Surrender

  praise for possession

  “Possession held me completely captivated from beginning to end. And what an end! I fell in love with the characters and had countless moments of ‘Wow.’” —JAMES DASHNER, bestselling author of The Maze Runner and The Scorch Trials

  “This debut dystopia succeeds at suspense and tension. … Revelations come hard and fast.” —Kirkus Reviews

  “Action and romantic tension for readers who like a good mix of the two.” —MTV.com

  “Perfect for those who relish a hearty romance mixed in with science fiction. … As readers follow the relationship triangle, they will gasp with anticipation wondering which boy she will ultimately choose.” —VOYA

  elanajohnson.com

  Raine has always been a good girl. She lives by the rules in Freedom. After all, they are her father’s rules: He’s the Director. It’s because of him that Raine is willing to use her talent—a power so dangerous, no one else is allowed to know about it. Not even her roommate, Vi.

  All of that changes when Raine falls for Gunner. Raine’s got every reason in the world to stay away from Gunn, but she just can’t. Especially when she discovers his connection to Vi’s boyfriend, Zenn.

  Raine has never known anyone as heavily brainwashed as Vi. Raine’s father expects her to spy on Vi and report back to him. But Raine is beginning to wonder what Vi knows that her father is so anxious to keep hidden, and what might happen if she helps Vi remember it. She’s even starting to suspect Vi’s secrets might involve Freedom’s newest prisoner, the rebel Jag Barque.…

  The thrilling and seductive sequel to

  possession

  elana johnson wishes she could experience her first kiss again, tell the mean girl where to go, and have cool superpowers. To fulfill her desires, she writes young adult science fiction and fantasy. She lives in central Utah, where she spends her time with many students, one husband, and two kids. Find out more at elanajohnson.com.

  Jacket designed by Angela Goddard

  Jacket photograph copyright © 2012 by PM Images/Getty Images and Arthur Morris/Corbis

  Author photograph by Penny Welch

  Simon Pulse

  Simon & Schuster, New York

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  TEEN.SimonandSchuster.com

  surrender

  Also by Elana Johnson

  possession

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIMON PULSE

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  First Simon Pulse hardcover edition June 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Elana Johnson

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Designed by Mike Rosamilia and Angela Goddard

  The text of this book was set in Berling LT.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Johnson, Elana.

  Surrender / by Elana Johnson. — 1st Simon Pulse hardcover ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: In Freedom, where Thinkers rule and Rules should never be broken, Raine, daughter of the Director, is expected to spy on her roommate, Vi, and report back to him in case heavy brainwashing is not enough to prevent Vi from remembering the secrets he is anxious to keep hidden.

  ISBN 978-1-4424-4568-0 (hardcover)

  [1. Science fiction. 2. Rules (Philosophy)—Fiction. 3. Brainwashing—Fiction. 4. Insurgency—Fiction. 5. Fathers and daughters—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.J64053Sur 2012 [Fic]—dc23 2011040177

  ISBN 978-1-4424-4570-3 (eBook)

  To my children, who I hope will never give up, never surrender, in the fight for what they think is right

  contents

  Chapter 1: Gunner

  Chapter 2: Raine

  Chapter 3: Gunner

  Chapter 4: Raine

  Chapter 5: Gunner

  Chapter 6: Raine

  Chapter 7: Gunner

  Chapter 8: Raine

  Chapter 9: Gunner

  Chapter 10: Raine

  Chapter 11: Gunner

  Chapter 12: Raine

  Chapter 13: Gunner

  Chapter 14: Raine

  Chapter 15: Gunner

  Chapter 16: Raine

  Chapter 17: Gunner

  Chapter 18: Raine

  Chapter 19: Gunner

  Chapter 20: Raine

  Chapter 21: Gunner

  Chapter 22: Raine

  Chapter 23: Gunner

  Chapter 24: Raine

  Chapter 25: Gunner

  Chapter 26: Raine

  Chapter 27: Gunner

  Chapter 28: Raine

  Chapter 29: Gunner

  Chapter 30: Raine

  Chapter 31: Gunner

  Chapter 32: Raine

  Chapter 33: Gunner

  Chapter 34: Raine

  Chapter 35: Gunner

  Chapter 36: Raine

  Chapter 37: Gunner

  Chapter 38: Raine

  Chapter 39: Gunner

  Chapter 40: Raine

  Chapter 41: Gunner

  Chapter 42: Raine

  Chapter 43: Gunner

  Chapter 44: Raine

  Chapter 45: Gunner

  Chapter 46: Raine

  Chapter 47: Gunner

  Chapter 48: Raine Arena

  Acknowledgments

  Gunner

  1.

  Someone is always watching. Always listening. Freedom doesn’t exist in the city of Freedom, what with the glinting silver surfaces recording thoughts everywhere and the surrounding walls keeping everyone and everything in—or out.

  On the east, the ocean hugs Freedom, but no one knows how to swim. That’s against protocol, and all Citizens follow protocol.

  Identity also doesn’t flourish in Freedom. Which was why, on this crap Monday, I escaped the confines of the Education Rise amidst a stream of other students, hopefully unnoticed by Raine she’d be easier to ignore if she wasn’t so gorgeous Hightower.

  Up next: snacking and flying.

  Or so I thought.

  Raine materialized out of nowhere, her stark-as-snow hair falling over one shoulder. She adjusted her hat as I cast my eyes around to see if anyone was watching us. We seemed to be as alone as two people could be in a city where Thinkers monitored everything, from what job I’d do for the rest of my life to who I’d marry.

  I wished They’d chosen Raine for me.

  “Hey, flyboy,” she said. Her voice made my insides flip. She stepped off her hoverboard and fell into stride beside me.

  I fought the urge to look behind me, see if any of my buddies saw me talking with this amazing girl. I managed to stall the smile before it gave my feelings away.

  “Hey.” I pocketed my hands against the February afternoon chill. I could’ve mouthed Raine’s next words. />
  “We really need you, Gunner.”

  I didn’t respond. Not a sigh, not a shrug, nothing. Now, if she’d say “I really need you,” I’d probably reconsider everything. But she never did.

  I’d heard her recruitment speech before. Raine belonged to a group called the Insiders, and apparently they were working to enact some “governmental change.”

  I was pretty sure that meant she snuck out after hours to drink contraband coffee with either her match/best friend Cannon Lichen or her tech guru Trek Whiting.

  She wouldn’t tell me anything about the Insiders until I joined, and I wasn’t joining until she told me something.

  The conversation felt stale, but this was the first time she’d approached me in person. The other petitions had happened over my cache. I’ll admit, I liked this way better.

  I snuck a glance at Raine and admired her sea-foam-green eyes. Immediately afterward I heard her voice over my cache. Are you even listening to me?

  Every Citizen in Freedom is implanted with a cache when they’re born. In childhood, they were more of a nuisance, as they took special concentration to use. I couldn’t hear every thought someone had—I’m not a Thinker or a mind ranger. Those people can hear thoughts and read minds—and so much more.

  No, a cache was a mental communication implant. After I learned to focus my thoughts, thanks to the introductory course we all took as first-year primary students, caching was dead useful.

  I could talk to my buddies on the hoverboard track without yelling. I could send a friend a message without my mom knowing. Over time—and a few more caching lessons—sending and receiving messages became as easy as thinking.

  My friends and I exchanged conversations mentally while together. After we went home, messages were easily transcribed just by thinking and could then be sent as electro-communications. E-comms could be kept in the cache’s memory and accessed later.

  The Thinkers could monitor a cache stream, but They maintained a very exclusive Watched list. And trust me, you knew if you were on it. Saved e-comms, however, could cause problems if they fell into the wrong hands.

  I’d deleted all of Raine’s, some of the most recent ones without even reading them.

  Of course I’m listening, I chatted back to Raine, trying not to let her proximity derail my annoyance at her for asking—again. This issue was nonnegotiable. It’s just that I can’t join.

  Raine fidgeted with the fingers on her gloves, her agitation thinly disguised under a layer of frustration. I could feel it coming from her, though she didn’t know that, and I didn’t want her to find out.

  Not everyone appreciated an empath.

  “Your mom,” she said out loud.

  “My mom,” I repeated. I couldn’t leave her. She and I, we’d always been there for each other. I didn’t want to get her in trouble. She had a good job in the Transportation Rise. Sure, she worked until five, but no one needed to be home to monitor my afternoon snacking and flying sessions.

  Besides, Director Hightower—that’s right, Raine’s father—did all the monitoring in Freedom.

  Raine paused, one foot on the grass of the green area across from Rise One and one foot still on the sidewalk next to me. I looked at her properly, almost flinching with the beauty I found in her face.

  “So,” I said, working hard to keep my voice from breaking.

  “So, I’m worried about you, Gunn,” she said. A secret flashed in her eyes; her words held more than concern. I realized how little I really knew about this girl, despite my crush on her.

  I frowned. “Worried?”

  “My dad …”

  Now, her dad I knew all about. Technically he was a Regional Director, presiding over many cities in the nearby area. Not that I’d been to any of them. I didn’t know how close they were or what they were called. I just knew that Van Hightower owned a lot more than Freedom.

  Rise One loomed before me, making late-afternoon shadows drip across the green area. “I didn’t know you lived in Rise One,” I said. “I thought you had a student flat.”

  Raine’s mouth tightened at my blatant change in topic. “There’s a student section on the second and third floors.”

  “You have a flatmate?” I asked.

  “Yes. You want her picture?” Raine adopted her power stance: left hip out, arms crossed, eyes challenging me to say something.

  I held up my hands in surrender. “No, no picture.”

  Pictures could also be sent over the cache, attached to an e-comm. Everyone in Freedom was fitted with corneal implants, which allowed us to view things on an individual basis on our vision-screens. It wasn’t really a screen, more of a movie or picture displayed before our own eyes. Of course, you could forward images through the cache, or you could load them onto microchips and pass them around physically.

  See, every Citizen of Freedom also had a wrist-port. This was a simple, inch-wide band of black around the left wrist. On the top, just below the back of your hand, was a slot for microchips, and then you could watch memories on your vision-screen.

  We’d eliminated almost all handheld devices in Freedom. It’s something Assistant Director Myers was forever bragging about. “We’re down to just the electro-board!” he boasted from the roof of the Technology Rise—his beloved home just beyond the taller central Rises.

  The e-board was cool; I’d give AD Myers that. It was this tiny little thing, about four inches long and two inches wide. A screen could be brought up to hover above the device if you wanted to show your buddies a particularly entertaining memory. Other than that, we used the e-boards in school to store class notes. Simply compose a message in your cache and send it to your e-board. Notes: taken.

  Educators could send items to their class lists, providing students with an endless supply of study materials. Free-time hours: gone.

  “Anyway, she’s not a student,” Raine was saying. She took a few steps backward, committing fully to crossing the green area to Rise One. “Well, I should go.” She didn’t seem too enthused about leaving, but that could’ve been wishful thinking on my part.

  “Wait,” I called. “What’s your flatmate’s name?”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Just some chick named Vi.”

  I watched Raine walk away, wondering why Vi, a non-student, was living on a student floor, with a student. I needed to learn more about the real Raine Hightower, stat.

  * * *

  I glided through the remaining Rises, covering mile after mile easily on my hoverboard. Each Rise—and there were twelve situated in the center of Freedom—took up an entire square mile and created silver canyons, even with all the green areas. On the outskirts of those Rises, more buildings reached for the sky.

  My mom worked in the Transportation Rise, and there were others: technology, energy, water purification, protocol enforcement, medicine, and evolutionary development, just to name a few. Each Rise had a Thinker who ran the affairs in that particular area, but only one of them was Assistant to Director Hightower: Thane Myers.

  As I drifted through the Rise-canyons toward the Blocks, I forced the Directors from my mind, focusing instead on something more important: my snack selection. On Mondays, my two options included crackers and cheese or raisins. I chose the crackers every Monday.

  By the time I made it to Block Three, I’d moved on from snacks and spent a more than healthy amount of time fantasizing about Raine. I swept my palm across the panel on my front door and pushed into the living room, where my mom knelt in front of our safe, a slip of microchips in her hand.

  Everything froze, as if the Director had pressed the pause button on my life. Mom stalled with her hand halfway inside the safe. Her face held shock and fear and guilt, all of which I actually felt as my own emotions.

  I stared, my mouth still watering over the promise of crackers and cheese.

  Just as fast as we’d paused, life rushed forward again. The safe slammed shut, and Mom stood in front of it. Like that would erase the secret she’d just
put inside. Like I wouldn’t be able to see the hulking black box behind her. It’s always been there, and I’d always been involved in the decisions about what we hid inside. Until now.

  “Gunner, you’re home early.”

  “Not really.” I dropped my backpack and hoverboard and headed into the kitchen for that snack. The safe screamed at me to look at it! but I kept my eyes on the floor. “Why are you home?” I called to Mom.

  I pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and ordered up the crackers from the food-dispenser. Mom didn’t answer and she stayed in the living room, her frustration about my slobbish behavior a thin veil of normalcy over my heavy curtain of anxiety.

  “No reason,” she said when she came into the kitchen. “You’re going flying?”

  “Yeah, be back for dinner.” I ate on the way to the hoverboard track, but the crackers held no taste. The icy air I sliced through at the track felt just as restrictive as the rest of the city. As the rest of my life.

  All I could think about was that blasted sleeve of microchips, what they were, why my mom had hidden them without telling me.

  I flew my regulated hours, returned home at the appointed time. Just like always.

  Bedtime couldn’t come fast enough. At exactly ten o’clock, I plugged my cache into the mandatory transmissions, closed my eyes.

  Like I slept.

  After an hour that felt like forever, I unclipped my transmissions and crept downstairs to the safe. I had four minutes to plug back in, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Like I said, my mom and I didn’t used to keep secrets, so I knew the combination to the safe.

  Three minutes later the sleeve of microchips lay under my pillow and the transmissions reblared in my head.

  I needed time to think. So I lay awake, trying to imagine what I might see.

  I couldn’t.

  I popped the first chip into my wrist-port. My vision-screen filled with my mom’s remembrances. My past birthdays and, as I got older, my performances at the hoverboard flight trials. The second to last one held my victory last year. Mom was hiding her fondest memories of me, almost like she couldn’t hold them in her head anymore. Why would she secure these without telling me?