Hero (Book Two)

by Laura Frances

  I don’t realize we’ve arrived until we stop before the metal stairs leading up. It’s been too long, and too many things have happened since the last time I was here. We climb, and my gaze drifts upward, taking in the towering building that seems to go on forever into the black sky. The Workers still living here are the ones that couldn’t get away in time. They lived through the horror that night, but didn’t find relief in the end. Emotions well up in my chest, too loud. Too painful.

  “What floor?” the Watcher asks.

  “Eight.”

  He hits each step before I do, so my arm is pulled up at an unnatural angle. I barely feel it the farther we go. The last time I was on these stairs, we were running for our lives.

  Some of the lights are on in the units we pass, though not many. Most of the Workers from this building are either in the Southern edge, or they’re dead.

  We reach the eighth floor, and he lets go, telling me to continue to my unit. Blood rushes into my arm again, and I flex my fingers while a tingling feeling pours down the limb. Once the tingling stops, what’s left is a deep, gnawing ache in my bicep.

  He’s behind me as I walk. I set my hand on the rickety, metal railing and let my fingers drag along, snow bunching and falling as I do. If he were to shove me into this railing with any small degree of strength, it would give, sending me eight stories to the concrete. The thought makes me drop my hand and walk faster.

  We pass Norma and Albert’s old unit, and I only glance at the door before moving on to my own. Norma is safe, and so is Albert…in his way. I find comfort in knowing his life was long, and death came at a natural age. But I miss him.

  “This is it,” I say to the Watcher, keeping my gaze below his.

  “Don’t let me catch you out this late again,” he says to me. “Or I’ll leave you to my men.”

  I purse my lips at his words, and nod. A gust of freezing wind hits my face, and for a second I can’t catch a breath.

  “Now get in there.”

  I push through the door, and he closes it behind me.

  I stand in the stale emptiness, and all my senses are bombarded. Cold air knocks the curtains against the wall, and glass still sits on the floor. There is nothing pleasant about this room. When I compare it to the house Cash grew up in, this unit is ugly and lifeless. They’ve removed all my things. If the Watcher had entered with me, he would have found me out. But my father sat in that corner when he cleaned his boots each night. My mother used that sink to wash the bowls after dinner. In the summer, the sticky night air blew through that window, and father would tell me about the blue sky.

  I push my back to the door and slide down, the weight of the things I lived here too heavy. Too significant. I sit on the cold tile floor, and stare wide-eyed into the gray darkness.

  19

  The sawed-off shower pipe doesn’t drip anymore. It hasn’t been used in weeks. I sit crouched on the cracked shower floor, remembering the night my parents were taken. When I close my eyes, I can still hear the guns. I sat here the night the window shattered too, just before Edan burst into the room and changed everything.

  I rise and walk to the sink. My fingers graze the porcelain, then find the faucet. Turning on the water, I cup my hands under the freezing flow and take a drink. I wipe my mouth with my sleeve, then set both hands on the sink, and my head drops forward. I draw in a long breath, then push it out slow. Again. Again.

  Let’s go! Edan said to me the night he came. Hurry! They’ll be coming!

  Come on. Get your coat.

  Look at me!

  I’m your friend, and I’m trying to save you!

  The next breath I take is a gasp. Nothing seems to satisfy my lungs. I drop to my knees, hands gripping the sink above my head, and squeeze my eyes tight.

  Now it’s my father’s voice echoing in my memory.

  I hear the trees are so tall, they bend in the wind.

  One day, Hannah. You’ll see. We’ll all see. Together.

  A sob tries to crawl out, but I clamp a hand over my mouth. I have seen the trees now; seen the way they bend and sway. I can remember their scent, because I’ve slept under their leaves and branches. I wish I could tell him that all the things he said were true.

  I crawl to the bare wall and sit against it, knees pulled to my chest, trying to keep warm. This is where my mother’s cot used to be. Where her long hair draped over the side, tangled and matted after work. She was a worn-out woman, aged beyond her years. But there was beauty in her smile; something powerful in the way she lit up despite her life.

  I press my head to the wall behind me and find a smile for them. Maybe they would be proud of me if they could see me now.

  A noise outside draws my attention, and I push off the floor and pace. This unit was my home, yes. But I don’t belong here anymore. Everything about this room pushes against me, telling me to run, to leave. Get out.

  The door creaks, and I freeze, watching as the crack grows wider and a figure enters.

  “Hannah,” a voice whispers. “Are you in here?”

  “Drew!” I rush over. He shuts the door and gives me a quick hug.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have let him take you.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I followed, but I had to wait until he left.” He looks past my head. “What is this place?”

  I turn, looking over the barren space we stand in.

  “This was my home,” I say. In the dim light coming from the window, I see his astonishment. Drew moves past me and stands in the middle of the room, turning a slow circle.

  “This,” he repeats. “Was your home.”

  “Yes.”

  He walks around, taking it in, his boots on the glass. His breaths fogging the air. Then he crouches in the middle, a hand rubbing his mouth.

  “This is where you lived,” he says, his voice quiet and tense. “You were alone here as a child?”

  I nod, but I don’t think he sees.

  “Are they all like this?” he asks.

  “All of them.”

  He says something under his breath that I don’t hear.

  “We need to get to the others,” I say. I say it because it’s true, but also because I don’t know how to respond to his reaction. I’m not used to people observing the private corners of my life.

  Drew stands, but his eyes are still scanning the room.

  “Cash will be worried,” I say, rubbing my hands together. Anxiety is burning in my chest. Cash will be looking for us, and he can’t afford to be caught. Finally, Drew crosses to the door.

  “I watched the soldier who took you leave. But we’ll need to go another route to be safe.”

  “There’s another way,” I say.

  We step out into the open wind. I peer down the path toward the stairs I was dragged up. Those guards will remember me, so I point the opposite direction toward another corner. We inch our way, slow at first while no one notices us. There are guards patrolling, but they move and shift, barely staying in the same place long. This is a change from before. They used to stand like statues, the shadows making them hollow-eyed creatures who saw everything—heard every sound. But now they pace, their gazes fixed on the far-off streets. Now they wait, anxious, because something is coming.

  I’m leading, and Drew keeps an eye on the path behind us as he follows. I feel the gun pressed to my back, and I’m tempted to pull it out. But if we’re stopped again, our best defense is my identity as a Worker. Workers do not have guns.

  We inch forward, avoiding the moonlight. Our steps are quick, but quiet. The toe of my boots hits a broken piece of concrete, and fear cuts through me. But the Watcher ahead is fixated on something in the distance. As we approach, he continually peers off in the same direction through the scope of his rifle.

  When we’re close to the corner, Drew slips ahead of me, his hand on my arm in case we need to act. Our steps are slower now, a rolling from heel to toe. Just a
s we’re rounding the corner, the Watcher starts to turn. First his head, just enough to tune his ear to us. Then slowly his neck turns, then shoulders. Drew tugs my arm, and I stumble a couple feet.

  “I said keep up,” he growls at me. The Watcher has turned fully now, and he uses his rifle to gesture to me.

  “What’s this?” he asks. There’s a different tone with this man. I don’t hear any real authority.

  “I have orders to bring her in,” Drew says. “Something about extra rations found in her supply cabinet.”

  The Watcher nods, but only half listens; he’s already glancing at the streets again. Drew doesn’t linger.

  “Keep an eye on the east,” he says to the Watcher while dragging me away. “I caught something on the radio earlier. Some kind of disturbance.”

  The guard swallows hard and aims his rifle again, peering out into the darkness. Drew and I share a glance, and I find myself pitying the Watcher. But we can’t risk exposing ourselves.

  We’re on a new walkway now. It is long and full of guns and black-clothed muscles. Drew’s pace is steady, his eyes hard and full of purpose. I stumble a step behind, feeling the pain in my arm. He’s being more careful, I can tell by his grip. But the Watcher who dragged me to my old unit did the real damage. I can feel my heart beating where Drew’s fingers press.

  Each Watcher we pass on this dark walkway turns to see us. I keep my head down, trained on the cement path, but I can peek from the corner of my eye. Occasionally we pass a window with lamplight glowing behind the curtains, and I want to push through their doors and bring them with us.

  We’ll come back for you, I think. I promise we won’t leave you here.

  Be strong, I say to them in my mind.

  We reach the stairwell at the back of the building. Quickly we descend, and the farther we go, the less Watchers there are. One flight down, two flights…by the fifth flight, my breath is gone.

  Drew stops.

  “Back up,” he whispers, and we stumble backward up three or four steps.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s your guy.”

  He lets go of my arm and says, “When I move, you have to keep up.” He inches down, his neck stretching to peer around the corner. We still have three flights to run.

  “Where is he?” I ask, then push out a slow breath to calm my nerves. My chest is tight.

  “He’s talking with a guard,” Drew whispers. “They’re faced away. About five yards down. If he doesn’t leave, we’ll have to run it. But quiet. We could still get past without drawing his attention.”

  I steel my face. Maybe if I look tough on the outside, my inside will feel it too.

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  Drew watches the men. Shaking his head, he turns to me. The man isn’t leaving.

  Drew takes my arm, and we walk fast, rounding the corner and onto the next flight of stairs. I don’t look up—don’t check to see if the Watcher turned. I don’t have to, because his voice is echoing off the walls.

  “What do you think you’re doing, soldier!”

  Adrenaline like fire burns through me, and it thrusts me forward, making me faster. Not fast enough. Need to disappear.

  If I look back I’ll fall, so I don’t know how close he is. But I hear his boots and the words that fly from his mouth. He’s shouting orders, telling others to catch us—telling them to open fire.

  Guns go off, and I can hear the bullets flying past. We turn each corner fast, feet barely landing before lifting. Drew lets go of my arm and fires at the Watchers that meet us on each level.

  I grab my gun. When I turn back to face the Watchers behind us, my eyes are wide. I pull the slide and fire again and again, feeling each shot like it hit me, the sound vibrating through my bones. They fall, but I don’t wait to know if they’re dead. My goal was to stop them, the way Edan would do. But I am not practiced at shooting to injure.

  We hit the bottom step, and I grab Drew’s arm, yanking him toward the darkest alley in sight. We can’t stop. They’ll catch us. But I don’t know where we’re going.

  We run two blocks before the sirens begin. I twist around to see how many are behind us just as Drew sets a hand on my back and pushes me forward. Faster. I catch a glimpse of three figures several yards back before we turn a sharp corner.

  “We won’t outrun them,” Drew says, trying to breathe. He stops and whips his head around, searching. The windows in this alley are broken, and the rooms inside are empty. I run to a door and yank on it, but it doesn’t open.

  “Here!” I whisper. There’s a window low enough to crawl through, but glass still sits along the base. Drew drops to a knee beside me.

  “Step up!”

  I set a hand on his shoulder for balance and step on his leg, hoisting my body onto the windowsill and avoiding the jagged edges of glass. Pain shoots through my upper arm, but I ignore it. I plant my feet on the ledge, then jump down into the dark room. Drew follows, and we crouch below the window catching our breath.

  Only fifteen seconds pass before we hear the boots of the Watchers. They run past without slowing.

  Drew shakes his head. “I screwed this up,” he mutters.

  “You didn’t,” I say, trying to find his eyes in the darkness. “There was no other option.”

  Drew purses his lips and looks away.

  “I mean it,” I say. “Drew, there was nothing you could do. We were outnumbered.”

  “Maybe,” he mumbles. Then he glances at me. “Still trying to get used to this place.”

  “Don’t try too hard. You’ll be home soon,” I say, touching his shoulder.

  I turn to look out the window, but the movement brings a burst of deep pain in my arm. I grab at it, trying to twist and see.

  “What is it?” Drew whispers.

  “I’m cut,” I say. “Probably the glass.”

  “Let me see.”

  I turn so he can look, but it’s dark in here. There are no street lights outside, and the moonlight barely touches the alley. I pull at the fabric, looking for a tear, and gasp when I feel the gnawing pain again. Drew leans close to see, his hands prying at the torn sleeve.

  “You’ve been shot,” he says. “Take this off.”

  Taking my coat off is difficult now that I’m feeling the pain. Drew helps me, and we find my sleeves blood-soaked. He pulls a knife from a sheath on his belt and cuts away the fabric above the wound. I’m shaking because I’ve never been shot before. I didn’t even feel it go in. The cold wind hits my exposed skin, raising stinging bumps all over my body.

  “Looks like it grazed you,” Drew says. “Pretty deep though. We need to wrap it.”

  I grit my teeth against the pain and lift my top shirt.

  “Tear this,” I say.

  Drew rips the bottom eight inches and wraps it several times around the wound before tying it tight. Nausea creeps up my throat, and I swallow several times to keep it down. We work my coat back on.

  “You’re lucky,” Drew says. “If you’re gonna get shot, that’s the way to do it.” He throws me a half-hearted grin. I roll my eyes and return it.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Makes me feel better.”

  He laughs quietly, and we both turn to check the alley. The sirens are still wailing.

  “It’s clear,” Drew says. “But let’s check the door. Might be able to unlock it from the inside.”

  He gets no more than three steps before I hear him trip and grunt.

  “You okay?” I whisper. No answer. I see his dark form moving, so I know he heard me. “Drew?”

  “They’re everywhere,” he whispers.

  “What is?”

  “People,” he says. Fear blooms in my chest.

  I inch forward, my fingers reaching. My boot bumps something, and I drop my hands and crouch, feeling the space around me. My fingertips brush over something soft, and I yank them back. Barely breathing, I reach my fingers out again, and this time I don’t pull away when they smooth over a shoulder. A head of hair. A fa
ce. Anger boils hot behind my eyes.

  “Who are they?” Drew asks quietly. “They’re all dead.”

  My eyes close. Dead. They’re all dead, because we couldn’t reach them in time. They died without knowing there was an end in sight.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, barely a breath. “I’m sorry,” I say to the woman dead on my left. I say it again to a child beside her. They are all cold and lifeless, and we couldn’t save them. Not this time.

  I stand and look around until my eyes are adjusted. A dozen bodies lie along the walls, huddled together.

  “Hannah, who are they?” Drew demands.

  “They’re the Outcasts,” I say to him. “This is what happens when the Council finds you useless.”

  Drew stares at me. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t have to. The thing I can’t decide is if these Outcasts were luckier than the others. They found shelter, but wouldn’t it just slow the process of dying? They might have been better off in the street, where the wind and the wet would take them sooner. But we always have to try, and that’s what they did.

  Drew is stepping over bodies, checking every neck for a pulse. Occasionally he mutters come on, but in the end, no one is alive.

  “We have to get to the meeting,” I say, unable to stand in this room anymore. If they were alive, even one, I would do everything I could to help them. But their hearts are silent, and I don’t want to be here. I find the wall, then the door. I unlock it, inch it open, and the alley is quiet.

  Drew follows me out, and we start in the direction we think is right.

  We don’t talk.

  20

  We reach the door Cash told us about, and Drew is still silent. I peek up at his face, but his expression is stony.

  Some Watchers pace the alley outside the door, and we approach slow. When they see us, one of the men hurries inside. The other walks toward us. My insides knot, nervous that we’ve found trouble again. But this man has kind eyes.