The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,174
Within minutes everyone mobilized. Many had not yet made their decision, but now the decision had been made for them. Years in space, or death by scythe. Suddenly the choice wasn’t very hard at all.
If the Thunderhead could have seeded the sky and coaxed cloud cover to hide the atoll from view, it would have—but it still did not have influence over weather in the blind spot. But then again, even if it did, it could still do nothing. Any attack on Kwajalein would be a scythe action. Just as the Thunderhead could not interfere on the moon or Mars or the orbital station, it could not lift a virtual finger to stop this. All it could do was watch everything it had worked for be destroyed once again. The Thunderhead knew no hatred. But thought that, perhaps, by the end of this day, it might.
* * *
“Attention! The ships on Ebeye and the main island are at capacity. Do not attempt to board. Repeat, do not attempt to board. Head north and west.”
* * *
“It’s Goddard,” said Citra. “It has to be.”
Rowan and Citra hurried down the main street of the big island, caught up in the frenetic exodus.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Rowan said.
“I know it is,” said Citra. “I can practically smell him. I don’t know who he wants more, you or me.”
Rowan stopped to take a good look at her. “I’ll stay and fight him with you, if you want me to.”
“No,” she said. “That’s what he does, Rowan; he draws us in, over and over—but now we have a chance to show the world not just that we don’t need the scythedom, but that we never did. This could have been our destiny, if the scythedom hadn’t prevented it—and it still can be. That’s the fight I want. Not sparring endlessly with Goddard.”
Now Rowan was grinning, and when Citra looked around, she saw that a dozen others were listening. Not just moved, but ready to follow her anywhere.
“You would have been one hell of a High Blade,” he said.
They jumped in the bed of a truck heading toward the northern isles. There was one road that bridged all the islands. Today it was an escape route. There were three others in the pickup with them, starstruck by the company, so Citra smiled warmly and reached out a hand.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Citra Terranova. Looks like we’re riding together today.”
And although they were a bit confused, they were happy to shake her hand.
* * *
“Attention! Attention! All ships south of Bigej and Legan are at capacity. And too many of you are heading to the western isles. Head north if you can.”
* * *
Jeri was awakened by the same alarm that woke most everyone, and although Jeri couldn’t quite hear the announcement from the cargo ship, clearly it was nothing good.
When Jeri opened the cabin door, a rat ran in. Jeri was startled—and then saw that the hallway—indeed the entire ship—was full of them. Not just rats, but goats, wild pigs, and even what appeared to be house pets. Rather than being put off, Jeri was a bit amused, remembering the warning that Cirrus had given. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. All the wildlife within the launch zones would most certainly be killed by the launches. Naturally the Thunderhead had devised a solution, and gathered them using their own control nanites.
When Jeri went down to the gangway, it had already been pulled in, but ropes were still wrapped around the mooring bollards. Whatever this alarm was, it made the dockworkers abandon their work midway through.
Jeri jumped the short distance from the hatch to the pier, and upon rising, saw Greyson running down the jetty, stumbling in pants that were a little too big. So was the shirt he wore—both probably found items from wherever he had spent the night.
“The Thunderhead said you’d be here,” he said. “They’ve pushed up the launch—scythes are on their way to glean the island.”
Jeri sighed. “Of course they are.” They both looked at the ship. Jeri could sail with it to wherever it was preprogrammed to go, but Jeri had no desire to be a passive passenger again. There’d be a speedboat somewhere that Jeri could pilot away from the atoll when the time came.
“Come help me,” Jeri said. Together they untied the ropes from the bollards, the ropes rolled themselves in, and the ship, on autopilot, began to maneuver itself away from the dock.