Chapter 25: Tris – Crowded

I don't understand what's going on with Tobias. Yes, this trip has been stressful – for all of us – but that's no excuse for attacking Marcus without provocation. And as far as I can tell, there was none.

Caleb sits next to me in silence. I know he's trying to provide a comforting presence, staying quiet so I can speak or not as I choose, the way Abnegation always taught us. But since he's not the person I want to talk with right now, I don't. Instead, I alternate between glaring at the floor and watching Marcus. Something must have passed between them to make Tobias react the way he did, but it's not until Marcus' cold eyes turn to Lauren that I figure it out.

The way Marcus looks at her is familiar. It's the same way he eyed Christina back in Erudite headquarters, before he said we had to leave her behind because she was too injured to take with us. Lauren is that same type of liability now, and I'm sure Marcus will want to leave her to die, or possibly do something worse, to protect the mission. That must be what caused Tobias to react so violently.

But if so, why won't he talk to me about it? Or at least sit by me? His absence feels like a type of rejection, as if he doesn't want anything to do with me while he's thinking about Lauren. I try to push the idea away; Tobias has made it clear that he loves me, and I shouldn't waste time on unfounded jealousy, particularly when I agree with his concern. I don't want any more harm to come to Lauren. I don't.

But I don't want my boyfriend to avoid me while thinking about her, either. And as hard as I try to shove that thought away, it keeps finding its way back in. I suppose it's my own reaction to the stress.

I'm glad when the vehicle finally pulls to a stop, even if I don't know what to expect next. At least it's something different, and I can't take much more of sitting in tense silence.

As the engine cuts out, Tobias pulls his gun and aims it at me, and I belatedly remember that I'm supposed to be a prisoner. Caleb shifts a bit farther away from me as I close my cuffs and adjust the expression on my face into the sullen, defeated look they had me practice to perfection. Admittedly, it's easier to summon that look right now, with Tobias' hard eyes on me. I don't meet his gaze.

We all jump a little when Amar throws the door open and yells, "Bring the prisoner!" He points in turn at Christina and Peter and gestures them toward me. Tobias stands too, and he and Amar exchange a long look as they silently argue about whether or not he can come with us. Amar's mouth pushes down at the corners, and he turns an evaluating gaze on Marcus before finally nodding, and Tobias steps over to me. I'm relieved that he's insisting we stick together, but after my new realization, part of me worries about leaving Marcus here with Lauren.

Turning to Caleb, I whisper, "Keep Lauren safe." His eyes widen, and I know he doesn't understand why I would stress that now, but he nods anyway. As I turn to face the door of the truck, I realize how good it feels to trust my brother again.

Tobias takes my arm from behind, guiding me through the door and down to the ground as he carefully holds the gun to my head. For a few seconds, I'm still angry with him, and I almost shake his hand off, but the weapon reminds me that we have an act to maintain – and that we're in real danger. I don't want to repeat yesterday's events, facing death knowing that my last interaction with Tobias was to reject him. So, I let him hold my arm and stand closer to me than the act truly requires, and I remind myself that even if I don't like how he behaved in the last ten minutes, I do still love him.

I look around, trying to ignore the smell that is even stronger out here. We're standing on the side of a filthy road, the flickering streetlights dimly illuminating buildings that are some ten stories tall on both sides of the street. Years' worth of accumulated grime hangs from them, looking black against what was probably once a pale cement color. The street and sidewalk are even worse, with garbage, urine, and feces mixing together into piles that assault the eyes and nose equally. I try to keep my expression neutral, as if I've spent a lifetime in settings like this.

Priscilla leads us forward, and Amar takes up the rear, with Christina and Peter on the sides as we begin walking. Very shortly, it becomes clear why the street and sidewalks have become a public sewer. Dozens and dozens of small, hand-built shelters are crowded into the alleyway between the nearest two buildings, and Priscilla leads us straight into them. Everywhere I look, people are crammed into structures that don't seem like they could possibly support human life – fragile shells made of rotted wood, moldy cardboard, cloth, and the occasional sheet of metal. I hear babies crying and the sounds of coughing and sickness, as well as conversations that carry from an unknown distance. There is clearly no privacy here.

Dawn hasn't lit the sky yet, but lanterns and fires dot the shelters, providing enough light to see our way – and for others to see us. And they do, eyes peering out at us from all sides as we pass by. But whenever I return a look, the face pulls back into hiding immediately. It must be dangerous to be associated with a prisoner.

Tobias grips my arm tightly, and I know how he feels; suddenly, the living conditions of our factionless seem like paradise – at least they had plenty of empty buildings to use and had supplies provided by Abnegation. I can't imagine living like this, relying on something I cobbled together out of trash to protect me from the full brunt of winter weather. I wonder what these people eat.

Beside me, I can see Christina looking around, but she does a decent job of masking any reaction she has. On my other side, Peter looks disgusted, but no more so than usual. I shift closer to Tobias, his behavior on the truck temporarily forgotten as I seek comfort in being near him. He pulls me toward his chest, pretending he's afraid I'll escape in this chaos.

Finally, we reach the end of the alleyway, only to find that the shelters continue into the space behind the buildings. They extend almost to the doorstep of a second row of buildings that was hidden behind the first, and Priscilla leads us into one of those.

I don't know what I expect inside. Maybe that it will be like the apartments we saw in Candor, or even the ones in Erudite. But while it's certainly an improvement over the squalor outside, it can hardly be described as luxurious. We walk down hallway after hallway of grimy walls and chipped tile floors and closely-spaced doors, and then up three flights of stairs and down even more hallways. Voices sound from behind thin walls, and occasionally people scatter out of our way, their eyes wild as they stare at me.

Finally, Priscilla stops us outside an old metal door that looks loose on its hinges. She knocks loudly, the noise echoing in the corridor and startling me. It takes a second round of knocking to elicit a response, but then a man's voice calls, "Who is it?"

"Military!" Priscilla shouts in response. "Open up!" This seems like a cruel way to announce our presence, assuming we're at the door of a rebel, but there must be a reason for it.

I hear shuffling sounds from inside, and then the door opens to reveal a man who looks to be in his thirties, though it's difficult to be sure. His face is too lined and worn down by life to go with his blond hair and muscular frame. His face stays perfectly neutral as he asks, "How can we help you, officers?"

To my surprise, Priscilla answers very loudly, as if the man were standing on the other side of the room rather than two feet in front of her. "We are investigating a potential threat and believe that you might be able to help us find someone with information we need." As she speaks, she looks directly at the man and shakes her head slowly, the motion contradicting her words and tone.

"Don't worry," she continues loudly, "you are not under suspicion, nor is the person we want you to help us find. But if you can provide information, you would be doing a great service to your country." As she finishes, she raises her eyebrows as if prompting the man to answer.

He looks only at her as he responds in the same loud voice she used. "Of course we are happy to help. Please come in and ask us whatever you need."

Priscilla practically yells her answer. "First, if there is anyone else here, I must ask that they leave us alone for now. I'm sure you can understand that this investigation is sensitive. We cannot have anyone hearing our conversation without authorization."

There's a flurry of noise from the surrounding apartments, and from above and below us, and suddenly I understand why they were speaking so loudly. Everyone who is within hearing range – and is loyal to the government – must be preparing to vacate now. That will give us the privacy to discuss what we need without being overheard. Smart.

Sure enough, people begin stepping into the hallway from other doors as we follow the man into his apartment. It turns out to be nothing more than a single room, and a small one at that.

As we all cram into the room and close the door behind us, I see a woman standing against the far wall, struggling to hide her fear as she shields a young girl behind her back. I meet the wide blue eyes peering from around her leg, and I feel a stab of sympathy for all the children growing up in a world like this, and for the parents who are unable to keep them safe.

We wait in silence while the scurrying from outside gradually subsides. Most of us stay still, uncertain what to do, but Priscilla walks over to the woman and embraces her. I see tears on their cheeks as they gaze at each other for a long moment. The man looks nervously between them and the rest of us before retrieving his daughter and setting her down on the mattress on the floor, giving her something to play with. It takes me a moment to realize it's a doll made out of strips of cloth. It's probably her only toy.

Once it's clear that everyone within hearing range has evacuated, we gather into a tight circle in the small space the room affords us. The couple keep their eyes on Priscilla.

"You shouldn't have come back," the woman whispers. "We can't help you right now. We can't even help ourselves."

"I'm sorry," Priscilla murmurs, and I hear genuine regret in her tone. "But we lost three people on the way here, and our vehicle, and we have a badly injured companion. We had no choice but to seek you out."

"It's not safe to talk to us," the man says quietly but insistently. "They're broadcasting three times a day, and I don't even want to guess how high the serum levels are. We have enough water stored for a week or two, but that won't do us much good." He doesn't look at anyone as he adds, "Yesterday's broadcasts said that we all need to be good citizens and give water to anyone who looks thirsty, and to make sure they drink it."

As the words sink in, the woman asks plaintively, "How are we supposed to go out now, knowing that we could be forced to drink water at any time?" She shakes her head. "And the moment we do, we could turn ourselves in – and everyone we know." She looks at Priscilla, her eyes wide and filled with tears as she adds, "I'm scared, Scill. I've never been this scared."

"Can't you stay in here?" I find myself asking. They look at my feet, and I'm reminded of how the people in the SUV tried not to look at us so they couldn't betray us later. It seems odd now, given that we've just walked through crowds of people to get here, and suddenly I wonder why Amar exposed us like that. But then I remember how differently people reacted to me when I became Dauntless rather than Abnegation, and it occurs to me that it's human nature to see roles and body language more than faces. I doubt anyone we just passed would recognize us in a different context, or that they could describe anything except the uniforms and the fact that soldiers escorted a young female prisoner past them. The realization makes me smile a little. There's nothing quite like hiding in plain sight….

The man's eyes are still on the floor as he considers my question. Finally, he shakes his head, his voice rough as he answers. "We can't hide in here for long. We don't have enough food, and the neighbors would become suspicious, particularly after your visit. It's slightly safer to play along and hope we don't have to drink much outside of here."

The woman glances at her daughter and whispers even more quietly, "It wouldn't bother me so much if it weren't for Emmy." She swallows hard and continues, "But we've screwed her over no matter what we do. When they catch us, either they'll take her too, or she'll be on her own. No one will go near a child of traitors. She'll freeze or starve…."

There's silence for a moment, and then Priscilla speaks again. "For what it's worth, we do have a plan – a good one. If she can get through the next week, there's hope for her future."

The woman's eyes hang desperately on Priscilla, and she asks, "What do you need?"

"Money, or a place to sell jewelry to get it. An inconspicuous vehicle or another way to travel east. And people to pretend to be military and to help us plant bombs. I won't lie to you – they'll probably die in the process. I understand that you can't do that, what with Emmy and all, but what about the others? They must still be safe, or they would have turned you in, right?"

The woman bites her lip, thinking. "I wouldn't guarantee it. We haven't been active in the group for a while, so if someone turned, we probably wouldn't be the ones they'd go after first."

The man lays a hand on her arm and says to Priscilla, "There are some I'd bet are still okay. We know they store water and pay attention, and they hide well. If we haven't been caught yet, I'm sure they haven't. But you can't approach them dressed like that, or they'll kill you or themselves before you get too close."

Priscilla nods. "Will you help us contact them?"

The couple exchanges another look, a thousand words passing in their gaze, and then they both nod resolutely. "Yes," the man answers. "But it will have to be now. And whoever comes with us will be exposed, so pick carefully."

They begin discussing names and locations and levels of trustworthiness, but I stop listening. I keep thinking of what Priscilla said about just needing to get through the next week, and I find my eyes drawn to the little girl. She looks like she's eight or nine, about the same age as the Divergent girl I helped in Candor – and the same age as the boy Eric shot right next to me. And suddenly I'm tired of letting soldiers and battles decide the fate of innocent children. Emmy shouldn't lose her parents, let alone her life, because they can't hide for a single week. Surely we're smart enough to find a way around that.

"What is it?" Tobias asks me abruptly, and I realize he's been watching me and can tell I'm not comfortable with the direction we're going. The others grow silent at his words, their eyes on me – except for the couple, who continue to avoid looking at my face. I bite my lip, trying to figure out how to voice my thoughts.

"We're looking at this the wrong way," I finally say. "The government is worried right now, and we shouldn't do anything to make them more worried. That will just make them tighten their grip again, and then everyone we meet will watch us even more closely. That isn't a good thing."

Tobias nods. "What do you suggest instead?"

I sigh. "We should forget about trying to bomb anything and focus on getting some of our allies out of here. If we succeed at…what we're trying to do, then we'll need them afterwards. And if we fail, then at least they'll have a fighting chance at living somewhere else."

I rub the back of my neck and look at the woman as I continue. "You could do what we did to get here – dress anyone you want to take with you in the military uniforms and take the truck we have, but keep a couple of people as 'prisoners' and pretend they have information about Chicago. That should get you far enough out of the city to hide somewhere. Just get off the highway at a minor exit and wander until you find water, and stay there for a couple of weeks. There's some food in the truck, and you can take whatever you have, and you can eat plants and animals if you need to. It should be enough for a short time. If you stop receiving broadcasts, you'll know it's safe to come back. And if you don't…well, you'll have to decide what to do next. But it would buy you time to make that decision. It would buy Emmy time."

Dead silence greets my words, until Christina finally says, "They could take Lauren with them, and maybe that way she'll survive." I can't help glancing at Tobias as I nod. He still looks thoughtful, and maybe a little guilty, but he's nodding too.

"It will be more convincing if you have a full complement of people in the truck," he says. "Do you have enough allies for that?"

The man and woman exchange a long look, and then the man answers, "I think we could get fifteen or so. Add in your Lauren, and whoever else you want to send with us, and it would be pretty close." He sounds excited, though still scared. This is probably the first ray of hope they've felt in weeks, or maybe far longer.

I glance around the group. Peter looks like he couldn't care less what they do, but the others are clearly considering the idea. Priscilla seems the most resistant. She eyes Amar as she says, "We came along to plant the bombs. Are you telling me that isn't important now?" The words twist into my stomach as I realize what they imply – that there was no reason for two of her companions to die. That there was no reason for her to risk everything to come with us. That we've wasted their efforts and lives.

Amar shakes his head, his voice calm as he addresses her. "The situation has changed. We never expected the military to have spread out as far as they have or for the country as a whole to be as alert as they are. It would be foolish to ignore those changes and to continue with the original plan no matter what. You have an opportunity now to save lives and to create a new population of outsiders if we need it. If we fail, you could build a new Chicago. That's far more important than the bombs at this point."

Priscilla thinks about that for a long moment and then smiles a little. "Okay. What do we do?"

As they resume talking, with more enthusiasm this time though no more volume, I notice Tobias looking at me with a small smile. "What?" I ask him.

"Nothing, really," he whispers so only I can hear. "I was just wondering if maybe you have an aptitude for Amity after all."

The comment makes my lips turn up a bit at the corners. "As long as I don't have to eat the bread," I mutter. And for the first time in two days, I see a genuine grin on Tobias' face. It makes my heart lift as I re-focus on the conversation around us.

I'm not sure how long the planning continues after that, but by the time dawn arrives, we begin taking action.