, and—thank God—Seven.
Seven looks different: no makeup, no hair products, and they’re wearing a drab gray uniform that hangs from their frame, making them seem skinnier than they really are.
I pull them into a hug, blinking the tears from my eyes. “I thought you were dead.”
“I feel dead,” they say, hugging me back. “Thank God there aren’t mirrors in here.”
I have so much more to say to them, but there isn’t time for some big reunion right now. I pull away and turn to face the others. “Anyone not having fun here, follow me,” I shout. And as they all file into the hall, I get to work on the next lock.
Someone’s pounding at the door behind me. I see movement from the corner of my eye, bodies moving behind that glass window. The kids from that first room all crowd around me as I thread my picks into the second lock, confused and talking over one another, shouting questions:
“What’s going on?”
“How did you get down here?”
“Is it over now? Can we go home?”
“Give her some space and let her work,” Ian mutters, trying to give me room.
I ignore the questions. The only thing that matters now is getting as many of these doors open as quickly as possible.
The pounding at the end of the hall has gotten louder.
I hear shouting voices, boots skidding on concrete.
The broken pick in the lock will slow them down, but it’s not going to keep them out forever.
I break open the next three doors in around five minutes, finding Zo and Scarlett, along with Jada Brooks, Sofia Diaz, Ava Anderson, and Mei Chen. But there are only two doors left, and I’m only counting around thirteen students—nowhere near the fifty we started with.
And I still haven’t found Rani. Or Mando.
A metallic grinding fills the hallway. I look up, meeting Ian’s eyes.
“They’re drilling through the lock,” he explains.
Drilling. Shit. That will only take another two minutes, three tops. I twist my picks, forcing another lock open. There’s just one more door left, then the exit. I can do this. I have to do this.
I try to focus, but it’s impossible. The people around me are murmuring to one another, but I can’t make out a single word they say. There’s only the sound of the drill at the door. It blocks out all other noise, all other thought. My fingers tremble.
C’mon, I think. Just two more doors left.
The picks are slick against my skin. It makes it hard to hold on to them. I must be sweating. I twist a pick too fast, and it slips from my fingers, clattering against the floor. I grab it and slot it back into the lock. Go.
There’s a click as the lock slides out of place. I throw the door open, and students begin pouring into the hallway: Grace Parker, Carlos Ramirez, Gavin Fisher, Jacob Voss…
My heart falls: no Rani, no Mando. And there are no other cells left.
The door at the end of the hall is shuddering now. Someone’s throwing their weight against it, trying to force it open.
“Lia,” Ian says. “It’s time to go.”
The others are murmuring in agreement. I know he’s right. I have to open the door, let everyone out. There are no other moral dilemmas to consider. We’re out of doors, out of time. We have to run.
I look around, counting twenty-eight kids crowded in the hallway with us. Maybe thirty. What happened to the other twenty? Where are Mando and Rani?
“Lia!” Scarlett says desperately. She grabs my arm. “We have to find him!”
I don’t need to ask who she’s talking about. I don’t want to leave here without Mando any more than she does.
But the door shudders again.
I swallow. I want to keep looking. It’s not just Mando and Rani. I don’t want to leave anyone behind at this place. But that door is going to open any second.
We’re out of time.
I flash Scar an apologetic look and kneel before the exit, holding my breath as I work my picks into the lock.
The other students crowd around me, waiting.
My entire brain narrows to the space in front of me, my picks in the lock, the pressure of the pins against my tools.
I turn, careful to keep my fingers steady, my brain focused. I’m so close.
I feel the click of the lock vibrate through my entire body and throw the door open.
On the other side of the door, a burst of light. I feel the cold brush of wind on my skin and smell fresh air. We’re outside. We did it. A dark shape swoops across the sky above: Luna, waiting for us.
I allow myself a second to snap my pick off in the lock, and then I follow the others outside, locking the door behind us.