I JARRED into consciousness in the cold silence, with the acute awareness that I was alone in the car. An eerie intuition crept over my skin. The others were in trouble. Something had happened.
These thoughts had me out of the door before I drew another breath. It was frigid, but not so much that the puddles on the asphalt had frozen. The air cooled my knuckles, heated and swollen from hitting the fence. I clutched my elbows and scanned the shadowed parking garage, heart racing, furious at myself that I’d fallen asleep. Dawn cracked through the pewter thunderheads outside—I’d been out for three hours at least.
The stolen cruiser was parked beside a tarp-covered vehicle on the bottom floor of the structure. Sinister pieces of rebar and fallen chunks of cement cut jagged angles down the open frame to my side, where the natural light was brighter. Mountains of gravel and rocks outside blocked my visibility, and the breeze blew an instant film of dust over my clothing and hair. It was one thing to see the Wreckage on the news, but another entirely to stand among it, a soft body of flesh and bones. I had the sudden sensation that I had awoken in the mouth of some giant beast; shortly it would crush me in its concrete teeth and swallow me whole.
A huge metallic sign lay strewn across the ground just beyond the exit. It was bent and scratched, but still readable.
CHICAGO MIDWAY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT.
“Chase!” I whisper-shouted. No answer. Panic gripped the base of my neck.
Sean appeared around the entrance. He was back in civilian clothes but for the gun holstered in the belt at his hip, and his face was warped with edgy frustration. He was closer to Rebecca than he’d been in weeks, but she was still just beyond his grasp.
“Good, you’re up,” he said. He tracked my gaze as it rose behind him to the heap of gray rock that was once an airport terminal. “This is where Marco said we’re supposed to wait for a pickup, but the place is a graveyard. Literally,” he added.
I knew he didn’t want to wait for the resistance. I didn’t either. I wanted to get Rebecca and get out, but we weren’t prepared. Tucker had offered some intel on the schematics of the rehab building and the placement of the guards, but Chicago ran this area. We couldn’t encroach on their turf without a formal introduction; Wallace would have called that bad form. And if they really were rough like Marco and Polo had said, we didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.
“Where is he?” I asked quickly. “Where are they?” I corrected.
Sean pointed around the corner to where Tucker was leaning against the outer wall of the parking garage, sleeping in the dirt with his chin on his chest. The skyline weighed heavily upon us; rain was coming.
“Chase,” I pressed.
“Relax. He’s on point. Over that hill.” Sean motioned toward a rock heap on the opposite side of the building. “He asked me to keep my eye on you a while. I told him I had the first shift, but you know him….”
I did know him. When his mind was set on something, no one could tell him otherwise. But I sensed something was wrong; he wouldn’t have drifted so far from Tucker otherwise.
I took off in the direction Sean had indicated, noting all the fallen concrete blocking our view. There were walls of it, stained with weather and anti-MM graffiti. Shattered glass was sprinkled across the ground. A hundred eyes could be watching us here and we’d never know; there was just too much to hide behind.
“Chase?” I called quietly, knowing my voice was muffled by the environment, but too wary on this foreign soil to speak any louder. My pulse quickened when I didn’t see him around the first bend. Long grass had grown here, covering the rough road and cushioning my steps.
I held my breath, listening for any noise that might direct me to him.
Gasps, ten yards away. My heart clutched. I surged through the foliage toward the sound without thinking. I found him alone on his hands and knees on the ground, his breathing strained, ragged. One arm locked around his midsection, as though he’d been shot.
“Chase!”
I ran to him. He heard me and jerked up, but not all the way. One hand motioned for me to stop.
“Get back in the car,” he ordered weakly.
I paused, ducking reactively and scanning the field. There was danger here, I could smell it in the electric air.
“Get back in the car!” he said more forcefully.
Scared, I kept looking but saw nothing. I listened, but only the breeze on the grass filtered through my heartbeats. It was just us. We were alone.
“I… don’t understand.”
“Please,” he begged, and fell to his hands and knees again. His back rounded in his struggle, like a dying animal, and I did understand then. There was no threat here but himself.
The fear in his voice was so thick it shook me to the core. He was always so strong, but not now. Now he was falling apart. Like Wallace, on the roof of a burning building, he was pushing me away.
I would not go.
I approached him gingerly, each frenzied breath from his throat striking me like a punch.
His pain hurt me in a way I’d never felt before. It was worse than my own pain. My strength wavered. I felt completely powerless.
I imagined him in the car, acting calm as I fell asleep in the seat beside him, hiding that choking panic until I was no longer conscious. The thoughts that must have filled his head in my silence. My mother, murdered before him. Chasing me to the holding cells, then into the fire at the Wayland Inn. One close call after the next, finally culminating with a chance to reverse it all that had instantly fallen through.
And so he’d made it to the meeting point, changed into his civilian clothes quietly enough not to disturb me, and escaped to battle his demons alone.
I knelt beside him, placing one cautious hand on his back. Sweat had soaked clean through his sweater. My arm rose and fell as he swallowed what air he could, and I hurt, so completely, for him that the tears filled my eyes.
“Can’t… breathe….” he ground out. He scratched at the stretched neck of his T-shirt.
“Yes you can,” I said. My voice was low and even.
Instinctively I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned over him so that my chest rested on his back and my face pressed against his neck, sticky with sweat. I took a long breath, hoping he could feel my heart slow through the barriers of our clothes and skin.
He tried to match my tempo but began to shake. His hand clutched mine over his flexing abdominals and squeezed so tightly I thought my fingers would break.
“I’m here,” I said. “I’m not letting go.”
I breathed again, and he moved with me, a low, strangled moan seeping out his throat.
In. Out.
Again.
Again.
The terror passed quickly, leaving him exhausted and drenched. There was water in the car, in the bag Beth had given us, but I didn’t dare leave him even for a minute. I used the Sister of Salvation handkerchief to blot at his neck and forehead while he gripped my other hand, and when he fell back onto his heels, I somehow ended up shifting in front of him, so that I straddled his lap.
My breath caught. Our eyes locked, both of us waiting for what would come next. His fingers slowly spread over my back, his thumbs grazing my ribs. I ran my hands through his damp hair, feeling his gaze, somehow staggered, linger on my face. Feeling our bodies warmly connected. Finally, his head came to rest on my heart and I held him, willing him to know that he was not alone.
“WAS I like Beth?” I asked, frowning. “When you came back. Did I seem so young?”
I sat on the ground across from him, arms encircling my knees, chin resting on the crook in my elbow. He mirrored my position, watching the way our boots overlapped, but refusing, like me, to back away. The second we had separated he’d become shy, though not cold, and my mind drifted back to what had happened at my house.
A small smile graced the corners of his mouth. “Maybe a little bit.”
I thought of how naïve Beth had sounded, how idealistic that she was doing the right thing, so impenetrable to consequences.
“I must have driven you crazy.”
“You drive me crazy on a pretty regular basis.”
I stomped on his toes. He grinned, and then blinked and rubbed his eyes.
“You’re tired,” I said.
“Yes.”
He wouldn’t sleep until he was ready, but I wished I could do something to help him.
“There’s food in the car,” I said. “Come on. You can eat something at least.”
He reached for my hands and I pulled myself up, and then used all my remaining strength to hoist him off the ground.
The pendant-shaped burn below my collar had begun to throb again, and I prodded it gently, thinking of Cara and how she’d needed St. Michael’s protection more than me. The lump grew inside of my throat. I still wasn’t sure what to feel. Anger that she’d been so cruel, so secretive. Guilt that she was killed by people trying to kill me. Pain, though we hadn’t been friends.
We began slowly walking back toward the cruiser.
“Listen, back there…” he started, then paused.
I waited while he sorted through his thoughts. I hoped he didn’t try to apologize. What had happened out here had bound us closer, and it would have stung had he regretted it.
“It just gets heavy sometimes,” he finished, with a great heave of breath.
He didn’t have to explain further. I knew exactly what he meant.
A muffled whisper diverted our attention, driving my heart into my throat. Chase’s hand was immediately at his back, where he’d placed the gun Polo had given him, but he didn’t draw.
Tucker jerked out from behind a cement blockade just to our left. “Scared me.” He was wearing the same jeans and sweat-stained thermal he’d been in earlier, though now I noticed a streak of burnt copper down his left side. Was that his blood, or Cara’s?
“Who were you talking to?” I asked.
“No one,” he said. “I was looking for you.”
“Where’s Sean?” Chase didn’t bother to hide the accusation in his tone.
“Still on guard,” Tucker answered. “But he didn’t rotate back. I thought maybe he came to find you.”
My shoulder blades tightened. I glanced around, as if Sean might appear, too, but there was no sign of him. Somewhere closer to the heart of the old city, the clouds began to groan.
“So you thought it was a good idea to leave post, too, huh?” said Chase.
Tucker didn’t lower his gaze. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t the FBR anymore, Jennings. It’s every man for himself out here.”
“Actually it’s not,” I said flatly. “Come on, let’s find him.”
Chase held me back, tilting his head toward Tucker as if to say, after you. Tucker hesitated only briefly before turning and walking quickly back toward the parking garage. Though I searched the entire time for Sean, Chase, just to my side, did not once turn his head away from his old partner.
“Do you think Tucker’s telling the truth?” I whispered to Chase. I reached into my pocket to feel the copper bullet once again. I wanted to show him, but not with Tucker around.
“No.”
“Do you think Cara’s really dead?”
He nodded once.
So it wasn’t her death that he questioned, but the manner in which she’d died. I felt the shiver run through me. Tucker had seemed genuinely affected by the sequence of events that had led him to my door. But what if he’d lied? What if he’d reported us, and somehow turned Cara in? And then turned Billy in, just after?
And now Sean, wherever he was, was willing to risk his life on Tucker’s supposed contact in the MM. If Chicago didn’t offer any better options—and I really hoped they did—Chase and I would, too.
We were seriously considering placing our safety in the hands of the one person I trusted least in this world.
We searched the garage and the outlying area, calling for Sean only as loudly as we dared. As the minutes passed, my dread began to build, until Tucker finally admitted he’d last seen Sean near the terminal. With a harsh word, Chase took off immediately in that direction, and I followed closely behind, feeling Tucker clinging to my shadow.
We crossed what had once been a street and went left around a large base of construction waste. We found him there, just beyond the bend, facing the opposite direction.
“Sean!” called Chase. “What are you doing out here?”
Sean jumped at the sound. “Thought I saw someone. Over there, behind…”
Three men in ragged clothes emerged from the asphalt and concrete dunes, twenty feet away. Two were in their thirties, and handled their rifles with an unsettling degree of confidence. The third man was younger, close to Chase’s age, with a massive muscular torso, and a baseball bat resting over one shoulder. He looked like the type that might bulldoze anyone that got in his way.
Resistance. They had to be. But if they were, Marco and Polo were right. They did not look friendly.
Chase deliberately placed himself in front of me.
“You lost, strangers?” asked the man in front with a rifle. He had a crisp, city accent. His dark hair was tussled and he hunched slightly to hide his immense height.
“I doubt it,” said Chase.
My pulse quickened.
“Then how may I be of service?” The tall man grinned.
“Knoxville sent us,” said Chase. “Before the FBR burned it to the ground.”
The man snickered. “Any weapons?”
“Possibly,” said Chase.
“Yes,” confessed Sean. “But I’m sure as hell not giving it to you.”
The tall stranger’s smirk dissipated, ratcheting up the silence to a tighter, tenser level of unease as he clicked his dirty fingernails along the rifle shaft. He was clearly trying to intimidate us.
I was tired of being intimidated.
“Stop,” I said. “We’ve come a long way, so if you’re not planning on shooting us, put your gun down. Please.”
My words hung in the air. All eyes locked upon me; all but Chase’s, as he was still watching the tall man. Someone began to chuckle. I turned toward the bulldozer with the baseball bat; he was missing one of his top K-9 teeth.
The leader lowered his gun. “You got a name, Sister? Or should I just call you the Mouth?”
I really didn’t like him. I wasn’t sure if he bought my disguise, or if he was simply mocking me, but my legs itched within the wool skirt, flexing and ready to run, and my jaw snapped shut.
“No? Shame. How about you?” He turned to Chase. “Wouldn’t be Jennings, would it?”
Chase stilled. My eyes widened. They had recognized Chase, not me, even with my photo posted. How did they know him? He didn’t seem to recognize them. He didn’t say a word.
“Told you,” said Toothless. “Didn’t I tell you, Jack?”
Jack grinned sadistically. “Maybe you can test out your theory.”
“What theory?” I asked. No one answered.
The third guard searched Sean and Tucker while Toothless came to pat me down. He was surprisingly appropriate—maybe because Chase watched him like a hawk. Still, there was too much pressure in the air. Something was wrong. The three shared too many knowing glances, too many sly smirks.
They took our weapons. Two guns, and a screwdriver Tucker had stolen from Greeneville.
Jack whistled. It was a piercing noise, one that pinpointed the back of my jaw and made me cringe. Toothless chuckled again.
In moments we were surrounded.
They came from every hidden corner of the graveled battlefield, encircling us, blocking us in. Thirty or more of the scariest people I’d ever seen. Brawny and sneering, tattooed and scarred, the type you’d find in a prison gang. Those closest were shooting hard stares our direction, making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. No one smiled except the guy with the baseball bat.
My breath came faster. I glanced from side to side, suddenly aware of how close Chase had become. Sean drew in as well, blocking my right side.
“See, we’ve got a problem,” hollered Jack, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We’ve been watching you all morning. Watched you drive up in your little MM cruiser and park in our garage. Watched you change out of your uniforms into street clothes—well, all except the Sister here. And the thing is,” he said, and smiled, stepping back to join the ring. “The thing is, we really don’t like snitches.”
“I guess that’s one thing we have in common,” said Chase darkly.
“Don’t piss him off, Jack,” chuckled Toothless. He seemed as relaxed as could be despite the tension.
“Don’t think I can take him?” quipped Jack.
“That’s over,” said Tucker. It was the first time he’d spoken since the arrival of the others. He almost looked humble with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders drawn forward. “He doesn’t do that anymore.”
It finally occurred to me what was happening. These guys had been soldiers when Chase was. They’d seen him fight when the MM had forced him into the ring, trying to break him. A defensive wave rose within me. My fists bunched. I didn’t like this Chicago bunch, and I definitely did not like Tucker standing up for Chase.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Chicago boxing legend Chase Jennings!” Toothless trumpeted. Several people laughed, the anxious, strained sounds of hyenas. A few even cheered. The breath came fast and shallow in my throat.
Tucker swore under his breath. “Here we go.”
“They’re stolen uniforms,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “We’re resistance, too. We’re from Knoxville.”
“You sure?” asked Jack. “Because I have a hunch you got friends somewhere close, watching us right now. I think you’re acting big and bad because you know they won’t let you get hurt.”
My palms itched. A line of cold sweat dribbled between my shoulder blades. The circle had gone from bawdy to whispers in just seconds, and a crater formed around us, locking us in the center.
They thought we were MM. They thought we were here to break into their camp. And they were willing to hurt us, just to see if any soldiers came to our rescue.
If this many people were here, how many more were lying in wait?
I thought of Wallace’s first rule. Play nice or we don’t play at all. These boys had dialed it up a notch. Grimly, I realized there was probably a reason for their paranoia.
“It’s not like that,” Sean objected.
We both watched Chase. A veil of very controlled hostility had fallen over him. His head sunk, his shoulders loosened. A slight bend in his elbows, a slight crouch. He was ready to spring, and we were cornered.
“We don’t want trouble.” Chase’s voice was harder than I’d ever heard it.
“Hear that? He doesn’t want trouble! I saw him almost beat a guy’s head in at the base and he doesn’t want trouble!” shouted someone from the ring.
I flinched. I’d seen what Chase could do in a fight. What his eyes looked like when they went cold and emotionless. He couldn’t go back there.
“Still think you’re tough?” Jack sneered at him. I wanted Jack to look my direction instead of putting this all on Chase. My nails pinched into my palms.
“What is your problem!” I shouted at him.
“Sean,” said Chase quietly. Sean grabbed my arm and began pulling me back, away from Chase. I tried to jerk out of his grip but he held fast.
“No!” I struggled. “Let go!”
“Don’t do this,” said Sean nervously. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, or Chicago.
Toothless let the baseball bat fall to the ground, and it made a terrible clatter that echoed off the concrete pylons. He grinned again, that stupid black hole in his mouth blinking at me. He seemed excited, not petulant like Jack, but primed for a fight.
“You first, huh?” Chase cracked his knuckles. “Thought you were scared.”
“Me?” he said innocently. “I’m not scared. Stupid maybe, but not scared.”
I thought this was probably a pretty accurate assessment. He laughed, and several others around him laughed, too. What was wrong with these people? Didn’t they get enough fighting with the MM? They were like a pack of wild dogs.
Sean had brought me almost all the way to the edge of the circle when a hand snaked out and pinched my side. I yelped and kicked out reactively, connecting to the shin of a gaunt-faced boy with a shaved head. This evoked a mocking roar from the closest spectators.
Chase pointed a menacing finger his direction.
“Touch her again and you’re next.”
Several of them cheered. My heart, my nerves, the blood running through my veins, it all clamped down now. There was certainly going to be a fight, but there were at least thirty here to our four. I wasn’t convinced they didn’t want to kill us, which kept my fear, and its dueling resentment, alive.
Sean’s fist was latched around my biceps. Tucker and Chase turned so that they were back to back. I hated that Chase was still in the center, while Sean was pinning me on the outside of the circle. I should have been beside him.
There was no further warning. Two guys came immediately from the side and went for Tucker. Another came for Chase, grasping his torso like a flailing fish while Toothless took his first swing. Chase ducked at the last second, and the fist collided with the guy behind him.
“Stop!” I screamed. But no one heard me, they were all cheering.
Sean released me suddenly, and my whole body recoiled when I heard him cry out against a swipe to his burned back. I barreled into his attacker and we all fell to the rough ground. In the shuffle to stand, I grabbed Sean’s collar and jerked him toward where I’d last seen Chase. We had to stand together; it was the only way we’d get through this.
The circle hadn’t closed in; Chicago had created a fluctuating barrier, shoving anyone who got too close to the edge back inside. It was like being thrown into a water bottle and shaken. I stumbled, and when I rose, someone’s hand slid across my chest. It was a guy with chin-length greasy hair and a giddy smile on his face. With blood behind my eyes, I punched him hard, right in the nose, and then gasped when the pain ricocheted up my shoulder. Something cracked. The sound stirred a sick feeling of satisfaction in the pit of my stomach. He swore at me and immediately disappeared behind the first row.
My eyes locked on Chase. He was pressed close to Toothless, almost like they were embracing, except that Chase was wheeling back and planting several sharp successive jabs into his side. Someone ran up behind Chase, grabbed him by the shoulders, and heaved him off: the third guard. I was relieved to see the rifle gone. I sprinted toward them, dragging Sean by the shirtsleeve, but we were intercepted. Tucker jutted in front of us and tackled Chase’s attacker. They flew across the ground, now splattered with blood.
Sean was down again. My body reeled when I saw someone’s leg swing like a pendulum and kick him in the gut. He arched, taking the blow with full force in order to protect his back. I reached for him, but someone grabbed me from behind, his forearm slamming up against my windpipe. A burst of stars appeared in my vision, blocking Sean, blocking everything.
I dug my nails into his skin, tucked my chin, and threw my hips back hard, just as Chase had taught me.
The hold released, and I sputtered for breath, hitting my knees. Jack had fallen beside me, shocked that I’d been able to shake him off. As I tried to stand, I slipped and nearly toppled over the baseball bat. In a blind fury, I swooped it up and charged him.
I lunged, a puppet to my anger, and landed on his chest, knees pinning his shoulders down. He gave me a twisted smile and bucked his hips, nearly tossing me over his head.
Go for soft spots, Chase had said.
I shoved the bat beneath Jack’s chin and pressed down on his throat.
“Call them off!” I screamed.
He gasped, but managed a small shake of his head. There was blood on his teeth.
“Call them off!” I ordered again, pressing down harder. All that rage inside of me burned for this moment. His face seemed too familiar then. Soulless green eyes. A calculating smile. Tucker. I was hurting Tucker. My eyes stung. You killed her. How dare you.
I blinked. Jack, not Tucker. But still the rage whipped through my veins, leaving me unable to release him. Someone had to be accountable for all these disappointments.
“You’re no better than they are!” I shouted into Jack’s face.
“Neither”—he breathed—“are… you.”
Something twisted inside of me, almost as though I’d been punched, but this bite emanated from the inside, within my ribcage. The line between right and wrong had never felt so fragile, and here I was, crossing it. No, not just crossing it, but trampling it, consumed by a dark and furious thrill.
Still pressing the bat to his throat, I reached in my pocket and removed the copper bullet. I held it right before his eyes.
“Do you know what this is?” I said as acknowledgment registered in his eyes. “Do you know who I am?” I released the bat, disgusted with myself, but kept my eyes on Jack and didn’t move. He just kept smiling. Red on white.
“Let me up,” he said.
I rose fast and ready. He snatched the bullet from my hand, grabbed my arm, and led me through the wall of resistance to a woman, older than Wallace if I had to guess, wearing men’s fatigues complete with lace-up boots. She had short, spiked black hair and a sharp, jutting chin. There was a severe look in her eyes, like someone who was used to living hard.
Jack leaned down and whispered something in her ear, his arm still clamped down on mine. He revealed the bullet, and she scanned my face. After several beats, she smiled.
“Enough!” Her voice, low but piercing, carried over the others.
I spun to see Chase behind me; three fighters, Toothless included, were on the ground groaning at his feet. Chase, clutching his side, turned and spat, wiping the blood from his mouth on the back of his hand. The skin around his right eye was red, and his shirt was ripped, revealing most of his shoulder.
He glanced down over my body for injuries. There was a hard glint in his eyes, but no apathy. He was still there.
Coughing, and groaning, some extraneous cheers, but mostly silence. I surveyed the damage. Sean’s hands were on his knees, a line of blood dribbling down his chin. Tucker’s face was crimson from the exertion.
“I said enough!” She looked to me as they silenced, and shoved me forward. “Tell us who you are. Say it loud, so everyone can hear, otherwise I let the boys pound you into the dust.”
I glanced at Chase and Sean, then back to Tucker. What had I done?
“My name is Ember Miller,” I said. I swallowed down the tremor that was building inside of me.
“I can’t hear you,” she prompted. Chase tried to move beside me, but was stopped by Toothless. “Tell them why they should believe you aren’t snitches.”
I tried to breathe, but couldn’t find enough air. They all watched me expectantly.
I’m sorry, Chase.
“My name is Ember Miller!” I shouted. “I’m the one they’re looking for! I’m the sniper!”