Article 5 (36 page)

I jolted up when I heard the key turn in my lock. The gun was tucked in my bra, and I was using the blanket again to cover the added bulk. I had to take several deep breaths to focus myself before I felt calm enough to face the door. Even so, I nearly pulled the gun on Delilah the moment I saw her.

She glanced over me once with a speculative look on her face. I could only guess what she thought had happened between Tucker and me last night.

“Morning.” I tried to sound like I was dreading the day, which, in a way, I was.

“Come on. Be quick about it,” she snapped, and turned toward the supply room. A guard hustled by, making my skin crawl. I felt like he was watching me. Like he knew what I was about to do.

I needed to calm down.

Once we were in the supply room, Delilah began tearing towels off the wall. She handed me a bucket to fill with water. I took a deep breath and set it on the ground.

It was now or never.

I turned my back on her, and very slowly, reached for the gun.

“Delilah, I need—”

“Delilah! I thought I told you to hurry!” shouted a guard from the end of the hallway.

No!
Someone had already given her orders, which meant they would come looking for her if she didn’t arrive.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she muttered, her voice stressed. “Didn’t I tell you to fill up that bucket?”

“Ye-yes,” I stuttered, and did as she told. The plan was going to have to wait until these soldiers weren’t demanding her assistance.

“An officer is coming in an hour to speak with the inmate in cell four,” she said. “They brought him in last night, and he’s a mess. Still unconscious. Get him up so they can interview him.”

What’s the point?
I thought. I remembered how Delilah had done this for me, before I’d seen Tucker.

“What are you doing?” I asked. I hadn’t been assigned any tasks on my own.

“Cell two cut his wrists last night. Someone’s got to mop up and take the body to the crematorium.”

I shuddered, unable to stop the image of the soldier’s face from entering my mind. Thick eyebrows and freckled cheeks. A dazed, lost expression. I’d brought him dinner last night.

“I can do it,” I volunteered weakly. “I’ll take the body. You take care of cell four.”

She scoffed. The soldier down the hall yelled for her again.

“They want it taken care of fast,” she emphasized, as though I would be inept at the task. I bit back the disgust. It sounded as though she was pleased to be needed. I felt sorry for her then; there was not much of her soul left.

“I can do it. I know your back’s bothering you,” I tried. I’d seen her stretch it yesterday, and hoped that this wasn’t a shot in the dark.

“You’d do wise to obey orders,” she said simply.

I followed her into the hallway, swallowing the defeat. I told myself there would be another chance today to follow my plan. There had to be, because tomorrow I went to trial.

As Delilah opened the door to cell four, the room just beside mine, I readied myself to get this soldier up fast. If he was alert enough to talk to the officer before Delilah had finished with the cleanup, I could still help her take the body to the crematorium.

She sped down the hall to cell two, where three soldiers had now gathered to ogle at the show. I wanted to scream at them to leave the poor guy alone. I was surprised Tucker wasn’t there, but it was still early.

Inside the cell before me a crumpled figure lay strewn across the floor, facedown. His head was a foot away from the metal toilet at the end of the room. His long legs stretched toward the door. He wore jeans. Like the murdered carrier in the checkpoint on Rudy Lane.

I lowered, bending at the waist to cautiously move closer. The blinking lights overhead highlighted his socked feet. A torn T-shirt glimmered with droplets of fresh blood. I leaned closer, my heart pounding hard now.

Broad shoulders. Black, messy hair.

“Oh, God!” I cried, dropping the bucket and towels unceremoniously on the linoleum floor. Vaguely, I registered the door suction shut behind me, locking me in.

And then I was on my knees, my hands feeling up the backs of his calves, toward his waist. All the muted emotions inside of me exploded in bright, blinding colors.

When I could finally speak, my voice was high and trembling.

“Chase?”

CHAPTER

16

SILENCE.

I tried to check his pulse. I didn’t know what I was doing.

There was little room to move in the cramped cell. I rolled Chase gently to his back while he remained unanimated, a rag doll. Like the man from the square. Frantically, I wedged myself against the wall, wrapping his heavy arm around my shoulders.

“Come on, Chase,” I prompted, frightened.

With all my strength, I hoisted him up onto the mattress. His upper torso and his hips made it, but his legs still hung over the edge. I laid him down as gently as I could and then pulled his knees up.

He groaned.

“Chase,” I said anxiously. His eyes were closed.

The consequent survey had my eyes blinking out of focus. A sharp breath raked my throat.

His face and neck were coated with dark black blood. The front of his shirt was drenched with it. My trembling hand reached for his cheek, stroking it gently. The heat from swelling mixed with the cool sticky residue on his skin.

“Chase, wake up. Please.”

Panic twisted inside of me. I thought about the little silver briefcase. The laundry carts. The execution that would surely ensue.

Everything had come together just to fall apart. I couldn’t escape with Chase in this condition, and I would not leave him this way.

“Why did you get caught?” I didn’t expect an answer.

I lifted his shirt. Several boot-sized contusions had begun to form over his ribs.

“It’s okay. This is okay. We just need to clean you up, that’s all.” It sounded like a different person’s voice coming out of my mouth. Someone calm, rational. Not me.

But that voice was right. I needed a task. I needed to focus on something.

I soaked a rag and ever so gently touched it to his face, mopping up the blood beside his nose. When it was soiled I shoved it beneath the bed and grabbed another. His raw lips, his ears, his neck. I whispered to him the whole time. Mostly gibberish.

I heard a rolling cart sliding down the hallway. Delilah was taking the soldier to the crematorium. My last chance at freedom was slipping out of the building. I couldn’t even feel regret. All I had room for was concern for Chase.

He didn’t stir until I moved to his forehead, where several cuts crossed over his scalp. When I reached a particularly nasty laceration, his eyes jolted open, irises dragging down into a sea of white. He blinked in confusion. His teeth bore down hard.

“Chase?”

I drew back and let him find my voice. I had learned from his nightmares that my hands on him while he roused would be too disorienting.

He swallowed before he was able to speak. His body shivered as if he were cold.

“Em?”

“Yes,” I cried, letting my tears rain down on his face. A tidal wave of relief crashed over me.

“I found you.” Though his voice crackled, he sounded satisfied.

A memory filtered back from long ago.
I promise I’ll come back. No matter what happens.
His words just before he’d been drafted. Yes, he had come back. Despite the costs.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you from the beginning,” he said.

I shushed him. “Not important.”

“Yes it is.” He coughed, and when he did so, his whole body ripped into a spasm that had him curling around his stomach.

“Breathe. It’s okay,” I soothed, stroking his back. But knowing he was hurting ripped my heart wide open.

It took him a full minute to breathe evenly. When he finally lay back, his eyes were dazed with pain.

“Don’t talk,” I whispered. It took a minute, but he shoved himself up.

“I can fix this. I’m going to get you out.”

I froze, my hand still on his cheek.

“You
 …
turned yourself in?” My voice hitched. “Why did you do that?”

“I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

I knew what a promise meant to him. It was tearing him apart that he’d let my mother and me down.

“Sean’s waiting for you at a gas station in the Red Zone behind the base. He’ll help you.”

I knew the place. I’d seen its decrepit sign the first day I’d helped Delilah transport a body to the crematorium.

“Sean
…”
I looked at him quizzically. Sean and Chase had not been particularly fond of each other when I’d last seen them together.

“It’s on the western side. There’s an exit there. I’ll clear the gate for you and…”

“No.” I saw what he had envisioned: him fighting whomever it took to get me outside these gates. I could hardly breathe. He’d come here to rescue me knowing he was going to die.

My hands covered my mouth, and I collapsed on my knees beside the bed. So many feelings, all slamming together, all tearing through me. If I didn’t say it now, I wouldn’t be able to. My throat was already choking off.

“What happened … it’s not your fault,” I said, shaking.

I wanted to tell him I was sorry. That I forgave him. That I knew he loved me and that I loved him, too. I couldn’t. I fell apart, sobbing into my sleeves. His hands slipped around me, pulling me into his bruised body.

“You scared the hell out of me. I thought…” he sighed. “It doesn’t matter. You’re alive.”

A sound in the hallway extinguished my tears.

Cla
-
click, cla-click. Cla
-
click, cla-click.

The guard on rotation. Or Delilah, back from her gruesome task.

We froze, listening to the footsteps. They grew louder, then paused, just outside of Chase’s cell. I held my breath and watched the door.

A clatter against the outside wall. His chart. Someone was going to come in.

No!

Chase pushed me aside. In a laborious heave he stood, bracing against the wall for support. I jumped up behind him, wrapping my arms around his chest, half certain he was about to fall over, half ready to make the guards tear us apart.

“Lay down!” I whispered.

He didn’t listen. It was a good thing he was injured. I was stronger than him in his current condition. I shoved him back to the bed and pushed his head down. He looked like he might throw up. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered this as a symptom of concussion.

A key fit into the lock, turned.

“Keep your eyes closed!” I said quietly.

Chase complied, but his hands curled into fists.

Delilah entered the room.

“He’s not up yet?” I could see the little red dots that had splattered across her blouse and the damp stains on her collar from where she’d been sweating. I tried not to picture what she’d seen in cell two.

“He was a second ago,” I said, feeling the solid shape of the gun against my skin. “Come look at his face,” I added, gently running my finger over a split on the bridge of his nose.

Chase stirred, ever so slightly. I willed him to be still.

She took another step forward, one hand still on the door.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“He got hit pretty hard.”

“Obviously,” she snorted. One more step inside.

I sprung, throwing the blanket off my shoulders and shoving her away from the door. A second later I’d pulled the gun from my dress and aimed it directly at her. I pushed the door back toward the jamb, careful not to let it lock.

“What the hell are you doing?” she cried.

“Shut up!” I ordered, praying no one had heard us. Chase was sitting up now, blinking rapidly. He still looked ill—and more shocked than Delilah.

“Here.” I shoved the gun into his hand. He aimed it at Delilah. She bared her teeth at him. I saw his hand tremble slightly but knew it wasn’t from physical pain. The last woman he’d held a gun to had been my mother.

“Sorry, Delilah,” I told her as I shoved a clean rag into her mouth. “But there
is
something out there for me.”

As quickly as I could, I tore the tattered rags to strips and fastened her wrists around the metal bed frame. She didn’t struggle, clear eyes glued on Chase. I slipped the key over her head and pressed it firmly in my fist. My heart felt as if it were going to explode in my chest. If it did, I hoped it killed me before the MM did.

Then I eased Chase back to the bed, away from Delilah, and returned the gun to its hiding place in my dress.

“I must have gotten hit harder than I thought,” Chase said, with the confusion of someone waking from a coma. “How did you get in here? Who is she? And where did that gun come from?” The heels of his hands were pressed against his temples.

“I’ll explain later. For right now, stay here.”

“I’m going with you,” he said.

I shook my head. His jaw tightened.

Don’t fight me, Chase.

I knew he felt as I had so many times on this journey. Completely out of control. Completely reliant. Maybe he realized how I felt now, too, because he didn’t argue, he didn’t fight. He just looked up at me and whispered, “Please be careful.”

A moment later the door locked behind me.

The hallway was eerily quiet, without even the shuffle of the guard around the far corner at the stairs. He was there, I knew, just silent. The guard on rotation would be coming around any second.

Nerves chewed my insides and made my skin tingle. Every step I took felt like walking on a bed of nails. I figured I was losing my mind. It was the only reasonable explanation for my actions.

Before anything else, I grabbed the clipboard outside Chase’s cell. I ripped the pen from its hanging cord and in large letters scribbled what had been written on the other soldiers’ charts.