The Legend (9 page)

 

chapter 13

I
lean back against the Humvee trying to establish whether Heath is telling the truth. Reed slouches beside me, his face giving nothing away.

“You expect me to believe you've been looking for me?” I repeat for what feels like the tenth time.

“Yes!” He sounds exasperated. “I told you, we snuck out of the States about a month ago; we want to join the Resistance.”

“You snuck out a month ago, and yet you're still only seven miles from the boundary fence?” Reed scoffs. “Not moving very quickly, are you?”

Heath looks embarrassed. “We . . . ah . . . we were a bit worried about entering the barren lands.”

I laugh at that. “Worried the Rados might get you? Scared of the Deranged?”

“They're dangerous,” he points out earnestly.

“They're not, not to you.” I am referring of course to his Gift of strength. “You just bought into Eric Dane's bullshit, like everyone else.”

“Why did you want to find Rebecca?” Reed asks, his eyes narrowed.

“Rumour has it she's leading a movement against NUSA,” he explains. “We want in.”

“Why?”

“Seriously, dude, you have to ask me that?” Reed doesn't take kindly to the “dude” and Heath quickly continues. “I worked for NUSA, man. For five years. In the beginning, I thought that Eric was a good guy, I mean he always treated me well, and the perks were pretty decent.”

“So what changed?” My curiosity is piqued.

“About a year ago he had me working the boundary fences up in South Dakota. It was boring, but he needed a few extra recruits up that way. We heard there was some Rebel activity in the area and he wanted extra manpower on the fences in case of attack.” He trails off, lost in thought.

“And?” I prompt and he shakes his head, a look of revulsion coming over him.

“There wasn't anything wrong with those people,” he grimaces and in a moment of clarity I understand what must have happened. I had seen it myself, years ago, when a helpless girl had approached the boundary fence in Michigan, seeking sanctuary. She had been bludgeoned to death by a NUSA soldier on patrol. Adam had hinted that Eric was not behind the attacks, but it hardly mattered. The fact remained that NUSA was tainted – things happened that the nation had no idea about. Awful things.

For the first time, I am almost convinced by Heath.

“Well, you found me,” I point out, “or, more accurately, I found you. So now what?”

“You're really gonna bring down those fences?”

“Yes.”

“We'd like to help. Oliver, he's got some family that were exiled a few years ago, he's hoping you might be able to help us find them?”

“Not my forte,” I remark, “but I do know someone who can assist – he's back at our base. When we're finished here, you can come back with us. If that's what you really want?”

I let the question hang in the air – a true test of his claim. Most inhabitants of the States are terrified of the barren lands – Chase Crawford is the perfect example. When we kidnapped him and brought him out into the Rebeldom he had been terrified, until he saw with his own eyes that he had been deceived by Eric's propaganda.

Heath considers my offer for a moment and then he nods determinedly.

“We'll come,” he affirms, sounding more confident than he looks.

“Deal.”

Reed takes over the second watch and I take his place in the Humvee, determined to finally get some sleep. Heath, Oliver and the other two ex-NUSA soldiers, Matt and Rory, all find a spot inside the house and settle down quickly, not in the least bit fazed that they are sleeping amongst people whose lives they threatened less than an hour ago. I know my Legion. They will not all sleep; they will make sure that the newcomers are watched over at all times. Kwan, Archer and Jethro have also retired to get some rest after a long night and their trying ordeal. I fall asleep to the sound of leaves crunching underfoot as the guards patrol, confident that we will be safe until morning.

After breakfast, we all gather around on the front lawn to go over the plan. There are now twenty-four of us, far too many to be accommodated in one room in the house. I stand as everyone sits down, forming a circle around me as I outline the basic plan.

“We'd like to help,” Heath interrupts, and I turn to Reed, who shrugs.

“The more the merrier,” he drawls.

I am not in the least bit concerned that they might turn on us. Heath and his group are defectors – they are no more welcome in the States than we are. We are bound by a common enemy.

“Fine,” I reply. “Your men will help the raid team. It's imperative that they don't see us entering, and we'll need as much distraction as we can get. Once we're in, you follow the raid team's lead and get out of there. You'll rendezvous back here and then head straight back to base. The border guards may well follow you, or try to track the team, so no waiting around.”

“Got it,” he nods. “How many of you are going in?”

“Seven,” I reply.

“You mean eight,” Michael grins and I turn to him apologetically.

“No, I mean seven, Michael. I'm sorry, but your sister was right. You shouldn't be here.”

“What?” his outrage is not unexpected, but at least Morgan's tight-lipped relief is palpable, and she looks as though the weight of the world has just been lifted from her shoulders. “That's bullshit!” Michael continues, and I raise my brows in surprise.

Michael has never agreed with being left out of the action, but he usually takes it with nothing more than a grumble and a few mutterings under his breath. He has never been so outspoken before, and certainly never confronted me or called me out on a direct order. Then again, he is getting older and more self-assured.

“Michael,” Kwan rebukes the younger man. Kwan has always been close to the siblings and is even more so now that Michael is assisting him in the training of our cadets.

“It is!” Michael retorts. “I'm not a child. I'm just as capable as Morgan, and more capable than a lot of the soldiers older than me.”

“That may be true, Michael, but they aren't here either. This plan is dangerous – only those with battle experience are entering the States.”

“What about him, then?” Michael casts a disdainful look at Chase.

“He's necessary. He wouldn't be here otherwise. You may still participate in the raid itself,” I relent. “Believe me, there will be plenty of action in that alone.” Letting Michael accompany us to the fences is in itself a huge concession, and against my better judgement, but this is the least that I can do for him. He's earned it.

Michael looks as though he is about to object further, but then he shuts his mouth abruptly and stalks off in the direction of the house. Morgan watches him go with a thoughtful frown, but then she turns back to the group. She seems galvanised by my banning Michael from the invading party and for the first time since I announced this plan, she begins to contribute actively. Archer looks delighted by her about-turn, and he shifts a little closer to her.

“Good to have you back,” Reed murmurs as everyone disperses. I smile at him and am about to stand, but he places a warm hand on my leg, urging me to stay. “Where are you going?”

“I need to . . .”

“You need to nothing. Everything is done. You're running away from me.”

“I'm not. Not really,” I admit.

“You know we were friends long before we were anything else, Tiny.”

“I know.”

“So stop avoiding me. I'm a big boy – I can handle it.” He lies down on the soft grass and clasps his hands together behind his head, and after a moment's hesitation, I stretch out beside him.

We simply lie that way for ages, watching the clouds chase one another across the bluest of skies.

“The sky is the same wherever you are,” I muse out loud.

“Huh?” he sounds sleepy.

“Down here, everything is different. The barrenness of the Rebeldom, the opulence of the States . . . it's like two different worlds. But up there, it all looks the same.”

“It will be the same down here, one day.”

“You really think so?”

“I have no doubt.” He rolls onto his side to face me. “You're going to change the world, Rebecca.”

Before I can respond, he adds, “But don't let it go to your head, I can still kick your ass.” Leaping across, he straddles me, tickling every place he can reach. I wriggle in protest, laughing until I cry.

“Say uncle,” he taunts, his blond hair flopping over his eyes.

“Uncle!” I screech, feeling more like my old self than I have in ages.

By the time evening comes, Michael is still not talking to anyone, but he dutifully climbs into the Humvee that Quinn is driving. Morgan wavers, standing between the two cars, but then she strides over to the Humvee and yanks open the door that Michael just closed. I can see her giving him an earful, and I hide a smile.

“I saw that,” Reed drawls, his eyes meeting mine in the rear-view mirror.

A second later, Michael emerges from the car and gives his sister a brief stilted hug before getting back in the vehicle. Morgan stalks towards us, her curly blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She is dressed completely in black and her face has lost all traces of her teenage youthfulness. Morgan is astonishingly pretty but, more than that, she has grown into an exceptional soldier and she is a vital member of the Legion.

The raid team is travelling between the Humvee and my trusty Discovery. My team, which will be entering the States, needs to stay together, and so the seven of us clamber into the second Humvee with Reed behind the wheel.

We set off in the last light of day but within minutes darkness falls and the air turns noticeably cooler. We travel until we are only a mile or so from the boundary fence, and we park the vehicles behind a storage shed. One of the biggest problems we are facing is that this stretch of boundary fence, along the old State Line Road just north of Corning, is very remote and devoid of buildings or structures that could provide cover. We continue on foot and as the boundary fences come into view Reed points to an old abandoned truck stop, just over the road from the fences. We approach it from the south, undetected by the NUSA scouts at the fence, and use the few rusted big rigs for cover.

“Everybody ready?” I whisper and numerous heads nod around me. “You look nervous,” I tell Heath who, even in the dim light, looks green.

“I'm fine,” he insists, although I know he is wondering if he will come up against any of his former NUSA friends. Switching allegiances is not without consequences, I reflect.

I peer around the tanker truck I am hiding behind.

“Okay, you all see that tower?”

There is only one tower in sight, they can hardly miss it. Fortunately, this section of the fence is not very heavily guarded. Perhaps it is the remote location, or the lack of cover on either side, but there is a quiet, sleepy feel about the few guards we can see patrolling.

“First team, you take out the section fifty yards to the east and work back towards it.” Quinn nods, as does Michael, both of whom are in the first team. “Team two, fifty yards west.” The other half of the raid team nods, including Heath who is in that group. “I want as much cover as possible.”

They know they must eliminate any soldiers in the vicinity and cause as much chaos as possible, keeping any approaching back-up occupied so that they do not see the seven of us sneaking through the centre of the stretch.

“Archer,” I beckon the bowman forward and shove Chase towards him. “Stay close – he's your responsibility. Do what you need to do.”

“Keep an eye on the flanks,” Reed tells him. “The last thing we need are able-bodied soldiers getting through our ranks and living to tell the tale.”

Archer nods, knowing how vital it is that no one spots us and feeds the information of our entry back to Kenneth Williams. If any NUSA soldiers attempt to flee, Archer will need to take them out of the equation.

“We all move together on my signal,” I add to the group at large. “My team, we attack the tower. Do not leave any survivors. Once the fence is clear, keep your heads low and out of sight. And run like hell.”

There is a brief pause as everyone prepares mentally, and then I raise my arm.

“On three,” I murmur. “One, two . . .”

The sound of an enormous engine drowns out my voice and for a moment the tanker we are hiding behind is bathed in light.

“Shit!” I crouch low and everyone else does the same.

I lift my finger, warning them to be still. Risking a glance around the tanker, I see a dark SUV parked parallel to the fence nearest us. Both the driver and passenger doors are open. I glance at my watch. It is a quarter to nine and there are no scheduled guard changes at this time. I only hope that reinforcements aren't being dropped off; I had quite liked the odds of the low number of guards on patrol. I watch through a small gap between the truck and trailer. The SUV passengers are chatting amiably with the guards at the fence – one is a tall, lanky African-American and the other is a pretty brunette. As I watch, there is an exchange of sorts, but I cannot make out what it is they are trading. A few moments later, after a guffaw of laughter, the newcomers get back into their vehicle and we crouch low as the SUV reverses, its lights once again flooding the spot where we are hiding. I breathe a sigh of relief as the sound of the engine fades away into the night.

We wait a few minutes, making sure that the SUV is far enough away that they cannot be called back in a hurry and then I glance at the group huddled around me.

“Ready?” I whisper, and I raise my hand. “One . . . two . . . three!”

 

 

 

chapter 14

W
e surge out from behind the cover of the tanker truck, our group splitting into three precise teams, all heading in different directions. I reach the fence about a nanosecond before Reed, ignoring the yells of surprise coming from the guards on the other side. I grab the fence where it meets with one of the supporting steel poles and with a powerful jerk of my arms, it rips away. I move left, pulling the fence with me, until a gap about three yards wide is formed. Before I even have time to drop the mesh, a baton slams down on my hands, hard enough to break two knuckles in my left hand.

I give a yell of pain and rage and turn on the black-haired NUSA soldier who has already raised his baton for another blow. I lift both hands and slam them into the man's chest, just as the others stampede through the gap. The soldier reels backwards but he recovers quickly and advances towards me. Morgan slams a fist into his face as she passes, and he staggers again. I can hear the yells and sounds of the others fighting and a quick study shows that both the other teams have broken through and are fanning out, preventing the soldiers from observing our movements. All the fighting is now taking place on NUSA territory and we have to hurry to ensure we get away before reinforcements arrive.

The soldier with the baton is olive-skinned and reminds me of Mason. A red haze comes over me and I dart forward, ignoring my aching fingers. Grabbing his baton, I lift my right leg and place my foot squarely on his chest. Simultaneously, I pull with my arm and kick out with my leg, and the baton falls from his hand. He stumbles backwards, landing on his backside. A quick blow with the baton to his temple and he slumps over, whether dead or unconscious I have no idea. As a second soldier approaches me, I catch a glimpse of Archer pulling Chase along by his collar, both of them crouched low and moving quickly away from the fences towards the nearby conservation area. To my left, one of the guards gives a cry as he spots them escaping but as he makes to follow them, I grab him by the hair and jerk him backwards. I pull him against my body, sliding the baton across his neck and pressing it against his windpipe. As I hold it in place, depriving him of oxygen, a second guard steps towards me. I move my body, keeping his companion facing him, but he keeps circling, looking for an opening to attack me without harming his friend.

I am about to crush my captive's windpipe and deal with the new threat, when he suddenly slumps to the ground. Reed, standing behind him, looks around.

“That's it, we're done here,” he drawls. Morgan is flexing her right hand and Jethro is limping slightly as he moves closer to her, but Kwan looks remarkably unfazed, with not so much as a hair out of place.

“Let's go,” I nod and we streak into the dark, leaving the fences behind us.

We have not gone far when we come across Archer and Chase.

“Are you both okay?” I ask quickly, as the last sounds of fighting in the distance come to an abrupt halt. In the sudden stillness, I can just make out the sound of running – our people are obviously retreating. I wish there was some way of knowing whether everyone made it, but we cannot risk going back to check.

“Fine,” Archer answers. “I didn't even need my bow. They were far too preoccupied to notice us.” That's not entirely true, but I don't bother correcting him. What matters is that we have made it into the States without being detected.

“We need to get as far away from the fences as possible before dawn,” I murmur as I crouch behind a large boulder.

Without warning, the sound of a twig crunching underfoot alerts us to the presence of others. It seems we were followed after all. I get quickly to my feet, but Reed shakes his head, putting a finger to his lips. He points to himself and then in the direction of the sound, his intention clear. We should stay put. He slowly backs away to be swallowed by the murky darkness and I strain my ears, the blood rushing to my head. I signal the others to move slowly away from the approaching soldiers, and take refuge in the trees. We are sitting ducks, clustered as we are in a circle. I hesitate as I hear the sounds of a scuffle, torn between wanting to help and wanting to protect the rest of them. Before we have even moved two feet, I hear a Tarzan yell of fright followed by Reed's furious hiss, and a moment later he bursts into the clearing, pushing Michael Kelly before him.

“Not now,” Reed growls as Morgan rushes forward, opening her mouth to scream at her brother. Signalling the rest of us to keep quiet, Reed shepherds us forward, moving faster than I expected. In silence, we cover about a mile before we come to a stop on a piece of flat land.

I round on Michael.

“Don't,” he warns, raising his hand. “I didn't mean to, okay? I wasn't even thinking about it. But in the fighting, I got pushed back, and I spotted you guys. You didn't even notice there was a NUSA guard following you.”

I turn to Reed and he nods in confirmation. “Michael was right behind him. He's not a problem any more,” he adds.

“We can take him back,” Morgan says. “We can take Michael back to the fences and then . . .”

“No,” I shake my head vehemently. “It's too late. We can't. Michael comes with us.”

“He'll be okay,” Archer soothes, but Morgan ignores him.

We walk for what feels like for ever. The conservation area forms part of the Mark Twain National Forest, which covers an area of 3750 square miles and spans twenty-nine counties. It is the perfect place to hide, although it seems we are in the clear for now. After about three hours, we come across a cabin in the woods.

“I think we should rest here,” I say, to the collective delight of everyone. It has been a long night and we are all exhausted, Chase particularly. He is panting heavily but overall I am pleased at his performance. He has outdone himself, considering his lack of any of our gifts, and he deserves a rest. Strangely enough, being inside NUSA's borders is probably safer than anywhere in the Rebeldom – it's the last place that they will think to look for us. The only trouble we may run into is a few campground officials, which won't present much of a problem, so we head inside the cabin to get some well-deserved rest, leaving only two sentries on guard at a time.

I take the last shift, along with Kwan.

“The sun will be up soon,” Kwan observes, looking up at the lightening sky.

“Let's push on.” I go back to the cabin and rouse the others.

We cut across thick forest before we emerge on the other side, about twenty miles from where we crossed the boundary fence. We take a moment to consider the best route forward. Now that we are in the belly of the beast, we need to make sure that we do not draw attention to ourselves, so stealing a car is out of the question. Richard and Lucy Carlisle live in the penthouse of an upmarket luxury apartment block in Kansas City, over three hundred miles away.

Unexpectedly, it is Michael who comes up with a suggestion.

“Why don't we just take the bus?” Nobody argues, despite the obvious dissent. It's not like anyone has a better idea. It's a long walk into town, and we head straight for the bus terminal. Chase pays cash for our tickets with the money he had in his wallet when we kidnapped him.

The bus ride takes well over five hours, taking into account all stops, and after a while, we start to relax. Rather than sticking together, we spread ourselves around the Greyhound. I watch Morgan's blonde hair bouncing up and down as she animatedly, albeit quietly, berates Michael for his foolishness in following us. Directly in front of her, Archer tries a few times to lure her into conversation, but she will not be dissuaded. Chase falls asleep a few stops into our journey, and Kwan stares silently out of the window beside him. Jethro is right up at the front of the bus, and I can just make out his dark head through the other passengers.

“I don't remember the last time I travelled by bus,” Reed drawls from beside me.

“Aidan and I always used the bus to school,” I smile. “But when I met Eric, it was all chauffeurs and street cars. The First Lady would never have stooped to this level.”

“Well, then, it's a good thing you're no lady,” he jokes and I slap his arm. “First Lady,” he corrects, chuckling, “I meant First Lady.”

I doze on and off until Reed shakes me gently awake.

“Look,” he murmurs, and I follow the direction of his pointing finger to find that we are passing through a pre-war zone.

Thirty years ago the fallout from the nuclear war affected the entire planet. Billions of people died, and cities were left as a disconsolate shell of what they had once been. I had seen for myself the devastating effects when I had travelled to the west coast with Adam and his people in search of survivors. The opulence of the New United States that Eric had created had only really struck me then, when I had seen the worst of the war. The rebuilding that had taken place within NUSA itself was mind-blowing – most of the larger cities were so advanced and restored that it was as close to a pre-war environment that you could get. The population being only a fraction of what it was, however, meant that there were still areas that had remained untouched and undeveloped since the war. We did not need the space, and rebuilding cost time and money. Prioritising was an essential part of the process. Pre-war zones were areas that remained in the state they were left in after the war. Dilapidated, looted buildings, overgrown wilderness, abandoned cars, and dreary grey scenes were commonplace.

“Nice view,” Reed remarks from beside me. He is intending to be derogatory but I can hear the underlying emotion in his voice.

“It looks like home,” I smile, resting my head against the window and watching it pass by.