I had blamed Chase for her death. The facts had seemed so clear to me. But when I reviewed the scenario, they became distorted, out of focus. He’d been the scapegoat of the MM’s wrath just for being himself. Blaming him no longer made sense.
I could not stop the tears now. They flooded me, as did my grief, my sorrow, my hatred. So much deeper was my self-loathing than what I had seen reflected in Chase’s eyes. And so much more justified.
I had made a horrible mistake.
Chase had come back after the War to find me. He had reported for the draft because I had told him to. He had always tried to protect me, even when it included the possibility of losing his life or taking another. His lies were meant to be a shield. That was wrong, but I couldn’t entirely fault him for hiding the truth once I thought about what he’d faced.
He had wanted me safe all along. I had expelled that, shoved it back in his face. I had tried to hurt him more than he was already hurting. And I had succeeded.
It was Sean’s words that slid through my torment.
It’s them Miller. Not us. It’s the FBR that should be sorry.
I understood this now, more than ever before. What had happened was not Chase’s fault. It wasn’t mine; it wasn’t even really Tucker’s. It was the FBR. The president. They were making everyone suffer, and those who didn’t feel the pain had been brainwashed.
I twisted the little gold ring around my finger vigorously.
By morning I had my plan.
I was leaving this base. I was going to the resistance and then to find Chase, wherever he was. I had to try to make things right. For him. For my mother. For Rebecca.
And if I couldn’t, then I would die trying.
* * *
TO my horror, a second soldier was “completed” in the morning. A man I had fed less than a day before lay stretched across the floor, half beneath the bed. His lips were white, his face gray. His eyes were open and dead.
I was just as revolted. I couldn’t help but wonder if I could have stopped it. If I could have saved him. I would never get used to this, as Delilah clearly had.
We followed the same protocol from the day before. Only this time, I swallowed down the bile creeping up my throat to focus on the intricacies of the task. Which way Delilah exited the elevator. The dark hallway downstairs that no one seemed to occupy. Every instance she used her key. Where exactly she left the cart at the crematorium.
I had to get it perfect. The next time I made this trip, I’d be alone.
We had more mash from the cafeteria for lunch. It did little to calm my stomach, but I needed the fuel for what was to come.
At the end of the day, I followed Delilah into the storage room. I was wearing the blanket over my shoulders, even though the unit was warm during working hours. I needed Tucker to think I was grateful for his compassion, and he did. When I’d seen him earlier, he’d been the only guard not to balk at my appearance.
My acceptance of the gift made him feel like he was in control. Like I wasn’t a threat. He lowered his guard around me, which was exactly what I needed.
I watched Delilah as I had all day. I needed the master key hanging around her neck. She wouldn’t give it up; she was far too institutionalized. I was going to have to steal it. And to assure she wouldn’t sabotage the plan, I needed to gain the upper hand.
That was where Tucker came in.
Delilah was emptying her bucket of bleach and water into the utility sink as I approached.
“I’ve got to go talk to Morris,” I told her.
She waved her hand at me without looking up, but the color rose in her drooping cheeks. We both remembered the scene she had walked in on last night.
“I’ll come get you in the morning,” she said.
I nodded.
I forced myself to walk nonchalantly across the hall to Tucker’s office. The adrenaline coursed through my body as I anticipated what I had to do. Fighting the urge to glance nervously toward the door, I hugged the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
He was finishing paperwork, as he had been yesterday. He said nothing, only cocked an eyebrow up at me.
“I want to know about Rebecca Lansing.”
“You know the price for that.”
“I do.”
He put down the paperwork with a self-righteous smirk and rounded the desk.
“Then pay up.”
“Wait. I’m … afraid the guard is going to walk past.” I tried to sound nervous. I thought Tucker would like that. I played with the tips of my hair for effect.
“He just rotated through five minutes ago.”
“Just go check,” I said. “I don’t want any interruptions like last night.”
A glow spread across his face. “All right. Stay here.”
Pathetic.
He was gone for only a few minutes. Long enough for me to do what needed to be done. To set the wheels in motion for tomorrow’s escape.
I was sitting on a hip-high cabinet above the safe when he returned. The discarded blanket was piled beside me. I swung my heels against the wood impatiently and made myself think about freedom, rather than what was to come.
“We’re clear,” he told me, sauntering over.
He didn’t hesitate. He shoved himself between my knees, jerking my hips to the edge of the tabletop. Then his face lowered to mine.
He smelled wrong. Tasted wrong. His mouth was too hard. His hands were selfish. I tried to back away, but he wrapped his casted arm unyieldingly against my back. His other hand slid up my stomach. It rose higher, over the itchy fabric covering my ribs. Higher, to where I would not allow those fingers to roam.
“That’s enough.” Every nerve inside of me flatlined. I shoved him away, appalled with myself.
“Not yet.” Tucker leaned in again, but I pushed his shoulders back hard and then lifted my knee between us. The next time he tried to advance, my foot was pressed against his crotch. Ready to kick.
“Just try it,” I dared him.
He chuckled, lifting his hands in surrender.
“God, I wish Jennings could have seen that. We wouldn’t even have to kill him. He’d off himself.”
My temper spiked. “You sure talk about him a lot. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were heartbroken, Tucker.”
I’d said too much.
His grin vanished. Then it returned, with a vindictive light in his green eyes. His fingers skimmed my throat, feeling the jugular vein. His touch was too delicate, and I could feel the power thrumming beneath it. I breathed out unsteadily, hands clenching into fists. Tucker was jealous of Chase, of all the attention he had received. He could hurt me just to get back at his old partner.
“Are you scared?” he whispered. “Do you know what I could do to you?”
“Rebecca Lansing,” I prompted, working hard to swallow.
To my relief he released my throat.
“Rehab center in Chicago.”
My stomach dropped. Chicago. Where Chase had lived with his uncle. Where he had been drafted. It wouldn’t be easy to find her in a war-torn city that housed one of the biggest bases in the country.
“They didn’t kill her?”
“She got lucky. Who knows, maybe you will, too.”
It was time to go. I pushed off the cabinet.
“Wait, wait, wait.” He blocked my exit. “We were just getting started. A guy can’t just shut down like that.”
I tried not to gag. But then my ear perked. “Here comes the guard. Still want to fool around? Maybe he’d like to watch.”
Tucker listened, and winced when he recognized the footsteps. While he was distracted, I grabbed my blanket and slid by him out into the hall. Once the guard saw me, Tucker would not be able to hide that we’d been together.
“Well played,” he said, clapping his hands lightly. “You are a tease, aren’t you?”
My face burned and my teeth ground together, but I forced myself to saunter down the hallway, knowing he watched my every step. I waited
for him to open the door and let me into my cell. A few moments later he exchanged muffled words with the guard. I heard them walk all the way down the stairway.
And then I unrolled the crumpled blanket to reveal the handgun—the one I had stolen while Tucker had been checking the halls—and smiled.
* * *
AWAKE, I plotted my escape. Step by step.
Delilah would come get me just after curfew lifted. We’d go to the supply room, and I’d force her to give me the key. Hopefully she wouldn’t make a fuss when I locked her in. I’d push a cart past the office to the freight elevator, take it down to the first floor. The guards at the back gate wouldn’t stop me; they’d assume I was headed up to the crematorium, and they’d be right. I’d deposit the cart at the side door, beneath the awning. And then I would run.
I didn’t allow myself to consider any deviation from this plan. I already knew what I would do should something go wrong.
I held the pistol in my hand, turning it, warming the handle with my palm. Inoculating myself to its presence. It was the same kind of gun Chase had been issued: sleek, silver, with a thick barrel. I flicked the safety on and off to become accustomed to the sound and feel.
I wondered what Beth and Ryan would think if they saw me now. I wasn’t the frightened little girl being dragged away to rehab anymore. Something had changed inside of me, whittled away and made me hard. I doubted I even looked the same.
Losing your family … it puts fear in a different perspective, Chase had once told me. Yes. I understood now. It didn’t remove the fear, but made it tangible, like a sharp blade you had to carry.
Muffled voices down the hallway grabbed my attention. It was too late to transport a prisoner; it had to be close to midnight. Curious, I stuffed the gun beneath the mattress and pressed my ear against the door.
“He’s a mean SOB, that’s for sure. Those two on watch will be in sick bay for a week.”
“Got you twice between the eyes, didn’t he?”
“Shut up, Garrison. You should talk. Least I wasn’t pissing myself in the corner.”
A chuckle. Then a grunt. The sliding of fabric over the linoleum. The jangling of keys. A door whined softly as it was opened.
They were quieter now. Maybe inside a cell. Then I heard a thump against the wall over my bed. They were leaving the victim next door. I felt a wave of pity. My heart pounded painfully for my new neighbor. If he’d attacked soldiers, his prognosis was not good.
“His chart is finished.” A third voice. The soldier on rotation maybe. “Is one of you standing guard?”
“Look at him, man. He’s barely breathing. What makes you think he needs a door guard?”
“Just checking orders, that’s all.”
“Command said dump him here until morning. He’s slated to see the Board first thing. I’m sure they’ve got something sweet worked out for him.”
Laughter. The compression of the door closing. And fading footsteps.
There wasn’t another sound until morning. I wondered if maybe my new neighbor was already dead. Even as the lights buzzed on, signifying the end of curfew, I found my mind drifting to him. I was proud that he’d fought the soldiers. I needed to be brave like that if I was going to live through the day.
I jolted up when I heard the key turn in my lock. The gun was tucked in my bra, and I was using the blanket again to cover the added bulk. I had to take several deep breaths to focus myself before I felt calm enough to face the door. Even so, I nearly pulled the gun on Delilah the moment I saw her.
She glanced over me once with a speculative look on her face. I could only guess what she thought had happened between Tucker and me last night.
“Morning.” I tried to sound like I was dreading the day, which, in a way, I was.
“Come on. Be quick about it,” she snapped, and turned toward the supply room. A guard hustled by, making my skin crawl. I felt like he was watching me. Like he knew what I was about to do.
I needed to calm down.
Once we were in the supply room, Delilah began tearing towels off the wall. She handed me a bucket to fill with water. I took a deep breath and set it on the ground.
It was now or never.
I turned my back on her, and very slowly, reached for the gun.
“Delilah, I need—”
“Delilah! I thought I told you to hurry!” shouted a guard from the end of the hallway.
No! Someone had already given her orders, which meant they would come looking for her if she didn’t arrive.
“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she muttered, her voice stressed. “Didn’t I tell you to fill up that bucket?”
“Ye-yes,” I stuttered, and did as she told. The plan was going to have to wait until these soldiers weren’t demanding her assistance.
“An officer is coming in an hour to speak with the inmate in cell four,” she said. “They brought him in last night, and he’s a mess. Still unconscious. Get him up so they can interview him.”
What’s the point? I thought. I remembered how Delilah had done this for me, before I’d seen Tucker.
“What are you doing?” I asked. I hadn’t been assigned any tasks on my own.
“Cell two cut his wrists last night. Someone’s got to mop up and take the body to the crematorium.”
I shuddered, unable to stop the image of the soldier’s face from entering my mind. Thick eyebrows and freckled cheeks. A dazed, lost expression. I’d brought him dinner last night.
“I can do it,” I volunteered weakly. “I’ll take the body. You take care of cell four.”
She scoffed. The soldier down the hall yelled for her again.
“They want it taken care of fast,” she emphasized, as though I would be inept at the task. I bit back the disgust. It sounded as though she was pleased to be needed. I felt sorry for her then; there was not much of her soul left.
“I can do it. I know your back’s bothering you,” I tried. I’d seen her stretch it yesterday, and hoped that this wasn’t a shot in the dark.
“You’d do wise to obey orders,” she said simply.
I followed her into the hallway, swallowing the defeat. I told myself there would be another chance today to follow my plan. There had to be, because tomorrow I went to trial.
As Delilah opened the door to cell four, the room just beside mine, I readied myself to get this soldier up fast. If he was alert enough to talk to the officer before Delilah had finished with the cleanup, I could still help her take the body to the crematorium.
She sped down the hall to cell two, where three soldiers had now gathered to ogle at the show. I wanted to scream at them to leave the poor guy alone. I was surprised Tucker wasn’t there, but it was still early.
Inside the cell before me a crumpled figure lay strewn across the floor, facedown. His head was a foot away from the metal toilet at the end of the room. His long legs stretched toward the door. He wore jeans. Like the murdered carrier in the checkpoint on Rudy Lane.
I lowered, bending at the waist to cautiously move closer. The blinking lights overhead highlighted his socked feet. A torn T-shirt glimmered with droplets of fresh blood. I leaned closer, my heart pounding hard now.
Broad shoulders. Black, messy hair.
“Oh, God!” I cried, dropping the bucket and towels unceremoniously on the linoleum floor. Vaguely, I registered the door suction shut behind me, locking me in.
And then I was on my knees, my hands feeling up the backs of his calves, toward his waist. All the muted emotions inside of me exploded in bright, blinding colors.
When I could finally speak, my voice was high and trembling.
“Chase?”
CHAPTER
16
SILENCE.
I tried to check his pulse. I didn’t know what I was doing.
There was little room to move in the cramped cell. I rolled Chase gently to his back while he remained unanimated, a rag doll. Like the man from the square. Frantically, I wedged myself against the wall, wrapping hi
s heavy arm around my shoulders.
“Come on, Chase,” I prompted, frightened.
With all my strength, I hoisted him up onto the mattress. His upper torso and his hips made it, but his legs still hung over the edge. I laid him down as gently as I could and then pulled his knees up.
He groaned.
“Chase,” I said anxiously. His eyes were closed.
The consequent survey had my eyes blinking out of focus. A sharp breath raked my throat.
His face and neck were coated with dark black blood. The front of his shirt was drenched with it. My trembling hand reached for his cheek, stroking it gently. The heat from swelling mixed with the cool sticky residue on his skin.
“Chase, wake up. Please.”
Panic twisted inside of me. I thought about the little silver briefcase. The laundry carts. The execution that would surely ensue.
Everything had come together just to fall apart. I couldn’t escape with Chase in this condition, and I would not leave him this way.
“Why did you get caught?” I didn’t expect an answer.
I lifted his shirt. Several boot-sized contusions had begun to form over his ribs.
“It’s okay. This is okay. We just need to clean you up, that’s all.” It sounded like a different person’s voice coming out of my mouth. Someone calm, rational. Not me.
But that voice was right. I needed a task. I needed to focus on something.
I soaked a rag and ever so gently touched it to his face, mopping up the blood beside his nose. When it was soiled I shoved it beneath the bed and grabbed another. His raw lips, his ears, his neck. I whispered to him the whole time. Mostly gibberish.
I heard a rolling cart sliding down the hallway. Delilah was taking the soldier to the crematorium. My last chance at freedom was slipping out of the building. I couldn’t even feel regret. All I had room for was concern for Chase.
He didn’t stir until I moved to his forehead, where several cuts crossed over his scalp. When I reached a particularly nasty laceration, his eyes jolted open, irises dragging down into a sea of white. He blinked in confusion. His teeth bore down hard.
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