The Last Uprising (Defectors Trilogy)

by Tarah Benner

  I took a quick survey of the carriers on the ground. None of them had sores around their mouths yet, so they weren’t contagious.

  More gunshots rang out like thunder claps. I tried to keep sucking in oxygen, but the rush of adrenaline in my veins was beginning to subside. I could feel the ache of the bones in my hands and the sting of air on my bleeding knuckles.

  The growls of carriers were growing further apart. Half of the horde had scattered, and the other half lay dead and dying at my feet.

  I looked around wild-eyed and watched Logan skewer the last one with both of her knives. The carrier fell to the ground, bloody and defeated.

  Logan was too pale, but she was alive.

  Suddenly I didn’t know what to do. There were so many dead carriers.

  I focused on breathing in and out, my arms hanging useless at my sides.

  Everyone on the porch was watching us. I wanted to run or crumple into a heap of bones on the ground, but I did neither.

  As I surveyed the death all around me, I felt a warm hand on the small of my back that made my skin tingle. Amory was already standing beside me, looking concerned, and I let his touch steady me.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. The stench on the air was a mix of rotten lettuce and stale sickness. My stomach was a flimsy bag of nausea.

  “Haven . . .?”

  “I’ll be all right,” I said. But in truth, I didn’t think I would. I didn’t know how much more killing I could physically tolerate.

  Amory pulled me over to the porch and made me sit down. He didn’t say anything as I pulled myself together, but I could feel the subtle contact of his knee against mine, rooting me in place.

  Greyson found Logan and pulled her inside to disinfect the bites, and I knew Amory needed to go examine Jason’s wounds. Somehow I’d come out unscathed, though it didn’t feel like it. It never did.

  Every death, carrier or human, cut me inside and burned like a thousand paper cuts. They never healed over, and every death was a thousand fresh slices, crisscrossing over the old ones and shredding me to pieces.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Over the next few days, we fell into a rhythm at the farm. With the Hoopers’ supplies, we finally had enough to eat, and surviving the horde’s attack gave us a new urgency to fortify our defenses.

  Roman and Marcus found some lumber on an abandoned farm, and Greyson and Amory took it upon themselves to design the new barn we would build where the old one had stood.

  Neither of them knew anything about construction, but we didn’t have much of a choice. The plans Greyson had sketched showed a building with a larger loft to double the available space for people and a smaller annex to shelter livestock.

  A week after the carrier attack, we were already attempting to frame the barn, sweating in the unseasonably intense heat.

  I tensed when I heard the crunch of gravel that signaled an approaching vehicle, and Amory stiffened automatically. I found my rifle, and the others fanned out around me, weapons in hand.

  The seconds slowed as we waited for the dust to clear, and the 4Runner appeared, followed by a beat-up Ford pickup truck.

  At the sight of Godfrey and Marcus leading the caravan, I lowered my rifle slightly but continued to inch toward the newcomers in the truck.

  “Easy now,” Godfrey grumbled as he got out of the vehicle. “They come in peace.”

  So Godfrey had been recruiting. He’d brought Marcus along because he knew all the families in the area that were in hiding.

  Piled in the truck were three stocky-looking men in dirty jeans and worn-out T-shirts. They got out, and I watched their scuffed boots shuffle over to where we all stood. Something about their rugged look and beefy frames reminded me of the moonshiners, but at the sight of our shaky construction, they let out a collective rumble of warm laughter that put me immediately at ease.

  “Gang, meet the Holts.”

  The man closest to me removed his sun-faded baseball cap and held out a calloused hand. “Name’s Ray Holt, and this is my brother Bobby.” He pointed to the shortest man. “That’s Matt, our cousin. We’re here to help.”

  “Haven Allis,” I said, taking the man’s hand. It was rough and warm — a hard grip built from honest work.

  “What brings you here?” asked Amory, materializing at my elbow.

  “We heard ol’ Ida’s fighting back. We want to be of service.” Ray turned back to me. “Plus Marcus here told us how y’all fought off a whole mess of carriers the other day.”

  “We didn’t have much of a choice,” I said grimly, remembering Logan’s screams.

  “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

  “Out east,” I said. “The hordes near Sector X were much bigger.”

  “That’s where y’all come from?”

  I nodded, not wanting to share our whole life stories with these people. It didn’t matter if we were all really from Missouri.

  “Damn,” said another of the men. “You on the run or something?”

  “Something like that,” said Amory, an edge to his voice.

  Maybe I imagined the arch of his brow or the challenge in his gaze, but he looked as though he were trying to shield me from this man, which I thought was cute.

  It wasn’t jealousy. No matter how many times Amory and I had fought side by side — watched each other’s backs — he always felt the need to protect me in situations where there was no real danger.

  “We live a few miles south of here,” continued Ray. “We’ve been laying low since the PMC started to overtake this area. But then Godfrey and Marcus came by and said you were establishing a base. We’d like to fight those bastards.”

  “Good man,” said Amory, finally offering his hand. “I’m Amory.”

  Ray shook it enthusiastically. “Good to meet you.” His eyes flickered over to our shaky construction. “Tell you what. You teach us how to fight, and we’ll help you build a barn that won’t collapse in one good strong wind.”

  Amory broke into a grin, and all signs of tension disappeared.

  The Holts helped us frame the barn, and we were halfway done by sundown.

  I couldn’t help but think that these men would be a huge asset. Ray had worked in construction before the Collapse, and Matt and Bobby had run their family’s farm. Our inexperience was evident next to men who had been farming and building things their whole lives.

  After dinner, Ray cornered Amory and Roman to ask for a fighting demonstration, and Logan rolled her eyes in my direction.

  She tolerated men’s stares and took their doting smiles in stride, but I imagined it grated on her nerves that these men assumed Amory and Roman were the best fighters among us — especially since Roman and Amory hadn’t even fought the carriers hand to hand that day.

  The boys weren’t asking for attention. I could tell by the droop in their shoulders that they were tired, but Logan and I knew that neither would object to a fight with the other standing right there.

  The other two Holts were enthusiastic, and even Krystal and Marcus looked up with interest.

  We all went out into the yard, and Roman lit some of the Tiki torches Logan and I had found in Ida’s cellar off the guest house. The torches formed a ring in front of the house, and I felt the excitement radiating from Logan.

  I was excited, too, but not about the fight. Since the aftereffects of the cure had hampered her shooting abilities, I just wanted to see Logan in her element again. Never was she so much herself than when she was fighting.

  I was surprised when Roman jerked his head at Amory to step into the ring. Amory approached him warily, his mouth set in a grim line. I wasn’t sure why Logan wasn’t fighting, and by the look on Marcus’s face, he was confused, too.

  I suspected Roman and Amory didn’t want Logan to overexert herself. The way she’d fought the moonshiners and the carriers, it was easy to forget she was still recovering from the side effects of the cure.


  Logan and I exchanged a glance. If they were fighting each other, it meant we would have days of pouty silence from whoever lost.

  Amory was normally humble, but it shook his confidence whenever he lost a sparring match to Roman. Since Roman was already moody and joyless, I secretly hoped he would lose instead.

  Amory pulled off his jacket and tossed it to Greyson, who was playing referee. Greyson gave him a slight nod, which I took to mean he hoped Amory won, too.

  It gave me a little leap of joy that he and Amory had become such good friends, although I wasn’t sure why I cared so much.

  Roman and Amory squared off, and I watched the cords of Amory’s back muscles tense through his navy T-shirt. With his tree-trunk arms and thick torso, Roman had the advantage of size, but Amory was strong, fast, and more agile.

  “Three hits is a win,” said Greyson. “Go!”

  As expected, Roman swung first.

  Amory dodged his hit expertly and came back around with a swing. Roman avoided his punch, too, and I marveled at how quickly he dodged despite his size.

  His hits weren’t as fast. He swung at Amory, lumbering like a giant, and Amory parried each of his blows with a jerk of his forearms or a swift duck.

  It went like this for a while, neither making contact, and both appraising each other silently in the dancing torchlight.

  It wasn’t hatred I sensed between them. It was pure rivalry, wariness, and respect for each other’s skills.

  After a few minutes, the small crowd was beginning to grow restless. Marcus looked unimpressed, and the Holt brothers were growing bored. They didn’t know Roman or Amory, so they probably thought the Hoopers had exaggerated our group’s skills.

  Finally, Amory pulled one of his lightning-quick one-two fakes, connecting with the side of Roman’s jaw.

  “One to Amory!” shouted Greyson.

  Roman shot Amory a crooked grin as a challenge, and his fists flew at him.

  Amory managed to block two hits, but the third was too powerful. I heard it rather than saw it, and Amory grimaced and ducked out of the way of another blow.

  “One to Roman!”

  Moving more quickly now, Amory swung out his foot and brought Roman crashing to the ground. Amory jumped on top of him with his fist raised, but before he could deliver a punch, Roman flipped him over, and in a second, the roles were reversed.

  My muscles tensed as I watched Roman wind up and smash his knuckles into Amory’s jaw.

  I winced. I didn’t like this part.

  Then Amory elbowed Roman’s inner thigh with a painful-sounding thwap! Roman let out a strangled grunt, which was the closest he ever got to admitting real agony.

  “Two-two!”

  Come on, Amory, I urged silently.

  With a great heave of his hips, Amory bucked him forward. Roman caught himself with his hands, and Amory used the opportunity to collapse his left arm and throw him off balance. Roman’s shoulder smashed into the ground, and Amory staggered to his feet.

  The two squared off once again, and Amory advanced with a combination I hadn’t seen before. It capitalized on his agility and speed and allowed him to push Roman back as he dodged. But one of Roman’s moves was too slow. Amory took his chance, jabbing Roman in the stomach — hard.

  “That’s it!” yelled Greyson.

  Roman lurched backward, glaring at Amory, but Amory held out a hand. Roman shook it begrudgingly.

  The group clapped and whistled, but Amory seemed utterly unimpressed by his own victory. He tucked his chin, embarrassed by all the fanfare.

  One of the Holt brothers leaned in to clap him on the back, and I heard Amory deflecting his praise.

  “That wasn’t anything great,” he said between gasps. “Roman and I spar all the time.”

  He took in another two dragging breaths and turned to the rest of the crowd, hands at his sides, clutching his abdomen. “I want to fight Haven next.”

  My heart stopped, and everyone’s heads turned in my direction. A murmur rippled through the group, but the corners of Marcus’s mouth curled into a grin.

  This was what he’d wanted to see, I realized.

  Amory was staring at me with those burning gray eyes. His gaze was a challenge.

  Why was he doing this? Was he hoping to beat me to show you couldn’t have mercy on your opponent? Did he want me to fight back to prove I’d been hiding some sort of hidden skill I’d learned during my time with World Corp?

  A thousand possibilities had erupted in my mind, but I pushed them aside and walked into the ring.

  It didn’t matter why Amory wanted to fight me. I would do it anyway. I wasn’t afraid.

  No, that wasn’t true. Even though I trusted Amory, I knew a fight against him would be brutal.

  I stepped into the ring, eyeing Amory warily. When I was close enough, he touched my shoulder and pulled me in.

  He leaned over to block me from the crowd, so close I could see the heat beneath his skin. He looked anxious.

  “Hey, is this okay?”

  I met his gaze through narrowed eyes. “It’s a little late now. You want to fight, let’s fight.”

  My reply seemed to concern him, because his eyebrows knitted together. “I just want you to show them what you can do. Plus, you’re the one who impressed the Hoopers the other day, not me and Roman. You’re the one they want to see.”

  “You want to fight, so do it,” I said, a hard edge in my voice. I wasn’t sure why it sounded like that.

  I could tell he was nervous, though I didn’t know why.

  “I’ll only use fifty percent power. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t hold back, Amory. I’ve got it.”

  He raised an eyebrow, and it looked as though I had finally solidified something he had been struggling with. “Fine.”

  “Come on, Haven. Kick his ass!” shouted Logan from the sidelines. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, unable to conceal her excitement.

  Logan had trained me on the farm and in Rulon’s camp. She was responsible for the basic skills I had, and she was such a proud teacher.

  I squared off against Amory, shaking out my arms to loosen up. He raised an eyebrow, which I took to mean he wanted me to remember what we had agreed upon.

  Greyson caught my eye for a long second, and then he shot Amory what I could only guess was a look of warning.

  “Ready . . . Go!”

  Amory advanced first, his body moving like a panther’s. I tore my eyes away from him and concentrated on my footwork, careful not to let him drive me back. I heard Logan’s voice in my head: If they’re pushing you around the ring, you’ve already lost.

  I changed directions. Amory smirked, following my movement effortlessly.

  When I got too close, he swung his fist out hard — and slowly. I dodged his hit easily and pushed him back with punches of my own. He deflected each one but didn’t seem to be pushing offense.

  What was he doing?

  I aimed a kick at his knee, but he moved out of the way. I lost my balance slightly. He swung at my head, and I ducked.

  He expected me to retreat, but I grabbed him and jabbed my knee into his gut. I didn’t use full force, but I knew he still felt it.

  “That’s one!” Greyson bellowed.

  I blocked two hits and stumbled back, throwing a cross and a hook. Then Amory swung out his other hand, broad and fast, connecting with the side of my head as Logan had done in training whenever I’d dropped my left hand.

  “One to Amory!”

  I dragged in a breath, shaking my head to clear the jarring pain. But before I could recover, Amory jumped behind me and wrapped an arm around my neck, choking off my airways. He was stronger than I was prepared for.

  I yanked down his arm to keep him from crushing my windpipe and elbowed him in the gut.

  “That’s two,” yelled Greyson. I could hear the smirk inching around his mouth through the commentary.

  Amory was doubled over in pain, and
I used the opportunity to twist into him and wriggle out from under his shoulder, pulling his elbow close to my body and locking his arm behind him.

  Amory’s eyes widened. He was impressed but surprised. I was, too.

  My victory was short-lived. Suddenly, my feet flew out from under me, and I landed on my back.

  I gasped. I’d had the wind knocked out of me. Suddenly Amory was on top, pinning me down. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were burning as he met my gaze. I became very aware of his thighs pressed against my sides and the look of his chest as he towered over me.

  Then his fist swung out and hit my jaw, the pain reverberating up the side of my face.

  “Two to Amory!” said Greyson. He sounded as shocked as I felt.

  The Holt brothers were booing, which gave me a smug sense of satisfaction.

  Amory hadn’t hit me hard at all. I could tell he was only using maybe ten percent of his strength, but it was the shock that he’d actually done it that had me flying into a rage.

  Without thinking, I reached up and boxed his ears with my palms — a dirty move Logan had taught me.

  He growled, and I used the second he’d been distracted by pain to buck my hips and roll him off me.

  I should have ended it right then, but suddenly my face was too hot. I was straddling Amory with everyone’s eyes on me. I stumbled to my feet, but he caught my ankle, pulling me back to the ground. Before he took me down, I closed my fingers, twisted my wrist, and brought my hammer fist around behind me, colliding with his nose.

  “That’s three!” shouted Greyson, not bothering to hide the relief in his voice.

  I yanked my ankle out of Amory’s hold, but he struggled to a standing position and gripped my arm tightly. I was about to punch him again when he did something that surprised me.

  He pulled my arm up and held it in the air as though I were a world champion.

  The group erupted into applause — the Holts cheering and wolf-whistling. Logan was screaming at the top of her lungs, and Greyson was grinning like an idiot.

  I shot a half-hearted glare at Amory and was startled to see his nose bleeding from where I had hit him.