Three

  With a splash I hit the bottom, gagging on a mouthful of silt. My empty, reaching hands found the bottom and pushed up, and as my head bobbed above the waterline I heard it, metal slamming against metal.

  My view was blocked by the underside of the bridge but the shots could still be heard, firing fast, mixed with male voices raised in confusion. I planted my feet; the current was fast but not deep. I dragged my waterlogged body beneath the bridge just as the shots began to rain down.

  “One of them’s getting away!” shouted one of the soldiers.

  I dove, the chaos above suddenly muffled by murky liquid. My boots were heavy, my clothing slowed me down, but I kicked hard, driving myself to the bottom. The flashlight beams from above carved darting rays into the gold-flecked water I swam through. The surface was dappled by the rain and punctured by bullets, tiny streams of bubbles streaking behind them. I passed beneath the shadow of the bridge to the opposite side.

  My lungs felt like they might explode but I didn’t dare lift my head. From behind came a splash, and I looked back, unable to stop my mouth from opening to scream. I swallowed water, choking, panicking. A soldier had fallen in, a man whose eyes were still wide open in shock. His blue uniform and flaxen hair floated weightlessly around him as the water turned dark with his blood. I kicked deeper. He passed over me as if flying, a black shadow in the gloom.

  At the last second I reached up and grabbed a handful of his jacket, and then I swam with every bit of strength I had left, using his lifeless body as cover.

  I didn’t see the fallen log until I nearly collided with it. Feeling my way beneath its slippery bark, I released the soldier and squeezed beneath it. On the opposite side I finally lifted my head above the water and gasped.

  Another crash of metal came from the bridge. As I watched, hidden behind the log, the truck rammed the tight space between two cruisers. Smoke rose from their squealing brakes. The soldiers fired at the windshield but Jesse persevered, and soon had punched through the barrier. I caught a glimpse of a gun out the window as he shot once again and sent a second soldier over the edge of the bridge into the water.

  With a growl of the engine, he sped off. Two cruisers followed, blue lights flashing, sirens wailing. The other car didn’t move, nor did any soldiers emerge from it.

  The shore was just to my left and I slogged up the bank, hitting dry ground and stumbling up the steep hill. My side screamed where the scab had broken open again but I didn’t stop. I’d lost my gun in the fall and had nothing with which to defend myself.

  The trees were thick at the top of the embankment. My eyes burned, as did my throat—I coughed, gasped, coughed some more. The blanket of pine needles made the ground slippery, but there was no stopping.

  Jesse had risked his life to create a diversion so that I could find Chase. I would not fail either of them.

  I tried to make a mental note of the time. We’d driven at least four hours. Maybe five. Less than twelve remained before Three began bombing the bases.

  Hold on, Chase.

  A dot of dim yellow light in the distance guided my way. As I ran it grew brighter, larger, spreading its fingers around the trees until finally the source came into view: a brick industrial building, surrounded by a high chain-link fence rimmed by a spiral of barbed wire. For the first time I slowed, staying low, scanning both sides for any sign of movement. Nothing stirred on the moat of asphalt surrounding the structure.

  There were no holes in the fence permitting easy access. I was going to have to crawl through the barbed wire.

  The thin metal clattered against the support beams as I gave it a tug. The toes of my boots were too thick to fit into the small holes, so hurriedly I removed them and tied the laces together so that I could sling them over my shoulder. I ripped the shredded piece off the cuff of my pants and wrapped it around my hands. Then climbed.

  The thin chain cut into my toes, but I had a better grip with wet socks than with my boots. Finally, at the top, I gently moved aside the wire and crawled atop it. The coil was stronger than I anticipated, and as I shifted my weight to the top it sprung back and jabbed into my left thigh.

  I bit down on my shoulder, displacing the pain. The chain rattled all the way down the fence as I attempted to pull myself free.

  The distinct suction of a door opening came from around a nearby corner.

  My heart thumped against my ribs. Sweat dripped in my eyes. I threw one leg down, unable to stop the cry of pain as the barb sliced deeper into my skin, then released with a clatter of metal.

  I reminded myself that Marco and Polo worked at night, but it wasn’t even afternoon. I hurried down, unable to put weight on my left side. I hoped their recruit, New Guy, was here.

  Footsteps came closer. From my peripheral vision came a blue uniform. I dropped to the ground, rolling back into the shadows against the side of the building.

  From around the corner came a voice I recognized.

  “If you’d have waited five minutes I would have opened the gate.”

  * * *

  NEW Guy held open the heavy metal emergency exit door, leaving room for me to duck under his arm. When we were inside and the lock was set, I exhaled, but couldn’t relax around him.

  Inside, the room was alive with machinery, buzzing, clicking, revving. A hundred different noises that grated my raw nerves and made me twitch. The printing presses were spitting out neat piles of Statute circulars—my story—onto a black belt that carried them to the back of the room. A sudden urge to read one took me, but I stayed in place when New Guy pointed to my leg with a cringe. The barb that had punctured my skin had torn my pants, and left a sticky red circle on my thigh.

  “Looks like you’ve seen better days.” He handed me an ink soaked towel, hanging from a protruding hook on the wall behind him.

  He was right. I was covered in mud, still half soaked with creek water and sweat, and bleeding from a half dozen scrapes. With more time I would have asked for a change of clothes and something to eat, but there wasn’t more time.

  “When do Marco and Polo get in?” I searched the immediate area, disappointed they weren’t already here.

  “Later,” said New Guy with a twitch of his shoulder. “They’ll be terribly disappointed they missed you. What are you doing sneaking in the back?”

  “Long story,” I said, speaking loudly over the machines. “I need a favor.” It was a question I’d been prepared to ask friends, not someone I hardly knew.

  “On behalf of our mutual acquaintances, I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  He seemed genuine. I reminded myself that Marco and Polo wouldn’t trust just anyone—their lives depended on a reliable secret keeper.

  “I need to get into Charlotte.”

  His chin dropped. “The Charlotte base you mean. The one with the prison.”

  “And the special guest visiting this week,” I added. “That’s the one.”

  “How are you going to do that? You can’t just walk into a base.”

  It was hard to hear him over the machines, so I motioned to the office, but he blocked my way.

  “I was thinking you could drive me,” I said.

  “Ha,” said New Guy, wiping his brow. “Ha. They didn’t tell me you have a sense of humor.”

  “In a delivery truck,” I continued. Like the one Billy jumped inside. “All you need to do is get me in, I’ll figure it out from there.”

  “They didn’t tell me you were crazy, either.” Before he could step away, I’d grabbed his forearm.

  “Please,” I begged. My loosely laid plan was falling to pieces.

  New Guy said something I couldn’t make out.

  I leaned closer. “Can we go in the office? I can barely hear you.”

  “We just took a shipment a few days ago,” he said in a loud voice. “It’ll look fishy if we show up between shipments.”

  “You can tell them you got special orders to deliver now,” I said, desperation leaking through. “I don’t know. Make somet
hing up.”

  He stared at me blankly.

  “Please,” I said. “We need to leave now.”

  New Guy’s gaze lifted over my head in recognition of something behind me. My first thought was that more refugees had been deposited here to wait for transport, but as I turned I caught the guilt flash in his eyes and knew.

  It had been a mistake coming here.

  I bolted toward the office door but was too late. Wiry arms clamped around my waist and lifted me off the ground. My heel made contact with something soft, but though my attacker crashed to his knees with a grunt, I was not released. I screamed in rage, kicking a pile of Statute circulars that fluttered to the ground.

  “Someone grab her legs!” New Guy shouted. I threw my head backward, connecting to his nose with a crack. Instantly I was released, but only a second before I was tackled to the floor.

  “Get the bag. Get it!”

  I froze, straining my neck to see the face of the soldier who’d taken me down. The perfectly pressed navy uniform seemed out of place. The gold name badge on his chest reflected the overhead light. Lips pressed into a thin line, he leaned over me, and I didn’t see the person who’d helped Sean out of the fire or run beside me as the tunnels in Chicago collapsed. Not the broken, beaten prisoner tied to a chair outside the mini-mart. I saw the polished, green-eyed soldier who’d come to my house to arrest me. The soldier who’d confessed to killing my mother.

  I saw Tucker Morris.

  I hadn’t realized I’d truly believed he was good until the moment I discovered he was not.

  Then there was nothing but darkness as something rough slid over my face and tied snugly around my throat. My hands were bound behind me. I twisted, and my cheek hit the floor hard. I was shoved onto my stomach. My legs were yanked behind me and bound together at the ankles. I could barely hear over the noise of the machines and the blood rushing in my ears.

  * * *

  THE cloth bag over my head was thick and hot; with each inhalation the coarse fibers suctioned to my mouth and nose, bringing on wave after wave of panic. I couldn’t see, I could barely hear. Without my senses I was disoriented. My body didn’t know which way to bend and turn to get away, or when my attackers would strike next. Long minutes passed, and soon I was lifted and slung over someone’s shoulder.

  “Throw her in the back with the other two,” I heard Tucker say. The air was forced from my lungs as I was flung to a cool, metal floor. The growl of an engine told me I was in the back of a truck, and a few sharp turns later I was rolling across the compartment, unable to stop myself.

  Something hard came to rest on my back, pinning me in place. I arched against it.

  “Hey,” someone whispered. “Hey, Ember, you okay?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Polo?” asked the same voice. Marco. His voice was distorted, as if he couldn’t breathe through his nose. “Polo, wake up, pal.”

  Polo didn’t answer, either.

  * * *

  TIME seemed to stretch on infinitely. Minutes lost their meaning. Hours passed. I didn’t know how long Chase had left. I didn’t know how long I had, either.

  I was shoved onto a hard chair with a straight back. I wriggled my toes, flexed my calves and thighs, trying to work the blood back into them. My hands, still latched behind me, were asleep, and the space from my wrists to my shoulders prickled with the sharpness of a thousand needles. I tried to slow my breath, to be ready, but my muscles were stiff from the long trip tied up in the back of a truck.

  Footsteps drew closer, and I braced myself for what might come. A shot of strychnine, as the soldiers received in the holding cells in Knoxville. A bullet, like that which had taken my mother’s life. The kind of beating that had broken Rebecca’s spine.

  The fear dissipated, and in its place came a cool, morbid calm.

  Fingers loosened the tie around my neck and ripped away the bag over my face. Instantly I was blinded by the white light. I blinked rapidly, the tears streaming down my cheeks. The air was warm and smelled like a toilet had overflowed but finally I could breathe.

  “Look at this, Captain Morris,” came a strange, thin voice. “She cries.” Someone touched my face gently and I jerked away, baring my teeth. “Seems as though she bites as well,” he added.

  Gradually the room came into focus. Gray stone walls, a dirty floor with a drain beneath my feet. Bright overhead lights, circular in shape, hanging from metal cords. A camera above the door, accusing me with its single eye. The man before me was barely broader through the torso than I was, and his sunken, sallow cheeks brought on the impression that he was starving. He looked about the same age as DeWitt.

  “The infamous Ember Miller,” he said, smoothing back a tuft of peppered hair. There were gold stars on the shoulder of his uniform—a sign of rank. He was someone of importance. “I have to admit, I wasn’t even sure you really existed. Such a young girl, and so pretty, too. How you’ve managed to survive this long I’ll never know. It’s remarkable, really. Don’t you think, Captain?”

  Out from behind me limped Tucker Morris, shoulders pulled back, chin lifted. Involuntarily, my arms and legs jerked against their restraints. Had they been free, I would have gone for his throat.

  He’d lured us to the safe house, tricked me into setting him free. I was glad Jesse had shot him. How I’d ever believed he was good seemed impossible now.

  All I knew was this: if any harm had come to Chase, Tucker would pay for it.

  I glanced around the room, finding another guard standing near the door. New Guy. His nose was busted—a colorful burst of red and purple—and when I stared at it he looked away.

  “Such trouble you’ve stirred,” mused the man. “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out what you were up to?”

  He caressed my cheek again, closer this time, so that I could see the wrinkles that pulled at the corners of his black eyes. His hand dipped lower, down my neck, pausing to feel the pulse accelerating through my artery. I looked away, focused on Tucker. Focused on the red hot hatred burning through me.

  “It’s a good thing we stopped that little piece of anti-American propaganda before it got too far. Wouldn’t want people getting the wrong information.” He took a deep breath. “Where did you take those Article violators the traitors at the printing press were hiding in their basement, I wonder. North?” His fingertips rose up my jaw. “South?” They lowered slowly.

  When the man’s fingers found my collar I jerked back so hard the chair nearly tipped. Tucker rushed forward to catch me, and for the briefest of moments our eyes met. His lips parted briefly.

  The man folded back my collar, exposing my whole left shoulder. With the same gentle touch he removed my necklace, then what remained of my bandage and tossed them to the floor. I whimpered through my teeth before I choked down the sound.

  “Very nice, sergeant,” the man said, feeling the raised scabs from DeWitt’s knife. “You were right. She is connected. Despite what the other one says.”

  I forced myself not to react.

  “Thank you, sir,” said New Guy.

  “What was his name?” asked the man.

  “Jennings,” said Tucker after a moment.

  I jerked involuntarily at his name. He was here.

  “Ah,” said the man in charge. “You’re probably wondering if he’s alive.”

  I stared straight ahead.

  “He is. And he will continue to remain so if you answer a few of my questions.”

  “Like I believe you,” I said, despite myself.

  “Reformation is built on honor,” he smiled. “Had you completed rehabilitation, you might have known that.”

  I nearly laughed.

  “How long have you worked for the rebel organization Three, Ms. Miller?” He lowered so that our gazes held a straight line. His breath was rank with onions, but his teeth were impeccably clean.

  I turned my face away.

  He stood slowly. Then wheeled back and slapped me.

&nb
sp; My vision exploded in fireworks of color. The skin felt like it had been ripped off the side of my face. Tucker caught me again; I hadn’t even noticed the chair had tilted over on two legs.

  The man cleared his throat. “Captain Morris, your knife please.”

  Tucker released the chair and stepped toward the man, handing him the switchblade from his utility belt. I stared at the gun in his holster, willing it into my hands.

  “No, no, you keep it.”

  Tucker hesitated, but the older man had already turned back to me. He swung my necklace in front of my face, a blur of silver and gold. Behind him, over his right shoulder, the camera stayed pointed in my direction.

  “All right, Ms. Miller, we’re going to make this quick, because as you undoubtedly have heard, I have a party to attend.”

  Chancellor Reinhardt, I realized. The Chief of Reformation. I nearly laughed. I’d made it into the Charlotte base after all. If DeWitt had only known I’d be within inches of the most hated man in the FBR.

  “What is Three planning? Why issue this pathetic call to join the resistance and fight? And don’t say my assassination, because you’ve already tried and failed.”

  I forced myself to smile. We’d heard of the attempt on his life when we were in Knoxville. What a shame that he’d recovered.

  “You need to think about it. I understand. Captain Morris, was she an Article Four Violator? I forget these things.”

  Tucker leaned over me, the marks from the beating I’d thought he’d endured as a prisoner still marring his jaw. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow and splashed on my swollen cheek, and I focused on the single gold star pinned beneath his name badge. With one hand he held my shoulder still; with the other, he brought the knife to my skin and slowly carved a line into the flesh, close to the three DeWitt had left.

  I didn’t make a sound. But the adrenaline scored through my veins, making me shake.

  “I’m going to ask you a second time, Ms. Miller. What is Three planning?”

  I stared straight ahead. I thought of Chase, walking barefoot on the beach. Sneaking through my window at home. Combing his fingers through my hair.