Nameless

  "Reece and Ryder know how to take care of themselves. We were trained for these situations, and we have a plan for if we get separated." He pounds his fist against the right side of the trunk. "Now if I could just get us out of this trunk ..."

  Even though he said he has a plan, I'm still worried we won't get out of here alive and that Ryder and Reece are somewhere out there hurt. Or what if the Tracker... ate them? I'm not sure what a Tracker does exactly. Or the other thing with the red eyes.

  As I plunge into my worried thoughts, Blaise leans forward and squints at a small crevice in the side. He taps his knuckles against it a few times before rolling onto his back and positioning the flashlight between us. Then he bends his knees and bashes the bottom of his clunky boots against the gap. The idea that he could break through metal using just his feet doesn't seem possible, yet the small crevice widens. Sunlight creeps in, and I cover my eyes, listening to Blaise kick and grunt and wondering how he's so strong.

  "All right, let's get out of here," he says after he stops kicking.

  I remove my hand from my eyes and look at a hole wide enough for us to climb through. "How did you do that?"

  He shrugs. "I kicked it."

  "I know, but ..."

  Without waiting for me to finish, he ducks his head through the hole and hoists himself out. Once he's all the way outside of the trunk, he squats down and reaches back inside.

  "Give me your hand," he instructs. "I'll pull you out."

  I put my palm in his, sit up, and keeping my head low, scoot toward the opening.

  "Try not to bump your shoulder on anything." His fingers are firm around mine. "I don't want you to jack it up more."

  I tuck my shoulder inward, hunker down, and slip my head through the hole. He gives my arm a good tug while I push up on my toes and drag myself out of the trunk. I roll out onto the dirt, the sunlight instantly casting across my face, and throw my arm over my face to protect my eyes.

  "Stay here. I'll find the sunglasses," Blaise says, releasing my hand.

  It grows quiet as he goes back to the car. A minute later, he crouches down beside me. He fits the sunglasses over my face, and I open my eyes, blinking up at him.

  "The lenses are cracked," he explains. "But they should still protect your eyes."

  I bob my head up and down then steal a glance at the bleeding sky, testing the strength of the glasses. It's not too terrible. Tolerable, at least.

  I look over at the car, now balanced upside down on the roof. The wheels are flattened, the rods on the rims are bent and snapped off, and the exterior is crunched into a ball. I doubt it's drivable, and I wonder how we're going to get to the station.

  Blaise stands up and stares down at me with his hands on his hips. "I need to find something to put in your mouth."

  "What?" I gasp. "W-why?"

  "So you don't bite your tongue when I pop your shoulder back into place," he says quickly. "Sorry, I should've explained that first. You talk and interact so well. It's hard to remember you come from the channels."

  I want to ask him where he comes from, but I'm not sure if I should. While he thinks I interact well, I find it complicated. How do I know what the right thing is to say? If I dared talk to a warden like I've been talking to Blaise, Ryder, and Reece, I'd be beaten. But they aren't wardens. At least, I'm pretty sure they aren't.

  Blaise glances over at the demolished car. "I don't think there's anything in there we can use, but I'm going to check, anyway." He holds up a finger. "Just stay here, okay?"

  I nod. "Where else would I go?"

  A ghost of a smile starts to appear on his lips, but the look promptly fades. Then he spins on his heels and ducks back into the trunk.

  My gaze wanders to the land. There's a path in the ground where the Tracker tore up the dirt, gaping holes surround the car, and dust still lingers in the air.

  A sudden sadness hits me. I don't want to believe this is all there is out here. The guys spoke of a broken city. From what I remember, cities were overpopulated and full of towering steel and glass buildings. There has to be more ... somewhere.

  Coddling my shoulder, I rotate on my side and look in the opposite direction. I can't see any sign of anything, including Reece or Ryder, and my worry grows. Could the Tracker have done something to them? I shake my head. No. I won't let those kinds of thoughts enter my mind. If I can hang on to hope for years while living under the wardens' commands, I can remain hopeful out here.

  I start to lie back down when I spot something glimmering amongst the desolateness and disturbingly red sky.

  "Can you see it?" Blaise's footsteps crunch against the dirt as he walks up behind me.

  I twist back around and shield my eyes with my hand. The sunlight shines against his back and casts a shadow across his face. In his hand, he's carrying an article of clothing, and slung around his shoulders is a sling lined with bullets.

  "See that light?" I ask, and he nods. "Yeah, what is it?"

  He kneels down beside me, sets the clothing down, and aims a finger at the sparkling in the distance. "That's the broken city."

  "It looks so small. I thought cities were supposed to be big."

  "It's small because we're so far away. When we get closer, it'll look a hell of a lot bigger. Too big in my opinion."

  "You don't like the city? Why? Is it a bad place?"

  His lips twitch. "You ask a lot of questions."

  "Sorry," I say, feeling stupid.

  "You don't need to be sorry. It's not a bad thing." He scratches his head. "It's just surprising."

  "Because I'm a Nameless?" I ask, and he nods. "How many have you met? I mean, how many Nameless have you saved? Is that what you do? Save them? Because I thought I heard Ryder say you were at the channels to save me."

  Instead of answering, he studies me closely, sucking on the barbell in his lip.

  "I'm sorry if I'm asking so many questions," I say softly. "I'm just so confused."

  He releases the barbell from his teeth. "It's okay. There's just so much you don't know, and I'm not sure I'm the best person to explain everything."

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't sugarcoat shit. That's more Reece and Ryder's thing."

  "Sugarcoat?"

  "Soften the truth."

  "Oh." My mind starts to spin again as I struggle to keep up with everything he's saying. My throat is on fire from all the talking, but now that I've started, I can't seem to stop. Questions press against my lips, begging to be asked. "What if I don't want the truth softened?"

  He flexes his fingers at his side. "You just got out of the channels. I'm not sure if now's the best time to tell you just how fucked up our world is."

  I force down the lump in my throat. "I might not understand this world, but I lived in the channels, so I know about the bad stuff. I can handle it."

  "Yeah, but ..." He shakes his head. "I'll tell you what. Let me pop your shoulder into place, and then I'll explain the rules of surviving out here and in the city. It's probably better if you know what to expect. That way, you can prepare yourself."

  I tell myself he's right, but deep down, I'm afraid. What if I fought to live for all those years just so I could escape and struggle to survive? What if living in this world is just as horrifying as being trapped in the channels?

  Chapter Six

  The Rules of Survival

  "The first rule of survival," Blaise says, picking up a piece of clothing beside him, "is to trust no one unless they've earned your trust. However, right now, I'm going to have to ask you to break that rule and trust me."

  "You haven't earned my trust yet?" I question because it seems like saving me from the channels should mean I can trust him.

  The corners of his lips curve to a slight smile. "No, I haven't even come close yet, but I'm going to try my damn hardest." He wrings the fabric. "I need to put this in your mouth. It's the only thing I could find besides the flashlight, and I think that might crack your teeth if you bite too hard."

&n
bsp; With how cautious he looks, I wonder if he somehow knows this isn't the first time someone has gagged me. The wardens had these awful muzzles made of thick leather straps and large metal buckles that they used when they caught me trying to talk to another prisoner. I would spend hours, if not days, gagged in my cell, unable to part my lips more than a half an inch.

  "You won't tie my hands up, right?" My unsteady voice reveals my nerves.

  "I swear to God I won't." A contemplative look crosses his face. Then he slips a hand inside his jacket and draws out a gun. "I'll even let you hold this while I do it. That way, if it turns out that I lied to you, you can shoot me."

  He sets the gun in my hand, and I wrap my fingers around the handle, feeling the weight and familiarity. I don't know when, where, or why, but this isn't the first time I've held a gun.

  He looks me straight in the eyes. "Are you ready for this?"

  I run my index finger along the trigger of the gun. While I don't think he'll lie to me, I like that I have the option of protecting myself. "I think so."

  He moves the cloth toward my lips. I bury my nerves and unhinge my jaw. When he stuffs the fabric inside my mouth, I pull a face.

  "It tastes funny," I say, my voice muffled.

  Again, he almost smiles, but never quite gets there. "It's one of Ryder's shirts."

  I think he's cracking a joke, and I try to smile, but the humor quickly dwindles when his fingers fold around my elbow. The pain in my shoulder amplifies, knocking the breath out of me. Suddenly, I understand why Blaise put the shirt in my mouth because my instinctual reaction is to clamp down my jaw.

  "Ready?" he asks, placing his other hand on my shoulder.

  I nod, though I don't think I am.

  "One ..." he starts. "Two ..."

  Without getting to three, he tugs on my arm while pushing down on my shoulder. I hear a pop, and then pain explodes through my arm, shooting all the way up to my brain. Bright spots splotch my vision, and my heart slams against my chest. I scream then bite down hard, nearly tearing through the shirt with my teeth. The gun slips from my fingers as Blaise lets go of my elbow and shoulder.

  He cups my face between his hands. "Breathe, Allura, or you're going to pass out."

  I inhale sharply through my nose, but the air catches in my throat, and I start to choke. In a panic, I bolt upright, pressing my hand to my chest.

  Blaise quickly pulls the shirt out of my mouth, tosses it aside, and then pats my back. I hack until my lungs burn then settle back down on the ground.

  "That hurt," I groan, holding my injured arm.

  Blaise rises to his feet and scoops up the gun. "You did well, though."

  I stare up at him skeptically. "I screamed like a baby."

  "Well, at least you didn't shoot me."

  "Yeah, I guess there's that."

  We stare at each, so close to smiling, but neither making it there.

  Blaise clears his throat, coughing into his hand. "I need to put a wrap on your shoulder." He puts the gun back in his holster then extends his hand to me. "Then we need to get moving. We've already been out in the open for way too long. If the Tracker comes back, we can't be out here like this."

  I thread my fingers through his and allow him to pull me to my feet. "Blaise, why was the Tracker here? Did someone send it?"

  He bends down to retrieve the shirt he used as a gag. "Either the wardens or the watchers."

  "Because I escaped the channels?"

  "That or it could be after Reece, Ryder, and me because we helped you escape." He unfolds the shirt. "We've helped a handful of Nameless escape before, but the missions usually run more smoothly." He tears a strip of the shirt off. "I should've known this mission was going to be a pain in the ass. It was really hard getting the wardens to take Ryder to your cell. They were hesitant, but I don't know why. Usually, they love showing off their prisoners. But they even dragged out the paperwork process." He lifts his gaze from the shirt, steps toward me, and reaches for my shoulder. "That's why it took us longer." He works quietly as he wraps the shirt around my arm then ties two torn ends of fabric around my arm, creating a makeshift sling.

  I keep my injured arm tucked against my side. "How did you know I was down there?"

  "We didn't know you were down there. We just knew there were cells in that area and that one of them was occupied." He steps back from me and tugs on the sling, making sure it's secure. "We used electronic mapping to create an outline of the underground. It's a fucking slow process of walking around and scanning the ground until we find a section of channels. And we usually have to do it at night so we're not spotted. Then we use an image detector ..." He trails off when he catches sight of my wide eyes. "Sorry. That was probably information overload, huh?"

  "A little bit," I admit. "But maybe you can teach me what all that stuff means so I won't have to feel so lost."

  "It's kind of boring." He reaches for the makeshift sling again and tightens the knot. "But if you still want to learn when get back to Leviter Station, then I'll teach you."

  I like the idea of being taught something, of learning and not having to rely on other people so much. I want to be like Blaise, Ryder, and Reece--able to help others. But I don't know if I could ever be brave enough to go down there and face the wardens like Ryder did.

  "Blaise?" I ask then hesitate, unsure if he'll take what I ask the wrong way. What if he thinks I'm accusing him of being one of them and gets angry with me? But I have to know. "How did you guys get into the channels? I mean, the wardens knew you were there, and they thought they were selling me to Ryder, but only visitors are allowed to buy time with me, so ..." I leave the unasked question hanging in the air, too afraid to ask it aloud.

  He cocks a brow. "You think we're visitors?"

  I hesitate then shake my head. "No, not really."

  Instead of getting angry like I expect, a hint of amusement dances in his eyes. I haven't seen amusement in forever. It's strange to witness.

  "We tricked them," he says simply.

  My brows pull together. "Tricked them how?"

  He motions for me to follow him as he starts walking away from the car in the direction of the city. I struggle to keep up with his long strides, but I don't want to ask him to slow down, worried the Tracker will show up at any moment.

  "That's what we do," he explains. "We're trained to blend in with the watchers, wardens, and visitors."

  "But how do you blend in?" I push the sunglasses higher onto the bridge of my nose. "If you're human, the wardens would know."

  But are Blaise, Ryder, and Reece even human? They seem human with their scars, rough hands, and compassionate eyes, but then there was the way Blaise kicked through the car and easily bent the metal.

  "That's probably a question you should ask Reece. It's a bunch of scientific shit I don't even try to understand. But basically, Ryder gets a shot right before he goes into the channels, and I think the shot reconstructs his DNA so he can get through the scanners undetected." He runs his hand over his head. "As for the paperwork and forms and stuff, it's pretty easy to bug the systems and create fake papers if you know what you're doing. The camera systems are trickier because the wardens know when those are out. It limits the amount of time we can be in the channels before they notice we're down there."

  I start to limp as an ache builds in my thigh and calf muscles. "That's why you guys were in such a hurry to get out."

  He gives me a sidelong glance. "Yeah, but we didn't move fast enough. That's why the wardens caught up with us at the scanner."

  "That might have been my fault," I say, clumsily hopping over a pile of dirt. My muscles groan in protest, but I continue moving. I have no other choice. "Lex--the warden who was yelling at us--has an issue with me. And he was really angry when I didn't obey him."

  He gapes at me. "He told you his name?"

  "Yeah. He's the only one who ever did. I don't know why. One day, he just came into my cell and started talking to me and told me his name. He thou
ght I owed him because of it." I exhale audibly. "I'm sorry. I feel like this thing with the Tracker might be my fault. Lex threatened to track me down if I tried to escape. Maybe he sent the Tracker after me."

  "Maybe, but I've never heard of a warden sending a Tracker after one escaped prisoner. They probably sent it after all of us because they're pissed off we stole something they thought was theirs." He looks ahead again, squinting against the sunlight. "It's not your fault, Allura. You're the victim in all of this, and you need to remember that."

  The way he says it, with so much passion, makes me wonder if perhaps he was a victim once, too. But I don't dare ask.

  His gaze unexpectedly drops to my legs. "Why are you limping?"

  "It's nothing," I lie, not wanting to seem weak. I spent too much of my life feeling that way.

  "It is something." His gaze bores into me. "Did you hurt your leg when the Tracker flipped the car?"

  I shake my head, kneading my thigh muscles with my knuckles. "I'm just not used to walking so much. But I can handle it. It's probably good for me, anyway. I sat in that cell for so long I sometimes worried if I'd forget how to walk."

  He briefly considers something, and then, without warning, he moves forward, hooks one arm around my back and one behind my knees, and scoops me up into his arms. My eyes snap wide from the abrupt movement, and I almost dive out of his hold. But he holds me tight, refusing to let me down, and the bullets in the sling dig into my ribs.

  "I don't want you wearing yourself out," he says. "We still have a ways to go, and if the Tracker shows up, I need you to be able to run."

  I stop struggling to get down, realizing he's right.

  "So are you ready to hear my rules of survival?" he asks as he starts walking again.

  I hook my arms around his neck, hanging on to him. "Are there a lot of them?"

  "Only five. But if you ask Reece, he'll probably tell you at least twenty. He always goes overboard with everything."

  "Is Reece your boss?"

  "No, I don't work for anyone. Never will."

  "Oh. It just kind of seemed like he was."

  "Reece is just bossy, and if you ask him if he's in charge, he'll probably tell you yes, but it's not true."

  "Then what are you guys? I mean, why do you do all of this?" I feel kind dumb for asking since I don't know anything about this station place or what Ryder, Reece, and Blaise do besides rescue Nameless. In the car, they kept mentioning a mission and reporting back to someone, so they have to have a boss, right? Even the wardens do.