Kraven shakes his head, but doesn’t reveal any real emotion. “No, I said it wouldn’t be fought with modern weapons. These are not modern. These were made hundreds of years ago by a woman named Beatrice Patrelli. She was graced by Him to create these weapons in anticipation of this war. And they have been buried here ever since.
“Wouldn’t they be, I don’t know, rusted by now?” I ask.
Kraven picks up a knife the length of my forearm and holds it to the light. “Before there was the Hive, a small cottage sat here. This was the basement.” Kraven touches the tip of his blade to the stone wall, stained green from lime deposit. “Generations of Patrelli lived here, devoting their lives to the upkeep of these weapons.”
“Where are they now? The Patrelli?”
Kraven meets my gaze. “All that remained were two sisters. But they died about a year ago, before the Hive was constructed.”
I run my calloused palm over a shield, taking in the smooth metal. “How did they die?”
“They killed themselves.”
The blood freezes in my veins. I suddenly don’t want to be in the room anymore. Who knows where the girls’ bodies were buried. Even though I’m technically dead, there’s a big difference between me and a decomposing corpse.
Corpse.
Aspen.
The walkers.
I want to move forward with this conversation, to do something that will get me closer to rescuing Aspen and hiding Charlie. So I say, “Why can’t we take the weapons with us somewhere else?”
“And carry them on trains and ships and airplanes?” he asks. “Or in a car where we can get pulled over by American authorities?”
“What are we going to get arrested for? Unlawful use of swag?” I’m making a joke, but I know he’s right. We can’t carry all this stuff discretely. “Why is there so much when there’s so few of us.”
Kraven doesn’t answer.
Kraven doesn’t know.
“You think we’ll really need them?” I can’t believe the words leave my mouth after I’ve pushed for weapons for so long.
Kraven pulls himself taller. I do, too. Just in case this is a contest.
“These weapons were meant to be used in the war,” he says. “They were meant for us.”
“Oh, right. You got that faith thing going on.”
The liberator sighs. “Dante, the eight of us can’t win against the collectors and a hoard of sirens if you don’t believe in something.”
“I believe you got it bad for Annabelle, that’s what I believe.”
He turns away so that I can’t see his face. “You’re deflecting. But there will come a time when you’ll realize how you are on the inside.”
“How’s that, Cyborg?”
He meets my eyes. “Empty.”
I pull back like he landed a solid one on my chin. “I don’t feel empty. I’m all filled up. There’s nothing but magnificence inside in this body.”
Kraven’s jaw tightens.
“What’s the plan, Kraven?” I ask, being serious. “You must have one.”
“We must finish training.”
I begin to say something, but he cuts me off.
“And you,” he snaps. “You have to understand how important it is that the liberators are prepared to fight this war. Battles will come and lives will be lost. But when the sun rises in six days, we must be ready. Training, Dante. That is what will ready us. Remember, the day of war was determined long ago. Both sides know about it. Anything that happens between now and then is merely a tactic to gain an advantage on the day war has been fated.”
“Why are you showing me this now?” I ask.
“Because of what you and Charlie found on that scroll. ‘A room unburned.’”
Understanding dawns on me. “You believe one of these weapons is different than the others? A sparrow among crows?”
“I’m not sure. Do you feel a pull toward any particular sword?”
On reflex, my eyes dart to the sword I saw earlier. The one with the yellow jewel buried in its hilt. It seems too wimpy to be special compared to these gangster axes. And throwing stars? Hook a brother up.
“Let your heart speak to you.”
“Give it a rest, Oprah.” I step toward the knife and crouch down. My heart beats wildly against my chest and sweat breaks out across my forehead. I don’t reach for it, or ask Kraven if I can take it back to my room. But I do whisper inside my head, Hello, sparrow. I stand up. “I can’t be sure.”
The same reason that Kraven neglected to show me this room for weeks, is the same reason I don’t tell him the driving impulse I have to pick up that blade. I’ve accepted his leadership, but during these dangerous times I don’t trust anyone but my Charlie.
Kraven inspects me closely, like he’s trying to find something that’s lost to him. “They would listen to you. If you tried leading the people in this Hive, they would listen.”
“Of course they would,” I bark, even though he’s changing the subject. I’ve led collectors before. And I could lead liberators and humans alike.
But do I want to?
And do I truly believe I’d know what to do? Enough to rescue Aspen? To save Charlie?
“We can’t leave the weapons unguarded like this,” I say.
“The Quiet Ones guard them.” Kraven ducks down and clamors his dump-truck-sized ass through the opening. Watching him pull himself through, I wonder if the Patrelli were midgets. It’d be kick ass to be a midget. If I were a midget, the first thing I’d do is get it on with Charlie. As a midget.
I crawl out after Kraven and we make our way back to his chambers in silence. On the way, I decide I want to call my room chambers also, because it sounds much more official. Contemplating this is much easier than thinking about that woman’s neck split open like a clam, pink flesh bubbling out.
When we land inside Kraven’s chambers, neither one of us is prepared for what we see.
21
Hardened Hands
Humans take up every available space in the chambers. When Kraven and I try to move farther into the room, the tide of bodies has to spill into the hallway outside in order to accommodate us.
My mind races and I listen for the bells. But I don’t hear anything. My heart slows when I see Charlie at the doorway. People move aside as she makes her way toward me. I wrap my arm around her, kiss her temple, and face the gathering.
Kraven addresses the people who work the Hive. He doesn’t ask what they are here for. He doesn’t tell them to return to their duties. “I’m deeply sorry for the loss of your fellow humans.”
The crowd parts and a man in his fifties steps forward. He has liver spots on his forehead and hands though he seems too young for such a thing. Silver whiskers grow along his jaw, which makes him look James Bondish. I vow right then and there that as soon as I’m ancient, I’ll do the same—sport silver stubble. Then I remember with a pang that I’ll always be seventeen.
James Bond speaks. His voice is higher than I expected. “We don’t want your condolences.”
“You’re angry,” Kraven responds. The crowd mutters their agreement. Kraven lowers his head. “I’ll make plans for you to leave at once.”
The man looks behind him at a woman. It’s the same woman who spoke in the training room. She still wears the gold shawl around her shoulders. Maybe it’s his wife. Did these two know each other before they came here, or did they meet inside the Hive? James Bond returns his gaze to Kraven. He squares his shoulders. “We want to fight.”
“No.” Kraven looks down and shakes his head. This isn’t up for negotiation, he seems to add.
But I study these people closer. I see the anger painted on their faces and their need to help. They’ve washed our dishes and cleaned our sheets and replaced old light bulbs. But now they wish to do more. Now they want retribution.
“Did you know the ones that died?” I ask James Bond.
The man turns to me. “One of them, Edward, he was my cousin.”
&nbs
p; Someone near the back adds, “Sara was my friend.”
I don’t know who Sara was—a walker, sure—but was it the woman who watched me as she died? Other humans in the room call out how they knew one of the walkers.
“Tom helped me get over my nightmares.”
“Joshua walked by my door each night so I’d feel safe.”
“Sara and Jolene loved my blackberry cobbler.”
Every last walker is gone. Every human who knew how to fight, dead. But these people are here, and they want to take action. I step in front of Kraven. “We can teach you how to fight like they did.”
“I said no,” Kraven growls.
“And I’m saying yes,” I challenge. “You said it yourself these people are in His favor. They know what’s happening. They know they’ll be risking their lives. You can’t make this choice for them. It’s called free will, right? Isn’t that what He’s all about?”
Kraven’s scowl says he’s not convinced, but I catch the confliction in his eyes. “It’s wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I never should have allowed humans to work here.”
“But you did,” I say. “And the sirens are humans, too. If they can choose to fight alongside collectors, why can’t these people fight alongside us? With them by our side, we could stand a chance. You saw how many sirens Oswald took out.” My heart is racing because what I’m saying makes sense. There are countless sirens, and even more the collectors are probably recruiting. Maybe with the weapons, and with these people, we could win. But then I remember the way that walker’s neck opened, and my certainty wavers.
It’s Charlie who ultimately seals the deal. “Did you read the passages we revealed on the scroll?” When Kraven doesn’t respond, she continues. “Remember this line? Those with hardened hands shall pave the way to victory.” Charlie motions toward James Bond. “Please, sir. Your name is Harold, correct?”
The man raises his head.
“Could you show Kraven your hands?”
Harold looks as confused as I feel, but he offers them to Kraven to inspect. Charlie runs her fingers over his palms. “Hardened hands,” she says to the head liberator. “See these callouses? These people have worked the Hive in every way. And my guess is they didn’t do easy work before they arrived. What if these are the people the scroll is referring to.”
My girlfriend, The Genius.
“It makes sense, Kraven,” I add. “You know it does.”
Kraven runs his hands through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut. “Even if we wanted to, we can’t train them. We must train ourselves.”
“Surely we could spare some time,” I argue, my excitement growing. But I know he’s right. As much as I question his tactic to spend our time training, we must be at our best to take on the collectors.
The liberator shakes his head and the humans voice their complaint. We’ll fight without training, they say. We are not afraid, they say.
An idea flicks to life and suddenly I’m invigorated. “Kraven,” I say. “I know someone who can train these people.”
He raises an eyebrow.
The humans quiet.
“Who?” he asks.
I grin like a fox and say, “A crazy-ass dude named Lincoln.”
22
Unafraid
I don’t know how, but eventually the humans convince Kraven that they won’t be turned away. And Charlie convinces Kraven that she’s right about the message on the scroll. His hands are tied, so he tells me I can go find this Lincoln, whose dad is in the CIA and knows a thing or two about military tactics, as does his son. Who dresses all in black and has a plethora of face piercings but was always loyal as a friend to Aspen.
“If he exposes us to anyone…” Kraven warns.
“Chillax,” I tell him. “Lincoln’s a crazy MoFo, but he isn’t a nark.”
“I think you misunderstand the word nark,” Kraven replies.
“And I think you misunderstand how amazing I look under fluorescent lighting.” I reference my spectacular build. “Most people hate those things, but this was meant to be seen in Hi-Def.”
“You’ll take Max with you,” he says. “Better that he’s not here.”
“Why you always got to hate on Max?”
Kraven rolls his shoulders. “He’s still a collector.”
“Why? Because he wears dargon given to him by Lucille? I did, too.”
Kraven gives me a look like that doesn’t help my argument. “You’ll take Paine as well.”
So the liberator wants his competition out of the house? Guess he’s not the saint I thought he was. Still, I don’t fight him on it. I’m in too good a mood. First we found the sparrow among the crows, and then those with calloused hands who really need a good lotion but will also help us win the war. If we keep going at this rate, we might have this thing in the bag. Eight liberators against five collectors and hundreds upon hundreds of sirens?
It ain’t no thing.
“And Annabelle,” I say. “She goes, too, right?”
The liberator’s head whips in my direction so fast I imagine he must give himself a concussion. I laugh until my side aches. “Calm down, Casanova. I’m just busting your balls.” But then I really think about Annabelle. And Charlie, too. The smile evaporates from my face. I glance down and clench my hands into fists. “You have to swear to protect them.”
“I already swore my allegiance to Him. Part of that is protecting humans and the savior. I wouldn’t—”
“Swear to me,” I say.
Kraven meets my gaze. “I swear.”
It’s not enough. I want it in writing. I want a blood oath. I want his mother as collateral.
I turn away and say before I leave, “I’ll be ready to go at 6:00 a.m., before the sun is up.”
As I walk back to my room, I contemplate how Kraven will get the three of us out of the Hive. But mostly I think about Charlie. She was doing okay when I left her to talk with Kraven, but every second I’ve been away has been a different kind of war.
Blue is awake in the lounge area when I come in. He gets to his feet. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the sirens broke in and the walkers died. We look at each other for a moment, not saying a word, and then we embrace. There’s no back slapping or amusing words exchanged. We just hug. For real. Like chicks do.
I let go of him. “Where are the girls?”
He motions toward Annabelle’s room. “Annabelle’s in there.”
“And Charlie?” I ask.
His mouth lifts a touch. “In your room.”
I touch the outside of his bicep and head toward my room. But then I stop. “Blue?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m going to get Aspen back. I know it’s been several days, but she’s a strong girl. We’ll win this war, and after we do, we’ll storm into hell and save her.” My voice lowers. “I miss her, too.”
Blue’s eyes are downcast. He nods.
When I go inside my room, Charlie is sitting up in bed, knees pulled to her chest. I hate seeing her tense. I miss the Charlie that stretched out like a sunny day. She used to take up space, all of it, but now she curls into herself. It’s like she wants to disappear, and I want nothing more than to wake her up.
“Did you miss me?” I ask.
She glances up. Her eyes are wet with tears.
“Charlie.” I rush forward and take her in my arms. I stroke her hair and I tell her everything will be okay.
She cries as she says, “They killed them all.”
“I know,” I mutter into the crown of her head. But I’m not sure I do know. Charlie seems to connect to other people in a way I don’t. It’s like their happiness is something to be shared, and their pain, something to be felt. Earlier she seemed okay. I should have known.
She wipes at her eyes. “I want to go to the sunroom.”
I don’t question her for a moment, I just help her to her feet, and we cross the Hive to where we hung out earlier today. It seems an eternity ago that we were laughing and
messing around and acting like children. Because now we are adults, facing adult problems no one should have to face.
As we walk, I tell her about the knife I saw in the unburned room. She nods at this, but doesn’t say much else. When we get to the sunroom, Charlie presses her hands to the glass and stares out at the ocean. The moon is a silver yo-yo in the sky, coiled by an invisible string, poised to unroll into dark waters. She turns and faces me. She’s smiling. The sight is so beautiful; it reaches inside my chest like a hand and grabs hold.
“You see how wonderful this world is?” she says. “Look at all that water. Look at that sky. We think we’re so big…” She opens her hands to show me just how big. “But on earth, we’re small. We have to remember that we’re part of something historic.”
“Historic?” I move closer to her.
She steps back and grins playfully. “The world has turned for over four billion years. Maybe we help it turn. Laughing with a best friend and spinning an umbrella in the rain and swimming without bathing suits. Maybe that’s the stuff that keeps earth clunking along in space.”
I smile and step nearer, but she leaps back with a small laugh. “Maybe we’re all a part of each other, and a part of the ground we walk on, too.”
Charlie continues stepping backward and I continue pursuing her. Finally, I can’t take it any longer. I reach out and snatch her and make her mine. She’s my moon, and I’ve plucked her from the sky.
She giggles and fights against me until I kiss her. Then she relaxes in my arms.
“What’s all this talk about, Charlie?”
Her smile falls away. She turns her head to the sea. “It doesn’t seem so scary anymore.”
“What doesn’t?” I ask.
“Dying.”
…
That night, Charlie doesn’t leave my bed. But when I wake the next morning, I still can’t shake what she said. I assured her a dozen times that I’d never let anything happen to her. But that’s not true, is it? Because I couldn’t protect her soul from Rector. And I couldn’t protect Aspen from him, either.
The Warrior Page 12
