“I would think being here . . . doing this, would bring that out in a person.”
“What about you?”
“Me? I tried to kill you the first moment we met.”
“You were reacting to the situation. Out of your head with sickness and pain. You were afraid. Not angry.”
“You’re splitting hairs. It’s the same result.”
“No,” he says evenly. “Fear and killing—anger and killing, for that matter—don’t necessarily go hand in hand.”
“Have you ever killed someone?”
It’s like a shutter falls over his face. The light in his eyes dims until he stares at me with flat brown eyes. A fire banked. No longer amber. Just brown.
“I take that as a yes,” I murmur, not wanting to feel kinship with him, but I suddenly do. Because clearly he’s not proud or happy that he ended a life. Maybe we’re a little alike in that way. I suck in a breath, crushing that thought before it takes root. I don’t need thoughts like that. Especially about him. Especially as my days here are numbered.
“We all do things to survive. I’ve accepted that.”
And in that moment I realize I have, too. I had to kill Hoyt.
“The things we’ve done to survive don’t make us undeserving of happiness. It’s a hard lesson,” he adds. “But one you need to learn if you’ll ever—”
“I’ve learned plenty already, thank you very much.” I smile then. I can’t help myself. “Guess I’m not such an ideal recruit, am I?”
He looks me over thoughtfully. “So you have a few rough edges. Who doesn’t in here?”
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not staying.”
Grinning that infernal smile again, he shakes his head. “We’ll see.” He exits the room, the door clicking softly after him.
We’ll see. What’s that supposed to mean?
My chest feels tight and uncomfortable as I stare at the closed door, thinking over his words. I can be your friend. His eyes fill my mind, that melting brown tugging at some hidden part of me, the part that used to believe I had a right to happiness. With a jolt I realize I haven’t felt this way since Sean. Since before everything that happened at Mount Haven.
Rolling to my side, I pull the covers up to my chin as if that will somehow shield me. My mind drifts, eyes scanning the bare wall before me. I think about Caden leaving on his mission. Heading into danger. He might not even come back. People drop like flies around me these days. Another reason I shouldn’t let anyone in. Still. My lips whisper a plea.
God, please keep him safe . . . bring him back.
I spend the rest of the day alone with my thoughts. A dangerous pastime. Rhiannon brings me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Phelps drops in to check on me twice. They’re the only break I get from wondering about Caden’s mission. About Sean and the others. Are they at the refuge already? They think I’m dead, lost forever. I’m convinced of this. Are they broken up about it? I know Gil has to care. I haven’t known Sabine very long, but she’s a survivor. She’ll move on. No pieces to pick up. Sean, I’m not so sure. Yes, things had been tense between us. I shut him out. But he cared about me, and he had convinced me to escape Mount Haven. He’s probably blaming himself. That much I know about him.
I sleep restlessly that night, waking frequently. Junie returns late. I can tell from her stealthy movements that she’s trying not to disturb me. There’s no clock, but all the small sounds that alert me to life and activity in the compound have fallen silent. It’s like someone flipped the off switch.
I crack open an eye to observe her. She’s turned on the lamp, so I can study her in the dim light. She looks bedraggled as she grabs a few things and heads out again. When she returns half an hour later, her hair is wet and her face scrubbed pink from a shower. She looks so young. Nothing like a tough soldier girl.
“Sorry,” she mutters as I stir when she pulls herself up to the top bunk. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was awake. How’d it go?”
“I’m wiped out. Covered a lot of ground.” The mattress springs squeak above me as she settles into bed. She chatters about her mission and I listen closely, absorbing every word in case she lets something useful slip. “Patrols are thicker out there. Must be because of you and your friends. How many were in your group again?”
“Three. And me,” I reply into the dark, looking up at the bed above me as if I can see her there, through the mattress.
There is a pause, and the mattress squeaks as she shifts her weight. “If your friends made it across, we’ll track them down. Caden sent a message.”
“What?” I demand sharply, forgetting my shoulder and sitting up on my elbows, then dropping back down with a cry of pain.
Her head pops over the side, wet hair dangling. “You okay?”
“Yes. Fine. What did you just say?”
“Caden had me get a message over to one of our contacts. It will make the rounds to the refuges. We should know soon which one they made it to.”
My heart thuds faster in my chest. He meant it when he said he’d help me. I flatten my hands over my stomach, excitement rushing through me. Caden’s going to get me across. I see his face then, the eyes, that smile I want to distrust. But I can’t. I wait to see if she’s going to volunteer anything more, but soon her breathing drifts down to me in slow, measured pulls, and I know she’s asleep.
No longer alone in the room, I feel my muscles loosen. I test my shoulder, rotating it slowly, wincing at the soreness. I finally feel the tug of sleep. Her presence actually makes me feel better, and that’s when I realize just how uneasy I’ve been all day. I’m not sure what to think about that. I’m not looking for friends. I know better than that.
This is probably the reason Caden assigned me to her room. It’s not simply that she has an extra bed. He knew she would put me at ease. I don’t know why I’m so sure of this about him, but I am. Shaking my head, I chase off the idea that he’s someone I might want to know better. That’s a dangerous thought.
The following morning Junie coaxes me out of bed to breakfast by singing an old Celine Dion song. Apparently she was raised in foster care, and one of the women who watched over her was a big fan. She makes me grin . . . even if her voice is reminiscent of a dying cat.
“She might have had terrible taste in music,” Junie says, talking about her “warden,” as she calls her, “but she would pop us popcorn before bed.” She shrugs. “She wasn’t so bad. I’ve had worse. A lot worse.” Hearing this, I can’t help but think of Sean. He was brought up in foster care, too. Those children were tested earlier for HTS, almost as soon as the science became available.
“Did you ever get placed anywhere? In a real home?” Sean was placed in one with a few other boys, and from all that he shared with me, it was a true home to him. The other boys were like brothers to him, and his foster mother genuinely cared about them all.
“Nope. No one wanted to let a kid with HTS into their house.” She utters this matter-of-factly, but there’s a brief flash of emotion in her eyes. She wasn’t as unaffected as she would like me to think.
I instantly sense a difference when I step into the main room. There’s a tension that hadn’t been there before. Everyone seems on edge. Maybe it’s because Caden and Marcus are gone. Terrence stayed behind, and he’s a captain, but his silent watchfulness doesn’t seem to lend much comfort. Several eyes stray to the metal stairs as if waiting for Caden and Marcus to appear. I can understand their anxiousness. At least regarding Caden. I’d feel better if he were here, too.
“Coming, Davy?” Junie asks, picking up a tray at the end of the food line. There are only a few people ahead of us.
Nodding, I accept the tray she offers me.
She leans close and whispers conspiratorially, “Avoid the eggs. They’re that fake crap. Now, the French toast is good. Fried in butter and sprinkled with sugar, you can’t tell the bread is stale.”
I smile again, glad Caden placed me with this girl.
J
anie drops a plate of French toast on my tray with a wink. “There. You’ll almost feel like you’re back home and not in some underground bunker.”
Yeah. Almost.
* * *
Please advise if you have recently taken in three carriers. Two males, one female going by the names Sean, Gil, and Sabine. Awaiting reply.
Message sent to Refuges 1, 2, 3, 4
THIRTEEN
THE FOLLOWING DAY, I VISIT PHELPS IN THE INFIRMARY, and I let him look me over. Junie accompanies me. I can’t help enjoying her company. I sit beside her during meals, and she’s introduced me to a few of the other permanent residents of the compound. Without Caden, her presence makes me feel safe even though part of me wants to keep my distance.
The other refugees who are waiting for the next convoy to Mexico sit grouped together and mingle very little with the rest of the general population. I should join them. I have more in common with them, after all. I’m just passing through. And one of the permanent residents did try to kill me. Surely Hoyt has made some friends in the ranks. Someone who might desire a little payback. His cousin can’t be the only one upset over his death. But I somehow can’t make myself cross to the convoy group.
To my relief, I’m not quite the spectacle anymore. Hardly anyone stares at me as I walk around the compound with Junie. I join her as she trains. I do some leg weights, careful not to jostle my arm in its new sling. When she meets with other scouts and they pore over a map, sharing information about where they last spotted border patrols, she lets me observe. I stand back, absorbing everything in silence as they point to areas on the map . . . although no one reveals precisely where we’re located. Still. It feels good to be accepted . . . to maybe have found a friend in Junie.
That should lull me to sleep at night and make the air flow easier in and out of my lips. And yet it doesn’t. Not entirely. Nothing does until two days later, when shouts ring out through the compound. They’re back. Caden is back.
I didn’t realize how tense I had been all this time. How tight the breath had been in my chest, trapped there. I toss down the English-to-Spanish dictionary Junie loaned me—I figured I better brush up—and slide off my bed, joining everyone else who crowds into the main room, looking up at the dozen figures clambering down the iron ladder, heavy boots clanging on the grated steps.
Junie appears at my side, breathless like she has just run from somewhere. “They made it.”
I don’t even glance at her face. I know she’s smiling. I can hear it in her voice. Everyone cheers. My eyes find Caden, skimming over him, searching for injuries. It’s a purely calculated move on my part. I trust him the most here. He’s promised to get me to Mexico. Of course I want nothing to happen to him. That would be bad for me. I tell myself these things and almost believe them.
He drops down onto the main floor, light on his feet, and he’s rushed like a returning hero. Marcus joins him and receives similar treatment. Claps on the back. Words of praise. Questions about how it went.
They carry several packs, which Terrence starts looking through. He pulls out a box, glances at it, and tosses it to Phelps, who turns it around in his hands. “Antibiotics?”
“Courtesy of the Wainwright Agency.” Satisfaction rings in Caden’s voice.
“You raided their supplies?”
“Couple of us snuck in and might have borrowed a few things.”
Phelps whoops and moves to investigate the rest of the bags’ contents. A faint glimmer of respect fills me. It really is remarkable what they’ve done here. They’re trying to build something civilized here while helping other carriers at the same time. My gaze returns to Caden. He could just run. Look out for his own neck and flee into Mexico. Especially since his father died. Nothing holds him here. And yet here he is. It’s an admirable thing.
The group starts to disperse. Caden’s gaze scans the crowd like he’s looking for someone. I force myself to breathe. My chest loosens a bit as air passes out of my expanding lungs.
Suddenly someone steps directly in front of him, blocking him partly from my line of vision. Tabatha. I recognize the long rope of her dark braid. She stands up on her tiptoes and plants her mouth on his. Several whistles ring out. My face grows hot. I don’t want to watch, but I can’t look away.
Junie snorts beside me. “Not subtle, huh?”
I glance at her. “They’re a thing?”
“Used to be, but Tabatha has a hard time letting go.”
“I see that.” I watch as they pull apart. Her hands roam over his chest. “He doesn’t seem to mind, though.” His hands move to her shoulders, but he hardly shoves her away.
“He’s just trying not to embarrass her. Caden is respectful that way.”
I study Junie thoughtfully, noting the way her eyes follow Caden. I release a small puff of breath. Part sigh. Part laugh. She’s infatuated with him, too. Shaking my head, I glance heavenward. I guess most girls with a pulse would be. Especially here with such slim pickings. He’s good-looking. Confident. That goes a long way.
“C’mon. Let’s get you back to our room.” Junie takes my elbow.
“I can make it on my own.”
Nodding, she lets go of my arm, but she’s quieter than normal, and I know she’s still thinking about Tabatha laying that kiss on Caden. I’m also thinking about it a little too much, wondering if he really doesn’t reciprocate Tabatha’s feelings. It’s hard to imagine. Especially when she looks the way she does. Didn’t I just note that good looks and confidence go a long way? The girl is hot, and she doesn’t even have to try.
Once in the room, I sink onto the edge of the bed, watching Junie drag a small laundry basket out and start folding the clothes. She works in silence.
“Need some help?” Because really, what else do I have to do?
She arches a dark eyebrow. “You ever fold laundry?”
“What? Do I look like someone who never folded laundry before?” Forget the fact that I rarely did. My family had a housekeeper. I didn’t have time for laundry amid all my activities. I was busy with voice lessons, orchestra rehearsals, school. And Zac. So much of my time had been devoted to Zac and my friends. Mom never made chores a priority for me, because all those other things that were so important to me were equally important to her. I wince. Caden was right. I was a bit of a princess. I know that now. I’m not sorry to see that part of me gone. The pampered, deluded, naive girl needed a reality check. Maybe that was the one good thing to come out of this.
“Knock yourself out.” She grins at me as I start to fold and do a less-than-spectacular job.
“It’s my shoulder,” I say defensively. “I’m not at full function.”
“Then I’d love to see you at full function.”
“Why?”
“’Cause you’re kind of a badass.” And I realize she’s not talking about laundry anymore. A lump rises in my throat, because it’s not something I want to think about. Killing never is. I’d avoided the subject of Hoyt with her this long. “You killed Hoyt when you were still laid up from a gunshot wound.”
I inhale through my nose, her words confirming my fear. Here, that’s all I’ll ever be known for—killing Hoyt. Staying here—not that I’m contemplating it—seems like even less of an option now. “Are people mad at me for that?”
She shrugs. “No one particularly cared for him. He was really quiet, you know. Always watching the girls.” She shivers a little. “Everyone tolerated him because of Marcus.”
I nod.
“But people are definitely talking about it. About you. He wasn’t some weak-ass guy, and you took him out.” She waggles her eyebrows. “You’re a regular mystery.”
“Not really.”
“Hey, roll with it. I wish I had an aura of mystery. Might get certain guys to notice me.”
And by certain guys I’m guessing she means Caden. Clearing my throat, I set a poorly folded pair of pants on top of the pile. “Where could I find Caden right now? I’d like to discuss when he thinks I migh
t be ready to leave.”
She considers me, her gaze skimming my shoulder as if she can see through my shirt and the bandage to the wound underneath. “That shoulder needs to heal up more, don’t you think?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Shaking her head, she takes my pile of clothing from me and starts refolding. “He’s three doors down on the right.”
“Thanks.” I stand, readjusting my sling.
I do a quick scan when I enter the hall, and I’m relieved it’s empty. Especially knowing that everyone is talking about me. At the third door, I knock.
A muffled “Come in” drifts through the panel. I turn the latch and push the door open. As I step inside, my face instantly flames. I spin away from the sight of Caden, shirtless, finishing doing up the snap on his pants. It’s the first glimpse of the firm chest I’d felt more than once beneath his shirt, and the image burns an imprint on my corneas. He isn’t heavily muscled. But there isn’t an ounce of fat on him, either. He is lean, his tanned skin tight over a well-defined abdomen and smooth, flat pecs.
“Oh, sorry—”
“It’s okay. I’m decent.”
Decent. I almost laugh at the double meaning there. It’s funny in a sad kind of way, because he’s a carrier. And ironic, too, because, so far, he might truly be just that. Decent. As much as I struggle to refute it, he presents a strong case for the possibility of being both a carrier and a decent human being.
“You can turn around.”
His voice hums deeply on the air and makes me tremble. Hero fixation. I tell myself it’s just that. He saved my life. I’ve lost Sean. I’m needy. Vulnerable. And he is easy on the eyes.
Slowly, I turn, and my breath catches. “You’re not dressed.”
His lips lift in that half smile of his. “You’ve never seen a guy without his shirt on?”
I’ve never seen him without his shirt on. And the sight makes my chest tight. He’s showered. His hair is wet and looks black as ink. He runs his fingers through it, sending the longer strands at the top of his head flying in every direction. I inhale the clean, soapy scent of him.