Article 5 (31 page)

“We won’t say anything,” I promised.

“Certainly
he
won’t,” said Wallace, eyeing Chase.

He was right. Chase was uncharacteristically silent. He was rarely loquacious, but neither was he usually so deadpan. Something was weighing heavily on him. I could feel it.

“I suppose you’re here for work,” Wallace said. I felt Chase stiffen beside me, and wondered what he was thinking. It would make sense for him to want to join the resistance. That way he could strike back at the MM for everything they’d taken away.

I felt the same pull inside my own self but stuffed it down. I couldn’t allow myself to project past finding my mother. One step at a time.

“We’re looking for Mr. Tubman,” I said, when Chase hadn’t answered. His silence was starting to make me uncomfortable. It appeared he was more tempted by the resistance than I had thought. If he joined here and now, he might not even come with me for the rest of the journey. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, faced with the sudden reality of his upcoming good-bye.

“A safe house.” Wallace clicked his tongue inside his cheek. “Waste of your talents.” He was talking to both of us, not just Chase, when he said this. I didn’t know what talents of mine he could possibly mean, but then I realized that the radio reports had probably insinuated that I was far craftier than I was. That I had escaped reform school and the MM. That we’d accosted thieves in Hagerstown and stolen vehicles. All of this was true of course, but much less impressive in reality than it was when relayed secondhand.

“It’s no waste,” said Chase firmly. It made me feel a little more confident that we were still making the right choice.

We were about to say more when there was a commotion outside and three more men charged through the door. Two must have been brothers. One was in his late twenties, the other older. They had dark hair and dark eyes, but the younger had recently broken his nose, and the other now had a bruise below his right eye. The third was a wiry redhead, about Chase’s age. Dry blood had crusted over his cheek. I didn’t recognize them from the square, but I knew it must be the other soldiers Sean had been with, because they all held the same trash bags filled with their uniforms.

There was an eruption of voices and movement. Everyone was trying to speak at once.

“Get them out of here, Banks. Then come back for debriefing,” ordered Wallace. “Tomorrow, take them to Tubman yourself.”

I wanted to stay but was glad Wallace had approved our departure.

Sean led us down the hallway in the opposite direction from the stairs. A few heads popped out of the doors, interested in what had transpired in the square. I realized with some amazement that the entire floor must have been filled with resistance fighters.

The single room we entered was more tightly confined than Wallace’s had been. A moth-eaten velvet chair crowded the corner, bumping into a bare queen-sized mattress. On a small nightstand were boxes of cereal and Horizons bottled water.

“Is this someone’s room?” I asked, staring longingly at the food. I hadn’t eaten since a rest stop mid-morning in eastern Kentucky, and I was famished.

“It was,” he said grimly. My spirits crashed as I realized the previous occupant was either captured or dead. “Talk, Miller. Quick.”

I promptly told him everything I knew, beginning with the night I’d blackmailed them and ending with my abduction from the shack. I didn’t dare look at Chase. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t done bad things, but the secret of how I’d hurt these people had festered inside of me, and I was more ashamed than ever.

Chase prowled like a trapped animal while I talked, opening a window, which revealed the wrought-iron fire escape just outside. This seemed to settle him, but he remained quiet. The weight of his judgment hung over me. Maybe I deserved it.

“Was she hurt?” Sean looked far away. Broken.

“I don’t know.” I closed my eyes. I remembered the crack of the baton on her little body. Yes, she had been hurt. But the frantic gleam in his eyes stopped me from telling the truth. It seemed cruel to tell him when there was nothing he could do about it.

“And you never told Brock about me and Becca.” He still sounded a little leery.

“No. Rebecca was…” I paused. “Rebecca was my friend. Maybe not at first. And she probably doesn’t think so now. But I’ll always remember her. I know it doesn’t matter what I say, but I wish things had been different.”

Sean was quiet for a moment.

“How did you know she was here?” Chase asked Sean finally. I wondered if it was curiosity or some other purpose that had caused him to break his silence.

In a rush, Sean told us how he’d been discharged from the base in Cincinnati, where he’d been sent after the incident at reform school, and met Billy and Riggins, who had been in town collecting stray soldiers for the resistance. Billy’s other talents included breaking into MM cruisers and accessing prisoner lists via their scanning device. That was how Sean had found out about Rebecca’s transfer.

I remembered the scanner the highway patrol had used when he’d pulled us over. A miniature computer. Billy was quite clever, it seemed.

Since there was no way to break into the base without getting killed himself, Sean had settled on working for the resistance until Billy could get him more information about Rebecca.

Before Sean could say more, Wallace summoned him from down the hall.

“I’ll take you to the carrier tomorrow,” he said.

“Sean, wait,” I said as he was leaving. “I just … I’m so sorry.”

He looked at me for a long time through tired eyes. They were not resentful, not mistrusting anymore. He didn’t blame me. And somehow that made me feel worse.

“It’s them, Miller. Not us. It’s the FBR that should be sorry.”

*   *   *

AFTER
a while I went to the window, comforted by the cold air on my face. It was dark now. Through the bars of the fire escape I could see headlights snaking through the city intersections in the distance, and the goose bumps rose on my skin. Curfew was on. The MM was just below. All around. Everywhere.

It’s the FBR that should be sorry,
Sean had said.

He was right. They’d taken Rebecca. They’d taken my mother. They’d nearly broken Chase. Now we could never go home. We would have to live in hiding forever.

I tried to force my thoughts elsewhere but was bombarded by images from the day. The throngs of starving people. The dead man by the generator. Sean
—
when I hadn’t known it was Sean
—
yanking me through the crowd. The acceptance that Chase could still make it, even if I didn’t.

He was stronger. A fighter. He could survive in this world.

“We need a new plan. New rules,” I began, trying to sound strong. Chase had been listening down the hall, but at the sound of my voice he stepped away from the doorway and waited for me to continue. I hoped he wouldn’t try to be difficult; it was hard enough acknowledging what I was about to say myself.

“If the MM finds one of us, the other needs to go on. The other needs to get to the safe house and find my mom and make sure she’s okay.”

My words sounded hollow. He didn’t say anything.

“You can’t come after me if I get taken, do you understand?”

Still nothing.

“Chase!” I slammed a fist down on the windowsill and the pane rattled. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” He was standing right behind me. I spun into him.

“Yes, you’ll do it?” I knew I should be relieved, but I didn’t feel it.

“Yes, I’m listening. No. I won’t do it.”

The same fear iced my spine that I’d felt earlier today in the square. The fear that my mother would be on her own. The fear that Chase would be caught and condemned to death. The tears were coming now; there was no use trying to hide them.

“Why not? If something happens to me…”

“Nothing is going to happen to you!” He grabbed me by the elbows, making me stand on my tiptoes. His eyes burned with the anger I knew he only reached through fear. How did I know that about him? I thought fleetingly. How could I read that, when I hardly knew what
I
was feeling?

“What if something does?” I threw back. “I can die, just like Katelyn Meadows! I can starve like that man in the square! I can be taken by the MM, or shot—”

“STOP!” he shouted. My mouth fell open. He breathed out unsteadily, his face pale in the dark room, and tried to compose himself. He was only mildly successful.

“Ember, I swear on my life, I will not let anything like that happen.”

I crumpled in his arms, crying freely now because I was afraid. Because I didn’t want to die. Because if I did, I had secured no future for my mother or Chase. For the people I loved.

I hadn’t ever cried before him like this. Everything I’d been holding back crashed over me. Losing my mother. Missing my friends. Hurting Sean and Rebecca. The carrier on Rudy Lane begging for his son. The man in the square. Chase pulled me in tightly, sheltering me with his body, hiding me from the fears that lashed both of us.

“Why did you come after me?” I sobbed. “If Sean had been a real soldier, you could have been killed.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do!”

“I won’t leave you.”

I shoved back. He was averse to letting me.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing anyway? Leaving? Just as soon as we get to the safe house?”

He opened his mouth, closed it.

“I … I was going to leave that up to you.”

What did that mean? I could just kick him away from his own safety because I didn’t want him around? As if we hadn’t lived five yards apart for most of our lives? Who was I to make that call? No, that wasn’t the reason. He was deflecting to me because it was easier for him if I was the one that pushed him away. That way he wouldn’t have to hurt feelings. That way he could run back here and join the resistance.

“Let go of me,” I said unsteadily. I tried to breathe, but my lungs felt constricted. “I know you want to keep your promise, so go ahead. Protect me. But when we get there, your obligation’s over. You don’t owe me a thing. I survived you leaving before, Chase. I’ll do it again.”

He stared at me, shocked. I could hardly believe what I had just said.

“I’m tired now,” I said. “There are more than enough people taking watch.” I reminded myself to keep my chin lifted as I opened the door. “I’ll be fine alone.”

“I won’t.”

Before I could turn toward him, he placed his hand over mine and closed the door softly. I became aware of every one of his movements. The tightening of the muscles in his shoulders. The difference in his breathing. Each one of his warm fingers over mine. And the changes in myself, also. The tingling of my skin. The doubt, like a stone in my belly.

“I’m not fine,” he said. “Not without you.”

My whole body felt like I’d just missed a step going down the stairs. What he was saying didn’t make sense, but the emotion soaking through his words affected me.

“Don’t mess with me, Chase. It’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, somber and conflicted.

“What are you saying?”

He put a hand on his throat, as though trying to stop the words, but they came anyway.

“You’re home. To me.”

My first thought was one of self-preservation.
He’s going to take it back.
Just like at the Loftons’. Like in the woods again afterward. I wanted to tell him to stop, just so it didn’t hurt when he did, but I couldn’t. I wanted it to be real.

I sat on the bed.

“I remind you of home,” I clarified, feeling the memories of the past conjured.

He kneeled before me. “No. You
are
my home.”

I was too surprised to speak.

I thought of home, what it meant to me. Safety and love. Happiness. I could only guess what it meant to someone like Chase, who’d had no center holding him, no stability or consistency since his parents had died.

And all this after he’d heard what I’d done to Sean and Rebecca.

He was watching me, trying hard to read my reaction to his words. I wanted to tell him just how much they moved me, but nothing could touch what I felt.

Tentatively, I reached for his hand, and when he gave it willingly, cradled my cheek within it. I could see him swallowing, see his big brown wolf eyes go dark, as they always did when harboring some deep emotion. He leaned closer.

“Think about me,” he whispered. And then his lips touched mine.

His kiss was so soft it felt the way my memories did when I imagined his touch a year ago. When he was only a ghost reminding me I was alone. I needed more. I needed him to be here now, not just an echo of the past.

I pulled him closer. His kiss deepened at the invitation, making my whole body feel alive and electric. Then his hands drifted to my shoulders, and down, around my back, leaving streaks of heat in their wake.

“It was you,” I said softly. “It’s always you I think about.”

The intensity in his gaze took my breath away.

I could feel him. Every part of him. His soul was sewn to mine. His heated blood flowed through my veins. I’d thought that I had been close to my mother, and I was, but not like this. Chase and I barely touched—our hands, mouths, knees—but there was no part of me that was not his.

I couldn’t speak, but if I could, I would have told him I’d missed him. That I accepted who he had become, with his guilt and his fears. That I would stay beside him as he healed.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Could he hear my thoughts? It did not seem unreasonable. Whatever his motivation for thanking me, I felt grateful too.

He held me as our heartbeats slowed and joined into one single pulse. And my mind went completely and blissfully silent.

*   *   *

I WAS
woken by a racket in the hallway. I didn’t know how long I’d slept, but I was now lying on the sleeping bag alone.

Had I dreamed what had happened earlier? Everything had felt so surreal these past few days; Chase’s confession was really right in line. Still, my lips remembered the pressure of his, and my heart hurt with his absence.