Hero (Book Two)

by Laura Frances

A rumbling sound hits our ears, and we stop. For a few seconds we’re still, straining against the wind to hear it.

  “We’re too exposed here,” Drew says.

  Our pace picks up, a full-on run when the sound grows louder.

  From a nearby street, a large armored vehicle rolls into our path. From another, a dozen Watchers run to flank it.

  “Cash—”

  “Get behind me,” he says. But I don’t. We raise our guns, trying to steady our freezing hands.

  A door of the vehicle swings open, and a figure steps out. He is thin and aged. When he speaks, his voice sends a current of fear through me. I remember it.

  “Cash Gray,” he calls. “I do believe this is your ride.”

  “It’s not going to happen,” Cash says, shifting his feet and adjusting his grip.

  “Enough games,” Sterling says. “I’ve wasted enough time and resources on this little campaign of yours. Time to go.”

  “I will not.”

  “I am your commander!” the old man barks. “You swore an oath to obey me!” Even from here, I see the way his veins bulge.

  Cash steps forward, anger burning in his eyes. “Your oaths are lies!” His head shakes, glaring. Quieter he says, “I didn’t know—I didn’t know what I was signing up to do.”

  “Irrelevant,” Sterling says. He inches forward, and some of his men do too. “I am not responsible for your ignorance. But I am required to return you to your father.”

  “I have no father.” Cash holds his firing position, but steps back slow. Under his breath, he whispers, “The building. Left.”

  “He’ll be disappointed to hear it,” Sterling continues. “He has high hopes for you, you know. A seat on the Council, commander of armies…you really are throwing away your best life.”

  “You have my answer,” Cash says. “This conversation is pointless.”

  Sterling ignores him. “Ms. Hannah Bakker. You’re looking well, considering.”

  I don’t answer him.

  “Don’t be shy. We’ve been through so much, you and I.” He looks at Cash. “She is quite the fighter. Took torture like a true warrior.”

  “Ignore him,” Drew mutters.

  Sterling tilts his head. “Tell me, Ms. Bakker. Did you enjoy your visit down memory lane? You left quite a mess on that tower.” He nods toward Drew. “But clearly you had some help. Another one of my men poisoned by your rebellion, Gray?”

  “Sorry, man!” Drew calls to him. “You can’t take credit for me.”

  “Ah yes. The subtleties of a southern accent,” Sterling says, annoyed. He turns on his heel, marching back to the armored vehicle. Halfway he stops, and over his shoulder says, “Last chance.”

  Cash takes my arm and slowly moves me back, his eyes fixed hard on Sterling and the men who surround us. We inch toward the building. We’re close enough that after only five steps I’m couched by a dumpsters, gun aimed at Sterling.

  “Never again,” Cash says. Sterling nods. For a second he doesn’t move. He stands with his back to us, his head turned to one side.

  When he resumes his march, he says simply, “Open fire.” They’re thrown away words, a careless toss of a match on gas.

  Cash drops to a knee beside the dumpster, and we return fire. Bullets echo off metal and brick. Some of the Watchers fall, while others scatter, finding stairs and trash bins to shield them. Drew runs to a door two yards down and yanks it open.

  “Go!” Cash shouts.

  We fly through the frame, slamming the heavy door behind us. Bullets embed in its metal.

  “We have to find another exit now!” Cash shouts.

  “Why aren’t they following us?” I say between gasps. We listen to the vehicle pulling away. I press my ear to the door and hear the murmured voices of soldiers and their boots shuffling in the snow. Then a metal on metal scraping. The clanging of chains.

  “Why aren’t they following us…” I ask again, quieter, dread spreading through my body. A slow poison. A draining.

  “They’re going to bury us,” Cash says. “We have to get out. Now.”

  The halls are dark, so we run with our hands sliding along the walls. We trip on toppled things, but we can’t stop. They will blow up this building to kill us. A structure like this is nothing to them. But stopping Cash is everything. We’ll find the exit, but will they be waiting when the door flies open?

  I remember my mother telling me that sometimes death is the best thing. She said it because a woman a few units down had died in her sleep the night before. She wasn’t sick, and her body wasn’t damaged. But her heart gave up, and she never woke. My mother was sad; I could tell by the way she stared off every time my father would mention her. But when I asked about it, Mother didn’t speak of the death as a tragedy. Instead her words were laced in gratitude. The woman was free—somewhere peaceful and safe. Thinking of that night has made me wish for death in the moments it was coming for me. But now, knowing any moment our lives may end, I find I don’t want it. I don’t want to die…I want to live. I have Cash now. And Ben. I want to see Aspen thrive; see the trauma fade and her eyes light up again. Maybe death is easy, but it’s the hard things that matter more.

  I want to live, and that makes the panic worse. My feet run faster. My boot hits something, and I trip, landing hard on my elbows. Pain tears through my arm, but I rise into a run again and keep up.

  We find an exterior door, but it’s locked. Cash checks a nearby window, but quickly hides when he sees soldiers just outside, spilling gasoline along the walls. The fumes seep through the edges of the window.

  “This way,” Drew whispers. We follow him down a cold, wide hallway. The path is clearer, but pitch black. We check every room for a broken window or unnoticed door. Finally, at the end, we find a room with a low row of windows all broken. Freezing wind billows our clothes.

  The outside is clear. The windows open to a narrow space between this building and the next. It’s too narrow to walk, but just to the right of the farthest window is a thin, metal ladder attached to the exterior wall.

  “There,” Drew says, pointing at a window ten feet up on the neighboring building. “It’s all we’ve got.”

  “I’ll go first,” Cash says, but Drew stops him.

  “It’s you they want. I’ll make sure it’s clear.”

  Drew climbs onto the windowsill and maneuvers onto the ladder, squeezing his body into the tight space. The ladder creaks under his weight. I hold my breath, watching as he climbs higher, testing each rung with a push of his boot. The wind presses against his body, and he struggles to hold steady. But the ten feet pass quickly, and soon he’s struggling with the window, trying to open it from an unnatural position. He gives up and uses the butt of his rifle to break the glass. With his elbow he clears the remaining pieces and climbs through.

  “You’re next,” Cash says. I step onto the windowsill, and Cash keeps a hand on my waist while I shift my weight onto the rickety ladder. The wind is strong, but fear makes me fast. As I’m reaching my boot to the window, the building we’re leaving shudders and quakes. I grab the window frame with both hands and jump through. Cash is already climbing.

  The building shakes with another blast, and Cash’s foot slips. I scream his name, my arm reaching. He holds tight, but fire is burning in the room below.

  Cash hurries up the final rungs and steps fast through the window. We run to the closest stairs and descend to the lower level. There’s a door at the bottom, but we keep running, searching for an exit far from the scene we left behind. Exhaustion is hitting, and I want to scream to relieve the pressure in my chest.

  Cash grips my hand, and we run together, racing down dark halls with no idea where we’re going. Just away.

  We reach a door, and without thinking Drew slams through. It opens easily, and we’re met by dozens of wide eyes.

  22

  Drew continues running, maybe because looking at them is painful.

  “Come on!” he calls back to us, but I’m st
uck in place, staring at the desperate faces of the Outcasts. Most of them are barely conscious; they stare like all that’s left is to close their eyes. After that, all of this will fade to nothing. Cash stands behind me, hands on my arms. He murmurs by my ear that we need to go. Hannah, we can’t stop. I know you don’t want to leave them, but there’s nothing we can do now.

  He’s right, but I don’t say it. If we herd them into the street, they won’t be fast enough, and the Watchers will gun them down. But if they stay, will they burn?

  Drew returns to urge us on, but he’s stopped short. I follow his gaze to a child huddled against the wall. Her back is hunched, her body shivering violently. She stares at us wide-eyed, fully awake.

  Drew steps carefully past the other bodies and crouches in front of her.

  “Are your parents here?” he asks. She shakes her head, lips trembling.

  “We can get you somewhere safe,” Drew says.

  There is no hesitation. Without pause, the little girl raises her arms, reaching. He lifts her from the ground, and as her legs unfold, we see her feet. She wears tattered shoes, but they don’t hide the way her left foot turns inward. This is why she was cast away. Drew holds her close to him, sheltering her from the wind, and her head falls against his shoulder. When he turns to us, his eyes are angry.

  As we leave, I struggle to tear my eyes from the others. My feet move, but I crane my neck to see. How do we keep leaving them this way? Will there be any left to save when the South comes?

  At the corner, we press our backs to the cold brick and peer into the street. We’re father south by a block now, heading in the right direction. But the soldiers still surround the burning building a hundred yards back, and when we step out of this alley, there’s little cover. None of that matters though. We can’t stay where we are.

  “The barricade is only a quarter mile south of here,” Cash says. “We can run it. We’ll get as far as we can without notice first. Stay in the dark.”

  We move slow, easing our way onto the street and walking only in the dark patches and shadows. The snow fall hides us in some ways, blurring far away sight. But the street lamps reflecting off the blanket of white makes the world brighter than it should be. Only a minute passes before we hear the shouts.

  There’s an alley ahead, only thirty more feet, maybe less. We can take it, then find the next street south to the barricade. But running in this deepening snow makes our movements sloppy. What should take seconds takes too long, and the Watchers are gaining on us.

  Twenty feet.

  Cash holds tight to my hand. My entire arm is on fire from the strain on my bullet wound. I whip around and Drew is a couple yards back, gripping tight to the girl and struggling through the thick snow.

  Ten feet.

  The first shot rings out, and the little girl screams. The sound courses through my body. I spin around, pulling my hand free from Cash’s grip. Drew is on hands and knees, struggling toward the child. Red stains the ground when he rises.

  More guns go off, and we’re ducking for cover.

  “Keep running!” Drew shouts at us. “Don’t stop!”

  He reaches the girl and scoops her into his arms. She’s sobbing, clinging to his bleeding body. Drew runs for the alley but trips, one hand slamming to the snowy earth.

  Cash and I reach the alley and turn, calling to him and returning fire. The gunshots keep us trapped, but I’m about to risk it. I would die to save them. I didn’t know before, but now I do. It is only Cash’s grip that keeps me planted.

  Five feet.

  Three more.

  The guns continue to fire on us, and as he’s rounding the corner, Drew collapses. Cash jumps forward, catching the girl before she hits the ground.

  “Drew!” I land on my knees beside him, gripping his shoulders, his arms, feeling his neck. It can’t end this way. Not after all we’ve done tonight—all the close calls we’ve survived.

  Cash says my name, and I must look crazed when I meet his eyes.

  “Take her,” he says in a rush. I jump to my feet and fill my arms with the sobbing girl. Cash hoists Drew onto his shoulders, and we run hard, somehow finding strength in the panic. My eyes flood with tears, and I ache everywhere, my body straining to release all the things I feel.

  It can’t end this way.

  Resistance fighters run at us from all directions. They surround us, running at our sides, protecting us until we reach the barricade. Several hands lift Drew over the pile, then several more are helping me with the girl. We run together toward a truck and scramble onto the bed. The engine roars to life, racing us through the snowy streets toward safety.

  I crawl to Drew and lean over him while Cash keeps a steadying hand on me. Drew is breathing, but every bump makes his body tense.

  “Hang on,” I say, leaning close so he can hear me. “We’re safe now. Just hang on.”

  His eyes open, and tears are cutting to his ears.

  “The girl,” he says. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s here,” I say, nodding to the soldier who holds her. “You saved her, Drew. More than once.”

  “Don’t tell Alice,” he says slowly, a painful grin spreading over his face. “She’ll think I’m bragging.”

  I laugh, my eyes blurring.

  “You’re a hero,” I say. “Brag all you want.”

  When the coat factory comes into view, the relief is physical, rushing over me like warm water. The truck is parked by a set of double doors, and I watch from the bed as Drew is rushed to the Infirmary. A nurse runs forward and takes the girl. Cash jumps down, then offers his hands to me.

  When the chaos stops, I am left standing just inside the factory doors, my back collapsed against a wall in a dim hallway. It’s the same one Edan led me through the first night. I remember the way the lights flickered. Cash is beside me, staring off toward the Infirmary, his chest rising and falling fast. There is nothing to say. Not now that Drew is fighting to live. All the weight of this night crashes on my shoulders. I insisted on coming, and maybe things would have been different if I’d stayed back. I want to say something, anything, to break the tension pressing on us. But all the words are meaningless.

  My face twists, and I cover it with my hands. This feeling a living thing all in itself, full of rage and sadness. I want to control it, to keep from falling apart too quickly. But when Cash touches me, stands in front of me and pulls me against him, it only intensifies. It’s worse when his fingers grip at my clothes, and I know he’s feeling it too. There’s an angry quality to our hug, a kind of desperate clinging. My fingers grab onto his shirt, and I shut my eyes tight, breathing against the ache that’s filling my chest.

  They were all dead…not one breathing.

  “We’re losing them,” I whisper.

  Cash’s arms tighten.

  “I know,” he murmurs, his breath warm on my neck.

  A soldier steps into the hall, calling us to come fast. We break apart, eyes connecting for only a second before we run to catch up. We’re led through the Infirmary to a far corner. They’ve partitioned it off, and we step around to see Drew laid out on a table. They’ve removed his wet clothes, and he lies on his stomach, covered in a thick blanket. On the other side of the table is Meli. She sits in a chair, elbows to her knees, and stares angry at her wounded comrade. When we enter, she rises to meet us.

  “I don’t understand,” she says. “No one can tell me what happened!”

  I walk past her to the table, my eyes stuck on the paleness of his skin—the way it contrasts with his red hair.

  “We were cornered,” Cash says.

  “He got us out,” I say, taking Drew’s hand. It’s cold. From the snow, I tell myself. “He saved a girl.” I turn to look at her. “An Outcast child. He was shot trying to get her to safety.”

  Meli presses her hands to the table, her head falling forward. “His hero’s exit,” she murmurs.

  “No,” I snap. “Not exit. They can fix this.”

  “Hanna
h—” Cash whispers.

  “I thought you knew,” Meli says softly. She holds my gaze, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her courage truly crack. “He doesn’t have long.”

  I stare at her for a long time.

  I’m stuck in a daze, somewhere between exhaustion and grief. I stand by Drew’s bed, and all the strength is pouring out of me.

  There is a girl named Alice, I’m thinking. With blond hair who is sweet to others. I think of all the things Drew said about her, and I can almost imagine her face. She bakes soufflés and wins the hearts of red-haired soldiers from the South. Tonight, she’ll be a widow. I wonder if she’ll know. I’ve heard some people feel it.

  I lean close to Drew’s ear.

  “You’re a hero,” I whisper. I kiss his forehead, sorrow squeezing at my throat.

  “Excuse me,” a quiet voice says from the entry. It’s a soldier. He motions for Cash, and the two step out into the main room.

  “It was his dream, you know,” Meli says. “The only way he wanted to die was doing something important. Any other death would be a waste.”

  I don’t answer because my mind is having trouble accepting this. We were just together—just running through the alleys and climbing walls. I feel like I imagined it all. I can’t seem to ground myself in reality.

  Cash steps into the space again, and our eyes meet. Something is wrong.

  “I need you to come with me,” he says.

  My gaze settles on Drew again. He’s slipping away, barely conscious now. My nose burns, because I’m trying to keep myself together, and not crying hurts. I drop to my knees so my face is near his. I want to say something meaningful, but my mind is tired.

  “Goodbye,” I whisper. In my memory, I see his wide grin and the way his eyes tease. He laughed the most—more than anyone.

  I hug Meli, and before I pass through the exit, Cash murmurs, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  When I glance back, he’s leaning over Drew. He says quiet words, one soldier to another, and I have to turn away.

  I wait in the dim hall, where Workers lean into one another, sleeping. My clothes are filthy and snow-drenched. My skin beneath the fabric is raw. I peel off Cash’s coat and mine beneath it, desperate to leave some piece of tonight behind me. The air in here is cold.