by Cross, Amy
“I saw the lookout post you were in,” I reply. “It was completely destroyed.”
“Absolutely. It's just rubble now.”
“I thought...” I pause for a moment. “I mean, I asked around, but nobody knew anything about what had happened to you, so -”
“You thought I was dead?”
“I guess. I just couldn't believe that anyone would have been able to survive.”
“Do you have no faith at all?” She grins. “Like I told you, I was in the lookout when the explosion ripped the place apart. For a moment, all I could see was the brightest white light. I've got to admit, Lizzie, I did briefly worry that I'd run out of road. And then, just as all the heat and light seemed like it was going to destroy me, I felt myself fall backward and finally I slammed down into some rubble, and then everything went dark. I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but I actually got knocked out.”
“And then what happened?”
“I woke up in the rubble.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. I had a few cuts and scratches, but nothing major. Definitely no broken bones.” She holds her hands up again, as if to show me. “I saw a lot of dead people, though. Some of them I recognized, most of them I didn't. Everyone else from my lookout post had been killed, and there I was, completely unharmed. The fighting was over, and at first I didn't even know which side had won. As you can probably imagine, I was kinda terrified.”
“Where are we?” I ask, looking around and seeing that this part of the city looks particularly rundown.
“They cordoned themselves in,” she replies. “After the battle, I mean. The new forces cordoned off a section of the city and camped out there. They built a makeshift wall to keep the rest of us out, and they basically left us to die. Anyone who gets caught trying to sneak into the main part of Boston gets shot, no questions asked. That's why I had to get Gordon to smuggle you through to us. You're lucky, Lizzie. I have certain spies on the ground in the main part of the city. I was so pleased when I heard you were alive.”
“What are you doing out here?” I ask, still looking at the various abandoned buildings. “There's no-one here. Are you just living in ruins?”
“Are you sure there's no-one here?” she replies.
I turn to her.
“Look closer,” she adds.
I look at one of the nearby buildings, but there's still no sign of anyone. I look at another, but I'm already starting to think that maybe Natalie has lost her mind. And then, just as I'm about to say this to her, I spot a figure peering at me from a wrecked window, and then I see that there's another figure watching from the roof.
I look at another building and, sure enough, after a moment I spot someone else watching us.
“They're scared,” Natalie explains. “Most of them fought in the battle. On the losing side, naturally. They've seen terrible things, and it's got into their heads. PTSD's a very real thing, Lizzie, and a lot of these people need help.”
“Who's going to help them?” I ask, turning to her.
I wait.
She stares at me.
“Oh, me?” she says finally. “No. I can't. I wouldn't know where to begin, at least not with the mental side of things. I try to find food for them, though. At first I was just trying to keep one or two of the poor bastards alive, but then more and more came to me. After just a few days, I was almost like Snow White in the forest, with life coming to find me. Before I really understood what was happening, I'd become...”
Her voice trails off for a moment.
“Well,” she adds after a few seconds, “I guess I'm sort of their leader now.”
I open my mouth to ask whether she's serious, but from the crazed look in her eyes I can tell that she means every word she just said to me.
“Do you remember what I told you before?” she asks. “Back before the battle broke out? Depending on how you count things, today is roughly day one hundred and twelve of this whole mess. It's a miracle that any of us survived this long. So many people are dead, including people we know who've died over the past week or so. They just got churned up in the war.” She pauses, and there's a faint smile on her lips that makes me think she's trying to tell me something specific. “Don't you ever wonder,” she adds finally, “why we survived and people like Violet and Alison didn't?”
“Luck?” I suggest.
“Maybe. Or maybe not.”
“It's not anything more than that,” I tell her with a sigh. “Please, don't go on again about -”
“Anyone who made it this far has been lucky,” she continues, cutting me off. “They've probably benefited from some pretty major coincidences. And that's how it's going to be. Even if the whole world died off and only one boy and one girl were left at the end of it, they'd probably never be able to believe all the coincidences that meant they, and only they, survived. But that's how coincidences work. Unless...”
I wait, but now her expression has changed. She looks almost manic.
“Unless you're immortal,” she adds, “and you have a destiny that you can't escape.”
“Okay,” I reply cautiously, “so is that what you think is happening here?”
“I shouldn't be alive,” she says, “and neither should you. So many people like us, people better than us, are dead. But we're here, and that has to be for a reason. It's a miracle that I survived the battle, but look at me. I'm better than ever. I'm stronger than ever. And I'm going to use that fact over the next twenty-four hours, Lizzie. I'm going to do what I think I was put here to do.”
“And what's that?” I ask, slightly worried by her obvious excitement.
“Simple,” she replies. “It starts by breaking through those walls and re-taking the heart of this city.”
Thomas
“Talk!” Bart yells, before kicking me again in the chest, this time cracking a couple more ribs. “What's wrong with you? You're more animal than human! Talk and save yourself some pain!”
He steps back, and I can hear him panting and struggling for breath. When the day started he seemed pretty self-assured, even going so far as to laugh at me, but now he seems to be getting more frantic. I can only assume that the impending deadline is getting to him, and that he's rattled by the realization that nothing he's done so far has shown any sign of working.
“Dumb little asshole,” he continues finally. “Where's that accent from, anyway? Are you some kind of redneck?”
“I'm from Oklahoma,” I whisper through gritted teeth, “and you can shut your mouth.”
“What was that?”
He stumbles over to me and kicks me again in the shoulder, although this time he seems to barely have enough strength. He's getting tired, and I'm starting to think that I might get a chance to overpower him. I just need to bide my time and be a little patient, because I doubt I'll get a second chance.
As Bart starts huffing and puffing, he unchains me. Obviously he needs me to be mobile for the next part of this torture. He gives me another kick, and then he turns and leans for a moment against the wall.
I tense myself, ready to strike. I barely have any strength left, but I know I can get this done if I just find the right moment. This Bart doesn't seem to be in the best of health, and he's getting sloppy. So sloppy that even I – with some cracked ribs and one swollen-shut eye – might have a shot at taking him down.
“You're gonna talk, you little bastard,” he says, turning and reaching for me, then pulling me up until we're face-to-face. “And when you do, I'm gonna -”
Suddenly I lean toward him and bite his nose hard, sinking my teeth into the fleshy bulk until I feel blood starting to burst from the wound. He screams and lets go of my shoulders, but I bite down even harder and hold on for dear life. He tries to push me away, but then he screams again as more blood bursts from the wound. Finally he swings me around and slams me against the wall, and my teeth slice through the last section of his nostrils and my head falls back. I spit the mass of flesh out of my mou
th, and then I see that Bart has taken a step back and is holding his hands up to the gushing wound on his face.
Seizing my chance, I grab the first thing I see on the nearest counter, which just so happens to be some kind of wrench. I stumble forward, barely able to stand, and then I raise the wrench up high and bring it crashing down against the top of Bart's head. I feel a heavy thud, but I know this won't be enough so I hit him again and again, until finally I feel part of his skull start to crack. At that moment, he takes a tottering step back and then he drops down onto one knee with blood starting to run freely down one side of his head.
Barely able to catch my breath, I adjust my grip on the wrench and look into Bart's eyes, and then I swing at him one final time, crushing one side of his face and sending him thudding down onto the floor.
I wait, convinced that somehow he'll have survived, but his eyes are open and he's not moving and finally I realize that he's actually dead. I set the wrench aside and take a step back, and then I lean against the wall as I try to get my breath back and fight against the pain in my ribs.
I got him.
I killed him.
Suddenly realizing that I'm not safe yet, I limp over to Bart and drop to my knees, and then I start searching for a set of keys. I don't find anything, and then it occurs to me that for all I know he might never have locked the door in the first place. I scramble back up, almost slipping in a patch of blood, and then I hurry across the room and grab the door, and sure enough the whole thing swings open and I find myself stepping out into a gloomy corridor.
I start limping along, but then I stop as I hear a voice ahead.
“Done already?” a bored-sounding man asks from around the corner. “Did you finally get it out of him? Can we blow this joint?”
I hesitate, realizing that I really should have brought a weapon with me, but then I figure I can do this with my bare hands. I shuffle to the corridor's far end, and then I see a man sitting on a chair with his back to me, apparently focused on a tattered paperback book in his hands.
“Did you kill him?” he asks as I come up behind him. “Are we supposed -”
I grab him from behind and pull him back, and then I put an arm around his throat and squeeze as hard as I can manage. The guy's flailing around and trying to push me away, but I know I'm dead if I let go for even an instant. I squeeze tighter and tighter, and finally I start to feel him getting weaker. I don't dare stop just yet, so I pull even harder, and eventually I realize that I'm holding a dead man.
I let go, and the chair topples back. The guy's corpse falls to the floor, right at my feet.
For a moment, all I can do is stand and feel the pain coursing through my body. I turn to walk away, but then – remembering my mistake earlier – I turn back and crouch down. There's no gun, but at least I find a decent sized knife. Turning, I spot a door at the far end of the room and I start limping in that direction. I have no idea where I'm going to go once I'm out of here, but I figure I need to get Carter and then somehow find a way for us to leave Boston. All I need first is -
Suddenly the door swings open and two soldiers enter, with Patterson right behind them.
I raise the knife, but in an instant they raise their guns and I quickly realize that I've got no chance against them.
“Well, that's unexpected,” Patterson says, stepping into the room. “Allow me to complement you, Mr. Edgewater, on your ability to escape. You're persistent, that's for sure.”
I glance around, trying to work out how I'm going to escape now. I've come this far; I can't fail now.
“Relax,” Patterson continues. “I was coming to let everyone know that there's no need for any further torture.”
“I won't tell you where the vials are,” I tell him. “Not ever.”
“I know you won't. Which is why this little charade is over.”
“You'll never get them,” I continue. “They have to go to someone who'll use them responsibly. Someone I trust.”
“You can trust me, Thomas.”
“Somehow, I don't think so.”
“Well, that's out of your hands now,” he says, before reaching into his pocket and taking something out. It takes a moment, and then to my horror I realize that it's the box containing the vials. “I have everything that I need,” he explains, “so I'm afraid you're surplus to requirements.”
I step forward, with the knife still raised, but the soldiers are still aiming at me. I want to lunge at Patterson and finally kill him, but I know I'd be shot down before I got more than a step closer to the bastard.
“I hope you won't be too angry at her,” Patterson continues. “The poor girl only did what she thought was right.”
“What are you talking about?” I stammer.
He pauses, before stepping aside. Behind him, two more soldiers are escorting a figure into the room, and I'm shocked to see that it's Caitlin.
“I'm sorry,” she murmurs, looking at me sheepishly, “but I thought...”
Her voice trails off.
“She betrayed you, Thomas,” Patterson says calmly, with a hint of a smile. “You withstood all that torture, all that pain. You even fought your way out of the cell. And then poor Caitlin here decided to spill the beans. Honestly, I didn't see that coming. It seems she wrestled with her guilty conscience, and eventually she decided to come and tell me everything.”
I stare at her for a moment, filled with anger.
“How could you?” I ask. “I trusted you!”
“I'm sorry,” she says, with tears in her eyes. “I thought about it a lot, but in the end I realized I didn't know what was right and what wasn't. So I thought Mr. Patterson could decide. I mean, General Patterson.”
“So everything has worked out well in the end,” Patterson continues. “And now, Thomas, I think it's time for a little public display of justice.”
Realizing that he's going to kill me, I figure I have to try to overpower the soldiers. It's not going to be easy, and I doubt I'll get close to them, but I'm not going to go down without a fight. I quickly settle on the soldier on the left, and I tighten my grip on the knife as I prepare to lunge at him. And then, at the last moment, I suddenly hear a sound over my shoulder.
I begin to turn, but then something hard slams into the back of my head and knocks me out cold.
Elizabeth
“You've got your own army?” I ask, as I watch more and more wounded, limping figures emerging from nearby buildings. “Seriously?”
“They might not look like much,” Natalie replies with a grin, “but they're all former soldiers. And who knows? Maybe being damaged will make them a little more effective.”
“This is insane,” I continue, grabbing her arm. “Natalie, I don't know what's been happening to you over the past couple of weeks, but you have to realize that this whole plan is crazy. You have a handful of injured people who -”
“A couple of hundred, actually.”
“That still won't be enough!” I say firmly. “What are you going to do, exactly? Tear down that wall while no-one's watching?”
“Don't be silly,” she replies. “We're going to blow it up, and then we're going to go through and take the food and water that's rightfully ours. This city doesn't belong to those assholes. They might be occupying the key locations right now, but we're going to strike back. And when we do, we're going to have the element of surprise.”
“Only because nobody would ever think you'd do something so stupid!” I snap. “They have guns! And grenades! And probably a whole load of other things! What do you have? Rocks?”
“We might not look like much, but -”
“You're going to get yourselves killed!” I tell her. “Or do you seriously think that you can't die?”
I wait, but she's still smiling at me. It's as if she's amused by my attempts to make her see sense. I've known Natalie for a while and she's always been a little crazy, but now she seems to have gone completely off the deep end.
“Fine,” I say finally. “Maybe
you can't die. But the rest of these people can.”
“They made it this far.”
“That doesn't mean they're invulnerable,” I point out. “You're going to lead them straight to a meaningless death, and for what? Control of a city that's dying anyway? Why don't you get them together and lead them away from Boston? I don't know if you've heard, but messages have started going out over the phone lines. Someone's trying to put the world back together. We need to be going to find them, rather than just launching another battle straight after the last one finished.”
“There are no messages, Elizabeth.”
“Of course there are!” I reply. “I've heard them!”
She opens her mouth to reply, but then she hesitates. She seems a little uncertain, and it takes a few seconds before her smile returns and she shakes her head.
“I have heard them!” I continue. “It's one message, but it comes regularly.”
“That's always been your problem, Elizabeth,” she says, as more and more injured figures come limping toward us. “You keep expecting someone else to come along and save us all, but it's not going to happen. We have to do it for ourselves.”
“No,” I tell her, “you're not -”
“You need to stop worrying, Ms. Marter,” a voice says suddenly behind me.
I freeze.
It can't be...
Slowly, I turn and see Charles Bloom smiling at me.
“I'm so glad that you're here,” he continues. “It's important for you to see that this revolution is very real. I'm sure you have a few questions, so allow me to explain. I'm on your side, Elizabeth.”
I stare at him for a moment, before turning to Natalie.
“Charles is going to help us,” she explains. “He's pretending to be on the side of those assholes who invaded, but he's actually working to bring the crashing down. When I said we were going to smash through the wall, I was being a little over-dramatic. Lizzie, Charles is going to have the wall opened for us. And he's going to make sure that Patterson's soldiers are too distracted to stop us.”
