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dance on the wall, revealing triangular tents, releasing the scent of cooking meat, illuminating a lone man playing the guitar—playing the song I played a thousand times on the piano before … before everything changed. A spit of meat roasts above the guitar player’s fire, and the music combined with the food … he’s like the pied piper. And I’m a rat. Without thinking, I take a step forward.
    “Idiot! You don’t even know the plan yet!” Arrin grabs my hand and stops me. She pulls me toward her and puts her mouth to my ear, explaining how I’m going to pay her back. With each whispered word, my pulse beats a little faster and my palms begin to sweat. When she stops speaking, I stare at her like she’s insane. And judging by the look in her eye, maybe she is.
    “Are you serious?” I whisper, glancing at the camp again.
    She nods. I look past the men in brown, past the tents and campfires, to two people slouching at the wall’s base, their backs pressed against it. One is small, a pile of bones in a heap of grimy clothes, the other is slightly bigger, a little more filled out but still scrawny. Firelight glints off metal shackles encasing the lower halves of their arms. I look at the men in brown again and realize almost every single one of them holds a gun.
    “What if they shoot me?” I ask.
    “Then you won’t owe me anymore. We’ll be even,” she says.
    I try to take a step away, but she grabs my wrist in an iron-strong hand. “No. I’m not doing that,” I say. “I’ll find another way to pay you—” The tip of Arrin’s knife finds the soft flesh under my chin and all I can think is
carotid artery
. I don’t dare breathe.
    “You can die right now, Fo, or you can help me and have a chance to live,” she warns, her voice a low growl.
    Slowly, I put my hand on her wrist, soft and gentle, like I’m trying to pet a dog that wants to bite me. She pushes the knife a little harder so the tip digs into my skin, and I know if I’m not careful, she’ll kill me right here, right now. Releasing her wrist, my hands slowly go up in surrender. She moves the knife so it no longer touches my skin, but barely.
    “So will you help me or not?” she asks.
    “I’ll do it,” I whisper, my voice trembling. She nods and tucks the knife into a fold of her clothes. I turn and stare at the camp, take a deep breath, possibly my last, and take a step forward.
    “Fo,” Arrin says. I jolt to a startled stop and look at her. “If they catch you, say you’re a boy. Since you don’t have themark, they’ll probably let you go. Might even let you inside the wall if you qualify.”
    I glance at the back of my right hand. The mark is still covered, but by blood and grime as much as makeup. I run my ice-cold hands through my butchered hair and sigh.
    “Which one’s your brother?” I ask, looking at the two handcuffed people with their backs against the wall.
    “The little one. He’s eleven.”
    “Wait. Eleven? I thought you said he was nine.”
    She gnaws the skin on the side of her thumb and then swallows. “You obviously need to clean the wax out of your ears,” she retorts. “What are you waiting for?”
    I clench my teeth and take a deep breath, brace myself to run and—
    “Fo?”
    I jump again and glare at Arrin. “What?”
    “Thanks.”
    I nod, like I had a choice in the matter. Facing the camp, I dig my toes into the pavement. And I sprint.

Chapter 7
    The funny thing is, what I am doing right now is exactly what I wanted to do the minute I saw the camp. In spite of the fact that I’m starving, my legs are strong and swift, stronger than they’ve been since the moment I awoke in my bed.
    Reaching the closest fire, I tear a spit of meat out of a stunned militia man’s hands and keep running. At the second fire, I do the same … take the meat and run. Without slowing my pace, I press the hot meat to my mouth, burning my tongue and gums as my teeth tear into it, and swallow without chewing. And