Tears spring from my eyes. His nails cut through my charred flesh. My hands want to reach up, to grab his arm and yank free. But I don’t move. I can’t breathe. This is the secret Cash didn’t want to tell. And why would he? Why would anyone want to be associated with this level of cruelty? The sadness digs deep, cutting through my heart.
I know who he is, Jackson said. His loyalty will always be to the Council!
Edan knew. He knew what that kind of revelation would do. I look through the mask, into the Councilman’s eyes.
I told you, Cash said. I have no family.
“Yes,” the man says. “Yes, I do believe he would.” His fingers squeeze harder. “But he will fail.”
His own father beat him for refusing an order. His own father labeled and stamped him: coward. Tears fall hot down my face as the Council leaves through a door, and Lockwood enters to haul me from the room. He carries me down the dark hall, and I don’t bother to study the guards this time.
“That went well,” Lockwood murmurs when the elevator doors close. I peek at him through the tears. I know he’s trying to make a heavy situation light, but I can’t get a smile to touch my lips. Cash is the heir to a Council seat. And I will die before I can tell him that it doesn’t change anything. He didn’t want to tell me because he thought I would see him differently. But I don’t. And I will never tell him.
“What will happen to me?” I whisper.
Lockwood shakes his head. “That’s not something I know, Hannah. I’m sorry.”
I say nothing. A hollow feeling is growing deep inside of me. I lean into his shoulder, greedily taking whatever comfort I can before I’m deposited in my cell and left to the mercy of the Council. I close my eyes, letting the other guards assume I’m unconscious. When we reach the cell, Lockwood eases me onto the floor.
He pulls a small cloth from the pocket of his jacket. “Here,” he says, dabbing it on my face. The cuts sting where Cash’s father grabbed me. He pulls back the cloth, and I see small blotches of blood.
“I don’t want to die,” I whisper. I look up, meeting his eyes. My head shakes. “I don’t…I’m not ready to die.”
“And you won’t.” Lockwood touches my shoulder. “I don’t know what I can do. But I will try. You aren’t alone here, Hannah. Remember that.”
I nod. As soon as he’s gone, I curl into a ball, and the sadness takes me.
32
The sovereign of the South chose a man to travel to the North and negotiate aid.
This man was young and, I truly believe, naive. He could not have known what lay ahead.
This young man’s name was Turner Gray.
He betrayed the South for a seat on the Council.
Gray.
I lie on my back on the cell floor, arms extended, tears dripping off my ears.
Cash Gray. Son of a Council member.
Cash Gray. Heir to a Council seat.
Cash Gray. Descendant of Turner Gray.
Traitor of the South.
I wish I could feel it for him—take it away and bear it myself. I close my eyes and push the air out of my lungs. But all the truths are pushing down on me, all the new things I didn’t know—the things I won’t be able to pretend away. I used to pretend away the death of my parents. I can turn my eyes, and things get muddied. Some truths are avoidable… for a while. But this one isn’t. It stares me in the face and tells me I am not enough. There is nothing I can do to fix this.
When the door creaks, I don’t bother jumping back. When the light from the hall floods the cell, I curl into myself, my back to the figures walking in.
“The prisoner will stand.” I peek over my shoulder and see Lockwood, stiff as a board and head bowed. Another figure enters. He is clothed in a red suit, with sharply pressed fabrics and silver epaulettes on his shoulders. I slowly drag my battered form from the ground, bowing my head, but I don’t stop staring. My eyes drift over the suit, where jewels and medals mark his rank. His face is concealed by the mask and hood. He takes small steps toward me.
“You may go,” the figure says. Cash’s father. I recognize the hostility edging his voice. Lockwood bows one last time, then leaves. The door is closed, and we are alone. For a moment, we stand in silence. His masked head tilts to the left. I inch back. I don’t like being alone with him. I can still feel the places where his nails dug into my face.
“I suppose,” the Councilman says. “Since you are going to die, I don’t need this.” Slowly he removes the hood, then the mask. I’m struck by his resemblance to Cash. He has the same eyes; the same golden features. I step back as he steps forward, and I’m reminded how I did the same to Cash just weeks ago, before I knew him.
“Since you are so well acquainted with my son,” he says. “I thought I would do you the courtesy of introducing myself before your execution.” With his hands folded neatly behind him and his face placid, he says,
“My name is Titus Gray.”
I stare blankly. I think his words are meant to impress me. But when I look in his eyes, all I see is the pain on Cash’s face the night I held him on the roof. All I see are the tears Cash shed, the guilt he carried for the things this man made him do. Fathers are meant to be good. They are supposed to be wise and brave. I think of Aspen, of the look on her face when she gazed into the mirror. My throat tightens, and I have to look away from Titus. He represents the pain that gnaws in the hearts of the people I love the most.
“You have no interest in meeting me?”
I frown. Shake my head.
“Because of my temper with you yesterday?”
I pinch my lips. Better to clip my words and get this over with. “Because I know who you are. And I don’t wish to know more.”
I peek up, and Titus is glaring at me.
“No doubt my son has given me a shining reference. Do tell me.”
I shake my head. “I won’t stand between a father and son. I’m sure Cash has made his feelings clear.”
“You are quite stubborn, aren’t you?” Titus steps forward again, and my back hits the wall. “I can see how my son would find you interesting.”
The air in this cell has thinned. The close proximity to this man is suffocating. I turn my head away, glaring at the floor. Titus grabs my chin in his gloved hand and forces me to face him.
“I’m going to enjoy your death,” he whispers. “My son is weak. His mother made him that way.” My eyes widen. Cash hasn’t spoken of his mother. I can’t imagine this man in love. “But if what is being said is true, your death will be what finally breaks him.”
His fingers squeeze.
“You have to break them,” he says. His voice is acid. It is poison. “To make them obey.” His lips pull in a cruel grin. My heart beats fast against my chest. “But you know that, don’t you? Tell me, Hannah,” he says, his voice a whisper by my ear. “Did it break you? When I killed your parents?”
Cold fear slips down my spine. I know he can feel me trembling, and it brings him joy. I see it in his eyes.
“That’s right,” he says. “We have records of every Worker. Every death. We document well.” He leans close again. “Esma and Jonathan Bakker. Rebels. Executed for suspicious behavior.”
“But my parents…”
“Were rebels. And I ordered their deaths. Just as I will order yours.”
Be careful, my mother said to my father. Stay in the shadows.
Were they trying to free us? Was the Resistance forming even then? I can’t help the smile that touches my chapped lips. I can’t help the way pride balloons in my chest.
“No,” I breathe. I look up at Titus.
“No?”
“No,” I say again. “You didn’t break me.” I lift to my toes and stare in his empty eyes, ignoring the shaking of my hands and the way my legs try to buckle.
“You made me stronger.”
Titus curls his lip, his face twisting into something ugly. I see his age now—see the sagging skin under his eyes and artificial blond of his hai
r. This is a man. I grin.
“And if you kill me,” I say. “You won’t break Cash. I’ve seen how he responds to pain. He is stronger and braver and more of a leader than you will ever be. And he’s rallying your troops against you.”
Titus steps back, and I match it.
“Half of the soldiers in this building are your enemies. Just waiting for the order. And it is Cash who commands them. Not you.”
“Enough!”
The back of his fist breaks against my cheekbone, and I stumble back, holding my breath through the pain. My mouth gapes, but I refuse the sob. When the first explosion of pain subsides, I straighten. Hands at my sides, I match Titus’s glare. The veins in his forehead bulge, stress wetting his hairline.
“I promise you,” he hisses, his finger stabbing the air between us. “You will regret your actions.” He pulls the hood over his head, his hands shaking with anger.
He fixes the mask over his face and turns. I watch as he draws in cleansing breaths, see the rise and fall of his chest. With his face concealed, his body language slowly transforms. His shoulders square off, his spine straightening. Pounding a fist on the door once, he looks to me one last time. When he speaks, his composure has returned. The mask hides all the humanity he’s afraid to show.
“A pleasure, Ms. Bakker.”
The door opens, and he slips through.
I slump against the wall, touching a hand to the heat of my face. The bone is tender, the skin swollen. But I don’t care. The rest of me is just as damaged. I drag new air into my lungs. I close my eyes, and there is my mother. There is my father, and there is me. We were a family once. A unit comprised of love and hope and courage. I didn’t see it then. I didn’t know that my mother’s tears were something bigger. I realize now that she wasn’t crying for herself. She was crying for all the others—all of the people she wanted to help. I think of my father and his stories about the sky. Why tell a young child about things they will never get to see? But that wasn’t what he was doing. He was planting a dream in my heart. Planting a picture in my mind. Something to chase. Something to long for.
And it worked. I wish I could tell him that it worked.
I sit in the corner, resting my head on the wall. I think of Cash and all the shame he feels for the father he didn’t choose. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leave without telling him that he’s better. Someone needs to tell him.
33
I dream that I’m drowning—sinking and I can’t surface. But the sinking feeling is too real, and I wake, gasping.
The bulb is over me, buzzing. I turn my head to the side, and my brain spins over on itself. The white room swirls around me.
I am flat on a cold table. I’ve returned to the beginning. This is where it started. I’m confused. I try to lift my head, to see if I’m strapped, but my body is weak. My head flops back, knocking hard onto the metal. A groan tumbles from my lips.
Beeping reaches me. I close my eyes and try to focus on it. The high pitch sound matches the rhythm of my heart. They pulse in perfect sync.
I open my eyelids again. The steady beeping and buzzing of the bulb make me anxious. The longer I lie here, the louder they are, until I want to scream. I can’t move.
A door opens. Titus Gray enters my vision, a smile spread wide over his aged lips. He looks so much like Cash. Looking at him feels like looking into the future, seeing who Cash will be. But that is wrong. Cash will never be Titus. Thinking of Cash reminds me how much I don’t want to die, and panic seizes me. My eyes dart back and forth, searching for someone else that will save me from this man. But no one is here.
“I…can’t move.”
I say it like he cares; like he’ll see something is wrong, see the thing I can’t, and he’ll help me. But he won’t. I know he won’t.
He smiles wider.
“I was trying to think of the best way to do this,” he says, moving out of my line of vision. I don’t like him out of my sight. I try to twist to see him, but my body is tired and heavy. I hear his quiet steps. He talks as though we are friends, planning something special.
I don’t want to die.
“I wanted to surprise you, that was clear. There are so many methods that are simply…cliché. Then I thought,” he leans over me, hands pressed to the table. His voice lowers, and I stare at him wide-eyed.
“I don’t do things without purpose. How can I use your execution to my benefit? Then it hit me.”
He leans closer, and I smell his foul breath.
The weightiness grows heavier. With every exhale, I am pulled down, sinking. My heart slowly speeds, the beeping with it.
“Please,” I whimper. “Please…”
Maybe this is wrong. Maybe this isn’t his plan, and something is wrong. Maybe he’ll stop it. Something is wrong. The beeping picks up. My body trembles. I clench my teeth and try to control the shaking, but I can’t.
“I’d planned to wait for my son. I think I’d enjoy watching him beg for your life. But I don’t have time to fight with little girls. Your earlier behavior made this choice an easy one.
“Please…” I breathe.
“Better to kill you halfway,” he murmurs. “Before you ever know it’s happening.”
“What?” I croak. It’s a pathetic sound, and it brings joy to Titus’ face.
“There’s a war coming, Ms. Bakker. Your friends have ensured that. When they attacked the barracks, they started something that even I couldn’t predict. And there will be damage. My men will need blood. So, thank you,” he says. “For contributing to our store.”
He pulls back, studying me. In my head, I’m screaming. I’m thrashing and fighting, refusing this. But he’s taken my blood. And I’m dying.
I cry out, but it’s a sad sound.
Titus laughs, a booming noise.
“Even now,” he says. “Even now, she thinks she can fight. You really are a pathetic people.”
He disappears. A door closes, and the sound echoes somewhere far away. I’m alone. My heart rages, trying to circulate the blood left in my body. But it isn’t enough. Even my blood is retreating.
I’ll come back, Cash whispered. I promise.
But I won’t. My face contorts, and I try to scream. I try to move; try to lift; try to reach. But it’s cold in here. It’s freezing, and I’m numb. My mouth gapes and my back arches, all of my left-over strength dying in this last wrenching sob. I don’t want to go. My arms ache for Ben. I said he would have me; that I would be his family. But I lied, because I’m dying. I’m dying like his father died. I’m dying like his mother. Promises are empty here. We should never make them.
My eyelids are heavy. I can’t fight them anymore. When they close, there is Cash. I cling to the image of him—to the careful way he smiles. Sadness fills my chest, so full I think it will kill me before I lose all my blood.
I think of my mother. I think of my father and how lucky he was that a bullet killed him. He didn’t have time to mourn all that he was losing. I think of Sam and Aspen and I don’t remember. I’m having trouble remembering. And as I’m slipping off this cliff, the last thing I think is: please.
“Quiet,” the voice whispers. His breath is on my ear.
Someone is shuffling near my feet. A deep ache spreads over my thigh. I groan.
Hands slide under my back, and I am lifted into the air, falling against warmth. A heart beats next to mine.
“Quiet, Hannah,” he whispers. I know his voice.
To someone else he says, “South exit. Run ahead and make sure it’s clear.”
“She’s dead, man. There’s no point—”
“Go!”
The other voice mumbles something and a latch quietly engages.
“Okay,” the voice murmurs. “I need you to hang on. Or Gray will kill me.”
Gray is a name I know. But the image is confused. I see a wicked face, a snarled lip. I see blond hair and brown eyes and a careful smile.
“Here we go.”
Lockwood
. That’s the name I find in the back places of my mind. Kind eyes. Dark and trustworthy. Hope blooms, and I drift away.
“Stay with me, Hannah,” Lockwood whispers. “We’re almost there.”
I am pressed against his chest, shivering. I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are too heavy. My heart too fast. I feel myself slipping. Death has its grip on me, and it’s trying to drag me away.
My body bumps and jostles. Lockwood holds me tight, keeping me from spilling over into the quiet that comes after all the noise of this life. Maybe death is better. Not that I want it. But maybe some peace would be nice.
“ETA!” he yells.
An engine accelerates. I feel it in my chest, trying to bring me back.
“Two minutes!” a voice shouts.
We accelerate again. My ears pick up a hammering sound, like a jackhammer breaking through earth. The engine slows, a door opens, and I’m floating, drifting in the open breeze, rocking as I’m carried fast toward the noise. I can hear the quick lifts of his boots. Cool wind wraps around my body and billows my clothes. For a second I think, this is okay. If this is death, maybe this is okay.
“I’ll take her,” a new voice insists, and my heart leaps to life. This voice is less composed. Less soothing. I dig through my memory as I’m handed off, lifted higher. He smells like metal and fuel. He feels like safety, and home. I try to open my eyes, but all I see are giant blades beating the air. They close again.
We step out of the wind, and I’m eased onto a soft surface. Straps hold my body in place. A hand brushes over my forehead, smoothing back my hair. Pain stabs my arm.
“Hannah,” the voice whispers by my face. His breath tickles my cheek. “Come back, Hannah. Please.” I hear his swallow.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I hear the way the words struggle to come out.
I try to move my lips, to form the sound of his name, but I’ve fallen too far. I’m not sure how to get back. I focus on his voice, on the warmth radiating from his hand to my face. But sleep is taking me fast, and I’m afraid that it will keep me. His forehead presses to mine, and I feel his tears.
The Slave Series Page 19
