Article 5 (26 page)

*   *   *

WHILE
Chase washed up, I tiptoed through the hallway, curious when I didn’t hear Mary Jane or Ronnie. Bedtime reading, I guessed. That seemed like a normal thing to do. In fact Patrick, who was still in the living room, was doing the same. His feet were up, and he was wearing glasses now. I swallowed some resentment, remembering home, and how my mother and I used to read on the couch after curfew.

My heart rate slowed. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Not that I could tell.

When I slipped back into the guest room I found Chase sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. He was so still, I thought he might be asleep.

I watched him just for a moment, unable to draw my eyes away.

He seemed to have become distracted in the midst of changing. He still wore his jeans and his boots, but his clean shirt lay untouched beside him on the bed. The lights worked on account of the generator, but he’d lit a candle to combat the shadows instead, and the hard lines of his jaw and neck were accentuated in the flickering flame. From this angle, I now noticed several raised scars on his back that I hadn’t seen in the house on Rudy Lane. They angered me, those scars, cut at a diagonal like the swipe of a claw. I wanted to know who had hurt him like that. I wanted to protect him. If such a thing was even possible. I felt sort of powerful thinking it might be.

Still, his scars, combined with the serpentine wound now visible without the bandage covering his shoulder, made him all the more dangerous.

He was, to me, terrifyingly beautiful.

All the nerves that had been crackling inside of me seemed to transform and redirect toward Chase. My body trembled with anticipation. What energy remained sparked in the air between us like electricity.

I wanted to move to him, but my feet were nailed to the ground. I opened my mouth to speak, but there were no words. I thought of the letters that he’d kept, of what they could mean if he let me in, and was confused again.

He remained as still as I was, then sighed softly, and my heart clenched. Something was wrong. That had been a noise of pain, not of exhaustion.

“Does your arm hurt a lot?” I asked. He jumped up, not having heard me approach. I’d forgotten that I’d been tiptoeing so as not to disturb Patrick.

He shoved on his shirt, a little too forcefully, I thought. I eased the door shut behind me.

“It’s just … that kid. He’s just a child. He could have been shot.” The shame was so thick in his tone that it nearly choked him, and I sagged back against the wall, staggered by how much it affected me. “I didn’t even think about him. He’s what, six? Seven? I almost walked away and let him die.”

I could feel my brows draw together. A shiver went down my spine when I thought of Chase walking out into that field.

“But you didn’t.”

“Because of you.” He looked up then, eyes black and filled with pain. “That guy was swinging a pistol toward a kid, and all I could think of was you. That he was going to hurt you. That I couldn’t let him. Those guys, those
stupid
guys in Hagerstown. And that highway patrol … I could have … What’s wrong with me?”

I swallowed, but it was hard because my throat was so tight. His stare returned to his hands. They didn’t look like a fighter’s hands now. They looked big and callused and empty.

That same knot twisted inside of me. If I had told him to forget the MM, to stay with me when he’d been drafted, he would not be broken now.

“You look out for people, you always have—” I began, but he shook his head, dismissing my modesty.

“You’re the only thing that’s tying me down.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m ruining all your fun,” I said, appalled.

“Fun?” he said weakly. “You think … Ember, you’re the only piece of me I have left. Everything else—my family, my home, my
soul
—they’re all gone. I don’t know who the hell I am anymore. If it weren’t for you … I don’t know.”

His voice went thick again and he stared at the floor, bewildered and ashamed. Though my mouth was open, I had no idea what to say. I wished that I could reassure him that he was still Chase, and reassure myself, too, but what if he was right?

“Come here.” It was my voice. My request. But it surprised us both.

Nothing happened for several long seconds, but then some magnetic force took over, drawing us slowly to each other. His face was speculative, confused. I could tell he did not want to come closer, that he couldn’t understand why he was already so near.

He tore away from my eyes and, to my shock, tentatively nuzzled his face into my hair. I could feel his breath warm my shoulder. He smelled of the woods and faintly of soap. My whole body tingled.

I moved my cheek to brush against his neck, and the feel of his skin sent aching waves through me. No one made me feel the way Chase did. He was my anchor in the hurricane, yet at the same time, the hurricane itself, so that I nearly always felt safe and afraid simultaneously. There was nothing in the world as confusing and powerful as being close to him. Could he feel it? Did he know?

“I saw the letters,” I confessed. “The ones I wrote. I saw them in the bag.”

His head jerked up, his eyes pinning me in place, irritation instantly coating his raw exposure. They burned into me with an intensity I didn’t understand.

And then they went out.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

He took a step back. Then another. He shoved his hands in his pockets and swallowed a shallow breath, as though there weren’t enough air in the room.

He was sorry for touching me. He regretted it, even. I felt small and unworthy and
mad
that he could see me as so insignificant when I cared for him so much.

Well, I wasn’t insignificant. I was important. Maybe not to him, but to someone.

I didn’t immediately know how to respond. My eyes burned with tears, but I wouldn’t let them fall. I lifted my chin as proudly as I could and tried to keep my voice steady.

“You should get some sleep, Chase. You look tired. I’ll stay up and keep watch. You don’t need to worry about that.”

I turned away and sat on the bed, still in my clothes. He didn’t move for a long while. Finally, he laid on the floor, his knife in the palm of his hand. He didn’t even open the sleeping bag.

*   *   *

I ROSE
up on my elbows, positioning myself on his chest, looking down at his face. His finger grazed my jawline, teasing my hair to the ends.

“You won’t forget me, right?” I tried to play it light so maybe he wouldn’t see just how scared I was for tomorrow.

For a second, the corners of his eyes pinched. Then he sat up, and I backed onto my knees. His hands straightened my T-shirt, tugging it down.

“No,” he said. His face darkened. “I don’t think it’s possible to forget you.”

The slow, heavy weight of his breath, the seriousness of his tone, made everything too real. I didn’t want it to be real. I didn’t want him to leave. And if I opened my mouth, I’d ask him to stay. Ask him and ruin his whole life.

My eyes stung. A great lump had formed in my throat. I turned away and held my breath and tried to stop my shoulders from trembling, but he saw, and when he touched my arm I jerked away because it hurt even more that he
wasn’t
angry about leaving. That he was being kind to make it easier for me.

I hated the MM. My mother was right: They took away everything good.

There was too much uncertainty. What if I never saw him again? Everything seemed beyond my control. And then I thought, crazily, maybe if I could just make this part go faster, he’d come home again. It would be like ripping off a Band-Aid, but then he’d be back.

“I want to say good-bye now,” I said, my voice finally breaking. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to wait until morning.” I couldn’t look at him. So what if I was a coward.

His touch, this time gently moving aside my hair. His lips, brushing my ear.

“I won’t forget,” he said again, quietly.

I slumped miserably back against his chest. He pulled me closer. His arms crossed over my body; his knees rose on each side of mine. I felt him breathe in, press his lips against the base of my neck.

“I promise I’ll come back. No matter what happens.” Though his voice was only a whisper, there was a fierceness behind it. I believed him completely.

“I’ll wait for you,” I told him.

I turned my head and buried my damp face in his shoulder, and he held me until finally my breathing slowed. After a while, he laid down beside me and said, “Sleep easy, Ember.” And when I woke in the morning, he was gone.

*   *   *

CHASE
did sleep, silent and dreamless, while I stayed awake with my burning thoughts. The urge to move on was stronger than ever. I began wondering just how likely it would be that an MM cruiser would catch us at night. We could be perfectly fine. We could get all the way to Lewisburg, find the carrier, and be in South Carolina by tomorrow.

If I was being honest with myself, it wasn’t just my mom that had me chomping at the bit to get out. What had passed between Chase and me would surely turn to awkwardness, and I was looking for any way to avoid it. He was obviously still planning on leaving when we got to the safe house, and maybe that was better. If I wasn’t enough to make him stay, I didn’t really want him around anyway.

I chewed my thumbnails and hated that I cared.

After an hour I tiptoed down the hallway, only to find that Patrick’s light was still on. I could hear him shift on the couch, hear him turn the pages of that infuriating book. Why wouldn’t he just go to bed? I had a feeling he was staying up on purpose now, guarding his house to make sure we didn’t steal anything.

I didn’t entirely blame him.

I was on my way back to the room when I heard another creak in the floor, this time from the opposite end of the hallway. I ducked into the guest bathroom and waited. And then I heard the rattle of the basement door.

“Billings here?” I heard Mary Jane whisper. So she was in the basement, probably with the boy. I felt stupid for thinking them so naïve; they’d been down there since dinner. It was where the family went when there was
danger.

Billings.
Who was Billings? The answer came to me slowly. Patrick had said his name earlier. He was their buyer. The person who took the cattle to the slaughterhouse.

“Not yet. Should be soon though. Keep the door locked.”

“You’ll be careful?” she asked in a small voice. “If he really is that guy on the radio, he’s dangerous. I can’t believe you brought them inside. And with Ronnie…”

“Don’t talk to me about Ronnie,” Patrick snapped, then sighed heavily. “Look, I don’t like it, either, but we got a thousand dollars for the last soldier. This one, he’s got to be more, what with the law after him and all. And who knows, maybe they’ll kick in a bonus for the girl. That would be enough to keep us here through the summer. We wouldn’t have to move to the city, like we talked about.”

My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a bag of thumbtacks. Everything became implicitly clear.

The Loftons had placated us with hospitality just to keep us here. I’d known something was off the moment we’d seen the inside of their house. A generator? Toys for the kid? Why hadn’t I trusted my intuition? Now we didn’t even have the gun.

Billings, whoever he was, was coming. The soreness in my body was forgotten. I had to get Chase, and we had to leave.
Immediately.

I didn’t wait to hear any more. Silently, I hopped across the hallway back into our room and grabbed Chase by the ankle. He sat up quickly, but it was so dark that I could barely see him.

“What’s wrong?” he said, instantly alert. “Are you okay?”

“We’ve gotta go
—
they called someone. The boy and the mom are downstairs, and Patrick’s playing prison warden,” I told him in one expelled breath.

Chase was up in flash. He slid the baton into the waistband of his pants and pressed his knife into my hand.

“Here,” he said, shoving the backpack toward me.

“How are we getting out?” I asked. “Patrick—”

“Leave him to me. Ember, listen, all right? You go out through the back. Get to the woods and head for the road. I’ll be right behind you.”

“You’re not coming with me?” I’d heard it in his voice. He was going to make sure I wasn’t followed, whatever the risk to himself. I felt a little light-headed.

His hands cupped my face, his thumbs grazing along my cheekbones. He was close; I could feel the air move before my mouth when he spoke.

“Stay out of sight. Follow the road to Lewisburg and find the carrier. There’s money in the bag, enough to pay him off. Make sure you don’t show him all of it until you get to the safe house.”

“I won’t.…” I was frightened now. My hands had covered his and were squeezing his fingers. I couldn’t believe he was saying this. I could not imagine leaving him here in such danger.

“Be careful who you talk to; keep your head down. You know what to do. Just don’t trust anyone.” His words tumbled out so quickly they nearly connected.

“But what about you? I can’t leave you here!”

“Yes you can!” he insisted. “Ember, I’m sorry for screwing everything up. I never meant to hurt you. There’s so much more
…”

And suddenly his lips were on mine. Warm and demanding. Angry and afraid. Filled with everything his words could not say.

He pushed me back but then pulled me in once again, deepening the kiss, thrusting his hands through my hair. My fists knotted in his shirt, torn between shoving him away and refusing his dismissal. My head was spinning.