Madeleine’s face was hard angles and shadow.

  She hammered her fingers into the console:

  New text appeared on screen:

  A pause. Then more text, slower this time.

  She felt her stomach drop. If sirens started to blare, and lights blinked red, they’d all lose their shit.

  “Why?” she whispered. “It’s only one more.” She didn’t want an answer from the system. She was talking to herself. But the system picked up on it and offered a response.

  Madeleine stared at the blinking cursor. A quiet whirring filled the room. She didn’t move. But inside her head was a hurricane.

  How can a system be this rigid? It had to be.

  Because humans are weak.

  What if a new person was added from the inside? A pregnancy?

  They are all one family

  Were…

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  What if the system reacts, but we just ignore the blaring sirens and flashing red lights?

  Good luck with that…

  One too many.

  “But…” she cried, feeling frozen and powerless.

  She remembered how she, on the way here, had thought you could always get rid of one, but you can’t conjure the extra people needed. Now, only hours later, that felt very different.

  A clicking sound followed. Then another recording of her mother played, filling the small room with the voice she missed so much.

  “If you’re hearing this, you’re thinking about saving everyone. That’s sweet. I am proud to have raised you the right way. But this is different. You’re not a savior, Madeleine. You’re a leader. A fortress can’t be built on dead weight. Choose your crew. Learn what you need to learn. Not everyone who survived the end of the world is capable of surviving what comes afterward.”

  Madeleine didn’t move. Just blinked once. Then again. Then she exhaled, slow and soundless. Her mind started spinning. “Was this a test? Why would she do this to her?”

  How should she choose? She didn’t even know them. Had never really spoken to any of them. Had never met them outside class. They were all weak!

  Lived cushy lives with their parents, went on dates, curated their social media profiles.

  None of them had gone through what she had gone through. None of them was prepared for this.

  For a brief moment, she wished she hadn’t saved anyone. Being alone was what she was best at.

  You can’t accomplish this on your own. Her mother had written this in thick red letters on the top of one of the very first pages of the book.

  I wish I could.

  Her thoughts zoomed in on Mate. They had exchanged a glance earlier. She’d seen determination in her eyes. Mate had looked at her like she trusted her. That was worth something.

  She thought about Crazy. He was one of those kids that only had survived to reach teenage because of a caring society of leave-no-one-behind. Outside of civilization, he’d be probably the first one evolution got rid of. Weak, meek, shy, hyper nervous, not even able to see a lion if it were right in front of him without his finger-thick glasses.

  And there was Scott. She hated Scott. That schmuck was always interrupting people as they spoke, thought he knew everything better, made fun of everyone. The way he'd look at her in the hallways, eyes sliding past, as if she was some sort of object, and then dropping a comment, calling her Mad Maddy because she preferred to keep it to herself.

  And others started calling her that too.

  She sniffed hard, pulling back the snot that was about to run down her lip. Then she dragged her sleeve across her face, smearing away dried tears.

  No more crying.

  Scott would probably be the first to question her decisions and leadership, which could lead to a fractioning of the Legion before it was even formed.

  She had an answer. She knew who the weed was that needed to be pulled.

  Knowing the 'who' felt good. Now she needed to figure out the how.

  She knew how to dispose of him.

  People got sick. Some injured on the way to the bunker. In short, people died. Even in luxury doomsday shelters. And you couldn’t leave them to rot with the living. That’s why each bunker had a crematorium. Ashes would be used as fertilizer.

  But could she kill him?

  She felt the cold run down her spine. The fine white hair on her forearms straightening.

  Could she kill at all?

  I've never killed anyone.

  The lie caught in her throat like a razorblade. Carmen's screams suddenly echoed inside her skull. The thumping of her pounding fists. The voice that had turned from begging to sobbing to a raw, animal squealing. Strangely distorted in the hiss of decontamination fog. As if it was coming from another world.

  But she wouldn’t have survived—not someone like her.

  A sound tore from Madeleine’s chest, something between a cough and a sob. She hit her head with the palm of her hand, again and again, as if it was a stuck radio, and punching it would fix it, a stuck radio that was playing Carmen’s last moment on a loop.

  Carmen was dead because of her. Carmen with a quiet voice, just like herself. Carmen who would raise her hand tentatively in class, then lower it if she saw someone else was raising theirs too. To let them go first.

  Carmen who was too shy to take off her clothes… another realization hit her.

  Carmen might be still alive. Still screaming in that sealed off decontamination chamber.

  Footsteps, coming from the hallway.

  Madeleine looked up, then turned around.

  A figure appeared in the door frame. Backlit by bunker fluorescents.

  She flinched when she realized it was Scott.

  "Why are you crying?" he said, his voice brash.

  Arms loose at his sides. At least, for once, he was not smirking.

  She snapped upright. "None of your business," she said. "Please get out."

  Scott didn't move. Just watched her.

  And there was something strange in his eyes.

  "You're not made of stone, huh," he muttered.

  Something in his voice lacked the cutting edge she expected. It wasn't soft exactly, but it wasn't cruel either.

  "If you want to be alone, I respect that." Then he turned and walked out.

  She stared after him for a long time.

  Then she pounded her fists on the console.