by Tarah Benner
“Are these them?” I ask, touching the edge of one of the photos.
“What?”
“The compound workers who’ve been killing your men,” I say, more harshly than I meant to. “Are these the ones?”
“No,” says Malcolm. “Those operatives are . . . Well, let’s just say they’re no longer a threat.”
I swallow twice to wet my parched throat. “What about the workers from 119? How are you managing them?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize I’ve gone too far. I’d been fishing to see if the drifters knew that 119 had been wiped off the map, but when Malcolm’s mouth twists into a sneer, I realize I probably just got Eli/Owen into even more trouble.
Malcolm chuckles. “I see Owen has been sharing.”
Then something in his expression changes, and his amusement makes an almost imperceptible shift to suspicion. “Where did you say you were from?”
I swallow, trying to keep my expression neutral. “I didn’t. I’m from Salt Lake City.”
Malcolm points between me and Eli. “And . . . how do you two know each other?”
I let out an embarrassed laugh to hint at something scandalous and glance at Eli. It’s time for him to start fielding some questions.
“We ran into each other between here and Fort Sol,” says Eli. “She was having some car trouble, and I stopped to help.”
“Huh,” says Malcolm. He rubs his chin, his expression pensive. “Was this before or after you ran off and sold me out to Jackson?”
I freeze. A heavy silence falls over the room, and I realize all the drifters are staring at Malcolm and Eli, bracing for the storm.
Eli recovers quickly. “Sold you out? Is that what you think?”
“I don’t really know what to think, to be honest,” says Malcolm in a low, threatening voice. “All I know is that you have Nuclear Nation tattooed all over your fucking forehead. You’ve made it clear from day one that you’re Jackson’s man through and through.
“I thought he and I were going to work together on this. I’ve been more than generous and accommodating with his people. I brought them into the family like they were my own. Then he sends me you to deliver a progress report, and five of my men turn up dead. The base was almost compromised. Three of my enforcers are still missing — the men I sent looking for you.
“What am I supposed to do with that, Parker? Am I supposed to believe you work for me now?” He shakes his head. “It just doesn’t sit well.”
Eli lets out a long sigh and rubs the back of his head. Part of me wonders what the plan is. I’m ready to pull out my gun and start shooting my way out of here, but he doesn’t look as though he’s in a hurry.
“I knew this would come up eventually,” Eli sighs.
I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully because he knows whatever he’s about to say is going to put us at enormous risk.
“I’m not going to deny killing those thugs you sent to question me. I showed up in good faith to tell them what I knew — which, by the way, wasn’t much. Then your men tied me to a chair and started beating the shit out of me to get information that I didn’t have. What the hell was I supposed to do?”
Behind him, Mouse makes an angry noise in his throat and glowers at Eli as though he wants to curb stomp him, but Malcolm throws Mouse a warning glance. Then he shifts his eyes back to Eli, sizing him up as though he’s trying to decide whether to have him shot on sight or mess with him some more.
Then, to my enormous surprise, he nods.
“Thank you for telling me, Parker. It takes a man to admit what you did. I won’t apologize for doing my due diligence, but I can’t say you’re entirely to blame for the unfortunate events that took place at the restaurant.”
Mouse looks as though he’s about to explode with rage. His shoulders are hunched in a fighting stance, and he’s breathing hard through his nose like an agitated bull.
“Are you serious?” he asks Malcolm. “He killed Santiago and the others in cold blood, and you’re just gonna let him get away with it?”
Malcolm snaps his head around and fixes Mouse with a piercing glare. “I will decide on an appropriate punishment later, but right now, we have more pressing matters to deal with.”
Mouse opens his mouth to retort, but Malcolm cuts him off. “This discussion is over.”
Just then, I hear heavy banging from the side door, and Gunner clatters through the beaded curtain to answer. Urgent male voices drift back to us, which seems to capture Malcolm’s attention.
Gunner reappears a moment later, slightly out of breath, with two more men trailing behind him.
“Compound rats about two miles out,” says a dirty-looking man in a yellowish wife beater. “They’re moving fast. Kill or capture?”
“Can you tell who they are?”
“We’ve identified one of them,” grunts the man. “He’s good. The other one is brand new.”
“Shoot them.”
A wave of nausea rolls through me when I realize they’re talking about two Recon operatives — one of whom has to be a cadet.
Everything moves very fast after that. Jay, Mouse, and Tony cross to a cage of rifles in the corner and start grabbing their sniper gear. One of the drifters working at the computers gets up and points to the large map on the wall. He tells them the Recon operatives are approaching from the south side, charting the same path Eli and I took when we got shot at. Jay and Mouse argue briefly about the best place to position themselves, and then they turn to leave.
“You comin’?” Tony calls to Eli.
I’m sure I’m wearing a look of pure terror, because Eli clears his throat uncomfortably and glances down at me. “I don’t think so.”
“I need to take care of something,” Malcolm says to Eli. “But you and I still have a lot to talk about.”
Eli nods.
Malcolm slaps him on the shoulder. “Don’t go too far. I may need you.”
“Right.”
Malcolm follows the others out, and something tells me it’s time to go. I pull on my mask, and Eli starts moving toward the door.
“Hope to see you again real soon, Mama,” drawls Gunner as we leave.
I glance over my shoulder and attempt an awkward smile, but Eli yanks me around the corner so fast that Gunner is just a blur. His hand finds mine, but it’s not a romantic gesture; he’s very close to ripping my arm out of the socket as he strides through town in the opposite direction of the approaching Recon operatives.
“Wait!” I gasp. “Where are you going?”
Eli doesn’t answer. It’s as if he doesn’t even hear me.
“Eli, stop!” I yell, digging in my heels and yanking my arm out of his grasp. “We have to help the Recon guys.”
“Help them how?” he asks, rounding on me with a look of desperation. “The Desperados have them in their crosshairs as we speak. If we go out there, we’re as good as dead.”
“We have to try!”
“How? They all think I’m Owen. If I turn against them, what do you think’s gonna happen the next time Owen shows his face? I’m not going to put him at risk again. I won’t do it.”
“We don’t even know if Owen’s coming back!” I yell. “But we do know our friends need our help.”
Eli lets out an exasperated growl and drags a hand through his hair. He knows I’m right, but at the moment, he’s single-mindedly focused on protecting Owen.
“Fine,” he says, resuming his long strides in the wrong direction. “But we can’t do anything without our rifles. We need to get our stuff and get into position.”
“We don’t have time!”
“It’s the only way, Harper. You want to do this or not?”
I want to argue, but he’s right. We can’t very well take out the drifters from afar with a handgun.
We half walk, half run up to the store where we left our rucksacks and weapons. Eli rummages around for some extra ammunition, and I see him place the photo of his family and his mothe
r’s necklace inside the bag for safekeeping. Then he flings the rucksack over his shoulder, loads his rifle, and jerks his head toward the door.
I wish he’d put on his mask, but I’m not about to waste time nagging him when our friends could be in jeopardy.
The trip across town goes much more quickly. I know we must have run most of the way there, because my heart is beating wildly against my ribcage. The sun is starting to sink lower on the horizon, but I don’t know if nightfall will help the situation or make it worse.
As Eli leads us back through the bad part of town, I try to conjure up a mental image of the drifters’ map to remember where exactly they planned to station themselves.
Then I hear a gunshot, and my mind goes blank.
nine
Eli
At the sound of gunfire, my heart drops to my knees.
The look on Harper’s face is one of utter devastation. We may already be too late.
I stop in the street and tilt my head up to scout the buildings around us. Most of them are only one story, but there’s a rundown old apartment building that stands taller than the rest.
Nearly all the windows are broken, giving the building a menacing smile. My eyes follow the brick ledge about ten feet up and catch sight of a rusty fire escape.
I turn to Harper. Her face is flushed from running, and her eyes are full of terror. I kneel down in front of her, and she gives me a bewildered look.
“Climb onto my shoulders.”
“What?”
“I can’t reach the fire escape. I’m going to lift you up so you can grab the ladder.”
She gives me a shaky nod and swings her leg over my shoulder. I hold out a hand, and she uses it to steady herself as she puts all her weight on my back.
Harper’s light, but she’s trembling so badly I’m afraid she’s going to slide right off. I stand up, gripping her legs, and she latches her ankles around my body as I position her under the ladder.
She wobbles a little, but then I hear a loud creak as she yanks on the rusty ladder.
When I kneel down, Harper slides gracefully off my shoulders and clambers up ahead of me.
We’ve barely reached the halfway point when another gunshot shatters the silence.
I feel the vibration inside my rib cage, and the image of a bullet ripping through the air paralyzes me on the ladder.
The gunshot came from far away — and the bullet wasn’t meant for us — but I still feel death deep in my bones.
Every nerve in my body is stretched to the breaking point. My hands are gripping the ladder so tightly that my palms are numb. I can’t move.
“Eli!” Harper calls.
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong?”
I’m gritting my teeth so hard that my jaw hurts. “Nothing,” I choke. “I’m coming.”
My hands are slow and shaky as I continue to climb. The ladder feels a thousand feet long, and I keep having to stop to steady my shaky limbs.
Every second I delay is a second we don’t have, but after dodging death time and time again, my body is finally turning on me.
When I clear the edge of the roof, the sharp gust of desert air clears my head, and I feel more like myself.
The roof isn’t as high as I would like, but it offers a much better vantage point than we could have gotten on the ground. To my right, I can see most of the sleepy town stretching off into the distance. To my left, there’s nothing but desert and sky.
I have a good view of the rock formation where Jay and the others are shooting from. It’s very far away, but if the wind dies down, I might have a shot at taking out the drifters before they kill one of us.
I kneel down on the roof and prop my rifle up on the low brick wall running around the edge of the building. Then I zoom in on my interface and scour the rocks for the drifters.
“Can you see them?” Harper asks. She’s kneeling behind the adjacent wall with her body oriented toward the desert. She’s looking for our people — not the snipers — but I don’t have the heart to tell her that searching for the source of the gunshots would be more productive.
“Not yet,” I murmur, still scanning the burnt-orange rocks.
Just then, a tiny flicker of movement catches my eye — a white T-shirt or a face.
I can’t tell if it’s Jay or not, but someone is definitely concealed behind a jagged piece of sandstone.
A mirage is blurring my view of the rocks, so I focus my scope on a building about 200 yards away and place it back on my target.
When you’re shooting through a mirage, you can’t rely on your eyes; they’ll lie to you every time. You have to shoot where you know your target’s going to be — not where your eyes are telling you to.
I adjust for the wind and focus on my breathing, waiting patiently for Jay to show himself again.
Several long seconds pass, and the wind kicks up. I swear loudly, debating whether I should readjust or just wait for the wind to subside. Jay could show himself at any moment.
I watch a tattered flag flap in the breeze and then settle into a gentle unfurling rhythm.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
That’s when Jay reappears. I adjust my aim and focus on my breathing. In and out. In and out.
I can see his mousey brown head and the barrel of his rifle. He’s getting ready to shoot again, but he’s struggling. His target must be on the run. Mine’s not.
Without thinking, I let out my breath and pull the trigger.
Jay’s body shudders, and then he slips out of view.
Then there’s just silence.
My slow sigh of relief is cut short by another gunshot. This one didn’t come from Jay.
One of the other drifters is shooting, and I have no idea where he could be hiding.
A surge of adrenaline shoots through my body as I search frantically for the source of the gunshot. There are a million places the second sniper could be concealing himself, and I never heard where Tony and Mouse were supposed to be stationed.
My eyes quickly scan the buildings near the edge of town, but I don’t see anyone. That can only mean that the shots are coming from one of the other rock formations.
I look through my interface at the cluster of sandstone rocks to identify the shooter. Then I spot Mouse’s black bandana as he ducks down for cover.
“Shit!”
I line up my shot, waiting for him to reappear. I don’t think he hit his mark, so he has to show himself eventually if he wants to finish the job. I focus on my breathing to keep my hands steady and wait.
It happens so fast I almost miss it.
Mouse’s head appears above the large sandstone rock, and he fires as I pull the trigger.
His head drops out of my line of sight, and I swear.
It’s impossible to tell if I hit him or not. But then Big Boy jumps out from another little alcove and starts hoofing it back toward town. What an idiot.
I zoom in with my interface and see his beet-red cheeks and flabby arms pumping in the air.
I must have hit my mark. Now that his buddies are dead, he’s abandoning his post and making a break for it.
I readjust my aim and get Big Boy in my crosshairs. My finger is hovering over the trigger, ready to eliminate the threat, when a choked sob makes my heart stop.
Suddenly, every thought of the drifters is wiped from my mind. I’m no longer on the Fringe. Time becomes something physical that my body can inhabit as the second stretches out and I turn around in horror.
Harper is standing on the edge of the building, hovering like a statue with her hands gripping the low wall.
“Oh my god,” she breathes.
She turns, and I half expect to see blood blossoming from a gaping wound in her chest. There’s no reason for me to think the sniper shot Harper, but my first instinct is to protect her always.
When I see that she wasn’t hit, my first feeling is pure relief. I drink it in greedily, but the look on her face shatters my elation.
&
nbsp; Her silvery eyes are wide like two pools of fresh water, but they’re quivering with unshed tears.
That expression tears my heart in two, and cold dread spills into my chest. She must have located our people.
“What is it?” I ask in a hollow voice.
I don’t want her to tell me, but I have to know.
Harper opens and closes her mouth several times, breathing hard. She clicks out of her interface and presses a shaky hand over her mouth to stifle a wave of sobs. When she speaks, her voice is muffled, but I still hear her loud and clear.
“It’s Lenny and Miles.”
ten
Sawyer
I have no idea what time it is when my interface wakes me up from my nap. It takes several seconds for me to reenter the land of the living. The frantic beeping means someone is paging me, but the sound is so ubiquitous in the medical ward that sometimes I imagine it.
I finally locate my interface and sit up on my bunk. The page is short: Emergency Fringe Retrieval.
Those three words make my blood go cold, and I lean forward and place my head between my knees to ward off the panic.
When Harper’s been deployed, any Fringe retrieval is enough to set me on edge, but the fact that they added “emergency” to the phrase means I have genuine cause for concern.
Get it together, I breathe. If Harper can go out there after she’s been blown up and shot at, the least I can do is hold it together long enough to do my job.
Before my mind can jump to the worst conclusion, I roll out of my bunk and nearly twist my ankle on a stray shoe.
“Shit!”
Another interface starts beeping.
The flashing blue light illuminates Caleb snuggled under the blankets in the bottom bunk, still blissfully unaware that we have a job to do.
I have the urge to pick up the shoe and whip it across his freckly face, but the beeping wakes him before I have the chance.
“Emergency Fringe retrieval?” I ask, turning my back to him and replacing my sweat-stained T-shirt with fresh scrubs.
“Yeah,” he yawns, pulling on his shoes.
I’m not sure why I bother turning around — it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. As two of the four interns with level-A security clearance, we practically live together in the temporary bunk room.
