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adrenaline coursing through him, mixing with fear, exhilaration, and then, to his surprise, laughter, which erupted out of his mouth like a bark at first.
    Everyone turned, looking at him, as shocked as he was by his laughter, and then they joined him.
    Jayla joined him on the couch, and their eyes met. She smiled and said, “You’re pretty cool, Adam.”
    “Balls like grapefruits!” Morgan shouted, ripping into a box of cookies, and chowing on them.
    Adam was too excited and nervous to eat, though.
    “Shouldn’t we get back to the TV hall?” Adam asked.
    “No, we’re gonna wait until right before the show is over and they go back to live footage,” Tommy said.
    “Relax,” Jayla said, putting a hand on Adam’s hand.
    Her skin was soft, and so much darker than his pale skin. And his hand was shaking.
    “Everything’s gonna be OK,” she said, smiling the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.
    And as Adam sat there with his new friends, next to the prettiest girl in the world, he felt happier than he could remember being in a long time. He wished his father could see him.
    And with that thought came a flash of guilt as he wondered what his father would think of his theft.

CHAPTER 12 — Jonah Lovecraft
    J onah woke with a splitting headache hammering between his ears hard enough to make him wonder whether he’d been out all night or half-dead for a month. His throat was dry, and his mind filled with a fog thick enough to cut through.
    His arms and legs were bound to a chair.
    He pulled at the bindings, but they wouldn’t give, and pulling hurt his arms too much.
    Jonah blinked several times, trying to move his mind into motion as he cast his eyes across the dim room, which was lit by a single old tube light in the ceiling. Still waiting for his blurred vision to clear, Jonah sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose at the musty scent.
    He wondered how long he’d been out, and more so, where the hell the kids had brought him. The last thing he remembered was them walking toward a tunnel.
    He couldn’t remember anything after that.
    They must’ve drugged me with a coma dart or something.
    The wavy lines in front of his eyes finally straightened, and Jonah found himself blinking at an ancient-looking poster, still trying to focus. The poster, announcing some sort of high-speed train, showed a drawing of a giant train racing through a tunnel and out onto a track high above a city. Giant bold type announced,
    “ The Bullit: The Maglev Across America! Tomorrow’s Train TODAY! Debuting in the Winter of 2030.”
    He was underground, in the old Maglev station, which had been turned into an underground habitat for many banished from City 6. He’d never been to the station and had only heard of it from Duncan, though most people didn’t know of its location. While the Cities didn’t care much about anyone beyond The Wall, there were no doubt people living in The Barrens that City Watch would love to get its hands on — to question, torture, and exact some ounce of flesh for offenses, real and perceived.
    Had the people who’d taken him known that he was Underground and that he’d helped get so many people to this very place, he’d be a hero, not a prisoner. But neither the City nor the network had exposed him as an Underground operative. They didn’t want to make him a martyr — so instead, they made him a crazed wife killer.
    All Jonah was to these people was a former Watcher, someone they’d hold responsible for their treatment within The Walls of City 6.
    Jonah was an enemy without a state.
    He twisted his head to the right, gasping in a surprise when his gaze fell onto a man whose shoulders were broad enough to be dangerous, though he was short enough to be considered a dwarf.
    “Nice to see you awake,” the dwarf said.
    Jonah tried to hide his shock of seeing a dwarf, as it was so rare to see one alive. Dwarves were among those forced to live in the Dark Quarters, lives consigned to freak show or sex trade. That was assuming they weren’t murdered at birth as most were. The Cities allowed only one child per couple unless you could afford a ticket for a second. Parents rarely wanted to “waste” their child credit on anything less than a perfect clone of themselves.
    The dwarf seemed to be around 35 or so, with long brown hair and a matching scruffy beard. His eyes were ice blue, though weary from all that he’d likely seen and experienced.
    “You’re probably wondering how long you’ve