“I don’t do safes,” he says simply. “Chaz swore you could handle it.” Trey smiles at me. “And he was right.”
“What about my mother? Are you still going to help?”
He sighs and takes a few steps back, leaning against the counter. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Can you give me a few days?”
“A few days?” I glare at him. “You promised you would help, and now you’re reneging on that promise. I understand you have a lot going on right now, and if you can’t help me, that’s fine. I’ll do it on my own.” I slide off the table. Immediately, the blood rushes to my brain, and my knees buckle.
Trey’s arms encircle my back and pull me to him. “Careful,” he warns. “The last thing you want is a knot on your head.”
His breath brushes my skin, and our lips are incredibly close. Heart pounding, I force my way out of his arms and steady myself against the table.
Trey heaves a sigh. “I never said I wouldn’t help you.” He moves to the cabinet and takes out a clean bandage and gauze. “Climb up, please,” he says, nodding to the table.
I clumsily situate myself and hold out my arm. In silence, Trey removes the old bandages with the dried blood, and I glance down at the two-inch long incision. My stomach rolls at the sight of the skin separating slightly where the stitches have pulled.
“I guess hand-to-hand combat this morning wasn’t a great idea,” Trey says, his tone wry.
“It’ll be fine. Besides, it was worth it.” I touch my nose and smile.
His eyes warm as he smiles back. “Yeah, thanks for that bloody nose, by the way.”
“At least I didn’t kick you in your ribs.”
Trey groans. “I think Nash got me good enough for both you and him.”
I grow serious. “How are your ribs?” I reach out to touch his stomach, but then stop myself when I realize how intimate that gesture is.
“They’re fine.” He finishes wrapping my arm, and I place my hand on his arm before he can move away.
“Hey, I’m with you guys all the way. Training. Extracting. The works. Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.” I tilt my head and smile. “Don’t forget, I’m part of the Fringe now.” I lift my sleeve to remind him of my hidden tattoo.
His fingers lightly trace the scabbed-over skin, sending a tremor through me. “Let me put some salve on it. I don’t want it to get infected.” He removes a jar from the cabinet and spreads yellow cream over the tender areas with his fingers. The cream cools and soothes the site.
“Thanks.” I pull my shirtsleeve down over the internal tattoo as he cleans up the supplies and throws away the bloodstained bandages.
“Are you coming tonight?” Trey asks, resting his hip against the counter.
“Do you want me to come?” I ask, immediately wishing I could take back the words.
“I think it will be a good experience for you,” he answers, dodging the question.
“I’ll be there,” I say, and then pause, wanting to know something but not wanting to bug him about it. “When did you say we’d rescue my mom?”
“I didn’t.” Trey moves close to the metal table and rests his hands on either side of me. “Let’s meet in my room after lunch tomorrow. I’ll call together a few people I can trust and we’ll go over a game plan. Sound good?”
My face breaks out into a huge smile. I’m so happy I could kiss him. And it takes all my willpower not to. “Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”
Our eyes lock, and my breath catches.
He holds my gaze for a moment, then clears his throat and pushes away from the table. I think I know his tell. His throat clearing is a sign he’s uncomfortable or embarrassed. Which makes me wonder… Why do I make him uncomfortable?
***
Dressed in jeans and a navy-blue shirt—one of the few outfits I brought with me to the Compound—I walk toward the group of Fringe members waiting in the supply tunnel. About two dozen people showed up to take part in this mission. I use the term loosely, because at this point, I’m not sure what to expect.
Trina is toward the front of the group, but I stop at the back next to a red-haired boy who looks like he could be my twin. He’s taller than I am, of course—I mean, who isn’t?—but he’s kind of gangly with super skinny arms and legs. He offers me a small smile as I sidle up next to him and wait for Trey to give us instructions.
“You’re Sienna, right?”
I nod and turn to look at his freckled face.
He leans in. “I know. I’ve been watching you since you got here. I think Trey wants to make you one of our extractors. That must mean you’re good at breaking in.” He gives me a toothy grin. “Did you know I’m an extractor too? Basically, we’ll be working together. I’ll be the yin to your yang, the peanut butter to your jelly.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “What did you say your name was?”
“It’s Garrett.”
I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you, peanut-butter-yin-Garrett.”
Chuckling, he takes my hand in his in a loose handshake.
“You’ve been here your whole life?” I ask.
“Most of it. My mom was killed during an extraction.” He pulls out a photo from his back pocket and shows it to me. It’s a picture of a pretty blonde.
And that’s when I remember the boy Trey told me about in the cafeteria. The boy whose mother died during an attempt to rescue the first wave of GMs.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a soft voice.
He shrugs and pockets the photo. “Don’t be. It’s all part of the circle of life. We all die sometime. At least hers was a noble death.”
“But doesn’t it make you angry? What the government did?”
“Sure it does, but I can’t change the past. I can only improve the future.”
I smile at him. For a moment, I do feel as though I’m talking to a brother or someone I’ve known for years. “When did you become so wise?”
He shrugs, a small smile creeping to his lips. “I don’t know. I think I was born this way.”
I laugh again, and this is the lightest I’ve felt since before my mother was taken.
“So, what’s your story, Sienna?” he asks. “Why did you decide to join the Fringe?”
Biting the inside of my lip, I’m considering how to answer his question when a loud whistle pierces the tunnel.
“Hey, everyone,” Trey calls out. “Thanks for joining me. Let’s go ahead and break into groups. I’ll be the leader of one group, Nash the other, and Jeff the third. Make sure none of your group members are left behind. Clear?”
Trey divides the groups, calling the names of each person in the crowd and sending them to stand with their group leader. When he gets to me, I stare at him in expectation. Obviously, I’m hoping he’ll put me in his group, but at the very least, I hope he has enough sense not to put me with Nash.
“Sienna, you’ll be in my group.”
Struggling to hide a smile, I move to where his group stands. Trina and Scar aka Cade, are already part of his group, along with a few others I don’t know. Trina flashes me a big smile and moves to stand next to me. She introduces me to the others in our group, and I learn that the wiry, chestnut-haired boy is Samuel and the rainbow-haired girl he’s clinging to is Abby.
When Garrett is called to be in Nash’s group, his shoulders sag in defeat. He must dislike Nash as much as I do, but even though I feel sorry for him, I’m sure glad it’s not me.
When everyone is placed, Trey calls out to Jeff and his group. “The extraction tonight shouldn’t be too difficult. Only the night guards will be around. Think you can handle it?”
Jeff nods. “Sure thing, Boss.”
“I’ll send all the info to your Lynk. Stay safe. We’ll meet you back at the Compound.”
“Got it.”
My group of eight moves to Trey’s black truck, with Trina and Cade calling shotgun. The rest of us pile into the back. I scoot in and rest my spine against the side of the truck b
ed. The bumpy, uneven bed pokes into my butt, and I shift my rear as Trey pulls out of the tunnel and drives along the track with no headlights. Nash and Jeff follow us in trucks of their own. We’re a caravan of Fringe stealing into the night, but to do what, I still have no idea.
“Sienna, have you met the others?” Samuel calls from his spot in the corner where he and Abby are huddled together. His arm is slung over her shoulders in a protective gesture.
“Not yet,” I say as I glance at the two other people who are part of our group. The great thing about being out at night is that everyone’s internal tattoos are on display.
Samuel points to the girl and boy who sit on opposite sides of the truck. “Laurel and Hank.” They lift their hands in a silent greeting. Laurel is small and blonde, about my age, and I recognize her as the girl who was talking to Trey earlier after the meeting in the cafeteria. Her internal tattoo of a yellow climbing plant creeps up her arm, and the tiny flowers on the end are pretty and delicate. Hank is just the opposite. Tall, dark-skinned, and muscular, Hank looks like the type of person you don’t mess with. And the orange creature spilling down his arm is proof of that.
“Hi,” I say with a nod. They both nod back, and then turn their attention to the darkness that surrounds us.
Once we are on the freeway, the wind picks up and drags through my short hair. Goose bumps tickle my skin; I pull my arms in, hugging them to my body. I like the way my skin glimmers in the darkness, as if I have my own constellation on my arm. Tilting my head back, I glance up at the stars. Out here, so far from the city, thousands of constellations reveal themselves, and the sky is lit up like a gateway to the heavens.
When I was younger, I would gaze at the stars with my father and pretend that the pockets of light were small tears in the fabric of space that led to another world. Another world that looked down on us. A world that cried when we cried, laughed when we laughed, and felt our pain when we failed. But as I grew older, and life took on a more cynical spin, I realized how silly I was to ever believe such a thing. There is no one looking out for us. No one who feels our pain. There is only us, the keeper of our miserable lives.
I sigh as my thoughts turn to my mother. I don’t want to think of her in that hellhole. Can’t allow myself to picture her on that dirty cell floor while I’m out running around with a group of strangers. If I allow myself to go there, I will only feel frustration, helplessness, and defeat. I find comfort in knowing that, soon, we will make a plan. Tomorrow, Trey will call together a group of trusted friends and we will figure this out.
Resting my arm on the side of the truck, I stare out into the darkness. The desert shadows change as we near the city. Instead of the dark forms of Joshua trees and cacti, crumbling structures take their place. I assume we are headed to one of the government buildings in the Hollow, so I’m surprised when Trey turns down the Gateway. With his lights off, he drives past the abandoned casinos. The dark outline of the Megasphere looms in front of us, and for a brief moment, I wish I could escape there.
Our truck and Nash’s truck stop in front of the Megasphere, and we all pile out. I’m tempted to run up to the top where things seem clearer. No one would probably notice I was gone.
Trey removes a large duffle bag from the back of his truck, and we all crowd around. The bag opens, revealing different kinds of explosives—dynamite and homemade bombs are the ones I recognize. Nash whistles from his spot behind Trey, and the excitement is evident in his eyes. Rubbing his hands together, he grins.
“Now this is my idea of fun,” Nash says. Some of the others from his group laugh and jostle each other. My eyes connect with Garrett’s. He stands only a few feet from me, and he makes a face. I can tell this isn’t his idea of fun—he’d probably prefer to be with Jeff’s group performing the extraction.
“What are we blowing up?” a blond-haired boy with glasses asks. He’s with Nash’s group, I assume.
Trey looks up from his squat in front of the oversized duffle, the green tree on his arm illuminating the contents of the bag. “The biggest building on the Gateway, of course. The only one owned by Harlow Ryder.”
My heart leaps in my chest and my mouth goes dry. No. Please, no.
The boy scans the long, deserted street, eyeing the buildings in turn. “Which one?”
I know the answer even before Trey says it.
“The Megasphere.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Nash, your group will be in charge of the explosives on the top floors—”
I hear Trey’s voice giving orders, but I’m in a daze. The Megasphere. My space. The one I come to for solace. For peace, comfort, and solitude. Why the Megasphere? Do I say something to Trey? Do I beg him to choose another building? Would my pleas even matter?
Taking a deep breath, I move to Trey’s side. He is busy assembling dynamite packs. “Trey,” I say softly, hoping no one else will hear my plea.
“What’s up?” He hardly glances my way. If I’d thought there was anything between us in the infirmary, that idea is long gone now.
“Can I speak to you for a moment?”
“Yep, I’m listening.” He glances up briefly, but then resumes what he’s doing. The wires of the homemade bomb are crisscrossed, and he carefully untangles each one.
I swallow hard and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, the material rough against my skin. “Why the Megasphere?”
He looks up at me. “Because Harlow Ryder owns it. I kind of like the irony, don’t you?”
“But—but…” The right words aren’t coming. “But this place has history. Meaning.”
With narrowed eyes, he refutes my reasoning. “To who?”
To me, I think. But that’s not what I say. “To those who live in the city?”
Trey shrugs. “Looks like they’ll have to find a new place of meaning.” He resumes what he’s doing. “Besides, this is just an old ride. It’s a hazard, really.”
I turn away so he can’t see the tears that form in my eyes. I know it’s silly. Why am I so attached to this place? Maybe because for the last year, whenever I missed my dad or felt as though life was too unbearable, this is where I escaped. And now, it will be no more.
Trey’s group is responsible for setting the explosives on the lower level, but I can’t help. Impulsively, I grab a flashlight from Trey’s truck and sprint to the top of the Megasphere. When I reach the final floor, I burst out of the door onto the terrace. The darkness of the valley spreads out before me as I gasp for air. Trembling from exertion, my legs shake as I near the edge of the roof. I stand at the top of my building and take in the sight for the last time. The tiny pinpricks of light around the city, the radiance of the homes from Hampstead Hill. From here, I can see the glow of the internal tattoos of the Fringe members. The weaving vines in colors of red, blue, purple, orange, green, and yellow illuminate their skin in the darkness, making their moving limbs appear as if they’re doing a light dance. I glance down at my own luminescence and run a hand over my shimmery skin. The trailing design of interconnected butterflies and swirls is more beautiful than I could have imagined. And purple does look good on me.
A small army of lights shimmers in the distance. I watch for a moment before realizing the lights are moving toward the Gateway. My chest constricts. Enforcers. Probably out for their nightly roundup where they gather all those who are sleeping on the streets and lock them up for disturbance of the peace or some other stupid reason they make up.
I have to warn Trey. Hurrying down the stairs, I almost run into Garrett, who is carrying an armload of explosives. The red flames on his arms match that of his hair.
“Enforcers are coming,” I gasp, struggling to catch my breath.
He looks conflicted. “I’m supposed to set these at the very top. Nash is counting on me.”
“Did you not hear what I said?” I cry in desperation.
“Yes,” he says, sounding calm. “It will only take a minute.”
“Hurry, then,” I say, exasperated.
I watch his retreating figure and debate if I should help him. No, I have to warn Trey.
My lungs scream for air as I bound down the stairs two at a time, the light from the flashlight bouncing along in front of me. The muscles in my legs twitch so much that I think they might give out before I make it to the bottom. But I don’t stop. When I burst through the door, Trey is standing twenty feet away with a few bricks of dynamite in his hands.
“Trey,” I shout. “Enforcers are coming!”
“How far?”
“I don’t know. A couple of miles, maybe?”
“We need to blow this thing,” he says, his face stoic. He transmits a message to Nash, who is somewhere in the upper levels of the building. “Set the explosive for five minutes, and get the hell out of there.”
“What can I do?” I ask, breathless.
“Just make sure everyone is out before this thing blows,” Trey says, turning away. I watch him stride out of sight, around the side of the building. Helpless, I glance around. Trina is nowhere to be seen, which makes me think she’s in charge of setting the explosives on the lower level. I position myself by the exit and count the bodies as they come out. Fourteen people, not including Trey or myself. That’s how many should walk out of that building.
First, the blonde, Laurel, exits and takes a stance next to Trey’s truck, waiting for the fireworks show to begin. Then a few kids I don’t recognize from Nash’s group burst through the door, laughing and hollering. Two boys, one girl. Eleven more to go.
Trina slides through the door with a broad grin on her face. “I did it,” she squeals, the orange, vine-like swirls on her arms glowing. Ten more. After what seems like an eternity, and I’m sweating bullets, five more bound out of the door—Hank, Samuel, Abby, and two girls I don’t know. Four more.
Cade strides out, followed by the blond kid with glasses. Nash brings up the rear at the same time that Trey comes back to the front of the building, his hands empty.
“We all set?” Trey calls out.
Catalyst Page 15
