Glory

by Maureen McGowan

  As my mind is reeling and I’m unsure what to say to make her feel better, I glance over to the others. Burn’s watching Houston talk to Caroline, and she seems more relaxed than she has since we left Concord. Houston looks directly at Caroline and asks her something. After Caroline responds, Houston smiles and so does Burn.

  A woman walks over to them and talks to Houston. Then Burn strides toward me, and the other two follow.

  I jump up and we meet halfway. “What is it? Does someone know where they are?”

  “No one’s seen Hector,” Houston says. “But your friends came through here about five hours ahead of you.”

  “Came through? They left? Where did they go?”

  “That woman”—Burn nods toward the person he and Hector were talking with—“thinks they were headed for the closest Shredder camp.”

  “Where is it? We have to go. Now.”

  “The sun’s going down,” Houston says. “It’s too dangerous. Shredders are mostly nocturnal.”

  “We need to go after them!” I step in front of Houston. “Where is the camp? Tell me!”

  “Going to that camp is suicide,” Houston replies.

  “We’re going,” Burn says, and I’m flooded with relief. I’d rather die than not find my family.

  “Which direction?” he asks Houston.

  “I’ll take you,” Morag says.

  “Thank you,” I tell her. “Let’s go.”

  Burn shifts awkwardly. “Tell us which way to go. It can’t be that hard to find.”

  “Actually it is hard to find,” Morag says. “And if you approach from the wrong direction, they’ll see you coming and you’ll be captured or dead before you even get close.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Burn says.

  “Fine for you.” Morag’s tone is sharp. “What about the girl?” She tips her head toward me. “Do you need me to tell you what they’d do to her in that camp?”

  Burn flinches, then narrows his eyes. “Glory can handle herself. Better than you could possibly know.”

  “Burn.” I squeeze his arm. “She wants to help us. Why not let her?”

  “Fine.” He won’t look at her. Does he know who she is?

  “At least wait until morning,” Houston says. “I hate to say it, but if your friends went there, they’re already captured or dead.”

  “We can’t wait.”

  “I’m ready,” Caroline says, and I realize that Burn—or Houston—took off her ropes.

  “No,” Burn says. “You should stay here. Houston will take care of you.”

  Houston steps forward. “I agree. Caroline, it’s too risky for you to be near Shredders. You’re ready for Stage Three. Going to that camp would set you back. Assuming any of you get out.”

  “I promised I wouldn’t leave you,” I tell Caroline.

  “It’s okay.” Her hand trembles through her wispy hair. “I don’t want to go to a Shredder camp”—she turns to Houston—“and Houston says they can help me.”

  I draw her into a hug. Holding her frail body, I can’t believe how far she’s come in a week.

  Thinking of the Shredders I’ve killed, a chill traces through me; but even if I’d known at the time that recovery was possible, I only killed to survive.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE SUNLIGHT DISAPPEARS not long after we leave, and the sliver of a moon casts a faint glow through the hazy sky. Morag walks ahead, and Burn and I follow in silence, the air between us like a living, breathing thing.

  After not getting a full night’s sleep and walking for a good chunk of today, adrenaline’s my only fuel. But there’s no chance that I’ll slow down. I keep hoping that we’ll come upon Drake and Jayma behind the next boulder, around the next corner, within the next grove of trees.

  Please, I think. Please don’t let them be at the Shredder camp yet.

  The ground becomes softer, with a layer of dirt—or dust?—over the rock. “Should we wear our masks?” I ask Burn.

  “We’ll be fine as long as we don’t kick up too much dust.”

  Morag stops, a silhouette in the darkness. She draws a swordlike weapon off her back. We join her.

  “Why did you stop?” Burn asks.

  “We should keep close from here on out.”

  I blink to adjust my eyes to the inky blackness, then follow behind Morag, who walks slowly. We choose each step carefully as we weave through a sparse pine forest scattered with boulders.

  Morag stops just past the edge of the forest. In the distance, it looks like the world drops away to nothing. There must be a cliff.

  Pointing behind an outcropping of rock, Morag says, “We’ll wait here until it’s light.”

  “Why wait?” I ask. In spite of my fatigue—or maybe because of it—my nerves are firing so fast I can’t stand still.

  “Glory’s right,” Burn says. “Let’s go.”

  Morag steps tentatively toward Burn. “The Shredders are most active at night—especially the males. Now is the worst time to go in.”

  “What would you know about it?” he asks.

  “I used to live there.”

  Burn turns away.

  “Sunrise is in three hours,” Morag says. “I need some rest.” She sits behind the rocks and leans back.

  “We should rest, too,” Burn says to me. “Over there.” He points to a dark shadow that might be a cave. He drapes his arm around me and we walk in sync, the side of my body curving against his.

  The shadow turns out to be more like an indentation than a cave—the space goes back only a couple of feet—but it’s sheltered, relatively dust free, and we’ll be able to keep watch.

  I face toward the cliff, imagining my family below, and Burn steps behind me.

  He gently rubs my shoulders, and I nearly groan. No other parts of our bodies are touching, but still I’m buzzing. His thumbs press into my neck, and his fingers span my shoulders, reaching to the tops of my arms.

  I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to him about Morag, but I’m no longer able to speak.

  He brushes some stray dust off the ground, then we sit side by side. “Comfortable?” he asks.

  “Yup.” I shift forward to keep a sharp edge of rock from digging into my shoulder blade.

  He slips his arm around me, and I lean into his chest.

  “You should sleep.” His voice vibrates through me.

  “Later.” I reach across him to place a hand lightly on his chest.

  He looks into my eyes, then shakes his head and looks away.

  I know what he’s thinking. He can’t kiss me. Not without consequences that neither of us can afford. Not tonight. And even more than I want to kiss him, I want to talk. I’m just not sure how to start.

  “How often have you visited Simcoe?” I ask softly.

  “That was my first time past the fence.”

  “But you’ve been there several times?”

  He stiffens. “Yeah. Scouting. Keeping an eye on them. Keeping Concord safe.”

  “Morag’s seen you.”

  He bends one leg and rubs his shin. “So she said.”

  “Burn, do you remember going to Simcoe when you were a child? Morag said she saw you when you were about eight.”

  He stays very still, but I can feel the thump of his heart on my cheek.

  “I tried to kill her.” His voice is a raspy whisper.

  “What?” I lift my head. He remembers.

  “She told me she was my mother, and I tried to kill her.”

  “Why?”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Burn, don’t beat yourself up. It makes sense that you didn’t believe her. And your reaction makes sense, too. You were a kid. All alone. She probably looked like a Shredder, and you thought you were in danger.”

  “I knew she wouldn’t hurt me. I knew who she was.”

  “Then why?”

  “I was angry,” he growls. “I wanted my mother dead. You of all people should understand that.”

  The air pr
esses out of my lungs. My stomach clenches, as do my chest, my heart, the insides of my ears. The pain moves down to tighten my throat.

  “Glory, I’m sorry.” He touches my back. “I didn’t mean that. What you did to your mom, it’s nothing like what I did.”

  He slides closer to me again, enveloping me with his body. “What happened with your mom was an accident,” he whispers. “You didn’t mean to.”

  “Neither did you.” I twist to look at him through blurry eyes. “You were a kid. You were scared.”

  “I wasn’t scared. I was angry.” His voice is deep against my ear. “She left me to die. She never wanted me.”

  “But she did want you. She still does.” I wipe tears from my eyes. “She only wanted you to be safe.”

  “You’re wrong.” His hand forms a fist. “She’s got another kid now. One she wants.”

  “Burn.”

  “Even when I was a baby, she knew I was a monster.” He punches his thigh. “And by trying to kill her, I proved she was right.”

  “Burn,” I whisper, and he draws a jagged breath. “You are not a monster, and you’re wrong about why Morag left you. Ask her.”

  His body slumps and his hair falls forward to hide his face.

  “She took you to the settlement to save you. Talk to her. Ask her to tell you what happened. I know you care. That’s why you watch Simcoe. You go there wanting to see her.” I push his hair back and my thumbs brush over his cheeks.

  If I can’t soothe him with words, maybe I can show him the truth and prove he’s no monster. I scatter light kisses over his eyebrows, his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. His skin tastes of salt and what seems like sadness.

  He hasn’t moved, so I press a light kiss to his lips. He tenses but doesn’t stop me, so I wind my fingers through his hair and kiss him again, harder. I want to kiss away his pain—and my fear.

  As the kiss builds, my body heats, and I can’t tell whether the fire comes from me or from him. It doesn’t matter.

  “Break it up.” Another voice invades.

  “Drake?” I pull away from Burn’s lips.

  My brother and Jayma are standing nearby with Morag.

  I leap to my feet and into Drake’s arms. “You’re okay!” I stretch an arm toward Jayma and pull her into our embrace. “How did you find us?”

  “We were looking for a safe place to sleep and found her.” Drake points to Morag.

  “I introduced myself,” she says matter of factly.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Down in the camp,” Drake answers.

  “Have you seen him?”

  “We didn’t get here until sunset.” Drake’s expression turns grim. “I know better than to go down there at night.”

  “Dad can teleport,” I say. “Why didn’t he leave after he was captured?”

  “I’m not sure he was captured,” Drake says, looking down.

  “Of course he was. Someone must be holding him, making it impossible for him to use his Deviance.” Dad can’t teleport if someone’s touching him.

  Drake shakes his head. “It’s not that simple.”

  Simple or not, we need to act. “What did you see down there? How many are there? What’s the layout?”

  “It’s horrible.” Jayma shivers. “We reached the edge just as the sun was going down. They’re cutting and torturing each other. Then laughing about it.”

  “I don’t get why Dad would risk coming anywhere near here alone.” I look at Drake. “Or why you let him.”

  Drake drags one foot along the ground. “There’s something you should know.”

  “More secrets?”

  “Let’s go over there.” He points back toward the forest. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  I check over my shoulder. Burn’s standing a good distance away and staring at us. For the moment, he seems okay and I need to talk to my brother. As I follow Drake toward the woods, Morag and Jayma sit under the overhang. Morag doesn’t face Burn, but I can tell that she’s watching him.

  I hope they’ll talk. He needs to hear what she told me, and he needs to hear it from her.

  As we walk, Drake says, “You should have stayed in Concord. I’ve got this covered.”

  “Me?” I grab his arm and his armor rises. “What in the world were you thinking, coming here? How did you even know about this place?” Morag was right about one thing—it was hard to find.

  “I’ve been here before—with Dad.”

  “Dad took you to a Shredder camp? Tell me what’s going on!”

  “I will.” He sits on a bed of pine needles. “Remember when Dad told us he has a twin sister?”

  I sit, too, and lean back against a tree. “Had one. Yeah. She was a Deviant. Management expunged her from Haven when they were teens.”

  “Well, she lives in this camp.”

  “You’re kidding me.” My insides feel pulled in opposite directions. I can’t blame Dad for wanting to reunite with his sister, but if she’s lived down there for twenty years . . . “She’s a Shredder?”

  “I should have told you as soon as you got back to Concord.” Drake rubs his arms and his armor recedes. “I’m sorry, but I knew you’d run off after him. He said he’d be back ages ago.”

  “And now they’ve got him captive.”

  Drake grimaces. “Maybe not.”

  “Why do you keep saying that?”

  “Dad’s been breathing too much dust.” His fingers trace through the pine needles.

  “You’ve seen him do it? Why didn’t you stop him?”

  “It’s easier for him to get into the camp if he takes some dust first. It cuts down the chance he’ll be attacked.”

  “Dad pretends to be a Shredder?”

  Drake shifts. “Kind of.”

  “But Shredders attack other Shredders,” I say. “I’ve seen it.”

  “Yeah, but not if there are non-Shredders around.” Drake leans back.

  “How could he take such a huge risk?” I slam my fist down, and a small cloud of dust rises, glittering in a stream of moonlight. I’m mesmerized for a moment, but I make myself look away from it. Drake’s raising a handful of dust toward his face.

  I yank his arm and the dust flies around him. His armor rises again.

  “What are you doing?”

  He clasps his hands in his lap. “I don’t breathe it often, but a little bit helps. It makes me stronger, braver. You saw how it fixed my legs and healed me after that battle.”

  “Have you been doing that since we got out of Haven?” I take his hands. “Do you want to turn into a Shredder?”

  “You don’t know anything about it,” he says.

  “What do you know about it?” I ask harshly. “I’ve seen the renewal pens at Simcoe, I’ve been attacked by and killed Shredders—and I’ve seen what goes on in the Hospital in Haven.”

  Drake tugs his hands from mine.

  “Is our aunt really down there?” I ask more gently.

  He nods.

  “How can Dad be sure it’s her? He hasn’t seen her in so long.”

  “He knows. He recognized her Deviance.”

  “What is it? How does Dad know she’s the only one with that particular Gift?”

  “It’s our aunt,” he says. “I’ve met her.”

  I pound the ground. “He took you down there?”

  “We went once, when the males were sleeping. It wasn’t so bad.” Drake shrugs. “Dad tried to get her to come with us, but she wouldn’t leave. He took me back to Concord and came to try again.” He stands. “But he should have left by now.”

  I rise and pull Drake into a hug. “We’ll get him out.”

  Moving quietly in a tight group led by Morag, we head to the camp before sunrise. The sky is pale purple, and all but the brightest stars have faded. Cold air fills every last corner of my lungs.

  Morag bends over and whispers, “From here, we have to be extra careful, or we’ll be spotted.”

  We all follow her lead and bend at the waist as we
continue to creep forward. As we draw nearer, the size and depth of the hole become apparent. When Morag nears the edge, she drops to a crawl, then flattens to her belly. We lie on our stomachs along the edge.

  Below, the cliff goes straight down, like the pale stone was cut with a knife. It must be man made, although why people BTD, or after, would have dug such a big hole is beyond my comprehension.

  The pit is rectangular, and we’re near the corner on one of the short sides. It drops down at least four stories, but most of the space is taken up by a higher plateau that’s only about two stories down. I wiggle forward on my belly. A sloping ledge, about fifteen feet below, looks like a path except that it doesn’t lead anywhere.

  On the other side of the pit, I spot what looks to be a road down—long, steep switchbacks that traverse the whole width of the rectangle.

  Almost diagonally opposite us, there’s a cluster of buildings, and more structures stand at the far end of the deeper pit. A partial wall that looks like it’s built of stones and tree trunks separates that smaller square from the rest of the area.

  In the main space, Shredders sleep on the ground in groups, some around smoldering fires. I can’t spot my father. The buildings obstruct parts of our view.

  “Where is he?” I ask Drake.

  He shakes his head. “I’m not sure.”

  “They’re probably holding him on the other side of those.” Morag points to the cluster of buildings. “Or, if he’s smart, he’s hiding with the women and kids.”

  “Where are they?” That makes sense if he’s looking for his sister.

  Morag points straight ahead to the area beyond the deep pit, the part that’s partially cordoned off by the makeshift wall.

  “What is this place?” I ask. “I mean, what was it before?”

  “BTD,” Morag says, “this place was called a quarry. This rock is called limestone.” She pats the ground. “The stones they cut out of this hole were used to make buildings.”

  “Let’s head for the road.” I start to rise.

  She puts her hand on my shoulder. “If we go down the main road, we’ll be spotted. It’s suicide.”

  “Then how?”

  She points down.

  “To that ledge? Even if we can jump down there without falling off, where do we go from there?”