I shrug. “Everything comes at a price. I help you get what you want, you help me get what I want. If we both benefit, what’s the problem?”
His eyes shift to the rounded edge of the table. He thinks about how he didn’t sand it well enough. It’s almost too small a thing to notice—certainly not anything I would’ve ever caught on my own—but a part of it is uneven.
What do I really stand to lose? Forced cooperation with the team or whatever, which would be annoying but doesn’t actually take anything from me but effort. The possibility of what I could gain in return is huge. It could end my search.
But that thought also makes him hesitate. For as long as he can remember, which, granted, is not very long at all, his only goal has been to find out who he is. What comes after that? Will the person I am now disappear once I remember? Will I go back to my old home, go after my old goals?
He shakes his head. That’s exactly why I’m trying to get my memories back. So I can decide where to go from there.
“Okay,” he says. We trade cards. “I’ll cooperate to make the team succeed or whatever. In return, you get my memories back or show definite signs that you’re making progress on finding out about my past. Those are my conditions.”
It’s hard to hold back a smile as I lay my hand down on the table. Ace, two, three, four, five. “Deal.”
14
JAY
TWO DAYS FOLLOWING our failed group training session, we’re sent Out once more. We reviewed the plan early this morning, but that’s the limit of our team’s recent interactions. I can’t help but worry how this mission will go.
Everyone is astonishingly silent as we ride. Though the wind is strong, I can faintly hear the thrum of my byc and the varying beeps from its radar. Blackened trees jut crookedly out of the ground like giant sticks. Brown-gray dust billows out behind our bycs.
We follow Ferals’ trails of packed dirt and flattened underbrush. The trails are difficult to traverse; however, if we were to take the single main road that leads through this deadened forest, the rebels would see us coming.
Luckily we encounter only smaller Ferals—strange, mindless creatures that somehow manage to live Outside. They say no two Ferals are the same, but they share a few similar characteristics. They all have the same thick, hardened gray skin pulled so tightly over their bones you can actually see their entire skeleton. They can have anywhere from one head to four, sometimes with ears or noses, sometimes without, always with gaping black holes in place of eyes. Some have wings, some tails, some teeth sharp as knives. They all attack as soon as they smell blood.
As none of us are bleeding, it’s easy enough to back away from the Ferals we run into. But we do then have to get off and walk our bycs through the trees until we find a new trail. It’s slow going, but for some reason, no one complains.
A branch cracks under my foot as we transfer from one path to another, and Mendel must nearly break his wrist whipping out his weapon. The sound echoes through the still air, up through the tops of trees that tower so high above us the orange sky is barely visible. We pause.
Mendel opens his mouth, appears to consider, then closes it.
“We’re almost there,” I say. I don’t know why everyone is so quiet today, but it’s nice. Well, truth be told, it’s unsettling. Previously, Mendel and Johann wouldn’t listen to a word I had to say about the team. I have no idea why they’re being so cooperative today, and their sudden transformation makes me wary. Whatever the reason, I have my doubts about it being out of the goodness of their hearts.
Cathwell is the same, I suppose. Her arms circle around me as we board our byc and shoot forward. The Gatesmen still haven’t had the other byc repaired yet, so she’s riding with me once more.
I can feel her heat through my back. I’m not used to physical contact with others; even though she’s merely using me as an anchor, her presence is strangely comforting. Like the others, she is silent.
The trees blur by. Shriveled leaves and branches pelt my visor. The usual iron scent of the Outside is overpowered by freshly turned dirt.
When we’re nearly to the coordinates specified in our mission files, I lift two fingers in the air and point to a grouping of dead bushes ahead. We dismount from our bycs and hide them as best we can in the skeletal underbrush.
I allow my mind to go blank and the three-dimensional grid unfolds in my head. Four spheres, each slightly pulsating different shades of emotion, stand at our location. In the distance, a small amber presence is walking, far enough away that I think we’ll be safe from detection.
“Everyone knows the plan?” I compress my helmet back into its ball, stow it in its proper compartment, and commence double-checking the equipment in my belt. I look up when I hear the click of everyone’s compartments opening as they do the same. No one else checked their equipment the last time I went through this procedure.
I’m not able to ask about it before Mendel says, “Large amounts of rebel traffic have been seen passing through this forest, specifically at point thirty-eight north twenty. Our scouts suspect they’re either setting up a new base or else trading information here, but couldn’t risk getting close enough to confirm. We’ll split into groups and find out what we can via undetected observation.”
“Mendel and I’ve got west,” Johann says. He looks up; however, it’s not me he’s looking at. It’s Cathwell. “The major and lieutenant have east.”
Ideally, it would be better to pair Cathwell with Johann or Mendel since they have stronger offensive gifts, but I don’t trust either of them enough to watch out for her. Mendel is too whimsical, Johann too impulsive. Plus the fact that the latter nearly burned her alive on our last mission.
“Remember, try not to be seen or engage in a fight.” I refasten each of my belt’s compartments. “If the rebels become aware we’ve found their new base or information trading spot, they could potentially abandon it, or else strengthen its defense in preparation for future attacks. It will only make more trouble for us later on if that happens.”
“Trouble if it doesn’t go well,” Cathwell says. She isn’t looking at either Mendel or Johann as she says it—her attention is focused somewhere down the Ferals’ path we took to get here—but both their presences flicker with irritation. Whatever their change in behavior, it has something to do with the lieutenant. I just can’t comprehend how.
“We’ll regroup here in three hours, whether we’ve discovered anything or not,” I say. Much as I want to interrogate the three of them about their behavior right now, the mission comes first. There will be time for questions later. “If you find the base, come straight here and send the all-clear. If anything happens and the rebels discover you, send the red alert so we can regroup and help each other out.” I tap the small screen of the MMA strapped around my wrist and am rewarded with a roll of the eyes from Johann.
“Understood,” Mendel says lazily. Cathwell remains staring into the distance.
Gods help us. “Okay. Let’s go.”
* * *
Surprisingly enough, we are not instantly discovered. Silence is key; we don’t want to risk setting off any audio-based technological traps or bugs by being too loud.
Cathwell and I stop a few yards short of an enormous tree located near the coordinates we were given. Bare branches twist around one another as they fight for the small amount of sunlight available.
For the time being, the four of us are the only presences in the area. Mendel and Johann are heading toward the other side as Cathwell and I hunker down under a cracked, fallen tree trunk overcome by clinging ivy and red-black moss. Now we wait.
Cathwell taps me on the shoulder. Using standard military sign language, she asks, Orders?
Hold, I sign back. Quiet.
She struggles for a heartbeat with the hand signal she wants. The scouts found something.
I think she’s asking if my gift would pick up any incoming rebels prior to us seeing them. At least, it was the question I had been anticipat
ing, and it matches closely enough.
Someone with a gift that circumnavigates mine could appear. There could be enemy Watchers patrolling—my gift doesn’t pick up technology. We could have unknowingly already set off some kind of trap that would alert them we’re here; they could be preparing an ambush while we sit here completely unaware.
These things are too specific for signals, however. Maybe.
She nods and keeps her eyes low, scanning the area.
I’m about to settle in for a long three hours when a spot, then five, appear on my grid, still too far away to have distinct colors or sizes.
The amount of time it takes for the dots to sharpen into one small, two middle-sized, and two large spheres, all of varying shades of pale blue, is agonizing. I signal to Cathwell to get ready, but it looks like she’s already aware. Her hand is over the compressed weapon strapped on her belt. She looks to me, waiting for me to signal something else.
Follow at a safe distance.
She nods, and despite her peculiarities, I’m glad she’s with me. There’s something about her, perhaps the way she carries herself or the way she moves—even with her occasional unpredictability—that is acutely reassuring. That, and I know firsthand how well she can handle herself in a fight.
The people I sensed are headed directly for us, toward the towering tree. I hold my breath; when I can’t hear Cathwell exhale, I know she’s done the same. The life-deprived bushes on the other side of the giant tree quiver as five people pass through them in no particular formation. They move without speaking, but without too much care for where they step as twigs crack underfoot. They’re dressed casually in camouflaged shades of browns and blacks.
Everyone looks straight ahead, which makes me question whether they know we’re here and are pretending not to notice, or whether they just aren’t wary of being followed. Either way, I wait until they’re a full thirty seconds ahead of us before I give the signal to Cathwell that we’re to follow.
She falls in line behind me as we stalk the group. We move noiselessly behind tree trunks, through shredded shadows created by the maze of branches overhead. I’m not worried about losing them; as long as they stay within a half-mile radius of me, I’ll be able to sense their position.
Cathwell is so silent, I have to continuously glance back to make sure she’s still with me. I keep forgetting she’s a soldier with years more experience than me.
The rebels proceed without hesitation. This almost feels too easy; after several minutes of tailing them, we still haven’t run into any traps. There’s been no indication the people we’re following suspect they’re being followed, either.
Without looking back, I signal to Cathwell. Be on guard. I don’t risk taking my focus off my internal grid to see if she replies.
Cathwell’s presence flashes a sudden violet as someone shoves me from behind. Something sharp slashes my arm. Dust fills my mouth as my face hits the ground.
Instinct and experience compel me to roll out of reach of whatever hit me. I stand in time to see Cathwell leap back from the downward swing of a rebel’s sword.
There’s a cut close to my elbow, but it’s shallow. Cathwell must have noticed the rebel and pushed me out of the way of a potentially fatal blow. I wasn’t paying attention. If I had, she wouldn’t have had to protect me—again.
How could I not have sensed him coming? He didn’t appear on my grid at all. That’s never happened before.
He’s dressed all in black, with shaggy blond hair he lazily flips out of his eyes. “You’re the infamous Lai, right?” He bares his teeth in what I think is supposed to be a grin. I hit the red alert on my MMA—and hope the others haven’t been caught in a similar trap. “Name’s Devin.”
He swings his sword easily, carelessly as he speaks, all the while approaching Cathwell.
She doesn’t move. Her double-headed spear is already in its extended form. On my grid, her presence is a hammering scarlet. It’s not fear she’s feeling, like I would’ve expected, but hurt. Betrayal. But her face gives nothing away, and I don’t have time to dwell on it.
I grasp the handles of the knives strapped to my wrists.
The rebel—Devin—charges. Cathwell sidesteps and twirls the shaft of her spear around his sword, attempting to jerk it from his grip. He pulls free and slashes sideways at her. She jumps back, but he instantly fills the gap. She barely has time to bring her spear up to deflect another blow.
“I heard you were strong,” Devin says through their crossed weapons. His expression is wild. “I was told to bring you back alive, but it should be fine if you’re missing an arm or two. Don’t disappoint me, okay?”
Take her alive? Why would the rebels want to capture Cathwell?
Cathwell meets my eyes. Even though Devin’s back is to me, I can’t chance taking a shot with her right there.
Then the rebels we were tracking stop. Abrupt surprise radiates through their presences, then hesitation, before they start racing back toward us, their spheres burning with anxiety and purpose. It was a trap.
“Cathwell, we need to retreat,” I say. There’s no way the two of us can take on six of them.
“Hey, hey, I’m standing right here,” Devin says. He brings his sword under Cathwell’s spear, then up between her and her weapon. She skips back to avoid the hit, holding her spear in one hand and swinging it in a wide arc. Devin ducks.
There’s no chance of me getting a clear shot at Devin. If I attempted to help, the probability of hurting Cathwell instead is high. Our teamwork isn’t yet of a high enough level that we could attempt tag-teaming him, either. I’m useless standing here.
The times that I resent my gift’s ability are few and far between, but the gnaw of guilt at my being unable to help claws at me now. And as Cathwell and Devin keep skipping back and forth, lunging and dodging, the other rebels are getting nearer.
Calm down. Think. What can I do right now?
We’re unable to run, or Devin will cut us down from behind. I’m not able to do anything about him, so I need to handle the other rebels. Even though Devin isn’t showing up on my internal grid, they are, which means I should still have the element of surprise on my side.
I begin climbing the nearest tree. I have to make sure I have a good height, but that I can still get down at a moment’s notice.
Once I’m in position, I ready my knives and wait for the group of rebels to come within range. I tighten my focus on the forerunner of the group. The wait is agonizing. My palms are wet.
My blade flies.
A light on my grid flickers before disappearing completely. I hear someone stumble and fall before four rebels burst into the area where Cathwell and Devin are fighting—two of the group looking back over their shoulders to ascertain why their comrade tripped. With that distraction, I’m able to take another of them down before the last three realize what’s happening and spot me.
They spread out. If any of them are long-range fighters, I’m done for. There’s no cover in these dead trees; the most I can hope for is that the branches will deflect whatever attack they throw at me.
My pulse jumps up my throat. I’ve never been this badly outnumbered before. No plan, no grasp of how strong my opponents are, and here I am, waiting up in a tree.
The rebels below me are circling warily, weapons raised. They don’t appear to have anyone with a gift that can reach me up here, but it’d be all too easy for them to avoid my attacks when I’m in clear sight like this, so I’m not able to do anything, either. However, Cathwell won’t last long if all of them turn on her.
Do or die. I jump.
The rebels below me scramble back to avoid being hit, but even before I’ve touched ground, they charge.
I can fight hand-to-hand when it comes to it. But against three opponents with unknown gifts? As soon as I dodge out of their reach, I sprint toward Cathwell. She must guess that I have retreat in mind, because with one final shove at Devin with her spear, she joins me in running.
I
hate exposing my back. I’m afraid that any second, I’ll feel the harsh, unforgiving thrust of a blade between my shoulders. But we keep ducking and dodging with the rebels’ shouts following after us, and nothing strikes me down.
“What’s the plan?” Cathwell asks, even as my mind races to keep pace with my feet.
“Run.”
“I think we’re at that part. What’s next?”
I’m about to tell her to just keep running; however, something in the terrain comes up on my internal grid. There’s a cliff rising up ahead of us. And at the bottom of that cliff, a cave.
“There’s a cave up ahead,” I say. “We’ll fight there.”
Her eyebrows come together. “Won’t we be trapped?”
“No one can attack us from behind, and they won’t be able to attack us all at once in such a small space.”
“Major, this is—”
A knife whistles past. It barely misses Cathwell’s ear.
“No time,” I say. “Come on.”
I take a sharp right and Cathwell follows after me in the same breath.
This is crazy. I know that. But we can’t keep running, and this is the best way to limit their movements.
We break out of the trees, into an open space with a short cliff rising up in front of us. I don’t hesitate in running straight for the cave, but Cathwell does. It’s only when I shout her name that she moves to follow me.
If the rebels hadn’t been pursuing us so closely, the cave might have made a good hiding place. But since there wasn’t much chance of losing them, they see us duck in.
The cave is smaller than I’d anticipated, the ceiling only about a foot above my head, the width perhaps twice my height. I face the entrance, Cathwell alongside me, but her presence is pulsing violet. Something is wrong. However, I don’t have time to figure out what it is before the first rebel appears in the entrance.
I throw one of my knives at him immediately, but he easily dodges and charges. He swings his sword in a wide arc—or he would have, if it hadn’t caught on the side of the cave.
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