by Tarah Benner
“Right now, my intention is to send a small party across the border to establish a new base, rally the rebels in the states, and show World Corp we are still strong. The rest of us will remain in the area to start with the communes closest to the border. Anybody who wishes to have his or her voice heard is welcome to speak now and be a part of the discussions. Just know that by this time tomorrow, we will have a plan, and our decision will be final.”
Ida drew a breath, and I waited for everyone to start chiming in.
Finally, a mousy woman who had escaped from one of the communes spoke. “You want people to go across the border?”
“It is dangerous, but many of us have done it before successfully.”
The woman looked stricken, as though Ida had suggested death by firing squad.
“Why would we want to go back to the states?” snapped an older man. “The place is crawling with carriers. I’m not going back!”
“Me neither,” said a shrill woman.
There was a general murmur of agreement, and Amory and Roman threw them all looks of disgust. Everyone who was speaking had come from the communes, so it made sense that they were the most frightened. It was fear that had driven them to the communes in the first place.
“As I said,” repeated Ida. “This is up for discussion, and no one will be forced to cross the border. If you have anything else to say — or if you wish to stay behind — please join me in my tent.”
As people dispersed, I found myself alone with Logan, Greyson, Amory, Roman, and Kinsley.
Roman looked sick. “They’re cowards. All of them.”
“Think of what they’ve heard about the border,” said Logan. “They’ve spent months listening to the World Corp propaganda about how terrible it is down south.”
“Well, I’m not going to crawl back into that creepy place to liberate a bunch of people who don’t want to be freed.”
“They’ve been taught to fear the states,” she snapped. “They don’t know any different.”
“They need to learn to think for themselves.”
Although I knew Roman was talking about the commune dwellers, his words felt highly personal. Amory was watching me closely, but I didn’t turn to look at him.
“Well, if Ida wants people to cross the border, I’ll do it,” said Kinsley.
Logan turned to look at him, a mixture of pride and concern in her eyes.
“So will I,” said Greyson.
Amory nodded.
“We’re all going,” growled Roman. “It’s obvious nobody here has the balls —”
“What about you?” asked Logan, turning to me.
My face burned, and I was grateful for the low light. I didn’t know what to say. All of them were staring at me.
Logan’s face fell. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“I’ll go,” I said. My voice sounded small, almost a squeak.
Amory’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
Roman was staring at me with a challenging expression, but I was too weary to fight. I didn’t have to prove myself to him. Somehow, I knew Roman and I had always been reluctant allies.
Logan left, looking satisfied, and Roman strode off in the direction of Ida’s tent — probably to put our bid in to be the party that went south.
“So you’re in?” said Amory. The hope in his gaze twisted my heart.
“I’m in.”
Greyson shook his head slowly in disbelief. “What changed?”
I took a deep breath, not knowing how what I was about to say would be received. “I don’t know what I was like before this . . .” I said slowly. “I just know what I was taught in the facility. My memories don’t make sense.”
I shook my head, trying to organize my thoughts.
“But what happened today . . . it wasn’t right. None of it. Good people don’t do this. I don’t know what to believe, so I’m going with my gut. Right now, my gut is telling me that I should trust you.”
Amory’s face fell a little at this explanation, but Greyson looked satisfied.
It struck me that Greyson cared most about the facts. He valued logic and always wanted to know how people arrived at their decisions, whereas Amory had other reasons for asking me. I knew whatever I said wouldn’t make him happy.
“You want to go for a run?” Greyson asked suddenly.
Amory looked surprised and then shot him a warning look. He still didn’t trust me not to run away.
“A run?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, you know . . . like old times. I feel all cagey.” He feigned a shiver and shifted his weight on the balls of his feet like a boxer. Despite everything that had happened, this made me want to laugh.
“Yeah. All right.”
We weren’t dressed for a run. We were wearing layers of rebel black — sweatshirts and cargo pants and combat boots — but a run sounded nice. I shed my heavy coat, and Amory looked amused.
I was surprising him tonight, I thought with satisfaction.
Greyson set off at a brisk pace and I followed, my heavy boots clomping through the snow. I was happy this snow was crunchy and tacky. I was able to gain traction and push off without slipping.
Soon we fell into an easy cadence with Greyson leading the way — just as in the old days. I knew he was setting a slower pace than he would have a year ago, since neither of us was in as good of shape as we had been before the Collapse. He had a lot more muscle, and he was strong from fighting, but I had grown skinny and weak in the facility. And after today’s brush with the PMC, I had a feeling that Greyson’s runs in my absence had been adrenaline-fueled sprints, not long pieces.
I felt a slight stitch in my side, but I liked it. It was a different kind of pain than I’d experienced since leaving World Corp. The headaches made me dizzy and nauseous, whereas the pain from the run energized me.
As we ran, I listened to the soft, rhythmic tread of our feet and our staggered breaths. It was music to my ears.
For a long time, I’d been alone, but now I had someone beside me. We moved as a unit, and there was an unspoken bond between us now.
Greyson set our pace. When he moved, I moved.
I didn’t have to worry about my foggy memories or that horrible voice in the back of my head that told me he was the enemy. All I had to do was move my feet and breathe.
I let my mind wander. If I squinted, the white snow looked almost like the sun-soaked limestone trail we’d run on back in Columbia.
It was summer, and I had the freedom of breezy running shorts and light sneakers. It was hot enough that Greyson was running shirtless, sweat glistening between his lean shoulder blades. His mocha skin was already dark with a tan. He wouldn’t burn all summer, whereas I already had pink lines around my sweat-soaked cotton tank top.
I was itching with thirst, but I knew we were headed for the trailhead with the good water fountain.
Greyson veered off to the concrete sidewalk marked by a trail map. He slowed to a walk and turned back to me.
He was drinking in heavy, rhythmic breaths, but his eyebrows were raised in satisfaction. I nodded, trying to catch my breath. He checked his watch. We’d made good time.
We both drank our fill of lukewarm water and flopped down in the grass to rest. As I sat there, grass prickling my legs, I felt completely at ease.
We got up to double back, and the cadence of my feet blended with my heavy footfalls in the snow.
The memory was gone, but I felt that happiness still. It expanded in my chest, a warmth that spread through my whole body.
Something clicked into place, and I knew I had been right to place my trust in Greyson and the others. He always ran ahead, but he was constantly listening for my footfalls behind him. He never led me astray.
Suddenly, Greyson stopped. It was so dark that I almost bumped right into him, and he held up his hand for me to be quiet. I choked down my labored breaths, ears piqued for a sound.
Then I heard it: the snappin
g of branches and the wet, raspy intake of breath from the trees. I heard the mucus rattling in his lungs and his stumbling footfalls.
It wasn’t possible. They couldn’t be here.
But then a shadow appeared to my right — not the source of the noise — and I knew there was more than one. There was a scuffle in the trees and then more snapping. A third shadow appeared, stumbling into a fourth.
Carriers.
I was frozen, and the sounds of snapping branches and the low rumble of dying breaths reached my ears.
“Run,” Greyson breathed.
I staggered backward, nearly tripping over an exposed tree root, and took off through the trees at a sprint. I could hear Greyson behind me, and this time I was leading.
I pushed my legs harder, and they burned in protest. My boots and clothes felt too heavy, and I wished I was in better shape. My breathing was fast but controlled. I knew we could outrun them, but I needed to put as much distance between us as possible to buy us more time.
We had to warn the others.
CHAPTER TEN
I tore into camp breathing heavily. “Carriers! In the woods!” I panted.
There was a moment of silence as everyone stared at me, trying to work out what I was saying. Then there was chaos.
The rebels jumped to their feet and ran. Ida, Godfrey, and Roman emerged from the leaders’ tent, and Amory was already at my side. The blazing fire burned my corneas as I tried to focus. After the relative stillness of the woods, there was too much to take in.
A curtain of blond hair whipped around, and Logan materialized in front of me. “That’s impossible. There are no carriers north of the border.”
Greyson appeared on my left, trying to catch his breath to explain. “I saw them, too.”
Amory turned to me with a grave expression. “They’re here? You’re sure?”
I nodded, still breathless.
“How many of them?”
“I don’t know. I saw at least five, but I heard more moving in the trees.”
“There have to be more,” added Greyson. “The hordes are growing. We haven’t seen a pack of less than thirty since the riots.”
“Not here, though,” snapped Roman. “There are no carriers in the north.”
Greyson rounded on him, clearly exasperated. “Well you can tell them that when they’re ripping your throat out.”
Roman bared his teeth but didn’t say anything else.
Logan snapped into fighting mode at once. The steely veil dropped over her face, and suddenly she was a soldier again. The rifle was already in her hands, and her hair was in a ponytail.
But out of the corner of my eye, I saw her fingers shaking as she loaded her gun. Something was off.
Roman stepped around Logan and handed me a rifle. The way he placed it in my hands made me think he was acting against his better judgment. Roman clearly didn’t trust me, but I could shoot, and they needed all the help they could get. He held out a box of ammunition, and I took a fistful of rounds.
I marveled at the familiar coolness of the metal in my fingers. It was strange how something that had once made me so uneasy now gave me comfort. This was something I could do.
The five of us, Kinsley, Ida, Godfrey, and a few defectors I vaguely recognized fanned out near the perimeter of the trees — close enough that we could almost touch each other and prevent the carriers from breaching our first line of defense. I positioned myself between Greyson and Logan, feeling the comforting weight of the ammunition in my pocket.
Some of the other rebels and defectors stood behind us wielding sticks and tools as weapons, but I could tell they were terrified. Most of them had come straight from the states to the communes. Many had never even seen a carrier, let alone killed one. They were inexperienced as fighters, and I for one was glad they weren’t holding rifles at my back.
“Take ’em down clean,” shouted Godfrey. “Shots to the head. Don’t let them break through. If any do, we’ll fall out from the edges to kill them. Stagger your reloads.”
My heart was pounding with adrenaline. I didn’t even feel scared. I felt alive.
Silence fell over the crowd as we waited, poised to fight.
Uneven footfalls crashed through the underbrush. There was a low growl and the sound of damaged lungs panting. Then the first carrier emerged — bald, emaciated, and with oozing flaps of angry red skin around his mouth.
He barely had a chance to gnash his rotten teeth before Amory aimed and landed a bullet right in the carrier’s skull. He let out a howl like a dying animal and collapsed in the snow.
There were more footsteps. Branches cracked sharply in the stillness, and the hulking outline of half a dozen others appeared in the trees.
I held my gun on one, waiting until she showed herself in the dancing light from the campfire, and shot her right between the eyes. A shot fired from my left, but it missed the next carrier completely. I took aim and fired at the same carrier, catching him in the chest. The carrier went down.
Sneaking a glance to my left, I saw Logan jut out her lower lip, looking livid.
Something was definitely wrong. Her hands shook as she took aim once more, missing another carrier.
I shot that one, too, before he could fully disentangle himself from a snarl of thorns, and Logan let out a desperate little breath as she reloaded.
I tried to focus on the shadows moving in the trees, but I was distracted by Logan’s clumsy movements beside me. Logan, the deadly PMC-trained soldier — I’d never seen her miss a shot.
As she fumbled with her rifle, I felt a surge of pity in my chest. She looked close to tears. My heart ached, and pain shot up the back of my head again.
I blinked furiously, tearing my eyes away from Logan to refocus on the kill. Three more carriers had emerged, and I aimed for the middle one. I missed and had to reload, cursing myself silently for allowing myself to be distracted. I finished reloading before Logan did and fired again.
As my carrier fell to the ground, another three stumbled out from the trees to take his place.
In the time it had taken me to bring down one, the other two had advanced. I shot desperately, but the horde was coming more quickly now, as if the carriers had been waiting just out of range to hear how many of us were shooting.
Most of them were stage five, but they were faster than they should have been. Dread pooled in my gut. They were mutant carriers, and none of us was immune to this strain of the virus. Letting carriers through our line wasn’t an option; one bite was enough to end someone’s life.
My shoulder was aching from the kickback of my rifle, and my fingers were nearly frozen in the cold. I wasn’t wearing gloves.
But while the others’ shots seemed to be coming more slowly, I took the discomfort in stride. If my time as a runner had taught me anything, it was how to convert pain into power. Two carriers were coming my way at once, but I zeroed in on one and then took down the other.
The others weren’t faring as well. Two carriers had breached our line, and Amory had broken off from the end to dispatch them with his knife. Worry prickled on the back of my neck, but I forced myself to keep my head straight forward and concentrate on those emerging from the woods.
I fumbled in my pocket to reload and came up empty.
“I’m out,” I shouted to Logan.
Her eyes flickered with panic, but she didn’t put down her gun. I didn’t know if she’d managed to take down a single carrier, but she wasn’t going to give up.
“Hey! I need to get more ammo,” I yelled to Greyson. He nodded once without looking at me as he aimed at a particularly nasty carrier ambling toward him.
I ran around to the crate of ammunition Roman had left in the snow and shoved a handful of rounds into each pocket. I heard a shot coming from near my post, and I looked over my shoulder in time to see an enormous carrier tearing through our line of defense. Greyson and Logan continued to shoot, and another broke in near Kinsley. They were overwhelming us from the left sid
e.
I rushed to reload, but the huge carrier was stumbling too quickly — a drunken sprint in my direction.
Amory was busy struggling with another that had broken through a while ago. Blood was gushing down the front of the carrier’s ragged shirt, but he didn’t seem to want to go down without a fight. Amory stabbed again, and the carrier howled in pain. The sound pierced my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard — the sound of vocal chords ripping and the carrier’s dying breath.
I felt for my knife at my side and found nothing. I wasn’t wearing my holster. I had no other weapons.
But then the big carrier adjusted course. He was headed for Amory, who had just finished the carrier he was fighting and was already fending off another.
For a moment, everything slowed down. I watched Amory’s deft swipes through the air — a graceful, deadly dance. His brows were knitted together in fierce concentration, but I didn’t see that cold, empty look from my memories. His eyes were bright and clear, and they were full of terror.
The carrier he was fighting lunged, knocking him off-balance. He stumbled, and the carrier fell on top of him. Amory yelled, stabbing him in the back with his right hand while holding him by the throat with his left. Meanwhile, the other carrier was still charging toward him.
Something shifted inside me, like the right puzzle piece snapping into the last empty space. I couldn’t recall moving my legs, but a second later, I was there.
I jumped between Amory and the carrier, wielding my rifle with both hands like a staff. With as much force as I could muster, I thrust it upward into the carrier’s jugular. He howled, but he was too large. He pushed against me, and my feet slipped in the wet snow. They flew out from under me, and suddenly the carrier was on top of me.
I jerked the butt of my gun upward, catching him hard in the jaw, but my limited range of motion weakened the blow.
His putrid breath burned my nostrils, and warm saliva flecked my face. I could see his rotten teeth snapping and the crusty, oozing sores festering around his mouth. I couldn’t let him bite me. I wouldn’t.
“Haven!” Amory cried.