“We’re not going to save these kids by shuttling them around,” he tells Risa. He can’t help but look to the organ printer that sits so innocuously covered by a rag in the corner near where they sleep. There’s the answer, but an answer means nothing if the world doesn’t first hear the question.

They’re going to need help. Help from the outside.

It’s Grace, with her keen head for strategy, who gives them food for thought. “Of course, if you ask me, which you didn’t,” she says, “what ya gotta do is find someone connected in a wireless sort of way.”

“A viral grassroots media kind of thing?”

“More like fertilizer to get those roots growing in a healthy kinda way,” says Grace.

It immediately gets Connor thinking about Hayden. He’d be the first to call his “Radio Free Hayden” broadcasts fertilizer. After all, the range of his “station” never got beyond the boundaries of the airplane graveyard, but his little manifesto upon his arrest has become an iconic meme among the disenfranchised. If he broadcast now—or even shouted from the top of a building—people would listen. Unfortunately Connor has no idea where he is, or if he’s even still alive.

When they bring the question of their next move with the organ printer to Sonia, she has the same advice every day.

“Sleep on it,” Sonia tells them—and it’s infuriating. Could it be that she’s just as terrified as the rest of them about this powder keg on which they sit?

* * *

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* * *

Connor fixed the broken basement TV on his second day there. Beau insists it be tuned only to entertainment, and never the news.

“We know what’s going on out there, and none of it’s good,” says Beau. “Better we should all laugh and try to forget for a little while.”

Well, screw that. It’s the one time when Connor flexes his muscles and refuses to get with the program. Beau is wise enough not to fight. Instead he permits it, using it to show what a magnanimous leader he is.

The news doesn’t make anyone feel good—but as far as Connor is concerned, that’s how it should be. When you’re a prisoner of society, you shouldn’t play at escape. At least until you really can escape it.

It’s September now. Less than two months to election day, and the politicians who traditionally waffle on the unwinding issues are beginning to take sides that transcend all party lines, for the parties are divided. Connor watches a congressman on a Washington talk show speak of “the sociological necessity of unwinding undesirables.”

Although the basement is warm, Connor notices that Risa crosses her arms as she watches, rubbing them like she’s shielding herself from the wind. “I’ll never understand how they’re able to spin murder into social consciousness.”

“It’s not murder, didn’t you know?” says Connor, and convincingly mimics the wholesome voice of a trustworthy announcer. “ ‘It’s the kindest thing we can do for troubled youth with biosystemic disunification disorder.’ ”

Grace, who seems to hear everything between him and Risa, just stares at him. “You’re kidding. Right?”

If it were anyone else, Connor wouldn’t justify the question with a response, but for Grace he winks, and she laughs in relief.

“We need to move on this,” Connor says. They should be out of here seeking out the people who can actually use the printer—or at least trying to find out if it even works. He’s taken the lead, but has yet to take action. It’s not like him, and he wishes he knew what was holding him back.

“Move on what,” Beau asks, adding his nose into the conversation. They’ve told none of the kids down in the basement about the printer because trust among AWOLs must be earned. There’s no telling where these kids will ultimately end up and what bargains they’ll strike to save their own lives.

“Lunch,” says Connor. “Are you cooking today?”

Beau knows he’s lying, but also doesn’t push, probably because he also knows he won’t get any information from Connor that Connor does not want to give. Better to avoid pushing than to push and fail. Beau chooses his battles well: only the ones he stands a good chance of winning. Connor actually finds that admirable; the kid doesn’t waste his time in futile pursuits. He could actually be a decent leader if he ever gets over himself.