THE next morning Wallace reported that the MM had set the draft in the Square for that afternoon.
The euphoria of the previous night was absent now; what remained was a hushed anticipation. Some still wanted to take the soldiers by force, but Wallace insisted we not act without Three’s orders. Instead, he composed a team—Houston, Lincoln, Cara, and three others—to dissuade the crowd. Scattered voices to object to the MM’s control and abuse of power and direct the flow of conversation. Subtle enough not to get Wallace in trouble with Three, but a definite show of resistance, nonetheless.
In holey shirts and ragged jeans, they departed down the long corridor to the stairs. I watched them disappear beneath the red exit sign, unable to shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. To make matters worse, Riggins was staying back, staffing the radios with Wallace. I’d heard from Billy that our paranoid hallmate was looking for me again, which was ridiculous with everything else going on. I avoided him all the same.
With everyone loitering outside the door, the fourth floor became cramped and tense. The waiting was too much, and before Riggins could start something I escaped to the roof for some fresh air.
I wasn’t the only one with that idea. I found Chase sitting alone behind the fire escape on a bench that sank in the center from too much wood rot. When he saw me he rose, thoughts hidden behind a carefully practiced mask. I hated that he could do that; he could save it for the others if he wanted, but not for me. My gaze lowered to the tattered thermal stretched tightly across his chest, and I smoothed down my own shirt in response.
“I thought you were sleeping,” I said. “You don’t have an assignment right now, right?”
He shook his head.
Tentatively, I moved past him and sat on the bench. After a few seconds he sat beside me, a few inches away. We stared at the base, pristine white buildings cutting through the midmorning haze twenty miles over the rooftops, and let the minutes tick by.
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked bluntly, and watched his guard drop.
“You? No.” He shook his head. “No. Last night… I didn’t mean…” He scratched a hand through his black hair, then laughed awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have left.”
“Why did you then?” I asked.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The heels of his boots made an audible tapping against the cement.
Fresh air was overrated. I rose to go back downstairs, but he grabbed my hand.
“You’re grieving,” he blurted. “I didn’t want you to think, I don’t know, I was taking advantage of you.” The words were obviously tied up inside of him, and he sighed, frustrated.
“I think I was the one taking advantage of you.” I returned to my seat and looked down, but looked down a little ashamed. I hadn’t thought he might feel that way.
He snorted. “In that case, please. Go right ahead.”
We both laughed a little at that, but I remembered the way he’d held on to me, just as raw and afraid as I was. I wasn’t the only one grieving, and I wasn’t the only one who felt the weight of my mother’s death between us.
With the air less tense, I wanted to ask him about the building next door and tell him more about the Horizons truck, and the supplies we’d confiscated. Once, talking to him had been as easy as breathing, but things had gotten complicated.
I stood up. “Teach me to fight,” I said.
After a moment, he followed, head tilted in curiosity.
“What are you talking about?”
I raised my fists. “To fight,” I said, throwing a fake punch. “You know. Fight.”
He laughed, and something inside me fluttered.
“You don’t need to know how to fight.”
I lowered my hands, placed them on my hips. “You’re kidding, right?” We were under constant threat of attack, even here, surrounded by resistance.
“You don’t need to fight like that,” he clarified, and laughed again. “Unless you’re planning on taking up boxing.”
I tried not to smile, but it was hard when he was so clearly amused.
“How, then?”
“Well.” He took a step closer and my heart stuttered. His hands shot out and gripped my wrists. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough so that I couldn’t automatically jerk away. “What’s your plan?” His smile had melted.
I struggled for a few moments—trying to bring my fists together, to pull out of his clutches, to turn my body away—but he was too powerful. I conceded with a huff of breath.
“Most people coming for you will be bigger and stronger,” he said, moving even closer so that I had to look up to see his face. His chest bumped against mine and I swallowed, feeling every place we connected. “But you’re quick. You’re not going to beat them in a slugfest, but you can get away if someone grabs you.”
“How?”
“Where do you break a chain?” he responded. “Look at me,” he said when I glanced down at our hands.
I pictured a metal chain, one link after another. Staring into his brown eyes I answered, “At the weakest link.”
“Between my thumb and my fingers is a breaking point.” His thumbs rubbed the sensitive skin of my wrists. “Break out.”
I took a deep breath, and then as quickly as I could, twisted my wrists and pulled them together, right through the gap in his grip.
I beamed. “Now what?”
“Now you run,” he said, grinning back. “But if you can’t, go for soft spots. Eyes, ears, mouth, neck…” He gestured lower and I averted my gaze. “Like I said, you’re quick. Don’t think twice. Hit a soft spot and get out.”
He grabbed my wrists again, and this time I didn’t hesitate. I twisted out, then turned to run, but before I’d made it two steps he’d caught me, his forearm pressed lightly against my neck so that if I moved forward, I’d choke. My hands went straight to his hold, trying in vain to pull it down. His muscles flexed against me, but didn’t tighten. My back rested flush against his chest, which was warm and solid, and pressed more firmly against me with each breath.
“Tuck your chin,” he whispered. I could feel his lips move against my neck and shivered.
Giving up on moving his arm, I did as he said and burrowed my chin into his muscle. When I’d succeeded on sliding beneath his hold, I could breathe easier, though still not escape.
He told me I could kick back with my heel, drag it down his shin, and stomp on his foot, but when I tried he sidestepped out of the way, pulling me like a rag doll with him.
“Get as much air as you can,” he instructed, “then, all at once, shove your hips back and lean forward. It’ll throw me off balance.”
I breathed in as deeply as I could, and pushed back against him.
It didn’t work. We straightened, struggled, and then at some point became still. Every inch of my skin heated. I could scarcely breathe, feeling his heart pound against my shoulder.
“Not fast enough,” he said, voice thick.
Though his hold loosened slightly, his forearm stayed pressed to my throat, but the other hand holding it in place lowered, fingers inching down my waist to drag across my stomach. I gasped.
“You can get away any time you want.”
I could, but I didn’t want to. His nose nuzzled my neck, then drew up behind my ear. My knees weakened, and my eyes drifted closed.
Someone broke through the stairway. The door clanged so hard against the metal stop we both bolted apart.
Sean. He closed the distance between us, his hair disheveled and a wild look on his face.
“Lincoln radioed from the Square,” he said. “You should hear this.”
One unsteady breath, one last look into Chase’s eyes, and I followed.
SEAN didn’t hesitate. He flew down the stairs, leaving us scrambling in his wake, the worry over what had happened increasing with each step.
“You two picked a great time to disappear.”
“What is it?” I called after him. “What happened? Is someone hurt?” I pictured the faces of those that had left this morning.
“Not us,” he said. “Them.”
“What?”
We’d reached the fourth floor, and instead of answering, he pushed through into the hallway. It was like stepping into a party. People were cheering; even Riggins had taken on both brothers in a play wrestling match.
He paused when he saw us. There was a strange look on his face as he approached, almost curious, but for the ever-condemning speculation in his glare. I blushed, wondering if he knew what Chase and I had been doing upstairs, and braced for him to say something nasty.
“Where’ve you two been?” he asked.
“Not now, Riggins,” warned Chase. To my surprise, Riggins nodded slowly and backed away.
Billy elbowed in beside us, face flushed. He was carrying Gypsy, who was practically screeching from all the noise. “Can you guys believe it?” The cat sank her teeth into his wrist and he wailed, then dropped her on the floor. She darted away between our legs.
“What’s going on?” Chase was not entertained.
Sean led us through the crowd to the surveillance room, where Wallace was pacing from one corner to the other. If not for the grin plastered across his face I would have thought him seriously distressed.
Chase grabbed a radio from the coffee table and tuned it to the right frequency. We held it between us and cupped our hands over our opposite ears to drown out the noise. It was the FBR channel, and a male voice crackled through.
“All units to Market Square. There is a code seven in progress, repeat, code seven. Four soldiers down. Fire taken from above, single action, long-range sniper assault. All units cleared to return fire.”
“They’ve been repeating the same message for the last hour,” said Sean.
“The sniper?” I felt the blood rush from my face. “What’s a code seven?”
“Code seven is a civilian attack on a soldier.” Chase’s expression was grim. It seemed like he and I were the only ones who found the event sobering. “Any word on our people?” he asked Wallace.
“Not yet,” Wallace said. His grin had faded. “They’ll come home when they can.”
I closed my eyes. “They’re probably right in the middle of this.”
I didn’t even want to say it, much less visualize it. But it was too late. Maybe we all weren’t the best of friends, but I didn’t want to see any of them dead.
“These are the risks we take,” said Wallace simply.
However much I wanted to argue it, he was right.
“We need to double the perimeter guards,” Chase said to Wallace. “Now, before soldiers start digging around the slums and Tent City.”
Wallace slowed to a stop and shook his head, as if waking from a dream.
“Very good, Jennings,” he said.
SECURITY was increased, as Chase has recommended. Nearly everyone was cleared from the building, assigned to tasks that secured the safety of our refuge. Just a few were left behind, Billy, Wallace, and me. Even Chase was detailed to the motel lobby.
I’d stayed on the fourth floor, itchy since the report that the sniper was so close. I wanted to do something, too, though I didn’t know what.
Four hours passed with no movement. I listened to the radio reports, which confirmed that four soldiers had been killed by sniper fire from a rooftop overlooking the Square. A riot had flashed only briefly, and nine civilians had died in the crosshairs. I prayed none of them were our people.
In the fifth hour three of our people returned, smelling strongly of sweat and streaked with grime. They hadn’t seen the others, but brought word that the Square had been locked down by soldiers, who’d made everyone lay across the bricks until the rooftops were cleared. Tent City had been overturned in the search.
In the seventh hour Houston and Lincoln came back. They laughed about how crazy it had been. It was a little too forced maybe, but they laughed.
No one said Cara’s name. Not even Billy, who had a hard time keeping his mouth shut.
I grew annoyed with the radio reports. They were running the same message, over and over. The sniper’s tally was up to eleven. The highways had been closed, cutting off access in and out of Knoxville to anyone not working for the FBR. Things had changed—the city, even within the Wayland Inn, felt different.
That night no one said a word at dinner. Not even to complain about the peas, which had gone yellow sometime since they’d been canned.
LATER, I would look back on the next morning’s meeting and be able to count a dozen clues that should have made me realize everything was about to change. The way Billy refused to meet my eyes, for instance, or the way Wallace stared at me, lost in thought, and then blew off Riggins when he asked if Cara had called in. The way the radios, which had been covering different channels all night, were all silent.
“Quiet down,” Wallace said. His face was a mixture of awe and concern, like he was surprised about something. It made my stomach tighten involuntarily. Wallace was never surprised about anything.
“It’s Cara,” I heard Lincoln whisper to Houston. His face was ashen, his freckles that much more severe.
“I lost sight of her,” said Houston more to himself than anyone else. “Before the shooting even started.” He swore, angry with himself.
“She does that, man,” said one of the other guys. “Don’t worry about it. Cara follows Cara’s rules. Doesn’t mean anything. She always shows back up.”
I cranked my head toward the guy who’d spoken. Not much taller than me, with a patchy beard and a pointed nose, Sykes they called him.
Wallace lifted the handheld radio. “They started looping a new feed about twenty minutes ago,” he said. “You’re all going to hear it eventually, we might as well get it over with together. As a family.”
The radio hissed with static as he adjusted it to the right frequency.
A familiar male reporter’s voice filled the quiet hall, where the grieving for Cara was threatening to spill over.
“…the Bureau’s office of intelligence has issued a list of five suspects thought to be in collaboration with the sniper. All bases in Region Two-fifteen have orders to post photos of these individuals in the community and offer rations passes in compensation for legitimate leads. A code one is called into effect for the following fugitives:
“John Naser, aka John Wright, religious extremist in violation with Article One. Robert Firth, former FBR captain suspected of selling arms to civilians. Patel Cho, political rights activist who escaped capture during Long Distance Explosive Device demonstrations in Red Zone One.”
I glanced across the hall to Chase, whose expression had gone grim. I hadn’t heard of Long Distance Explosive Devices, but I knew what bombs could do. I’d seen the aftermath on the news as a child.
“Aiden Dewitt, former doctor of medicine, responsible for the murders of five FBR officers during a routine home inspection.”
I remembered Dr. Dewitt. He was from Virginia somewhere and had been all the talk at the soup kitchen about five years ago after news of how he’d flipped out had reached my town. Some of the others were whispering; I guess they’d heard of him, too.
“Ember Miller, responsible for multiple counts of treason, escaped the Knoxville FBR base after faking completion approximately four weeks ago. All suspects should be considered armed and dangerous. Ending report now.”
You could have heard a pin drop the room was so quiet. The FBR reporter went on to say a few more things—roadside patrols were still posted around the city of Knoxville, more information could be found on the mainframe—then his voice faded into static, in much the same way that I wanted to fade into the floorboards of this cheap motel.
“Wow,” I heard Sean say.
“No knee-jerk responses, anyone. Got that?” Several people muttered agreement. “Jennings? Miller?” Wallace asked specifically. “You’re both grounded until further notice. That’s an order.”
Chase was right at my side, ignoring Wallace. He didn’t need to say a word. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Tucker Morris, his one-time partner, the soldier who had killed my mother, had broken his word and turned me in. It was the only explanation. How I could have trusted him not to rat us out in the first place, even if it did mean his precious career, now seemed a mystery.
A small sound of panic siphoned out of my airway. I blinked and saw a flash of his face—those sadistic green eyes and his perfect, golden hair. The casted arm Chase had broken and the scratches on his neck from my fingernails. I’d had the chance to kill him, to clear our names, to avenge my mother. And I hadn’t.
Words echoed in my mind. Words like coward.
“Don’t worry,” Billy said, trying too hard to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “No one’s going to believe a girl had anything to do with it.”
His words were like a slap to the face, and he wilted under my heated glare. For the first time that morning I noticed Riggins, standing within the surveillance room behind Wallace. His buzzed head was tilted slightly to the side, but when our eyes met he quickly glanced away.
“Here,” said Chase, pulling me by the elbow into the privacy of the supply room. He wanted me to sit down, but I couldn’t. I navigated through the boxes of stolen uniforms and food to pace near the window. It felt safer to be close to an exit.
“This is crazy, right?” said Houston, following right on Chase’s heels.
“Because you would’ve said so if you’d done those soldiers,” finished Lincoln. Billy snuck in behind him, acting as though he needed a towel.
“I’ve been here for the last month!” I erupted. “How could I possibly—”
“Get out,” Chase said to them.
“What? I didn’t mean…” Lincoln shuffled.
“Get. Out. You, too, Billy.”
“What did I do?” Billy whined as Chase pushed him out the door.
Alone, the room seemed too quiet. Too still. So opposite the pull within me to run, or fight, do something. Sweat dewed along my hairline. It felt like a great spotlight had been pointed in my direction; it was just a matter of time before every soldier in the city arrived.
Chase watched me warily, like I was a water balloon filled a little too full. It was always terrifying to see my own insanity reflected back in his cautious stance.
“What’s a code one?” My voice sounded low and unfamiliar. When he hesitated, I added, “You promised you’d tell me everything. No secrets.”
I realized it was a double standard; I hadn’t told him everything that had happened with Tucker at the base, but I didn’t care. His secret about my mom’s murder had been far more destructive than that.
“Code one means a lethal finding. They can fire on suspicion alone. They don’t have to question you. They don’t have to bring you back to the base for trial with the board.”
Everything within me dropped, pressed down by a greater gravity.
“What if they mistake someone else for me?” I whispered, horrified.
Chase grimaced, his copper face pale. “It’s bad.”
I felt my eyes widen. I could barely breathe. He reached out to touch me but I jerked away.
“Wallace is right. We have to stay,” he said between his teeth.
“We? I didn’t hear your name on that report!”
I didn’t know why Tucker hadn’t turned him in, too, but it didn’t matter. Everything bad the MM had ever done to us was because we’d stuck together—his torturous fights during basic training, the overhaul in which they’d arrested my mother for an Article 5 violation, the escape from the base—all because we couldn’t let each other go. Now, this fact became clearer than ever. If we stayed together, we were going to get each other killed.
I wanted him gone. At that moment I wanted him a thousand miles away from me. I wanted him at the safe house. In Tent City. In some other resistance. I couldn’t save my mother, but maybe I could still save him.
“We have to split up,” I said.
He scoffed. “Now that is a knee-jerk reaction.”
“They’re looking for me. You heard the report. What?” I asked when he shook his head. “I can make it just fine on my own.”
“You…” He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “Of course you can. I was there, at the base, remember? You saved my life.”
“And left how many more to die?”
It scared me how easy that decision had been. I would have let Tucker kill everyone on that base if it meant Chase would live.
His face darkened, and his forehead scrunched. His thumb kneaded his temple. “There was nothing we could have done for them.”
“Nothing? Just like with my mom, right? There was nothing you could have done.”
The words lashed out of me, as if they had been tearing at my insides for weeks. He took a step back, allowing the space between us to grow thick and solid as glass.
I swallowed an unsteady breath and tried to stand tall. “You don’t need to look out for me anymore. Things have changed. I’m not who I used to be. I don’t even remember who I used to be.”
He winced as though I’d struck him, and when he tried to come closer I fell back one step, then another. If he touched me I’d fall apart, and now I needed to be stronger than ever.
“Please go away,” I said. “Please,” I begged when his arms reached out to hold me. They dropped to his sides.
Without looking back, he stalked out of the room and disappeared down the hallway.
I COLLAPSED on a box of uniforms. My chest grew so tight I could hardly breathe. I didn’t know where Chase had gone, but wherever he was, I could feel his hurt within me, magnified by my hatred for Tucker Morris, who had lied, just like I should have expected. Why was I surprised that he had turned me in? How could I ever expect my mother’s murderer to do anything right by me? Now I was stuck here, endangering everyone. I was the gasoline on a pile of sticks, and Tucker, he was the match. It was just a matter of when he would strike.
“Quite a morning.”
I jolted up again, ready to tell whoever it was to get lost until I realized it was Wallace, leaning casually against the doorjamb. The handheld radio, which never seemed to leave his grasp, swung, from his hand by the antennae like a pendulum.
My throat was too dry to answer him.
“You know, when you came here I had Billy look you up on the mainframe. I’m curious, do you know the list of accolades they have under your name?” When I didn’t answer, he continued. “Attacked a soldier during an overhaul, ran away from a rehab facility, linked to an AWOL with everything from assault with a deadly weapon to terroristic threatening. The files had you both listed as completed—dead. That’s no easy feat. The photo doesn’t do you any favors, but hey.”
The picture had been taken at the reformatory, right after they’d taken my mother. This was not the first time it had been posted on the MM’s computer database.
“Your escape from the base was just added recently. Combined with all the rest, it’s no wonder they think you’re the shooter.”
I swallowed over the lump in my throat. A couple days ago I’d felt a strange kinship with Wallace, but now, I felt just as defensive as I had the first time we’d met.
“I’m not a killer,” I said. I shouldn’t have to explain that to someone who already knew.
“That’s not what the Bureau’s saying.”
“The Bureau lies!” I shot back at him.
“Ah,” he said, smiling now. “That feels better, doesn’t it?”
He turned to leave, but just before he did he stopped.
“Ember, I didn’t need your résumé on the mainframe to tell me you belong here. I knew the second you walked in the door.”
He left me fuming. I didn’t belong here, not now that every soldier in the region was looking for me. I didn’t belong anywhere. I was a danger to our cause, to Chase, to Sean and Billy. I was a danger to myself. It was just a matter of time before the MM caught me.
I spun away from the door and kicked the first thing within reach: a cardboard box. Pale blue blouses and navy pleated skirts toppled over the dirty carpet. The Sisters of Salvation uniforms Cara had brought back.
Frustrated, I grabbed a towel and escaped to the bathroom. I washed my hair with an almost frantic need to cleanse myself. I cut it to chin length, and then dyed it black with a bottle of what looked like molasses beneath the sink. Temporary color, meant to wash out so no roots would show and draw the attention of those looking for such frivolous behavior. I knew it mattered little. They had to know my appearance was subject to change, and even with a pseudonym, my photo from the reformatory was going to make it to print. Still, I had to do something.
I looked in the mirror at my altered reflection. At the big brown eyes that looked so much like my mother’s, and the ski-slope nose we shared. I wished now, more than ever, that I could talk to her.
“YOUcan’t serve them first,” the man complained. He looked like every other displaced businessman pounding the streets for work: glasses askew, tie loose, collared shirt untucked. He had a canvas tote bag slung over his shoulder and was pointing to a sheet of paper while he yelled at the soup kitchen attendant.
“See? Just look at it. That’s right, tilt your head down, that’s a good girl.”
The woman behind the counter looked like she might cry. I was five people behind the man, but the line had spread out when he’d raised his voice, and now everyone was listening.
I watched my mother hustle over from her volunteer position, outside the cold truck holding the perishable foods. She wiped her hands on her apron.
“What’s the problem, sir?” I stiffened at her tone; it was generally one step before she said something snappy.
“Oh, thank God. Someone reasonable. Look, these guys are up front getting the same rations as a family. Like they’re a family.”
My mother’s glance flickered to the two young men to her right. One was pulling at the other’s shoulder, saying “Come on, let’s just go, okay?” The other was red in the face and shaking his head.
“And?” Mom asked.
The man snorted. “And clearly they’re not. Look right here. Article Two. Whole families are to be considered one man, one woman, and children. All other combinations are not to be considered under the title family,” he air-quoted, “and should receive no tax, occupation, education, or health benefits otherwise.”
“Ah. The Moral Statutes.” She took the paper, and the man nodded righteously to those around him. I glared at his back while my mother read. “I don’t see anything about not receiving meal rations,” she said finally.
I froze. I willed her to close her mouth. This man wasn’t a soldier, but he could easily report her if he wanted. He could jump over the table and attack her if he wanted.
The man laughed, then realized my mother wasn’t joking. The two men in question went still. I pushed my way to the front of the line, not sure what I would do if he flipped out.
“Clearly that’s implied,” he said.
“Clearly not,” she answered, leaning forward over the table. “Let me tell you what is implied. Respect. And if that bothers you, I would be happy to recommend another soup kitchen which accommodates people who are obviously better than the rest of us.”
My face flushed, some with fear, mostly with pride. It filled me up, that pride. She was so alive and powerful just then—the look on her face daring him to say another word. I felt my face, so like hers, mimic that expression. I thought of checking it in the mirror when I got home to make sure I had it right.
The man turned, as if to stomp away, but then grimaced and returned to his place. My mother was the one to deliver his rations.
“MILLER, don’t be such a girl.” Sean beat his fist against the door, snapping me from my trance. “You’ll be lynched if you hog the john much longer.”
I swallowed a deep breath, knowing I couldn’t hide forever, and pushed through. Sean’s face changed when he saw me; he blinked in surprise.
“Who the hell are you?” he said when he recovered. “I’m looking for this brunette, sort of short and moody, disappeared in there about an hour ago.”
I leaned past him and searched the hallway for Chase, but he wasn’t among those loitering outside Wallace’s office. My heart lurched at the thought of how we’d parted.
“So,” Sean said carefully. “Pretty crazy, everything that’s going on.”
“Yep.”
“Want to talk about—”
“Nope.”
He hid a smirk in a well-timed cough. “Becca says if girls don’t talk about their feelings they keel over dead or something.” He waved one hand flippantly through the air, and I nearly laughed at how well my old roommate had him trained.
“I’m not most girls.”
“Too bad,” he said, slinging an arm over my shoulders. “I always wondered what that would look like, death by emotional overload. Sounds brutal.”
“And messy,” I agreed, glad he was around, even if I didn’t feel like talking. I changed the subject. “Any news on your recruit?”
He seemed equally glad for the switch. “He’s still alive apparently. I’ll bring him in tomorrow.”
I nodded now wondering if this new recruit might have information on Tucker, or why he turned me in.
“Billy says he thinks there’s resistance in Chicago,” he added with more enthusiasm. “He found some FBR wanted lists for the region. Most of the guys are suspected of ‘terrorist activity.’” He air-quoted the words.
It relieved me some that there were things I had to do. We had to find Rebecca. Somehow, even with my name smeared all over the FBR report, I had to break into a town with the biggest base in the country. Which involved walking outside of this hotel, getting through the blocked highways, and not getting shot.
No problem.
“How do we find them?” I asked.
He shook his head, suddenly tired again. “I’m working on that part. In the meantime, Wallace called a meeting. He’s waiting for you—Chase is already there.”
So Sean had come to find me rather than Chase. I probably deserved that.
Wallace’s room was only two doors down on the right. Cautiously, I followed Sean through the entry, which gave way to a low-ceilinged room that seemed a lot bigger than mine without the bed. The walls were lined with overflow contraband—weapons and damaged electronics mostly—and several mismatched chairs had been dragged in to join the moth-eaten couch. They arced around a dinged-up coffee table cluttered with batteries, half-burned candles, and ammunition. The ranks were already assembled. Houston and Lincoln were there, as were Riggins, Billy, Wallace, and half a dozen others.
And Chase. His jaw fell slack when he registered my presence. I smoothed down my short, black bob self-consciously, and tried to stand a little straighter. When Lincoln whistled at me, Chase bit his knuckles and looked away.
“Congratulations, Ms. Miller,” said Wallace. “If I hadn’t already assigned latrine duty to Billy for the rest of his life, the job would now be yours.”
I chewed my cheek, but didn’t feel like apologizing. Lincoln pointed at Billy and laughed.
“We have ourselves a unique opportunity,” Wallace started. “Ms. Miller has magically reappeared on the mainframe. Now, we can let this opportunity pass us by, or we can do something about it.”
I had a bad feeling about that word: opportunity.
“I want to send Ember out into the city,” Wallace said.