The Fall of Crazy House, page 1
Copyright
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2019 by James Patterson
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ISBN 978-0-316-51500-9
E3-20190307-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1: Cassie
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9: Becca
Chapter 10: Cassie
Chapter 11: Becca
Chapter 12: Cassie
Chapter 13: Becca
Chapter 14
Chapter 15: Cassie
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18: Becca
Chapter 19
Chapter 20: Cassie
Chapter 21: Becca
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24: Cassie
Chapter 25
Chapter 26: Becca
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29: Cassie
Chapter 30: Becca
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34: Cassie
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37: Becca
Chapter 38
Chapter 39: Cassie
Chapter 40
Chapter 41: Becca
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44: Cassie
Chapter 45: Becca
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48: Cassie
Chapter 49
Chapter 50: Becca
Chapter 51
Chapter 52: Cassie
Chapter 53
Chapter 54: Becca
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59: Cassie
Chapter 60: Becca
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63: Cassie
Chapter 64: Becca
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67: Cassie
Chapter 68
Chapter 69: Becca
Chapter 70
Chapter 71: Cassie
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74: Becca
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77: Cassie
Chapter 78
Chapter 79: Becca
Chapter 80
Chapter 81: Cassie
Chapter 82
Chapter 83: Becca
Chapter 84
Chapter 85: Cassie
Chapter 86: Becca
Chapter 87
Chapter 88: Cassie
Chapter 89: Helen
Chapter 90: Becca
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93: Cassie
Chapter 94
Chapter 95: Becca
Chapter 96: Helen
Chapter 97: Becca
Chapter 98: The Loner
Chapter 99: Cassie
Chapter 100: Becca
Chapter 101: Helen
Chapter 102: Cassie
Chapter 103: Becca
Chapter 104: Cassie
Chapter 105
Chapter 106: Becca
Chapter 107
Chapter 108: Cassie
Chapter 109: Becca
Chapter 110
Chapter 111: Cassie
Chapter 112: Becca
Chapter 113: Cassie
Chapter 114: Becca
Chapter 115: Cassie
Chapter 116: Becca
Chapter 117: Cassie
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120: Becca
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124: Cassie
Chapter 125
Chapter 126: Becca
Chapter 127: Helen
Chapter 128: Becca
About the Authors
JIMMY Patterson Books for Young Adult Readers
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1
CASSIE
MY HEART WAS BEATING SO hard I was sure the United soldiers could hear it. It radiated out from my sore, bruised chest, ricocheting off the unyielding trees, the ice daggers hanging from every branch. The woods vibrated with my heartbeat, echoing life… or death. Life… or death. Over and over.
My hands were numb and I clutched my rifle by instinct rather than feel. With every breath I pulled in, more lung cells froze, iced over, became hard and brittle. I would never recover. Recovering wasn’t even the point anymore.
It was me against United soldiers, and my heartbeat betrayed my position every second.
For the last hour, I’d been holding steady, but in the Resistance, simply staying alive is the lamest possible default. As much as I wanted to sink into the snow, the ice, and into oblivion, I knew I had to act. And the only action that made sense, the only plan that could possibly work, had a price so high that my brain shied away from it like a nervous horse from a rattlesnake back on our farm.
Once more I sluggishly evaluated already-discarded options. Every one of them ended with me dead, the Uniteds winning, and the rest of the camp fatally compromised. I didn’t mind dying—I’d lost that fear ages ago in the Crazy House. Death was bearable, even preferable at this point. Failure wasn’t. The days, weeks, months of incessant, soul-crushing, body-breaking training had ensured that the merest thought of failure was enough to make every neuron in my brain implode.
As I picked up the faintest sounds of heavy military boots crunching toward me through the thin top layer of ice, my mind focused painfully on the one choice that remained. It was unbearable—the worst choice possible—and the only one that might not lead to failure.
Shit shit shit. I had to do it. It was the only way. Gulping convulsively, I tapped the comm on my coat collar. “Beck, come in,” I breathed.
My twin sister’s voice, tired and cranky, came back. “Becca here. ’Sup?”
2
SEVENTEEN YEARS IN AN AG cell hadn’t prepared me for anything riskier than corn fungus or more difficult than confronting a slacker on my science-a-thon team. The last twelve months had been a one-eighty from my previous life, but the constant that remained had been Becca. Reckless, ridiculous Rebecca. My identical twin. And by identical I mean that we share virtually no similarities except our looks… and a fierce, unbreakable, unshakeable love for each other, no matter what. In everything else—taste in food, clothes, boys, music, weapons—she’s totally nuts.
“I’m on the ridge,” I told Becca quietly, my lips stiff and thick with cold. “I need… I need you to flank east and take out as many of the Uniteds as possible. To give me cover.”
On the other end, Becca was silent. For twenty-seven heartbeats. I knew she was calculating the odds, figuring out the plan, realizing that she was going to be sacrificed for the good of the camp and me. Realizing that I was sending her to die.
Death was nothing, but I was terrified of losing my sister, the only family I had left. Like I said, the worst choice possible. War had put me in this position. War puts everyone in this position.
Becca’s voice came back with only the slightest waver. “Roger that, Cass. Leaving now.”
Becca’s comm clicked off just as I opened my mouth to say, No, don’t! I changed my mind!
My quick breaths were like punches against my breastbone. I tapped my comm again. “This is Cassie,” I told the relay. “I’m heading toward the mountain. United’s hot on my tail. Expect company.”
“Copy that,” said a voice through the crackly comm system.
Much closer now, a branch snapped, sounding like a boulder shattering in these hard, icy woods. The United soldiers were sweeping the area. They were almost on me. Becca should be in place now. Suddenly my cold-slowed reactions burst into animal-survival mode, my muscles twitching, my whole being consumed by a primitive refusal to be prey. It was now or never.
3
WITH EVERY COLD, CRAMPED MUSCLE screaming, I broke out of my hiding place and quickly took my bearings. I couldn’t see the United soldiers yet but heard them coming up the ridge I was on.
Feeling much, much older than eighteen, I snuck toward the edge of the woods. I’d been motionless for so long that my hands and feet felt dead, making me clumsy, loosening my hold on my rifle. I stumbled against a rough-barked pine, whacking my shoulder, and bit down a grunt of pain.
Then I heard shouts. The first sound of gunfire made me stiffen, whipping my head toward the sound. Oh, God, that was Becca. That was Becca giving me cover. I crouched as I heard a spray of bullets and a choked scream.
Becca! I took an unconscious step in her direction. No, don’t turn back, I ordered myself.
After a few more steps through snow halfway to my knees, I caved and looked back. Through the woods I saw that Becca was still standing, blooms of red like poppies spreading over her white winter gear. She was yelling and flipping the bird with one hand, because of being Becca.
Then a new volley of bullets knocked her off her feet, flung her backward to land heavily on the hard-packed snow. My mouth opened to scream but no sound came out. I clamped numb fingers against my lips as my knees gave way and I sank into the snow. The noise of firing guns bounced around inside my head, making me dizzy. The bullets kept hitting, making Becca’s limp body twitch grotesquely.
My sister. The only family I had left. I had ordered her to die so that I could live.
Gulping down nausea, choking on pointless sobs, I clutched my rifle and raced away from Becca’s blood-soaked body. I’d been trained for exactly this. I would deal with my emotions later. Right now our camp was depending on me. This fight wasn’t over. I ran through the trees, knowing my boots left obvious footprints in the snow.
After everything we’d been through, Becca was dead and I was alone.
4
BECCA HAD BOUGHT ME TIME and a decent head start, but the Uniteds kept coming, following me easily. Every so often I ducked behind a rock, lay down some ribbons of cover fire. I heard screams and had no reaction to them. Sometimes their bullets struck trees so close to me that hot, splintery shards of bark hit my frozen cheeks, stinging like needles.
The objective should be right ahead of me, right around this—suddenly I windmilled to a stop, going up on my toes, trying to keep my weight back. This should be a United entrenchment, a fortified location for their high-powered weapons. But it was a cliff, a sheer drop-off—all the maps I had were wrong! They’d led me to this cliff, and a long way down was a roaring, frigidly cold river. Goddamnit! How had this happened? Rifle shots shredded trees behind me. Someone had given me inaccurate maps. Why?
Realization seeped into the frozen paths of my brain, and a bitter smile crossed my face. I knew why.
Again, my only choice was the worst one possible: I had to jump. The river below might be shallow, making this jump a suicide. There might be sharp rocks on the bottom waiting to break my neck, my spine, my skull. This might be where it ends. This might be where I failed.
Had Becca died for nothing? Would I get picked off now, so easily?
No.
In war there was no place for emotion. Zero.
“One, two, three!” I hissed, and jumped before I could think myself out of it. I fell for a surprisingly long time and then I hit freezing water as hard as concrete.
5
SOMETIMES THE HOT WATER RUNS out and you’re stuck taking a cold shower and it feels like a huge hardship. Well, I’m here to tell you that you’re a pathetic, weak loser who should never mention the words cold shower again. Being slammed into this river—there were no words for this kind of cold. I was shocked almost to unconsciousness, stunned, instantly wracked with consuming pain from a cold so cold that it felt like fire. It knocked every coherent thought out of my head and I was dumbfounded when I bobbed up to the surface and my lungs told me to breathe.
Seconds later, bullets hissed with steam as they sliced the water around me. I looked up to see gray-garbed United soldiers at the top of the cliff, pointing their weapons at me. I was still holding my rifle, my fingers frozen around it. With my last effort, I raised my gun and fired. I hit a United soldier, who screamed and fell headfirst into the fast-moving water about twenty yards away.
Well, what was one more? I’d already killed Becca.
The harsh current swept me roughly downstream and I was barely able to keep my chin above water. Hypothermia was setting in—my brain was foggy and I couldn’t feel my body, could hardly remember what I was doing or why I was here. Still, something kept me trying to head to the other side of the river. But the current was too strong. I was freezing to death. Literally.
I had nearly made peace with my slow death when my sister’s face popped into my brain. Don’t you let me sacrifice myself for nothing, she scolded. My ass is dead and you better swim like a goddamn eel to the other side, you hear me?
Becca mad is not a good situation. I moved one arm, then the other.
Swim, you bitch! she snapped.
So I did. Inch by painful inch, the other shore got closer.
Somehow my boots hit the bottom. I crawled upward on the icy sand, dragging myself away from the punishing river. I couldn’t feel anything, except the violent shivering of my body. I was so tired. So, so tired. Tears leaked from my eyes, burning my frozen cheeks.
Dimly, a sound reached my ears. A steady rhythm. It was—a slow clap.
With great effort I pried open my stinging eyes, blearily focusing on the figure walking toward me.
“Not bad, Cassie,” said Helen Strepp.
6
I LAY ON THE COLD sand feeling like a dying seal while Ms. Strepp made some notes about my death-defying feats. My days of caring about what she thought were over.
“Leaders have to make hard choices,” she said. “Leaders sacrifice the comfort of their souls in order to save others from having to make hard choices. You finally made the right choice, and just in time. If you’d failed again, you’d be on your way back to Cell B-whatever it was.”
“Killing my sister was the right choice?” I mumbled against the sand.
“Yes,” she said crisply. “Obviously.”
A voice came toward me, floating out of the line of trees circling our compound. “Yeah. And I plan to hold it against you for the rest of your life,” Becca said.
I blinked and turned my head slightly to see her. Her white snowsuit was splotched with bright-red blood. More of our fellow soldiers of the Resistance came behind her, a bunch of underfed, overtrained kids in white camo, their arms and faces marred by scars old and new. Many held heavy weapons with ease, showing it was second nature.
I let out a breath, flattening more onto the hard sand. If I’d failed this time, I would’ve never seen them again. Slowly my brain thawed out and started generating coherent thoughts. I was a soldier, just like them. A year ago I’d been a senior in high school in a tidy farming cell that produced feed corn, beef, and smaller amounts of vegetables for the Co-op.
Then Becca had disappeared and I’d set off to find her. We’d ended up at the Crazy House. Months there had broken down everything we had known or believed about our cell, our lives, ourselves. All truths had been dismantled and remade. Among the lessons in survival, killing, surveillance, and endurance, I’d been conditioned not to cry—never to cry.
When we’d gotten out, we were soldiers.
Inhaling deeply, I brushed sand off my face and sat up, feeling about a hundred years old. Now that feeling was coming back, every muscle burned, and I felt sick. Becca knelt by me, her bloody snowsuit inches from my face. Our eyes met and it was both like looking into a mirror and looking past a mirror, through it to another me, another universe.
I started crying silently.
7
WIPING MY NOSE ON MY wet sleeve, I stood up, ignoring Becca’s helping hand. She gave a wry smile of understanding and passed me a flask of something warm and laced with alcohol: moonshine. It acted like antifreeze, making veins open and blood flow again.
“Finally,” said Sasha, a soldier maybe a year older than me. I handed her the flask and she drank and then said, “Jeez, I was getting so sick of watching you screw up.”
