The Darkest Minds (31 page)

Either by his internal clock or Chubs’s excited squeaks, Liam woke first. I saw him out the corner of my eye, his head of tousled blond hair sticking out of the tent. He looked between us once and retreated back into the tent, only to reemerge a second later looking torn between confusion and worry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

Chubs and I glanced at each other, wearing identical grins.

“Get Zu,” I said. “You guys are going to want to hear this.”

SEVENTEEN

A
CCORDING TO
C
HUBS
, Jack Fields was the second son in a family of five kids, and the only one to survive Idiopathic Adolescent Acute Neurodegeneration. His father had owned an Italian restaurant, and his mother died of cancer when he was young. Jack was unremarkable in appearance, the kind of kid you would pass in a school hallway and not think twice about. But he was stealth cool, the only one in their room that knew what Liam was talking about when he started in on Japanese horror flicks or articles from back issues of
Rolling Stone
. Apparently, he liked to tell stories in weird voices and spent years scratching out a replica of New York City’s skyline on the converted classroom’s blackboards. The PSFs assigned to their room had been so impressed with the sheer detail of his work that they actually let him finish.

More importantly, Jack took great pleasure in antagonizing the camp controllers by using his abilities to lift things off their belts and out of their pockets, or to throw things into their paths so that they’d trip and fall in front of everyone. To hear Chubs talk, you would have thought Jack Fields was a saint walking on earth, a disciple of Awesome, preaching the proper way to use their Blue abilities after spending years figuring it out for himself.

Which was probably why he was the first one the camp controllers shot in the back of the head the night the kids tried to make their escape.

Liam was silent as we approached Petersburg’s outer city limits, only nodding once or twice to confirm that the craziest parts of Chubs’s tale were true. He had been just as excited as the two of us when we dragged him over to listen to the broadcast, but slowly, over the course of a few hours, his mood had deteriorated. When Chubs’s stories died out, so did all conversation in the van.

“It’s supposed to be really beautiful there,” I said, suddenly, then winced at how awkward it sounded. “Lake Prince, I mean.”

Liam didn’t looked stressed so much as profoundly sad. That was what worried me—that he was sinking into something that not even our breakthrough could pull him out of.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he said, quietly. He handed me the half-folded map. “Can you put this back in the glove box?”

I certainly hadn’t been looking for it when I opened the small compartment, but there they were, nested on top of a pile of crumpled napkins.

Truthfully, I had been expecting envelopes, or at the very least lined notebook paper. Which was stupid and didn’t make any sense, because it’s not like their camp had arts and crafts days. It’s not like they were just
given
the paper and pens. Still, I had been expecting the letters to be something…heavier. For Chubs and Liam to be carrying theirs with them.

Jack’s letter was on top, written on half of what looked like a computer printout, folded over several times. He had managed to squeeze his father’s name in tight capital letters on the back of the paper, between the large black words:
AREA RESTRICTED
.

Instead of putting the map away, I took the letter out, only vaguely aware of the argument Liam and Chubs had gotten into over the best route to Lake Prince. I wasn’t thinking much of anything as my fingers slid over the wrinkled surface, smoothing it out as I unfolded it. No date in the upper right-hand corner, just a hasty, straight to the point
Dear Dad
.

I didn’t get to take in another word. Liam reached over and ripped the paper out of my hand, crumpling it slightly in his fist.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, I just…”

“You just
what
?” he barked. I felt my body jerk in response. “It’s personal! It’s none of your business what it says.”

“Lee…” Chubs said, sounding every bit as surprised as I felt. “Come on.”

“No, this is serious. We don’t read each other’s letters!”

“Never?” I said. “What if you can’t find his dad and the letter has some clue about where he might be?”

Liam was shaking his head, even as Chubs said, “She has a point.”

He said nothing, but his hands trembled on the steering wheel. It was his silence that stung, and when I couldn’t take another second of it, I reached over and turned on the radio, sending up a prayer that an Allman Brothers’ song would be on. Instead, Betty picked up a news talk show.

“—children are in containment for their own good, not just the safety of the American public. My well-placed sources in the Gray administration have informed me that all instances in which a child has been removed from rehabilitation early have resulted in their untimely death. There is simply no way to reproduce the routine of medication, exercise, and stimulation these rehab centers are using to keep your children alive.”

Liam punched a knuckle against the volume button, trying to turn it off. Instead, the tuner jumped to the next available station, and this time it was a woman’s voice delivering the bad news.
“Sources are reporting that two Psi fugitives were picked up on the Ohio–West Virginia border, traveling on foot—”

Betty turned so hard and fast into the empty rest stop that I swore she did it on two wheels. Liam parked diagonally across three different spaces, throwing the brake on with a fast, “Be right back.” One minute he was beside me, and the next, we were watching the back of his red flannel shirt as he jumped over a puddle of stale rainwater and headed for the Colonial-style brick building and vending machines.

“That was…dramatic.”

I turned to look at Chubs over the seat, but he was just as confused as I was.

“You should probably follow him,” Chubs said.

“What should I say?”

Chubs gave me one of his looks. “Really? You need me to spell it out for you?”

I had no idea what he meant, but I went anyway, tracing Liam’s trail of anger and frustration past the restrooms, past the abandoned sitting area, to the other side of the building, where there was wild long grass, trees, and absolutely no way we could have seen him from Betty.

He stood with his back toward me, sagging against the rest stop’s wall. Arms crossed over his chest, hair standing on end. I thought I was being quiet like a fox, but he knew the moment I stepped behind him. His grief hung around us like humidity, seeping into my skin. I felt the invisible fingers at the back of my mind awaken. Howling, like a feral cat that’d been caged too long.

I kept my distance.

“Lee?”

“I’m okay. Go back to the van.” Again, with the forced, bright voice.

He dropped to a crouch, then completely to the ground. But I didn’t move, not until he leaned forward and stuck his head between his knees, looking like he was about to throw up everything in his stomach.

I stared long and hard at the place where his light hair curled against his neck, at the exact spot an old bruise disappeared down his shirt collar. My hand lifted at my side to push the soft fabric away. I wanted to see how far the ugly mark extended. To see what other old wounds he was hiding.

You touched him before
, a little voice whispered at the back of my mind,
and nothing happened then
.…

Instead, I took a step back and away, so I was no longer standing directly behind him, but off to the side. Distance. Distance was good.

“You’re right, you know,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to find the Slip Kid just to deliver Jack’s letter. I don’t even want to use him to help me find my family. I know where they are and how to reach them, but I can’t go home. Not yet.”

Somewhere behind us, I heard one of Betty’s doors slide open, but it didn’t break the stillness of the moment. “Why not? I’m sure your parents miss you.”

Liam rested his arms over his knees, his back still to me. “Did Chubs tell you…did he say anything to you about me and the League?”

He couldn’t see it, but I still shook my head.

“Harry—my stepdad—he knew from the start that the Children’s League was bad news. Said they would use us worse than Gray ever would, and wouldn’t shed one damn tear if we died helping them. Even after…even after Claire—Claire is, was, my little sister.” He cleared his throat. “Even after she was gone, he used to remind me that no amount of fighting was ever going to bring her back. Cole had already joined up with them, and he came back to get me to go with him. To fight.”

Was
.
Was
my sister.
Was
gone. Another victim of IAAN.

“I bought into it. I was so angry, and I hated everyone and everything, but there wasn’t anyone to direct it at. I was there with them for weeks, training, letting them turn me into this weapon. Into the kind of person that would take an innocent person’s life just because it served their needs and what
they
wanted. My brother was like a stranger; he even kept this—this thing he called a kill chart in our room. And he’d add to it, every time he killed someone important. Every time he completed a mission. And I would come in after training all day, and I’d look at it and think, How many of those people had families? And how many of those people had people who needed them like we needed Claire? And that’s just it—they all did, Ruby, I’m sure of it. People don’t live like islands.”

“So you got out.”

He nodded. “Had to run during a training simulation outside. I was trying to get back to Harry and Mom when the PSFs picked me up.” He finally turned so he was looking at me. “I can’t go back to them yet, not until I earn it. Not until I make it right.”

“What are you talking about?”

“While I was with the League I realized that the only people that were ever going to help us were ourselves. So when I figured out a way to break out of Caledonia…” Liam’s voice trailed off. Then he said, “It was horrible.
Horrible
. I totally failed them, even after I promised it would work out in the end. So why—” His voice caught. “You heard what that newscaster said. Only a few of us got out, and they just keep picking us off like rabbits in hunting season. So
why
do I want to do it again? Why can’t I shake it? All I want is to help more kids break out of Caledonia—out of Thurmond—out of every single camp, one by one.”

Oh
, I thought, feeling vaguely numb.
Oh
. I had only ever wanted to find the Slip Kid to help myself, to figure out how to tame my abilities. But all along, Liam had wanted to find him because he was sure he’d be able to help others. That, together, they could figure out a way to save the kids we’d all been forced to leave behind.

“It’s just so unfair, you know? All this morning, I kept thinking, it’s so goddamned unfair that I’m here, so close to finding East River, and the rest of them are gone.” He pressed the back of his hand to his eyes. “It makes me feel sick. I can’t shake it. I can’t. Those kids they were talking about on the radio—I’m sure they were from Caledonia. I just…” He took in a ragged breath. “Do you think…do you think they regret following me?”

“Not for a second,” I said. “Listen to me. You didn’t force them to follow you. You only gave them what the PSFs and camp controllers took away from them—a choice. You can’t live in a place like those camps and not know what the consequences might be. If those kids followed you out, it was because they
chose
to. They believed you when you said we’d all get home someday.”

“But most of them didn’t.” Liam shook his head. “In some ways, it would have been safer for them to stay in the camps, right? They wouldn’t have been hunted. They wouldn’t have had to see how afraid everyone is of them, or felt like they don’t have a place out here.”

“But isn’t it better to give them that choice?” I asked.

“Is it?”

My head was pounding, and my shoulders ached. By the time I finally thought of something to say, Liam was climbing up onto his knees.

“What are you still doing here?” Not upset or angry. Not anymore.

“Watching your back.”

He shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “You’ve got better things to worry about.”

“I’m really sorry.” The words tumbled out of me in a breathless rush. “I shouldn’t have opened his letter. It was none of my business. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No—
no
, I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up at you. God, it was like Dad was talking through me. I’m so, so sorry.”

Liam looked down, and when he looked back at me, his lips were pressed tight together. I thought he might cry or scream, and felt myself sway forward at the same time he took another dangerous step toward me. It made me feel boneless to meet his gaze straight on, but I wanted the truth from him even as I worried the intensity of his gaze would burn me.