As the sirens grow louder, the first of the patrol cars appear, followed by armored vans. The authorities spill out, clad in riot gear, faces obscured behind visors. They form a line, advancing slowly towards us.

But instead of running, cowering, we lock arms and stand our ground. My elbow is hooked with Alex on one side and a young student on the other. I can feel their bodies tense as our chanting grows louder, a defiant roar against the approaching threat.

I jut out my chin and raise my voice. "We are fighting for our right to exist! For everyone's right to exist!"

The authorities halt their forward momentum and issue orders, their voices distorted through megaphones, telling us to disperse, warning of consequences. But we stand, signs held high.

I look around, taking in every face, every sign, every ounce of courage. This moment, this feeling, it's more than a protest; it's a proclamation. We will be heard. We will be seen. And we will not be moved without a fight.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I know this is just the beginning. Whatever happens next, we have ignited something unstoppable. We are the spark that will burn down the walls of oppression, and today, we blaze brightly against the shadow of authority.

Because they can't erase this event from the memories of those who have witnessed us. The teenagers whose brains are free from enforced conformity.

The officers move in, and the air tightens, charged with the inevitability of confrontation. As they step closer, my mind races, already planning, already fighting, already dreaming of our next move.

And then, everything converges—the shouts, the signs, the encroaching line of the authorities—and we brace for impact.

Canisters fly, spewing dark gray mist.

Tear gas.

Smoke fills my nose and stings my eyes.

I pull up my bandana over my nose and click off my mask. It's taking too much concentration to keep it up. I squint against the attack on my eyes and focus on breathing.

My vision clouds as my eyes tear. But I dig my heels into the grass and continue to chant.

I will not be silenced.

Then a row of thick plastic shields batters into me.

I get pushed backwards, my arm is wrenched from Alex's. I fall. My bottom hits the stomped grass, which is hard but warm.

Reflexively, I look up, one hand raised to block the sun. The gas. And see the swift movement of a baton.

I roll, swiping out my arm.

The baton catches my wrist and I feel an explosion of pain.

I clench at it as I turn onto my knees. It's already swelling.

Another thud of pain hits my side. My back. Heavy boots. The sharp crack of wood.

Screams pour from my throat. They erupt all around me. I can't tell which is mine. Or Alex's. Or anyone else's.

Where is Alex? Everyone else? I can't open my eyes too look.

I crawl away.

Am yanked back. The collar of my shirt digs into my throat.

Again, I collapse.

Slick blood drips down my face.

Is it mine?

There is no reasoning behind my body's movement. I am up. And down. Tossed in a current of confusion.

After what seems like hours, somehow, there is now cement under my hands. Cold and scraping. I claw and drag myself away and no one seems to follow.

My body is running on nothing but instinct. The need to escape. And slowly I get myself away from the seething chaos of the green. Screams still ring in my ears, but I can't look.

What have we done?

Will any of this pain make a difference? Will it even be remembered? Or will the authorities just wipe everyone's minds?

I can barely breathe as I finally reach the mulched border of the dorms and lean against a wall.

My eyes are burned closed. The sulfuric taste of the gas mixes with the copper of blood.

"Charlie!" comes one voice, clear, distinct.

Am I hallucinating?

"Charlie?"

I feel hands grabbing at my shirt. My armpits.

More pain ripples through my broken body, but I cannot scream. Cannot moan. All I can do is succumb as I am moved. Dragged away.

"Hey!" the voice yells.

Cold water runs over my lips. I lick, tasting more blood.

A damp cloth blots at my eyes.

"Charlie, it's me."

I must be hallucinating. It sounds like Marcy.

Searing pain stabs at my eyes as I peel them open.

Her face is haloed by sun rays.

"Am I dead?" I mutter, my tongue thick and swollen, then close my eyes again.

"Fuck." Marcy exhales. "Renee, hand me that bottle."

More water pours into my eyes. The burning cools. Cloth gently dabs at my face.

I blink again.

"You're really here?" I ask.

I can't sit up. Can't move. The pain is everywhere. But I see Marcy looking down at me. Can make out Renee in my periphery.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I should ask you the same question," I cough out. My throat feels raw from the gas.

Marcy brings the bottle of water to my lips and I sip, swallowing slowly. Gingerly. Trying not to choke.

"My dad made up some excuse for my disappearance. I'm back here taking classes. It's like I never left," she says, her eyes darting between me and over to Renee.

"Our room?" I ask.

"It's weird without you."

"Does this mean you're coming back?" And even though my body is pulsing with pain, it doesn't compare to the heartbreak of her leaving.

She doesn't answer.

Instead, I hear Renee. "Everyone's running. I don't think we have much time."

Marcy's head bobs up, and I notice for the first time that we're hidden by bushes. Hidden, but not protected from the torrent of shrieks and yells.

"Where's Alex?" I ask. "Jenelle? Everyone else?"

Marcy shakes her head. "I don't know. Too much smoke."

I just nod. A pit sinking in my stomach. Has anyone died? Are people escaping?

Who are Christopher and Sequoia's people on the inside? They never identified themselves, which was part of the plan. For them to maintain their anonymity. But I hope they are helping people escape. Passing out the NanoPens we found. Steering people towards safe escape routes.

"Where are you injured?" Marcy asks.

"Everywhere." I laugh, which shoots pains down my ribs. Then I meet her eyes, which are so full of concern. "But especially my heart."

She sucks in her lips and bites down on them. She inhales slowly. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I love you," she whispers.

"But?" I ask.

"But I belong here right now."

I turn my head, despite the all-encompassing pain. There are a thousand things I want to say. But we don't have time. And I don't have the energy.

Then I feel Marcy move, readjusting how she is sitting. She slides something into her hand and slips it into my pants pocket. It's hard and has the shape and weight of a large protein bar.

"What's that?" I ask.

"It's a com-device. I have one, too."

"How?" I don't understand. Only the authorities have communication devices. They're even more rare than cars.

Marcy just shakes her head, telling me there isn't time to explain. But with this device, maybe she'll tell me later.

I feel a spark of hope.

Then the pounding of boots grows louder. Marcy and Renee both duck down as a battalion of guards rush by our hiding spot.

"We have to go," Renee says under her breath.

"Do you think it'd be quicker for you to take him on your bike?" Marcy asks her.

"Wait," I interrupt. "Renee?"

"I–" she starts and then stops. "I belong there. If I stay–Marcy told me everything."

I just nod. There'll be time later to talk. To understand. Was she planning her escape even before this march? Or did we inspire her?

But now we need to leave. Get out of here and back towards help. To assess our losses and determine if we've made any gains. Any inroads. And maybe Renee will help us determine that.

"I need to get to the dunes. To the fence. That's where my ride will be," I say. "That's where we were supposed to run to."

"But how are we going to get past the guards?" Renee asks, her voice cracking.

I reach behind my ear to make sure my halo-mask is still there. It is. Then I blink, using all my concentration, and bring up my disguise.

"What the fuck?" Renee exclaims.

"Wearable tech," I say with a small shrug.

"He was a natural, right away," Marcy says, her voice brimmed with pride.

"Now I just need to figure out if I can stand." I wince at the thought.

"NanoPen?" Marcy asks.

I shake my head. "There weren't enough. And I'm not dying." I glance down at my blood-stained shirt. "At least I don't think I am."

My eyes meet Marcy's again. Hers are red and glistening. "I'll reach out tonight. Keep the com on. Okay?"

"Okay," I say with a nod.

Marcy peeks up. "Clear."

Then she squats down and gingerly drapes an arm around me. With my un-injured arm, I grasp onto her shoulder and together we stand.

My wrist is swollen and blue, but the pain has dulled to a steady throb. Both of my knees feel scraped and bruised. And my throat and eyes still burn. But I think I can walk.

"At least we're just going to the beach this time, and not all the way downtown and then back to the tram's last station," I say to Marcy, trying to force a smile. "Compared to the first time, this escape will be easy."

Marcy bites her lip, unable to respond. Tears streak down her cheeks.

"Don't worry. I'll get him there safe," Renee says.

Then, before any more guards appear, we hobble away, and I hope that everyone else has made it out of the city alive, too.

As I limp down the sidewalk, the weight of the com device reminds me that although Marcy is staying behind, I haven't lost her completely.

There's still hope.