“Stop staring,” he says, and I blush as he opens his startling green eyes. His eyes travel down my face, over my chest and come to rest on his own arm, which is still slung over my body.
“Good morning.” He raises his eyes to meet mine, not moving his arm.
“Morning,” I reply, feeling absurdly content. I slept more soundly last night than I have in weeks.
“How did you sleep?” he asks, staring at me intently.
“Fine. You?”
“I think you should go and have a bath.”
“What?” I jump, lifting my shirt to my nose.
“You don’t stink, Tiny,” he chuckles, pressing his face into the pillow, “but you need to get out of this bed.”
“Ah,” I reply knowingly, and before I test his patience any further, I slide out of the bed and stand up. I pull back the curtain, the sky is lightening already, and I can hear someone talking in the kitchen.
“Hand me my pants, will you?”
“What?” I stare down at him.
“My pants,” he points at the blue jeans hanging over the chair next to his side of the bed.
“Oh you didn’t?”
“Yeah, I did,” he grins. “Now hand me my pants, woman.”
Despite the good night’s sleep, our team is still bleary-eyed and yawning at breakfast.
“We’ll stay on tonight,” I announce when we convene in the makeshift strategy room. “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow. We need to be in Toledo tomorrow night.” There is no planning to be done here, we will prepare when we reach Ohio, so everyone has the day to themselves. I notice Veronica and Jethro laughing together as she prepares breakfast and I can’t help but smile. People find love in the strangest of places.
Donning my running shoes, I set out for some much needed exercise. I run for about an hour, working up a healthy appetite, and after breakfast I closet myself in the strategy room, needing time to think. I have no idea how much time has passed when Reed sticks his head around the door.
“You planning on sleeping in here, Tiny?” I peer out of the dirty window and realise with a start that the sun has set. I have been here for most of the day, going over the plans and just thinking. About our mission, about Alex and about Aidan. Whatever is going on between Reed and me, I am still not sure how I feel about it. There is a part of me that feels guilty, like I am besmirching Aidan’s memory by having these feelings. Another part of me feels that it is so right with Reed. I still don’t know which part is dominant, and now is not the time to dwell on it. We have an early start tomorrow, so I get up and stretch my legs.
“Mind if I share your bed again?” Reed asks casually, as he examines one of the maps of the tunnels.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Yeah, you do,” his answer is not what I expect, and then, “if you can live with me not getting any sleep,” he raises his eyebrows accusingly.
“Come on, Cowboy.”
Reed is already on the mattress by the time I finish in the bathroom and I curl up beside him, my head on my arm. I can feel the heat of his body next to me, although we are not touching, and when I stretch my legs, my feet brush up against his. I pull them back instantly and it is so obvious that Reed chuckles in the dark.
“Easy, Tiger,” he murmurs, rolling onto his side and pulling me back against him. “We’re just going to sleep.” There is silence for a long while and I slowly relax against him, relishing the human contact and trying to ignore the feeling of disappointment that won’t go away.
After another gruelling day’s journey we reach the Toledo camp well after dark the following evening. Collapsing into our hastily prepared accommodation, all ten of us sleep until well after dawn. Reed has his own room and I am surprised by how much I miss his presence.
Now that we are so close to Chicago planning begins in full force. Our mission starts the next day after a full day’s rest. Our initial plan is that eight of us will enter the States and head for the safety of the tunnels, with Veronica and Morgan staying behind. David is necessary for his knowledge of the tunnels, Marcus and Gabe for assembling the bombs. Tim is there for combat, in case it comes to a fight. As only the speed-Gifted will have any chance of escaping the blasts, the only people who will actually enter the Plaza will be Reed, myself, Jethro and Brett.
“Okay, am I the only one who sees a problem here?” Reed interrupts David’s explanation of the tunnel entrance near the Chicago River. “What if they see us coming down the river? Sure, the fences can’t cross the water, but I’m pretty sure they will be watching it.”
This could undo our best-laid plans. If the soldiers manning the boundary fences do happen to see us we will never make it through to Michigan, let alone get near Chicago.
“We need a diversion,” Tim speaks out, “something to draw their attention away from the river.”
Eventually, for want of a better plan, we decide that Tim will distract them, and then go back to camp to protect Morgan and Veronica. He will not be entering the States with us.
“Sorry, buddy, no action for you.” Brett smiles smugly at his friend.
“Yeah, I get to stay behind with two gorgeous women, while you get wet and dirty,” Tim counters and after a moment’s consideration, Brett curses under his breath. Then the two burst out laughing.
“And then there were seven,” Marcus intones and Gabe grins at him.
“We still okay to assemble the bombs in the tunnels?” I ask and they nod in unison.
“It’s better if we leave before it gets too light, makes it harder for them to see us,” I finish, and the meeting draws to a close. Morgan is the first to leave the room and I frown after her. She has not said two words to me since we left Las Vegas, and I am getting more than a little fed up with her attitude. This camp stirs up memories for all of us. It was from here that we launched our battle against the Dane Army, and it was here that we mourned our dead, including Robert Rellis, Morgan’s boyfriend.
“Morgan!” I call after her, but either she doesn’t hear me or she pretends not to, and by the time I reach the door, she is halfway across the yard. Exasperated, I return inside to go over the plan once more, on my own.
Chapter 8
At 3 am Reed nudges me awake. I get up immediately, get dressed and ready and hoist my satchel over my arms. We are each carrying a bag loaded with food, supplies, and the materials that Gabe and Marcus need to assemble the bombs. The bags are heavy and cumbersome, but necessary. By 3.15 we are all assembled outside.
“You ready?” I ask Tim, and he nods as he gets into the Jeep and starts the engine. Morgan is already in the Land Rover, and the others pile inside, while Reed and I climb onto the open tailgate. Veronica waves us off, disappearing quickly into the dark as we pull away. Morgan is driving us the five miles north to the river’s edge. David, Marcus and Gabe would take too long if we were to run the relatively short distance and we would never make it before sunrise. At the next intersection, the Jeep turns left, pulling away from us, and Brett sticks his head out of the rear window and yells, “Good luck, buddy!” The Jeep’s hazard lights flash three times, Tim signalling that he has heard and Brett closes the window, looking satisfied. It takes only ten minutes to reach the Ottawa River. David preselected the entry point, far enough away from the Ohio-Michigan state line that the guards won’t see us entering the water, but not so far that the swim itself will be too strenuous.
“Good luck,” Morgan is tight-lipped as she makes sure we have all our gear before she gets back in the Discovery and sets off back to camp.
The water is cold, cold enough to be uncomfortable, and I can hear the other six moaning as we submerge ourselves. The river itself is not fast flowing and it is easy enough to control our progress and direction as we begin to make our way downstream. I start feeling anxious only when we are nearing the state line. Getting into Michigan is imperative; if we are uns
uccessful, we will be back where we started and we have no Plan B. Moving through the water, in the pitch black of night, we whisper among ourselves to make sure that we stay close.
It is so dark that the boundary fences come into view only when we are almost upon them.
“Get to the reeds,” Brett’s low, uncharacteristically panicky voice reaches us, and a moment later I see the cause for his concern. In the shadows underneath the massive spotlights illuminating the river, I see the soldiers patrolling the fence. With a few strokes through the water, we make for the reeds on the eastern river bank, trying to take cover.
“We’ll never get through that undetected,” Gabe murmurs, nodding towards the spotlight, which is rotating along the river only a few yards ahead.
“Well thanks, Captain Obvious.” Reed’s sarcasm is worse when he’s stressed.
“Maybe we should go back.” I can hear David’s teeth chattering beside me.
“Let’s give it a few minutes,” I reply.
“Where the hell is he?” Reed growls.
As if in answer to his question, the night erupts with the blaring of a car horn and the screeching of tyres. The Jeep is skidding and sliding in the dirt just a few yards from the boundary fence, on the Ohio side, lights flashing. Almost immediately the guards nearest us react in a frenzied rush towards the new threat.
Amid the clamour, I raise my voice to be heard. “Now!”
We all push away from the shore, out towards the current. There is a limited window of opportunity and Tim will not be able to hang around; we need to move. I cut through the water, swimming as hard as I can, the others fanning out around me. For a brief moment I am illuminated by the searchlight and my blood runs cold in my veins but I do not hesitate. I keep moving forward, stopping only when I can no longer see the fences or hear the noise. Heaving myself out of the water, dripping and almost numb with cold, I help the others ashore, keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of trouble. There is nothing. The only sound is the distant rumble of thunder.
Stamping my feet to warm up, I take in our surroundings and feel a sense of familiarity. I’m back in Michigan, my home state. I was born here; my mother died here. This is where Aidan and I grew up, where we fell in love and where Alex was born. This place holds so many memories. Pushing down the feelings of nostalgia, I follow the others as we head west to find somewhere safe to regroup.
By the time the sun rises we have taken refuge in an abandoned house just a few miles west of the river. The grass is overgrown and the fence is falling to pieces, but it’s warm inside and, having stolen a few items of clothing from nearby wash-lines, we are at least dry. Gabe and Marcus check our precious cargo and assure us that everything is intact. The detonating cord will need to dry out, but this will not be a problem considering that it will be some time before we actually need to use it.
The journey to Chicago is 230 miles, and Gabe, Marcus and David are unfortunately not as fast as the rest of us. Surprisingly, it is Marcus who comes up with a solution.
“We steal a car,” he says simply, as though that should be obvious.
“What?”
“Well, it’s less than half a day’s drive, so we could be there by this afternoon. Unless you want to walk, in which case we might be there this time next week.”
“Okay, okay, point taken,” I laugh. “Get us a car.”
It takes less than half an hour. Gabe and Marcus pull up in a station wagon, grinning from ear to ear. As I get in the back, I glance across at the dashboard and realise that there are no keys in the ignition.
“You hot-wired this?” Reed drawls, sounding amazed. “This piece of crap? Seriously? All the cars in town to choose from and you pick the mom-mobile?” Shaking his head in disgust he lapses into silence as we draw away from the kerb.
By the time we reach Illinois we are tired and hungry and tempers are fraying. We abandon the car in an alleyway and hide out in an underground parking garage. We need to wait until nightfall before attempting to reach the tunnels; the risk of being seen during the day is far too great. Reed was right when he speculated that the city of Chicago would be swarming with NUSA soldiers, we have to avoid them at every turn. As soon as night falls we set out and, despite the overwhelming presence of soldiers, we reach the Chicago River without incident. Taking refuge under a bridge which is currently undergoing routine maintenance, David and I scout around for the tunnel entrance.
While we are scouring the ground, trying to find the access shaft, a shout behind me pulls me up short. I turn slowly and find myself face to face with two NUSA soldiers. Cursing my luck, and the chances of being discovered now, when we are so close to our target, I smile winningly and feign complete confidence.
“Hello,” I greet the closest, a tall, wiry man in his mid-thirties. Disarmed, he smiles back, his posture relaxing. His associate, more heavy-set and definitely more surly, regards me with suspicion and doesn’t relax one bit.
“What are you doing here?” he barks.
“We’re checking the integrity of the river bank,” David answers smoothly, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Reports of cracking in the foundations are not taken lightly, as I’m sure you know. The Engineer’s Department needs to make sure that the infrastructure is not compromised.”
He is so convincing, so certain, and there is just a hint of annoyance in his tone, implying that these two soldiers might not understand the importance of his work. The wiry soldier looks affronted but immediately issues an apology. Thinking that this may just have worked, I turn to walk away when the larger officer steps in front of me and holds up his hand.
“Can I see some ID?”
“What?” David is apoplectic beside me. “How dare you?”
He launches into a professional tirade and I take the opportunity to glance around. There is no one in sight. Without hesitation, I step forward and snap the larger man’s neck. He falls to the ground, glazed eyes staring heavenward, but my attention is diverted by a sudden movement to my left. The thinner man has fled, and with no ordinary speed.
“Hide his body,” I tell David, pointing to the prostrate man on the ground, and then I sprint after the escaping soldier. I know I am faster than he is, but my biggest concern is that I may not be able to catch him before he reaches a populated area. I cannot afford to be seen by anyone. I pump my legs harder than ever. We are in a quiet alleyway lined with factories, but about a half-mile ahead I can see a large intersection. Night or day, the busy street we are headed towards is well-lit and there’s no way we will go undetected once we pass through it. I am gaining on him, but I’ll never reach him in time. Hurtling towards the intersection, though, he makes a fatal mistake. He turns ever so slightly to check on my whereabouts, and it slows him just enough for me to be able to launch myself at him and bring him crashing to the ground a few feet from the intersection. Not wasting a moment, I leap to my feet and drag him bodily into a nearby underground garage. He struggles pitifully against my strength, but his yells for help are drowned by the heavy traffic on the nearby road.
Shoving him against the cold concrete wall, I grip him by the throat.
“Why?” he garbles, the constriction of his air passage making it almost impossible for him to speak. I don’t know why I hesitate. This man has to die. Maybe it’s that his warm brown eyes remind me of Aidan. His bewildered, terrified expression will haunt me, I know, but I have no choice.
“You’ve seen us, you have to die,” I snarl, tightening my grip.
“I don’t even know who you are!” he squeaks, his eyes watering from the pain. I can feel his delicate windpipe beneath my palm, it will only take an infinitesimal amount of pressure and it will snap like a twig. He can sense it too, and his hands, which were clawing at mine, drop limply to his sides. I watch his eyes roll back in his head, his wheezing gasps for air growing more and more faint, and eventually, he drops to the ground and I clos
e my own eyes.
“What the hell?” Reed roars as I walk back under the bridge. “What have you done?”
I drop my heavy burden to the ground, stretching my arms, unable to face him.
“Rebecca?”
“Is he dead?” Jethro asks matter of factly.
“No. He’s just passed out.” Like clockwork, the young soldier at my feet starts to stir and Jethro bends over him, ready to restrain him if need be.
“A word,” Reed hisses, grabbing my arm painfully and dragging me back out into the open, out of hearing of the others.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“What? You don’t know? You’re putting our lives at risk, our mission at risk!”
“We don’t know that.”
“That man is a NUSA soldier, Rebecca! NUSA is our enemy, or have you forgotten?”
“NUSA is,” I retort, “but not every man that works for it! They don’t know any better, Reed, maybe we can reason with him.”
He sighs dramatically, running his hands through his hair.
“We can’t risk it. This is war, not rehab. We don’t have the time or resources to waste trying to save people who probably don’t want saving.”
“They might,” I counter.
“Seriously?” He looks at me incredulously. “How many people do you think would be prepared to give up their luxurious lifestyles to come and live in our Vegas shit-hole?”
“It’s not a shit-hole.”
“It is if you don’t understand the meaning behind it.”
“We can explain.”
“No, Tiny. We can’t.”
“He’s awake,” Gabe calls from the bridge and I turn away from Reed, ignoring his sigh of discontent.
“Where am I?” I can hear our captive long before I see him, his panicky, fearful voice ringing out in the silent cool of the night. Nobody answers him; they turn to me for direction.
The Legion Page 7
