Breaking Point

by Kristen Simmons

  “Why aren’t you at the safe house?” I asked, something inside telling me to tread carefully. “I thought you said Sisters could get through the highway lockdown.”

  She turned her hips, still mesmerized by the cartridge. Her blue woolen skirt fanned from side to side.

  “Looks like I was wrong.”

  “I’m serious,” I said. “Sarah and that family with the baby needed a doctor. Did they get caught?”

  Her tongue skimmed along the edge of her teeth. “Are you suggesting I jumped ship?”

  My blood heated. “You didn’t exactly stick around to help when the motel was burning to the ground.”

  She laughed, but it felt forced. “Self-preservation. Not all of us are martyrs.”

  “If it was self-preservation, what were you doing talking to that soldier?” I pictured her standing before the flames, the man in uniform urging her to back up.

  For a moment she seemed confused, and then shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe he was looking for a date.”

  “Why can’t you just answer the question?”

  She smiled coldly, eyes like blue crystals. “Look, the soldier at the fire thought I was a Sister, and asked me to help clear the area. As for Tubman, we made it to the roadblock and saw a sign that only FBR would be allowed past. I bailed before anyone saw me. But since you’re so concerned about your precious little party favor, relax. I hid off the side of the highway and watched Tubman drive that FBR truck straight through.”

  I was relieved, but no less irritated. “Why do you have to cut her down like that?”

  Her look turned to exasperation as she began to disrobe.

  “Please. Did you see her? She had it coming. You can’t put wrapping paper on a present and expect no one to rip it off.”

  “You’re blaming her?”

  “I would if she wore that dress to a social.”

  A social. That was what Sarah had called it, too, back in Tent City. A party for all the lonely soldiers who’d dedicated themselves to the cause.

  I kept my arms pinned to my sides so I didn’t throttle her. Blaming Sarah for what others had done to her was like saying my mother deserved death because she’d broken a Statute. Like saying Billy’s mom had been right in selling her own son for cash.

  She pulled off her Sisters of Salvation blouse, and as she slipped into a faded black sweatshirt, I caught sight of three parallel scars just below her collarbone—scars not unlike those I had given Tucker. She made a point of quickly hiding them, and despite myself, I suddenly found myself feeling sorry for her. Apparently she wasn’t made of steel. Someone, at some point, had been able to hurt her.

  “Hey,” she said as I placed my hand on the door in preparation to leave. “Thank you. For what you’ve done.”

  I turned back to face her, surprised by the smallness in her voice. It took a full beat to realize what she was talking about, and when I did I nearly groaned.

  “Cara, Riggins was wrong. I’m not who he thought I was. I didn’t shoot anybody.”

  “I know,” she said. But I wasn’t sure she believed me.

  I had more important reasons to be on the defensive. I gathered my clothes and returned to the factory floor, and Tucker Morris.

  * * *

  WHEN I emerged, Chase was leaning against the wall outside the door, arms crossed, scowling across the station at the Horizons truck. I smoothed down the sweatshirt and cuffed the ends of the pants four times before they finally reached my heels. I’d forgotten my arms were still smeared with dried blood and soot, and while I examined them he combed a tentative hand through my hair. Instinct had me leaning into his touch, but I frowned when he revealed a fistful of ash. I would have given my next meal for a shower.

  “Billy’s checking the mainframe for new arrests,” he said, crossing his arms again as Tucker’s shadow appeared in the back of the truck.

  “Has he found anything yet?” It seemed callous, but if Wallace hadn’t made it out of Knoxville, I hoped he’d gone down with the Wayland Inn. I knew what awaited him in the holding cells should he have been captured.

  “Nothing new.” Chase hesitated. “Lincoln’s name was Anthony Sullivan. I never knew that.”

  The room silenced. Sean looked up from where he stood with Marco and Polo outside a small storage room across from the truck. From the look on his face, he, too, was surprised. Some people went by nicknames so we couldn’t get too close, but Chase had just torn that down. He’d made Lincoln more human, his loss even more devastating.

  The mood, already tense, turned somber fast.

  Tucker, hopping down from the back of the truck, lifted two bottles of whiskey. “Might as well make the most of being stranded.”

  No one objected.

  Cara, who’d emerged from the bathroom behind me, said, “You boys got any cups?”

  Marco disappeared into the storage room and returned with a tower of paper cups. Tucker popped the top on a bottle of whiskey and poured a liberal amount into each. While we formed a circle behind the truck, I contemplated how the one and only drink I’d ever had was when Beth and I had snuck some wine from my mother’s contraband supply in the ninth grade. I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage a half cup of whiskey on a nearly empty stomach.

  “Someone should say something,” mumbled Sean.

  The others looked at Chase expectantly. Not Cara, who had known Lincoln longer, but Chase.

  Wallace’s voice echoed through my head. “You had it, Jennings. You had it, and you threw it away.” I’d thought at the time he was just disappointed to lose a good soldier, but it was more than that. He’d seen Chase as a leader.

  I sloshed the amber liquid around the cup. Wallace was right; Chase was good in times of crisis. All the time I’d spent fighting him after he’d rescued me from reform school seemed like wasted energy now.

  As Chase raised his cup, I felt a wave of uncertainty. What were you supposed to say at funerals? We didn’t even know if Lincoln had family.

  “To Lin—Anthony,” Chase said, clearing his throat. “He was a good soldier in … in the fights that mattered.”

  This is the only fight that matters. The one we fight today.

  “To anyone else stuck in that building, too,” he added. “Cats included.”

  Billy gave a wet hiccup, his shoulders rounding. Cara wiped her eyes on her sleeve and leaned against Sean, who patted her shoulder, looking grim. Marco bowed his head, lips moving in a silent prayer.

  The air within the printing plant grew heavy. Loss after loss surrounded us, so that the space seemed to thicken with their ghosts. We remembered our loved ones—those we weren’t strong enough to name. We remembered why we were fighting back.

  I missed my mother so much it hurt.

  My gaze found Tucker’s across the circle. His shoulders were heaving, like he’d just run a mile, and all I knew in that moment was that I didn’t want to know what he was thinking. Anticipating the taste with a cringe, I brought the cup to my lips.

  “Wait,” said Tucker. “While we’re on it. To … to the people we … the person I…” His head rolled back and he looked up, of all places, for inspiration.

  I lowered the cup. A clock from the office ticked by each second.

  “Tucker,” Chase warned. “Don’t.”

  My whole body tensed in anticipation. Tucker stole a quick breath and met my gaze.

  “I’m sorry, Ember.”

  The peace and power of the moment shattered, and I was horrified. How dare you. That was all I could think. How dare you.

  “You’re sorry,” I repeated. I saw him, only him, as a haze of red blocked the others out.

  In one quick motion he downed the shot, hissing at the sting. I hadn’t realized I’d dropped mine until Billy bent down to pick up the cup.

  “Ember.” I shook Chase’s hand off my shoulder. I was closer to Tucker now, though I hadn’t even felt my feet move.

  “You want to apologize?”

  I couldn’t have heard him ri
ght. He was incapable of remorse. I’m a good soldier, he told me after he’d admitted his crime. I did what needed to be done.

  Tucker stepped back, tapped the empty cup against his leg. His cheeks were flushed.

  “You want to drink to her, Tucker? Is that what you were thinking?”

  “Easy, girl,” said Cara.

  “Say her name,” I demanded. “If you’re so sorry.”

  He didn’t.

  “You don’t even know it, do you? You don’t even know her name.”

  I pushed him hard, and he staggered into the bumper of the truck. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.

  “That’s enough.” Chase was between us now, trying to block me from Tucker.

  “Her name was Lori Whittman!” I shouted. “That was her name! That was my mother’s name!”

  I saw Tucker’s face, sallow and shocked, for one instant before Chase caught me around the waist and hoisted me over his shoulder.

  “Let go of me!”

  “Cool off,” he said.

  I kicked him and punched his back and only when my teeth sunk into his shoulder did he toss me down. We were in the storage room, surrounded by weak metal shelves holding tool boxes and printer paper and boxes of ink. He wheeled around and slammed the door shut.

  “If you value your life at all, you’d better turn right back around,” I hissed, fists clenched.

  “I’m not leaving.” To make his point, he placed both hands on the shelves on either side of the door. He’d taught me to always keep my exits open, and here he was, blocking them off.

  A noise snuck up my throat, halfway between a groan and a growl. I paced around the tight circle, keeping out of reach, so furious at Tucker, at Cara, at everything, I couldn’t even speak.

  He blocked out the single overhead bulb, and all that remained were the shadows silhouetting his face.

  “You can’t let him get to you,” he said.

  I slammed to a halt. “So you’re on his side now?”

  A vein on his neck jumped.

  “I’m on your side,” he said. “I’m always on your side.”

  “Doesn’t feel that way.” I regretted it even as I said it, and resumed my pace.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what Tucker’s doing here, but it can’t be an accident. This is what he does. He digs his way in and gets under your skin. And before you know it, he’s ripped your life apart.”

  My shoulders jerked back, tall and defiant.

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  But my voice shook because even though I did, I’d still fallen into the Tucker trap. I’d kissed Chase to hurt him. I’d gotten information about Rebecca in the holding cells, but at his price. He’d been discharged now, but what if this was all part of the plan? What if this—the carriers, the safe house, the soldiers fighting for the resistance—was what he’d wanted?

  “I didn’t.” Chase jammed a hand through his hair. “I trusted him once, and it cost me everything. I have to live with that, but you don’t.”

  I staggered back, needing to put some distance between us. He never spoke of what he’d witnessed with my mother—not since he’d first told me—but how obvious that burden was now. I hadn’t been there for him because it hurt too much, and in doing so I’d left him alone.

  I missed her. But I missed Chase, too, and somehow that was worse, having him here and missing him. Seeing him every day and feeling a world apart.

  “You didn’t lose everything,” I said.

  He looked up, and moved toward me slowly, and the look of surprise in his face was enough to break my heart.

  “Neither did you,” he said quietly.

  The tears came at last. Salty and hot, yet somehow cool and cleansing, too. He didn’t wipe them away, but traced them gently with his fingertips.

  Someone knocked at the door.

  I was jolted back to reality, to the checkpoint, and Tucker Morris, and the things I’d said to him outside. Chase was right; Tucker had gotten under my skin, and it wouldn’t happen again.

  When my eyes were dry, Chase opened the door.

  Sean was standing outside, looking sheepish.

  “So.” He scratched his neck. “I didn’t know it was him—Tucker—that, you know. You believe me, right?”

  I nodded.

  “You could have said something,” he added, a little injured. He was too far away to have this kind of conversation, which made him feel all the more distant.

  “I’m not going to freak out and stab you or anything,” I muttered.

  “Oh, good.” As if waiting for permission, he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms. I tucked my chin over his shoulder, careful not to touch his burned back. I felt stronger with both Chase and him at my side.

  “Notice how my hands are above the waist,” I heard him say to Chase, who snorted in response.

  Before pulling away, he said, “Something’s come up.”

  “What?” Chase edged beside me.

  “It’s weird. Probably nothing, but you’ll want to hear it.”

  We moved wordlessly past the printing machines toward the office, not running into Cara or Tucker. Maybe Cara really had left to see her cousin. Maybe Tucker had magically disappeared. That would be fine by me.

  Billy was sitting on the desk with Marco and Polo. When he saw me, he jumped off, glancing between us as though one of us might combust. I forced my chin up, but wanted badly to blend in with the walls.

  “I can’t believe—”

  “What happened?” interrupted Chase. I gave him a small, grateful smile.

  “Okay, so here’s the thing,” began Marco. “You say Lori Whittman, and I say to Polo here, ‘Lori Whittman. Sounds familiar, right?’”

  “And I say, ‘Yes, Marco, sounds real familiar.’ And so we come back to the office, and I remember. Last week the carrier from Chicago comes through, saying he’s stopped at a new checkpoint on the way.”

  My heart was beating hard, anxious to know where this was going.

  “And your friend Sean here remembers that you’re from Louisville,” said Marco. “And I say, ‘That’s where the carrier stopped!’”

  “How does Lori Whittman tie into it?” Chase asked when I couldn’t find the words.

  “She’s the one!” said Billy, picking up a scrap of paper. “She’s the one that set up the checkpoint in Louisville. The Chicago carrier even wrote down the address so Marco and Polo could see if it was being scouted by the Bureau. Fourteen-fifty Ewing Avenue.”

  My knees gave way. I barely registered the hard feel of the floor beneath me. Chase was as pale as death itself. He was right to be. He knew that place all too well.

  Fourteen-fifty Ewing Avenue was my address.

  CHAPTER

  12

  “THAT’S not possible,” Chase choked out.

  Could it be possible? Who else could it be, in my home? If she had survived, she would have perfect motive to set up a checkpoint. No one would better understand the need for a safe house.

  She’s alive. She doesn’t know I’m alive. She’s looking for me. She’s putting herself in danger.

  She needs me.

  My hands covered my mouth, as though I’d been speaking my stream of panicked thoughts aloud. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t make them real. Hope was a dangerous thing. Too much hope in a time like this could destroy a person. Set up unrealistic expectations. Yes. Best to proceed with caution.

  “It’s a trap,” Sean said. “Think about it. Why else would a checkpoint in her name come up now, while the Bureau’s hunting for the sniper? They’re baiting you.”

  My heart sank like a stone. Sean’s assessment seemed far more likely than the alternative that my mother was actually alive.

  “The Chicago carrier had us look up the name and address a week ago. Before they framed you,” said Polo. “The mainframe does say that Lori Whittman’s deceased,” he added, looking sorry.

  “But it says that about Chase, too,” said Billy he
lpfully. “I checked.”

  “Are you sure she was dead?” I asked, but my words were so quiet that no one heard me. I repeated myself.

  “Yes,” Chase said. “I saw her die.”

  “But you got in a fight with Tucker, right? You told me you don’t remember what happened.”

  “Whoa,” I heard Billy say.

  “Someone hit me,” Chase admitted. “I woke up in a holding cell.” His hands hung slack at his sides. His shoulders bowed. He looked like an old man, and for the first time since before her death, I wanted to comfort him.

  Marco, Polo, and Billy were glancing back and forth between us.

  “Maybe she was just hurt,” I said. “Maybe…” I covered my mouth again. Don’t hope don’t hope don’t hope.

  “I guess there’s only one person that knows for sure,” said Sean cautiously.

  Chase was far away. My insides, when I could feel them again, were tight as a drum. I whispered his name, needing him to come back.

  He looked up, remembering the rest of the room. He coughed. “Right. Tucker.”

  “And I told him to leave,” finished Sean.

  Chase spun on him. “What?”

  “How was I supposed to sit here with him knowing…” Sean looked away, like he was afraid of upsetting me again. “Cara was leaving for her cousin’s anyway, so he went with her.”

  My heart rate kicked up a notch. What had Sean done? At the worst, he’d given Tucker an out to go straight to the MM. At best, Cara and Tucker would be out in the community, close to curfew, attracting a lot of attention as an unwed couple. One glance at Chase and I could tell he was thinking the same.

  “When? When did they go?” I asked.

  “I don’t know … twenty minutes maybe,” said Polo. “Marco and I were still looking for the address the carrier left.”

  Chase’s hand gripped mine so hard I winced.

  “We need to leave,” he said urgently. “We all need to get out. He’s turning us in.”

  “Hold up, big guy,” said Polo. “Who’s turning us in?”

  Chase zeroed in on Sean. “We have to risk the roads tonight.”