Others are arriving: Takeshi, Meli, Ian, and a group of about fifteen rebels made up of former Watchers and Workers. They’re a strange contrast to one another—the scrawny slaves and the muscled soldiers. But they are all warriors; all their eyes are fierce. They scatter, tending to the wounded and checking side alleys for danger. I turn back to the man.
“What’s your name?” I ask. I will ask every dying soldier their name, if I can. Someone should remember them, so I’ll do my best to store away the images of their faces.
He turns his head and spits blood on the asphalt.
“Tom,” he says, closing his eyes against a wave of pain. “Like my dad.”
“Short for Thomas?” Lifting my lips is difficult, when all I want to do is cry with him. But I try to.
His eyes are still closed. He’s shivering, shaking violently.
“Just Tom,” he murmurs. I wish he would open his eyes. I never saw their color.
“Tom,” I say. “Stay with me. Listen, we can get you back to the factory—”
He mumbles something I don’t understand; his lips barely move around the words. Desperation fills me, pouring heavy through my limbs. Why are they always dying when I reach them?
“Tom!” I say, louder. “Wake up! Tom, you need to open your eyes. Stay awake.”
Stay awake, Edan. Just stay awake.
“We’ll get you back to Solomon, Tom. He’ll know what to do.”
Somebody do something!
You need to say goodbye.
Tom stops shaking, and I see the moment his life leaves him. I stand up fast, backing away, my eyes wide—gaze stuck on his dead body.
Dead…like Ben’s father the night we ran.
Dead…like Alex under the thick snow shower.
And Edan…always Edan, his death hitting my chest like a fist.
They’re always dying.
“But Aspen lived,” I whisper. I say it again. Then three more times while I stare at Tom. I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Aspen lying safe in the sleeping room, surrounded by soft mattresses and walls. I cling to that image.
The grief is too strong, and standing still makes it worse. I run toward the blown-up stretch of barricade, not slowing to look at the wounded bodies being tended around me. I try not to look at the blood and mangled limbs. My jaw aches. I bite my lip and set both hands on a large metal box that landed upright close to the wreckage. Some of its edges are destroyed, but the bulk of it is still intact. I inhale hard, and with the exhale I push. The metal scrapes the asphalt, moving slowly toward the opening. My boots slip on the wet ground. Turning, I press my back to the metal and push again. This time the box shifts farther. When I’ve reached the gaping hole, I push the top of the box until it rocks, teetering on its edge. The harder I shove, the farther it rocks, until finally it crashes on its side in the center of the opening.
Smoke billows around us in thick plumes. But everything is soaked from the previous snowfall, so the fire is quickly dying away. I grab the leg of a heavy, upside-down metal desk and try to drag it.
“Let me,” Cash says, jogging over. I can’t say thank you, because I can’t speak. I leave the desk for him to haul and run to a mangled chair. It’s easy to lift, so I throw it on the top of the pile.
Everyone not tending to the wounded begins gathering pieces of the barricade that survived. We spend the next hour filling it in the best we can, shifting items from farther down the line to make it strong again. I can feel Cash watching me. I try not to meet his eyes too often. Every time I do, all the emotions I’m battling intensify. His concern pulls everything to the surface. But I can’t function here if I’m drowning in grief.
By the time we’ve finished, the wounded and dead soldiers have been taken away. Their blood stains the snow, and I glance at the sky, waiting anxious for the next snowfall to start.
Eight soldiers stay back to guard this stretch of the barricade, including Drew. I give him a hug before leaving; too many times I’ve missed my chance to say goodbye.
“Be safe,” I say to him. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
Drew is always upbeat to some degree; he always sees the good in every moment. But when I pull back from the hug and meet his eyes, some of the light has slipped away. I’m filled with a need to reassemble it before the valley takes him completely.
“Think of Alice,” I say as I back away. “And those soufflés, whatever they are.” I flash him a grin, and breathe easier when he returns it. Meli runs over, followed closely by Takeshi.
“I have to report back to Solomon,” Takeshi says to Drew. “But I’ll join you guys this evening. It’s gonna be a long night.”
“We’ve been through worse,” Meli says, punching Drew in the arm.
I want to say something, ask why they all have to stay. My mind is filled with images of Tom, burned and bleeding on the ground. But this is why they came. I can’t expect any less.
“I want to come back with you,” I say to Takeshi. “This evening.”
Takeshi glances at Cash, but it isn’t his choice.
“It’ll be rough,” is all Cash says. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
He wants me to reconsider.
“I’ve been through worse,” I say, meeting Meli’s eyes. She nods.
“That’s right you have,” she says, arching an eyebrow.
Takeshi sighs. “Let’s talk to Solomon.”
Cash drops his arm across my shoulders as we head back toward the factory, his hand around my upper arm, offering support. Our group is staggered, no longer running together in one clump. We fall several yards behind the others, walking slow and keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings. I cross my arms and let him pull me against his side. I’m warmer when he does.
“There are probably more explosives planted in the barricade,” Cash says. He’s talking low, eyeing the nearby windows and doorways, and it strikes me that whoever did this must be among us. The barricade is guarded by rebel soldiers at all times. Anyone sneaking from the other side would be caught long before they arrived. One of our own is responsible.
“Is there any way to search for more?”
Cash shakes his head. “Not easily. And not without drawing attention. As soon as we’re seen digging, whoever holds the trigger could set them off.”
“So we wait,” I say, stopping and glaring at him. “We just wait…and they kill more of us when they’re ready.”
Cash looks at me long and hard, hands gripping the rifle strap across his chest. Snowflakes fill the air around us, and I turn, arching my head up and watching the twinkling white flakes dance in the air. It’s not often I feel grateful for snow.
“They’ll cover the blood,” I say quietly. “Make it look clean again.”
We’re silent for several seconds, stuck in the simplicity of the moment. The snow falls harder, adding layers of white over the dirtied sludge. I watch the sky, but Cash’s eyes never leave me.
“You could die,” he says.
“That’s always been a risk. All my life.”
I meet his gaze. His eyebrows pull in, and he breathes out hard, the exhale clouding in the cold air.
“I’m not afraid,” I tell him. It’s a lie; so much of me is fear. But the reasons have shifted. I’m more afraid that we’ll lose this than I am of the violence and danger. I’m afraid of doing nothing, of sitting alone while the people I care about risk their lives.
“There’s nothing wrong with being afraid,” Cash says gently. “I’m afraid of many things.”
I look away.
“Like what?” I say. He steps closer.
“That my father will win,” he says. The heaviness in his voice draws my eyes to him again. “That I won’t be able to convince the Watchers to join us.”
“You’ve already convinced so many.”
“Not enough,” he says. “Not even close.”
My gaze falls away again, slipping to the deepening snow.
“I’m afraid I’ll lose you,” he says, s
ofter. “And I won’t be able to get to you. Not a second time.”
I know he fears that. That is the one fear I sense every time we’re faced with a new danger. I can hear his voice echoing in my memory, whispering, begging me to come back after Ian rescued me. It’s still strange to believe. There was never a time in my life growing up when I imagined someone like him worrying over someone like me. But the lines between us have blurred.
I nod without looking up. I sense him studying my reaction to his words; heat rises over my face.
“But I know you have to do this,” he continues. “I’m not trying to stop you. Just as you can’t stop me from protecting you at every opportunity.”
Slowly my gaze crawls upward to his.
“I won’t ever stop,” he says. “Not now. Not when this war is done.”
Color warms his cheeks, and for a second his gaze slips. He fights to hold it steady.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper.
13
The metal box I lean on is unsteady. Each small movement causes it to shift, so I try to keep still. Beside me, Cash leans his forearms to the underside of a small table, the legs of it no longer attached. He peers through the scope of his rifle, the red laser slicing the freezing night air—joining a dozen other glowing red lines. The sight of them makes me feel somehow safer, though we are completely vulnerable, braced on a charred, reassembled pile that was blown to the sky just hours ago.
The wind bites at my face, making my eyes water and blur. My hair is bundled on my head beneath a thick, knit cap, leaving my neck exposed. Sounds echo in the far distance—helicopter blades beating at the air and engines roaring to life. This may be the night they come for us.
I glance down the line every couple of minutes, keeping my eyes on the others, reminding myself that they are still alive. No one dies tonight.
Please. No one die tonight.
There is no talking for the first hour. Time passes slow, every second more drawn out than the last. My eyes are glued to the darkness, and every few minutes something moves in the shadows. My eyes stick to each suspicious spot until eventually I realize it was a cloud moving over the moon or a rebel soldier shifting at his post. It’s only then that I breathe out the spent air burning in my lungs.
A few feet to my right, Drew moves, adjusting his stance.
“What’s your problem?” Meli says, her voice a harsh whisper.
“Can’t feel my legs,” Drew answers. “Or my toes for that matter.”
Meli groans in annoyance, and I smile. Their banter distracts me from all the dangers I can’t see coming. A cold gust blows through, and I duck my chin into the collar of the coat I’m wearing. The wind carries a scent of something burning. Cash turns his face to it, eyes searching.
“It’s close,” I whisper. The scent is strong, so it must be near enough that the wind hasn’t had time to thin it. Cash climbs down, and I follow, taking his hand when he offers it. On solid ground, I walk a few yards and turn, trying to determine what direction the smell is coming from. The air has changed to something eerie. I think of the colorful birds that fill the mountain sky, and I wish they were here to break up the stillness.
My feet move toward the smell, and Cash follows. At first, we’re walking slow, turning our heads to peer down every alley and open street. But after a couple minutes I realize we’re moving closer to the coat factory, and fear slides down my spine. I take off running, oblivious now to the freezing wind. My boots slip on piles of snow, and I stumble a few steps before my balance returns. Images of Aspen and Ben filter through my mind, their screaming faces surrounded by heat and flames.
We sprint for several minutes, my breaths turning to wheezing gulps when we finally slow. We reach the coat factory, and I can hear the shouts. But the structure looming in front of us isn’t burning—at least not in any place that we can see.
“This way!” Cash calls to me. I drag in a full, labored breath and take off after him, my chest burning. We run to the far left side of the factory, turning into a narrow alley running along its side. Clanging echoes off the walls as soldiers scramble down the fire escape. For a moment I wonder if I’m wrong…maybe the coat factory is burning. But every person that steps down from the metal stairs sprints off in the same direction, shouting orders. They are heading toward the danger…not away from it.
We follow in their steps, passing some of the slower runners. My body acts on impulse, thrusting me forward, faster than I should be going. Soon the air is warmer. The smoke is thick, and I breathe into my arm to keep running. We come to the end of the alley, and it opens to a blazing inferno across the wide-open street. People are running from the doors of a large building, thick smoke following them out. They cough and gag on it. It hits me what this place is, and I feel the panic everywhere.
“Sam!” I scream. My body lurches forward, but Cash catches me around the waist.
“You can’t go in there!” he shouts by my ear. “It’s too far gone!”
“Sam is in there!” I twist around. “He might not make it alone.”
His head shakes, but his gaze moves over the scene like he’s calculating. I break free from his hands and run through the growing crowd, my lungs choked for air. Cash calls after me, but I don’t stop.
“Sam!” I yell his name, cupping my hands around my mouth to make it louder. Workers all around me grab at my clothes, wailing for help, for someone to rescue the one they love.
“You have to keep moving,” I say to them. “Get away from this building.” I point toward the alley we came from, showing them where others are being led. Tears streak their blackened faces, wet streams cutting through the ash.
The heat is unbearable the closer I get. I raise a hand to shield my face and run along the perimeter of the building. I shout his name, calling to the boy they wouldn’t let me keep. If he dies in these flames, I won’t forgive them. Not this death—not the boy who watches Cash with wide, awestruck eyes.
“Sam!” I scream above the voices and the growl of flames. Soldiers rush past me, trying to grab my arm and pull me with them. I yank free, ignoring their words. He was taken against his will. I can’t leave him to die.
I reach a corner of the building that has collapsed into the street, and I have no choice but to turn back. I run through the crowd, searching, calling to him. I find a crate and step up onto it, scanning the terrified faces running past. Several times I think I see him, but each time the child turns my way, I’m wrong. I should have put up more of a fight when they moved him. I should have insisted he stay.
“Hannah!”
Cash is calling for me, worry in his voice. I turn on the crate, searching for him. He’s standing across the street, guiding Workers toward the alley with his hands, but his eyes are looking for me. When he sees me, he visibly relaxes.
I gulp in air, coughing on the exhale. Smoke burns my nose and eyes. Cash reaches an arm behind his back, and Sam steps out. Sam is brave, a true warrior in his heart. But when compared to these horrors, he is still a gentle child, too young to be face to face with evil. Even from this distance, I see how scared he is—his arms slack, his face twisted from fighting off sobs.
I run to them, stumbling and tripping over feet and toppled things. Sam sees me just as I approach, and I drop to my knees and pull him to me. He’s crying, shaking against me, arms tight around my neck.
“Never again,” I whisper into his hair. “You’re staying with me.”
I take Sam into the women’s bathroom to wash away the coating of black on his skin and check for burns. My breaths come easier when I finish and find no injuries. We push through the halls toward the sleeping rooms, and he finds his brother and sister asleep, unaware of the tragedy that just happened outside these walls.
“No one will take you now,” I say to Sam, holding him tight to me and kissing his head. When he doesn’t let go, I grip his shoulders and push him back so I can kneel. His eyes are heavy, tears running over his cheeks.
�
��They won’t, Sam,” I say. “I promise I won’t let them this time.”
Sam presses his lips tight. I’m struck by the weighty emotions he wears. He should never have to wear them.
“They tried to kill me,” he says quietly. “Why do they want us dead?”
I stare at him, not sure what the right response is. Norma is better at these talks than I am.
Eventually I say, “It’s not you they want to kill. It’s this revolution. They don’t want us to leave.”
Sam watches me a moment, thinking. “Will we leave?”
I nod. “We will.”
The words echo in my mind when I walk out of the room. We will leave this place. I could have answered from my fears, told him I don’t know if we can do it; that the Council is too strong. But after what they did tonight…the fear is transforming into something that feels like poison in my veins. My cheeks warm, my fists clenched at my sides. My eyes shift to the soldiers rushing up and down these halls. I try to read behind their expressions; try to see what motivates them. Some of them are traitors, and none of us are safe while they remain hidden.
14
There were over three hundred Workers and Watchers sheltered in the factory that burned. The last count determined at least two hundred and fifty made it out alive, though some won’t last the night because of the smoke in their lungs.
The halls smell like smoke and sweat. Workers sleep on each other’s shoulders or sob into their knees. Some of them watch me as I pass, fresh tears sitting in their eyes. They are battered and afraid. I remember how I felt the first days. But we had a week before the attacks started. These Workers traded quiet terror for outright war.
A child is curled like a baby on the floor, and I think she’s sleeping when I come closer. But when my feet pass where she lies, I hear the sharp inhales of her sobs.
I crouch beside her and set a hand on her shoulder. The touch startles her, and her eyes are bloodshot when they meet mine.
Hero (Book Two) Page 8
