20
A single light shines in the corner, and the walls are brick.
I once stood outside the door of this room with Edan, and he asked me if I was ready. I wasn’t.
Cash sits beside me, our backs to the rough surface. For ten minutes, neither of us have said a word. Our eyes stare empty at the opposite wall.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and a new ache blossoms in my throat.
“When I was young,” Cash says quietly, “I thought Solomon was my father. I didn’t know about Titus until he came for me.”
“In the ways that matter,” I murmur, “he was. Solomon loved you, and he watched over you.”
Cash hunches forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighs heavy. In these moments, when the loss is great, I wonder how we will ever recover from it. All the whispered things don’t feel big enough. I say them, mean them, but they cannot penetrate this kind of loss. And for the thousandth time, for the millionth, tears roll off my chin. When can we leave this world of death and grief? All our hearts are tired, but it doesn’t stop.
Cash drops his hand and falls back against the wall, exhausted. “I thought I needed to say things to Titus—to face him in a way that might bring closure…I don’t know. I don’t know why I thought that.”
I touch his arm, sitting up to meet his eyes. “Yes, you do. He was your father. And whether or not they do it well, fathers take up space in our hearts. Just…sometimes we don’t get the closure we need.”
“It shouldn’t have mattered.”
“But it did. And you weren’t wrong for it.”
We sit in silence another minute, and I contemplate all the loss this man has experienced in the last weeks. His best friend. His father, and the man who did it better. As he stares unfocused across the room, my gaze fixes on the small changes of his expression. The twitch by his eye. The muscle movement in his jaw. All proof of the things he’s suffering inside.
The door opens, and a soldier enters.
“Sir, they’re pouring in,” he says in a rush. “Hundreds of them. What should we do?”
Cash stands, unfolding from his grief.
“If the numbers have shifted in our favor,” he tells the soldier, “we need to force a siege at the barracks. We can push them back until the South arrives.”
“I’ll contact Bo.”
The man’s footsteps retreat, running. I press a hand to the wall and drag myself off the floor. Cash helps me.
“I have to go,” he murmurs.
“I know.”
Neither of us moves. Once we do, the chaos will consume us again.
“They’ll follow you,” I tell him. His gaze falls to the floor, and slowly he nods.
“I know,” he whispers.
I find them in a room that used to be an office. Like the one Takeshi showed me, with a private bathroom built into the corner.
Ian and Percy sit against the wall behind a desk, separated from the others who rest here. Ian’s leg is stretched forward, torn fabric wrapped around the wound. Bandages peek from beneath his coat, at the shoulder where the first bullet hit. The first reaction Ian gives me is sadness, but he covers it with a painful grin.
“You look terrible,” he says.
Smiling hurts, so I don’t. “You’re alive.”
“Guy’s a lousy shot.”
Percy grunts at his brother. “I’d say he hit his mark.”
Ian throws him a look. His posture is weary…resigned. Sweat shines on his forehead, and his breaths are shallow.
I sit across from them, leaning my back against the desk.
“This is Hannah,” Ian says to his brother. Gesturing with his strong arm, he looks to me and lazily point to his right. “Percy.”
Percy smiles, and it lights up his pummeled face, erasing the trauma in the moments his lips are lifted. He leans forward, extending his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you,” I say, shaking the hand and returning the smile despite the pain it causes.
His gaze shifts to my cheek, where Titus’ fist marked me. My pulse throbs in the bone.
“That looks painful.”
I brush fingertips to the swollen skin. “I’ve had worse.”
His eyebrows furrow. I shift the attention back to his own state, to the deep bruises coloring his face.
“Those look really painful too. How long did they have you?”
Ian readjusts his position on the floor, guilty eyes finding mine.
“Just a few days, I think,” Percy says. “Honestly, I lost track of everything after the first few hours.”
I nod. “I know what you mean.”
A raised eyebrow.
“You spend time as their guest too?”
Ian cuts in. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“I don’t mind,” I say. The truth is I’d rather not. But some other common ground might be hard to come by.
“For a short time. They gave me these.”
I gesture to the burns on my face.
“Dang,” Percy mutters. “Thought I had it bad.”
Ian stretches his other leg with a grunt. “She also happens to be in love with the son of a Council member. Might have added to their aggression.”
My face burns, but I don’t deny it.
Percy’s eyes light up, drawn in by the intrigue. I nod toward Ian.
“Your brother saved my life.”
Again, Percy’s expression brightens.
“That’s not the whole story,” Ian replies, his voice now heavy with regret.
I touch his ankle, drawing his gaze.
“It’s the story that matters to me. The one I’ll share.”
His eyes thank me.
“You’re studying medicine?” I say to Percy.
He sighs. “If I can get back. Though I’m not sure what this will mean for the rest of us. Maybe the whole country is falling apart now.”
I always forget to think about that. My world has always been limited to the mountains that border us.
Questions fill my mouth, tumbling too fast off my tongue. The one that comes out clearest is, “Did you know? Did you know about the valley?”
My heart pulses faster, sped up by fear of what he’ll say. Maybe I don’t want to hear it.
His head shakes, and I breathe easier. But then the shake slowly becomes a nod. His eyes won’t meet mine, and I feel it in my gut.
They did. They knew. It’s like a rotting down deep, eating away at the excuses I’d make for them, because believing in ignorance is much easier. I’m numb when I ask, “Why? Why did no one—”
“Help?” He shrugs. “Because we grew up knowing.”
I don’t understand how that’s a reason.
“What he means,” Ian says, “is they fed it to us from childhood. We didn’t ever know how bad things were.”
Percy picks at his shoe. “That’s not entirely true.”
His head turns so they can see one another, but I can’t see his face. They share a look, and I’m only staring. Only glaring between them with wide eyes, guessing at their silent words.
“Tell me.”
Ian sighs. “Hannah—”
“Please tell me,” I whisper, feeling heavy and numb and weightless all at once. I am ungrounded, stomach in knots.
Ian holds my gaze for a full ten seconds before the words come reluctantly forward.
“The Watcher program. They promote it as a police force charged with keeping the—”
Another shared look.
“Ian…”
“Keeping the chattel under control.”
My words are whispers, angry breaths. “What does that mean?”
“Possessions,” he says quietly. “Things they owned.”
“They dehumanized Workers a long time ago,” Percy says, “long before we were born. Before our parents, I’ll bet.”
“And no one questioned it?”
“Sure they did,” Ian says. “But—I don’t know. It’s
hard to empathize when all you see is what they show you.”
“Which was…?”
“Images of Workers attacking each other. Sketches of males attacking females—”
“Factories on fire from mobs,” Percy adds.
I stare, shocked. “But none of that is true. I mean, sure, some Workers behaved badly, but the majority—”
Ian presses his head to the wall, gaze on the ceiling. “We know that. We know now.”
I stand, head swimming with the motion. I’ve heard enough, and now I need air. This room is suffocating, too narrow and low.
“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Ian murmurs.
“It’s fine,” I mutter. “I have to go.”
Percy follows me to the door, dragging himself off the floor in a clumsy movement.
He says my name, and I turn, my angry gaze on the tile below us. Arms fold around me, wrapping me tight in a hug. I wasn’t expecting it, but maybe I should have. There’s a gentleness about Percy that begs to be shared.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m glad things can change now.”
My eyes close for the few seconds he squeezes me. I pull in a slow breath, and when the exhale comes, some of the tension falls away. Percy releases me, eyes round with concern.
“They’re good people,” he insists.
I have no response. I’m sure that’s always been true…for the last hundred years.
Eyes follow me as I walk the musty hall toward the exit. With each fall of my boots, more gazes slide to observe me. I wish they wouldn’t. They will find nothing soft or acceptable in me now. I am full of toxic confusion, my beliefs muddied by what Ian and Percy told me. The words entered my lungs like smog in the air, poisoning all the blind hopes I’d hoarded.
They did know. We were not a secret.
How does an entire nation ignore blatant evil? How do good people carry on while parents are dragged from homes and small girls shiver near death in the cold?
I’ve stopped. Stilled. All their eyes pierce me, but I am too shaken to look.
They’re good people, Percy promised. But now I’m not sure what that word means.
“Is it over?” a soft voice asks at my left. My gaze flicks to a man resting against the wall, nothing but bones and flesh and shadowed eyes. “Have they won?”
Defeat pulls his lips into a frown. His gaze falls, like he’s ashamed of the words. Others watch, listening. What can I say to make them hold on a little longer?
“It isn’t over,” I tell him, “until you set foot in the South.” I take in the worn expressions around me. “But it will be over soon. Then we’ll see the ocean…and the air will be cleaner. Fresh.”
Blank, blinking eyes. They’ve been here too long, survived too many attacks and losses.
An idea jumps into my mind, and I rush to the sleeping room. Stepping through the doorway is like stepping into nothing. This room is completely interior and devoid of light.
A guard near the door offers his flashlight, and I trip my way across the sea of beds and limbs to Aspen’s mattress. At the end, against the wall, rests my pack.
Holding the light under my arm, I rifle through the bag until my fingers find the smooth sides of a book. Meli’s book…the one she gave me.
Pain shoots like knives through my head as I race back to the place where the man rests.
“Here,” I say, setting the book in his dry, calloused hands. His eyes widen when he opens it.
“It’s the South,” I tell him. A woman beside him leans to see. Then more join, gathering around the book of pictures. Guilt eats at me. I should have offered it sooner.
“Share it with as many as you can,” I say, but whether they hear me or not, I wouldn’t know. All their eyes remain locked on the pages, gasps leaving them each time a new image is revealed.
I move to leave, and a voice calls, “Thank you!”
I look back, but too many teary faces smile my way. I have no idea who said it.
21
The air is different when I step outside. The snow has lightened, nearly gone. The sun peeks past a heavy, gray cloud, making the edges glow. But these aren't the reasons I cannot acclimate to the setting. I stand in the street, watching the rushing and listening to the shouting, and it hits me.
Solomon is gone.
Like Edan, he's shifted to memory. Gone in an instant, and I didn't get to say goodbye. I'm filled again with a desperate need to remember them. What if we leave this place, and a new life makes us forget?
Soldiers fill the street. crowded together, a mass of black clothes and Council-issued strength. Their eyes burn with anger and life like I've never seen this many Watchers possess all at once.
The Council has lost their army. The few who remain will not be enough.
Cash and Takeshi climb onto the wreckage of a tank, grabbing attention like beacons of light in the sea of darkness. I move closer, mingling with the crowd, allowing myself to feel camaraderie with them. We are down to the last hours, and I feel the need to throw myself into this final effort, whatever comes. It's foolish; I know this. These soldiers are much more capable than me. But they don't scowl at me or smirk at my smallness. They don't push me to the back or tell me to rest with the weak.
But they do look at me. Their faces turn as I pass, weaving through the bodies twice my size, my head at shoulder level. Some of them nudge each other, and subtle gestures point me out.
“Her face,” they murmur. “The burns. It's her.”
I keep moving, working my way toward the men on the tank. I didn't plan to do this when I started, but the attention is pushing me toward Cash like a magnet searching for a secure hold. And it's him they really admire...not me.
He doesn't see me at first; he's busy calling out to the soldiers.
“Your courage will win this today! It was never us and them. But each of us, and a battle in our own hearts—”
On and on he goes, and I am captured by it, drawn in and forgetting the eyes that stare. Beside him, Takeshi steps forward. They speak as a team, operating as one unit of strength.
“My father's army will break past the border, and when they do, the victory will be swift. When that happens, in whatever setting they find us, lay your weapons aside and raise your arms so they see your surrender. The South is not your enemy.”
Cash's gaze lands on me, and energy shoots through my chest. Some of the soldiers around me follow his eyes, and soon I have more attention than I want.
Takeshi finishes his speech, and Cash takes it up again, breaking the connection to address the crowd.
“You cannot change what's been done—what you've done. I cannot undo the wrongs from my past. But there is life beyond it. And there is forgiveness.”
He finds me again.
“There is always hope, as long as we live.”
Takeshi shouts orders, and Cash jumps from the tank, jogging to where my feet are planted. Soldiers move aside to let him pass. He steps into my space, and the look in his eyes confirms it: he was never a threat to me. Never once. The good in him was always going to win, long before the stars.
There's a flicker of guilt when his eyes settle on my bruised cheek. I shake my head.
Not your fault.
He exhales, face angled down, but eyes on me.
“I won't stop you from going,” he murmurs, but he wants to.
“I just want to be there in the end,” I say. “I need to see for myself.”
For my parents.
He doesn't argue. “Bo's coming at them from the north. We'll push from our side, and we should be able to contain what's left of the Council's forces until help gets here.”
“I don't have a weapon.”
He searches the crowd before calling over a soldier named Axel.
“Got an extra?” he asks. The soldier acts with clear understanding, removing a pistol from the holster on his leg. With his thumbprint, he disables the lock that prohibits other hands from firing it.
“All yours.”
Cash thanks him, then checks the weapon over. I'm lost in his movements, trying to follow what he's doing. In the end, he hands it to me, a hard look meeting my eyes.
“When the South comes, I'll make sure we leave together.”
“Cash!”
Aspen runs full speed through the crowd of Watchers, her bright, red hair flying like a flag behind her.
“Takeshi!”
She calls to the men, and they run to her, angling past curious soldiers who turn to see. I follow, and my blood runs cold, anticipating horror, but the wide-open expression she wears looks more like joy.
“They're alive!” she shouts. “Some of them. Some of them are alive!”
Takeshi gets there first. “Who, Aspen? Who's alive?” His head shakes, not understanding, but desperately, desperately wanting to.
“They survived! Some of them survived!”
We are wordless before her, watching her wide, green eyes and trying to grasp the things she's saying.
Takeshi's answer is a whisper. I don't understand.
Aspen's only reply, through gasping breaths, is, “Look!”
She turns. Points. Lina rushes from the factory, one of the southerners we left on the mountain.
Takeshi reaches her first, wrapping his fellow soldier in a fierce hug. He steps back, checking her for injuries.
“How is this possible? How many survived? How did you get through?”
Words pour from his lips, a million questions she's attempting to answer.
We ran higher when we saw the explosions in the distance.
We got as many as we could.
They're just below the summit.
Freezing.
Very little shelter.
Cash remains quiet while they talk, but I see the way his shoulders relax, if only a little. I see the slow breaths, managing a swell of emotions. His silence is louder than all the shouts of gladness ringing out around us. His hand finds mine, tight and strong.
22
I didn't know how much I wanted freedom until Solomon told us it was possible. But Titus wasn't lying about the cost; it is high.
We pass bodies as we run, thrown-away lives given in pursuit of something they will never see. Maybe most of them were willing to pay, but the desire to get out had to have consumed their hearts as much as mine. I tighten my jaw, pushing through the pain, and my eyes return to the path ahead.
The Slave Series Page 46